#it doesn’t mean he’s a bad artist

[halfricanloveyou]

i think we should make ‘be normal to people who don’t like whatever piece of media or art you’re obsessed with’ into a normalized concept.

i think we should go even further and be normal to like…people who HATE what you’re obsessed with instead of vague blogging about them. even if they only hate it based on a surface level and don’t wanna give it a chance.

it’s always ‘let people like things as much as they want’ but for some reason ‘let people dislike things as much as they want’ is unforgivable.

[tariah23]

I’m sorry but I’m never getting over Kendrick mentioning Drake’s cats name in the diss track bro.

[worstloki]

I noticed that you're not talking about it and I'm not surw if your love for comics Loki died or if you just don't know but I need to tell you that Loki is getting a new comic limited series this june!

I’m a bit ??? on the direction they’re taking comic Loki in recently—they alternate him a lot from good to bad to fit whatever definition of ‘mischief’ and I don’t like the stories title getting thrown around lightly. I know that’s standard for comic continuity but from what I’ve read I’m waiting for the comics to actually come out before judging them. The art so far looks nice tho!

[some-greatreward]

god, tryna find other smiths fans is such a delicate balance because like:

on one hand i want to find people who don’t just straight up dismiss everything morrissey has ever done bc like. yes we get it, dude is bigoted and holds some very abhorrent views that no one should be excusing. but i don’t think you can be anything more than a surface-level smiths fan without at least giving him credit where credit is due and attempting to understand the frame of reference these lyrics come from, which is to say you’d need to at least try and understand a little of who he is as a person (AND empathize with that. im sorry but you do).

but also like whenever i come across a straight-up morrissey fan i’m always like…hm🤔 are u racist

[ketchuppee]

During the 2008 recession, my aunt lost her job. Her, her partner, and my three cousins moved across the country to stay with us while they got back on their feet. My house turned from a family of four to a family of nine overnight, complete with three dogs and five cats between us.

It took a few years for them to get a place of their own, but after a few rentals and apartments, they now own a split level ranch in a town nearby. I’ve lost track of how many coworkers and friends have stayed with them when they were in a tight spot. A mother and son getting out of an abusive relationship, a divorcee trying to stay local for his kids while they work out a custody agreement, you name it. My aunt and uncle knew first hand what that kindness meant, and always find space for someone who needed it, the way my parents had for them.

That same aunt and uncle visited me in [redacted] city last year. They are prolific drinkers, so we spent most of the day bar hopping. As we wandered the city, any time we passed a homeless person, my uncle would pull out a fresh cigarette and ask them if they had a light. Regardless of if they had a lighter on hand or not, he offered them a few bucks in exchange, which he explained to me after was because he felt it would be easier for them to accept in exchange for a service, no matter how small.

I work for a company that produces a lot of fabric waste. Every few weeks, I bring two big black trash bags full of discarded material over to a woman who works down the hall. She distributes them to local churches, quilting clubs, and teachers who can use them for crafts. She’s currently in the process of working with our building to set up a recycling program for the smaller pieces of fabric that are harder to find use for.

One of my best friends gives monthly donations to four or five local organizations. She’s fortunate enough to have a tech job that gives her a good salary, and she knows that a recurring donation is more valuable to a non-profit because they can rely on that money month after month, and can plan ways to stretch that dollar for maximum impact. One of those organizations is a native plant trust, and once she’s out of her apartment complex and in a home with a yard, she has plans to convert it into a haven of local flora.

My partner works for a company that is working to help regulate crypto and hold the current bad actors in the space accountable for their actions. We unfortunately live in a time where technology develops far too fast for bureaucracy to keep up with, but just because people use a technology for ill gain doesn’t mean the technology itself is bad. The blockchain is something that she finds fascinating and powerful, and she is using her degree and her expertise to turn it into a tool for good.

I knew someone who always had a bag of treats in their purse, on the odd chance they came across a stray cat or dog, they had something to offer them.

I follow artists who post about every local election they know of, because they know their platform gives them more reach than the average person, and that they can leverage that platform to encourage people to vote in elections that get less attention, but in many ways have more impact on the direction our country is going to go.

All of this to say, there’s more than one way to do good in the world. Social media leads us to believe that the loudest, the most vocal, the most prolific poster is the most virtuous, but they are only a piece of the puzzle. (And if virtue for virtues sake is your end goal, you’ve already lost, but that’s a different post). Community is built of people leveraging their privileges to help those without them. We need people doing all of those things and more, because no individual can or should do all of it. You would be stretched too thin, your efforts valiant, but less effective in your ambition.

None of this is to encourage inaction. Identify your unique strengths, skills, and privileges, and put them to use. Determine what causes are important to you, and commit to doing what you can to help them. Collective action is how change is made, but don’t forget that we need diversity in actions taken.

[sylvies-chen]

I’ve been seeing that couples paint each other challenge where couples will spend a night in with a canvas and some cheap paints and give each other 30 minutes to try and paint each other, and now I can’t stop thinking about armandaniel doing that one night and armand’s is yeah it’s good okay like it’s not great because of the whole vampire art struggles but he was around renaissance painters for a long time so he does a pretty good job of getting daniel’s minute features and shading and whatnot but daniel’s is just. lord it’s so bad. it’s like the most primal kindergarten painting you’ve ever seen but dammit all the right ingredients are there!! he got the orange eyes and the curls and he very proudly points out that he gave armand a little ipad in his painting like his fake rashid era which he cracks himself up with but he looks over and armand is in tears because not only is he looking at the first painting of himself in over 400 years but he’s also looking at the most non sexual artistic interpretation of him he’s ever seen. like it’s just. him. he’s just existing. he’s there. on the canvas. with literally no background. not a meadow or even a grassline or anything. all this blank white liminal space around his (horrendously drawn) likeness as if nothing else is needed. no body contortions, eyes too one dimensional to even hold all his pain. daniel is just kind of chuckling and bashfully being all “ah fuck it’s pretty bad isn’t it I mean there’s a reason I stick to words, I drew your nose all lopsided on that one side and—” cut to armand literally welling up and whispering like “no. it’s beautiful.” daniel doesn’t get it. this is a liberation.

[hellishjoel]

cherry thrill | lights

9.2k / pairing: daddy dom tattoo artist!joel miller x sub virgin f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | notifications blog | ko-fi chapter summary: your tattoo artist, joel miller, takes your virginity. chapter warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, implied age gap, swearing, virginity loss, dom&sub dynamics (/not lg), size kink, praise kink, degradation kink, daddy kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, swearing, dirty talk, pet names (princess, bunny, baby girl, sweetheart, etc.), oral (m&f receiving), fingering, protected p in v, joel talks you through it, protective!joel, slight pov switching, reader is described as having no tattoos or piercings, as well as hair, but otherwise no physical description, no use of y/n series summary: Trust and devotion. Ink meets innocence. Your tattoo artist, Joel Miller, shows you what it really means to give up control. Reeling from the loss of your job, you’re running out of options, until a passing comment from Joel and a video camera give you just the right idea. A/N: this was supposed to be a one shot but just like everything else I try to write, I expand on the characters too much for it not to become a series. also, thank you for 2,000 followers, I promise to do something soon to show my appreciation <3 I'm bad at giving thanks and receiving attention so anyway - dividers by @firefly-graphics (thank you, daisy!)

During your first consultation, there was something in the air. 

Glances that lasted a few seconds too long, a charged energy replicating that of two strong magnets.  You stand frozen in a dark office down the hall from the shop’s main entrance. The walls are painted black. A gallery wall displays different art and posters in gold frames. There’s a large red neon sign with your tattoo artist’s initials, J.M. 

Joel Miller. 

You sit opposite of him, leg anxiously bouncing and nails subconsciously piercing the chair’s leather arms as he listens silently to your request before his mind starts to work. It doesn’t take much time to draw up an example or two with your guided tweaks and fixes. 

Other than the scribble of a graphite pencil, silence falls over you both. And observation takes over. 

Joel surrounds himself with scattered drawings on loose paper that litter his desk. You watch the way his eyes screw inward to focus on the sketch he is drawing up. A small vein protrudes from his temple, his jaw shifts from side to side with tension. 

He’s a blunt sort of handsome. With harsh edges and lines, jaded and carved with precision like precious marble. It makes your pulse jump a bit in your neck and wrist. 

You think your first tattoo should be something special, especially since you’ve waited so long to pull the trigger. He was a bit intimidating like you imagined a tattoo artist to be, what with his brooding demeanor and how he looked you up and down upon taking one step inside his parlor. 

Virgin. 

That’s what he called your skin, untouched by any ink or piercings. 

He didn’t know that it described you down to your core. No one had popped your cherry, taken your virginity, made you theirs. Untouched.

Now, half an hour later and sitting anxiously in his back office, he finishes drawing up the sketch and asks about the precise placement you had in mind. 

“I was thinking here,” you mindlessly point to a spot on your upper thigh. There was a level of secrecy to it, in case any future employers cared about that sort of shit. 

You can’t help the way your skin vibrates under his touch, when he aids you in taking off your bottoms and runs his calloused palms up the smooth skin of your thighs. 

You shakily exhale as he warms you. 

You definitely don’t let yourself fantasize that he’s feeling you up, or even think about wanting him to explore every inch of your body. You know he’s just doing his job. 

But the way his eyes flick up to yours when he feels the goosebumps he knows he’s created is otherworldly. Like he knows you want him to fuck you. The way your muscles twitch under the warmth of his palm, feeling pliant under his touch. Fuck. 

His eyes gleam as his mouth forms into a barely-there smirk. 

There was no point in playing coy. Your body changed at the contact and Joel knew it. 

It was damn near degrading the way he let you simmer. It set a light inside of you no one had before. So that’s when you knew you’d let him, Joel Miller, take your virginity. 

It would be no easy task. You didn’t know how to pursue him, or anyone for that matter. Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t have said virginity. 

You try not to stare for too long, but even with his gruff demeanor and silence being second nature to him, he was handsome. A rugged sort of handsome with different facial piercings. 

A septum in his nose highlighted its aquiline structure. And a small hoop in his right eyebrow, with greys tickling through like pretty streaks in the hair. It made him look deliciously too old for you. Perhaps that’s what you enjoyed most, though. He was no amateur. 

The moment his fingers dipped into your flesh to work on your tattoo's placement, you knew he felt it, too. Supple under his touch. Squishy. Something he could sink his teeth into. Something that obeyed. 

“You prepared for the pain, sweetheart?”

His southern drawl is sweet like honey, deep and husky nonetheless. 

“I think so.” 

Your response is meek. It’s your wavering nerves from having him so close and unsure what the feeling of being tattooed will be like. Joel looks for certainty instead. He insists on it. 

“Need ya t’tell me. Not that you think, that you know.”

“I’m sorry. I know so.”

Joel squeezes the back of your thigh fondly, a proud little smile twitching at the edges of his mouth. “Good girl.”

The praise alone was enough to make your thighs sticky with arousal. Joel sent you home that day with an ache between your legs that your fingers had to fix. And you thought about him the entire time. 

How his cold tongue piercing would feel against the warmth of your clit. Holding you with his strong, protective arms swirled with black ink. How his staggering dark eyes would look into yours as he fucks you. 

But thinking about him wasn’t enough. 

You tried to string out the process, anything you could do to fix more time with him. Anything to get his tough palms on your skin. 

You fiddled with different placements, opting to show a little skin as you rid yourself of your top and pointed to your ribs during your next appointment. 

