#but gotta get that bread money

[satorusugurugurl]

I feel like absolute garbage 🙂‍↕️ despite that still writing my smut and I'm about to go suffer at work for eight hours wish my and my throat luck!

Oh, and y’all are gonna cream yourselves with this escort!reader fic I'm about to drop tonight 🥵

Side note: my hubby sent me to run some errands—i left for medication and came back with all the JJK manga so it's on sight I need to know who the lawyer man is!!!

[rexscanonwife]

Naw but the way Charles literally has a spidey sense when somethings wrong with the boys 😭🙏💖💖

[aniseandspearmint]

*sigh* don't you just love it when you order a pizza, take one bite, and gag because the dough is spoiled.

[sleepysnk]

hanma wip should be done by the end of the day! it’ll probs be my last fic for a little bit because i do start work next Friday!

[loving-delusions]

the blood moon has struck once more

and i crave... garlic bread.... lemonade....... fruit shake.............

[cozybearz]

just remembered i have fancy olive oil and balsamic vinegar why the fuck havent i used it for dipping bread yet i need to do this next time i get bread

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You're online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: I couldn't help myself.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So... this is what it looks like today?" You aim your camera at the sky outside your window, "sorry, the screen is kinda in the way."

You let out a nervous chuckle and flip the camera to yourself. You make a silly face. You were never overly fond of your image on the screen but the vlogs help. Like a little diary, mostly for yourself. You and your seven followers on Insta.

You bat your lashes and fix the clip in your hair, "oh, I got this free. Yeah, I bought a new hair oil and they threw this in the bag." You let your thoughts run wild from your tongue. You found a journal too daunting, the blank lines leaving you just as empty. This is easier. "Anyway, I shouldn't have spent the money to begin with."

You give another splintered laugh. The one you let out when you're anxious, or scared, or happy, or even mad.  You bite your lip and catch yourself in your digitized reflection. You stop and turn your camera to your bedroom.

"Today, I'm gonna clean this mess. Me and you guys together."

You scour the room with the lens. Your laundry is piled on the floor and you have a stack of books you need to put on the shelf. It isn't the worst it's been but it's getting cluttered.

"But first, we'll have breakfast, can't start the stream on an empty stomach," you chirp and nearly drop the phone, "oops, uh..." You fix your grip and check the number in the corner. You have one viewer; on a good day, it's three, most days, it's just you talking to the void.

You go into the kitchen, just down the short hall from your bedroom, opening into your living room. You go to the counter and prop up the phone so the camera is on you again. You tap your fingers and hum.

"What should we have for breakfast?" You ask. You don't feel as crazy talking to yourself even if there's really no one watching. "Oo, French toast. Gotta use up the eggs."

You go to the fridge and pull out the eggs and the milk. You bring them back to the counter, shuffling around for a bowl, a whisk, and the cinnamon.

You mix up your ingredients and dip the bread, one piece at a time. You put on a skillet and fry up the slices, presenting a stack of three to the camera. You smile and dust some icing sugar over the top.

“Probably shouldn't have all this sugar for breakfast,” you shrug at the camera, “alright, quick break…” 

You put the stream onto the ‘back soon’ page and take your plate to the small foldout table against the wall. You're not a fan of eating on camera. You finish and rinse up before snatching your phone up again.

You return to your bedroom and put the phone on a middle shelf and flip the stream back to live. Still that one viewer…

“Anyway, I'm back,” you wave at the lens.

You hesitate, looking around as you stand straight and spin. Cleaning, right. Before you can set to work, the phone dings.

A message?

You go back to your phone and squint at the chat bubble floating up.

‘Looked delicious too.’

“It was,” you agree with a grin, “thanks.”

‘Don't mean the toast.’

The next message has you blinking. Your nape burns. They can't mean… you clear your throat and giggle.

“Well, let's get started,” you back up and clap your hands, “you know, I've been so carried away with work. This place is a pigsty.”

You sit on the floor and sort through the clothes. You toss them into the basket as you sit in silence. You stop yourself and glance at the phone.

“How about some tunes?” 

You walk on your knees to your bedside and turn on your bluetooth speaker. You go to your phone and find a playlist before pulling the stream back to full screen. As you do, you hear a noise you've never heard before.

‘BourbonBear has tipped.’ Huh? Really?

“Oh, thanks, er, BourbonBear,” you giggle around the name, “how nice. Maybe one day I can afford a proper camera for this, huh?”

You smile and go back to the dirty clothes. You quickly ball up a pair of panties and shove them in the basket. You carry on until they're all untangled.

You move on and tidy your desk, bending underneath to gather up a few loose pens. You make your way around the bedroom, putting away books, fixing the blankets on the bed, and straightening the little figurines on the shelf above the bed.

You grab the stick vacuum and suck up the dirt and proclaim your task done. It took a lot longer than you thought. It's after eleven. The one viewer is still there.

“Whew, okay, I'm gonna get myself washed up and go to the park. Maybe I'll post that later,” you give a thumbs up next to your head as you talk to the phone, “thank you.”

You end the stream and let out a sigh. Your videos aren't much and you doubt they're very interesting but it's like venting for you. Almost like having an invisible friend. You think you will take some pictures of the flowers to share.

🧸

You take your usual path through the park. The walks help you unwind your worries. You try to come after work at least a couple days during the week and both days on the weekend. You find the mindlessness of the routine to be calming.

The deeper you get into the wooded length of the path, you slow to admire the birds in the branches and the critters crawling in the brush. You take out your phone and snap a few photos of a blue jay before it wings away shyly. You smile and flip the cam, smiling as you take a goofy selfie. You can add that to your post.

The path winds ahead and you follow it in the din, listening to the river just down the incline to your left and the tweeting from the sky. You lift your face and inhale the woodsy scent. The sudden crack of a twig startles you and you spin to face the noise. There's no one there. Sometimes you forget other people are free to just walk on through.

You chuckle at yourself and continue on. The path leads out to a suburban street where you like to look at the houses. They're much more spacious and pretty than your grimy brick apartment building.

You come out from the shade of the trees and wander along the avenue. There's a mailbox painted to look like the house it stands before and a little nook for second hand children's books to be borrowed through the neighbourhood. Sometimes you picture yourself living in one of those houses though you don't think it could ever truly be.

As you crane your head, you sense a shadow in your peripheral. You're walking a bit slow. You sidle to the side to get out of the way of the other pedestrian. When no one passes, you look back. No one.

You must be imagining things. You shrug and plod along. You're already thinking of what kind of tea you'll have when you get in.

🧸

You sit down with your mug of ginger citrus tea and set to editing your post. You add a light filter to the photos as you shuffle through them on your laptop. The process is slow as the computer is nearly five years old now and chuffing on its 4GB drive. You get to the selfie you snapped, a stop.

You lean in to get a better glimpse of the background. It's fuzzy but there's a figure just over your shoulder. How could that be? You looked and there was no one there. That's so strange.

You stare as a chill courses through you. You're thankful you hadn't put your earphones in. You wouldn't have heard whoever it was and they may have even snuck up on you. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light.

You hit ‘post’ and try to shake off the foreboding. It's nothing. You're being silly. Besides, you're home and safe now. Next time, you'll be more alert.

A message pops up. You stare at the dot over the chat bubble. You tap with your thumb and bring up the DMs.

'Stream tonight?' BourbonBear asks.

You tilt your head. You already did some today. You're tired and want to lie down and enjoy your time off. You type back 'sorry, not tonight. tomorrow <3' and another notification vibrates. A comment on your latest post.

'Pretty sweater', also from BourbonBear. You heart their comment and leave a thanks below.

You flip back to the selfie. You can't really see your sweater in the picture, just the scalloped knitting of the collar. Well, you suppose it does look cute. You put your phone down and leave it on your desk. That's enough Insta for today.

🧸

You time your shopping trip for the least busy hour. It's early and the store is almost empty except for employees stacking bread on shelves or wandering listlessly around the deli. You have your phone in the basket of the cart, aimed at you as you roll it along slowly and check your list.

The stream is just as empty. It's only just started but you don't expect too many people to be up at this hour. You stop and grab a loaf of sourdough, checking the date before showing it to the lens and putting it in the cart. You smile and announce the next item.

"Strawberries... you know I was thinking I might get raspberries instead," you say, catching the eye of one of the yawning employees. You must seem like a weirdo. It's why you typically don't film in public.

As you roll around to the fruit, you notice the count change. One viewer. You choose a basket of raspberries and show those. You see a message float up; morning.

You smile and return the greeting softly and place the berries down carefully beside your phone. You need yogurt to go with the berries.

You work down the list, making some substitutes as you tick off each item. You linger in the ice cream section a bit too long and talk yourself out of a gallon of rocky road. You lean on the handle of the cart and smile down at the lens.

"Going to check out," you say, "see you all later."

All? There's still just the one. You end the stream and take your phone out of the basket.

You wheel around to checkout and line up at the only open till. You put your items up as you greet the cashier with a smile. She seems tired as she gives a dull response.

As you put the yogurt on the belt, you sense someone join the queue behind you. You glance over as a large man stands only feet away. He's tall and burly and staring at you. Maybe he heard you talking to your audience, or he would think, yourself. You continue to unload your groceries.

"Never tried those," he comments as you take out a box of strawberry Pocky.

You pause and hold them up, chuckling nervously, as you do.

"Pretty good," you answer, "I eat way too many."

You notice the man doesn't have a basket or a cart. That realisation needles under your skin. Maybe he's just getting lotto or smokes?

"You like sweet stuff."

"Too much," you squeak even though it doesn't sound like a question.

He just stares, not saying a word. You swallow tightly and pull the last few items out of the cart and get behind it to wheel it through the lane. As you do, he looms closely, adding to the sweat gathering on your lower back.

You roll along and wait for the cashier to ring through the rest of your things. She bags them up neatly in two large paper bags. You pay with your card and thank her as you lift the first into your cart. The man behind you moves forward and grabs the second, startling you.

"Got it," he says as he places it with the other, squeezing by you, crowding you.

"Oh, excuse me, sir," you stammer, "oh," you lean on the cart to roll it to the end of the lane as you make space between you and the stranger. "Thanks, er, uh... thanks."

You turn and grab the handle, jittering. He's really weirding you out. Especially as you realise he's walked right by the cashier. He's following you.

"I can help get ‘em in your car," he offers in a drawl.

"Oh, that's alright, I... bus," you cringe as you realise you've said too much.

"I could drive you. I have a truck."

"No thank you," you walk faster, the cart rattling with your pace.

"Why not?"

"I don't know you, erm, sorry--"

"You don't?" He catches up and shoves his phone in your face, your Insta profile glaring back at you, "I paid for the milk, maybe the berries..."

"What?" You stop, just by the door and turn to him. "I don't--"

"You haven't eaten, have you? I'll take you for French toast. That's your favourite."

"Um," you blink at him as your eyes tinge, "I don't..."

"You got me through a hard campaign, just wanna say thank you," he adjusts his cap and you notice the pin on it. He's a veteran. Oh, 'campaign'. 

“Just got back home," he shifts on his feet, a meek gesture for such a large man, "and... your videos helped me remember it. Helped me hold onto it in the sh-- in the stuff."

"I... wow, okay, that's... I'm glad I could do that."

"I really don't mind giving you a ride. Lots of weirdos on the bus," he insists.

"That's nice but--"

"Please," he softens his tone, "been a while since I sat down and had breakfast without worrying about the sky falling."

You shudder and grip the cart tight. You don't know how to say no. You didn't think about who was watching. You always just assumed they were bots. Then you think of the chaching noise and the amount flashing on the screen.

"BourbonBear?" You ask.

"Yeah," he cracks a crooked smile and smooths his hand over his thick beard. "Everyone calls me Syv.”

[definitelynotacrab]

Just thought I'd share a photo of me at my newly found job as that is how you make money. I don't understand money, but I do know you need it for seaweed at the corner store. Just to prove this is a strictly anti crab blog, despite what you might think, here is me in my ootd. At my regular, crab free job. Definitely no crabs. Just people.

[agirlcandream84]

HIII !!! im the anon that asked for neighbor!frank, and to answer your question... Why not both? 💋💋💋

Ok twist my arm why don't ya. First batch, Boyfriend!Frank:

Boyfriend!Frank Headcanons- yet again.

