Cw: Somnophilia, Dubcon

While cleaning out my room I found a paper that my therapist gave me some time ago to deal with obsessive and intrusive thoughts. Sorry the paper is a little crinkled and stained, but I figured I’d post it in hopes that it will help someone like it helped me.

DISCORD BOYFRIEND KÖNIG

sfw + nsfw. this is just an amalgamation of all my ideas

könig has never been one for putting his face on social media. even before the scars that pull at the skin of his cheek, reshaping his expression in ways he’s never fully grown used to, the idea of being seen, really seen, has never sat right with him. there’s a certain comfort in anonymity, in keeping the world at arm’s length. easier that way. safer.

that unease, paired with what some might consider his more nerdy interests, means he gravitates toward spaces like discord rather than the highly curated feeds of instagram or facebook. there, he doesn’t have to worry about photos or videos— just a username, and a presence in text.

his handle is simple: king 👑. a nod to the name he’s carried for so long, stripped of rank, stripped of weight.

even in the server where he’s most active, he keeps things vague, blending into discussions about games, military history, or whatever niche interest has caught his attention that week.

every now and then, he’ll let something slip— a mention of deployment, an offhand comment, disappearing for months at a time, only to return with a sudden burst of activity. some put the pieces together. most don’t. and könig prefers it that way. it’s easier to let them think he’s just another guy with spotty internet.

your first interaction is rather simple in retrospect.

he’s back after weeks of recon, shaking off the mission like dirt from his boots, easing into the familiarity of a gaming server he’s called home for years.

it’s not a small server, so new people come and go. he does his usual routine— an automated, slightly impersonal welcome but what he doesn’t expect is the sheer enthusiasm in return.

“hi!!!!”

he stares at the message for a second, counting the exclamation marks. three. four. five? a small smile tugs at his lips before he even realizes it.

it doesn’t take long before you’re at his metaphorical side, sending a friend request before the conversation even shifts from your college courses.

the older members tease him. something about his last deployment scrambling his head enough to take a newbie under his wing. he lets them talk. he doesn’t mind.

soon enough, you’re in his private messages, dramatically lamenting your latest loss in a game he’s only vaguely familiar with. könig listens— well, reads— as you rant, words spilling out at a rapid-fire pace, interspersed with keyboard smashing and increasingly incoherent frustration.

he’s not much for new releases, preferring to sink his teeth into a single game for months on end, grinding away until mastery is muscle memory. still-

one evening, without preamble, he sends you a link. his profile. in your game.

the response is immediate. ‘king!!! 🥺’ you type, followed by an onslaught of keyboard mashing that takes up half his screen.

he exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. he wonders if you know how easy it is to make him grin like an idiot.

the calls are… an unexpected development.

könig doesn’t make a habit to join server calls. ever. it’s not even about anxiety, not really, just preference. too many voices, too much noise. he never expected to be comfortable enough with anyone to want to be in a call, let alone initiate one.

but when you start gaming together, it becomes a necessity. typing mid-match isn’t exactly efficient, and you’re the first to point that out.

“okay, listen, king, i am not about to lose another ranked match just because you take five years to type ‘behind you.’” he huffs, amused, but relents.

soon enough, calls become second nature— no longer tied to gaming, no longer requiring an excuse. you always ask first, polite thing that you are, and könig always agrees. sometimes it’s an unspoken invitation, a simple “call?” sent in the quiet hours of the night. sometimes he beats you to it, pressing the button before he can think too hard about it.

one time, it’s you who calls. he answers on the first ring.

“are you- wait.” you pause, listening. there’s a distinct, rhythmic thud-thud-thud in the background. not footsteps, but something heavier, more controlled. “are you on a treadmill?”

“mm.” his voice is steady, unaffected. a quiet confirmation.

you gasp, and he can practically hear the amusement brewing in your tone. “oh my god! you actually work out? i thought you were lying.”

he snorts, breath hitching slightly as he adjusts his pace. “why would i lie about that?”

