fraserbraw

[fraserbraw]

i am cooking up wonderful things

a/b/o pricesoap poly 141

trust me

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reader at a bar being approached by johnny ‘my wife thinks you’re attractive’ mactavish but his wife is 6’4, 250lbs, wears a skull balaclava in public and is staring you down like you killed his mother

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this isn’t a request but you’re the only writer i know who writes the monster!au so

dragon!reader and dragon!price are haunting my thoughts. dragons usually have to hold themselves back when sparring because they’re so much stronger than other monsters but with price & reader they don’t need to, to the point where the other members of the 141 are kinda wondering if they need to intervene.

what they do or don’t know is this is you and price courting, testing each other’s strength to assess whether you’re suitable mates. once you have decided you’re suitable it continues in the bedroom, fighting for dominance and testing each other’s stamina as price rides you or you pin price down and see if he can take all the strength behind your thrusts.

OH god I LOVE the way you think! I know @rodolfoparras also did a dragon price some time ago but I'm happy to let my monsterfucker out lol :D I'll consider this a spitball thingy but GOD DAMN did my hyperfixation hyperfixate on this :Ddd kinda rushed at the end but it's 3AM :/

CW:NSFW

What about if dragons measure not just raw strength, but all other aspects as well? They're prideful by nature and with so little of them remaining no self-respecting dragon will settle for a witless brute or a powerless scribe.

Price had lost hope in finding a mate centuries ago because he's even pickier than most of his kin; in his view, a proper one needs to be strong enough to completely pin him down, needs to be smart enough to see the insults in his honeyed words and give back as good as he does, needs to be clever enough to lead men as good as he does.

A proper mate needs to keep up with him on all levels.

And for a dragon of his age, that's an unachievable set of criteria. Oh sure, many of the dragons he's met over the years have tried to match him, but all fell short, leaving him lonely and unsatisfied.

Then he met you, a fellow Captain, a fellow dragon. Though only a few centuries younger than him, you're a wyrmling in his eyes, your scales like shining metal compared to his muddled gemstones. An arrogant wyrmling if the way you peacock for him the first time you enter the training room has anything to say about it— your wings spreading out and muscles rippling, back straightening out to make you taller, scales glinting in the artificial light; little details that anyone else can brush off as a simple stretch but to a dragon it screams of your interest in him.

His slitted eyes roam across your body, both equal parts disdain and curiosity. "Got somethin' ta say there boy?" His words are rough like sandpaper.

"No, no." You hum as you get into the ring, every little movement purposely done to showcase your hard earned musculature. "Just that you should skip out on this fight. Wouldn't want you to throw your back out old man."

"Old man huh?" His eyes blaze with the same fire at the end of his cigar, your words igniting something in his chest that had long been extinguished. "I'll show you old."

And suddenly he's in the ring, both of you trading blow for blow with the same savagery your progenitors had frightened mankind with for millennia, your claws leaving deep grooves in the concrete when you miss his side, his tail smashing a portion of the ground into dust when you avoid it, the ground between you cracking when you try to push the other away, loose scales and dust and debris littering the ground as you and Price wrestle on the ground.

Both of your teams watch from the sidelines, your team calming the other members of TF141 that this is just how dragons are, pointedly ignoring your victorious snarl when you pin Price down to the ground, your clawed hand harshly pushing his face into the concrete to the point you might break his nose as you bite the back of his neck, forcing him to submit. "I win,"

"Not fer long." He snarls back just as deep, feeling alive for the first time in who knows how long. "Best two out of three." And with that he jerks, remaining wing slamming into your side and knocking you off balance long enough for him to fling you into the wall opposite of him.

You don't know how many rounds you go before you're forced to stop by a very pissed off Laswell, who also pointedly ignores the obvious bulges in what remains of both of your pants, giving both of you a stern talking to about wrecking the damn training room.