Frank is a SIMP for you cracking his back. As soon as he's face-down on the bed, he's pawing at you to straddle his broad back like "come on honey, get on top of me-- give it to me good" and making you lean your whole weight onto his spine-- a satisfying crack rippling through him while you shriek "oh-my-god-did-i-hurt-you?!" and he just chuckles with "nah sweetheart, do it again f'me" Sometimes you think it's as good as sex for him. Almost.

Speaking of sex though... one time you decide to tease Frank via pics while he was out of the apartment, every pic more suggestive and lewd than the last and when he finally bursts through the door you act coy for about 0.5 secs before Frank hauls you from the kitchen, your toes only skimming the floor as he carries you effortlessly with one hand, his other hand already working to unzip his pants, and tosses-- literally tosses-- you on the bed, as he crawls onto the bed after you and taps your knee with "open 'em for me doll. Not gonna ask twice."

You beg Frank for his help to paint your toenails for you and he pretends to grumble about but he secretly loves it. He's meticulous and even perches a set of magnifying reading glasses on his nose as he does it. Just his big hulking head hunched over your foot, his crooked nose inches from the tips of your toes. He's so proud of his work that he stops you from getting up before they're dry like "nah nah nah, you're gonna mess 'em all up 'n shit. Stay put, I'll get your book."

Frank does not take kindly to people (let's be real, men) disrespecting your intelligence. When you're remodeling your bathroom and you're looking for the right tile, the store clerk is talking directly to Frank about every detail, acting like you don't even exist. Frank is all, "The fuck you tellin' me for buddy? My lady asked you the question. Why don't you answer her," and the guy is suddenly tripping over his words as he gives you an apology.

You got it in your brain that you wanted to learn how to roller skate and your apartment is all hardwood floors so it felt like a perfect place to practice and Frank is like a nervous parent to a toddler, putting towels over sharp table corners, shouting "Go slow!" down the hallway and generally hovering around for the (many) inevitable times you lose your footing-- his thick arm looping around your waist as your feet slide out from under you and he's mumbling "gonna fucking kill yourself on these fucking things."

Frank didn't have much a sweet tooth except for your banana bread. The first time you made it you never saw him take a bite but somehow the loaf kept getting smaller and smaller. One night you reach over to Frank in the middle of the night but he wasn't in bed so you pad into the kitchen all groggy and rubbing your eyes asking "Frankie?" and there he is in the dark kitchen, enjoying a hunk of banana bread he tore off with his bare hands.

Unsurprisingly, Frank is a cash-carrying guy and you simply never have cash when you need it so Frank has taken to leaving a stack of bills tucked in your wallet once a week because he doesn't like you not having some spending money and emergency cash on hand.

Unfortunately, Frank was always scaring you on accident. Sure, sometimes you could hear the clunk of his boots from a mile away but Frank was pretty stealthy more often than not, even when he wasn't trying. Pair that with your nervous system being one that was sorta lowkey always on high alert and that amounts to you yelping in fright at least once a day when Frank seemingly appears out of nowhere. Of course, Frank interprets this as an opportunity to better educate you on how to be aware of your surroundings like "Come on sweetheart, you gotta get out of that pretty head of yours. Gotta stay sharp, alright?"

It took ffooorrrvveer into your relationship for Frank to even show you that he got sleepy sometimes-- LIKE A HUMAN. The first months of living together you didn't see Frank so much as yawn and he was always awake when you fell asleep and awake when you woke up in the morning. But finally, he slowly dropped his tough-guy-watch-dog visage just enough to let himself get cuddly when he was feeling slightly needy like when he was sick or especially tired or thinking about the past too much. His favorite spot was his cheek pressed into the warm smooth skin of your chest, his hands softly running over your breasts and his warm breath tickling your stomach. It was one of the one places he let himself be taken care of, just for a moment, with your nails scratching his scalp slightly.

[crackedpumpkin]

ʙʟᴀɴᴋ ᴄᴀɴᴠᴀꜱ || ᴘᴛ. ᴏɴᴇ ||

[ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

“If there is a god out there, please make sure my order isn’t missing any pickles this time.”

“Here ya go, extra pickles on the side,” Mr. Perez, the store owner, grunts as he all but flings a wrapped sub into your hands from behind the counter. You grab it with relative ease, undeterred by how oddly soggy the parchment paper is. It’s a slow day in the sub shop, with many of its usual customers absent. 

“How much?” 

“Five bucks.”

“How’s Didi?” You ask, fishing out a crumpled five-dollar bill in your pocket and handing it to him. You drop another into the tip jar when his back is turned, humming innocently when he faces you with a bag of small cookies.

“The usual. Slightly less of the devil incarnate lately, though. I think it’s because you’re coming over to babysit more often.” You take the cookies gratefully, a small note written in the ten-year-old’s messy scrawl glued to the side. You stash it away in your backpack, ensuring it doesn’t get crushed behind your sketchbook and pencil case.

“Is that y/n?” You hear the clatter of plates being shoved aside, Didi peeking out from behind the blinds that separate the storefront from the stairs that lead upstairs to their house. You smile but realize she won’t be able to see it through your cloth mask.

“In the flesh,” You grin, scooping Didi into a tight hug. You prop her on your hip, transferring the sub to your free hand as she giggles. “Have you made any new friends in school?”

Her lips purse into a pout, fiddling with your hair with sulky eyes. “No…They’re all stinky. Except for Maribelle, because she likes pickles.”

“Does no one else like pickles, then?” You ask curiously, Didi shaking her head. 

“Tommy and Jam like them, but they’re boys,” She informs you in complete and utter seriousness. You’re so tempted to comment, but you know that if you did, she’d sulk for at least half an hour.

“Jam?”

“Yeah, Jam.”

“Are you sure that’s his name?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright then,” You shrug, turning your head to the side so she can’t see the amused glint in your eyes. 

“Are you headed to the bank?” Mr. Perez asks offhandedly, cleaning one of his bread knives with a damp cloth.

“Gotta cash in the moolah,” You rub your fingers together in reference to the cheque that’s buried somewhere in the bottom of the heavy bag on your shoulders. You had recently finished a commission, and your client had tipped you generously, paying you an extra fifty bucks on top of the two hundred she was already paying. 

“Can I come? I wanna come. I’m going,” Didi demands as she braids a few strands of your hair. You look back at Mr. Perez for permission, the gruff man nodding in response. 

“Okay, but make sure you always stay with me, yeah?” Didi nods eagerly, kicking your side slightly as she points to the door. You leave the store with her in your arms, making your way to the bank. 

“Can we buy Legos?” You hum in thought, trying to decide how to reject Didi’s request without being too harsh. She tugs the beanie on your head, and it slides down to just above your eyes. You chuckle, using the back of your preoccupied sub-carrying hand to shift it back up slightly.

“Do you have enough money to buy some?”

“I got money!” Didi’s small hands search her pockets, patting down until she finds what she’s looking for. She pulls out a ten-dollar bill with a triumphant smile, eyes shining with anticipation as she looks at you. 

“Then we’ll buy some on the way back, yeah?” You offer, already seeing the money leave your wallet when you pay for the leftover cost of the Lego set.

“Hmm…Okay!” Didi agrees after a moment of thought, clapping her hands together and urging you to walk faster. You break into a slight jog just to tease her, soon reaching the doors of the large bank. 

You push past the huge glass doors with your shoulder, the sub still in your hands. You couldn’t put it in your bag, fearing it’d ruin your cherished sketchbook and, even worse, the crumpled cheque buried somewhere near it. 

You eye the long lines for each counter, groaning at the thought of a prolonged wait. You scan the hall, trying to find the shortest queue. 

There. You quickly join the line of people waiting, breathing a sigh of relief when you see a few more people join your queue right after you do. The bank is mostly quiet; the only sounds are fingers clacking away on keyboards and hushed conversations of bank account details. 

A trio of men wearing black cloth masks stand in a corner, furtively glancing around and having a hushed conversation amongst themselves. Two large bags are on the floor next to the shortest one, all three nodding at each other before the other two pick up the bags and head towards the door while the shortest approaches the information counter with another bag slung on his hip.

Huh. Maybe they have social anxiety. 

You watch them converse with the clerk, half your attention on Didi, who’s tugging on your hair while braiding it out of boredom. You spot the clerk smiling nervously in your peripheral, brushing it off as the usual horrible customer service interaction.

You focus on Didi instead, jostling her slightly in your arms. She yelps, lips pursing into a scowl when she’s disturbed from her concentrated braiding. You giggle, entertained by her reaction. You lean in, bumping your head against hers in a gentle tease.

The doors slam shut.

You flinch at the sudden sound, turning to see the two men from earlier at the entrance. Each stands in front of the doors, arms crossed with two large rifles in their hand as they quickly adorn ski masks. The man at the information counter now has a gun in their hands, pointing it up at the ceiling and firing a single shot.

The loud bang startles Didi, who instantly covers her ears, pushing her head against your shoulder with a small squeak. You protectively hold her close to you, ready to shield her body with your own in case anything happens. 

“Everyone drop everything, get down on the ground, and lift your hands now!”

You slowly sink to the ground, eyes never leaving the guns in their hands. This situation is the opposite of ideal. Being held hostage isn’t exactly part of your five-year plan for graduation. The doors are guarded by the guards, dark silhouettes blocking the sunlight.

“Hey! I said to drop everything and lift up your hands,” One of the robbers guarding the doors earlier points a gun straight at you with a glare. You look from the weapon to the sub in your hands, reluctant to let go. 

“I said, drop it!” 

You gingerly set it down with a defeated sigh. “You happy now?” You ask him with a scowl. He steps towards you, still aiming his gun at you as he picks up your sub and throws it to the side. It lands with a plop onto the dirty ground, now a ruined mess.

“Wha- My sub!” You complain with an offended gasp, now glaring at the man who just destroyed your dinner. You see the arch of his brow beneath his thin ski mask, exchanging a confused look with his accomplice.

“You do know this is loaded, right?” He questions with a wave of his gun.

“You just threw away a perfectly fine sub! It even had extra pickles!” You argue, still mourning the loss of your dinner. Setting down your sub you could deal with. But flinging it against the wall? That was absolutely uncalled for. “You’re a maniac,” You seethe, your jaw clenched as you shoot him the coldest glare you can muster.

You hear tiny sniffles and a loud hiccup from beside you, looking down to see Didi’s scrunched nose with snot dripping down it and tears streaming down her red cheeks. Her lips are pressed tightly together, but you know she’s about to start wailing.

“Hey, hey, Didi,” You call out to her gently, ignoring the robber that watches you intently. “Let’s play a game of patty cake, okay?” You offer, holding out your hands. She places her small ones in yours, and you curl your fingers to cover her own. 

“I’m scared,” She hiccups, her sniffles growing louder by the minute. You shush her with a reassuring smile, thinking of a way to soothe her. 

“Oi! You sure have a death wish, lil’ missy.” You hear the cock of a gun behind you, turning to see it being pointed straight at you. “I already said: hands up where I can see ‘em.” 

“Look, do you want to handle a wailing child that’s bound to attract attention? Or do you want me to calm her down so none of us get a headache?” 

After a moment of deliberation, he moves his gun down to his side. “I’m watching you,” He warns.

“Yeah, yeah, as if I’d forget.” You huff with a roll of your eyes, crossing your legs and sitting down with Didi in your lap. “Now, where were we?”

You continue playing patty cake with the trembling girl after coaxing her into removing her hands from her ears. The shortest robber, who seems to be the ringleader of the three, is preoccupied with getting the clerk to empty the enormous vault at the back, stuffing bundles of cash into the large duffel bags they had carried with them earlier.

It’s tense.

Everyone chooses to stay silent, their shaky hands and terrified eyes a pleasure to the thugs. You risk a quick glance around, wondering when the hell Spiderman would show up. Isn’t this in his job description? Was he even getting paid? 

Someone knocks on the door.

The two crooks guarding the doors turn instantly, pointing their guns at a familiar figure with their hands raised in surrender.

“Yo! I came here to negotiate, not to fight.”