“i don’t know! you just- i mean, you sit at your desk all day, playing the same game for hours, and you’re always online at weird times-”

“you are describing yourself,” he points out.

“shut up.”

there’s a pause, and then, with the kind of mischief that only comes from knowing exactly how to push his buttons, you add, “prove it.”

he slows to a walk, swiping open his phone. a moment later, you receive a picture. him, flexing. the lighting is dim, but you can still make out the cut of his forearm, the solid shape of his bicep. just to humor you, he throws up a peace sign.

“not stolen from pinterest.”

you burst into laughter so sudden and bright that he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.

you learn what it means to miss könig pretty early on.

it happens suddenly. one day, he’s there, active as usual, sending the occasional meme, idling in voice chat even if he’s not talking. the next? radio silence. not even a ‘typing…’ indicator.

at first, you don’t think much of it. maybe he’s sleeping in. maybe he’s busy. time zones are weird. it’s fine.

but then a whole day passes. then another. you check his status— nothing. not offline, not do not disturb, just… gone.

curiosity turns into concern, and before you can think better of it, you ask in the server.

“hey, anyone heard from king?”

the response is casual. unbothered. “oh, dude’s probably deployed again.”

you blink. reread the message. “deployed?”

“yeah, king’s military.”

there’s no warning for the way that statement knocks the air from your lungs.

military? as in, real-life combat? as in, war zones and danger and actual life-or-death situations?

you stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to even say to that.

he doesn’t resurface for weeks.

you don’t realize how much you’ve come to rely on his presence until it’s gone. his absence is loud in the quiet moments of your day, in the spaces where a message from him would normally be.

you check the server out of habit, catching yourself before you can search his username. it’s stupid, you think. you barely know him. he’s just some guy from a discord server.

but the worry lingers.

and then, one day, just like that— he’s back.

his return is as unceremonious as his disappearance.

no dramatic entrance, no fanfare. just a simple “hello.”

you see it the moment he sends it. your stomach flips.

before you can stop yourself, you send a private message. “you’re alive.”

a moment passes. then— “yes.”

you frown. “you were gone for weeks.”

“i know.”

frustration bubbles up. “you could’ve said something.”

“i couldn’t.”

you hesitate, fingers tightening around your phone. you don’t know what you were expecting. an explanation? reassurance? but it’s clear you’re not getting one.

but then, a follow-up message. one that feels heavier, more careful. “i’m sorry.”

and just like that, the irritation dissolves.

it’s strange, the way things slip back into place after that.

he doesn’t talk about it, and you don’t ask. but something shifts. after that deployment, könig starts telling you when he’ll be gone. nothing in detail, really. just a simple, “i’ll be away for a bit.”

(it means everything.)

slowly, you get used to it. the rhythm of his presence and absence, the way your conversations pick up right where they left off, as if no time has passed at all.

it goes on for months. this… thing between the two of you. könig doesn’t hesitate to call it friendship, though he knows, knows, it’s something else entirely.

something with edges softer than companionship, something that lingers in the pauses between conversation, in the way you had whispered his real name under your breath when he revealed it to you.

he doesn’t rush to name it. doesn’t push. he lets it simmer until it feels inevitable.

in the end, it’s you who breaks first. technically. not that he’s keeping score. not that he would ever rub it in your face, especially when he was a mere day away from asking the very same thing.

it starts with a message. no preamble, no buildup. just a simple: hey, what are we?

könig sees it and reacts before thinking. presses the call button so fast his thumb practically smashes the screen. it rings once, twice—

“you didn’t even ask.” your voice comes through, half exasperated, half amused.

“didn’t want to give you time to unsend.” his own voice is steady, but his heart is anything but.

you huff. “bold assumption.”

“not really.”

a pause. he hears you shift, fabric rustling, the sound of you settling in. something warm and slow uncoils in his chest at the familiarity of it.

“so,” you start, hesitant. “what’s your answer?”

könig exhales, tipping his head back against his pillow. “do you want the truth?”

