I Think Nik Sleeps Naked. Not A Stitch On That Bear. And He Gets Hot So The Windows Have To Be Open,

Missionary with your fav military man, but his dog tags keep tapping you in the face, causing you to giggle. He scoffs and nips at you playfully before taking the chain in his teeth and thrusting even harder, fucking you up the bed in punishment

homemade hair masks for gaz when he comes back from a deployment. especially from dryer places where you know his hair's suffered. aloe vera blended with avocado, egg, honey, and olive oil to help with moisture and protein. maybe a little bit of xantham gum to thicken it up if you want. sitting him down on one of your yoga mats, an old bleached towel on his shoulders as he leans his cheek on your inner thigh while you apply the mask straight to his hair while he watches tv, his shoulders relaxing the longer your fingers work through his hair. eyes fluttering softly as he tries to stay awake at the soft, delicate movements that he only ever receives at home.

Thinking about being a little too good at getting Johnny off. The way he grits his teeth as he thrusts into your fist, whining and begging: “Not yet—fuck—please not yet.” Brain begging for one thing, body begging for another. Hmmm

john making simon watch you get the pounding of your life because the two of you got into a nasty little argument, resulting in simon taking his anger out on johnny's ass.

he didn't even stop when you walked into your shared bedroom to see johnny getting his back blown out by your man. he only ordered you to sit and watch as johnny's moans and whines and the sounds of skin slapping filled the room, cum and drool staining your sheets.

simon had the audacity to groan when he saw the tears welling up in your eyes, bottom lip quivering. he always did get off on making you cry.

now he sits with a hard, leaking cock, hands restrained behind the back of the chair as he's forced to watch you get fucked by his captain. despite the way he snarls and grits his teeth, he still twitches and drools in his pants when your cunt gushes around john's cock for the nth time, the desperation to join becoming unbearable. it doesn't help that you're making the prettiest noises, writhing as john folds you into full nelson, your body on full display. simon's seething, so pissed off because he can't touch himself, and he can't even lap at your sloppy pussy or suck on your pretty clit.

"dirty mutts like you get nothin'," john barks when simon pathetically demands to be allowed to touch you, his hips effortlessly working to bring you over the edge again. "you'll never fuckin' learn if i don't teach you how to play nice with your toys; what kind of captain would i be, eh?"

you're babbling incoherent nonsense, not a thought in your head as john's gravelly voice coos sweet things into your ear, calling you his perfect girl while he kisses away your tears. you feel like you're floating right up into the ether, another orgasm ripping through you when he rubs tight, firm circles over your sensitive clit, drool running down your chin at the immense pleasure tingling all over your body.

you aren't sure if you actually heard it before you passed out in john's arms at the end of it all, but you swear he grunted, "i fuckin' own you, so i own her. my pretty pussy, my pretty girl."

(meanwhile, kyle's sorting johnny out in another room, edging him nice and long for being such a slut. if he wanted a good fuck, kyle was right there, and he's feeling offended.

"is it cause i'm not taken?" kyle huffs, cruelly twisting his fist around the head of johnny's cock and grinning meanly at the broken sob he gets in return.)

it’s over the minute you start playing hide and seek.

johnny has a big family. his siblings have kids, his parents siblings have kids who also have kids, which means a holiday leave offers limited privacy and abundant chaos.

he’s learned to embrace it. adores it, even. kids stroke his ego like no other, and the more he can see his parents the less he pays attention to the new wrinkles and the reality he only has so much time to hold their hand. to be someone’s son.

but you? the sweet, unassuming bird who he met by happenstance, who’s the first person he’s brought home for an approaching decade? he winces as he grabs your bags from the trunk- already expecting the fawning- the embarrassing prattles they’ll throw your way.

he was not expecting you to navigate it though.

the adults love you. turns out all the same charms that had him whipped works fairly well with his relatives. three glasses of wine in and he can still hear his aunt laughing. genuinely. that’s a miracle.

and don’t even get him started with the nieces and nephews.

stole all his thunder and he isn’t even mad about it. watches as they chase you in the backyard, cartwheeling around while you catch your breath.

his sister nudges him in the side and he starts.