They look to their ringleader for a response, the latter giving them a nod and gesturing to their guns warily. They nod at each other, hoisting their weapons closer to their chest and opening one of the doors. 

Before they can react, Spiderman drops to the floor, immediately kicking their guns out of their hands. They land on the floor with a clatter. “You should really think twice before opening the door for strangers,” He chides, nimbly avoiding a harsh blow from the two thugs surrounding him.

That’s a nice suit.

Your eyes automatically follow him as he swings, dodges, and takes out the robbers in mere minutes. He’s nimble, avoiding each blow and disarming the vicious crooks that threaten to fire. 

“One step closer, and she’s dead meat!” 

Didi’s body is grabbed from your arms, and you look up in horror as the robber that threatened you earlier holds his gun close to the small child. Tears are dribbling down her cheeks uncontrollably, choking on her stifled sniffles. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” The masked vigilante halts in his steps, hands raised up, “Threatening a kid? That’s not gonna look good on your record, man.”

“Then put your hands up, walk to the wall, and give up!” 

“Wait!” You scramble to your feet, freezing as soon as you do. The robber presses the gun barrel closer to Didi’s shoulder, an ice-cold grip of fear crawling down your spine at the sight. 

You can’t let her get hurt. You rack your brains, trying to figure out a good distraction for Spiderman to take action. “I-I’m pretty sure I’m gonna die, but I just have to say something.”

“Get down on the floor!” The robber shouts harshly, fed up with the kids that keep bothering his easy getaway. You slowly kneel back down, never breaking eye contact with Didi, whose cheeks turn redder by the second. You spot Spiderman’s finger slowly moving to press his web shooter, eyes darting between him and Didi. An idea takes form in your mind, but it’s risky.

You pause, swallowing nervously. “Didi… I’m the one that broke BunBun.”

She screams. 

The ear-splitting sound makes the robber wince, dropping her to cover his ears. Spiderman seizes the opportunity, using his web fluid to grab his gun and toss it away in the far corner of the bank. He immediately gets to work through Didi’s screaming, effortlessly capturing the last robber and throwing him aside in a cocoon fashioned out of his web fluid. 

You grab Didi, scuttling back into your corner of safety and trying to placate her. You gently rock her in your arms, letting her cry into your shirt. The collar is now soaked with her tears, and you’re beginning to regret confessing to the crime of having accidentally broken one of her favourite plates. You’d blamed it on the passing wind, and she bought it.

“Hey guys, y’all are safe now.” You look back up at Spiderman, who leans against the wall near you, scanning the crowd of relieved people who cheer for his bravery. He chuckles, casually shrugging as he tries to brush off the praise. He double-checks if anyone is hurt, his gaze lingering on you for a split second.

He gives you a brief nod and a friendly two-fingered salute, and you tiredly reciprocate the gesture with a still-crying Didi in your arms. His head moves back slightly in a wince (well, you’re pretty sure it’s a wince. You can’t really tell with his mask and everything.), and for a moment, you feel as though he’s sympathizing with you. 

He takes his leave through the glass doors, Spiderman-style, with his web-slinging skills and whatnot. You’re left with the aftermath of the police finally showing up, the crying child deterring them from asking you any further questions besides a short testimony.

“Didi, it’s over now. We’re safe.” You try to soothe her by gently patting her head and hugging her tightly briefly. You’re sure your shirt is soaked by now. It baffles you how a child has so much water in their system that they still sob even after half an hour.

It took an apology, three Lego sets, and a future promise for another at Christmas to get her to stop crying.

— — — — — 

The bed creaks noisily when you collapse on it with an exhausted groan, the sound a subtle sign of the old bed frame threatening to break any day now. The glow-in-the-dark stars glued onto your ceiling shines softly, the chilly breeze of Brooklyn gusting through your open window. You’d dropped off Didi on your way home, reassuring Mr. Perez that she was unharmed.

You shiver, getting up to close the window before hanging your beanie on the clothing hooks behind your door. You turn on the switch to the lamp on your desk, the warm yellow light coating your room with a cozy atmosphere.

Your stomach growls, a reminder of your delicious dinner having been a victim in the whole hostage situation from earlier. You sigh. Whatever. You’d grab a bigger breakfast tomorrow instead. For now, though, a simple protein bar from your snack drawer would have to do. 

You unwrap it and bite down, munching hungrily while grabbing your sketchbook from your bag and laying it flat on your desk. You flip the pages, eyeing the empty pages with distaste. Page after page of drawings that didn’t meet your standards make your heart sink. 

You finally land on an empty page and grab a pencil with your free hand. You tap the end onto the blank paper impatiently, trying to think of more inspiration for your next work. You’d been in a slump lately, and while commissions did give you some extra pocket money to go cafe hopping, it didn’t help much with your lack of artistic creativity.

Your hands itch to sketch out an idea. Anything would do. The only problem is that your brain can’t provide even a smidgen of inspiration. You huff, leaning back in your chair.

You sit up straight and scooch closer to the paper, hoping that maybe that’d trigger some form of idea.

Nope. Nothing. Nothing hits you. 

Maybe it’s the happenings of today as well, what with a gun being pointed at you and helping your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman take down those thugs. You grin, recalling how Didi’s scream had impacted the poor goon, lips tugging down slightly at the reminder of your now empty wallet.

You’d have to find another commission soon. 

Maybe Spiderman would want one?

You begin to doodle absentmindedly, the scratching of lead against paper a soothing sound that practically lulls you into a trance. You recall the red spray paint of a jagged spider against the black suit, the design of it so simplistic and yet representing his personality so well. 

You remember his quick nod to you and silly salute, a chuckle slipping past your lips. How did he look like again? His elbow was bent, and two fingers were placed on his forehead as he leaned against the wall. He’s relatively lean, you recall, and probably taller than you too. It’s difficult to gauge since you were in a rather sticky situation that called for hunched shoulders and hesitant movements.

Your hand moves as if it’s got a mind of its own, recalling the webbed pattern on his suit. You draw and draw, adding shading after a basic outline is done. Your mind is foggy, no other thoughts remain except to transfer your memory onto paper. 

Wow.

You stare down at what you’ve just drawn, taking in the overall sketch with a shaky exhale. It’s the best you’ve done in a long while, with all the details contributing to the final product. 

It’s exactly as you remember, having drawn Spiderman giving you that silly salute while leaning against the tiled walls. You’d even shaded his suit perfectly.

You’re breathless. Is this really your work? From your own two hands, no less? It’s probably a one-off thing, but boy, does it feel good. Maybe thinking about Spiderman is the main reason why.

You giggle at the entertaining thought, shaking your head. 

It’s probably just the adrenaline.

[finalfrontierpublishing]

So it's been a while since i posted any books - mostly because i've been hiding my progress like a little sneak.

I just finished this bind last night of The Desert Storm by @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning, or really it's volume 1 out of like ??? 15, maybe. Please take whatever i say with a pinch of salt (I have had 0 sleep for more than 24 hours, and that tends to make me a little very sleep-deprivation drunk a.k.a. unhinged). Okay, on to thoughts! The Desert Storm was foisted onto me by @celestial-sphere-press who told me under no uncertain terms that I WOULD FUCKING LOVE THIS SHIT. Well, I did. This more than 1 million word epic about Ben Fuckin' Kenobi is pretty much god-tier fanfiction. It reads like a goddamn novel. I can never think of canon again without thinking that this good shit should be canon. I read it and then consumed half of it within a week, and I have zero regrets. @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning, i absolutely love you and love your writing. It is the best thing since sliced bread. It is better than sliced bread.

I also had the benefit of @celestial-sphere-press saying, hey would you want to use the typeset? MY GOD, i am grateful. I love this fic, i would have typeset it if it hadn't been typeset but Des did such a beautiful job that i am absolutely in awe and thankful that she and the author allowed others to use it. Look at it - it's so beautiful. I only had to think hey, i just gotta design the cover and et cetera and so the book happened.

Please also check out @celestial-sphere-press 's amazing post here and here, who is the only person i know who's started and is almost complete in fanbinding this epic, and is also making an author a copy of the entire series.

Some stats, if you will.

96215 words || 380 pages

Title font: Ghaomiec

I took some inspiration from starblight bindery's lovely desert scape as well as this amazing cover of Dune which i own. I love that the landscape emanates Dune vibes while being oh so Tattooine - just sand and heat, relentless loneliness and melancholy. This fic centres around Obi-Wan Infinite Sadness Kenobi so it needed SAD VIBES TM, which i tried to deliver in desolate landscape form.

Also thank the heavens for Renegade members, who in a masterful stroke of Group Buy Saves Money, managed to source extra-out-of-production colours of Colibri and help a fair number of us get really cool limited edition versions of bookcloth. I am now a proud owner of a lorge stash of Duo and Colibri of which i am now sitting on like a shifty dragon with a hoarding problem. Good luck getting your bookcloth now, Folio Society, ha ha (gloating)! This particular bookcloth is Colibri Copper which has been wholly stashed for The Desert Storm series. I am leaning on transitioning to Malachite for Rise and Fall when I get to it.

The front cover design was done with a stock image and converted to a PNG, which i then fiddled with and did some HTV magic with. It was remarkably easier to weed than expected. I tried something new and ironed the design on the naked bookcloth first before gluing it to the boards, which was a new challenge in making sure everything was aligned.

Endpapers are marbled endpapers (Renato Crepaldi) which I got from Hollanders, which perfectly fit the colour scheme of the bind. The only hiccup was as I was cutting, I realized the sheet was running in the opposite direction of his usual papers and half the size, and only yielded 3 A5 size endpapers and so my heart went noooooooooo. oh well. i guess i will use it for quartos.

Endbands are my favourite - silk in 3 colours in the french doublecore style (as i was binding this i did not have the mental capacity to handle the difficulty of 4 strands). the truth is i usually only can do 4 when I have higher brain function and am willing to spend 80% of my time unraveling it from getting tangled.

I also forgot to mention I had mild fuck-ups, I got glue on the front endpaper which I had to hastily remove with wet cloth, and the back square is preposterously bad but I'm ignoring it for now.

Anyway, i've actually managed to complete a few other binds which have not been mentioned here as they've all been gifts/ surprises or event books in some form. I am SO EXCITED, also because I am travelling in the latter half of July to San Diego and L.A. and I get to meet some bookbinding friends in the flesh. Renegade is fucking amazing y'all. I am ready to embrace these crazy lads who have enabled me for the last 1 year, even when i'm the solitary (1) weirdo from my country of origin in the server. Also... potentially bookbinding trip early next year??? I am enthused.

[elvisalltheway101]

••••••••••it’s impossible•••••••••

summary: Reader just can’t sleep, she never can. Elvis walks in just in time to help shush you to dream land.

author’s note: HEHHEEHEHHE! I’m back hunniessss. So I wanted to get this out before all the nasty deeds come flying out of my drafts. And let me tell, they’re gonna be nasty. Anyway, this is inspired by ahem, ✨me✨ I don’t have diagnosed insomnia but I’m rlly thinking I’ve got it. Lmao I’m too broke to care, ain’t nobody got that government money 😭🤧.

author won’t shut her chapped lips: so I really hope you guys enjoy…hehe the fluff for now. It’s gon be hell’s butter on bread real soon 😭.

•••••••••• ••••••• •••••• •••••••

You huff to yourself in frustration. Tears flood into your doll eyes, only making the dark room fuzzy and cloudy. You purse your lips and frown, having absolutely no idea why you’re not getting any sleep. You were so tired earlier today, throughout the longing day, and now wide awake in bed.

You cross your arms, giving up as your chest heaves up and down in irritation. Thoughts, stupid thoughts that have nothing to do with anything just continue to swarm and bug you.

Is this even normal? You scoff to yourself finally, rolling your eyes that makes the tears streak down your cheeks. You rub your sweaty palms to your eyes, adjusting to the darkness and squinting at the dark, navy blue clock across.

You read, 1:13 am, and you groan. Throwing yourself back into the fluffy, silky sheets, and jumbo pillows arch into your back. You truly don’t know what’s wrong with you. It’s impossible to sleep like this! It’s impossible.

The sound of the bedroom metal, cool shiny door handle being twisted and opened clears your thoughts for a second. You glance back and meet the warm glowing eyes of your darling love. A soft sigh leaves your pretty lips as you look away and trail your gaze into your lap.