A breath hitches in your throat as he eyes your bra's innocent pink color. Lacy and pretty. Delicate. He clears his throat and runs his fingers along your side, evidence of his touch causing an effect on you displayed with more goosebumps. Your body could simply not hide the attraction you felt towards him. 

“Would hurt. A lot. The ribs move every time you breathe, which makes the tattooing process more painful.” Joel gently cups your side with his large palm and squeezes your ribs, holding you in place as you shakily breathe with the hold he has on you. “Can’t tell ya where to place it, can only advise. Just don’t want such a pretty girl to shed any tears.” 

That’s when you knew you could trust him. That even a man as hardened as himself could treat you with such care. 

He excuses himself for a moment, opting for more transfer paper and leaving you topless in his private office. 

Your ears were ringing, you could hear the quickening beat of your heart. You slowly inch off the portable tattoo table, glancing around Joel’s dark academia-style office. 

He’s an enigma, you think, the more you look at his surroundings. Quiet but dark, you knew he was concealing a hidden desire. You hope to unlock it. That he’ll trust you enough just as you trust him. 

Articles of clothing start to drop to the floor, one by one. You knew you’d be ambushing him; you didn’t want to scare Joel. So you left yourself in your soft pink-colored bra and panty set. You thought it was classy and cute. Not too forward, but sweet. Definitely planned out, you hope he doesn’t notice. 

All your confidence quickly disappears as soon as he comes back in through the door. You could feel your heart slowly sink to your stomach, your lips parting to come up with some sort of reasoning. 

“I-I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say. Joel is stilled at the entrance of his office, door still ajar as he blankly stares at the delicate angel standing in the middle of his office. 

He clears his throat and finally closes the door, leaving the two of you in silence. You can’t read his expression. 

“What do ya think you’re doin’?” He asks, sweet southern drawl dripping with tension as his heavy boots slowly make their way closer to you. 

You can only shake your head, unsteady hands concealing as much of your body as possible. You decide to face the mirror, keeping your back to him. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I was just-” Lie. “I was just looking at your full-length mirror to see other placement ideas.” 

Joel merely shakes his head, a knowing look in his eyes. “I can tell when you’re lyin’ t’me, baby girl. You wanna try tellin’ me the truth now?”

His tone only makes the ache in your core grow with desire as your pulse quickens under his eyeline. 

You feel embarrassed, heat coursing through your body and making you tingle as his stare lingers selfishly, basking in the glory of your figure. You watch with want in the reflection as his eyes stare at the curves of your hips and your ass. A handful, he probably thinks. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxes, moving closer and enveloping you in his musky pine and whiskey scent. It’s almost knowing what he says next. “Tell me what y’want.” 

You swallow the lump protruding in your throat before you decide to be honest with him. Like you said, you could trust him. You play with your fingers and pick at the skin by your nails.

“I want you.” You say barely above a whisper. 

Joel simply shakes his head, takes another impossible step closer, and cranes his head down to hear you better. His lips and coarse beard hairs tickle at the shell of your ear. 

Your eyes close shyly as he speaks again amid your silence. 

“Say it again, baby. Can’t hear ya.” His toned front meets your back, forcing a whimper past your lips. 

You work up the nerve to take a glance at the two figures in the gold-framed mirror. Perfect opposites. Young, beautiful, a little inexperienced. Older, handsome, sure as hell looks like he knows what he’s doing. 

His height looms over you. His eyes are an unknown shade of obsidian and he’s radiating a comforting warmth. Your hand reaches for his, only able to look him in the eyes through the glass as you guide his hand to your hip. 

Your thumb rolls across the faded tattoo on the backside of his hand. There used to be a cross there, but it looks to be covered up by some sort of python now. With a shaky sigh, you try again. “I want you, Mr. Miller. I want you to take my virginity.” 

You’ve prepared yourself to hear his laughter, a snickering, degrading comment of disbelief. You felt ready to experience shame. But you were wrong. 

Joel places his pointer finger under your chin, using his other hand to guide you in his hold to turn and face him. His thumb grazes over your lower lip as he guides your head to tilt up and look at him properly. Your soft eyes meet his lust-driven ones and your heart surges at the sight. 

You’ve never seen a man so hungry. 

“You want me to take your virginity, little bunny?” He hums seductively. Suddenly, you don’t feel so doomed. It’s placed with a little bit of eagerness now. You wanted your spoils. 

“Yes. Want you to do whatever you desire with me, I’ll do anything you want.” You sound like a devoted cult member, but the energy you feel is undeniable. You’re sure you’ve soaked through your panties at this point. 

Slowly but surely, Joel begins to nod. He’s mulled it over and he’s made up his mind. 

“Whatever I desire, huh?” He tuts almost degradingly. Your nod of enthusiasm makes his blood rush. 

He hesitates, untrusting of his own words. 

“Want you to call me Daddy,” He starts haphazardly, gauging your reaction. “Think you can do that, sweet girl?”

Your wide eyes soften, a notch of confusion knotting your eyebrows. 

“You- what?” 

“Want you to call me daddy. Want you to be a good little girl for me and hop up on that desk. Can ya do that for me, princess?” His chin juts up and signals toward his office desk. 

The swirling in your stomach just won’t stop. 

“Go on now.” His orotund voice projects his instructions. You back up a few paces until you feel the cool metal of his desk hit your backside, slowly moving to sit on it with hidden excitement and a shiver up your spine. 

You do want to be good, if there’s anything you want in this world right now, it’s to play along and be good for him. Knowing he would take care of you was making you leak. 

His fingertips delicately touch your skin, starting at your wrists and moving upwards to the straps on your bra. He’s intimidating to look at, so you fixate on something behind him. But it doesn’t help when he clouds your vision. Even his aroma, from the smoke of his cigarettes to the musky spruce cologne, was putting you in a tailspin. 

You don’t anticipate the way your body moves for him. His hands skim to the back of your bra, and your spine straightens. It makes the right side of his mouth twitch up into a smirk. 

“Nervous?” He belittles.

Your long lashes innocently flutter, you think you might be doing it on purpose. You sort of like playing along. 

“A little… Daddy.” You test cautiously, the word tangling on your tongue. But it’s unforgettable the way his eyes light up at the name. You find yourself already willing to do whatever it takes to recreate that signature look of his. 

Joel hums appreciatively, thumb making minuscule circles over your chin. “I’ll take care of ya. Ya know that. Or else you wouldn’t have chosen me.”

All you can do is nod. Because he knows that your selection process was a real thing. You had danced around it once during your first consultation when he asked if you had a boyfriend. All you could feel was heat rising to the back of your neck, shy eyes evading his warm brown orbs. 

“No, definitely not.” 

“What’d’ya mean definitely not? You’re a pretty girl.”  

You shrug in a noncommittal way. “I’ve never had to really worry about stuff like… boyfriends. Or girlfriends. Any of that sort of stuff.” 

His eyes flicked up to yours in an instant, a mutual understanding of your underlying words. “I see. I understand, angel.” 

Joel works your bra off with one hand, you gasp as you feel the material loosen around your body. His opposite hand taps at the top of your thigh. You’re all too aware you are eagerly sitting half-naked on his desk. 

“Open.” He directs, voice laced with smoke. 

You nip at your lower lip and slowly inch your clamped-shut thighs open for him. He instantly makes eye contact with the wet, dark little circle that’s ruining the pristine innocence of your panties. 

He decides not to make fun of it, but it’s truly a compliment. Your adoration for him. “This all for me, angel?”

You work up a few quick nods. Now that he was so close, you wanted him to hurry the hell up.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” 

You feel heat tingle at the sides of your neck. This would be your first time really talking like this with someone. He made it feel safe to talk so dirty. To try, to learn. 

“Yes, daddy.”

You can’t deny how proud you feel to be the reason a certain warmth brightens in his eyes and on his smirk. You did that, you pleased him. Little did you know how he’d thank you for it. 

“You said you’re a virgin? Hard to believe.”

A shaky sigh leaves your parted lips as his warm palms slowly pull your bra down, revealing your breasts to him. “Just never found anyone I really trusted or liked enough.” 

He mutters something quiet in understanding, all too distracted by how damn pretty you look. 

Joel is silently observing your body, he can’t help but want to touch the delicate flower in front of him. A gasp leaves your parted lips as his calloused hands come up and cup your breasts. He starts to squeeze, and a happy little whimper leaves your mouth with a small smile. 

“I like that.” You tell him, hoping it improves your chances that he’ll do it again. Which he does. 

“Good.” He compliments, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, turning them into peaks that send electricity down your spine. 

A sweet and experimental moan leaves your lips. Joel stands between your parted legs and you feel his erection for the first time against your skin. You can tell by the shape protruding through his pants that he’s a large man, already thick and swollen for your taking. 

“No one’s ever been inside of you?” He damn near growls, raising an eyebrow after the beat he offers you to answer.  

You shake your head again. “I’ve tried my fingers, but I’m sure it’s not the same.” 

A scoffy little breath echoes out of his nose. “No, not quite. Lay back for me, bunny.” His hands release your breasts, pebbled nipples left abandoned as you slowly move down onto your elbows and then onto your back. 

There was a sudden peak of anxiety, not being able to fully see him. But perhaps this was the point, to fully surrender yourself under his touch. To trust him. 

His rough hands grip the sides of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. He gets about halfway down your thighs before you quickly sit up on your elbows again. 

“Joel?” Your voice anxiously chirps. 

He stops, eyes flicking up to you from your cunt still concealed by your sticky thighs. 

“We can stop,” He says before you can explain. “S’okay if you’re not ready.”

“No, no, that’s not it, God, that’s not it,” You rid his worries, feeling your chest quickly rise and fall under his all of a sudden protective gaze. 

“I uh-... I know you don’t owe me this, we’re not together, but… can you talk me through what you’re doing? I want to learn, and I can tell you’re experienced, I know it’s a lot to ask but-”

“S’not too much to ask.” He quickly intervenes, gently taking your hands and guiding you to sit up fully once more. Your soft eyes graze over all the layers he’s still wearing, and suddenly you’re reminded how naked you are. 

“Use your voice, sweet girl. Can tell you wanna say somethin’. This is your time.” 

The sentiment means a lot. It is your time, your first time, and just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean it should be any less special. So you decide to make it your time, the way you want it. 

“Can you take your clothes off too? And is the door locked?” You trail off upon seeing his amused smirk. 

“Go on.” He nods again, letting you list your needs and wants. 

“And can you kiss me, please, Daddy?” You ask more softly than the rest of your demands. You know that kissing is romantic, but you think it might help settle you. Pull you back from drifting away, keep you here with him.  

He watches you for a moment, a bemused grin on his lips before he gently cradles your face. “The door’s locked. I’ll take my clothes off. And I’ll kiss you as many times as you like as long as you keep askin’ that nice.” 

For the first time during your interaction, your face lights up with a smile. It’s small, it’s thankful, but it’s there. There was an undeniable connection you shared with Joel, it made you feel safe under his curious eyes. 

With his large hands cupping either side of your jaw, he leans down while simultaneously guiding your chin up as your lips meet. It’s gentle at first, soft. His mouth tastes like a cigarette, it’s oddly intoxicating and you find yourself wanting more.

You know how to make out at the very least. So when you gently bite down and tug on Joel’s lower lip, both of your eyes open as a throaty little groan escapes him. 

He kisses you a little harder this time, hands falling to your hips as he pulls you closer so your fronts align. The force makes your lips part and Joel takes the opportunity to let his tongue invade your mouth. He moves fluently to explore, both of you falling into a sweet lull as your bodies meld into one. 