“how’d ye catch a bonnie like tat?”

you send him a lopesided smile from across bronzing grass. you’re glowing.

yeah, he’s a goner. “couldnae tell ye.”

being happy is so scary because there’s this underlying feeling of anxiety like when are things gonna go wrong. is this gonna be taken from me. chat is this normal

you ever think about the intricacies of smoke & stack's dynamic and go fucking crazy?

their abusive father zeroing in on stack as the outlet for his beatings, smoke killing their daddy, half way done burying him by the time stack came to - smoke being the BIG BROTHER from the start, keeping stack safe - stack becoming who he is - bit reckless, full of charisma and whimsy because of smoke, in a way, shielding him from the world ("doesn't know how to watch his own back").

thinking of smoke saying how stack is the best thing about him, how stack talks a big game but how it's smoke who kills the snake, smoke who shoots two men for stealing out of his truck, smoke who pulls a gun on sammie and pearline. does he ever think he got more of their daddy in him than stack? where stack can connect with people in a way smoke can't quite follow. stack laying out clothes for him, doing his hair, rolling his cigarettes- giving smoke back some of what the war took.

but I also can't help but think that there is this slight ....almost paternalistic element at times - the way stack looks around for smoke when he's with mary, worried he'll be caught, worried he'll displease him and yet that thing he says when he's turned "don't let that witch come between us again" - there's no doubt that stack loves annie and is clearly DISTRAUGHT when smoke kills her but ...was there ever resentment? did he ever feel betrayed? was it ever only meant to be the two of them against the world?

"he was the best thing about me" "i ain't doing it without you there ain't no me without you" "sorry for not keeping you safe - you always did" the way stack is just that one person smoke can't kill, the way the only time he wavers in his resolve is when his vampire brother talks with him.

(this is borderline incoherent but I have a lot of thoughts)

johnny ⊹₊⟡⋆

It's been seven months since she's stopped holding his hand all the time and started walking four little steps ahead. Simon grapples with his daughter's newfound independence.

She is his measure of time.

Simon makes sure to count every inch his daughter grows. How much bigger and looser it feels every time she holds his hand while they walk down the block to see what the new weekly special is at the ice cream parlor. His little bug’s favorite flavor changes every time they go – it was Lemonberry Crunch last week, now it’s一

“A scoop of the… Maple… Buttercream Delight.” 

“Two.” she corrects him, tugging on his hand. Her eyes sparkle at him, and a soft quiver hits her lips. She got that look from you. Simon doesn’t approve of it, not at all. It weakens him and makes it harder to deny you both anything, but he pushes through today with a pat on her beanie-covered head. He’s been meaning to buy her a new one after she pulled the pom-pom off.

“No, sweetheart. Jus’ one, yeah? Two’ll make your tummy upset.”

The sulking, woeful look shrouds her face in an instant. It’s fatal. Her little hand drops from his jacket to her side, and he’d buy out all the tubs of ice cream for her if he could. 

“Sorry, bug. Jus’ don’t want you gettin’ sick ‘cause o’ me anymore.” he apologizes, nodding and mouthing ‘one’ to the girl on the other side of the counter to confirm. She smiles and fills the stubby paper cup up with one scoop, and his daughter sighs and longingly looks up at it as they weigh it, tiny fingers twiddling at the edge of her puffer. 

“It’ll be three-oh-four, sir.”

He opens his wallet (the one his little girl made for him herself with zebra-print duct tape and neon-colored construction paper – incredible what kids can do) and pulls a tenner out. Before he can hand it to the young lady, his hand knocks on his thigh, smacking with urgency. 

“I wanna give it, Daddy!” she says, buoyant on the tips of her toes, hopping up and down.

“Y’do, do ya?” 

“Yes! Please!” She’s already being given the tenner, a wide smile on her face as she clumsily pushes the note into the woman’s hand. “Here y’go!”

He can’t help but chuckle a bit, thanking them before telling them to keep the change. Asks for a single pence back before they leave just because his little one’s been obsessed with collecting one from everywhere they go – she likes to tape them inside a notebook and label their source. Simon takes the ice cream and drops the coin into her waiting hands. She pockets it with a toothy grin, cheering and skipping over to their usual booth by the window.

It's been seven months since she's stopped holding his hand all the time and started walking four little steps ahead.

Simon grapples with his daughter's newfound independence.

It’s a funny thing to mull over in the middle of an ice cream shop, yet so easy to do when he watches her act so brazen with him, waving him over like he’s a servant who’s fallen behind. Not much of a difference anyway, is there?

They settle down in the chairs, and she digs into the creamy dessert. 

“Oh, this is excellent.” she sighs, nodding. He’s raised an ice cream critic. Terrible influence, he is. “Five hundred stars.”