“Darlin’? Why ya still up? You’re usually asleep by the time I come back from work.” A warm, honey-sweet southern accent stuffs the room, a pinch of concern is present.

You shrug and frown, furrowing your brows and sighing heavily. You slump, your pretty pastel pink nightie hugs you loosely as one of the straps falls off one shoulder. “I-i dunno…I’m tired but I can’t sleep.” You admit, tilting your pretty head up to look him back in the eyes.

There’s an understanding spark of blue in those pupils that meet your eyes, he clicks his tongue and shakes his head. Walking slowly over to the bed, the soft sounds of his footsteps thudding onto the red, thick carpet are the only things that busy the room.

“Oh…gotcha, hunny? Is something on your mind?” He whispers out softly, crawling slowly onto the big fluffy and soft mattress. You don’t bother to look up though, still so absorbed and worried in what’s going on with you. Hell, you don’t even know what’s on your mind.

Everything seems to fall and not matter when a large pair of big chubby arms embrace you into a warming hug. “Baby, c’mon, ‘s okay, ya don’t gotta answer. I jus’ wanna sleep wit’ my yittle baby, mhm?” He whispers ever so gently into your locks of hair, the sweet scent of your strawberry shampoo fill his nostrils. You only nod slowly in agreement, wrapping your arms around his big frame. He’s almost like a huge soft, brown teddy bear.

His arms engulfing you into a bear hug keep you to his prodding belly that bulges into your side, and that only adds to this intimate, loving moment. Slowly falling to your sides, he pulls you closer and lets one hand slip away to swiftly grab the thick, velvety red blanket. Pulling it up your chin, only ending it up to his shoulder but he’s already warm enough in love.

You feel your eyelids already starting to droop, suffocated in his delicious spicy, strong scenting cologne, with the feels of his tickling chest hair that peeks out from his shirt. You nuzzle your face into his chest, sighing softly in delight and satisfaction.

“It’s impossible, ta tell the sun to leave the sky it’s just impossible.”

You hear the soft tone of his words, so light and an airy fluff. The scent of cherry coke and the faint scent of smokes from cigars lingers in his hot breath and warms above you, and you can feel his chest rise slightly as he takes in another breath to continue.

“It's impossible to ask a baby not to cry It's just impossible.”

He laughs out softly into your curly, puffy locks, gently shoving his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling the sweet, pretty scent of that new cherry strawberry perfume. “Can I hold you closer to me. And not feel you going through me? But the second that I never think of you Oh, how impossible”

He whispers out warmly against your skin, and your eyes close for bedtime. Your long lashes fluttering like a butterfly’s wings, as his voice continues to soothe you.

“Can the ocean keep from rushing to the shore? It's just impossible”

He shakes his head to himself, and you feel a soft peck of his plump, hot lips press to your collarbone. His nose pokes against the silver necklace he had customized just for you, shimmers with its glittering font that reads: Your love. “If I had you, could I ever ask for more? It's just impossible”

He smiles and nods slowly, his heart fluttering at the memory of you and him buying it from the shop. When he draws in a long, wandering breath, he adjusts his arms on your body tighter and full of passion. “And tomorrow should you ask me for the world Somehow I'd get it, I would sell my very soul And not regret it, for to live without your love Is just impossible”

He finally ends, ending with a hushed warm whisper. Finally pulling his face out of the warmth of your neck, he cups your doll jawline and scans so lightly of your calmed facial expression. You look so peaceful and restful as your eyes shut and you’re finally asleep. Leaning down to press a loving kiss to your smooth cheek, then holding, cradling you to his shoulder with a happy sigh. Shaking his head to himself and resting his own chin onto the peak of your itty bitty little pretty head,

“It’s impossible.”

•••••••••

I hope you enjoyed! It’s been a while so…my apologies if it��s not as detailed as before. Anyways, love you lovesss

tagging my hunny dolls: @bigdaddyelvislover @jhoneybees

[holidayinhell]

Whumpay: Operating Table

Will post one excerpt per theme bc I simply do not have The Time!!

Characters: sadistic Whumper and coward Whumpee. TWs: nonsexual nudity, extreme fear, restraints, male whump, implied organ harvesting

Whumpee found himself at a loss as the metal door creaked open.

The cold tiled room held only one powerful light, its brilliance bounced across a gleaming metallic surface positioned in the center of the room. As a whole it was empty, containing only one chair, a cooler box, and two rolling cabinets on either side of the operating table.

“No... no way.” 

The captor's gloved, heavy hands rested on both of Whumpee’s shoulders. 

“Are you surprised?” Whumper said almost directly into Whumpee's ear. He cocked an eyebrow. “You know how this works.”

The words rang in Whumpee’s ears. Of course he knew. Whumpee was all too familiar with the chop shop he’d been detained in for the past few weeks. He had suffered countless sleepless nights filled with the shrieks and pleas of the misfortunate souls who’d been sacrificed to the Operating Room.

But Whumpee had lasted longer than any of the other captives ever had. They had an expiration date of maybe two weeks maximum, whereas he’d been held here for over four months. And while he didn’t understand the exact reason he was treated so well, he never questioned it, and was always pleasant to the man who had decided to keep him around so long. Whumpee got along well with Whumper.

“Are you- what is this?” Whumpee asked incredulously.

“Ah. You’re kidding around, huh?” He turned to face the larger man behind him. He feigned a weak smile.

“No.”

His smile dropped and his palms became sticky with sweat. He knew what happened in this room. Well, he didn’t know exactly, but he knew the people Whumper ushered in never came out. 

But then again, Whumper also had a playful side—playful in a kind of horrible, sadistic way— this could be his version of a joke. Yes, surely this was just a cruel joke.

“…what is this?

“This is exactly what it looks like.”

“You’re messing with me.”

“You still think so?” Whumper half smiled.

“Ha-ha.” Whumpee said weakly.  His heart was pounding in his ears. “For a second there you had me.”

“Haven’t had you yet. Soon, though.”

The captive froze. He could feel the hungry gaze of Whumper's eyes locked on him, studying his every tremor of fear with cold fascination. Whumpee's head fell, confidence shattered.

“Not this.”  He half-whispered to the tiles on the ground. “Not like this. Please.”

He stole a glance back at Whumper to see if making a run for it was a viable option. It wasn’t. 

Sensing the his urge to flee, Whumper side-stepped to block the entryway.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

Whumpee’s knees gave out and he crumbled forward. There was no escaping this.

“I can’t, I can’t. I can’t do it.. Please. Please!” he wailed. “I’ll do anything! Anything anything…” Saliva strings fell from his gaping, moaning mouth, tears and mucus ran down his face.

“Well apparently not.”

“But-but, I’ve been good, I-I thought I was doing good, I don’t, I don’t— I don’t wanna die!”

“You have been good.” Whumper reassured him with a sigh. He stooped down to wipe the muck from Whumpee’s face off with the scratchy arm of his sleeve. “So keep it up, mkay?”

Sobs wrenched in Whumpee's throat, urging him to scream, but he swallowed hard, doing his best to suppress the sound, fearing it might enrage Whumper before he had the chance to reason with him. He knew crying wouldn’t help, and begging would only take him as far as Whumper allowed before caving his head in.

Whumpee couldn’t hold it back any longer. “You’re gonna, you’re gonna kill me aren’t you...” He let out a terrified shriek. “You’re going to kill me!”

“Oh, hell. Shut up. It’s not personal. Just part of the job, gotta keep bread on the table and all.”

“I can get you money!” The captive scrambled nervously, “I, I have a friend--a really rich, wealthy friend in the city— he’ll pay you however much you need. I know he will, I just need to get--”

“That’s good to know.” The larger man interrupted. Whumper roughly nudged the terrified man through the doorway, shoving him to the cold tile floor. “Come on, Whumpee.”

“Wait! Wait wait wait, wait a minute just wait--” He hyperventilated as he was urged forward. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might explode. He fell to his knees.

Whumper sighed, hooking the frantic man under the shoulder and launching him deeper into the room. He pulled the large iron door closed, secured the heavy latch, and pulled his black latex gloves up.

“D-do-don’t do this to m-m-me.”

Whumper sighed again. Begging grated his nerves more than anything. He’d listened to each of them recite the identical lines countless times, offering up drugs, money, sex— anything in exchange for their freedom. For some reason he’d hoped it would be different with Whumpee. He was such an obedient captive, and Whumper treated him like goddamned royalty. He thought he would approach the table and offer himself up willingly.

But no, Whumpee was performing an identical version of the same pleas for mercy as the rest of them. It was boring, and frankly, a little depressing.

“Stop it.” Whumper warned. “Get up.” 

The shivering man stood.

 “Take off your clothes.”

“Wh-wha? Why??”

“Aghhhh! Just take off your fuckin’ clothes!” Whumper sighed.

The boy shifted awkwardly on his feet, holding out hope that this sick routine was only a prelude to one of Whumper’s sick jokes. Surely this was the punchline. He’d already accomplished his goal of scaring the shit out of Whumpee. Surely it was over. Surely he’d end things here.

“Now.”

Whumpee’s fingers fumbled to find the hem of his filthy, formerly blue t-shirt, his arms weakly lifted the thin fabric over his head to reveal his ashen torso. It was the only barrier he had between his body and Whumper’s scalpel. The shirt fell to the floor.

Whumper took in the sight of Whumpee’s nearly perfect complexion. His skin was creamy white from the lack of sun exposure, pale folks were rare to stumble across in the desert wasteland. He was a slim man, athletic and lean, he bore no telltale signs of abuse. Whumper provided him with two mostly edible meals a day, clean clothes and the occasional hot shower.

“Go on. Take off all of it.”

The small man's cheeks burned with shame. Whumper’s hungry eyes shone with intrigue.

Whumpee laced his fingers around the elastic band of his pants clinging to his narrow hips. In one quick motion he dropped his pants and boxers down his legs, his hands swiftly rushed to cup his exposed genitals.

“How modest.” Whumper chuckled. Let him hide, Whumper thought. He’d have nothing to hide behind once he splayed his lean body across the table.

“Aight, now come here and open up.” Whumper produced a ball gag from his pocket.

Whumpee’s body quaked from a pang of terror so violent it threw his body off balance. A warm sensation trickled down the inside of his thigh.

Whumpee looked down at the pool of warmth he was standing in, and--fuck, oh fuck-- he’d pissed himself.

“For fuck’s sake, Whumpee. The hell is wrong with you today?!”

Wide-eyed and cowering, Whumpee collapsed to the floor and scrambled backwards. “I’msorryimsorryimso so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--!” He stammered frantically. “I didn’t mean--”

Whumper threw Whumpee’s discarded pants over the puddle of urine. Surprisingly, he tossed Whumpee’s shirt back to him. 

“Hush. Clean yourself off.”

He cleared his throat and a few heavy tear drops plopped on the fabric in his lap. “I am sorry. I-I didn’t mean to do that.” He almost managed to say it without his voice quavering. He wiped the inside of his legs down using the filthy shirt and threw it aside. A powerful wave of numbness began supplanting his overwhelming terror.

“It’s okay, I’ve seen a lot worse.” A crooked smile returned to Whumper’s face. “Get over here. Right fuckin’ now.”

Whumpee swallowed his pride. His fear. His will to live. And he faced his fate head on.

“Good. Climb on the table.” 

Whumpee got on the table.

Whumper secured his prey by locking his wrists and ankles to the operating table with a short length of chain. This was it. There was no going back now. Whumper looked down at Whumpee with ravenous eyes. He had him where he wanted him, after all of these months, finally.

He pulled on his surgical mask, rolled up his sleeves, and adjusted the light above his victim. A gloved index finger traced down the length of Whumpee’s bare body, imitating the blade's path. He truly had magnificent skin.

Before Whumper managed to make his first cut, his cellphone rang.

“You couldn’t have called at a worse time, you sonuvabitch. Call later. He’s on the table right now.” Whumper barked into the phone.

-Pause. Whumpee faintly heard the person on the line chuckle.-

“No shit? Who?”

