sugarbbgrl

[sugarbbgrl]

“can i motorboat you?”

simon looked at you from his spot on the couch, a mortified expression settling on his face. “i- what?”

“can i moto-“

“rhetorical question.” he held his hand up, looking down. “where did this come from? and why?” he shook his head, looking at you once more.

“i like your boobs, i want my face between them.”

“they are not boobs,” he scoffed. “they’re pecs.”

“whatever floats your boat, princess.” you tilted your head a bit and crossed your arms over your chest, still staring at him.

“wha-“

“you didn’t answer my question.”

he sighed, throwing his head back in defeat. he can’t say he’s ever had someone ask such a question, but who is he to suppress someone else’s desires, specifically yours.

“sure, if you-“

before he could even finish his sentence, your face was smushed into his chest, pressing his pecs into either side of your face. you hummed in satisfaction, blowing a raspberry and shaking your head into them.

“you’re one strange lass, y’know that?” simon chuckled, letting you go about your business.

don’t ask me what this is, i don’t know

[sugarbbgrl]

GYM CRUSH SIMON

sfw + nsfw. unsafe sex. womb fucking. no condom.

you never planned on becoming a late-night gym rat. it just …happened. like most things in your life, it started with good intentions and spiraled into something you weren’t entirely in control of.

you’d made a new year’s resolution to get in shape— because health, discipline, all that crap— and, in a moment of overzealous optimism, you splurged on a gym membership. a pricey one, to add. the kind that made your bank account cry, which meant quitting wasn’t an option.

there was only one problem. you were busy. between classes, assignments, and the absolute joke that was your sleep schedule, the only time you could consistently work out was well past normal human hours.

at first, the idea of hitting the gym at midnight felt… weird. like stepping into a parallel universe where only insomniacs and questionable life choices existed. but then you considered the alternative— going during peak hours and getting judged for your piss-poor form, or worse, waiting in line for machines behind a dude who was live-streaming his workout.

midnight schedule it was.

it grew on you eventually. the routine became second nature. drag yourself in after class, half-asleep, toss your bag into a locker, and start on the treadmill to wake yourself up. a slow warm-up, music blasting through your headphones, then a mostly half-hearted attempt at strength training.

the people who showed up at this hour were predictable. a few other students— dead-eyed, running on caffeine fumes. a handful of older folks, the dedicated ones who treated the gym like a sacred temple.

and then there was him.

tall. broad. built like something out of a military recruitment ad.

the first time you noticed him, you’d nearly tripped on the treadmill. one second, you were zoning out, staring at the clock, and the next— there he was. buzz cut barely visible beneath the hood of his sweatshirt, arms thick with muscle, veins running down his forearms in stark lines. tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, black ink tracing the ridges of his skin.

(the combat boots were what threw you off. who the hell wore combat boots to the gym?)

he moved through his workout with terrifying

efficiency. no wasted movements, no unnecessary pauses. heavyweights. circuits. the kind of training that looked more like preparation for war than casual fitness. he never looked winded either. no gasping for breath, no pausing to rest, just relentless, controlled effort.

you developed a— not a crush— an appreciation for him. admiration. respect. that was it. not the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders when he adjusted his grip on the barbell. not the way his jaw clenched in concentration. not the way his fingers wrapped around the weights with an ease that made you feel woefully inadequate.

“it’s a crush,” your friend announced one evening, stabbing a straw into his juice box.

you scoffed, flipping through your notes. “it’s not.”

“it is. i’m fit too, but i don’t see you staring at me like you wanna lick salt off my abs.”

you made a disgusted noise. “jesus, shut up.”

he grinned, tipping his juice box back dramatically. “i’m just saying. the fact that you haven’t even talked to him and yet know his entire workout routine is very-"

“i do not know his entire workout routine.”

your friend raised a brow.

you sighed. “…he does back and legs on tuesdays.”

his brow lifted higher.

“…and arms on thursdays.”

silence.

“right.”

“shut up.”

you’d considered talking to him. maybe asking for tips or making some awkward joke about his frankly ridiculous choice of gym footwear. but he didn’t exactly radiate approachable.

the man looked like he’d rather be waterboarded than engage in small talk.

and you? you weren’t some plucky rom-com protagonist who could charm the brooding loner into friendship with a dazzling smile and sheer force of personality. so, you kept your distance. which was fine. totally fine.

What the hell would you even say? “hey, nice pecs, can I bury my face between them?” he’d call the police on you.

so, you stayed quiet..

until the night you made the monumentally stupid decision to start lifting weights.

in your defense, it wasn’t entirely your idea. you were perfectly content with your usual treadmill-and-machines routine. but then your friend had to go and mock you.

“you’re paying for a full gym membership,” he said, flicking a fry at your forehead, “and you’re not even using the weight room?”

“i use it,” you protested.

“you walk through it.”

okay, fine. he had a point. which was how you ended up here, standing in front of a barbell, mentally preparing yourself to lift it like you were about to perform brain surgery.

you’d done your research— watched some youtube tutorials, read some articles. you knew the basics. foot placement. core engagement. not arching your back like a possessed demon.

you took a deep breath, squared your stance, wrapped your hands around the bar, and— nothing.

the bar didn’t budge.

you frowned, adjusted your grip. another deep breath. still nothing.

okay. you could do this. just, more force. maybe a little momentum. you planted your feet, sucked in a breath, and heaved—

"y’need a spotter?"

you startle so hard you nearly fall backward, breath catching as you whip around. close— he’s close, and jesus, he’s even bigger up close. broad shoulders, thick arms crossed over his chest, pale eyes flicking between you and the barbell like he’s already making peace with witnessing an injury. his hoodie is pulled up like always, shadows cutting sharp over the edges of his jaw, but there’s something vaguely unimpressed about his expression. braced for disaster.

you swallow. "uh."

his brow lifts, expectant, as if this is some kind of trick question. "that a yes or a no?"

"i-" your brain short-circuits. every ounce of confidence you had a second ago shrivels up and dies. "i totally got this."

he exhales sharply, something between a scoff and a sigh. he shifts his weight, one foot bracing slightly forward. "sure you do.

your face heats. you turn back to the barbell, fingers tightening around the metal, and pull. it lifts— barely. your arms burn, hands already sweating, but you’re stubborn. you have it. almost.

"you’re about to smash your fucking face in," he mutters.

you falter— just for a second— but that’s all it takes. your grip slips, the weight tilting. shit, shit, shit!

he moves fast. faster than you expect. before you can even panic properly, his hands brace yours, steadying the bar with zero effort. he’s strong, fingers wrapping over yours for a brief moment before smoothly guiding the weight back onto the rack like it weighs nothing. you stumble back, arms trembling from the strain, but he doesn’t step away yet, just watches you catch your breath.

"right," he says after a beat, stepping back. "now that you’ve definitely got it, mind if i give you some actual pointers?"

you blink up at him, still processing the fact that you almost died, and this guy just saved your life like it was nothing. "you train people?"

