I Love Perverts. I'm Half Pervert Myself

Thinking about Simon going to his local animal shelter after retirement because his therapist recommended he get a pet in order to keep himself busy, have a reason to get up in the mornings and just overall have some company.

Not only does he end up going home with a dog, but also one of the cute shelter volunteers who tried desperately to get him to take home some (all) of the pets who've been in there the longest.

When they do inevitably move in together, she tries (and fails) to sneakily bring home as many of the scraggly little drop offs she can because they're so cute and sweet and no one else even passes them a second glance.

They turn into that one slightly odd couple with like ten dogs and six cats, and they're always up at weird hours to feed the latest fragile little foster baby they've somehow been put in charge of looking after.

He ends up loving all the animals, how rewarding it is to see them grow, and the bittersweet moments when they finally find their forever homes.

He loves it so much, in fact, that he decides to open a K9 rehabilitation program, combining his military expertise and her veterinary knowledge and, of course, their shared love of animals.

Together, they take former working animals, retraining them to be safely and comfortably reintegrated back into day-to-day life before pairing them with their forever families (who, unsurprisingly, tend to be veterans in a similar situation to Simon's).

All of the guys he served with visit his place, and very few of them leave without a leash in their hand and a new friend at their heels.

his sad eyes and fat cock have captivated me

“I think you’re very likable, Simon.”

The man in the skull mask instantly jerks his gaze up to connect with the other man’s face, as if it’ll be obvious he was just joking.

Ghost’s therapist looks evenly back at him, blinking innocently.

“What,” the masked man finally grits, annoyed that he won’t even acknowledge the joke.

“You’ve convinced yourself that you’re scary enough to keep people from wanting to get to know you. I hate to tell you this, but it’s not working. I’ve liked you from the first session.”

The masked man glares down at his own scarred fingers, entwining them slightly atop his knees. “You’re paid to like people.”

“Something I find interesting about you is that you have, by your own words, a little gaggle of people in your life who won’t leave you alone. Follow you around everywhere, talk to you when they don’t have to, support you when you need it. What do you think is more likely, that lightning has struck you that many times, or that you might be a little bit likable?”

Ghost sits with that for a minute in silence, trying to manufacture a scenario in his own mind where different kinds of lightning just happen to strike the same spot, purely by nature of the infinite possibilities of the universe.

“I don’t like you,” he finally tells his kneecaps.

The therapist inwardly smiles. There it is again.

ghost being the designated photographer because he doesn’t like being in pictures but soap & gaz love it. he’s behind the camera, lovesick, saying “now do a silly one”

hybrids. wool shearing. manipulation. brief cannibalism. referenced breeding. female anatomy.

farmer! price and his sheep girl. the most special of the flock — not only because you’re all woman beneath those patches of wool, or because your floppy ears and curly fringe compliment your face so well, but because you’re so docile and sweet and mouldable under his hand. give into his will better than any human can, eyes shiny and dumb. trusting, when he leads your friends away to the slaughter. and when he collects you afterward, sleeves sticky with blood, to feed you bits of juicy meat on his lap.

though you’re a vegetarian, why would you refuse him? he’s the best at taking care of you.

like during the draw of spring, frost thawing into beds of brown to make for mud that mats your wool. he’ll shear you last but most tenderly; hose you down in his yard, cooing as you bleat in the cold, and run the tool expertly along your trembling flesh. beneath your arms. around your neck. clipping so close to your ears that the sound scares you, and you struggle mildly in his embrace, which does nothing to shake him or the firm cage wrought around your limbs.

the shears trek downwards, your legs forcefully pried apart to expose your fluffy pussy and taint to be groomed. layers of wool stripped from you in pragmatic precision. his fingers do not wander as they shave your vulva, conforming smoothly to your plump bottom. working over your groin. though you wish them to, crying stupidly when he twists your swollen clit to make sure he gets the curls nested at its base.

but he’s the best at taking care of you, of all his animals, so he does not acquiesce and feed you his cock like you so beg. ain’t mating season yet, little lamb, he hums, tucking you into bed after moisturising your softened skin. for as long as you’re naked, wool-less, he lets you sleep indoors. on a real mattress, and not the hay one that would be bound to scratch you in the most vulnerable of places. you love the spring and summer months, if only for that.

(though the prospect of mating season ignites your cotton-tail, priming you for the crisp encroach of autumn. you know that, as the most special — his favourite — he won’t pair you with any old ram. none are good enough, he’ll reason. no seed ripe enough to fatten you up, but his.)

Simon thought it was already hard to understand him....

ghost who’s cock is so big he sits in bed with you for hours, just rocking his hips happily back and forth as you watch your movie on the laptop just so you can learn to get used to the size of it.

‘s’just practice-‘ is always his excuse, and you can’t blame him. it does infact feel good when he just crumbles atop you and practically kills you with his big body, cock gently sheathing in and out of your cunt.

it’s easier to get used to, afterall.

EASY, BREEZY, BEAUTIFUL - TASK FORCE 141

+ bonus

society needs more cat gifs

I'm drawing these guys now-