being called simon's work wife by johnny is all fun and games til you start spotting the man you've never formally met in the corner of your eye.
imagine being told by a pig-headed superior to make yourself useful and go get him some coffee only to immediately start apologizing, words spilling out of his pathetic mouth like water because your johnny-proclaimed husband's looming right behind you in guard dog mode.
you mumble out a thank you, even though you're not sure what for and he just tugs your name tag.
no one talks to my wife like that.
(forget about trying to clarify that it's work wife, he's got selective hearing.)
i think it's cute til it's not. til you're at a bar, drunk, and he shows up and takes you home. you wake up in a bed that smells of gunpowder and carbolic soap, in a shirt 3x your size and a pair of oversized sweats. when you check your phone, your friend's text reads, your husband is a scary man.
(there's a fucking ring on your finger, too.)
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In what world is taylor swift considered a tortured poet? Tortured is burroughs on heroin, is sylvia's head in the oven, is hunter s thompsons sheer lunacy, is lynch saying he'll shoot himself if he forgets a good idea, is bukowski being a deadbeat misogynist fuck up, is a beat poet in psychosis, is 27 club, is junkie scholar, is manic depressive diagnoses, is active drug dependency, is suicidal ideations. For a beloved world famous white girl popstar to take on the title of the tortured poet is the ultimate bastardization of the tortured poet...
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𝜗𝜚 porn link!
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆
sweetheart!reader & rafe’s first night back together
the sounds of your sticky and suctioning pussy swallowing rafe’s flushed cock, coupled with yours and his needy and throaty moans echoed through his bedroom of grandeur. his sweat-glazed back laid flat against the headboard, rafe’s head throw back with parted pink lips, his hands laid firmly around your hips as your feverishly bounced up and down on his unforgiving length, “fuuuck, keep fuckin’ me jus’ like that, mama,” rafe groans, thin strings of the both of yours’ cum that connected the tops of his thighs to the undercurve of your soft ass, keeping you connected.
with your acrylic nails digging into the side of rafe’s neck, you flipped your sweat-out hair over your shoulder, licking over your swollen lips with a whine, “s-so good, papi — dame mas duro … please,” you gasped, doe eyes blown from overstimulation as rafe’s thick mushroom tip hit that deep sticky patch that sent you right over the edge.
complying to your request, rafe swings an arm around the small of your dewy back, leaning his forehead against your chest with breathy grunts, his warm tongue lazily lapping at your hardened nipples as he pulls you forward, his toned hips fucking just right up into you sopping wet pussy, “shit — missed fuckin’ this pussy,” rafe moans, softly biting down onto your nipple.
with a small hand cradling the back of rafe’s buzzed head, your back remains arched, your lips parted as the slaps of his hips slamming into your ass left you all cock-drunk and dumbfounded, a pleasurable cry escaping your hoarse throat, “please keep fucking me, just like that — please, papi, please,” you beg, craning your neck down to get a better look at rafe who is staring up at you, his own lips parted as he reached a hand up to mush your forehead against his.
keeping a hand on either side of your face, rafe sends harsh thrusts up into you, the two of you refusing to break eye contact as your pussy squelches with each deep thrust, “jesus, baby — gonna cum so fuckin’ deep in you — y’can take it, yeah?” rafe coos, nodding his own head against yours as you nod wordlessly, swallowing thickly.
“i can take it, i can take it,” you whine, your plump tits bouncing as rafe continues to fuck himself deeper into you.
“ah, fuck! c’mere, mama,” rafe huffs, pulling you down by the back of your matted head as he sends a few quick and hard thrusts into you. you were so fucked out, you didn’t even have it in you to cry, garbled moans and broken whimpers were all you had left.
grabbing ahold of the plush fat of your ass, rafe grinds your hips deep against his a few times, before fucking his hips up into you with on deep thrust of finality. scratching your sharp nails into the smooth skin of his chest, you whine as rafe’s warm cum fills you up just right — you felt so full, you were right at home. allowing your cute lashes to flutter together, you let out a pathetic and choppy hum of satisfaction as rafe presses a kiss to your temple.
“holy shit, y’took that so well, princess,” rafe praises, a spent chuckle leaving his lips as you weakly nod against his shoulder, “stay just like that, m’kay? need y’to have my kid,” he smiles, rubbing a soothing palm to the sticky skin of your asscheek.
and like the cum-drunk sweetheart you were, you simply smiled, pressing a light kiss to rafe’s jaw.
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