"no. just rather not watch someone crush their skull in." which is… fair, you suppose.

you wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings, trying not to look as embarrassed as you feel. "okay. please. teach me."

you and simon— you learn his name by the third day!— slowly fall into a routine, much to his chagrin. he hadn’t expected offering to help you not splatter brain matter across the gym floor would lead to... this. a persistent presence. a shadow in his periphery.

he doesn’t know how it happened, how you managed to wedge yourself into the one place he thought was untouchable, but somehow, you did. and now, you’re there. always. not in an overbearing way. you don’t talk his ear off or force yourself on him. if anything, you’re surprisingly easy to be around. and worse— comfortable. which is fucking dangerous.

a routine starts forming. he hadn’t expected that offering to help you not crush your own skull under a barbell would lead to… this. hadn’t expected that you’d still be here, three days later, four, a week, waving at him when he walks in, bright-eyed and warm despite the ungodly hour. he tries to keep you at arm’s length, really, he does.

but you’re not loud. you don’t force yourself on him. you don’t pry or try to push past his walls— you just exist, alongside him, like it’s a natural thing in the world. you ask him questions, ease him into conversations so seamlessly that sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s talking until he’s already halfway into answering.

"you ever listen to anything in those headphones?"

he glances at you, then down at his battered over-ear set, blinking like he’d forgotten they were even on. "sometimes."

you hum, stepping up to adjust your weights. "what kinda music?

he hesitates. "depends."

"on?"

"the day."

you narrow your eyes. "that’s not an answer."

"sure it is."

you mutter something under your breath about how “everyone in this gym is allergic to giving a straight answer,” but drop it— he notices that about you. you ask, but you never push. never press. you’re content with whatever he gives, and somehow that makes him want to give you more.

it’s little things at first. small details. he learns that you hate most protein juices but drink it anyway, that you run cold so you always wear a hoodie even when you’re sweating through it, that you hate country music and give him a long, horrified look when you learn that he doesn’t. ("not all of it," he defends, rolling his eyes. "some of it’s alright." you just shake your head at him like he’s beyond saving.)

you learn things too. that his tattoos are actually a full sleeve ("when’d you get these?" "over time." "wow, thanks, that clears so much up."), that he has an endless supply of grey hoodies and sweatpants that he refuses to explain.

"you ever heard of color?" you ask, plucking at his sleeve, and he swats your hand away. "practical," he grunts. "s’not a fuckin’ fashion show."

and then— of course— you fixate on the boots. the combat boots. “okay, but why?” you prod, nudging the toe of his boot with yours. “you know you can wear actual gym shoes, right?”

he gives you a flat look, expression unreadable under the shadow of his hood. “they’re my only pair.”

you freeze. your face twists, and there’s this flicker of genuine horror in your eyes that throws him completely off guard. “simon... are you... homeless?” your voice drops to a whisper, hesitant, like you’re afraid to even ask. his brain short-circuits. he smacks you lightly over the head, more shocked than anything.

"what the fuck- no, i'm not homeless, jesus."

you rub the spot with a pout, still eyeing him like you're not completely convinced. “well, i don’t know,” you mumble.

“you wear the same thing every day, never see you with a bag or a wallet or-”

“drop it.”

“-you don’t even buy pre-workout, simon, who does that-”

“drop it.”

some days, he comes into the gym in a mood. the kind where his head is full of static, his skin prickling with the restless need to exhaust himself into oblivion. those are the days he doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to be seen. and you— you notice. you don’t come up to him, don’t pester him or try to joke around like normal. instead, you just stand off to the side, watching him with this soft, wide-eyed expression like some kind of kicked puppy.

it’s unbearable.

like an itch under his skin that won’t go away. it eats at him, gnaws at the edges of his concentration, and before he can help it, he’s groaning and gesturing you over with a sharp flick of his fingers. “for fuck’s sake, just get over here already.”

you grin like you’ve won something, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you jog over, and he regrets it immediately.

you bring him coffee sometimes. at first, he doesn’t know how to react. he just stares at it when you shove the cup into his hands, blinking down at the little scribbled name on the side like it’s some kind of foreign object. he doesn’t even like sugary coffee, but he drinks it anyway.

the next day, guilt eats at him, so he shoves a protein shake into your hands, unwilling to meet your eyes. "s’only fair."

you squint at it, shake the bottle, listening to the liquid inside slosh around. “what’s in it?”

he scoffs. "fuckin’ cyanide."

you take an exaggerated sniff before grinning. “smells like peanut butter.”

his eye twitches. “just drink it.”

and then, somehow, that becomes a thing, too. a habit. every other day, one of you brings the other something— coffee, protein shakes, the occasional energy drink when you can tell he’s running on fumes.

one night, the gym is nearly empty. just the hum of air conditioning, the occasional clink of metal, the low buzz of some forgotten playlist over the speakers. the late hour has driven most people out, leaving only you and simon.

you’re exhausted, arms shaking, muscles burning with that deep, satisfying ache, but you’re pushing for one more rep. just one.

simon stands behind you, watching through the mirror. arms crossed, weight shifted slightly forward. tracking every movement, every shift in your stance, the way your hands tighten around the bar.

"you're on fumes," he mutters, but steps closer anyway, close enough that the heat of him presses against your back.

you roll your shoulders, shake out your wrists. “i got it.”

he exhales sharp through his nose, scoff and sigh rolled into one, but he doesn’t argue. just moves in, bracketing your sides, his presence steadying.

"alright," he murmurs, watching as you adjust your grip.

you brace yourself, pull, and the weight barely moves. your arms burn immediately, tendons screaming under the strain. your grip shifts, fingers trembling, slipping—

his hands are there. firm and certain, sliding just beneath yours, adjusting your hold without taking over. his chest nearly against your back, his breath warm against the top of your head.

"fix that grip, sweetheart."

you do, fingers locking down harder, shoulders bracing. he doesn’t let go, not fully, his palms ghosting over your forearms, steadying you just enough.

"lock it out," he says, quiet but insistent. his hands shift, one flattening against your stomach, the other hovering at your ribs, like he can feel where the tension is pulling wrong, where you need to engage. "push through. i’ve got you."

your breath stutters, something curling low in your stomach, and you force everything into that last pull, dragging the bar up, arms shaking, until you finally lock it out.

his fingers press in, just briefly, a quick squeeze at your ribs. "good."

you hold it for a second before guiding the weight back down, slow and controlled. the second it racks, your body gives, arms dead, shoulders screaming.

you stumble, just a little, and his hands are already there, catching at your waist. warm. solid. fingers pressing in just enough to steady you. they linger, just a second too long.

and then— "good girl."

barely above a murmur, just breath and heat against your skin, but it slams through you all the same.

your stomach tightens. your pulse jumps. you freeze.

you turn, still breathless, muscles trembling from exertion.

and he’s right there. solid. massive. crowding you. broad chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to the fabric stretched over muscle. too close, heat rolling off him, sinking into your skin, and making your stomach twist. up close, he’s all sharp lines and thick muscle, biceps flexing slightly as he rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head down to look at you.