You're ready to leave after being chastised like a child but Price is quicker, passing you with a "Good fight back there." rumbling in his throat, the soft scales of his wing brushing along your jaw. Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull when you meet his gaze, and Price has a good poker face but the smoldering look in his eyes and the low grumble in his chest makes it's obvious you've peaked his curiosity.

But that's just the start, the hard part is keeping it. While regular dragons may spend time with a potential mate conversing on scholarly subjects or having philosophical debates, you and him have a more practical way of assessing the other's intellect — Battle plans.

To your teams it sounds like a harsh argument, ideas thrown around and sharp insults tacked on top, their heads ping ponging between you and Price as you look over maps, trying to one up the other. Eventually your teammates leave you to settle this on your own.

"And I'm telling you, old man," You growl, both of you so close there's barely any space between you as you point at the map. "We can push a smaller team through the forest while we lead the frontal assault, our wip's not going to have anywhere to go then." You huff, holding your head up high to make it obvious you're proud of your idea.

Price gives you the stink eye, before he scans the map again, humming to himself. After a few seconds he lets out a scoff. "We don't have enough men for that." He says, but the sharp edge in his tone is dulled. "But—" His tail moves to brush against your own, your rough scales brushing against his smoother ones. "—It has some merit."

Price doesn't draw attention to the way your tails intertwine, wrapping together like two snakes, and neither do you. But the short purr that bubbles out of your chest says everything he needs to know, growing louder when he answers with his own, your shoulders brushing together. "Aight, back to work." He cuts your purrs short, but you can't hide the pleased look on your face as your tails remain coiled together.

Then comes the actual courting dance.

One late evening spent looking over documents in the privacy of his office, your tails once again coiled beneath the desk after successfully having proved your wit to him again, absentmindedly telling embarrassing stories of your respective teams. . . Price has a revelation. You might be it. "Hey lad."

You look up, your full attention on him. "Yeah?"

With a mumbled grunt too quiet for you to hear Price slides a hand beneath his shirt and pulls a large green scale from the meat of his shoulder blade, the wound healing before it can even bleed.

Instinctively you know what this means, for knowing how a prospective mate treats an extension of you will show how they'll treat you. But you still speak up, needing proof for your own mind that you're not insane and haven't been burning the wrong tree. "What?"

Price glares at you, "Don't play dumb," He says as he slides the large scale across the table to you. "It doesn't suit you." There's an underlayer of heat in his words, blue slitted eyes looking you over in a much more appreciative light.

You can't control the big grin that spreads across your face, "Oh, then what does suit me?" You ask as you follow his lead, yanking out one of your larger scales from your own back and sliding it to him. It makes the difference between you two obvious, his green scale muddled with age compared to your shiny one.

"Arrogant muppet." The gentle way he picks up your scale clashes with his harsh words, cradling it in his hand like it'll crack at the slightest of touches, his face reflected in the surface.

You grin, "Just confident." You feel his sharp eyes judge every minute twitch of your fingers as you pick up his scale. Price's poker face hides the way his heart melts at the loving way you brush a thumb across the surface, how it throbs when you don't immediately attempt to make it shine like some whelps once did, accepting him for how he is by putting it in your breast pocket.

God, he doesn't even know how much he'd fantasized about something like this when he was still young, vestiges of a purr escaping his throat at the tender way you treat his scale. "Right." He shakes his head and places your scale in his own breast pocket, handing you another stack of papers. "Get back to work."

You grin and do as he says, wings twitching as a sign of joy, your tail squeezing down on his and receiving a squeeze in kind.

Price feels like a horny teen when he lays awake in bed late at night with your scale held between his claws. He feels stupid for feeling so giddy at the thought of having a mate, a proper mate, yet his body thinks differently. Just holding it in his hand is enough to make him grow hot, your scent still clings to the scale and Price finds himself holding it close to his nose to familiarize himself with it and Hell his body loves it, cocks growing hard in record time and his thighs wet with slick. The poor thing doesn't even know what to relieve first, his free hand constantly going between stroking his cocks and fingering himself, mind craving the heat of another dragon that he'd been deprived of.