-A longer pause.-

“I dunno. It sounds like one hell of a deal. Don't worry, this one's not goin' anywhere. Run it past the boss and get back to me. ”

-Pause-

"Heh, I should really kick your ass for this one," Whumper said wryly. "I've been nursing the best pair of virgin kidneys and liver you've ever fuckin' seen."

-Pause-

"Mhm. Roger that. Bye." Whumper tucked his phone in his pocket and pulled his surgical mask down.

“Whumpee. Your wealthy friend in the city--” 

Whumper rested the scalpel on Whumpee’s stomach.

“--is his name Caretaker?”

[averyfromzero]

Tasty Sandwich

this was written in collaboration with the incredibly talented and sweet @chrisevansxmalereader! we did this work together, so make sure to go check their account for more amazing stuff!

pairing: chris evans x anthony mackie summary: chris offers his home for his friend anthony to stay over while filming a movie in boston. things take a wild and steamy turn when anthony catches chris gooning over his underwear. notes: smut 🔞, canon universe, top anthony, bottom chris, lots of spit/slobber, "gooner" concept, degradation words: 4,752

To film his upcoming action film, Rapid and Angry, Anthony Mackie had to fly all the way to Boston to film his scenes.  Having to stay there for many weeks, his longtime friend and co-star in many films, Chris Evans offered Anthony his place for him to stay as long as he needed. And because they were already close friends, they didn’t have to worry about acting shy when living together. 

As soon as Chris heard that Anthony would be filming in his hometown he immediately called and offered his place for Anthony to stay over, saying that it would be easier than wasting money on a hotel room. What Anthony didn't know was that Chris had a major crush on him but was always too scared of saying anything.

__________

10:15am. Chris looks at the clock, nervous that Anthony is late 15 minutes from the time he said he’d arrive. He paces the living room nervously with his hand propped up to his face as he bites his nails.

C’mon, c’mon. Where is he? He says in his head.

*ding dong*

As the doorbell rings, Chris sprints to the front door.

“Oh, hey, man!” Chris says as he opens the door, trying to sound casual and relaxed. He leaned awkwardly on the doorframe, giving off his best goofy smile as the backwards cap on his head gave him that frat guy image.

“Hey, Chris! Sorry, it took me a while to get a cab,” Anthony explained as he stepped inside with his bags.

“No worries, man. Come on, lemme show you to your room.”

Chris led Anthony to the inside of his house, not worrying about introducing him to every room as Anthony had already visited a couple times before.

“Here,” he stopped in front of one of the rooms in the hallway. “You can put your clothes in the closet and everything. Make yourself at home, bro!”

“Thanks,” Anthony said with a little chuckle as he placed his bags down on the floor of his temporary bedroom. “Can I use your bathroom? Gotta take this plane stank, man.”

“Sure! The bathroom is just down the hallway. Last door,” Chris instructed. “I’ll arrange something for us to eat in the meantime, you must be starving!”

Anthony just chuckled before closing the door to remove his clothes and go to the bathroom.

In the kitchen, Chris whistled playfully as he brought out some bread and other ingredients to prepare some large sandwiches. He was excited and nervous to have his friend over and wanted him to feel welcome.

10 minutes later, everything was ready. The sandwiches were done – big and full, by the way – and other snacks were placed on the counter alongside a bottle of soda.

Ready to give his friend a warm welcome, Chris walked to Anthony’s room with the tray of food.

The door was half-closed and Chris peered inside, seeing that it was empty and noticing Anthony hadn’t finished his shower yet, with the sound of the running water in the back of the hall giving him the verdict. He was about to leave and wait in the living room when his eyes came across something on Anthony’s bed.

It was his underwear. Tossed and clearly used.

Something in Chris’ head clicked and he couldn’t help but step inside. He walked closer and placed the tray on the bedside table as he kept his eyes glued to the underwear. He reached out with his hand, mouth already watering.

He picked up Anthony’s used undies and brought it up to his face, pressing it against his nose and deeply inhaling his friend’s musky scent. His eyes cross slightly as the smell of Anthony’s sweat and dried cum invade his nostrils.

Chris’ bulge grows big as he gets lost in the most intimate smell of his friend. His hand almost unconsciously travels under his pants and wraps around his thick and long shaft as he strokes himself slowly while repeatedly inhaling Anthony’s musk.

At some point, Chris completely forgets that his friend could come into the room at any time and decided to strip his clothes, completely invested in pleasuring himself to the musky scent in Anthony’s boxers.

Laying on the bed with his legs spread, cock standing up in its full 9-inches glory, Chris kept his eyes closed as he completely tuned out every sound around him and focused on smelling every scent from the underwear, from the smell of the fabric to the sweat on the taint. The intense odor made his eyes cross under his lids and his tongue unintentionally stick out, drool dripping from it.

The only time he ever opened his eyes was to see where the single cum stain was and dive his nose onto it again, smelling the salty substance released from Anthony's member at some point during the day. Stroking his cock until it was harder than a rock and dripping with pre-cum, Chris drove himself to a high he had never been before, with his sensorial parts being stimulated to their fullest to the realization that he was smelling his hot friend’s cum.

He was seconds away from the most intense orgasm he ever had when something stopped him.

The sound of Anthony clearing his throat made Chris’ eyes pop open and hand stop dead in its tracks. He took a second to have any other reaction before he hurriedly looked for the blanket to poorly cover himself and start babbling nonsensical words in desperation.

“Tsk tsk,” Anthony said, voice deep and stern. “Wouldn’t take you for a gooner, Chris. Such a pathetic sight you almost eating my dirty underwear.” 

Chris turned red in embarrassment. But under the thin blanket, his cock twitched at Anthony’s comment. The latter noticed the movement under the sheet.

Teasing, Anthony stepped closer slowly, arms crossed and the white of the towel around his waist striking against his wet chocolate skin. The almost mean expression on his face prepared Chris for what was to come.

“Wanna act like a pathetic slut?” He said, daring. “Then I’m gonna make you act like a pathetic slut.”

Before Chris could even try to speak up, Anthony interrupted.

“On your knees.” His voice sounded deeper than usual. Chris’ member once again twitched under the sheets.

“I said, on your knees,” he demanded. “Now.”

Chris slipped off the bed, the blanket going down with him but falling on the floor as his erect cock dripped in shameful arousal. He placed himself on his knees in front of Anthony, face inches from his friend’s huge bulge.

Silently, Anthony untied the towel and around him and let it fall to the floor, revealing his engorged 12-inch cock. It looked juicy. It was thick and veiny, the drops of water on it making it shine a glossy brown with the bulbous head smacking Chris’ in the face. It felt heavy.

“Now you’re gonna worship my cock, you dirty bitch.”

Chris’ watering mouth opened slightly at the comment. All that name calling was making his insides twist and turn in excitement.

“Come on, slut. I know you wanna worship your master’s cock.”

“Yes, master.” Chris said softly, voice nearly inaudible as he spoke up for the first time since Anthony walked in on him. As Chris wrapped his hand around the thick shaft, Anthony smirked, knowing damn well he’s got his friend wrapped on his finger. Chris parted his lips wide and welcomed Anthony’s dripping tip into his warm drooling mouth. As the first taste of his cock invaded his tongue, Chris went cross eyed and eagerly started to bog his head on the dick.

Anthony moaned lowly at the feeling of his friend’s hot and wet mouth around his member. He couldn’t help but place a hand on Chris’ head and motion him to go deeper.

As the minutes passed by, Chris took Anthony deeper into his mouth, inch by inch. His drool spread across his face and all over the huge cock as he stroked the shaft in the same rhythm he went up and down on the wet cock, the sound of his mouth against the slob-covered skin reverberating through the room. The filthy sounds and the sight in front of him made Anthony go wild. Soon, he was fucking Chris’ face as if it was a fuck toy.

Anthony’s moans became louder and more gutural as the sound of his dick going in and out of Chris’ drooling mouth became more frantic. Chris’ eyes were almost completely crossed and he kept slobbering all over Anthony’s 12 inch cock, going completely dumb over it.

Soon, Chris tapped on Anthony’s thighs hurriedly, signaling he needed some air. Anthony then removed himself from Chris’ mouth and the wet popping sound of the lips unwrapping from his drooled cock made him twitch. A string of spit connected Chris’ red used lips to the tip of the engorged member.

“Fuck,” Anthony exhaled. “You slut, you drooled all over my cock. Look at that pathetic face, all messy.”

He gave Chris just a few seconds before he went in again, hands on each side of his face and cock ready to fuck his drooled mouth one more time. Chris wrapped his hand on Anthony’s cock again and prepared himself. Anthony went in, driving his spit-covered shaft into Chris’ abused mouth. Slower than before, Anthony told Chris to bob his head as he thrusted in a less aggressive pace. Soon, the sound of sloppy suctions filled the room again.

“Oh, yeah,” Anthony dragged out a groan. “Fuck, that feels so good. Fucking slobber on my big fucking cock you little slut”

Chris moaned around the huge cock in his mouth. The taste of Anthony’s dick, mixed with the excessive drool, and pre-cum wetting everything from his face and hands to the base of Anthony’s member, made Chris want more and more.

But Chris’ jaw was starting to hurt. Keeping his mouth open so wide to fit that huge cock for that long was starting to get to him. So he tried to pull off Anthony's dick.

As Chris tried to slide off Anthony’s wet length, the latter pressed him down by the nape, making him slide back down again. And again. And again. Until Chris was gagging on his cock, nose pressed against his smooth crotch. The sound was so arousing, Chris’ throat struggling with something so big inside it. But Anthony didn’t want to hurt Chris, so he let go.

Chris slid off the cock as soon as his head was free from pressure, coughing from the struggle. Not only a string, but quite a lot of drool connected to his tired mouth to the shimmering shaft of Anthony’s giant cock. Slobber was also smeared across Chris’ beard and chest hairs, resulting in a beautifully filthy image. Anthony fought the urge to take a picture of the sight.

“Look at that,” Anthony chuckled. “Such a filthy little slut, you are. Covered in spit, so messy and sloppy. You look so fucking sexy covered in this mess.”

Chris looked absolutely filthy. And he loved it. Not once did he try to wipe his face and clean the slobber covering him. His mouth, his face, his beard, his chest and hands were all slick with spit.

After he had a few more seconds to breathe again, Anthony demanded, “now make me cum, slut. I wanna see that pretty face covered in my jizz.”

Taking a deep breath, Chris leaned in once again, promptly wrapping his fingers around the shaft one more time and kissing the tip before enveloping the head in the warmth of his mouth. This time, Anthony stayed back watching, letting the other do all the work.

With spit gathering up the more Chris sucked him, the sound of his hands jerking Anthony’s huge cock was loud and sticky. His lips were glossy red as they worked their way up and down the wet shaft. Chris’ pace quickened by the minute and soon his movements were frantic. Anthony’s moans grew louder as he neared his high, which motivated Chris to please him as much as he could.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Anthony warned, voice strained and airy.

Chris stopped at the tip, lips wrapped around the head like in a sloppy kiss and his hands made the work, stroking each inch of Anthony’s incredibly large cock. The wetness of the slobber helped Chris do the work.

Soon, Anthony took over and grabbed his cock, removing it from Chris’ mouth and jerking it in front of the other’s face. Chris stuck his tongue out in a filthy expression and waited, eager to receive his master’s milk. Within a matter of seconds Anthony came, shooting his warm milk all over Chris' already sloppy face, with some sticking to his beard and some falling onto his chest. Anthony shot rope after rope of cum in a never ending orgasm that left Chris’ face soaked in jizz. 

“Fuck. That was so much cum, master” Chris let out, voice hoarse from all the sucking. “I’m completely covered in your milk.”

Chris got up, knees red from the position he was at, and reached up to his face, fingers about to wipe the cum off his face before Anthony stopped him, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t. I wanna see that pretty face of yours covered in cum when I fuck you, slut” Anthony said, voice firm and dominant. “Now lay back on the bed and spread your legs for me.”

As obedient as ever, Chris did as he was told and got on the bed, promptly laying back on the sheets and spreading his legs, awaiting Anthony’s next instructions. His cum-covered face was the hottest and filthiest sights Anthony had ever seen, he thought.

Anthony then kneeled on the mattress and positioned himself between Chris’ muscular legs, fingers wrapped around his girthy cock, leading it to the other’s awaiting hole. “Fuck me, master” Chris let out. “I wanna feel that big cock ripping me apart.”