"don’t-" your voice breaks. you swallow hard. "don’t do that."

simon’s brow lifts, lazy. "don’t do what, sweetheart?"

your fingers twitch at your sides. you gesture vaguely, heat curling up your spine. "that. the- the praise."

his mouth quirks, amusement flickering at the edges. "what, telling you you’re doing good?"

"yes."

he makes a sound low in his throat. "why? thought you liked it."

you try to start a defense, but he steps closer, and fuck, there’s nowhere to go.

"you did so good," he murmurs. his hand lifts, brushing over the curve of your waist. "pushed yourself real hard. took every single rep like a good girl."

your breath catches and oh, does he catch on to that.

"you like hearing that, don’t you?" his fingers curl, pressing into your hip. "knowing i’m right there, watching you, making sure you finish strong."

low, warm, approving—

"bet that’s why you pushed so hard," he continues, like he’s musing to himself. "just to hear me say it. just to make me proud."

simon’s eyes flicker to the vein in your neck. his other hand lifts, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, slow, almost tender.

"say it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "let me take care of you.”

“please.”

the rest of the gym is a blur. you don’t even register leaving, don’t remember how you end up outside, only that simon’s hand is wrapped tight around your wrist, dragging you through the parking lot with a single-minded purpose. the concrete expanse is empty except for simon’s truck parked just underneath a street lamp.

simon hauls you into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him. the truck rocks with the force of it, windows already fogging, the stale scent of leather and the last remnants of his cologne in the air. the streetlights outside cast a dim glow that cuts through the darkness in thin streaks, glinting off the sweat at his temples.

his hands are on you before you can think. rough, impatient. he grabs your hips, yanks you into his lap, drags you down until you crash against him. the heat of him burns through every layer between you.

his hips roll up.

you jolt, hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tight as the thick shape of him grinds against your clit. even through the fabric, you feel everything— the ridges, the weight, the solid pressure slotting perfectly against you.

he does it again.

your breath catches, legs tensing where they straddle his thighs. you try to move, to adjust, but his hands flex, fingers digging in, keeping you pinned where he wants you.

"shh," simon hushes, arm against your skin, grip tightening as he forces you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you. "let me feel you."

his hips drag against you and you react before your brain can catch up, instinct driving you forward, grinding down, chasing the pressure.

his breath stutters, shoulders tensing as he watches you move. the friction grows slicker, hotter, the damp fabric sticking between you.

you glance down— and then you see it. his sweats, darkened, soaked where you grind against him, your arousal leaking through, making a mess of him.

"fuck-"

he exhales sharply, hands shifting, one palm smoothing down your thigh before gripping, pulling you into him.

"that’s it." he’s almost slurring his words now, his hips rolling up to meet yours. "so fuckin’ wet..."

your nails bite into his arms, your body working without thought, hips rolling, pressing down harder. the truck shifts with every movement, the worn leather seat creaking beneath you.

"fuck, baby." his lips brush your jaw. "so messy. feel that?"

you nod frantically and his cock jumps at your eagerness.

his patience snaps.

one moment you’re grinding down against him, chasing the delicious friction, and the next you're scrambling for purchase as he lifts you.

simon shoves his sweats down, and his cock springs free, slapping up against his stomach. it's thick. throbbing. the flushed tip leaking pre, smearing along the ridges of his abs, catching in the dim of the streetlights.

he’s big. not just in length— though fuck, he’s long enough to make your stomach clench— but thick, too. veins run along the shaft, disappearing beneath the flushed, ruddy skin. the head is a deep, aching red, fat and swollen, leaking so much it dribbles down, streaking along his cock, mixing with the slick mess you’ve already made on him.

the weight of him makes his cock hang low even as it twitches, pulsing with the rush of blood. it looks almost angry, the veins along the base throbbing, his whole cock flexing with each slow pump of his fist as he strokes himself, spreading the mess of precum along his length.

simon watches your expression shift, pleased. "knew you’d like that.”

he's teasing but you barely hear it. your eyes stay locked on him, pulse hammering as you take in the sheer size, the stretch you’re about to take—

he shifts his grip, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other around his cock. your hips twitch, instinct making you reach for him, trying to press forward, but he holds you back, squeezes to get your attention.

"look at that..” simon presses the head of his cock against your stomach, dragging it up, smearing wet along your skin. "gonna take all this, yeah? let me stretch that little cunt open?"

"yes- yes, please-"

"fuck." his breath shudders, his hold on you tightening. "greedy thing."

he yanks you forward, spreads your legs wider, fits himself between your thighs, grinds his cock through your slit.

the first press makes you jolt, your whole body twitching, a choked sound slipping from your throat. he groans, gripping your waist, shoving you down, rubbing your swollen clit against the head, dragging himself through your slick over and over again.

"desperate," he muses, almost cruel. "thought you could take me just like that?"

you try to answer, try to say something, but your brain doesn't work, body too busy chasing relief, hips jerking, cunt aching, a mess of whimpers spilling from your lips.

his cock is heavy against your stomach, his tip leaving a damp streak along your skin as he drags it upward. the grip he has on your waist is firm, fingers pressing deep into your flesh, keeping you still, making sure you see exactly how much of him is about to disappear inside you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, lilted by something dark and pleased. “gonna fit all this inside, yeah? stretch that little cunt open real nice for me?”

your breath shudders in your throat. the weight of him, the sheer size, sends a pulse of heat through you, thighs trembling where he holds them apart. he presses his cock higher, smearing himself over your navel, dragging slow just to watch the way your stomach flexes beneath him.

simon's fingers tighten at your hips, anchoring you in place. his eyes flick up, locking onto yours. “still want it?”

you can’t nod fast enough, hands fisting in the hard muscle of his shoulders, your pulse drumming against your ribs. “yes-”

he huffs a quiet laugh before shaking his head. then he moves, his hands shifting to your waistband. simon doesn’t take his time, doesn’t tease— just yanks your shorts down in one rough motion, shoving them past your thighs, tossing them aside like they’re nothing.

your panties are soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to your skin, darker where arousal has seeped into it. his gaze drops, and he groans, fingers flexing against your thighs.

his eyes practically shine as he reaches down, hooking two fingers into the waistband, pulling the fabric to the side instead of taking it off completely. “how long have you been sittin’ here all wet for me, huh?”

then, without warning, he lifts his cock and slaps it against your cunt. the obscene sound echoes between you.

you jolt, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. the weight of him presses down, drags over your swollen folds, smearing your slick along the length of him, leaving him just as messy as you.

simon's breath hitches, jaw going tight for a moment before he grins. “feel that?” he rocks his hips, slow and deliberate, the ridge of his head catching against your clit with every motion. “soaked for me. filthy girl.”

he keeps at it, rutting through your folds, dragging his cock against you in long, teasing glides. every lazy roll of his hips spreads more wetness between you, slick growing messier, needier, your arousal coating every inch of him.

his voice drops lower, almost awed. “you always this wet?”

you shake your head. you're not even sure why you're this wet. it’s obscene, every slow slide of him making a sticky, wet sound, the kind that makes your face burn with embarrassment.

his grip on your thighs tightens. he presses against you harder, lets his cock drag through the mess, smearing it everywhere, making it worse.