What Price doesn't know is that you're in the same boat, biting your arm to silence yourself as you imagine it's Price you're breeding instead of a pillow, splintering the headboard from how hard you're gripping it in an attempt to not damage the scale.

Then shit hits the fan when during a routine mission you two are ambushed, and while two dragons are no easy prey for mankind, humans have long since gone from using rocks and sticks. You catch sight of a sniper's scope glint seconds before the bullet targets Price, and in only a few seconds to think you throw yourself in the way, Price's scale in your breast pocket puts enough resistance to make you survive the bullet, but you feel it crack, and that. . . that sets you off.

Price doesn't even have the time to lift his gun before you're tearing through the battlefield like a man possessed, anger burning like a volcano in your chest for trying to hurt him, elemental breath and draconic strength unleashed to it's fullest potential.

And Price? Price watches the show with that same heat burning in his belly, forced to bite his lip to silence the pleased purrs as he rubs his thighs together while you tear flesh from bone, mate flashing in his mind. Look how he protects you His mind purrs, Good mate. Perfect mate.

"I'm sorry." You whimper when you've finally calmed down, the battlefield nothing but a ruined crater and the shards of his scale held tenderly in your cupped hands. "I failed, I-"

"Come here." Price cuts you off quickly and pulls you down into a harsh and desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue and need. He parts just a fraction of an inch, "You passed." He growls and only then do you notice the sharp arousal in his scent, your animalistic hindbrain jumping for joy as you kiss back because holy shit he considers you worthy.

And now that he's found his mate? You best believe his body is going to make up for all the centuries he'd spent alone.

It doesn't even take a week for him to enter heat, waking in a daze with his twin cocks hard and his thighs glistening with slick, your scent lingering in the sheets and your side of the bed still warm. The walls almost shake from how deeply he growls when he registers that you're not next to him, just enough sense in his head to throw on a towel around his waist before angerly stomping through the halls to find you, sniffing you out like a bloodhoud.

"Bloody muppet." Price growls as he yanks you by the horns back to his room, the scent of his arousal so potent you're struck dumb, letting yourself be pushed down. Price's claws slice through your clothes, his hole so slick and eager for you he doesn't even need to stretch, just jumps onto your lap and in one fluid motion takes one of your cocks to the root. "Fuckin' finally." Price hisses, instantly setting a harsh pace of bouncing on your cock that would have had a lesser race end up with a crushed pelvis.

You grip his hips for dear life, surging up to mark his neck and shoulders with bites as he does the same, his ass clapping against your thighs. "Mate." Price moans, hole clenching around you, his cocks leaking against your stomach. "My mate." He grips your hair and pulls you into a bruising kiss, "Going to last long for me yeah?" He asks, a bit of mockery on his flushed face as he feels you cum inside him, riding you through your orgasm as the sudden onslaught of sensations frazzles the intelligent parts of your brain. "Not going to disappoint me now are you?"

Good thing dragons have really short refractory periods.

"Not a chance." You snarl and flip him over suddenly, rumbling purrs escaping your chest from the surprised sound he makes. You attempt to pin him down and he squirms out of your hold, another bout of wrestling breaking out between you that has you two tumbling off the bed and onto the ground.

"That so whelp?" Price breathes out when you manage to pin him down, your strong hand keeping his face flush with the floor. "Do you really think you can keep up?" A pleased thrill runs down his spine from the sensation of your weight bearing down on him, his knees automatically locking up to hike his ass up, tail flipping up to display his slick hole for you.

"Do you?" You counter, one hand on his head, the other pressing both of your dicks together, your two tips pressing against his ass. "You're so wet and desperate, should have just pinned you down the moment I saw you instead of courting you." With one sharp thrust you push in, a pained and elated moan tearing out of his throat at the sensation of your twin cocks spreading him wider than any toy ever could, scratching that itch he'd had for who knows how long.