“obviously.”

he hums, considering. in reality, he’s known the truth for a while now. probably before you even realized it yourself.

“i like you,” he says, simple, sure. then, because he knows you, because he knows your deflections, your habit of teasing when you get nervous, he adds, “and i’m very aware you like me back.”

you sputter. “that’s a bold assumption-”

“not really,” he repeats, smug this time.

you groan, but you’re laughing, and it sends something bright flickering through him.

könig doesn’t ask for nudes. not once. he flirts, he teases, but never pushes. he knows your boundaries, respects them, never even hints at wanting more. if anything, he’s careful. too careful, sometimes. like he’s afraid of crossing a line you haven’t even drawn.

so when you finally send something, it’s your choice.

the first picture is tame. barely anything. it's a shot of your thighs, soft and warm in the low light of your room. nothing scandalous. nothing too revealing. but the second you hit send, your stomach twists with nerves.

könig sees it immediately. you watch the typing bubble appear, disappear, then appear again. and then— “fuck.”

you grin. “good?”

“you have no idea.”

it only escalates from there.

könig never requests more. but when you send it, when you want to send it, his reaction is worth it. he worships you through the screen, tells you how beautiful you are, how much he wishes he could touch you.

“pretty,” he texts once, attached to a voice message.

you press play. his breath is ragged, like he’s just run a mile. “pretty thing,” he repeats, voice tinged with something almost reverent. “you’re going to ruin me, love.”

the first time he sends you something, it takes him forever to work up to it.

you don’t ask for it. wouldn’t dream of pushing him into something he’s not comfortable with. könig isn’t shy, necessarily, but he’s private. you know that by now.

so when, out of nowhere, a picture pops up on your screen, your brain short-circuits.

it’s cropped carefully, but there’s no mistaking what you’re looking at— bare skin, broad shoulders, his stomach flexed just slightly.

“you like?” he texts after a minute.

you swallow hard. “yes.”

“good.” and then— “more?”

you bite your lip. “please.”

könig gets bolder after that.

he sends more. never too much, always teasing, always just enough to leave you wanting. sometimes it’s his hands, sometimes it’s his abs, the sharp cut of his hip bones, the waistband of his sweatpants hanging just low enough to make your mouth water.

one night, he sends a voice message instead. you press play.

at first, all you hear is his breathing. then, slowly, softly— your name, whispered through a noise that makes heat bloom low in your stomach.

“wish you were here,” he murmurs. “wish you could see what you do to me.”

the actual nudes don’t take long. not ar all. you’re both desperate. buzzing. könig’s the one who caves first.

it starts with your text. 10 p.m., the hour where inhibitions slip through grasping fingers like sand.

“wanna see your cock so bad, könig…” you murmur to your propped phone, cheek pressed to your pillow, another one stuffed against your chest like it might replace the hollow ache between your ribs. a distraction. a poor substitute.

on the other side of the screen, he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. fingers tensing, then flexing, like he needs something to hold onto. “love-” your whine cuts through before he can even think. instinctive. needy. his stomach clenches. “okay, okay. as long as you're sure.”

his heart pounds as he opens his photos. he doesn’t exactly collect dick pics, but there are a few kept locked away, private albums, a passcode he suddenly fumbles to enter.

three minutes. that’s how long it takes to choose the best one. the right angle. the right lighting. enough to make your breath hitch when you see it.

he hits send before he can overthink it, then leans back, phone balanced on his thigh, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

your phone buzzes. the photo pops up. you blink, breath hitching sharp in your throat.

“oh my god.” the words spill out of you before you can even think to stop them. “könig…” you stare at the screen, gaze locked on the thick, heavy length of him. the way it curves slightly, resting against his thigh like it’s weighed down by its own sheer mass. your breath stutters.

“you're so fucking big.” it barely registers that you've said it aloud.

“yeah? you like it?

“like it?” you shoot back. “i want it inside me.”

his breath leaves him in one harsh exhale. he shifts, hips rolling involuntarily like he can feel your words on his skin.

