southernbluebellereader

[southernbluebellereader]

It doesn’t help that I’m about to ovulate

price

[southernbluebellereader]

no sorry i dont really use instagram, i can contact you via ouija board, spirit box, fluctuations in temperature, flickering lights, and certain rituals. i am also on tumblr.

[southernbluebellereader]

OK quick thing before I forget

Like let's put on our thinking caps for two seconds because collectively we have like 1.5 brain cells. What if, somehow, someway on God's green earth Lt. Simon "Ghost" Riley makes it out alive and he's like retired or he's like on reserve now because he's about to expire from the military. And like he either moves back wherever he lives, or moves somewhere else, and he goes back to being a butcher because that's the only thing he really knew before joining the military - or at least that's what he's most familiar with. It passes the time, keeps him doing something instead of aimlessly doing nothing. And he keeps contact with whoever from the task force is still alive (I'm gonna assume that they're also somehow alive).

But like what if there's like a little grocery store of butcher shop moment, where you come in about once a week on Saturday mornings asking for outlandish cuts of meats or whatever. And all of the sudden you start asking for animal bones and animal fats to make bone broth and tallow.

"You want what now?"

"You have any bones or extra animal fats you don't need?"

Simon looked at you for a moment, then nodded. "How much you need?"

"How much do you have?"

The corners of Simon's lips curled upwards slightly, "Let me check." He disappeared in the back of the shop for a few minutes. About ten minutes later, he comes back out with two bags, one with bones, the other with fat, "I got about 2 kilos of cow bones and 2 kilos of beef fat."

"I'll take both. How much?" You dug in your bag and pulled out your wallet.

"No, need."

"No, let me pay."

"No."

Not giving in, you pulled out a few bills and placed them on the counter. You then took the bags from him, thanked him, and left. Before you exited the butcher shop, you waved back at Simon, "Thanks again, I'll be back next week."

It all happened to fast, Simon narrowed his eyes slightly as he watched you get into your car, then at the money on the counter. What the hell just happened?

But guess he was going to start saving the bones and fat he would normally get rid of until next week.

A week passed and he was expecting you, and there you came. He had even more bones and fat saved for you. He always asked you not to pay, but you always left a few bills on the counter for him, which he put on the side to eventually give back to you. When? He didn't know.

It was a ritual. Like clockwork. He looked forward to seeing you. He'd find a reason to go to work every day.

[southernbluebellereader]

18+ MDNI

He was just on the cusp of a restless sleep, about to drift off for the night, when Johnny swore he could hear someone crying from the other side of the barrack walls

Poking his head out the door, squinting at the harsh fluorescent lights overhead, he spots Kyle swinging his own door open at the same time, half asleep himself yet obviously having heard something amiss as well

“Y’hearin’ tha’ too?” Johnny asks as his fellow sergeant nods through a yawn, stepping out into the hall now and shutting his door behind him, certain now that’s it’s you they’re hearing

The pair make their way towards the source of the muffled cries and whimpers, their half asleep minds slowly trying to fill in the blanks, wondering if they’re going to find you in the midst of a nightmare, hoping that’s the case rather than finding you hurt

Turning the corner, the noises have grown louder, more insistent, your sobs sounding more desperate when the duo stumble upon their captain, stood outside your slightly ajar door, casually leaning against the door frame, gaze locked on the sight inside your room

“Cap, what’s happen-”

“Is the lass-”

“Shush.” Price interrupts his sergeants questions, shooting the two younger men a look that has them instinctually standing taller, on alert

“Wha- where’s LT?” Johnny can’t help but to ask, surprised that the man hadn’t come running when your cries began

“Got his hands full at the moment.” Price answers simply, though he can’t help the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth when he tilts his head towards your door, inviting the sergeants a peek inside

Careful not to push the door open any farther than it is, the men take a cautious albeit curious glance in to your room, eyes immediately widening and pants inevitably tightening at the sight

Laying on your back on the edge of your bed, you haven’t a single thing on you apart from the sweat you’re exerting

Well, that and Ghost’s hands on you

Your bare legs are thrown over the lieutenants shoulders, thighs shaking as the man’s large hands grip at your plush skin, relentlessly squeezing and groping your naked flesh

They can easily tell it’s Ghost in there with you, based off his stature alone, though the skeleton balaclava discarded by his feet certainly helps confirm things, seeing as the man’s face is currently shoved against your cunt, with no sign of him coming up for breath any time soon

The three men stood in the doorway couldn’t turn their eyes away even if they wanted to, feet cemented where they stand, shamelessly watching as their lieutenant absolutely devours you