The stretch and burn and pleasure muddles his mind, reduces him to low animalistic snarls and growls as he does his best to push his hips into yours. "Hurry the fuck up." Price orders, whole body shaking from the way you set a harsh pace, bashing on his prostate, your balls slapping against his own, each hard thrust pushing and pulling his face across the floor. "I'll- fuck- fall asleep."

"You sure about that?" You push your weight further on him, forcing his wing to spread out, your own partially wrapping around him, "Seems to me like-" A bit of elemental breath leaves your throat when one particularly strong thrust has his hole clamping down on you, his back arching to push his hips as close to yours as one of his cocks spews cum on the floor, "-like you're not in a place to order me around."

"You- ah-fuck-ah- wanker." His insult would be a lot more hurtful if he didn't whine like a bitch in heat, both of you devolving into primitive snarls and growls with the only thought on both of your minds being the need to fill Price with as much of your cum as you physically can.

[fraserbraw]

"i'm too old for you" sir, the age gap is literally one of the things that got me attracted to you in the first place

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not until you tell me to, sir

priceghost blurb do we want a series based off of simon being a nasty mutt for price? an interesting dynamic with more secret interesting dynamics CW: blood/violence, but nothing explicit (i think)

510 words

simon riley was a dog. not a dog in the way that a shih tzu was a dog, pliant and soft and meant for nothing but lounging, nor in the way a blue heeler was a dog, bred for farms and herding the disobedient and obeying rules. no, he was a dog in the way that a wolf crushed bones between its teeth, blood dripping down its jaw and fragments of bones in its fur. he was a dog in the way that the most vicious outcasts were called mutts and thrown aside by the pliant, the obedient, the snobbish and the classy.

and simon riley had been pushed away. he had been sent to unit after unit, never really finding anyone that could deal with the potent blood lust that oozed from him on missions or the sticky air of death that seemed to cling to him more than his own skin did. he had seen true violence, felt most of it. meat hooks through ribs and dirt in lungs did quite a bit to change a man. he couldn't be blamed for his violence. couldn't be blamed for the decay that trailed behind him or the blacked-out reports that seemed to blossom from his name.

john price didn't blame him. he had also seen true violence. been in the gulag with the hardest of criminals, learned that "special forces" meant "illegal and immoral on a good day" quick, and was okay with that fact. he had long since accepted the blood that would forever stain his skin, no matter how hard he scrubbed. there would always be flesh, rot, bone, blood under his nails.

maybe that's why he didn't shy away from touching simon riley. all those years ago when the man walked into his office after a mission, john didn't try to get the man to leave. the blood on simon's jaw blended with the blood on john's hands, and in the end, they couldn't tell when the carnage they carried became carnage from their own flesh.

from an outsider looking in, it was hard to place the relationship between the two. simon and that scot with the mohawk sure seemed close, but to the keenest eye, they both had something a little darker that they didn't let the other in on. a little too quick to bite, a little too happy to ignite. john and that pretty one with the hat also seemed a little too touchy for just friends, but they were both too sharp in the eye for each other. needed too much control to truly function well.

it wasnt until a video call with shepherd that anyone understood how john was able to get so close to the bloodthirsty jaws of simon without getting bitten.

"keep that mutt of yours on a leash, john. he keeps sniffing in places he ought not to."

john scoffed and grabbed simon's jaw. he shook his head a bit, a smirk on his lips. "you don't bite, do you boy?"

"not until you tell me to, sir."

[fraserbraw]

chat...

chat i have a laptop now.

i will become unstoppable.

[fraserbraw]

what if .. what if i dont want to read about penipses

what if i want to read about

happiness

?