“can i see you too?” he sounds so polite. and then, as if that wasn’t enough to twist the knife deeper— “please?”

your stomach flips. you bite your lip, already reaching for your phone camera, the need to show him everything burning through you like wildfire.

your breath comes shallow as you slip your hand lower, phone steady in the other. the need is a pulse under your skin, throbbing, insistent. you pull the covers back just enough, the cool air prickling against the heat between your thighs.

the camera catches everything. your slightly parted thighs, your swollen clit, the wetness gushing out of your hole. it feels like baring a secret you’ve never told anyone. you hesitate for half a second, heart racing, then hit send.

the second the message disappears from your screen, it hits you— you just sent that to him.

on his end, könig freezes. the photo loads slow, torturous, and when it finally pops up, he feels his whole body tense, blood rushing south so fast it’s dizzying. “f-fuck, i need to be inside of you-”

sex with könig, if you can even call it that, at first, sneaks up on you. you never thought you’d be the kind of person who got into this. sending texts that made your face burn, leaving voice messages you could barely listen back to without cringing. but with him, it’s different. easier. less embarrassing because it’s him.

still, going from nudes to actual phone sex takes some time.

“gonna sleep,” könig texts you once, attached to a blurry photo of his bed.

“alone?” you send back, teasing.

the typing bubble appears. then disappears. then— “obviously.”

you grin at your phone, satisfied. but then— “but i could use some company.”

you stare at the message longer than you’d like to admit.

didn't tell him that you had woken up panting, arousal between your thighs, könig’s name on your lips too many times. didn't tell him that you had pressed your hand against your clit during your calls, to the sound of his voice, to his laugh, to the quiet, wrecked groans he sometimes lets out when he stretches after a workout.

in the past, you hadn't told him how many times you’d dreamt of him because you thought you'd scare him off, kept your mouth shut about the images that haunted you at night, of his hands pinning you down, his mouth at your throat.

but you wanted to.

and tonight, you would.

the conversation turns slow. lazy. heavy with something unspoken.

“you sound tired,” könig murmurs, voice warm. he’s always like this late at night. soft, unhurried, like he’s sinking into the sound of you.

you swallow hard. your skin feels too hot, too tight. “i’m not.”

a pause. then, lower— “what is it, love?”

you hesitate, pressing your lips together. it’s too much. too embarrassing. but he knows something is different.

“talk to me. tell me what you’re thinking.”

you let out a shaky breath. “i had a dream about you.”

the silence stretches.

you can hear him inhale. you bite your lip. force yourself to continue. “i think about you. when i-” you stop. you can’t say it. can’t admit it.

könig exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to steady himself. “when you what?”

your stomach is a knot of nerves. but you want this. want him. so you take a breath, close your eyes. “when i touch myself.”

his breath stutters.

“fuck.” the word is almost a groan. your pulse hammers, blood rushing through your ear as heat pools in your stomach.

“könig,” you whisper.

he exhales, whispers his next words like a beg, “say it again.”

you swallow. “i touch myself to you.”

“i do too.”

your stomach flips. “what?”

“i-” he cuts himself off with a quiet curse, like he's frustrated with himself for hesitating. “i touch myself to you too.”

your breath catches. heat blooms in your chest, spreading down your spine. “könig-”

“all the time.” his voice is lower now, raw, like he's aching with it. “when i can't sleep. when you're on call with me, laughing, teasing me. when i wake up hard in the middle of the night and can’t stop thinking about stuffing you full.”

your body is burning again, despite the aftershocks still rolling through you. you're about to choke out a reply when you hear it— the rustle of fabric, the faint creak of bedsprings, the wet slide of skin on skin.

“are you-”

a sharp inhale. “yes.”