Inadvertently, he hooks his pointer finger into your panties halfway down your thighs and finishes pulling them to your ankles. They land somewhere on the floor in a pile of your other clothes. 

Unbeknownst to you until he took his hands off your body to pluck open his belt do you realize how you were on fire for him. 

You wonder while he pushes down his trousers and tugs off his shirt if he’s ever slept with a virgin before. If you’d be his version of a first time just like he’d be yours. No, not his first ever, you weren’t that foolish. But maybe you could teach him a thing or two as well. 

There’s no way to mask your surprise when he pushes down his boxer briefs, the dark band revealing all that was underneath. His half-hard cock raises towards his stomach, rosiness fluttering at his tip. You were pleasantly surprised to find that it was a little hooked, deliciously curving upwards. 

With a new sense of confidence, your hand reaches forward and you start to shift your hand up and down his length. Joel’s quiet grunt shatters your thoughts. He gently cups the side of your neck and twirls a piece of hair around his finger. 

Joel takes your hand off his cock and you worry you’ve done something wrong already. He holds it palm-side up and nods encouragingly. “Spit on your hand, baby.”

He nods after you look up at him with shy, blown-out eyes. But you obey. 

You spit into your hand and let him guide your hand back around his member. That seems a lot better. He glistens with your spit and you have the urge to keep shocking him with your confidence.

You lean forward and directly spit onto his tip, looking up to see his approving little smirk. 

“Fuck- That’s- mmm, that’s good, angel,” he sighs with a certain happiness, loving the feeling of getting his cock taken care of. “Feels real good.” 

The praise sets off a million pistons in your brain, feeling yourself scrabble off the desk,  dropping to your knees as you continue to pump him. 

He’s heavy in your hand, and you gently lean forward to give sweet kisses to the tip. You swallow the lump in your throat before parting your lips, taking the head of his cock into your mouth. He’s salty, musky, but not dirty. In fact, he was rather well-kempt in his nether regions. 

You force yourself deeper and Joel already has his hands in your hair to pause you. 

“Woah, slow your roll, pretty girl.” He says with shortened breaths. Heat floods your body, you hate being so new to this. 

Joel continues to stroke your hair back, gently gliding a thumb up your cheekbone before he cradles one side of your face. “I see you gettin’ all shy, I know this is your first time, but I’ll teach you the basics. And no one’s perfect on their first try, okay? So just get that thought outta your head now.”

Your chest swells at his eagerness to relax you, so you nod gently and lean in to kiss the base of his stomach in appreciation. The right side of his mouth tilts up as he swipes his thumb across your plump bottom lip, a silent thank you for the kiss. 

“You’re a real good girl, you know that?” A bigger smile breaks across your lips and you eagerly tug on his cock with eagerness. Joel sighs, already in defeat at how you’re willing to get it right for him, to learn, to listen. To obey. 

“You’re gonna wanna relax your jaw,” his fingers guide you, your lips parting and letting your jaw drop lower, lower, lower for him. “And the whole part is to suck, not just put your mouth on it, okay, peaches? So hollow your cheeks, no teeth, and only go as far as you feel comfortable.” 

You shake off your nerves and clear your throat, feeling your mouth fill with spit intended for him. You place your hands on the back of his thighs, feeling the dark hairs under the pads of your fingers. 

Slowly, you wrap your mouth around his tip once more. You swirl your tongue around him, adoring the way he hisses when you glide your tongue across the slit leaking a salty substance. 

Over the introduction, you try to take him down your throat properly. And he’s a mouthful, literally. He’s a lot. But you try to just enjoy that there’s no real pressure. 

A lot of saliva starts to build in your mouth, and you swallow it around him. You’re awestruck when he lets out a low moan, strong hands weaving through your hair and lightly tugging. Your eyes flutter up to him through your lashes, and he’s looking at you so deliciously. 

You can tell he wants to fuck your mouth, holding his hips back from really letting you have it. And maybe he could do that to you someday, but for now, today was slow. And Joel knew that too. 

Joel gently tucks your hair back, your lips suctioning around his length before he drags you back towards him, indicating for you to start moving, to bob your head. 

It takes a few tries, but you really feel yourself going further down his cock. You breathe through your nose, but it’s hard when you’re trying not to gag around him. Finally, after little to no error, you slip up. His tip unexpectedly hits the back of your throat and you gag around him.  Joel must feel your whole body tense with anxiety because he’s quick to gently hush and console you. Your eyes well up with tears, but your first instinct is to keep him inside your mouth and swallow around him. 

A long, low groan leaves Joel’s mouth, a compliment to your first big challenge. 

“Holy fuck,” he pants, weaving his fingers into your hair and fisting eagerly to keep himself grounded. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ well, princess, you have no idea, fuck,” he grins. “Try using your hands on what you can’t take, come on, baby.” 

You can feel yourself physically gush at his compliments, your stomach swirling with a newfound desperation. To please. 

With new instructions, you work your hand at his base and pump up and down with the rhythm of your mouth. You worked on gently squeezing and releasing your hand, making Joel go slack-jawed as a husky groan leaves the back of his throat. Sucking and licking and bobbing your head in earnest, he’s already twitching in your mouth. 

“You’ve done this before baby,” his voice drips with a smirk, pulling yourself off for some deep breaths and a few desperate swallows. 

“Haven’t, promise, Joel,” You coo with a proud little smile, your voice thick and wrecked as you continue to pump his cock in the absence of your mouth. 

Joel lets your hair go and guides your hand off his cock before helping you up from the floor. 

Your face is obviously written with disappointment, you could have continued. You sort of wanted to continue despite the ache hanging around in your jaw. 

“You were gonna make me come, don’t wanna come yet, angel,” Joel pants weakly, ducking down and connecting your lips. You’re a little taken aback. Not by the kiss, but by the fact you already had him nearly ready to finish. 

“Really?” You murmur hopefully against his mouth, wishing he wasn’t just saying it to compliment you. 

The way that his features started to twitch and his tummy and chest fluttered with his jagged breathing, it would have been quite a sight to see him finish. Maybe he would have even done it right on your tongue. The thought alone gives you goosebumps. 

Your insides swirl as he licks inside of your mouth and gently runs his tongue along your bottom lip, moving you back towards his desk. You hop up without his instruction, feeling him smirk against your pouted mouth. 

“Now you’re gettin’ a hang of things.” He murmurs into your mouth, carrying on where he had left off before, sinking down to his own knees at the edge of the desk and positioning your feet to rest up on the edge. He seems to stare at the glistening arousal you’ve been creating for the last hour straight. 

That nervous feeling settles in your stomach, completely bare and open for him. A shocked gasp leaves your mouth, not prepared for him already to be diving into your pussy. 

The breadth of his tongue slowly swipes up the center of your core, purposely flicking off of your clit and making you yelp at the contact. His cold tongue piercing against your sensitive bundle made a shiver shoot up your spine. 

He gently smirks as he places a sweet kiss on the inside of your thigh. “You’re jumpy, kitten. Take a breath. Wanna make you feel real good.” 

You let out a shaky sigh and move off your elbows, back flat on his desk as your eyes slowly drift close. Then, as he starts to truly taste you, learning you and what you like, it’s unexpected how much you enjoy it. It never really dawned on you that some people truly enjoy eating pussy, but Joel Miller sure does. 

Your broken little whimpers and strung-out moans turn into writhing on his desk under him. He was such an expert, meticulously swirling his tongue around you and suckling your clit into his mouth. 

It didn’t take long for your fingers to wind up into his hair as his shoulders lay bracketed between your thighs. It was heavy, it was stomach-twisting, in fact, it was rolling through you like a storm. The it in question was your first oral orgasm. 

“J-Joel,” you gasp, your jaw dropping down as he slowly prods the tip of his finger at your entrance. 

“Need to get you ready for my cock, sweet girl, keep focusing on how good you feel,” he encourages. Your face pinches as his finger slowly sinks into your entrance, but you realize how grateful you are for all the extra spit and arousal Joel has provided. 

It doesn’t necessarily hurt, it’s a weird ache at first. But then his finger starts to slowly pump inside of you, and it’s a new craving. Especially with the way his tongue moves around your clit, the pistons in his brain firing all to figure out what you like. 

Do you like when he flicks your clit with his cold metal piercing?

“Ohmygod-” you gasp. 

Do you like when he swirls his naughty tongue around you in tight figure eights? 

“Joel, please,” you say, needing more. 

Did you like it most when he suckles around your sweet bud?

“Joel!” You cry out, tugging tighter at his hair, not sure if you want to tug him closer for more or push him away because it feels too good. 

“O-Oh, oh my god.” Lying still was a foreign thing to you now, all you could do was wiggle and grip your fingers into his hair, tugging harshly as he grunted against your core in enjoyment. 

He actually likes pleasing you, he likes tasting you! It’s a compliment without words as your eyes dip close and your head digs back into the desk.

Suddenly, your stomach starts to drop like you’re on a rollercoaster. You’re not unfamiliar with the feeling of an orgasm, but this, oral, it hits differently. 

“Fuck,” you curse unexpectedly, making Joel cock up an eyebrow as he glances up at you. All you can do is watch as his mouth suckles harder around you, his finger pumping faster and adding a second. 

Because if there’s anyone in this world that can break you out of your shell, Joel wants it to be him. 

Now you’re really aching for him,  wishing that it was his cock slotted between your walls, pushing you towards euphoria. 

“Know you wanna come for me angel,” his fingers quirk upwards in a come here motion, and a long, strung-out moan of his name leaves your lips.

God forbid any of the shop’s workers or clients hear you, but you can’t think of a singular reason to care right now. 

Your walls flex and squeeze around Joel’s two fingers, truly feeling the stretch as you come around his digits. It leaves you a whimpering mess on his desk, hot pants leaving your pretty lips. 

Joel is in heaven, lapping you up and moaning against your core as your clit starts to twitch with the overstimulation. His hands squeeze at the flesh of your thighs before he sits up and kisses up your body, his own lips meeting yours. He’s hungry, and you’re still bouncing back. But you want it so bad, and you’re so close to finally having it. 

“Joel, I’m ready.” You coo, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

He breathily laughs and pecks your lips once more, tasting your own arousal and making you feel warm inside. 

“Desperate for my cock, ain’t that right, pretty girl?” 

God, he was such a menace with his mouth. Your adorably shy grin is all the answer he needs. But you give him one anyway, because he likes when you talk like that with him. 

“Yes, daddy, I just wanna feel it already,” you try out, Joel’s lust-filled eyes meeting yours as white-hot heat spills into your stomach. 

“I’ll give it to ya, baby girl. Wanna give that tight little virgin pussy my cock, don’t want anyone else to have ya. Mine.” Joel huskily grunts, a choked moan leaving your lips. 

Joel reaches past your head and to the drawer on the other side of the desk. He jimmies it open and searches his hand around blindly. He flips open his wallet and pulls a small square foil package from the slot. 

Oh, duh, a condom. In all your excitement, you sort of forgot to be safe. But you’re glad he was prepared. 

You watch with adoration on your features as Joel lifts the condom to his lips, pearly teeth ripping the foil off but not hurting the condom. His other hand rests sweetly on your hip, thumb running soothing circles into your pretty skin. 

It’s a soothing feeling, one that he doesn’t have to do, but he does because he’s being considerate and maybe even a little protective. You gently lay your hand on his forearm, fingers tracing fresh black ink and older green ink on his arm’s sleeve. 