[fraserbraw]

i was attempting to clean this up but i'm just gonna post my rambling ww2 au ghostsoap thoughts instead.

simon writes to johnny's mam after he's sent home a broken and battered man. he tells her what a great man her only was is, how johnny's friendship saved simon in so many different ways.

she reads pages and pages of letters that break her heart because while she may not know this retired lieutenant simon riley she knows her son. she knows what heartbreak looks like.

and then johnny comes home, half deaf from an explosion gone wrong and convinced he'll never get the feeling of sand out from under his foreskin.

his mother sits him at the kitchen table and presents simon's letters to her wee boy. in the silence of the kitchen johnny goes through every stage of grief before looking up at her with that famous mactavish resolve.

he tells her that he needs to catch the next train down to england. now. because simon is there. simon is alive and has been waiting for him all this time when johnny thought that he was -

it doesn't matter. johnny's going.

so this scruffy, half-mad scot practically flies down to the little english village. the train and the bus only take him so far but that doesn't matter because simon is waiting for him, he's sure of it.

it starts raining while johnny tromps towards the village and he has to stop before he gets to the return address he lovingly carefully memorised from the letters. he needs a place to wait out the rain so he pushes open the doors to a tiny pub.

johnny swears that it's gone silent over the persistent ringing in his ears. because there he is. lieutenant simon riley. he's far more scarred and softer around the middle than the last time johnny set eyes on him, but he's there. he's alive.

johnny's heart stops. then takes off at a gallop. he feels like he's wading through treacle as he makes his way through the smokey pub to stand next to the little table where simon is sitting.

johnny stops, uncaring of the odd looks he's attracting from the men sat around simon.

"alright, lt? been a wee while, wouldn't ye say?"

it's not johnny's best line and he's certain his voice cracked embarrassingly somewhere in the middle of his sentence.

simon's head whips around and johnny sees his lips move around the devastatingly soft way simon says his name.

"john. johnny."

he's suddenly pulled into the tightest embrace he's felt since coming home. johnny's spine protests at the grip simon has on him but he doesn't care.

something broken and jagged, long bleeding and painful eases.

johnny's home.

[fraserbraw]

My fave might actually be disco, but from these I'll say pop 🎉

And while we're here, please share and donate if you can to help provide for a woman widowed from genocide and her 2 young kids. The winter is harsh, and they live in a tent on the beach.

Printable flyers (eng + es) + vetting

[fraserbraw]

hello! so shutitdown4palestine is doing a fundraiser this month with the middle east childrens alliance, who even now is providing life-saving, on-the-ground assistance to families in gaza. the goal is $1 million, and they are currently at $214k. ive donated $50 - please give what you can. i really think we can make it to one million this month. thank you i love you

[fraserbraw]

a breath of fresh air in this wretched world

(this dynamic will be inspiring a fic soon)

collection of posts for a very specific dynamic

[fraserbraw]

finally got my ipad up and running again (she isn’t that old, i don’t know why she quit on me)! have this price as an offering

[fraserbraw]

Kinktober day 19: mirror sex!

Johnny x trans male reader

CW: Religious themes near the end, gender disphoria (reader), oral (r!receiving), only kind of self indulgent, Johnny being sweetsies when reader feels icky about himself, abrupt ending (imagine that :0), unedited so pls ignore any errors, i’m sleepy

Words: 885

Enjoy, and feel free to request :3

It was no surprise that your dear johnny was into BDSM as heavily as he was. With that much energy, it was almost expected.

You might’ve been more vanilla when you two started out, but not anymore.

No, he turned you into a worse version of him. Bondage, toys, mirrors, temperature play, sounding, muzzles, collars, you name it and Johnny had gotten you into it.

He had installed mirrors above your bed months prior, saying something about cleansing energy and using them to reflect on the days past. You pushed it off, figuring they really did serve a purpose.

A purpose they did serve, but not the one you were told. You had a habit of closing your eyes during sex. Nothing bad, and Johnny told you as such. He liked that you got so wrapped up in the pleasure he gave you. He didn’t like that you couldn’t see how good you looked, though. To him, you were a pure masterpiece. Artwork in the flesh, vision come to life. He could (and actively did) worship you on his hands and knees for hours, telling you just how perfect you were with his face buried between your legs. As far as he was concerned, you were the most perfect thing on the planet. To yourself? Not so much.