“let me hear you,” you whisper, thinking about his pretty, pretty cock. uncut, soft skin stretched over the flushed head, the way it would slide back when he’s fully hard, revealing the deep pink of his leaking tip. the veins that wind down the length, standing out against the pale skin

there's a pause, a hitch in his breath. then, slowly— “okay.”

there's a small rustle, könig adjusting himself on the bed. the faint sound of him pumping lotion on his hand. a quiet sigh. and then, a low grunt as the warmth of his palm wraps around his cock.

könig looks down at his hand, eyes half-lidded, hips bucking up in small thrusts. he imagines your pussy instead of his fist, hot and tight and so fucking warm, fluttering around his length as he pushes in, spearing you open with a cock too big for your little cunny.

he knows you’d cry for him, little gasps and hiccupped moans, squirming beneath him as he bullies his cock deeper, past that tight ring of muscle into the slick, warm clutch of your cunt.

“a-ah- fuck, ah-”

your breath stutters at the sounds, hips grinding against your palm. “wish i could see you.”

“on cam?”

you groan, squeezing your thighs around the pillow in-between your legs, grinding your clit against the material softly. “yes, please..”

fuck, you're so polite.

I think Nik sleeps naked. Not a stitch on that bear. And he gets hot so the windows have to be open, and the blankets are getting kicked off at some point in the night.

Meanwhile, Price wears the cotton t-shirt, the plaid flannel trousers and wraps himself up in that duvet like a burrito. He gets cold, and itchy, and his bollocks stick to his thighs, and it's just uncomfortable.

When Nik wants sex, he has to unwrap Price like a present. Nothing gets him going more than the feel and smell of a sleepy, bed-warm John Price that he can slowly tease into arousal, feel him flush, skin to skin, and then the soft, wrecked whimpers as Nik sinks his cock into him.

Sure, they like it rough and raw too, but there's something uniquely special about seeing that level of vulnerability from his partner, and Nik laps it up.

photos of simon you took:

photos of simon that johnny/kyle send you:

photos simon send you:

(the guys in the photo are johnny and kyle)

“english isn’t my first langua—“ say no more.

𝖾𝗑-𝖿𝗐𝖻!𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 “𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵” 𝗋𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗒 𝗑 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗐𝖻!𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 “𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘱” 𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗑 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖼𝗐 : 𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾

𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾. 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅, 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆𝖾.

𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾, 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎—𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼. 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌; 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁, 𝗇𝗈 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖽𝖽 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗑. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗎𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍?

𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍, 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗀𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌, 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖾. 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅. 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅, 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾. 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝗋𝗆, 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾.

𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁. 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖼𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝖻𝗒 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖽. 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆: 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖽. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎; 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍.

𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎: 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾. 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗁𝗒, 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗎𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍—𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉—𝗌𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅. 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍. 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋.

𝗂𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗋𝗆, 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗀𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌—𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗆𝖾. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗄𝖾𝖽, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌.

"𝘺𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 '𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰' 𝘧𝘶𝘯," 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖼𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐. 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽? 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄.

𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾; 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌.

𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗁. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽, 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽. 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽-𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗅𝗒. 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾.

𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 141. 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽, 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘦, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅. 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽.

𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖽. 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒, 𝗌𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾. 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖺𝗇𝗌. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒? 𝗈𝗁, 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝗒, 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀.

𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇. "𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽, 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝖽, 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽, "𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘦. 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘦," 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗄 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾.

𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇, 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝖽𝖽𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒. 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗑. 𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝖿𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗀𝗈 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝗇. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗀𝖺𝗓. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗀𝗎𝖾𝗌.

𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐, 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗇—𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗅.

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝗈 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍. 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾, 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝖿𝗍. 𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗌𝗇𝖺𝗉 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇, 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝗍 𝗎𝗉—𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗐, 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒'𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍. 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗐, 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁, 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗉𝗍 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗃𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗐? 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

"𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘓.𝘛.?" 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋. "𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸?" 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾. 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝗌𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄. 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗇𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗄𝗇𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝖺𝗉. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗇𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗁𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍. 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗎𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗎𝗂𝗍.

𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗋. 𝖻𝗎𝗍, 𝗀𝗈𝖽, 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻? 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌. 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌. 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆. 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄. 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐.

𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝖿 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗋𝖽𝗂𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽.

𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗇𝗍. 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽?

𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨.

𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢

me and the grown man who whimpers when i call him a good boy

gaz knows he’s pretty, but he loves it even more when you tell him so.

it was a perfect saturday morning, a rare occasion where you and kyle finally got days off of your professions. so that meant sleeping in ungodly amounts of hours tangled in each other’s limbs.

it was just a quarter to 11 am when you both finally stirred. he hummed, opening his eyes to find you already looking at him. his lips split into a gentle smile. “mornin’, lovie.”

your hands reach up to frame his face in your palms, and you mirror the smile he gave you. “good morning, pretty boy,” you murmur, peppering his face in the softest of smooches.

heat rose to his cheeks and spread to the tips of his ears, a slow sigh exiting his nostrils as he accepted your affection, eyes shutting so he could only think of your kisses. “your pretty boy.”

he listens as you snicker quietly, his smile widening. “mm. my pretty boy,” you correct yourself, before pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.

nudging his forehead against yours, he inhaled a nose full of your scent, and returned your kiss with his own. “can we have waffles today?”

“of course we can, handsome.” another rush of heat to his face. he pecks your lips once more, before you both roll out of bed to start brunch together.

but of course, it’s your day to treat him. after he pulls out the bacon and lays them out in strips on the baking sheet, he turns to you. “anything else i can do, sweet’art?”

“just sit there n’ look pretty f’me, love.”

so he hops onto the counter, looking to you with heart eyes as his legs dangled and kicked like a giddy child.

gaz masterlist

© clancycatears 2025. do not copy, steal, translate, or feed my works to ai.

nearly overslept for class and ugh. i hate that i have to wake up in the mornings to go to class that I need to get a degree instead of having a tall, buff military man spoil me materially and financially. literally the only thing that’s been keeping me going the past couple weeks is the thoughts of 141 sugar daddies 😭

Anon, I feel your pain. Us struggling college students have to get through this together. <3

That being said, absolutely delicious idea. Yum.

Price is the obvious choice but @ceilidho put the idea of sugar daddy Gaz in my brain and he’s been fermenting in there for days.

Unfortunately I think Soap spends his money as he gets it on dumb bullshit. As much as he’d love to spoil you he simply doesn’t got it like that. (He probably collects funko pops or something literally stupid) (I love him he’s horrible.)

And Ghost is a stingy motherfucker just because. Like he just doesn’t want to spend his money until he absolutely needs to and even then he’d probably consider being homeless for a little while before it came to that. (He actually just sucks idgaf he’s a nightmare. I want to put him through my mattress.)

BUT Gaz saves all his checks because he simply has nothing to spend them on. He gets the essentials, maybe rents a little flat for when they’re home, but otherwise he just tucks the money away. It’s not intentional, per-se, like he would spend it if he really wanted something, he just doesn’t really see the point in spending large amounts of cash on himself because he’s never stationary long enough to enjoy things like that.

Maybe he meets you by chance, it’s a one-off date that ends up going REALLY well. He foots the bill for dinner at a nice restaurant (bc he’s classy like that) and gives you a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night when he walks you back to your car. Next day, he has flowers delivered to your place with a note that says something about how he’d love to go out again if you’re interested.

Obviously you accept, but then the time comes around for your next date and you have to cancel because someone was offering quite a bit of money to get their shift covered at work and it was simply too good an offer to pass up. You apologize profusely and he’s completely understanding, tells you to just let him know when you want to reschedule.

When you get off work there’s another arrangement of flowers waiting on your doormat. Another note stuck in them with an envelope tucked behind it. The note is sweet. He’s sorry you had to go to work because he really would have loved to see you. There’s a gift card and instructions to get a coffee on him before class tomorrow because he remembered how miserably early your schedule started.

And then you open the envelope and there’s a few hundred dollars cash tucked neatly in it. You text him and ask if he meant to put it there and he responds with;

Didn’t want you to have any reason not to come next time. :)

You’re shocked to say the least. So so appreciative, but you try a few times to get him to take some of it back. Insisting it’s too much and he barely knows you but he shuts you down and insists it’s better spent on you than sitting in his savings gathering dust.