“Oh, yeah?” Anthony smirked, teasing Chris’ hole with the large head of his dick. “You slut, you wanna feel my cock all the way inside you, huh?”

“Yes, master. Please, fuck me,” he pleaded.

Giving in to the other’s desires, Anthony pressed in. Chris’ hole was pink and tight, unprepared to receive such a large cock. But Chris liked it like that, he loved feeling the burn of something so big entering him raw.

“Fuck~” Anthony dragged out. “You’re so fucking tight, you filthy slut.”

As Anthony slid his way into Chris slowly, getting all 12 inches in, he looked at the other’s cum-soaked face. Chris never looked so handsome and dirty at the same time. Anthony’s huge cock was ripping through his insides, giving Chris the most pleasurable pain he ever felt, a burn so arousing his dick pulsated and precum dripped from its tip.

“Fuck, master. You feel so good,” Chris moaned, voice weak and airy. “Fuck me with that horse cock you got, master. Fuck me.” He crossed eye as he felt the last inch of Anthony’s big dick enter him, hitting him in all the right spots and making him the fullest he had ever had.

After Chris got used to the pressure within him, Anthony started moving slowly. As he slid back and forth in Chris’ hole, the other’s expression of pure pleasure would intensify. Chris' gooner face told Anthony just how much of a slut his friend was and how much he was enjoying having his hole obliterated by his cock.

“M-master,” Chris stuttered as Anthony pounded his hole so hard it made his body tremble. “It feels so fucking good, I’m fucking drooling,” a string of spit ran down the corner of Chris’ mouth as his pleasured intensified. Chris’ mouth was open and Anthony could see his tongue sticking out, all slobbered up and dripping. It was such a dirty image.

“You’re such a whore, Evans,” Anthony let out, voice breathy from all the pounding he was doing. Anthony’s chest was glistening with sweat and Chris fought the urge to lean forward and lick his friend’s delicious skin with his wet tongue.

As Anthony gave a hard thrust, Chris squirmed, feeling his prostate getting hit by the bulbous head of Mackie’s cock. “Fuck~” Chris let out, almost growling with his voice hoarse and airy. “Fuck me, master. I can’t get enough of your fucking cock.”

“Oh, yeah?” Anthony said. “You like my cock fucking you open, you slut? You like that?” he completed as he grabbed Chris’ ankles and opened his legs wider, fucking him faster than before.

Chris’ moans became louder and his squirms became more constant as he felt his prostate being hit over and over again. His mouth kept drooling over his face and his tongue stuck out as if he was looking for something to lick. Chris’ eyes moved as a response to the incredible pleasure he was experiencing.

Chris couldn’t help it anymore, the more Anthony fucked him, the more he wanted to move closer and lick every part of his body as his ass got destroyed. “Fuck” he let out once more before leaning in and, with his mouth still open and dripping with slobber, licking and sucking all over Anthony’s plump and sweaty chest, leaving a trail of spit everywhere.

With his face still covered in Anthony’s cum, Chris pressed his nose against the crease between Mackie’s pecs and drooled over it, also leaving behind some of Anthony’s own cum on his skin. When he leaned back, he saw the sinful painting he did on his friend with his slobber and Anthony’s cum. “Fuck.” Somehow, the sight made Chris even hornier, making his mouth open wider and his tongue stuck out further in arousal.

Chris batted his eye over Anthony’s delicious brown nipples and dove in again, promptly sucking on them as he once again smeared Mackie’s own cum around with his eagerness. 

Anthony continued to pound into Chris' messy hole, ramming his huge cock into his prostate again and again. Chris felt that he could cum any second, sucking onto Anthony’s nipple harder the closer he felt to the edge.

Unfazed, Anthony repeatedly hit Chris’ spot over and over forcefully. Chris felt more and more sensitive with each strike and frowned as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. He was about to cum. Hard.

After a few more seconds, Anthony gave one more thrust – especially hard – right onto Chris’ prostate, drawing a desperate moan out of him as he let go of his nipple and accidentally spit over his chest (again). Chris’ grip on Anthony’s shoulder sharpened and he felt his hole quiver and squeeze unconsciously as he reached his high. “I’m gonna fucking cum” Chris let out, voice trembling and tight.

Chris’ cock pulsed as cum shot out of him at a forceful speed, landing right onto Anthony’s abs and chest. The moans that came out of him as he kept cumming were deep and hoarse, and he clung onto Anthony tightly as he drew out his orgasm. While on cloud nine, Chris unintentionally slobbered onto Anthony’s shoulder. He looked helpless.

Anthony laughed at his friend’s state. “So pathetic. Couldn’t even control yourself, you slut. Came all over me, untouched,” he mocked him. “So soon too, huh? Pitiful.” Chris let out a small moan at the comment, cock still buried inside him, hard and brushing at his abused prostate.

Anthony looked as Chris had slobber all over his face and tongue out like a dumb slut. Looking down at his own chest, he saw the wet spots where Chris had drooled and spit over while being pounded crazy. And he was about to make him goon even more.

That’s when Anthony started thrusting again, speedy and forceful, pounding Chris’ hole over and over again, not caring that the latter was sensitive and overstimulated. It just made everything hotter. Chris’ face looked dumber and dumber as his eyes rolled back, his tongue stuck out and slobber kept dripping out of his mouth, turning his face into an even dirtier mess.

The sound of Anthony’s hips slamming against Chris’ reddened buttocks filled the air once again, somehow even louder. Chris couldn’t help but let out rhythmic moans and groans each time Anthony thrusted in, head cloudy with overstimulation and sensitiveness. He felt like a dirty slut. “Fu-fuck me! Feels so fucking good, fuck” his voice came out in an almost-unintelligible ramble. 

The more Chris looked gone, the more Anthony wanted to fuck him. His hips weren’t slowing down anytime soon regardless if he had been fucking Chris for a long time. He was invested. There was no pain or tiredness that could stop him from abusing his friend’s gaping hole, which started to let out the air Anthony was fucking into him.

Anthony started feeling his climax coming up for the second time as his thrusts became sloppier. Chris’ dirty gooner face was making him so horny he couldn’t help but get close again. “Faster, faster. Fuck!” Chris’ fucked out voice let out, desperate for more cock. The wet sloppy sounds of his hips against Chris’ became louder and Anthony’s moans followed it.

Right before cumming, Anthony whipped his cock out of Chris’ abused hole and moved closer to the latter’s face, which had already been painted by him earlier. Anthony jerked off rapidly for a few seconds before he shot his huge and thick load of cum over Chris’ beautifully disgusting face, coating it with a thicker layer of his milk.

Despite being his second time already, Anthony’s load was massive and it thoroughly covered Chris’ face once again, giving him an even dirtier look combined with all the slobber and previously shot cum. Chris held his tongue out and managed to catch some of the milk, tasting it and realizing how he’d love to drink it every day. “You’re delicious,” he said, tongue licking around his lips.

Anthony stroked the last few drops of cum out of his cock in slow and strong grips before he was done. He took his time to breathe heavily for a while as his dick softened and Chris came back to his senses a little bit.

After some minutes, Anthony looked down and realized how dirty his cock had gotten, with some dried cum on it from his first load combined with the freshly shot load he just let out. He looked at Chris’ slutty face and something in his head clicked.

Anthony put his hand behind Chris’ head and motioned him closer to his cock – which was still huge even when soft. Like a horny slut, Chris’ automatically opened his mouth dumbly, just waiting for the next command. “Suck it clean, dirty whore” Anthony demanded.

“Yes, master” Chris moaned. He didn’t have to be told twice, his automatic reaction was to put Anthony’s thick shaft inside his mouth and start sucking and licking. Anthony felt the wetness and warmth of it and couldn’t help but start getting himself hard again. Chris’ tongue was skilled and it thoroughly went through all of his shaft, up and down and all around. The sound of the filthily wet slurps made Anthony twitch inside Chris’ mouth.

Part of him was still in awe of how much of a cockslut his friend was. Chris’ movements on his cock felt so perfect and automatic, his cloudy eyes telling him that Chris was still gone with pleasure. “Hmmmf~” he moaned around the thick shaft.

Because of how sensitive his cock was after two orgasms, Anthony couldn’t help but feel a third one coming up quicker. But before he could cum again, he looked over at the food tray Chris brought for him and had a filthy idea.

He removed his throbbing cock from Chris’ tired mouth, a thick string of spit connecting his abused lips with the cockhead. “Grab the sandwich,” Anthony demanded. 

Unsure of what Anthony had in mind, Chris obeyed with a slightly confused expression on his dirty face. He leaned over the side table, grabbed the food and sat waiting for Anthony to tell him what to do next.

“Open it up,” he said firmly. Chris slowly opened the sandwich, still confused as to what Anthony was wanting him to do. Mackie positioned himself closer to the food and pointed his large cockhead towards the inside of the large sandwich, stroking his tired cock rapidly, ready to shoot his third load in a row.

Chris watched in awe as he slowly came to the realization of what Anthony was about to do. Something about it made him feel especially excited as he held the sandwich open, making sure it’s angled properly so he doesn’t miss a drop.

Chris’ eyes crossed in anticipation and he automatically stuck his gooner tongue out as he heard Anthony moaning more and more, getting closer to his third orgasm of the day by the second. The sight of Chris’ slobbered up and cum-covered face drew Anthony closer to the edge. And soon, he came, shooting his still surprisingly thick and massive load all over the sandwich. He painted inside the food like it was a tasty sauce as he milked his cock clean stroke by stroke.

Anthony exhaled deeply and leaned his head back in ecstasy as he came down from his high, chest moving up and down as he pushed oxygen back inside his lungs. “Fuck,” he let out, breathy. “That was awesome.”

He turned his head back towards Chris, who was still sitting before him, sandwich in his hands. “Now eat.”

“What?” Chris let out, confused.

“Eat the sandwich, slut,” Anthony demanded.

It took Chris a couple seconds to process what Anthony wanted him to do. He looked down at the cum-filled sandwich in his hands and let out a small “fuck”, weirdly excited to eat the cum-covered food. “Okay,” he let out in a hurried whisper before he closed the sandwich back up and brought it up to his mouth in a hurry to find out how Anthony’s cum tasted with the other ingredients.

“Hmmmf~” Chris moaned as he munched on the first bite. Anthony’s cum was so thick that the taste really stood out and made Chris’ eyes roll back in some sort of pleasure. “Tastes so good,” he said, muffled, with his mouth full.

While Chris was focused on tasting the special sauce on that sandwich, Anthony leaned over to grab his phone that was tossed on the bed. He heard Chris let out some “tasty” and “delicious” as he unlocked his phone and clicked on his camera app. Anthony pointed it towards the sinful sight on the bed and snapped a picture. Chris was in the center, sitting on the edge of the bed, his face still covered in slobber and cum as he took a big bite of the sandwich in his hand. Anthony could see some of his thick cum oozing out of the edges as Chris held a firm grip on it.

Chris didn’t even notice as he kept munching on the food as if it was the first thing he’s eaten all day, letting out moans every time he tasted the saltiness of Anthony’s cum. “Fuck, this is so good,” he kept saying.

Anthony then opened the picture he snapped on his phone and promptly set it as his brand new lock screen photo. It was a sight to behold indeed, and he wanted to see it every day.

He watched as Chris kept giving the sandwich big bites until it was done. Anthony whistled as Chris swallowed the last bit of the cum-filled food as if to say “woah, you really liked that.”

After their highs were over, the two finally felt the aftermath of their wild fucking. Chris felt sore and sleepy while Anthony felt like he had just run a marathon, body all sweaty and legs aching from all the thrusting. Silently, Anthony climbed on the bed and laid back on the once-clean sheets. Chris moved himself back on the bed and rested his back on the mattress as well, not worried about getting up and getting himself cleaned, especially his filthy face.

Anthony held out his arm for Chris to crawl over too. As he wrapped his arm around him, Chris laid his cum covered face onto his muscular chest, letting a little bit of the cum and slobber drip onto Anthony. Soon, the two fell into a slumber, comfortable despite all the sweat, cum and slobber that covered them.