Disphoria was a real pain, drawing your attention to your hips and thighs and chest. There were several days where you didn’t feel like a man at all. Johnny would tell you over and over again that you were, you weren’t just a man, sweet boy, you were his man. As much as you appreciated his words, they never really worked. You told him such one day after he caught you staring in the mirror with a less than optimal look on your face.

“Love? You alright?” He walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle. His chin came to rest on your shoulder, and he would be lying if he never got off to this very position while thousands of miles away from you in some country with boiling days and freezing nights.

“Mhm, ‘m fine, Johnny,” you murmured back. He knew his boy well, and this was not normal. He asked again. “You can tell me, sweetheart. I want to help you.”

So tell him you did. You told him of your disphoria, the way you felt like the exact absence of a man on more days than you didn’t as of late.

“Love, yer perfect. From yer head to yer toes, ev’ry inch of you is perfect. Why don’t you let me show you just how perfect you are, hm? Show you the handsome man i get to wake up to every morning and go to bed beside every night.”

So you did. You were laying with your back against the bed, Johnny in his favorite spot, between your legs. It was a slow thing, pleasure sweet and thick and settling in your bones. Your eyes had rolled back long ago, head turning side to side when your eyes weren’t closed. Your back arched as he slowly slipped one finger into you, his voice lower and rougher when he had you like this. He cooed at you, the sound of his voice going straight to your spine. Everything was so intense yet so gentle at the same time. You lost all sense of thinking as soon as you felt him inside of you.

You felt his hand slide up your body, reverent on every inch of skin passed. He found your jaw, his rough thumb so sweet against your lip. “Open yer eyes, bonnie lad,” he cooed. You blinked tears you didn’t know were there away as you opened your eyes and-

Oh. Oh.

That’s why those mirrors were there. You were met with a vision of yourself, flushed skin and blissed out face. Your hair was a mess, some sticking to your forehead as the rest of it melted into the sheets. You looked almost holy, blankets framing you like a halo as your dutiful disciple worshipped on his knees. One of his hands gripped your hip, rough callouses against your skin. His other arm stretched up the expanse of your body, course hair and scarred, tanned skin parting the sea that was your softness. You supposed you didn’t know quite how sweet you looked against him, despite his words. He loved his angel, he would tell you. Perfect boy sent straight to him. “Must be my reward for all the times Ma sent me to Mass as a wee lad, lovie. Finally got m’self one of those angels they always talked about.”

For the first time, you agreed with him. How perfect you looked, fuzzed over in the pure pleasure that your Johnny was giving you. Before you realized it, you were looking into your own eyes as you came, thighs tightening around Johnny’s head. He eased you through it, hands that had been burned, cut, and broken holding you so tenderly in their grasp.

Your view of yourself was interrupted with the view of your Johnny, eyes sparkling and smile wide. He kissed your temple, his voice low and brougish.

“Now do you see what I’m talkin’ about, prabanach? Yer right gorgeous. None of that silly talk again, aye?”

[fraserbraw]

Kinktober day 19: mirror sex!

Johnny x trans male reader

CW: Religious themes near the end, gender disphoria (reader), oral (r!receiving), only kind of self indulgent, Johnny being sweetsies when reader feels icky about himself, abrupt ending (imagine that :0), unedited so pls ignore any errors, i’m sleepy

Words: 885

Enjoy, and feel free to request :3

It was no surprise that your dear johnny was into BDSM as heavily as he was. With that much energy, it was almost expected.

You might’ve been more vanilla when you two started out, but not anymore.

No, he turned you into a worse version of him. Bondage, toys, mirrors, temperature play, sounding, muzzles, collars, you name it and Johnny had gotten you into it.

He had installed mirrors above your bed months prior, saying something about cleansing energy and using them to reflect on the days past. You pushed it off, figuring they really did serve a purpose.