A shaky sigh leaves your lips as he uses both hands to glide the condom down his shaft. It’s nearly invisible, the way it’s so thin and tightly wrapped around his cock. Besides the band that rests at the very bottom of his shaft. He grumbles something incoherent, probably his annoyance with the fussing of the condom and how tight it probably felt around him.  

You take in a shaky breath and nod at him once he comes to rejoin your centers. 

“You’re sure you’re ready for this? Don’t wanna wait for someone y’love? Or trust? Or just... Anybody but me?” Joel’s face is pinched with genuine concern. 

You smile softly and gently cup his cheek. “I do trust you. It takes a lot of trust to allow someone to alter your body forever with a tattoo. So, you’re giving me a tattoo, and you’re taking my virginity. You’re sort of doubling down for me right now, honestly.” 

Joel flashes a genuine little smile. It’s the most you’ve said consistently all day with him, even with a little drip of sarcasm and wit. 

“Okay. But ya gotta say it.” He says more seriously. 

“I’m ready, Daddy. Want you to make me feel good. I know you can.” You can already feel yourself picking up his dirty talk. It makes your smile twitch as you gently grip both of his forearms, his hands spreading your thighs open for him. 

He enters the space, his heavy cock resting over your core and slowly slipping up and down your wet folds. 

You let out an unexpected little scoff as he grinds himself down against you, your arousal soaking the condom. He holds himself at his base and taps his tip down against your already throbbing clit, making you hiss out a desperate whine. 

“M’not usually this… gentle.” He admits through gritted teeth. You’re sort of shocked by that. Sure, he has a rough and tough exterior, but he’s treated you with such delicacy that you assumed he was like this all the time. 

“So, what are you usually like?” You pose, your breath hitching in your throat as one of his hands abandons your thighs and guides his tip from your clit to your entrance, up and down, several times. Your thighs twitch impatiently. Your entrance squeezes around nothing. 

“M’just... not this gentle,” is all he can say without breaking into a bemused smile. 

“Yeah? Maybe you can show me next time what you’re really like.” 

Joel playfully scoffs as his face starts to pierce with concentration. “Not sure if you can handle it, kitten.” 

“I’m sure I-” your words are cut off by a loud gasp, your lips parting as his tip penetrates your walls. You’re phased for a moment before you gulp and recollect yourself. You whimper, louder and louder as he pushes on, watching Joel move with such caution. 

He really is holding back, you think. You wonder what he’s like when he can just fuck how he pleases. 

“Baby,” Joel’s voice breaks your concentration. “Breathe.” 

A loud huff of air leaves your mouth that you hadn’t even realized you were holding in. The ache in your hips and core only builds with tension as Joel pushes on, his length and girth surely parting your tight walls. 

“So fuckin’- tight.” He says with gritted teeth, his fingers piercing into the delicate flesh of your outer thighs, making you whimper. 

“Joel,” you quietly cry for him, tears threatening to spill at the pain. It’s just- a lot. It’s a lot for your first time, and maybe you wouldn’t have signed up if you knew what he was packing, but in a weird way, you loved it. He felt made for you. 

“M’here, angel, look at me.” In all the excitement and overwhelming feelings of pain and pleasure, you hadn’t even noticed you were clenching your eyes closed. You slowly peek them open, greeted by his heavenly features. 

“There’s my girl.” He compliments, warmth and sweetness shooting through your body. 

“Fuck,” you say, your voice a bit wet as Joel comes down closer to aid you. He’s all the way in now, you can feel his balls flushed against your sopping wet cunt. 

The arousal helps, the condom sort of doesn’t but it’s fine, that’s life, you think. You’re torn between pain and pleasure. Honestly, you just feel so fucking full. 

He tells you between breathy pants that he would have used lube if he had any, but he didn’t, and he’s sorry, and his pretty voice starts to turn into static with how fucking good he feels inside of you. 

“You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he praises, sponging a few kisses along your cheeks and tasting your salty tears. You feel like some weak pathetic being under him. He’s been sweet, but you’re sure he’s just treating you like he found a wounded animal. 

“Move, Joel, please” you weakly demand, lassoing your arms around his neck and holding him close to you. 

“No.” He says through gritted teeth. “Just-” he pauses and takes a deep breath, knowing that you’re dealing with a million emotions right now as he’s trying to breathe around the death grip you have on his cock. “Just wait a minute, sweetheart, let yourself adjust.” 

A pouty, bratty sigh leaves your lips as you continue to blink away tears. You eventually nod and he only smiles adoringly as he returns to kiss at the tears.

Your senses are spiked. You can smell his cologne, feel each gristle of hair from his salt and pepper beard. It’s erotic how much more you can feel while at the edge of your emotions. 

One of your hands roams into his darling chocolate curls, instinctually going to gently scrape your nails delicately against his scalp. You’re sweetly surprised to hear him mutter a sweet little moan just for you against the shell of your ear. 

Your hands flutter across dark tattoos on his shoulders and arms, your blurry vision trying to make out the shapes as you trace a pretty angel on his upper bicep. 

Joel Miller was inside of you. Joel Miller has taken your virginity. The hottest man you’ve ever set your eyes on is fucking you at his place of work, on his desk. And you convinced him to. 

Joel was right. The pain, ache, and burn slowly turned into a real yearning for him to move. It felt like what was right, a certain neediness to be filled and fucked.  

“Daddy,” you whisper more sweetly this time, more to your character. “Please fuck me, you feel good now, I can take it. Promise.” 

It takes him a moment to gather himself as well, smiling sweetly as he keeps his mouth by your breasts where he is sucking a gentle hickey into your soft skin. Color flushes to the area, feeling his teeth gently nibble on the spot before he finally lifts off. 

Marking you, you think. It makes another gush of arousal flood your core, liquifying your spine as you become putty in his hands. 

His mouth twitches in a small smile as he captures your lips. Unbeknownst to you, the sweet kiss was just a distraction. 

Joel slowly began reeling his hips back which was a whole new sensation. His strangled moan harmonized with the gasp you let out into his mouth, moaning out the breath you were holding as he plunges himself fully back inside your warm cunt. 

You whimpered weakly, needy and anxiously happy, you wanted more. More, more, more. 

“Oh- my god,” you whimper, feeling him start a steady rhythm inside of you. Your jaw slowly drops and your eyes flutter closed, feeling your tits start to lightly bounce every time his hips perfectly align with your own. 

“So goddamn tight, still,” he grunts each word, forehead against yours as he watches your face unfold with a million reactions. 

Something primal switches in Joel, knowing he’s the first one to do this sort of stuff with you. 

It’s strangely possessive and arrogant, he knows it, but being the first man you trust to fuck you properly was feeding his ego. You’re a beautiful young woman with big doe eyes who waltzed into his shop and insisted he rail you, take your sacred first, talk you through it, and carry you through this dark and fearful forest. 

You trusted him. He wouldn’t break that bond. 

You came here wanting something, knowing how to get it. You came here asking, and Joel was open to teaching. The last thing he wanted was for some asshole to hurt you, something your sweet nature couldn’t afford was poison. 

Maybe he could teach you more, if you wanted. If he offered you an invitation to his world, would you take it? He only shared a slice of his lifestyle with you today, would the rest scare you, or entice you? 

Joel can’t help the way his hips buck faster at his thoughts, a little sob leaving your lips. He’s absent, just for a moment, feeling your skin slap against his as he holds you down and fills you fully. His tip hits your cervix for the first time and heat floods your stomach as you cry out his name. 

“Shit,” he panics and quickly comes back to his senses, wide eyes meeting your bleary ones, “you okay, angel? M’sorry” Joel whispers, returning to his original rhythm. 

“Yes-yes, fuck, please keep going, keep doing that, I can’t believe how good it feels.” 

Joel weakly smirks, proud to see you taking him so well.

The desk squeaks and juts with each of his heavy thrusts, that’s how you know it’s fucking good. You came here wanting to lose your virginity, but now that you’ve unwound Joel Miller, you want him to fucking rail you. 

Licking your lips, you lean up and pepper kisses up his wirey jawline, feeling the patch of hair that fades out and then back in again. He’s so sweet right now, but you wonder what he was talking about before. What was he when he wasn’t gentle? How good would rough feel? Would you like it? Maybe you could learn, explore, adventure. Surely Joel with his experience could be a guiding light. 

You watch with glittery eyes as Joel pulls his head off yours and licks across the pads of his fingers. 

“What are you- shit,” you whimper as his fingers start circling your clit, taking a moment to find your sweet little rhythm, one that somehow matches his hips. Now, your skin is slapping and it’s echoing around the room. Your moans are louder and uncontrollable, as are Joel’s. Your hips ache but you don’t find the will to care, he feels like fucking heaven. 

His cock is somehow inching deeper, as if your walls have decided to invite him in further, where he hits this perfect little spot inside of you that makes you squeak Joel’s name with robbed breaths. 

You’re not sure if you can hold on much longer, your stomach starts to swirl as all the knots inside your belly begin to untie themselves. 

You brace Joel at his shoulders and look into his eyes as you moan his name. A certain hunger flickers behind his dark brown orbs. His jaw clicks and he starts fucking you in earnest, filling you up each time as his hips snap with vigor. He feels fucking amazing, piercing your walls and marking you as his. 

“Joel-”

“Say what I wanna hear, baby,” he rasps. You quickly nod and gulp. 

“Daddy, please, I-I’m so close,” you moan sweetly as your head digs into the desk, jutting your chin up and arching your back. Joel takes full advantage of your breasts in his face, burying his nose in between them and nipping at the sensitive flesh, nearly making you yelp. 

“M’right there with you, angel baby, come for me,” he insists breathlessly.

His hips were losing their precision, going buck-wild, so you knew he was close. But he was holding out for you. 

You clench your eyes closed, feeling yourself lose all control. Your heart races in your chest, beat thrumming in your throat as you hold Joel against your front as his hips continue to snap and fill you. You don’t know what to do with your mouth, so you feverishly land your lips on his and make him mask the moans of your orgasm. 

Joel’s groan echoes loudly into your mouth as you gasp against his lips. Your walls clench eagerly around his cock as he spills into the condom. 

It’s blinding, deafening even. Your face goes slack and your eyes see stars. You think you might be shedding a tear or two because Joel is cupping your face kindly, thumbs swiping under your eyes as he encourages you out of your haze. 

“Lemme see those eyes, pretty girl,” he pants sweetly, watching for any sign of doubt. But he wouldn’t find any. 

You’re not so sure where he starts and you begin, your mind is so fuzzy. 

A soft hum leaves your lips as you soothingly run a hand through his dark hair again, gently stroking the longer curls away from the sheen on his forehead. Both of you were so warm, it felt like a fire was set between you two. When you curl a strand around your finger, you weakly smile as it coils back up and bounces. 

“How was your first time, angel?” Joel pants, still buried balls deep inside of you. Your hips ache, but part of you wasn’t ready for him to pull out yet. 

“I can’t believe I finished twice.” You admit with a shy smile, running a thumb up his cheekbone and glancing up at his eyebrow piercing. He notices you staring but keeps his eyes on your own.  

“Did it hurt?”

He shakes his head. 

“What about the one in your nose?”

He shakes his head again, this time with a smile. 

“Or your tongue?” 

This one made him ponder before he finally gave a light shrug. 

“You don’t remember the pain after a while. Just like tattoos. The pain is temporary.” 

Your mouth tilts in a lopsided smile, feeling messy with both of your spillages still puddled around your centers. 