“just for me then?” he asks, watching the way his cock glistens, slick with everything you’ve given him. “i kind of like that.”

he lines himself up, pressing the thick, leaking tip against your aching entrance. he lets it catch there for a second, teasing, before dragging it up one last time, rubbing against your clit, watching you twitch beneath him.

then he settles back down, pressing again, the heavy weight of him poised to sink inside.

his eyes flick back to yours. “gonna let me in now, yeah?”

the first push is a mistake. he realizes it the second you tense up, sucking in a sharp breath, thighs trembling where they’re spread over his lap. his cock barely breaches you— just the tip, barely an inch— and your body locks up, refusing to take more.

simon grits his teeth, hands firm on your waist, trying to ease you down, but you’re too tight, squeezing around him like you’re trying to push him out. the head of his cock throbs where it’s barely inside you, thick and unyielding, stretching you too much, too fast.

he exhales through his nose, slow and measured, and tries again. rocks his hips, nudging deeper, letting you feel the weight of him pressing in. but you whimper, body trembling, nails biting into his skin. your walls clench down hard, resisting, and—

he stops. groans, and drops his head back against the seat.

"jesus christ." his palm drags over his face. "knew you were tight, but- fuck. you’re not gonna take me like this."

your face burns. your throat aches. frustration coils hot in your chest. "i’m sorry-"

"oh, sweetheart." simon's hands slide up your back, rough palms smoothing over your skin before he leans back, head tilting, eyes flicking over you. half amused, half exasperated. "you apologizing for having a cunt this tight?"

you sniffle, shifting in his lap, arousal sticky between your thighs. "but i wanted to-"

"you will." his voice is steady, calm, but his grip on your hips tightens. "just gotta take my time, yeah? don’t want you cryin’ when i finally get this cock in you."

you sniff again, blinking up at him, vision blurred, lips parted. "too late."

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "fuckin’ hell."

then his hands are moving again, trailing lower, fingers slipping between your slick folds, pressing in slow.

you jolt at the touch, a sharp, wrecked little sound catching in your throat. simon groans, watching the way you twitch in his lap.

"fuck, baby. so sensitive. all worked up and nowhere to put it, huh?"

you nod, heat crawling up your neck, hips jerking as he rubs slow, lazy circles over your clit. his fingers are thick, rough, dragging through the mess between your thighs, teasing, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.

"s’not fair," you mumble.

"life’s not fair, sweetheart." his fingers press in again, pushing deeper. one first, stretching you open, curling inside. then another. then a third. his other hand stays on your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you open so he can watch the way you take him.

"gotta get you nice and open." his voice low and warm. "don’t want you breakin’ on me just yet."

you whimper, rocking into his hand, clenching down around his fingers. your clit throbs under his thumb, swollen and aching, every slow grind of his palm sending another shudder through you.

"shh. just let me do this for you, yeah?"

you do. trembling, gasping, grinding down, taking everything he gives until you’re loose, slick, ready.

when he pulls his fingers out, you whine, walls fluttering around nothing.

then his cock is back, pressing against your entrance, thick and hot, teasing for only a moment before he pushes in—

you take him.

the stretch is unbearable. every inch forces you open, slow and deliberate, the thick drag of him pressing deeper than anything ever has. your breath stutters, body shaking, thighs trembling where they rest over his.

"fuck, sweetheart," he groans, voice tight, hands gripping your hips, keeping you still, keeping you from pulling away. "you feel that? squeezing me so fuckin’ tight."

you do. every ridge, every vein, the slow, impossible push of him splitting you open, inch by inch, pressing deep— then he stops.

breath stuttering, you blink at him, dazed, confused, still so empty. "w-why-"

"baby," his voice is almost pained. "m’pressing right up against your cervix. can’t go any deeper."

but it’s not enough. you whimper, hips twitching, shifting to take more, to sink lower. "but i still feel empty, si.."

his jaw clenches, fingers digging into your thighs, trying to keep you still, stopping you from punching a fucking hole through your guts. "jesus, sweetheart. you don’t know what you’re askin."

"please," you breathe, eyes glassy, desperate. "si, please, want all of you-"

he groans, head dropping back against the seat, restraint hanging by a thread. "fuck."

then his grip tightens, and before you can say another word, he forces you down the rest of the way.

"oh-oh my god-" your whole body shakes, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as the thick head of his cock breaches your cervix, slipping into your womb, stuffing you full.

simon grunts, the squeeze of you making his vision blur for a second. "jesus fuckin’ christ."

the moment he bottoms out, your walls clamp down, fluttering, pulsing around him— the pleasure snaps without warning, white-hot, rolling through you all at once.

"fuck- fuck, baby." he curses, the squeeze of your cunt almost painful. his half-lidded eyes are trained on where the two of you connect, the way you gush around him, soaking his cock. "just from takin’ me all the way? filthy fuckin’ thing-"

he huffs a rough laugh, fingers flexing against your hips, appreciating the extra slick easing the way. "makes it easier, at least," he mutters, then starts to move.

it’s slow at first— just enough to let you feel it, to make you ache through the thick drag of him pulling back, just enough to let you whimper at the sheer pressure of his cock pressing against every swollen, overstimulated inch of your cunt.

but you’re already gone.

your lashes flutter, your lips part around soft, wrecked little sounds, your hips twitching even though he’s holding you down, even though you’re already stuffed so fucking full.

"look at you," he murmurs, dragging a palm up your belly, pressing down right where he’s so deep, groaning when he feels the outline of himself inside you. "fuckin’ cock-drunk already, sweetheart?"

you sob, thighs squeezing around his waist, hands grasping at him, trying to find something to hold onto as your hips jerk, rolling forward mindlessly, instinct driving you to take more, take everything.

he groans, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can see all of it.

"can’t even talk, can you? too fuckin’ dumb to think straight."

"s-simon-"

"what, love? too far gone already?"

his smirk is wicked, his grip tight as he presses his hips up, spearing you open all over again.

you scream, body jerking, back arching, thighs trembling around him. "ohh- oh fuck-"

"there we go." his voice is full of praise, full of something dark and indulgent. "there’s my good girl."

he sets a slow rhythm, dragging his cock out until only the thick head is inside you before slamming all the way back in, spearing you open, making sure you feel it, making sure you take every inch.

"bloody hell," he mutterd, feeling the way your walls squeeze him, the way you shudder, the way you drip around him, slick gushing, soaking his cock, ruining his seats.