[galaxycunt]

My Dinner With Buggy

Author warning: this is dialogue only. Why? Because I wondered if I could do it and so here it is I’m lucky I had power the whole time in my house during this ice storm bc I’m so bored 😭

Summary: You are waiting on a man, you haven’t seen each other in quite some time. Not since you were a bright eyed recruit and he was a young captain with more ego than sense.

“Welcome in! How many?”

“Two, please,” as you sat you said, “a bottle of house red, thank you.”

A hand tapped you on the shoulder some time later, “I never tire of that joke. You’re looking good.”

“Buggy, wow. It’s really good to see you.”

“Yeah, not every day a marine wine and dines me.”

“I can think of a few officers who’d like that, now.”

Buggy frowns, “you told them, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, “Buggy, I didn’t even know you were with the Roger pirates. I found that out from the snails like everyone else.”

“Huh. Swore I told you. I guess…I never tell anyone that shit.”

“Hey, doesn’t matter. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Buggy laughs, “god, it’s been forever. Remember when we climbed up the mast of the first Big Top?”

“Hm. Yeah. Tiny Top. That ship sucked. I remember beating you up there.”

“Oh fuck off, I let you!”

“I beat you by a whole 30 seconds!”

“I’m not letting a fucking marine talk shit while I’m trying to enjoy my damn dinner.”

You laugh heartily as the waiter arrived, “I’ll have the pasta special.”

“You paying or what?” You nod, “prime rib. Gimme a steak bigger than my head.”

“You sure ain’t a cheap date, Bug.”

“Oh! So this is a date? Okay, you sure you don’t wanna thrown in with the guy who tangoed with the best and came out on top?”

“I…I think I am quitting. I saw your little movie debut. He…he was just a kid. Both of them.”

“Y-yeah. He really was.”

“I guess that’s the life we choose.”

Buggy sighs, “let’s not think about that. I’m here, you’re here. This is a date.”

“Is this a date? Okay, what lines does Captain Buggy pull on these things?”

“What’s your sign?”

“Libra.”

“I’m a Libra moon, they say a sun and moon sign being the same means they’re meant to be.”

You shake your head, “you’re so full of shit. Is that even your sign?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Take me on more dates like this and I’ll tell you the truth.”

You can’t hide your smile, “shut the fuck up.”

“Join me, I’ll treat you so good.”

“Uh huh.”

“It’ll be fun. I won’t even make you wake up at dawn.”

“And what do you get out of this?”

“A beauty at my side every day, that’s all.”

“You just want trade secrets, don’t you?”

He looks offended, “I ain’t that bad a guy. But my lips are sealed, if you wanna give anything up.”

“If you want secrets out of me, you gotta give me something to work with.”

“Work with?”

“What’s your big secret, tough guy?”

He chews the free bread thoughtfully, “the rumors are true. I washed Gol D. Roger’s underwear. Though I tricked Shanks into doing laundry duty more.”

“How?”

“Packing gunpowder is way cooler. Only chumps think laundry is better. Just cause you do it once a month.”

“Sounds about right for pirates. Marines make you clean the toilets with a toothbrush every day.”

“See what I mean? I wouldn’t let you lift a finger.”

“I might hold you to that.”

“I’d be so good to you.”

In between bites you say, “I joined only because I needed the money. My dad was a marine, the pension don’t pay much if you’re just one of the grunts. He wasn’t happy I did it. They had a nice sign on bonus.”

“Is that really a secret?”

“Well, maybe. People on base like to act like they’re doing it for the greater good. Justice and all that shit.”

“Snooty fucks.”

“Oh yeah.”

He smiles, “see? Gotta join me now.”

You blush as he watches you eat, “what?”

“Nothing. Just nice. You write and call less and less these days.”

“Hey, man. You do have a bounty. Though I guess I don’t have to be as careful.”

“Heh, yeah. Maybe we can see each other more….especially if you join.”

“Let’s not talk work, tell me anything else.”

“Like how lovely you’re looking?”

“Look at you, wearing something clean.”

“So this is a date. Let’s go for another drink after this, my treat.”

“Twisting my arm over here.”

“I’m a pirate, baby. I have my ways.”

You can’t stop smiling, in spite of yourself, “last time I saw you, you threw your head at me.”

“I remember.”

“Did you mean it? What you said?”

“Yeah, I really didn’t want those fucks taking me in. Even if they were your buddies.”

“No, no. Not that.”

He hums, “I think I remember.”

“Don’t be a dick, Buggy.”

“Don’t leave me in suspense then.”

“If you don’t remember, then I won’t say it.”

He stares for a beat, studying you, “I’m sorry for teasing. I do, I always will.”

“You were so drunk I-“

“-I wasn’t. I lied.”

“Check please,” you flag a waiter down, feeling his eyes boring into you, “thank you.”

“Oh shit. No, I didn’t lie about that. I was sober.”

Relief floods you, “you’re so stupid.”

“I love you.”

“Do you, or just the young hot marine you met?”

“Baby, don’t be like that.”

“What if I’m tired of the sea, want something quiet?”

“I’ll visit. All the time.”

“Really?”

He nods, “I’ll treat you good. So, so good.”

“I love you too. Against my better judgement.”

“Let’s get outta here. When are you expected back?”

“I got three weeks off.”

“Just enough time to lay low with me.”

“Heard you got a new crew, all those prisoners. They won’t like me on board.”

“They think I’m their god or some shit, I dunno. We can rent a room somewhere. I don’t care.”

“You are something else.”

“I can be all yours, just say the word.”

“Let’s see how tonight goes then.”

“I’m gonna dazzle your pants off.”

“Won’t go for nothing less.”

[berberriescorner]

"Are You Listening?"

Characters: Rio x Black!Reader

Summary: After months of being neglected, your anger reaches its boiling point. Time is money, and you know that Rio is all about his bread. If you want to be the king, you gotta stay busy. What’s more important, love or money? Can you have both? Is it possible to be both a cold-hearted businessman and a loving partner? Showing emotion can be a sign of weakness in Rio’s world. How does that work in a marriage? At the same time, you chose to be with him. Shouldn’t you be used to it?

Warnings: Profanity (are you surprised😂). A smidge of daddy kink, with a tiny spot of degradation (again, no surprise there🤣). Angst (quite a bit). A little fluff…it’s there I promise. Sprinkled it with some smut, too (it’s giving a bit of praise kink and dom vibes😈).

Word Count: 3,800+.

A/N: Italicized sentences are the reader's thoughts (in case you were confused and/or curious). It’s kind of lengthy, but the reader had to pop her shit…and Rio popped right TF back👏🏾😆. Part two, yeah can’t tell you when it’s coming, but I’m working on it.

Inspired By:

From the moment Rio found you angrily wiping down the kitchen counters, there had been nothing but tension. For the first ten minutes, he was oblivious to the fact. He was too busy answering texts and was very clearly preoccupied with business. Taking a moment to notice your anger, he asked the one question that would set you off. “What’s wrong, mama?”

No, he wasn’t a mind reader, but how could he not know? You had only been asking him to try to make time for you for months. Three nights in a row, Rio had made empty promises. There were failed dinner reservations on night one. Surprisingly, he’d managed to make your movie date the second night. Only Rio had left you thirty minutes into the film to finish it alone. Supposedly some business needed handling, and it couldn't wait. He urged you to stay and enjoy it. Mick would get you home safely. Tonight consisted of a failed candle-lit dinner (also his idea). Rio had called minutes after you had taken the meal out of the oven. “Go ahead and eat without me. I’m not sure what time I’ll be there. Sorry, mama.” All these things led to the argument that was taking place in the middle of your spacious kitchen.

“There's always a business trip to take. Always an issue with something that only you can solve. You constantly have to run behind that thirsty ass bitch of a stalker you call a business associate. All because said associate is constantly fucking up the plan. You’re never here! I get more dick from my vibrator than I do my husband!”

“Is the problem I’m never home, or do you just need some dick? Are you touch starved mama? Feeling needy, a little neglected?”

Rio was starting to pluck at your nerves in the worst way. It was kind of backfiring, the conversation began to aggravate him. He hated when you complained about him working too much.

“It’s all of the above ni-you know what I’m tired of repeating myself. It’s clear you’re not listening and don't give a fuck, Christopher.”

“I’ve been listening.” 

“Listening to respond. Not to understand me, Rio!”

“You’re tired of saying it. I’m tired of hearing it, darlin’.”

Typical Rio fashion. Feelings closed off. Always the calm and collected sarcastic asshole. I’m trying not to swing on this man. Jesus, give me strength.

“That’s all you have to say? Of course, 'cause you’re incapable of showing emotion. Jesus, Rio. I’m trying to fix the disconnect between us.” 

“All we do is argue about the same shit. How many times I gotta explain it, mama? I’m running an empire, I can’t be out here just sitting around. What you want me to do? Leave it on Mick and the rest of my men? All it takes is for one thing to go wrong. If I ain’t there to fix it, you know what’s gonna happen? Everything goes to shit and I get knocked ten steps back. I’m not letting anything fuck up the business or my money.”

“I’m not letting anything fuck up the business or my money. Bullshit excuses. I know what I signed up for, Christopher,” you mocked him.

“Then act like it. There you go with that mouth. Watch your tone, ma.”

His voice had turned cold and there was fire burning in his eyes. Rio was giving you all the signs that you were skating on thin ice. Any other time it would be enough to get you to back down, but not this time. You were sick and tired of coming last to everything, especially that thirsty ass housewife.

It was one thing to take a backseat to the business. You loved his work ethic and understood that he was busy. However, it had been a month and a half long stretch. Rio, coming home at all hours of the night. Not even having time to eat a little breakfast and talk in the mornings. The fact that it had been so long caused doubt to creep into your mind. If he wasn't fucking me, then who in the hell was it? You had never known him to ever go without sex this long.

Popping up to visit him at work was out of the question. Months prior, one of his rivals had attempted to snatch you from the grocery store parking lot. The assailant had no clue that Mick had accompanied you. He was in the car waiting, as the idiot tried to approach you. Poor bastard never even saw Mick coming. Rio had lost his shit.  Doing his best to keep you protected, he wanted you as far away from the business as possible. There was also the fact that he switched warehouses so frequently. You couldn’t even attempt to ignore his rule about keeping a distance. The desperate housewife could come up there anytime she felt it necessary though. He doesn’t give a shit about her. It’s your safety he’s worried about. Your thoughts were battling with one another. The negative side winning. The thought of her being there pissed you off.

“Are we going to keep going back and forth over nothing? Are you ready to tell me what’s really bothering you?”

“For a successful businessman, you’re pretty damn stupid. I’ve just sat here and explained it for the hundredth time! Sometimes I honestly can’t fuckin’ stand you, Rio.”

By the time the last word fell from your lips, Rio had made his way across the room. Inches away from your face he rasped, “the fuck did you just say to me? Your brain short circuit, mama?” Giving you a chance to walk your previous statements back, he waited, hoping you had come to your senses. You were seething with anger at not getting through to him. There were also those thoughts of him and that woman spending time together. The time that he should have been spending with you. Let’s not forget the nonexistent sex life. You were feeling unheard, neglected, pissed off, horny, and…jealous? Were you jealous of Beth? That thought alone caused your anger to rise. You were in the mood to choose violence.

“Look, I know dotting little Elizabeth jumps every time you tell her to, but not me baby. Keep waiting for me to retract my previous statement all you want. I said what the fuck I said, Christopher.” 

The fire was still burning in Rio’s eyes, but his smoldering glower had morphed into a smile. Now smirking he closed what little space was left between the two of you. Hand circling your throat he pushed you up against the wall.

“And there it is. Finally, the truth comes out. You jealous, mama? Is that it?”

“Jealous of what? That basic bitch, get the fuck out my face, Rio.”

He’s not dickin’ you down sis! He gotta be slanging it somewhere. Two, almost three MONTHS! He brought it up. Actually, no, you did.

“Since we're on the topic. Are you sleeping with her?”

“Stop playing with me, Y/N,” he snapped. “What do you think I do at work, ma?”

“We don’t have sex, Rio. Your ass can hardly be satiated. I can barely recall the last time you knocked me down. So, tell me, who’s been satisfying your needs?” 