Joel grunts as he slowly stands up from his bent-over position on the desk, pulling himself out of you and tying up the condom before he tosses it into the waste bin. 

You whine quietly to yourself as you close your legs. It hurts a little more now. Your hips and your core, a certain soreness. Or maybe it was missing him already. 

“Oh,” you whisper, starting to feel a little bit of leakage glide down your thigh. “Joe, do you-” 

“Course,” Joel says assuringly, hands already on a towel as he neals down and gently glides the material up the inside of your thigh. You bite down on your lip as he cleans you up with the soft towel and a little bit of water. 

You glance around the sterilized room and realize he’ll probably have to scrub this place down for the most part. Whoops. 

You’re slow to dress. Joel’s already buttoned his pants by the time you find your panties. He snickers quietly and helps you dress with a smirk. 

It’s not awkward like you feared it would. It sort of felt like you guys were friends. Then, something sort of unexpected happens. 

Joel fondly strokes a hair out of your face, pushing it behind your ear and smoothing out the little knots he had caused while fisting your hair during his blowjob. He’s soft and gentle with you. It makes you oh so curious what he looks like when he’s not soft and gentle. 

You sigh softly as you look at yourself in the mirror. You sort of felt proud, like you’d be a whole new person leaving the shop today. Even without a tattoo. 

“Joel, I don’t want anyone to see me leaving your office.” 

“That ashamed of me, huh?” He scoffs at you playfully, running his hand up and down his chest hair before he finally throws on his shirt. “I have the back office, so we can just go out that door.” He juts up his chin to behind you and you follow his eyeline. “Goes to the alley behind the shop.” 

You note the dark green painted exit door, and you’re thankful you don’t have to parade through the front of the shop or go past any other clients. 

The gentleman that he is, Joel walks you to your car as dusk settles in, marking the sky an orange and red horizon.  

“I gotta clean up the shop and close. You gonna be okay until I see you next?”

You nod meekly, a sweet smile on your face that twinges with a little shyness. “I’ll be okay. I still need that tattoo.” You tease to which he grins. 

“You do. I’ve worked real hard on it, so you better come back an’get it.” 

You nip at your lower lip as he stays guarded by your window, like a handsome pierced, and tatted bodyguard. 

It’s itching at you too much to let it go. You’re just too curious. “M’not this gentle.” 

“Yeah? Maybe you can show me next time what you’re really like.” 

“Not sure if you can handle it, kitten.” 

You gulp and clutch his hand before he fully stands up to walk away from your car. “You’ll show me again sometime? Like you said?”

Your eyes glimmer with a certain hopefulness, but his own seem to harden out of caution. 

It was just insane that he knew so much more than you. You wanted to unlock all forms of pleasure you were comfortable with. You like that he was holding something back. 

You were wet clay in his massive hands, he could mold you to his liking. You could learn his pleasures, his kinks, what unravels him beyond repair. You could learn a thing or two about yourself in the process. 

Joel sighs. 

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.” He warns, lips crooked in a snarl. His eyes beg for you not to want him, not to want this. 

But nothing set your nerves on fire like seeing him in control of you, just that brief second where his eyes flashed from amber to black and he fucked you like nothing or no one was stopping him. What if you gave it all up to him? 

Submissiveness dances behind your eyes, and Joel’s a sucker for that sweet look on your face. He debates if this is what you really want, or if it’s something else. He can’t deny he enjoys the trust you put in him. 

Joel quietly sighs with hesitation, eyes the way your small hand desperately holds his before he finally squeezes back. 

“You don’t know how t’take no for an answer, do ya?” He asks, a small smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. “That’ll have to change.” 

You grin and nod, biting down on your lower lip as you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Joel takes notice, not wanting to see you in any sort of discomfort, especially from something he caused. 

“Take some pain medicine and relax tonight, angel. You were perfect.” 

Your heart swells at the compliment, the appreciation, the care. He gently pats your window a few times before standing up straight and backing up from your car, moving back towards the dark green exit door. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Driving away, you’re giddy with excitement of the unknown. It was a dark path you wanted to pursue. And maybe it was fucking stupid how you could trust a complete stranger like this, how none of your past partners felt worthy of your first time, but the tattooed and pierced old southern gentleman did. It was fucked. But you were sort of fucked for Joel Miller. 

You hum to the radio as you experience pure adrenaline, thumb gliding over the raised numbers on his business card. You glance down and notice a small stamp of a fern in the top right corner, adjacent to his name and professional title. 

The Obsidian Gallery 

Joel Miller

Senior Tatoo Artist

You can’t explain how your heart inadvertently races as you remember flashes of his hips rutting into yours, those same delicate fern leaves decorating the front of his hips. You were so fucked for Joel Miller. 

next chapter ->

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[necstasy]

what are your thoughts feelings emotions about paul atreides having a breeding kink...... wanting so badly to knock his girl up......

creampie; soft paul; husband!paul & PAUL ATREIDES MDNI 18+

it comes to him naturally.

he’s always had the desire to reproduce settled in the back of his mind. he’s always wanted a family; a wife he truly loved, kids who he could see himself in. it was simple to him at first—base instincts of a man, especially the heir to the throne.

and then you two married, and it became something more primal. something more debauched, and therefore deeper into the base instincts. he couldn’t sleep as his mind was plagued with images of you, to the point where he needed to thrust these visions into reality. they were all within reach, all he needed to do was spread your legs and settle between them with the same determination he tended to push down in fear of scaring you off.

but he doesn’t think he could ever scare you off. not with how receptive and eager you are.

your legs opened to accommodate paul’s lithe hips in between them. your hands in his curls and pressed into the muscles of his back. really, your hands are everywhere. sliding down his torso, pinching his hips, pressing into the dimples in his lower back. you’re insatiable, trying to get more of him even as you drink in all of his air as you kiss him.

he’s just as bad if not worse.

his hands roaming your body. from your hair, to cupping your jugular, to pinching your nipples, all the way to teasing your cunt. he wants you, but he doesn’t want to make it quick. he wants it to last.

so he takes his time. each thrust into you is purposeful and artistically crafted. it’s not just a means to an end, it’s a rehearsed dance that he gets better at each time. sure, he has a goal—to shoot his cum as far into you as possible—but he wants it to be as enjoyable as it always is. he sucks hickies into your neck, he peppers loving kisses all along your body while he tells you how appreciative he is of you. it pains him, but he dismisses your cries to go faster and give you more. he wants it to be slow and romantic, his still blossoming mind only associating the two with each other and never with any other fashion of fucking you. love making, as he would call it.

until you hook a leg around his waist and beg. “will you cum in me, paul? so i can make you a father?”

god, you want to make him a father, the same way he wants to make you a mother. it’s so simple, nothing profound, but just that admission and your begging has paul’s hips snapping into yours. you have inadvertently gotten exactly what you wanted, and you’re vocal about how thankful you are. this is a different form of love making. it's addictive.

paul’s green eyes stare down at you the entire time, switching between taking in the way your face morphs into pure pleasure and how his cock easily slides in and out of you. he doesn’t know which view he enjoys more: the way your lips part and your eyebrows pinch together, or the way you’re literally creaming around his cock before you’ve even reached an orgasm. he tries to pay equal attention to both views, but he ends up focusing solely on the work he's doing below, his eyes attentive even through the weight of them.

he watches his cock drive in and out of you, so focused that he doesn't notice the speed that his mouth moves.

"yeah? you want me to?" he asks in relation to your begging. you nod, but he doesn't notice. he continues either way. "i'll put a baby in here, my star. i think you'd look so pretty. you always look so pretty 'f me."

he has a distant thought to focus on your pleasure, but it doesn't make it to the forefront. instead, he focuses on one thing: knocking you up. and he makes sure he gets his wish when he cums into you forcefully, his head buried in your neck while he keeps his hips flush against yours, his cock twitching inside of you as warm spurt after warm spurt flies out of him and settles into you. and even when he's done, he sits there for a while, refusing to leave in fear that the tiniest amount trickling out of you could damage the possibilities.

just to be extra sure, he fucks the cum back into you once he's pulled out, bringing you to an orgasm just by his fingers covered in his cum alone.

[t4t-apexeclipse]

let’s go into detail about what’s going on with thomas sanders and brei grace, because i refuse to let him and the community sweep this under the rug:

thomas severely underpaid brei grace for her work on roleslaying with roman

thomas then laid brei off after creating a work environment that was bad enough to make her not want to return

thomas made a post “announcing” that rswr would be on “an indefinite hiatus”. but it was only available on his patreon (im not a patron so i can’t link the post or show a screenshot, but if i find a screenshot i will edit it into this post)

to amend the above point: i had seen many people saying there was a patreon post that touched on the subject of brei being laid off and rswr taking a hiatus, but in actuality, according to a patron, thomas mentioned the matter in a patreon livestream, not a full blown post. i apologize for the misinformation

just days later, thomas makes a tweet about his merch sale, and most (if not ALL) his current merch was designed by brei, who will not see a penny in royalties, and this is apparently a regular thing with thomas

finally, an entire week after the patreon “announcement” and brei being laid off, thomas says this on the youtube community page (among other things, but this is what im focusing on):

and brei has to clarify that she was laid off

i want to point out the phrase “brei is currently not part of our team” and how thomas fails to acknowledge that HE is responsible for that. HE laid her off. and like a cowardly snake, he’s hiding behind vague corporate speak because he doesn’t want to admit the truth

unfortunately for him, the truth is out there

i know i sound really serious and dramatic and yall are probably not even taking me seriously and you have your pitchforks at the ready, but guess what? i couldn’t care less. i mean this IS serious, which is why im taking it seriously. but at the end of the day im just informing the community of what i know. what you do with that information is up to you

im not “cancelling” thomas, or trying to start a witch hunt, im just so sick of everyone pretending thomas is a perfect harmless little angel who can do no wrong. cos guess what? he HAS done wrong. he’s done wrong by brei. but everyone is so busy sucking up to him that they don’t seem to care that brei is suffering because of him

and this isn’t the first time he’s done wrong by an artist, either (let’s never forget the mad libs incident)

to summarize: thomas doesn’t make it a habit of properly compensating the artists he hires, he makes their experiences a living hell, and then he lies through his teeth about it

like i said, do with this information what you will, but i don’t know how thomas sleeps at night

(oh, and if you plan on harassing me over this post, im literally just gonna block you lmao don’t waste your energy)

hope everyone has a nice weekend (except for thomas tbh)

[mydearestsnoopy]

i’m not one to make serious announcements, but this is serious. Moon Taeil, Oldest member of NCT, has been kicked out of the group due to SERIOUS sexual assault allegations. If you thought Lucas was bad, this is even worse. Removed from the group in mere seconds. Me being a Taeil stan, i’m more than disgusted. disappointed. But just because you may like him, doesn’t mean defend him. The things that he has possibly done is wrong and disgusting and if you defend him, you’re disgusting too. There is nothing here to defend, he is a 30 year old man who knows right from wrong and should be treated as such. Any and I mean ANY taeil defenders, apologist, sympathizers, etc, will be blocked. At the end of the day, this is a serious issue and should be treated as such.

The statement reads:

This is SM Entertainment.

We have recently confirmed that Taeil has been implicated in a criminal case related to sexual crimes.

While looking into the situation, we recognized that the issue is very serious, and we have decided that Taeil could no longer continue team activities. We have discussed this matter with Taeil and it has been decided he will be removed from the group.

Currently, Taeil is faithfully cooperating with the police investigation. We will share additional statements as the investigation progresses.