A smile tugs on his lips again, and he folds a napkin to wipe off the ice cream she unintentionally smears on the corners of her lips, leaning over the table一

She stops him and grabs the napkin. Tiny hand with a determined grip. “I can do it, Daddy.”

The words dig at his heart. He almost frowns, but lets go of the napkin for her.

“Alright, bug.”

It gets harder every time, facing the inevitable interruption of a constant in his life. He loves to see it though. Loves to watch her grow into her own person. She picks out her own clothes一has been for a while now. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t dare to. He thinks the lion on her shirt pairs nicely with the blue camo pants anyway, topped off with the purple puffer she picked out last month, and yellow, squeaky rain boots. 

The rain is picking up, and he wonders if you’re still sleeping in. Should be, he hopes. You need the rest.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, love.” he hums.  

“Do you want some?” 

“No, sweetheart.” he chuckles. “M’alright, thank you.”

She eats until two more spoonfuls are left, not bothering to hide the unpleasant expression on her face from a full belly. Simon finishes it for her before they leave to walk it off, and again, she’s prancing ahead.

Her feet land her in every puddle she can find, her voice says a seraphic ‘hello’ to everything they pass (even the lonesome squirrel she spots at the park and the jogger with headphones in), and she’s dancing in the rain like a little drunken man with no worries or doubts in the world.

“C’mon, bug, up,” He lifts her up, sitting her on his forearm and pulling her hood over her head. “Gotta ge’ ‘ome before it starts stormin’.”

She lays her padded head on his shoulder, and he pats her back. She’s stopped gluing her hand to her father’s everyday, but she still burrows into his chest like a kitten. It’s the safest place she knows.

“Can we all huggle when we’re ‘ome, Daddy?” 

“Y’wan’ a huggle, love?”

“Yes, with Mum an’ Chunky. When it rains, it’s the… the best time for a huggle.” Chunky, her beloved toy gorilla. Simon recalls catching her bathing the poor thing in the soapy water-filled sink. It took him half a day to figure out how to properly dry the toy without permanently damaging his daughter’s cherished friend.

He presses a kiss on her dampened, plump cheek.

“‘Course, sweetheart. All four o’ us.”

Okay... all the fucking aside...

I just want to play with and grope Simon's buff pecs reverently, okay? I want to toy with his nipples and make him squirm underneath me while he tries to act like it doesn't affect him that much, but...

Sir, I can see the flush on your stubbly cheeks? SIR, I can feel your thick cock getting harder and larger inside your underwear?

I might (I will) nip at his cute nipple, flick my wet tongue over it, moan around it when I feel it harden between my lips and then bite it gently to make him gasp and then grumble in annoyance, though he still doesn't push me off of him.

And while I suck and lick on one hard bud, I'll play with the other; pinch it between my fingertips, lick my thumb and flick it over it until that cute bud is hard, too.

Meanwhile, I'm getting wet as hell just playing with his massive man tits; feeling his skin twitch and thick muscles flex beneath my touch. I can hear the way he inhales sharply through his nose and then tries to exhale slowly to control himself.

I'm worshipping him again and he still can't wrap his head around the Why?, but that's okay, because I'll do it anyway.

Man's just trying to read a book in our bed and here I am, sneaking up on him (although he saw and heard me coming, ha!) and rucking up his sleep shirt, up to his collarbones to reveal his perfect chest; my eyes darkening as if I found a treasure while he merely peeks over the edge of his hardcover book with an arched and scarred eyebrow, just the tiniest bit curious.

"If ah yer wan' me ta make luv to ya, jus' say so, lovey," he rumbles eventually, closing the book with a loud thud and placing it back on his bedside table with a sigh.

But I shake my head, glancing up at him with fluttering lashes as I shake my head, tongue circling his nipple lewdly, nearly drooling on it.

"Later," I coo softly, not even bothering to hide my amusement and excitement, "Wanna see if I can make you cum like this."

He snorts then, brows furrowing slightly as he cups the side of my neck with one calloused hand, his touch gentle and affectionate, despite the fact that his hand is large enough to wrap around my throat effortlessly.

The thought makes me squirm on top of him and he knows, because his lips crack into an imperceptible smile.

"Go on, then," he says eventually, kissing his teeth in challenge, "Ya jus' 'ave ta try hard enough, lovey."

And oh my God.... I would.

This scenario also applicable for Soap, Gaz, Price, Keegan, and König. 😭