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sheep dog shifter johnny who does not recognize one of the livestock.

you looked normal enough. apple meat wool. eyes like bowls of soup- warm and familiar. grazing on Price's field like you've been there for years.

but you smell.

smell like far away acres and fear. citrus undertones attributed to perfumes and ribbons and real beds made from cotton and feathers. like the spare one Price offers (although, Johnny never takes it. prefers to watch the barn from the porch).

you linger with locked knees when he does his nightly rounds. he's caught you watching a couple of times, big eyes that blink slow and tear up when he barks.

it all sponsors his pursuit to the barn on a deep sunday evening. hours after church, when he can smell the unholy spirits celebrating witching hour on the edges of the wood. unlocks the door with burly hands that still feel unnatural.

and oh, he knew it.

could smell the human under your coat the minute you put up a fuss about shearing season. kneeling in your bale of hay, rubbing the chunks of soft wool from you irritated skin, fat, frustrated tears streaming down your cheeks, bright and big when you see him from across the barn.

donnae worreh, pet. he'll keep your secret from price- won't make a mess when there doesn't need to be one. he'll take care of his sweet girl, herding you to the best spots in the field and eventually to his bed.

works your virgin cunt on his fingers and covers your bleating with the hand he finally understands the use of.

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Being the pretty bird that works at the little art store at the corner— the one Johnny visits every Saturday following his medical discharge from service. Art being one of the few things he has left that the bullet couldn’t take from him.

And it’s easy to fall in love with people who are in love with what they’re doing. And Johnny falls a little more in love every time he hears you— asking questions about things he had never really intended to buy just to listen to you explain them. The differences between tube and pan watercolors, how to use acrylic media, the importance of using high contrast photos when making gel prints.

You’re used to his little outbursts. His impulse control is shot. You’re used to him zoning out while you speak.

“Sorry, hen— can ye explain tha’ again? Got distracted imaginin’ wha’ ye’d look like pregnant.”

That one’s new.

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Congrats!!!! Are you going to college next?

yes :) im not going to share what school for personal reasons + safety- but im extremely excited for what’s ahead!!

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i graduated :)

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I’m starting to think some of y’all haven’t actually felt the rain on your skin… which is crazy because no one else can feel it for you

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i got the sudden arm twisting desire to write bull rider! johnny and because i only went to the rodeo in my youth, what would be mandatory during the quick date he gives reader before taking her to his travel trailer and giving her a ride so bone rattling she might as well be a pro bull rider too

because i don't remember much apart from the overpriced turkey legs and sodas lmao

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off my rocker after this post by @/ghouljams- anyway. i think there is so much tragic potential in father simon.

because one day, he looks in the mirror, and the resemblance is gone.

at least, for the most part. his eyes are a different shade of brown. softer than they were a decade ago, and certainly darker than his fathers- that cool liquor amber in the dark. sees them in his night terrors, but not in this mirror.

and he’s tanner, too. spring time leave. playing with the kiddies in yard sale sun. burns off layers and queues sweat. freckles too. a birthmark he never noticed appears on his jaw. his father didn’t have that either.

absolutely a bigger man- probably twice his fathers size in some aspects. he blames your cooking and his frequent proximity to death. thick, wide, resembles a tank from the right angle. sounds like one too- does his best to soften it when his daughter’s sleeping. does his best to soften all of it, actually.

yesterday, his son drew a family portrait. gave simon yellow hair, with scribbles of light brown over it. when simon asked why, his son replied,

“because you’re both, daddy!”

the drawing is hung on the fridge, until his son makes another to replace it.

this time, simon’s hair has grey, too.

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two old hounds

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sheep dog shifter johnny who does not recognize one of the livestock.

you looked normal enough. apple meat wool. eyes like bowls of soup- warm and familiar. grazing on Price's field like you've been there for years.

but you smell.

smell like far away acres and fear. citrus undertones attributed to perfumes and ribbons and real beds made from cotton and feathers. like the spare one Price offers (although, Johnny never takes it. prefers to watch the barn from the porch).

you linger with locked knees when he does his nightly rounds. he's caught you watching a couple of times, big eyes that blink slow and tear up when he barks.

it all sponsors his pursuit to the barn on a deep sunday evening. hours after church, when he can smell the unholy spirits celebrating witching hour on the edges of the wood. unlocks the door with burly hands that still feel unnatural.

and oh, he knew it.

could smell the human under your coat the minute you put up a fuss about shearing season. kneeling in your bale of hay, rubbing the chunks of soft wool from you irritated skin, fat, frustrated tears streaming down your cheeks, bright and big when you see him from across the barn.

donnae worreh, pet. he'll keep your secret from price- won't make a mess when there doesn't need to be one. he'll take care of his sweet girl, herding you to the best spots in the field and eventually to his bed.

works your virgin cunt on his fingers and covers your bleating with the hand he finally understands the use of.