We deeply apologize for the controversy caused by our artist.

More is to come out about the case, stand with the victim, not with your idol.

[renardiererin]

rintarou suna would let you talk him into getting a dick piercing. “rin cmon, just try. if you hate it so much you can always just remove it and let it close up.” he’s used to giving people piercings and tattoos all around for a little extra side cash (my tattoo artist suna smutshot), so he has little hesitancy when instructing you on how to put the prince albert piercing through the tip of his cock. but little doesn’t mean none. “baby it’s gonna hurt.” rintarou seems like he’s a tough guy. one who next to never complains about pain— but that is so far beyond the truth. he whines about every little thing, simply because he has no problem being obnoxious around you. you’ll love him anyway. so when he whines about how painful it’s gonna be, all you can do is laugh at his childish antics. he’ll furrow his brows together and push out his bottom lip slightly more, making himself look like the epitome of a whiner.

“baby it’ll hurt so bad, i’m gonna need you to kiss it better. you’ll kiss it better, right princess?”

“it hurts, honey, whenever you bring it up it reminds me it’s there and then it’s sore again.”

“i don’t even want to wear clothes, the thought of even underwear sounds so painful baby”

but once it’s been just two days and he’s forgotten about the initial pain, he’ll be buried balls deep in your tight little cunny, cool metal hitting the spongey spot deep in there that your fingers alone could never reach. the way the second bulb of metal peeks out from underneath the tip gives you added stimulation as it drags through your heated walls, bringing you closer and closer.

“y’know, sweets, i think i like this little cock piercing you talked me into. makes you scream, and i like when you’re loud for me.”

what may have stated as a half joking test ended in rintarou suna having a new second favorite piercing. though, nothing can beat the reactions you give him for the metal ball on his mid-tongue.

—

quick a/n: guys i’m so determined to leave my flop era this summer bc school gets out for me in like two weeks so i’m gonna hopefully be able to flood you all with content!! it’s 10am and i haven’t slept a WINK so here’s some dick piercing suna brain rot bc i need him so bad

[saquesha13]

!!Tattoo artist Eddie!!

Steve never imagined himself as a tattoo kind of guy. But back in ‘85 after the mall fire, he ended up getting a small matching tattoo with Robin. Just a simple little ice cream cone on his inner wrist - Robin’s idea really. Something about almost burning to death together in a fire really seemed fitting for matching permeant ink on their skin.

It opened Steve’s eyes, changed his perspective, widened his horizons if you will on the whole idea of a tattoo.

Even just a dumb ass ice cream cone that bystanders see on his wrist, that they probably assume means jack shit but in reality it means the whole world to Steve - is pretty fucking cool.

So, Steve hears about this really talented tattoo artist in Chicago and knew he wanted this guy to do his next piece.

The shop is smaller than Steve expected, smack dead in the center of the city and Steve arrived 30 minuets early to his appointment because he was pretty damn nervous.

This tattoo is not as… innocent as his matching ice cream cone with Robbie’s. It isn’t as meaningful either…

Well, okay, it still has meaning, but only to Steve. He isn’t the kind of guy to get a tattoo just because. Tattoos are expensive first of all, and he doesn’t want his entire body covered in ink. That just isn’t his style. But a peek of a tattoo here and there? Yeah, that’s not bad, that what El would call bitchin’.

“Steve? Eddie is ready for you.” The petite blonde at the front desk smiled, her warm bubbly aurora feeling so oddly displaced in a shop like this, so far from what Steve was expecting.

“Ah, okay, thanks uh…”

“Chrissy.” She brushed her bangs out of her eyes before pushing back the black beaded curtain leading to the back room.

“Thank you, Chrissy.” Steve hoped this girl couldn’t see just now nervous he was as he ducked between the beads. He was just starting to let his eyes roam around the gothic decor of the room when the hottest fucking man Steve has ever seen walks in, taking thick chunky rings off his pale fingers and putting them in the pocket of his skin tight black jeans.

Once his rings are safely put away, he tugs the thick dark curls off of his shoulders and tied it up on his head in a knot, some strands poke out framing his face.

“Steve, right?” The sexy man speaks, apparently. His deep voice sounded like honey and pure bliss to Steve’s hears. A smile stretches across his lips making the dimples - of fucking course he has dimples - poke out on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”

Steve apparently broke at the sight of this man, because seriously who the hell does this guy think he is coming in looking like THAT?! His voice cracked when he tried to speak making his cheeks turn rosey shade of pink and he had to clear his throat before properly speaking.

“U-Uh, yeah, me is Steve. I-I mean, I am Steve.” He would smack his own forehead with his hand if Eddie wasn’t busy holding it, giving him a nice firm handshake. Steve’s face was burning.

Scratch smacking face, Steve wishes he could just bash his head in on the brick decorative wall in the corner. Put him out of his misery. He’s doing a mighty fine job at humiliating himself already.

“This your first time?” Eddie smirked, his voice somehow dropping lower than it was before.

“Huh?” Steve blinked, clearly confused, no lights on in his brain as his eyes darted between Eddie’s huge brown eyes to the tattoo peaking out under the v-neck of his black long sleeve shirt. God he wished he could see what that tattoo actually was, maybe lick it.

“Your first time getting a tattoo.” Eddie clarified, the smirk never leaving his face as he finally let go of Steve’s sweaty palm.

“Oh, no actually. I’ve had - “ Steve cleared his throat again, trying his dammed hardest to chill the fuck down. “Had got another tattoo before this one.”

“So, you’re not a virgin then?” Eddie winked as he slid on his rubber gloves, covering up the black inked tattoos on his broad hands that Steve suddenly wished he looked at before they were gone from his sight. Then he realized what Eddie just said and his head snapped up to the playful look on Eddie’s face.

Shit. Is Eddie actually flirting with him? Is this how Eddie speaks to all of his clients? Or has Steve finally lost his marbles?

“Nope, defiantly not a virgin.” Steve watched Eddie’s movements closely as he finalized setting up his supplies, grabbing the stencil of Steve’s tattoo. “Not a virgin with tattoos either.”

Eddie’s eyes snapped up to meet his own, something gleaming in his dark eyes that makes Steve’s levi’s suddenly feel a little too tight. The grin on Eddie’s face is down right sinful. “Well, Steve, as long as the sketch looks good to you and you are still good with the placement, we can get started.”

Steve leans over and looks down at Eddie’s sketch of what he had requested sitting in Eddie’s gloved hands. Just looking at the two words, at the way Eddie wrote the font knowing it was his work that will be forever on Steve’s body has Steve’s blush refusing to go away.

“Uh, cool. Okay. Yeah it looks good, really good.” Steve had to lean over Eddie’s shoulder to fully see the entire page, not that it was really necessary.

“Lay down on the bed, on your stomach.” Eddie gestured with his chin to the left, where the tattooing bed was. “Make sure you get those jeans off first,” Eddie huffed out a laugh as Steve was about to settle down on his belly, his face turning beat red in embarrassment feeling idiotic.

“You do want your ass tattooed still, right?” Eddie asked, his voice smug at the flustered look on Steve’s face.

“Well, yeah. Obviously. That is why I am here.” Steve scoffed, wondering why the hell he is blushing like a teenage girl in this sexy ass man’s presence. Usually Steve is the one making people blush, not the other way around.

“I don’t usually undress my clients… but I would for you.” Eddie nibbled on his bottom lip, making damn sure that Steve’s face stayed tomato red as Steve swore he saw Eddie look at him from head to toe.

He had to take a deep breath to get his damn body to cooperate downstairs before unbuttoning his jeans and tugging down his fly so he can scoot the denim and his grey briefs down over the curve of his ass leaving them just barley covering his junk in the front and staying on his legs.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything as he climbed on the bed on his stomach, not trusting his voice whatsoever as his eyes said more than enough, keeping them planted on Eddie’s.

“This good?” He rested his chin on his hands, his entire bare ass out in the open, wondering why the hell Jonathan Byers failed to mention how damn hot his favorite tattoo artist was.

Eddie for once seemed a little lost for words. He doesn’t stay in the room when his clients undress, it’s unprofessional. He never ever offers to take their clothes off for them either. But for some reason his feet stopped working the second Steve’s fingers went to unbutton his jeans.

“Absolutely perfect, pretty boy.” Eddie damn near purred, wondering how he lucked out, to be the one to tattoo this angels ass. Getting fucking payed to touch his ass. To tattoo the words Bite Me on his juicy round cheeks.

It isn’t Eddie’s first rodeo tattooing someone’s butt cheeks. He’s done almost every body part at this point in his tattooing career. But fuck, no client has ever affected him, not like this.

“Skins sensitive here.” Eddie licked his lips as he stepped close to the bed, wishing he wasn’t wearing gloves so he could really feel Steve as he ran his fingers over the exposed skin before putting the shaving cream along his ass, shaving the light colored peach fuzz right off his literal peach. “Need numbing cream, sweetheart?”

“No. Don’t need numbing cream. Wanna feel it.” Steve hummed, looking over his shoulder at Eddie. Steve’s red face has faded to pink, finally calming down a bit trying to sit still so he isn’t wiggling his ass in Eddie’s face - not that he thinks Eddie would really mind too much if he did.

Eddie muttered something under his breath, his hands stilling over his ass from where he was wiping the shaving cream away with surprisingly soft hands.

It’s funny, Steve came in set on only getting one tattoo. But as he laid here on the bed, the tattoo gun buzzing as the needles push against his ass, all he can think about is coming back, getting more ink on his body, all over his tan skin as an excuse to come back and see Eddie.

To come back and get Eddie’s hands on him.

But when his appointment was over - much sooner than Steve would have liked - turns out he didn’t need to come back here.

Because Eddie invited him to go home with him.

[fushiguho]

You Never Called ☆ Geto Suguru

☆ WORD COUNT – 6.2k ☆ SYNOPSIS – In the midst of getting a tattoo, you can't help but to notice how familiar your artist looks. Wherever you've seen him, you can't seem to ignore the feeling he gave you, Maybe the feeling is mutual. ☆ CONTENT WARNING – Geto is mean :(, spit, name calling, creampie, strangers to lovers

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*: ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

You winced as he brought the gun closer to your skin. While sucking in a tight breath and furrowing your eyebrows, you braced yourself for the sharp burn of the gun’s needle.

“You know you picked one of the worst possible spots for a tattoo, right?” He grinned while flitting his gaze from your hip bone to your face, the needle hovering just above your skin.

“Oh, perfect!” You snarked as you rolled your eyes, silently berating yourself for even coming up with such a bright idea in the first place. A sigh fell from your lips as a hand came up to drape itself over your forehead.

“I’ll do just a small line first, ‘see how you can handle that.” He spoke.

You simply nodded as if telling him to go on.

Slowly, he was pressing the needle to your skin, beginning the line work of the small bumblebee he had traced just moments before.

The feeling wasn’t nice. Most of your friends described the feeling of getting a tattoo as a prickling, burning sensation that lasted far too long. However, they failed to mention that it would have you on the verge of kicking the poor artist in the face.

It felt as though hundreds of minuscule kittens were clawing away at your skin in hopes of locating the catnip hidden beneath your epidermis.

Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but the feeling was pretty damn close. It was bearable though, not fun, but bearable.

“See? Not too bad, yeah?” He smiled while backing away to admire the little bit of work that he’s done.

“I mean it hurts, but it’s not the worst pain ever.” You jested.

“Yeah, definitely not the most pleasant feeling.” He responded while turning around in his chair to dip the tip of the needle into a small container of ink.