"listen to that, sweetheart," he groans, shifting his grip, spreading his knees just a little wider to pin you in place. "fuckin’ mess you’re makin."

he glances down, eyes nearly rolling at the sight— your cunt stretched wide around him, slick dripping down to his balls, pooling beneath you.

"christ, love." he has to gasp for breath. "fuckin’ leaking all over me- ruinin’ my fuckin’ truck-"

"s-simon-" you lose your train of thought, babbling incomprehensible strings of words.

"can't think?" simon's grin sharpens. "good. don’t need you thinkin."

then he fucks you properly.

[sugarbbgrl]

everyone says simon has ‘doberman’ energy; i wholeheartedly disagree.

that man is a black cat.

he couldn’t be bothered with most things, keeps to himself and prefers it that way. someone does something stupid or says something out of pocket, the man is just staring. not glaring. staring. since the mask obscures his face, it leaves just his eyes, it gives major void kitty energy. when he’s annoyed, sure enough, his pupils dilate and his fingers twitch, almost like a cat’s tail.

though when it comes to you, he’s not going to leave you alone. you’re one of the only people he actually cares for. you tell him to jump, he asks how high. he always had to be touching you: holding hands, arm around your shoulders, his head laying on your chest as he listens to your heartbeat.

when you touch him, he melts, almost purrs at the feeling of his lover near him. you love playing with his blonde curls, and he loves it even more. he’s a little baby when it comes to you, curling up to your side when he get home. he’s able to relax around you, take the tension form a hard day and just be with his favorite person.

when anyone else tries to touch him or interact with him outside of work, he huffs in annoyance and goes right back to your side. he finds solace in you, the calm in his world of terror and pain. he’s soft with you because he doesn’t have to hide from anyone else.

and in true black cat nature, 4 am and he’s already up and ready to conquer the world. he’s loud too, he doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s awake when no one else is. any other time of day, especially when work is boring, he’s nodding off or spacing out. early mornings are his favorite because he doesn’t have to bother with people. and he can just act like a damn crackhead without judging eyes.

[sugarbbgrl]

i saw this a few days ago and i've been plagued by ghoap x reader ever since

The warm water lapped gently at your skin as you leaned back against the edge of the tub, sighing in bliss. The steam curled around you, carrying the faint scent of lavender from the bath salts you’d poured in earlier. After a long day, this was exactly what you needed. Simon and Johnny were stuck with paperwork back on base, so you had the rare chance to soak in peace, letting the heat work its way into your tired muscles.

You’d just started to drift when the sound of the front door opening snapped you out of your daze. Footsteps, heavy and familiar, made their way down the hall before stopping right outside the bathroom.

The door cracked open just enough for you to catch a glimpse of a skull-painted balaclava.

Simon.

He didn’t say a word, just tilted his head slightly as if asking permission. You sighed, amused, and scooted forward in the tub. “Hello to you too,” you murmured.

That was all he needed. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, and within moments, he was stripping off his clothes with practiced efficiency. Then, he slid in behind you, his solid form pressing against your back as he sank into the heat with a satisfied exhale. His arms came around you, hands settling on your shoulders as he kneaded at the tension there.

“Long day?” he asked, voice low and rough against your ear.

“You’ve no idea,” you murmured, melting under his touch.

“Aye, we do,” came a much louder voice from down the hall. “Some of us actually did the bloody paperwork.”

Before you could react, the bathroom door swung open with zero hesitation, and Johnny strode in, already tugging his shirt off. His grin was wide and mischievous as he took in the sight of you and Simon tucked into the tub together.

“ye two weren’t plannin’ on startin’ without me, were ye?”

Simon sighed, his fingers still working against your muscles. “Dunno if there’s room for you, love.”

“Like hell there isn’t.”

And then, he jumped—no—launched himself into the tub

Water sloshed over the sides of the tub as Johnny all but catapulted himself, jostling both you and Simon. You squeaked in protest, but the sound was drowned out by Johnny’s triumphant laugh as he wedged himself in between your legs, forming a delectable man-sandwich with you as the middle.

“Fuckin' hell, babe,” Simon grumbled, shaking his head as he wiped a splash of water from his face.

Johnny just beamed, utterly unrepentant. “What? Ye know I hate missin’ out.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you leaned back into Simon’s chest, letting Johnny rest his head against your chest. The water, still warm despite Johnny’s dramatic entrance, wrapped around the three of you as Simon’s hands resumed their massage.

A peaceful silence settled between you, broken only by the occasional sighs of relaxation. Johnny, ever the fidgety one, eventually started tracing nonsense patterns against your legs under the water, and Simon’s pressed soft kiss against your temple, thumbs pressed firm, soothing circles into your shoulders.

“Love my boys,” you murmured, eyes slipping shut.

Johnny grinned, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your skin. “Aye, you’re stuck with us,”

Simon huffed, the sound almost amused as he pulled you even closer. “Poor thing, never stood a chance, hmm?”

[sugarbbgrl]

you spot Simon across the bar one day, nursing a drink of what you're sure is whiskey after the rest of his friends (?) you're not really sure on that aspect, have left him as the clock slowly passed each hour. the last to leave was one with a mohawk, who whispered something to him and patted his back, all smug.

It's been about 30 minutes since he left, and Simon's been watching you since then, his back straightened up and you're sure he's flexing every now and again when you look over. eventually he makes his way over to you, sitting beside you and ordering another drink, he's definitely posing. you can't help but try to stifle a giggle as he starts to say hello. he looks shocked,

"are you a bird or something?" you say with a hint of amusement, he looks bewildered,

"you've been posing and showing off for the past half hour like some peacock or something"

he's flabbergasted to have been called out like that for the first time in his life

[sugarbbgrl]

women.

clap for women

[sugarbbgrl]

bit of a long one and it’s angsty and sad so just forewarning.

wc: 2552

Three months has never felt so long for Simon, it was an excruciating amount of time away from the one person he wanted to hold onto for as long as he could. But when he got home to his shared apartment bare, the bones completely stripped clean from any remnants of another life in the space, he cracked. He smashed the walls, broke glass cups and plates, he screamed at the top of his lungs. He had been so mixed up in his rage he’d failed to notice the note at first. With shaky hands and tear stained cheeks, he picked up the frail piece of paper.

Simon,

I never wanted things to end this way. I never wanted to leave you like this, but things are changing between us. You left without notice and expected me to be completely fine. You expected me to sit and wait for you this time, not even knowing if you’d ever walk through the door again.

You broke my heart; you never called, never texted, never even sent a damn letter to me indicating you were fine. No one did, not even your counterparts. I couldn’t wait any longer, the least I wanted was anything to tell me you were coming back. I know your job is unpredictable and you could leave at any moment, but at the very least I expected you to give the person you love some sort of goodbye.

Don’t contact me, Simon. Don’t call, text, or even email me or my family. It’s not an easy decision for me, but I can’t do this to myself or you anymore. It hurts to write this, I can’t even blink without tears falling, I’m fucking heartbroken and disappointed in you. I love you Simon, that will never change, but sometimes you have to let the things you love go.