The sounds of Ghost’s sloppy eating, sucking noises, even his own groans of enjoyment against your pussy are hardly heard over the sounds of your pleasure

“Oh my god- please Si- I can’t- oh god!” You moan as Ghost seems to pick up his pace, your hips unconsciously grinding up against him as you edge closer to the precipice

You’ve got one hand gripping the bed sheets for dear life, while the other is snaked in his hair, tugging at his locks with every lick, suck, and kiss he presses against your throbbing clit, feeling as though you couldn’t possibly take any more, while also never wanting him to stop

The sergeants can hardly fathom what they’re seeing right now, bulges pressing uncomfortably against the zippers of their pants as their own arousal grows, wholly entranced by the sight and sounds before them

“Bleedin’ Christ-” Johnny can’t help but to whisper to no one in particular, intent on thanking whoever built the thin walls around here

“Y’either take a seat or take a hike, sergeant.” Ghost’s gravelly voice suddenly booms from within the room, never lifting his eyes off of you. “But y’know better than to interrupt a man’s meal.”

[southernbluebellereader]

[southernbluebellereader]

Simon Riley is the type of gentleman who opens every door for you. There’s not a single door in your vicinity that you’re touching if he can control it.

The type of gentleman who doesn’t make you pay for a thing. Gas, rent, nails. Why would you have to pay for anything when you’re his?

The type of gentleman who takes items off the top shelf for you. Keeps your favorite snacks up there just so you can come ask him so sweetly if you can borrow his height for a second.

The type of gentleman who has a hair tie on his wrist at all times, even some of those bobby pins in his pocket because he knows how frustrated you get when your hair is in the way.

The type of gentleman who doesn’t make you lift a finger if he’s there. Refills your water for you, cooks dinner and knows your favorite meals, tells you just to sit there and be his pretty bird.

The type of gentleman who leaves your favorite movies and shows on, watches them diligently with you even if he doesn’t care about what housewife is who because you like it.

But, Simon Riley is also the type of gentleman who holds your hair into a ponytail as he fucks your mouth slow and deep. Keeping your hair clean from the sticky sopping mess he forms around your chin and lips.

The type of gentleman who holds your hips up with two strong hands when you’re so fucked out your knees slip out from under you. Holds you nice and arched so he can continue to fuck you with determined strokes.

The type of gentleman who stuffs his fingers in your mouth when you’re being too loud. Can’t have anyone else hear you now can we, doll?

The type of gentleman who coos so softly at you when you begin to cry and whine that you can’t take anymore. Kisses your tears away. He knows you can pretty bird, he’s just doing what’s best for you.

[southernbluebellereader]

how I read the most toe-curling, spine-shattering, nerve-wrecking, nastiest smut ever written in this god forsaken app

[southernbluebellereader]

holy fuck sorry just thought of something and I had to write it before it flew away.

you work at a men’s department store. unusual, next to the large mannequins and suit sets- dressed in heels and tight skirts with a measuring tape to tie it together in a centimeter marked bow.

but the pay is nice, and for the most part you’re a service for gentleman. heavy wallets. wandering eyes, but hands that stay in the pockets you alter.

it’s summer, a slow season for cotton suit jackets. but on your evening shift, you get an appointment notification. he’s polite over the phone, if not a little curt. normal.

the first thing you register is his size. tank of an individual. swings his shoulders when he walks due to their weight. a height that slouches his neck. wide arms.

the second is his suit is extremely worn.

tattered, ripped seams, thinning fabric. criticism tears it to bits when he reveals the event is a wedding. you send him a gentle look from behind your lashes.

“are you…sure you don’t want to buy a new suit?”

he scoffs, but doesn’t respond. you sigh.

“at least look at some of the options.”

and then you’re measuring him, and bless your soul it’s hard to keep yourself professional. hands following the thick ropes of muscle to get his wing span, around his arms to get his shoulder. realizing when you kneel in front of him to get his thighs, just how fucking large he is.

and then the bastard adjusts his pants.

hands pulling at the trouser waist band, thick fingers in the belt loops. and horrifically, just as you look up, you catch the imprint of his fat cock settling between his legs.

swells behind the fly zipper. you feel light headed when he lets go, and it bounces before disappearing. teased. you swallow thickly.

the corner of his mouth twitches.

“what do you think, sweet’eart. need a different size?”

[southernbluebellereader]

more! | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Just thinking about Ghost having a shy, quiet wife. The glaring opposite of Ghost, painted in black and blood while you’re adorned in lace and frills. Smooth skin and delicate flesh, warm eyes and a bashful smile. Soft-spoken and so fucking sweet.

