I Might Be Doing Really Terrible On The Emotional Regulation Front But In My Defense Ive Had A Gaping

Pigeon-force 141!

OK I'm in the pussy 👍. Now what

Jon Bernthal as Frank Castle in the Punisher.

Mommy kink Simon Riley who loves when you grab his face with one hand squishing his cheeks together while you’re riding him, making his lips pout.

“God you’re so fuckin’ cute baby.” You say, hand squishing his cute little face.

Simon whines in response as you roll your hips on him making his eyes go unfocused and half lidded.

“You like when mommy makes you go dumb hm? Tired of bein’ so big and strong all the time aren’t you baby.”

Simon nods his head with a moan. And grips your hips harder.

“Uh uh. Be a good boy and tell me what you want.” You tell him and stop your hips from moving.

“Want- want you to fuck me. Ride me. Please. Please mama.”

“Yeah there you go. See that wasn’t hard.” You praise him, and he throws his head back while you start to ride him again, his cheeks flushing as he cums in you :((

Sorry, had to get that out of my system

Simon is the type to put his wedding band in the velcro pouch on his chest when he’s out on the field, mostly because he can’t wear it for work, but he also doesn't want to get it dirty or taint it with the violence his hands see.

Sometimes, he wears it around his neck on a chain under his balaclava when he's away from you for an extended period of time, hoping it’ll help him find his way back to you—that one of these days while tucked away in a window, Simon won’t be on the receiving end of a barrel—and when he's home again, it returns to his finger. 

He silently takes in how your wedding bands look next to each other—shining silver staring back at him, scarred hands next to unblemished ones—when he places your intertwined fingers on his chest before he falls asleep at night.

The only time he allows his wedding ring to get dirty is when he's knuckles deep between your trembling thighs—your sticky-wet slick glinting in the low light of the room—or when Simon pushes those same fingers into your mouth to keep you quiet as he fucks you into the squeaky mattress deep and slow, grunting under his breath about how messy you are when your spit bubbles between your kiss-bitten lips.

You tell him how good he feels under a hitched breath, and his chest tightens because he can’t remember the last time someone used an adjective like that to describe him. Good. It’s weird how such a simple word can make Simon’s head spin and make him feel like he’s anything other than the man he is outside your bed.

A soldier. A killer. With you, he’s a husband—a best friend.

He ducks his head down to suck a little bruise right above your nipple, the corners of his mouth curling slightly, knowing that he’ll be the only one that’ll know it exists—that it’ll still be there long after he’s gone.

“Come on, love,” he breathes harshly, already close, wondering if this will be the time it finally takes. “Just a little more,” a small lie because there’s never just a little more when it comes to you.

Emile thanks you.

greeble neeble gomble womp?? e mfucking worgle smeet huga dorble!!!!

pussy throbbing just thinking about him

Post-OP crash out rkgk