I’m letting you go, Simon. I am setting you free from this burden and the next. I’ll always love you, nothing will ever change the way I feel about you. Take care of yourself.

Y/N

Simon couldn’t breathe, his heart was going a million miles a minute. His head pounded, an ache nothing could satiate. He traced the tears stained along the note, many letters and words smudged with your long dried tears. The air remained thick as Simon looked around his now wrecked apartment. He kept looking at the front door just waiting for you to burst through and laugh about what a sick joke you’ve played. But you never did. His phone never lit up with your face, the house uncomfortably silent without your laughter.

Simon knew you didn’t want to hear from him, he wouldn’t go against your wishes. But when he picked up his phone he couldn’t help but hover over your contact. He cracked a pained smile before tears streamed once more.

Lovie <3

Three months into the relationship, you’d made a fuss about him just having your name as your contact. You snatched his phone from him and changed your name along with a picture you had sent him. It quickly became one of Simon’s favorites.

Now it broke him. He’d never get to see those eyes and that bright smile ever again, he’d never get to breathe you in when you woke up early to cook him breakfast. He never realized how much he took for granted until now. He wanted you, only you. He understood but, damn, was he hurting bad this time.

Suddenly, his phone lit up. His breath hitched, anticipating seeing your name glow bright. But it wasn’t you, it was Price. Simon was in no condition to answer, he couldn’t bring himself to croak out a word. But he didn’t know what else to do or who else to talk to since the one person he wants isn’t here anymore.

“Hello?” Simon cringed at just how awful he sounded. His throat was raw from the screaming and his nose stuffy from the hours of crying. Time was just passing, he hadn’t realized how long he’d been losing it.

“Simon? What’s wrong?” John could tell immediately that his right hand man wasn’t okay. His usual neutral tone was broken.

“She..” Simon trailed off, his voice cracking. He couldn’t get himself to say it, it felt all too wrong coming out of his mouth. “S-she’s gone, John.”

Two years later

The heavy music thumped through the large club, flashing lights and light smoke flooded the atmosphere. Sweaty bodies pushed against Simon as he made his way through the packed room to get to the bar.

“Here, take this and lose the stick in your ass.” Soap forced a shot into Simon’s hand. “We’re here to have fun, stop brooding.”

Simon grumbled a ‘piss off’, pulled his disposable mask up just enough to tip the glass back, letting the bitter liquid burn his throat. “Another.” Simon set the shot glass down, beckoning for another shot with his fingers.

“There’s the Simon we know and love!” John cheered, handing Simon another shot. After another two shots, Simon could feel his body physically loosen and his mind haze slightly. You plagued his thoughts constantly, even after two years since you left. He was rarely sighted outside of his home, only seen with a scowl and a hard glare. Johnny had to literally threaten the poor guy with setting his masks on fire to get him out.

“We really are glad you came, Simon.” Kyle placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “We’ve missed you, mate.”

“Don’t get used to it, this is just to get you lot off my back.” Simon shrugged Kyle’s hand off his shoulder and looked away to the dance floor. There were many people out tonight. Grinding against one another, letting their inhibitions down and touches linger. It’s not that Simon didn’t want to have fun, he just didn’t know how to anymore. He was almost ashamed to be somewhat of a hermit now, but he just didn’t want to have fun without you. He knows he should just let it go, let himself be happy, but he just couldn’t let himself. The world was duller and his attitude was worse than it’s ever been. One wrong move from a patron and he was smashing a face in tonight.

That’s when, in the midst of the crowd, something caught his eye: you. Simon’s heart stuttered and his body went rigid. You were dancing with another girl, presumably your friend, and a giant smile plastered on your lips. You were glowing, hips swaying to the house music and hair wild. It was almost as if the world stopped as Simon zoned in completely on you. Two years. He hadn’t seen or heard from you in two years and here you were in the flesh.

“Earth to Simon.” Soap waved a hand in Simon’s face, trying his best to capture his attention. “What’s your problem, what are you-” Soap followed his gaze until they landed on you, realizing what was going on.

“Well, ain’t that some shit.” Soap breathed out, nudging John and Kyle before pointing to where you were. Simon’s eyes never moved from you, feeling as if one glance away and you vanish into thin air. You threw your head back, laughter rippling through you at something your friend said. His heart was beating out of his chest and his whole body shook with a mix of emotions. Everything shattered when you made eye contact with him. You jumped, doing a double take to make sure your mind wasn’t playing a trick on you.

It was definitely Simon Riley, even by just the sight of his hardened eyes. Your eyes turned the size of saucers and your dancing slowed. You’d assumed the man would’ve moved away or piled himself in his work as he always had, you never expected to be in the same vicinity of the man your heart still yearned for. You looked to your friend, a small broken smile on your lips as you excused yourself to freshen up. Your feet couldn’t move fast enough to the door leading outside, you felt like you were suffocating. Tears blurred your vision as you finally made it out, your skin pebbling with the cool air.

“Y/N?” Your body froze and shook at the same time, hearing your name fall from the lips of the man you once loved with your entire being. You slowly turned to face Simon as a few tears slipped from your eyes. He wasn’t wearing his usual skull mask tonight, something that would’ve prevented him from getting into the club. His blonde hair was a bit longer from the last time you’d seen him, curls starting to form around his harsh face. But his expression was anything but harsh at this moment, he looked broken.

Because he was.

He was standing across from the woman who shredded his heart and set the remains on fire. He could feel tears brimming his eyes as he got a good look at you. You’d always been the most beautiful person he’d ever met, there was nothing in the world that could make it feel otherwise. Even as tears smeared your makeup and sweat dotted your forehead.

“Simon.” Your voice broke, his name sounding foreign yet familiar tumbling out of your lips. You wrapped your arms around your body to prevent him from seeing your notable trembling. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I- uh,” He cleared his throat from the tremble. “Soap. He forced me out with them.”

“Ah, o-okay.” You wiped a few tears from your face, sniffling. You didn’t know what to say, it felt like the wind was knocked from your lungs as you leaned against the brick wall.

“How’ve you been?” Simon asked, his deep accent invading your thoughts.

“Um, good.” You nodded, looking down at your feet. “Yeah, good.”

You heard him shuffle closer to you, his body heat radiating off him and to your bare arms. You looked up to meet his dark irises, untamed emotion swimming in them. You’d always love his brown eyes, it made him more human no matter how sharp he intended them to be. They were always soft around you, he didn’t want you to see the horror in his face when he looked at you.

“Y/N,” His fingers brushed your arm, goosebumps pebbling your skin at the brief contact. “I-It’s been hell.”

“Simon, I-I can’t do this right now.” You back away slowly, no matter how much you didn’t want to. You couldn’t do this to yourself again, you went through so much with him. “I left for a reason, I can’t do this with you again.”

“Y/N, please.” Simon moved closer to you once more. “Give me another chance, I need to make it up to you.”