No one else knows about you, or that he’s married, not from lack of wanting people to know he has such a pretty dove waiting for him at home, but because he knows all the men on base would eat you alive.

But one day, he forgets the lunch you made him. It takes everything in you to refrain yourself from driving to base to make sure he has something to eat— you know he doesn’t have the healthiest eating habits.

You choose to message him, something he usually responds fairly quickly to. Always at your beck and call just in case his sweet girl needs him, but he doesn’t answer. Your lips are pinched raw with worry by the time you decide to get in your car.

So, imagine everyone’s surprise when a sergeant interrupts the meeting Ghost’s in— ‘Lieutenant, um, Mrs. Riley is waiting outside for you.’

Ghost is on his feet in an instant, it must be some emergency if you’re there. He rushes to the hallway, everyone else in the room stumbling behind to snoop through the thin crack of the door, see who their big bad Lieutenant is married to.

And there you are, Tupperware container in your manicured hands, white dress covering your frame with matching ribbons and bows in your hair. The look on your face is anxious, right up until you see Ghost, your eyes softening as he approaches you with wide strides despite the fact that he’s twice your size, hulking and threatening.

“Sweet’art, everything okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” He asks, brows furrowing as he does a once over your figure, checking for injury.

You exhale a quiet laugh, “No, baby. You just forgot your lunch, and you didn’t answer your phone so I got worried you would go the whole day without eating.”

He cups your jaw, a smile breaking out on his face. His sergeants are baffled for several reasons— they did not expect their Lieutenant to be married to such a sweet thing, nor had they ever heard their Lieutenant speak in such a soft, hushed tone, never seen him touch something with such care, like you were so fragile in the palms of his hands.

They would’ve thought it was all a joke if it wasn’t for the massive diamond ring on your finger, or the way you pushed deeper into his touch.

“Sorry, dove, just been in a meetin’ all day.”

He stamps a kiss against your lips, lets himself linger just a little longer than he should because he knows the whole room is watching from behind the door.

“Sweetest little wife, aren’t you?”

[southernbluebellereader]

Ghost who's not good with kids, and purposefully scared them away just so they wouldn't approach him coz he didn't know what to say or what to act around them.

Until one day, he met a little girl. From her face alone, he knew she was a brat. But he was still human, he couldn't just leave a child alone.. especially when he saw a suspicious man approaching her.

And so he approached her, scared the man away before asking her where's her parents.

After a long agonizing hours (actually its 30 minutes), you finally came along. looking dishelved, anxious, and frustrated.

He looked at you without saying a word as you apologized to him profusely before turning to your daughter.

Only for the little girl to frown, sticking her little tongue out to you and cling to his side. Saying she didn't want to leave because she has a new daddy now.

[southernbluebellereader]

Simon never heard his father say sorry, or please, or thank-you, or I love you.

In their house, when his mama would put down hot, heavy casseroles, her skin damp with sweat, eyes darting for some sweet words, his father never said one word of thanks, let alone 'some'. Only waved his thick, impatient hand.

His father never took the plates to the sink. Never noticed when she stayed up at night to sort the screws by size and purpose—organizing the chaos he left behind just to find one damn hammer.

His father never said ‘please can you—’ only grunted with that bitter mouth, glared with those unkind eyes when he needed something.

Simon never heard him say I love you. And he couldn’t believe his eyes the day his father plucked out his baby brother from his mama's arm, and didn’t spare one glance for his Ma. She didn't deserved that, did she? Her weak frail body, cracked murmuring lips — she should be celebrated with adoration, comfort, love.

Love, and an infinite of it.

His father never sat beside her just to drink tea. Never told her about his day. Never asked about hers — what she did, or liked, or wanted. Never reached out his thumb, however calloused it was, to wipe away the sprout on her chin. That he was grateful she's next to him, that he loved her.

So when life happened, and Simon was left to pick up his pieces and place them in a way he wanted to be—he thought whomever he will be, anything, but his father.

Anything but him.

And then life happened again but this time it arranged itself in beautiful ways. Because you came with it this time. You and all your silly lovely ways, you who kissed your knee before resting your chin, you who cheered up catching up with fridge' light switching off, you so beautiful, so kind, made up of sundust. His sunshine — lighting up his world.

And God, he was so, so grateful. Every moment, every day !

“I love you,” he’d say the moment he wakes up next to you. Pressing his love on your lips, on your shoulder, on your neck.

“I love you,” when you spill milk in the morning daze and stare at it like it might disappear.

“I love you,” when he wipes your chin and kisses your forehead.

“I love you,” when he takes your hand in his and rubs it between his palm, why ? Because he'll spend his whole life keeping your hands warm than anything else.