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I think of Gaz and Johnny as nosy bitches, especially when it comes to ghost, and they’re always trying to look over his shoulder to see what he’s doing on his phone

And they start noticing a contact that keeps popping up (not saved with a real name, no one in Ghost’s phone is) and getting sent money. Hundreds at a time. Heart emojis being sent in response.

They compare notes with each other, Soap and Gaz, and they come to the conclusion that he’s finally done it. ghost has gotten so terminally bitchless that he’s letting some bimbo fleece him for all he’s worth.

They’re debating how to intervene, tell him it’s not over, he’s tall enough that he could find a real girlfriend probably, when he invites them over.

And you’re completely normal. It’s clear you love Simon a lot, and while you have a lot of hobbies, there’s no designer purse or high end rhinestone nail extensions, no souvenirs from Paris.

“L.T. I’ve gotta ask. All tha’ money… the hell was it all fer?”

“Premium season pass to the zoo.”

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until the 12th june

tehehe if anyones interested

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teddy bear expressions

dad's not sleeping

Captain price

some magic mike for you

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still thinking about John Price in the wakeboard competition getting fawned over by all the ladies, even the ones with boyfriends. lots of gaggles of girls giggling ‘daddy’ behind their hands with heart eyes and damp bikini bottoms and John is the only one who manages to get the bonfire on the beach going later that evening (even without the flint the asshole boys hid from him, and in like basically no time at all) to much applause from the girls

im so glad someone else is as obsessed with lake dad john price as i am.

local bachelor and outdoors enthusiast. divorced. freshly retired, learning how to enjoy the absence of adrenaline and the sun when it hits the trees at the right angle. hiker. owns a cabin with a nice lake view.

promptly ruined, during the summer months.

those university grads with boats. the women they’re desperate to impress. nursing tallboys instead of careers. crass. loud.

at his limit, when he finds glass shards on his morning patch of beach.

storms their little gathering. shows off his fire skills to the girls who are much to young for him. lets them stare anyway because he knows he has exactly what their boyfriends lack. gets them real alcohol, amber with a cold that burns. holds their chins while they drink from one of his glasses.

even if the boys were allowed to touch his collection, they were much to butthurt to do so.

bids them a polite goodbye, and the girls promise they’ll be quieter in the future. watches them drive off, with several of the girls numbers in his pocket.

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couldn’t tell you tbh. simon x reader. brat dynamics

it was an innocent prank. that’s all it was supposed to be anyway.

folded over your bed, listening to the familiar sound of fabric and metal clashing in simon’s hasty effort to get his cock free, an idea sprouts before you have time to cut it.

the joke is notched between your teeth, and you hide your smile in the sheets when you feel his hips crowd your ass. try your damndest to take his inches while relaxed, minimizing your flinches when he eventually bottoms out.

then, you croak, “is it in yet?”

a sadistic pause. you feel the air short circuit, frayed ends of electric wires making the hair on your back stand up. immediate regret when you feel a hand grab your jaw, turning your face to look over your shoulder.

his features are calm, but the look in his eyes reveals boiled frustration. your courage drops to your stomach, and runs out straight out your cunt when his nostril notches.

“don’t feel me? let me help you.”

and suddenly you’re on your back, knees by your head. there is no warning, only a cock that digs straight into the gummy walls of your cunt, tip knocking the consciousness from your cervix. lightening shoots up into your throat, forming a plea,

“f-fuck simon- deep.”

he grunts, an annoyed version of a laugh, before continuing to ruin your cunt with the insatiability and aggression of a man challenged.

“feel me now, sweet’eart? or do i need to go deeper?”

you spend the rest of the night as a sore loser, with a sorer cunt.

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someone said price eats his girl out before work so he can have her smell on him or something, and that's so incredibly bold of him considering johnny mactavish exists.

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john price who challenges the rowdy 20 somethings to a wakeboard competition because they’re being obnoxious and he’s in over his head. completely biffs it when they start the boat.

it’s okay though, all the birds had their eyes glued to his arms as he pushes himself from the water onto the boat, and the boys shut their traps pretty quickly when the girls start asking if he’s okay, needs a drink, wants to stay.