You shook your head and scoffed slightly, looking across the busy street as a few more tears roll down your face. “I don’t think you realize how much you put me through, Simon. How many nights I lied awake, hoping, no praying, that you were still alive. That I wouldn’t be one of the unlucky few to have John show up at my door with your stuff.”

Simon didn’t say anything, he didn’t make a move to touch you, he barely even let himself breathe at this moment. He wanted nothing more than to wrap you in his arms and show you how different things could be, but he knew it wasn’t the right time for that. So instead, he listened, it was the least he could do.

“No calls, no texts, hell not even a damn letter in the mail indicating you were okay. I couldn’t leave the bed most days, physically ill at the thought of losing you. I know those aren’t things you can always control, but damn it, I thought I was an exception.” You voice cracked as you met his gaze once more, his eyes filled with nothing short of sorrow and regret. It hurt you to see him like this, but you want him to understand that exactly how you felt.

“I love you Si, I always have and I always will. But this isn’t just something I can jump back into and hope for the best. I did my hoping, I did my healing, I need you to do the same.” You pointed a finger at him. “You can’t bottle everything up and expect it to just stay there. You can’t hurt someone and just expect them to forgive you for all the shit you put them through. I stayed awake with you on the worst nights, nights you couldn’t even speak without flashing out or from dreams that paralyzed your whole body. I did everything for you so when you left without a world, it was a harsh smack in the face.”

The door to the club opened, out coming Simon’s three closest friends. It was nice seeing them again after so long, bittersweet memories swimming around in your mind. John looked at you softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he offered you a soft smile.

“Nice to see you again, Y/N.” Kyle nodded to you, standing beside John. “Although the circumstances could’ve definitely been better.”

You chuckled lightly, your voice breaking a bit. Simon’s eyes never left you, his eyes watery and his eyebrows pulled together in pain. Your laugh had been his favorite song, cracking the dumbest jokes just to hear it even on the worst days. He wanted to be the reason for your laughter, not your tears.

“Well, I’d better get going.” You straightened up, moving to walk back into the club to retrieve your friend. “It was nice seeing you boys.” You smiled, your eyes lingering on Simon’s just a bit longer than necessary.

He watched you walk away, didn’t make a move to stop you because he knew you wouldn’t want that. You’re a head strong woman: when you set your mind to something, no one can stop you. His throat burned as he finally let out the sob stuck in his chest. He buried his face in his palms, letting go of all the emotions he had held back as you talked. Soap was the first to bring Simon in for a hug, holding his as tight as he could as his best mate cried on his shoulder.

“S’alright, Si.” He patted Simon’s back. “Let’s get you home, ‘m sure you’ve had enough for the night.”

They walked back to Simon’s place, a deafening silence cast over the four. No one dared say anything just in case Simon was ready to crack. They bid their farewells as they made it to his porch, not before making sure Simon was going to be okay being alone tonight.

Simon didn’t get much sleep that night, his brain wouldn't let him forget anything that had just happened. It was lovely seeing you again, even if it hurt and tore a wound right back open again. It made Simon realize that he really did need to work through a lot, it wasn’t doing him much good anymore just ignoring everything. If he wanted to see you again and prove to you that things would be different, he needed that change.

[sugarbbgrl]

Price: Why is Simon crying on the floor? Y/N: He's drunk Price: And? Y/N: And he found out I'm married Price: But he's married to you Y/N: I know

[sugarbbgrl]

Just saw your latest post, I hope things get better soon <3 ... and if you want to write: Literally anything with Price. But I was thinking about like a scenario where something goes wrong and he's angry, fuming, in a way rarely seen and it's terrifying. But also, how to comfort big scary man? Take it how and where you will <3

thank you, my love. it really does mean a lot and, thankfully, things have been getting a lot easier recently. i know it's been a while but i'm here to finally deliver!

It takes a lot for John to get angry, like really angry. Being a Captain, you have to be able to keep a level head and take a flurry of punches from anyone. He’s usually the one to break up fights or calm down others in order to get the job done. Rarely does he ever let anything get to him, usually walking away from the situation before anything gets too out of hand.

But when something pulls that string hard enough, no one better be in his way.

You’d been able to help him in the past when things got to be too much, taking a load off and letting him cool off team while you or Ghost took over for him. Recruits can be quite the hassle, constantly making mistakes or just being blatantly disrespectful. 

“So, Lieutenant Y/L/N?.” John’s ears perked up at the group of young boys chatting at a table across from him. “I’d smash.”

Ghost and Gaz snapped their heads up to gauge John’s reaction from the comment. It was known to the rest of the unit that you and John are a thing; nothing official but everyone knew you were off limits. John could feel his heart rate starting to pick up, his breathing becoming faster. He cut his eyes to the boys, glaring holes into the backs of their heads.

“Gag the bitch first, can’t stand the way her voice sounds.” One of them remarked, the rest of the table erupting in chuckles. John’s grip on his fork tightened, the cool metal beginning to bend in an abnormal fashion.

“Cap, breathe,” Gaz tried his best to comfort the fuming man before him. “They’re just being dense, don’t let them get to you.” 

As if on cue, you made your way into the mess hall with a bright smile on your face and your hair kept up in a tight, neat bun. Your eyes trailed over everyone sitting and chatting amongst themselves. 

You eyes catch Ghost’s first, his usual stoic stare slightly off. Your smile faltered slightly and your eyebrows pulled together with silent questions. Ghost cut his eyes toward John, nodding his head briefly to the man. Your expression did almost a complete 180 once you looked to your red-faced beau. Ghost shook his head and leaned forward a bit more, sitting more tense as time went on.

You’d seen John mad, but you’d never seen the big man literally dripping in malice. His eyes were ice, cutting holes into whatever he was glaring at. His fists were white and his chest rode at a rapid pace. Whatever had gotten him so worked up had a storm com-

SMACK

Your thoughts cut short when a sudden and harsh slap was delivered to your ass. Your head whipped around to see one of the new recruits with a smug look on his face, blowing a mocking kiss to you. Before you could even get a word out, the kid was snatched up by his hair.

“Wanna do that again, Private?” John’s voice boomed through the entire room as he held the kid against a wall. Ghost and Gaz stood on each side of Captain, ready to make a move if necessary. “I wanna see you do it again, give me a reason to wipe that dirty fucking look off your face.”

“John, stop.” You placed a hand on his bicep, gripping it as hard as you could. “I can take care of it.”

“I’m not letting this parasite near you, Y/N” John spat. The recruit was shaking, gulping down breaths as he struggled against his superior’s grip.

“P-please. I-I’m sorry, Captain.” He pleaded with John, wincing as John pulled his hair harder.

“You didn’t seem sorry when you decided to lay a hand on Lieutenant Y/L/N, hm?” He was ready to snap the recruit in two and dispose of his body later.

“Price, let him go, I’ll deal with him. Don’t get in trouble over this.” Ghost stepped up, trying to convince John to let him go. John was shaking under your touch, anger radiating off the burly man. John let the recruit go, shoving him down to the ground and leaned over him.

