Ugh, I Have A Bitch Ass Migraine And It’s Killing Me. I Wanna Go To Sleep But It’s Keeping Me Awake

“why’re you bein’ so snappy today, sweetheart?”

genuine concern laces simon’s voice as the mattress dips beneath you with his added weight, but it’s still not enough to knock you from your bratty state. sat at the head of your bed with your knees bent together in front of you, arms crossed over your chest, a pouty look on your face that hasn’t changed since you woke up that morning.

his hand slips up your calf and his other follows suit on your other leg not long after, and you’re still ignoring him. maneuvering themselves to the backs of your knees, making you huff out a frustrated sigh.

“still not gonna talk to me?” he frowns, calloused fingers abandoning your knee-socks and making their way up your bare thighs. his skin is cold, freezing against yours, and your breathing hitches when the rough pads creep upward past the end of your skirt.

you shake your head, refusing to meet his eyes and unrelenting with your behavior, and he’s forced to keep prodding; continue pushing forward, see how long you can keep up the facade until you’ll be whining and writhing and rightly fixed under him.

his digits graze your upper thighs, trickling inward to where you’ve always been the most sensitive, and he tugs at the lacy material of your panties — twice, before pulling them tight against you.

a small whine unexpectedly falls from your lips.

and, oh, he’s got you.

“my poor baby…” he coos. the second his hands emerge from beneath your skirt, your eyes snap open, surprised he’d tease you in such a mean way. his large palms move back to encase your knees; gradually guiding them to part, gentle as you go so pliant for him.

“just a troublesome, little thing, aren’t ya?”

your grumpy pout turns to a sad, desperate one, and he hums in sympathy. he knows you don’t mean to be like this.

he reaches forward again, this time his knuckles finally making contact with the soaked center of your panties, and you gasp aloud. his touch is still light though it’s enough to make you deprived.

“y’need me to help ya rub one out, hm? is that it?”

and finally- finally, you give in to simon. nodding your head, eyes all watery when a tear falls to your puffy cheek, and murmuring soft pleas that entirely contradict the you from a mere minute ago.

he grins proudly; no matter how difficult you may be at times, he’ll always break through it. pull his sweetheart from whatever depths of ill-behavior she fell into, reset that little brain for the better.

“it’s alright, dovie, i’ve got ya. just let me take care of you.”

his hand dips between your skin and the fabric of your panties, careful as he inches closer to your heat, and you give him full reign.

because that’s what he’s there for; to take care of you, of course.

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I love you

I’VE GOT TO GET THIS OUT- I- AH!

I had a really gorgeous lady hit on me and I stuttered out a thank you. She complimented my accent and called me a southern belle. She got my number and I feel like I’m going to explode. 🥺🥺💖💖💖

(Background: I’m from Tennessee and I have a decent amount of accent in general but anger/nervousness makes it stronger.)

AWOOOOO! I'm barking

p links of a captain john price lookalike that i loooveeee

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I feel so fucking nasty. I absolutely want death.

I’m sad…you know what would fix it? If John Price was railing me.💖💖💖

"If tampons should be free, then so should my diabetes meds."

Yes? Yes they should be? Your life-saving medication that you need in order to live for a condition you were born with should be given to you at no cost?