Gripping your throat a bit tighter, he chuckled. His lips grazing over the top of yours, he whispered, “do you honestly think I would risk losing you over a quick fuck, ma? I see lack of sex makes you delusional.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, keep digging yourself a deeper hole, ma. Keep running your mouth, and I’m gon’ fill it up.”

You so desperately wanted to moan at his words, but you were too stubborn to give in. If only he knew how badly you wanted to drop to your knees. Take him down your throat and let him have his way with you.

“I’m not interested in community dick.”

“The fuck did I just tell you?”

You rolled your eyes still not believing him.

“I’ve been snapping at people left and right. The smallest inconvenience has been getting everybody's head knocked off. That being said I think it’s safe to say that I’m just as irritable as you are. The difference is you wear your heart on your sleeve, ma.”

“No, the difference is you've been handing out my dick.”

“Now who’s being stupid and not listening? I like you being jealous though, it’s cute, baby.”

Placing his hands at the sides of your neck, his lips covered yours in a hungry kiss. Tongue swiping across your parted lips, he asked for entry. Being stubborn you did your best not to grant him access. Trying to push him away from you, he pulled back giving you a mischievous smile. 

“I don’t know why you fighting it, ma. Know you ain’t do all this fussin’ just to end the night without me filling you up,” he teased. Pressing his lower half against you, a gasp fell from your lips. The feel of his growing erection made you pant and rut against him. His name fell from your lips.

“R-Rio, we’re not done talk-”

He picked you up, wrapping your legs around his body. With your back pinned to the wall, he groaned as his dick rubbed against you once more. “No more talking, baby.” Pushing your nightshirt out of the way he slipped his hand past the lace of your panties and circled your clit. Whimpering, your head fell back against the wall. He removed his hand long enough to slip your shirt over your head and toss it to the floor.

“Rio, seriously. Let me-.”

Grabbing you by the throat, he pulled you into another searing kiss. It was lewd and erotic as he ground his hips against yours. He was so hard that you knew his jeans were becoming more uncomfortable by the second. His erection bumping against your soaked core caused you to gasp.

“Chrisstopherr. I-.”

His hands gripped your neck tighter as he growled through clenched teeth, “Shut. Up.” 

His hips rotated into you again as your eyes rolled back. “That turn you on, mama? Love it when I shut your ass up? Choking you got you so wet, darlin’. Look at the mess you’re making on daddy’s pants, fuck. Let’s get these off of you, yeah,” he groaned. Without putting you down his dominant hand ripped your panties off. Your lips fell open to complain, but before you could get a word out his fingers penetrated your mouth.

“Pretty sure I told you to shut up. Suck. Get them nice and wet for me.”

He had all but shoved his fingers down your throat. Loving every bit of it, you took his fingers' knuckles deep. Swirling and sucking like the good girl he wanted you to be. The more you sucked, the more aroused you both became.

“Good girl,” he praised as his free hand groped your breast.

The smug look on his face annoyed you and you started in again once he pulled his fingers from your mouth.

“No, you're not doing this right now. Put me down so we can finish this discussion.”

He shook his head no, “why can’t your bratty ass just sit back and shut up,” he rasped as his wet fingers trailed back down your naked body. “Gonna make you regret not listening to daddy.”

His fingers were back in you before you could give him a smart-ass rebuttal. Slipping two fingers inside your channel. Rio reached for that sweet spot that could instantly bring you to tears. He plunged his digits deep enough, tapping it repetitively forcing you to cry out.

“Fu-stop, I’m not done talk-shit! Don’t stop! Oh my god. Yes!”

He felt your walls tighten around his digits. Just as you were about to fall apart all over them, he removed his hand.

“Rio!”

“Did I say you could cum? I don’t remember you asking for permission, mama.”

Not giving you time to respond, he plucked you from the wall. Rio carried you over to the dining room table. Still gripping your waist, he used his free arm to swipe the dinnerware and place settings onto the floor. Your back slammed against the table just as the dishes collided with the floor. You wanted to bitch about the broken items but decided against it.

“Don’t say a fucking word, Y/N. This is what you wanted right? I’ll buy you a new set, just shut up and take this dick.”

His palm glided across your chest, stopping to press you flat against the surface. Standing between your soaked thighs, he used his free hand to unbuckle his jeans, pushing his clothing low enough to let his thick member spring free. His girth glistened with precum as he dug inside you. You were overwhelmed with sexual bliss and went slack-jawed at how full you felt. Not able to form any words, a whimper fell from your lips. 

“Ain’t been in you that long. I already got you speechless, darlin’.”

His hips circled in and out of you, the strokes becoming deeper. The feeling was overwhelming and he felt you trying to slide back for relief. Gripping your thighs, he shook his head as he pulled you in and thrust harder.

“Naw, where you going? Ain’t no running, mama. Thought you wanted this dick.”

“Rio, it’s too much. Please, baby.”

Your pleas fell on deaf ears, as he spread your thighs wider. His hands moved up to your waist and he started to fuck you harder and faster. You started to whine as his signature crooked grin formed on his face. He tossed his head back, biting his lip as he felt you grip him tighter.

“So fuckin’ tight, mama. This still mine, right? This my pussy?”

It was almost impossible to answer with him constantly tapping your g-spot. Your nails scraped against his T-shirt. You tapped his abdomen, taking a deep breath. The words tumbled out of your mouth.

“Yes! You know it is. Take this shit off,” you demanded clawing at his shirt. “Need to feel you.”

Rio sank the deepest he could.

“Feel that, mama.”

This bitch thinks he’s funny.

“Fuck, Rio,” you cried out. “You know what I mean,” you mewled.

His hips continue to pound into you, as he slid his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Rio bent down, letting his lips ghost yours, “that better, mama,” he whispered.

You pulled him closer shoving your tongue into his mouth, as he fucked you through the kiss. Rio’s hand slipped between the two of you, his index and middle finger drew slow circles into your clit. The tremors in your thighs signaled that you were close.

“Daddy,” you cried out, scratching his back.

“I know, baby. It’s been too long. Let go, mama. You gon’ be a good girl and squirt for me? Hmm?”

His hips were slamming into you with brute force. So much that you felt your body slide up the table. Rio took notice and laid a hand against your abdomen to keep you in place. The weight of his hand had you gasping. The crooked smile graced his face once more,  as he pressed harder. Leaning in, he growled, “you feel that shit? You like getting them guts rearranged, sweetheart?”

“Oh, shit! Yes, I love it so fucking mu-ah! Shit, I’m cu-ahh!”

Your body started shaking uncontrollably. Your release was so strong, that you did in fact squirt. Rio pulled out, letting his ringed fingers rub you through it. Your hand found its way around his wrist, as you tried to pull him away from you.

“Too sensitive, daddy.”

He pushed your hand away, grabbing you by the throat. His lips crashed into yours as he continued to rub into you. Another orgasm hit you instantly. It was so strong that tears were rolling down your cheeks. Pulling away from the kiss he groaned, “I don’t give a fuck about you being sensitive. I’ma make you come as many times as I want, baby.” Rio sat down in the dining chair and gave you an order, “come sit on this dick.”

Stroking himself he watched as you carefully made your way to him on wobbly legs. He snatched you by your waist pulling you down onto his long rod.

“Ohh, fuck,” you whimpered, as he slapped your ass.

Giving you just a moment to adjust, Rio gripped your behind.

“What you waiting on? Ride me, mama. You get one chance to do it right,” he instructed, smacking your bottom again.

You bounced on him vigorously at first, but the two previous orgasms had zapped all your energy. Taking him in fully you sat in his lap rocking back and forth. His hand grasped your chin as he spat, “I really be trying to give you a chance, ma.”

His hands grabbed hold of your soft globes as he lifted you. He held you at the tip for a moment.

“Gonna make you regret trying to take the easy route, darlin’.”

Sliding you back down, he started to jackhammer into you. Pressure started building in your core, as you threw your head back.

“No, please. Fuck, oh fu-Christopher. Can I come? Please, daddy.”

“I should make your little bratty ass hold it, but fuck I’m close. Go ahead, come for me, bitch,” he growled.

Rio knew a little degradation would be just the thing to push you over the edge.

“Christopher,” you shouted, as you fell apart for the third time that night.

You tucked your face into the crook of his neck, as he fucked his way to a release, “fuck,” he groaned, painting your walls. He massaged your back, helping you come back down. You pulled back and smiled at him lazily. He bit his lip as his hand reached to brush a strand of hair from your face. Rio kissed you until you both pulled apart breathless. He was about to offer to carry you upstairs for a relaxing shower, but a loud knock on the front door interrupted him.

“Who the fuck is beating on the door like a madman?”

Rio handed you his shirt as he pulled on the bottom half of his clothes. He swiped his gun from the countertop. Whoever it was, was now knocking and ringing the doorbell like a crazy person.

“Where’s your purse?”

“Kitchen counter.”

“Get your gun and go hide in the pantry. Do not come out. I will come to get you. I don’t know who the fuck this is, but better safe than sorry. Go!”

“No, I want to stay with you.”

“Not now, don’t do this now. Get your ass in the fucking pantry.”

“Okay, damn!”

You pecked his lips before doing what he said. Retrieving your gun from the luxury handbag, you slipped into the pantry. You were able to hear the conversation with the person who had interrupted aftercare. Making out the voice, you grew irritated. Exiting the pantry, you bounded over to the front door. Not giving a damn about the glare on Rio’s face, you snapped.

“Why the hell were you knocking on our door like the damn police? What the fuck, Mick?”

“Aye! Relax. Chill, mama. I wasn’t answering my phone and some business needs handling,” he replied as he backed you away from the door. You had been waving your gun around full of attitude. “Give me this fucking gun before you shoot somebody! I taught you how to handle this shit safely. Could’ve sworn I told your ass to stay put. I’ma deal with you later. Go upstairs and get cleaned up. Coming to the door half-naked. Why can’t you just listen? Anybody else would’ve gotten shot for disobeying an order. Yet here you are steadily trying my fucking patience.”

Aware that you had struck Rio’s last and final nerve. You decided to do as you were told. Rolling your eyes at a smirking Mick, you left to make your way upstairs.

Gathering items for you both to shower, Rio entered the room.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I got upset, we were having a sweet moment. Then your henchman showed up, killing the vibe.” 

“I know, but we’ll have to discuss your listening skills later, mama. I got to slide,” he replied.

He was sitting at the edge of the bed in a change of clothes. Rio was too distracted with lacing up his shoes to notice the disappointment on your face.

“Later? You’re leaving?”

“Didn’t I just tell you there are some things I gotta handle?”

“Just gonna fuck me and leave, huh? Should I even bother waiting up?”

“You just nagged me about our sex life. Did I not just blow your back out? You know what, I’m not having this argument with you again. I don’t need this shit on my mind for what I’m about to go and do. Can we not have static for once, mama?”

The fact that he still doesn’t get that it’s not just about the sex. Either he just doesn’t care, or there’s no getting through to him. I’m drained at this point. I just love him so much it hurts. He’s not wrong though.  I should let him leave with a clear head.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you walked over to him and gave him a tight hug and kiss. “Come back to me safe, papa.”

He wrapped his hand around your jaw, pulling you back to him, “Give me one more, mama.” Chuckling, you kissed him long and hard.

“If it’s not too late, call me on your way home. I’ll have your dinner warmed and ready when you get here. Love you, baby.”

Rio nodded his head, as he smacked your behind and pecked your forehead. He whispered in your ear, “I’m doing the best I can, mama.” With that, he made his departure.

 You showered and did your nightly routine. The next couple of hours were spent lying in bed thinking about your relationship. For months you had been trying to communicate that there were problems in and outside the bedroom. You were running out of ways to express that.

How many times can you beg someone to hear you? Why is it so hard to get him to show emotion? It’s not just a lack of intimacy. He’s not present. Even when he’s here, his mind is somewhere else. Yes, I know what I signed up for, but something’s got to give.

Letting out a sad sigh, you pushed the negative thoughts out of your mind. Just as you were about to close your eyes, a text came through. It was from an unknown number and the contents of the message made your heart shatter.

Part two in the works! Hope you enjoyed it lovelies🥰. Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated🥹💓.

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Gif/Photo credit: @goldengunplay (gif in mood board).

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