As time goes on, he’ll get to know you and your interests and niches better and instead of flowers, you’ll find new notebooks and a pack of the fancy pens you say write better. Straight up cash in an envelope with a scribbled heart on it. Jewelry he said reminded him of you. Lingerie, but always two sets at a time. One in your favorite color, one in his. Bits and baubles either from shops nearby or from his travels. Always with a handwritten note about where they’re from or why he got them for you or what he was doing when he saw it.

You make some joke about how he’s practically your sugar daddy and he teases you back in the moment but the idea sparks something fucking crazy in his brain. Loves the idea of taking care of you. Pays the rest of your lease as a birthday gift. Calls in and pays your tuition for your anniversary. If you ever try saying it’s too much, he’ll wave you off and shush you. Maybe try distracting you with lunch or he’ll say some fuckboy shit about I know how you can pay me back.

MDNI 18+

loser simon riley unaware that he is largely endowed getting laid for the first time

cw: loss of virginity, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, simon is down bad

simon getting pussy for the first time and doesn’t know how to act

“fuck si, your huge,” your hand gently stroking his cock, as he tried his best to not come right there and then. everything felt like a wet dream, a pretty girl like you all dolled up fisting his cock as you kissed his neck, perched up on his lap. your pretty pink lace panties tossed on the floor as you grinned on his muscular thighs, the idea of his cock deep inside you made you feel little achy in between your legs.

“i don’t know if it’ll fit,” you whined as you rubbed it along your glossy cunt, his cock painfully hard as he smeared the pre cum all over you. “it’ll fit, i promise,” simon groaned when you gently nudged his sensitive tip to your soppy hole, barely in and he was already a mess.

he would make it fit, god he would do anything to feel your small cunt around him.

you sank down inch by inch, but the stretch was too much, burning slightly as your cunt accommodated to his length. “is it all the way in si?” your voice trembling as you bit down on your glossy lip, your body already trembling.

“almost half way,” his large tatted hands gently holding your sides, “please, i need all of you.”

simon didn’t care if he sounded pathetic, because he was. he was so god damn desperate to feel something other than his calloused hands, or the stupid flesh light that he got.

“please, jus’ a lil more, i’ll make you feel good, please.” he begged, barely half way in and your cunt felt so warm, so welcoming - he couldn’t just let you go.

slowly you took him all the way in, your body shaking as the prominent bulge in your stomach was displayed, your breaths coming out in pants.

“i’ll make you feel good, i promise.”

his thrusts were awkward at first, you were just so damn tight like you are sucking him back in, barely pulling out a few inches before slamming back into you.

“too big si,” your nails slowly digging into his skin as your gummy walls clenched around him. “you can take it, yer doin’ so well.” he cooed softly as his mind went hazy with pleasure, a guttural groan leaving his lips as he bounced you on top of him.

you were like his personal flesh light, so warm and loving, your sweet cunt tightly snug against his cock - god he wasn’t going to stop.

his thrusts turned sloppy, the sound of skin slapping filled the room as you bounced mindlessly on his cock. you were too damn cock drunk to even think, his fat tip hitting all of your sweet spots.

“si, i think i’m gonna come.” the comment alone snapped simon out of his trance. the thought of you clenching tightly around him, whilst you came on his cock, it dribbling down almost made him come right there and then.

he wrapped his tatted arm around your waist, pulling you to his chest as he thrusted into your cunt harshly, your body trembling trying to get away from the amount of pleasure. “stay here please, i’ll make you feel good,” simon mumbled as he held you tightly in his arms,

the moment you came so did he, the feeling of your walls clenching around him was too much, he wasn’t used to it after all - only the feeling of his rough palms and the loveless toy.

“did you just-”

“fuck ‘m sorry, you just felt too good.” he grimaced at his apology, his hands wrapped your waist as if he didn’t want to let you go. “jus’ one more please?”

his eyes glued to the way his cum slowly oozed out of your cunt.

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