“Want me to keep going?” He was turning back around in his chair with an encouraging grin.

You nodded while mumbling a reassuring yes.

With that, he was pressing against your skin again with the needle of the gun, tracing the purple ink of the stencil he had outlined earlier. Slowly, he dragged the needle centimeter by centimeter along the bone of your hip.

It wasn’t until now that you realized how close the placement of the tattoo was to your center. His hand rested just above the thin underwear you wore. His hand brushed the skin every now and then each time he changed the angle of the gun.

You found yourself wincing as he neared your core. It seemed to sting a lot more as the needle moved closer and closer to your center.

“I know, I know.” He cooed, “It hurts a bit more here, huh?” He questioned. He must have noticed your discomfort.

“Yeah,” You breathed, casting your gaze away from the gun in hopes that it would somehow lessen the pain. “Doesn’t feel great.” You continued.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He apologized, “I’m almost done with this section. You’re doing pretty well for your first time though.” He complimented.

You wondered how he could tell it was your first tattoo. You don’t remember mentioning it to him. Maybe it’s just his tattoo artist intuitive—knowing whether it’s someone’s first time or not. Now that you’re thinking about it, it was probably pretty easy to tell.

“How’d you know?” You still questioned anyway.

He smiled, “An artist can always tell.”

You simply nodded.

“Why a bumblebee?” He questioned, flickering his eyes from the half-finished insect and onto your face.

You shrugged, “I’m not sure. They’re cute.”

“They’re cute?” He repeated as a grin began pulling at the corners of his lips, a small chuckle leaving his mouth soon after.

You have never been one to judge those who get tattoos that hold little to no sentimental value, including yourself. Bees are cute and you can’t argue with that. You believed that not all tattoos need to hold some sort of meaning, though those that do are just as cool.

Hell, if someone were to get a piece of corn tattooed on their sternum, you would do nothing but applaud them.

To each their own, right?

“I’ve seen you before.” You spoke, trying to make conversation to drown out the annoying hum of the tattoo gun.

“Yeah?” He stopped for a moment to meet your eyes with curious ones, “Where?”

“You really don’t remember?” You questioned, a hint of discontent beginning to lace your tone.

He backed away for a moment to lean back in his chair. He looked contemplative in thought as he kept his eyes on yours. His chin found itself resting in the palm of his hand as he took a minute to flip through the arbitrary cabinet files in his brain.

Suddenly, as if a broken lightbulb finally flickered to life above his head, his mouth fell open in realization.

“The farmers market.” He chimed, “I do remember you. Your hair’s different.” A smile made its way onto his face.

You returned the small gesture, smiling back in response.

For some odd reason, you couldn't seem to get that day out of your head—the day you two met .

You had first noticed him looking at jars of organic honey. From the looks of it, he was having trouble deciding which brand to get. He almost looked frustrated as he flitted his gaze from jar to jar.

His hair was long and dark, it almost reached the middle of his back. Half of it was messily tied into a bun while the rest flowed down his plain white t-shirt. You vividly remember him wearing sweatpants even though it was nearing a hundred degrees. You mentally noted that he was most likely insane.

He was attractive in a way that would make a woman swoon. His features were sharp and etched out damn near perfectly. His eyebrows were full and his ears were decorated with an array of black jewelry. You also noted that he had a scar running along his forehead.

You remember telling him which brand you preferred and when he asked you why, all you said was, “The bee on that jar is cuter.” With a small shrug.

You complimented the arm of his that was littered with tattoos. You told him that your favorite was the snake that wrapped around his bicep. He mentioned that it was one of the first ones he had ever gotten. You remember telling him that you’ve always wanted one.

The two of you ended up exchanging phone numbers at the end of the conversation, but it’s been almost three weeks and not a single attempt at a follow-up call was made from either of you.

“You never called.” He finally spoke, knocking you out of your thoughts.

“Neither did you.” You reminded.

Geto shrugged, “You make me nervous.” He replied as he began to press the needle against your skin once again.

“Nervous?” You laughed. “How so?”

“Pretty girls make me nervous.” Is all he said while turning around to dip the needle in the container of ink.

You grinned childishly, “So you think I’m pretty?”

Geto looked up at you and said nothing. His eyes almost looked as if they were trying to speak for him, saying something along the lines of, let’s be serious .

For some reason, the look he gave you had your lower stomach growing warm with a heat that slowly made its way to your core. You weren’t sure what it was, but the feeling had you on the verge of pushing your thighs together before him.

You looked around the shop’s interior as he worked away at your hip to distract yourself from the buzzing heat between your legs.You noticed that it was empty, there was no one there besides the two of you.

“Yeah, It’s slow today.” He commented.

You notice how he had been shuffling in his seat every now and then, almost as if he was readjusting himself. If you weren’t mistaken, his shorts seemed to be growing tighter by the second. Maybe it was just your mind getting the best of you, but it was getting hard to ignore.

That buzzing heat from earlier quickly turned into arousal and soon, you could feel the wetness beginning to trickle out of your entrance. It wasn’t long before you began to feel it drenching your underwear.

There was no doubt in your mind that he couldn’t see it. He was right there —right in front of your warm cunt, his hand dangerously close too as he worked his way closer and closer to your center.

“You hanging in there okay?” He questioned, a hint of concern flooding his tone, “Don’t pass out on me.” He was only half-joking.

He must’ve noticed your discomfort by the way you were pushing your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the dull throbbing between your legs.

“No, I’m not—I mean I’m not going to pass out. I’m fine, I just,” You shamefully dropped your head to look at your underwear, but stuttered as his gaze followed yours. His lips parted slightly once he was met with the wet patch between your legs.

“Oh,” Is all he was able to say.

Your cheeks grew warm with embarrassment as you waited for him to say something, anything .

God , you had never been so ashamed in your life. Who gets turned in the midst of getting a tattoo? No one but you of course. But who could blame you? The way he looked at you, how close he was to your core, the way he himself was growing hard—it was all too much.

“You uh–you,” He stuttered as he tried to find the right words to say. Hell, are there even right words to say in a situation like this?

“I’m sorry,” You started, “It’s just–oh my God, I don’t know.” You mumbled as you began sitting up.

You were about to stand up to grab your pants off the chair beside you, but before you could, a hand was reaching up to grab at your arm.

“Look.” He muttered.

You followed his gaze until it landed on his shorts. Just as you thought, you weren’t mistaken. The bulge hidden beneath the fabric was large and prominent.

“Is it my fault?” You questioned, your voice quiet yet curious.

Geto hummed in response.

You brought your gaze back up to meet his and once you saw his eyes again, they were a lot darker than before. Maybe even a little wider. His pupils seemed to be blown out and filled with need.

“How ‘bout we take a break, yeah?” He asked, or more so stated. “Looks like we need one.” He finished.

You nodded in agreement as you began to sit back down. Geto was standing to his feet in front of you before beginning to walk closer, his beaming figure towering over you.

“Can we make a deal?” He questioned as he stood in front of you, eyes locked on yours.

You muttered a small yes .

“How ‘bout we help each other out, what do you think?” He hummed, “I’ll help you, then you’ll help me in return.” He continued.

You nodded almost immediately, embarrassingly fast.

“Yeah? You like that idea?” He spoke again as a grin began working its way onto his face.

As you silently nodded, his hand was coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb inched closer to your bottom lip until it was pushing itself into your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around him, beginning to suck on the salty digit like a baby. His mouth fell open at the sight of you so sweet and compliant. From this alone, he knew you’d do just about anything he’d ask.

“Fuck, look at you.” He muttered before pausing as he took his other hand to thread it through your hair. He began to slowly pull your head back, forcing your gaze onto the ceiling, your mouth still wide.

“Open a little wider.” He mumbled, his thumb still in your mouth.

You obliged, hesitantly opening your mouth just a bit more.

“Wider.” He repeated.

You opened your mouth even wider if that were even possible. Geto proceeded to gather saliva in his mouth before lolling his tongue out and letting his spit drip from his mouth into yours.

The sudden action shocked you so much, your poor brain couldn’t even process what was happening until he was forcefully closing your mouth with his hand before muttering for you to swallow it all.

“You don’t even know me all that well, yet you allowed me to spit in your mouth.” He commented. “Who does that?”

You remained quiet as you stared up at him, eyes full of nothing but desperation and want. You could feel your cheeks growing warm at his comment. You hated that he was right, who does that?

“What else would you let me do?” He questioned as he began to reach toward your damp underwear.

Slowly, he dragged his fingers along the fabric. You felt him press just a little harder as he neared your clit, eliciting a small whimper from your mouth.

“You’d probably let me fuck you, wouldn’t you?” He spoke, “I bet you’d beg me to cum inside too, huh? Beg me to breed your tight little cunt, get you fucking pregnant.”

As he spoke, he was beginning to pull your underwear to the side in order to slide his fingers along your folds. You found yourself nodding slowly as you sucked in a tight breath, eyebrows furrowing in arousal.

“You look like the type.” He commented.

He began to push two fingers inside of you without so much as a warning. You gasped as he bottomed out at his knuckles. He couldn’t stop himself from groaning at the feeling of your warm cunt wrapping around long fingers. He couldn’t help but to wonder what you’d feel like wrapping around his cock instead. He’d sure as hell find out though.

“Please.” You mumbled, your eyes begging for something, anything .

Ignoring you, Geto continued.

“And this little ass shirt,” He paused as he brought a hand up to roughly grope your chest through the fabric, running his fingers along your hardening nipples, “You probably planned this, didn’t you?”

You frantically shook your head, muttering a small no .

“Don’t lie to me. Like I said, you look like the type.” He scoffed. “Take this off.” He demanded as he tugged at the fabric of your shirt, fingers still buried in your cunt.

Almost immediately, you were slipping your shirt over your head and dropping it beside you, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. You sat sheepishly in front of him as his eyes took in the sight before him.

Your pretty tits were on display for him, nipples nice and hard. He dragged his gaze down your body until he met with your waist and how it branched out into beautiful, wide hips. As he brought his eyes down a bit further, he was met with his fingers as they were tucked away inside of you.

He pulled them out of you completely before shoving them back inside. He repeated the action until he found a pace that had you reaching for his hand in an attempt to slow his thrusts.

“Move your hand.” He muttered.

Reluctantly, you pulled your hand away and allowed it to rest at your side. Geto began using his thumb to rub tight circles on your sensitive clit. Your mouth fell open at the feeling as your head began to fall back onto the chair.

“Feels s’good.” You whimpered, chest beginning to heave in arousal.

“Yeah? You want my mouth on you too?” He questioned.

He gave you no time to respond as he was falling to his knees before you so that he could be face to face with your warm cunt. Immediately, he was replacing his thumb with his lips as he began to suck on the bundle of nerves, eliciting a shallow gasp from your mouth.

“Oh… oh my God.” You cried as your hands threaded themselves through his hair, attempting to pull him closer.

His fingers never stopped pumping inside of you as he dragged his tongue along your clit. His pace remained steady while his tongue lapped at every bit of arousal that slipped from your leaking hole.

Moan after moan fell from your lips as he pushed you closer and closer to an inevitable orgasm. You rolled your hips against his tongue, back arching up off the chair at every sudden flick of the wet muscle. Geto’s free hand was slipping under the small of your back, helping you maintain that pretty arch.

He hummed in satisfaction as he licked through you, eyes locked onto yours to ensure you were watching his every movement. Every now and then, when your eyes would flutter shut, Geto would mumble for you to keep them open for him and that if you closed them again, he would stop.