A purpose they did serve, but not the one you were told. You had a habit of closing your eyes during sex. Nothing bad, and Johnny told you as such. He liked that you got so wrapped up in the pleasure he gave you. He didn’t like that you couldn’t see how good you looked, though. To him, you were a pure masterpiece. Artwork in the flesh, vision come to life. He could (and actively did) worship you on his hands and knees for hours, telling you just how perfect you were with his face buried between your legs. As far as he was concerned, you were the most perfect thing on the planet. To yourself? Not so much.

Disphoria was a real pain, drawing your attention to your hips and thighs and chest. There were several days where you didn’t feel like a man at all. Johnny would tell you over and over again that you were, you weren’t just a man, sweet boy, you were his man. As much as you appreciated his words, they never really worked. You told him such one day after he caught you staring in the mirror with a less than optimal look on your face.

“Love? You alright?” He walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle. His chin came to rest on your shoulder, and he would be lying if he never got off to this very position while thousands of miles away from you in some country with boiling days and freezing nights.

“Mhm, ‘m fine, Johnny,” you murmured back. He knew his boy well, and this was not normal. He asked again. “You can tell me, sweetheart. I want to help you.”

So tell him you did. You told him of your disphoria, the way you felt like the exact absence of a man on more days than you didn’t as of late.

“Love, yer perfect. From yer head to yer toes, ev’ry inch of you is perfect. Why don’t you let me show you just how perfect you are, hm? Show you the handsome man i get to wake up to every morning and go to bed beside every night.”

So you did. You were laying with your back against the bed, Johnny in his favorite spot, between your legs. It was a slow thing, pleasure sweet and thick and settling in your bones. Your eyes had rolled back long ago, head turning side to side when your eyes weren’t closed. Your back arched as he slowly slipped one finger into you, his voice lower and rougher when he had you like this. He cooed at you, the sound of his voice going straight to your spine. Everything was so intense yet so gentle at the same time. You lost all sense of thinking as soon as you felt him inside of you.

You felt his hand slide up your body, reverent on every inch of skin passed. He found your jaw, his rough thumb so sweet against your lip. “Open yer eyes, bonnie lad,” he cooed. You blinked tears you didn’t know were there away as you opened your eyes and-

Oh. Oh.

That’s why those mirrors were there. You were met with a vision of yourself, flushed skin and blissed out face. Your hair was a mess, some sticking to your forehead as the rest of it melted into the sheets. You looked almost holy, blankets framing you like a halo as your dutiful disciple worshipped on his knees. One of his hands gripped your hip, rough callouses against your skin. His other arm stretched up the expanse of your body, course hair and scarred, tanned skin parting the sea that was your softness. You supposed you didn’t know quite how sweet you looked against him, despite his words. He loved his angel, he would tell you. Perfect boy sent straight to him. “Must be my reward for all the times Ma sent me to Mass as a wee lad, lovie. Finally got m’self one of those angels they always talked about.”

For the first time, you agreed with him. How perfect you looked, fuzzed over in the pure pleasure that your Johnny was giving you. Before you realized it, you were looking into your own eyes as you came, thighs tightening around Johnny’s head. He eased you through it, hands that had been burned, cut, and broken holding you so tenderly in their grasp.

Your view of yourself was interrupted with the view of your Johnny, eyes sparkling and smile wide. He kissed your temple, his voice low and brougish.

“Now do you see what I’m talkin’ about, prabanach? Yer right gorgeous. None of that silly talk again, aye?”

[fraserbraw]

i love this fucking app so much

Not me explaining that here on Tumblr tits is a gender neutral term for big chests unless the person has said they don't like it

[fraserbraw]

i’m so glad you’re okay, i cant imagine how terrible all that must’ve been for you

if you ever need anything, i’m more than willing to be someone for you to talk to if you need it <333 i hope you have an amazing day

thank you anon 🫶🫶 i’m trying to get some more work out to you little goobers, so stay tuned <3

[fraserbraw]

hopefully new technology is in the works and i’ll be able to write more 🤞🤞🤞

i am currently mobile-bound, but a laptop might be on its way soon!