“You touch her or anyone else in this task force again, that hand will be shoved so far up your ass you’ll be picking fingernails from your teeth for weeks.” John threatened, smacking the wall next to the trembling kid’s head causing him to flinch. The cafeteria was completely silent for fear that the Captain would set his sights on one of them next.

“C’mon, John.” You pulled on his arm, lacing your fingers in his. You’d managed to finally get the beast to walk away from the situation, but not without a lot of effort. You both made your way to his office, shutting and locking the door once inside.

“I’m going to kill that fucking weasel.” John grumbled, pacing around the room. “I’ve been waiting for this day to come.”

“I’m okay, John.” You stepped closer to him and grabbed his face with your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “See, I’m alright.”

John could feel his body starting to relax the longer you touched him. He stared into your eyes, doing his best to match your breathing. 

You softly smiled as you ran your thumbs against his cheekbones. “Everyone is going to be terrified of you now, you know that right?”

“Good, they should be quaking in their boots just by my voice alone.” You chuckled and shook your head, pressing a small kiss to his lips. He placed his hands on your waist as he attempted to deepen the kiss, looking for another way to settle the tension in his body.

“Uh uh, not right now, Captain. I have to get back to making my rounds.” You broke the kiss and patted his chest. He let out a frustrated groan but let you go, watching you back away to the door. You blew a kiss to him before leaving him alone. He was still angry but knowing that you were more than capable of taking care of yourself had him ease up a bit.

That and knowing Ghost was punishing the lowly rat.

[sugarbbgrl]

OMGGG UR BACKKK 😭😭😭

AWEEE 😭🫶🏻

[sugarbbgrl]

biker!141 are big, mean looking men. they’ve done things the average human could never even begin to imagine. they answer to no one but themselves.

but when it came to you, these fearsome men caved almost instantly.

“what’s a pretty girl like you working at a place like this?” the man with dark hair and muttonchops, the name ‘price’ patched into his cut. “you don’t seem like the type to want to interact with sweaty men all night.”

“oh is that right?” you snort, wiping down a few of the freshly cleaned glasses. “and what type of girl do i seem like?”

“you belong in a museum,” the man with a a faux hawk and scottish accent begins, presumably ‘soap’ from his dingy patch. “you’re quite the sight for sore eyes, lass.”

you shake your head with a bright smile, the attention being solely on you at this point isn’t necessarily a bad thing; you’ve got nothing better to do.

“right you are, soap, i could look at you all day." the boyish one, 'gaz', rests his chin in his palm.

"although the flattery is much appreciated, i still have a job to do." you lean over the counter. "what'll it be, boys?"

"you, of course." price winks at you, resting his forearms against the bar. "but i guess i'll have to settle for the next best thing: a pint of your finest."

while pouring their drinks, the one who hides behind a skull balaclava, 'ghost', speaks up. "you never answered the question, love. what's with being a bar maid?"

"well, if you must know," you slide the full glasses toward the men. "i run the place. it pays the bills and i meet interesting characters to fill my time."

"love me a working woman. when we getting married?" soap asks after skulling his drink. you smile and shake your head, taking the empty glass from him.

"need a ring first, hon."

the weeks following the first interaction, they'd made it apparent they were making this their new hangout. they'd bring you all sorts of gifts: namely homemade meals from gaz, a new cut from price with the word 'birdie' patched on, a golden necklace with a small motorcycle pendant from soap, and an assortment of flowers from ghost.

"i know it's not a ring, but you seem more like a necklace girl if i do say so myself." soap pointed to his gift hanging from your neck as you put ghost's flowers in a vase.

"very observant, soap. gold star for you." you pour them their usuals, sliding their glasses to them.

"didn't know what flowers were your favorite so just got the ones that reminded me of your beauty." ghost grunts, a small smile seen under the mask.

"yeah, and i didn't know what you like to eat, made some simple spaghetti because who doesn't like spaghetti?" gaz eyed the tupperware container you set in the mini fridge behind you.

"you four are too much, y'know that?" you snickered and shook your head, shrugging on the leather cut.

"ay, but who wouldn't want the spoils, birdie?" price winked at you, admiring his gift fitted on you.

the most important thing was you felt safe around them. they'd take time out of their visit to escort a rowdy patron, taking their place as your own personal bodyguards. they made sure no one messed with their old lady, most would be too scared to try just by the sight of the four big men surrounding you.

idk how much i like this but i haven't written in a while and had this drafted for a bit. enjoy babes!

[sugarbbgrl]

Y/N: Fuck me if I'm wrong but- Ghost: Wrong. You are wrong Y/N: I haven't even said- Ghost, taking his shirt off: You are WRONG

[sugarbbgrl]

been the roughest week and year of my life. break up with my bsf of 10 years, relationship break up of 2 years, moved abt 40 mins away from my job AND i need a new car bc my engine is leaking everywhere. had a writer's block but now i'm wanting to get inspired. suggestions would be lovely, literally anything you want <3

[sugarbbgrl]

it’s all so random but i love it sm

how does pinterest see you? search up:

~fashion

~pantone

~mood

~food

and put the first picture that shows up

mine:

tag ur moots!!!!

@batschistcrazy @julia-bonkers @girlbossblog444 @greengirllover @turnerside @ohmanareyoucereal69 +anyone who wants to join<333

[sugarbbgrl]

the voices

SIMON AND JOHN HAVE THIS TYPE OF BODY CHANGE MY MIND AHHHHHGHHHHHH

Shirtless man beneath cut lmao

[sugarbbgrl]

Y/N, staring at Price: Feeling normal about that old man *2 minutes later* Y/N: no longer feeling normal I need to fuck him

[sugarbbgrl]

price would definitely let you shave his beard.

and the decision wouldn't come easy. it would take a lot of pleading and convincing, but eventually, the big man would relent.

under certain conditions, of course: no clean shave, no just mustache, leave that man and his mutton chops alone.

you didn't mind it, you just love being involved. you promised up and down you wouldn't nick him, you have plenty of experience in your most sensitive areas.

so, there you are sat on the bathroom counter with john's beefy body snug between your thighs. he'd have his palms pressed against them, lightly squeezing them every so often. he'd peak at you, admiring your concentration: furrowed brows, mouth slightly agape, one hand firm on his chin while the other grips the razor.

"would you quit staring at me?" you stop your movements, half his face still covered in shaving cream. "you're distracting me."

"sorry, love. you're just too cute when you're zoned in." the corner of his mouth perked up in a small grin.

"well, you'd better stop before i decide to just shave it all off." you move back in toward his face. "i'm sure the others would get a kick out of your baby face."

"yes ma'am." before you could put the razor back to his stubble, he caught your lips in a quick kiss, smearing some shaving cream on your cheek in he process.

you giggled and swatted his chest with your free hand, wiping the cream off your face with his shirt.

price loved being domestic, especially with someone he loved as much as you. he'd let you shave his face a million times over just to admire you taking care of him.