“I love you.” because he loves, loves, and loves you so much that it hurts, so much that it heals, so much that it's everything sweet ever happened to him.

“I love you.” for all the ways his father failed, and Simon too, as a son, as a brother — failed to save his mama and lil' brother. I love you, because in loving you he is allowing himself to be loved.

Masterlist

[southernbluebellereader]

John Price who isn’t just older—he’s worn in. A little gross. A little rotten. Manipulative. The kind of man who sees a pretty bird like you—young and sweet, all soft lips and shy eyes—in some dingy pub sipping something pink, and he doesn’t think I want her. No. He thinks mine.

John Price who decides quick. From the first glance, it’s already settled. He’s already imagining you on your knees in his kitchen, wearing nothing but one of his shirts. Already thinking about how tight your cunt will feel wrapped around him. How pretty you’ll look pregnant, tits swollen, begging for him to fuck you slower.

You don’t know it yet, but he’s mapped it all out—where you’ll sleep in his house, how long he’ll let you play independent before he starts cutting off your options. You won’t need your job. Won’t need friends. Won’t need anything but him.

He’s already picked the ring. Already picked the crib. Already thinking about whether he’ll fill you up before or after dinner, or how many kids he wants.

Twisted in the head, that’s true—but it doesn’t matter. He knows what you need before you even open your mouth. Knows how to touch you, how to own you, without ever asking for permission. You’re not equals. Never were.

He’s choosing you. He’s keeping you.

And oh, sweetheart—whether you feel it yet or not, he’ll make damn sure you learn to be grateful.

Grateful to wear his ring. Grateful to carry his name.

Grateful every time he fills you up, breeds you with his cum until you’re full—so full it leaks out of your swollen, poor cunt—reminding you exactly who you belong to.

Because in his house, in his bed, wrapped around his cock—you’re not just his girl. You’re his wife.

And he’ll fuck the doubt right out of you if he has to.

tell me im wrong.

═════════════════════════

[southernbluebellereader]

just thinking about down-bad husband John Price.

when he drops to his knees as soon as he gets home, placing his face between your soaked thighs, wrapping his lips around your aching clit because it's been weeks since he's been home, and he can't wait another minute.

when he has to drag you back inside for an hour at a barbeque because your bathing suit hugs your ass perfectly.

when he sends you videos of his hand around his heavy cock mid workout because he can only go a few hours at a time without thinking of how well your cunt hugs his dick.

when he begs for just one picture of your tits so he can carry it around in his wallet when he's away. and so that maybe one of the boys will catch a glimpse of it and see what he gets to go home to.

when he finally lets you visit the base for some party they're having, and he gets a minute with you in his office so he fucks you over all of the paperwork he said he was grabbing.

he just loves you so much, maybe you should send him those videos of you bouncing on your dildo, just so he won't get lonely, y'know?

[southernbluebellereader]

f!reader

IMAGINEEE

Being Price's pretty wife, who were so excited to greet him home.

All dolled up just for him, preparing everything needed to pamper him during his leave.

You knew he always had this thing about a pretty lil housewife who wanted to be good for him..

Often saw him fixing his slacks to hide the bulge out of the corner of your eyes, just from the sight of you doing laundry and cooking.

You noticed him having the preference for the latter.

Especially when you wore that cute frilly apron you bought as a joke..

So here you are, waiting patiently for your husband to come home, wearing nothing but said apron.. the bow tied nicely at your nape and above your ass, while the whole apron itself barely covered anything.

You swiftly stood by the door the second a knock was heard.

Opening the door with a sweet smile before you wrapped your arms around him and squeezed.

"Welcome home, John" you mumbled.

Only to hear a.. shameless moan, in an unfamiliar voice.

And a familiar feeling of something hard pressing to your stomach.

"..I'm right here, luv" you then heard John said.

His voice didn't come from the man you had in your arms.

You turned your head, seeing your husband standing there with a mix of annoyance and amusement on his face.

..There are other men by his side who were also staring. You froze.

Feeling your cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

Finally, you took a step back. Looking up and saw a pair of baby blues and a cheeky grin.

"J-john, what?" You squealed, trying your best to cover yourself up from the strangers by your doorstep.

John pulled you to his side and chuckled, blocking the sight of you from the others with his body "Pretty sure i texted you about having some companies over"

[southernbluebellereader]

would you eat this for £18 billion

[southernbluebellereader]

Listen, hear me out:

Duke Nukem is Johnny Bravo in an alternate timeline.

Also I lowkey want to write a little thing for Duke Nukem??

[southernbluebellereader]

everyone has violence in themselves

I am violent.

Personal note written by Marilyn Monroe on hotel stationary