The lewd squelching of your walls sucking him in so greedily filled the room, along with your whimpers and his hums of contentment. The many different sounds created a harmonious echo that seemed to reverberate off the walls of the parlor, filling your ears peerlessly.

You could feel yourself beginning to flutter around his fingers as he pushed them in and out of you, the sensation becoming overwhelming.

"Please–fuck," Was all you managed to cry as you felt the impending orgasm building deep inside of you, threatening to snap at any given moment. Part of you was afraid you wouldn’t even have time to warn him.

Geto pulled his fingers out of you, only to replace them with his tongue. He shoved his tongue inside of you in an attempt to taste you from the inside and God , did you taste good.

You laid there before him, mouth wide and chest heaving whilst he fucked you with his tongue. His thumb found its way back to your clit and it began tracing circles onto the bud once again.

You whined as you felt your lower stomach beginning to tighten, begging for some sort of release. That feeling spread throughout your body, making its way to your toes and even the tip of your nose.

“M’gonna cum,” You mumbled, “Please–m’gonna cum.”

Geto quickly replaced his tongue with his fingers to urge you to cum for him. His voice was hoarse and needy as he spoke.

“Cum on my face,” He muttered, “I know you’ve been wanting to.”

You didn’t need much encouragement because with that, you were releasing yourself before him, panting and whimpering like a fucking puppy, mumbling nonsense that neither of you were able to comprehend.

As your walls fluttered around his fingers, his pace never faltered. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly in an attempt to get more from you.

He hummed as he lapped at your release, drinking you up and continuing to slip his fingers inside of you as if he were trying to collect all of your cum.

After enough begging and attempts to push him away, he finally stood to his feet, face glistening in both your arousal and cum. Without warning, he was leaning down to connect his lips with yours, forcing you to taste yourself on his lips. He didn’t even bother to wipe his face before kissing you but you didn’t seem to mind.

You even took it upon yourself to clean it up for him, dragging your tongue along his face to drink up the mess you’ve created. You hummed as you licked at his skin, collecting every last drop of your release before finally reconnecting your lips with his.

“God, I knew you were nasty.” He mumbled, lips still slotted against yours.

Your tongue was slipping into his mouth, desperate to feel his pushing against yours. Once his tongue met yours, you hummed as his hand began reaching for the back of your head in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Your mouths moved in sync with one another, teeth nearly clashing as the two of you explored each other's mouths.

Geto eventually had to will himself to pull away from you in order to move you from the chair and onto the floor below. With a hand to your head, he was forcefully pushing you to your knees before gripping at the waistband of his shorts to pull them down, along with his underwear.

Slowly, he stroked himself before you, your face directly in front of his cock. He held out a hand in front of your face, just below your mouth before asking you to spit in his palm to which you quickly obliged. Immediately, you were gathering saliva in your mouth before lolling out your tongue, allowing it to messily fall into his hand.

“That’s a good fucking girl.” He praised while using that same hand to stroke himself once again, coating himself in your saliva.

“You wanna put your lips on it, don’t you?” He questioned as he began to drag the tip of his cock along your wet lips before gently prodding them. You could taste the bittersweetness of the precum that coated the head.

You nodded slowly as you looked up at him. His eyes were low, hooded and filled with nothing but lust. You could feel yourself growing impossibly wetter as you kneeled before him.

God , he was so fucking hard. The tip wept with several beads of precum while the remainder of him seemed to gently throb with arousal. His balls even looked nice and full, begging from somewhere, anywhere to release themselves.

“Yeah, I know you fucking do.” Is all he said before pushing himself all the way into your mouth, eliciting a gag from your throat.

“That’s it,” He muttered through gritted teeth, “I want you to take all of it.”

You allowed him to pull himself out of your mouth before shoving it right back inside until he hit the back of your throat, forcing yet another gag out of you. Already, you could feel your eyes beginning to brim with thick tears that would eventually fall whether that be sooner or later.

Your mouth felt so full as he began to fuck your face. You could hardly breathe as his cock stretched out your poor jaw. With each thrust, you swore he was somehow reaching deeper and deeper.

Silent grunts and choked breaths began to fall from Geto’s lips as he pushed himself in and out of your mouth. He sucked in a tight breath once he felt his balls graze your lower lip. God, he wished your mouth was deep enough to fit them in there too.

Both of his hands found themselves threading into the hair at the nape of your neck. He began to push your head onto him as he thrusted into your mouth. Gag after gag fell from your lips as he continued to abuse your poor throat.

Each time Geto pushed himself down your throat, a visible bulge could be seen from the outside. He took a large hand to place it over your throat, holding it there for a second just to admire the way his cock would disappear and reappear each time he slid back into your mouth. The feeling of his hand around your neck made your stomach flutter. He loved how big he looked inside of you.

“So fuckin’ good,” He groaned, his head falling back to dangle over his shoulders as his eyes threatened to roll to the back of his head.

He held himself still for just for a moment, still buried nice and deep. He admired the way you gagged and sputtered around him. Saliva slipped from the corners of your mouth and down your chin.

Geto brought a hand down to your face to wipe away the saliva with his thumb. He brought the wet digit to his mouth to suck it clean. You could feel more and more of your arousal slipping from your entrance at that action alone.

“You make me wanna cum.” He breathed, “God, you make me wanna cum so much–so fuckin’ pretty for me.”

You took it upon yourself to hollow your cheeks as you felt him beginning to twitch in your mouth to help him out just a little. Your attempt was immediately cut short when Geto was quickly pulling himself out of your mouth to avoid cumming before he wanted to.

“Not yet,” He panted, “Inside–I’m cumming inside of you.”

You felt your lower stomach begin to flip in arousal as you imagined the feeling of his thick, white seed dripping out of you. He’d probably make you put on your underwear immediately after so that none of it would go to waste, not that you minded that anyway.

Geto was walking away to kneel on the opposite end of the long chair in which you sat. He began moving closer so that he could push your legs apart before moving your underwear to the side. He was then lining himself up with your leaking entrance.

Without saying much of anything, Geto was slipping himself inside of you with a hiss. Given how wet you were along with your saliva that dripped from his cock, he slid in almost too easily.

Your mouth fell open as he pushed himself completely inside of you, bottoming out in a single thrust. His warm, fat balls were pressing against your ass as he held himself still for just a moment, admiring how full you looked from him already.

“Ah–fuck, I knew this slutty little pussy would take me so fuckin’ well.” He groaned as he began to draw his hips back before snapping them forward to meet with yours. “So fuckin’ tight–God.”

He repeated the action––drawing his hips back far enough until the tip of his cock was just barely resting at your entrance before slamming himself back inside of you with a groan of pleasure. He continued to do this until he picked up a quick enough pace that had your tits bouncing in front of him.

He watched as your mouth hung agape while small pants and whimpers fell from it. His eyes dragged from your lips, all the way to your chest, admiring the way the fat of your breasts would jiggle with each thrust.

He was dragging a harsh hand up your body to massage your tits, rolling and pinching your hardening nipples between his fingers. He even took it upon himself to lean forward in order to slip one of the buds into his mouth before sucking on the sensitive spot with a content hum.

“So good,” You moaned, vision going hazy as he continued to fuck himself into your tight little cunt. “You’re s’good–feels too good.”

“Yeah?” He hummed as he began to trail sloppy kisses up your chest.

He dragged his lips up your body until they were pressing against the skin of your throat. His tongue was then sliding along your neck before gently nipping at the skin with his teeth. A shallow gasp fell from your lips at the action.

Geto’s hands found themselves slipping under your thighs in order to push them up, pinning them to your chest. This way, he was able to fuck himself much deeper inside of you.

As he began to fuck you like this, you swore you could feel his cock all the way in your throat. He was fucking you with all of his weight as his hands pressed against the back of your thighs.

“I bet no man has ever fucked you like this,” He paused for a moment to allow a guttural moan to fall from his lips, “Legs pressed to your chest with a cock buried inside of you.”

You could only whimper in response, furrowing your eyebrows as your mouth hung wide.

“You like getting fucked like this?” He continued, “Like a fuckin’ slut, hm?” His words were immediately followed with a groan.

You only nodded, no sound seemed to form.

“Answer me, don’t just fucking nod your head.” He spoke as one of hands were reaching up to grip at your face, squishing your cheeks in the process.

You began nodding once again, but this time you were mumbling small yeses and pleads.

Geto pulled himself all the way out of you, the tip of himself resting just at your entrance. You almost wanted to frown at the loss of contact.

With one of his hands, he took his cock and began rubbing the head along the expanse of your cunt, careful as to not miss a single part of you. The head easily slipped around, gliding and glistening in your arousal, coating his shaft in a nice, sleek layer.

He dragged himself from your clit, all the way down to your entrance again, pushing in the head just a bit, only to pull it out just as quickly. He did that a few times, seeing how long you could endure the torture before you would eventually lose your fucking mind.

It wasn’t long before you started whining at the absence of him. Geto wasn’t even surprised. It hadn’t even been more than a few seconds before you started huffing irritated breaths, whimpering his name, and muttering all kinds of pathetic pleads.

As if to shut you up, Geto was pushing himself back inside of you with a barely audible whimper.

“You’re just so desperate,” He moaned. “I bet this isn’t even enough for you, is it?”

You shook your head. You wondered how he could tell.

“You want more?” He queried, leaning down so that his lips could hover just above yours as he spoke. “I know you do.” He cooed.

“Yes.” You whined while lifting yourself up to connect his lips with yours, “More… I need more, please.”

With that, Geto was slipping himself out of you before turning you around. He had you on your knees while your hands gripped the chair in front of you. He was then pushing your legs apart so that he had the perfect view of your leaking cunt from behind.

You felt him running his fingers along your folds, dipping inside your hole every once in a while, further spreading your arousal.

“You don't even know me,” He began, “I’m practically a fucking stranger, yet you’re letting me fuck you raw, no condom, nothing .” He continued, beginning to whisper toward the end of his sentence.

He stuffed three of his fingers inside of you, forcing you to cry out. You whined as you felt him beginning to pump them inside of you, not because it was too much, but because it simply wasn’t enough.

His fingers came nowhere near as long and thick as his cock. You almost felt empty as he fucked you with his fingers. You rolled your hips against his hand in an attempt to get more from him, but it still wasn’t enough.

You need him––not only his cock, but his cum.

“What? My fingers aren’t enough for this needy little pussy?” As he spoke, he was leaning forward to speak into your ear, his lips brushing the skin.

You quickly shook your head.

“You want more?” He cooed as he began to drag his lips along the skin of your neck. He placed several openmouthed kisses to the area before pulling away to turn your head toward him. “You want my cum?”

You nodded your head as he forced your gaze onto his. As he kneeled behind you with your face in his hand, his grasp was tight enough you have your lips sitting in a cute little pout.

He placed a wet kiss to your pouty lips before letting go of you to turn you back around. He proceeded to push your body forward, forcing your face to collide with the cushion of the chair. 

He began to push himself inside of you once again, but held his hand on the back of your head as he fucked you. He had a feeling you’d move far too much so this was his attempt at keeping you grounded.

“You should’ve called me.” He muttered, thrusts never faltering, “Could’ve had you like this weeks ago, crying and stuttering around my cock.”

You could only apologize as his balls slapped against your ass, creating a wet, squelching noise that only seemed to add to your arousal. You mumbled apology after apology, regretting never having called him.

“It’s okay because you know what?” He began talking but cut himself off with a chain of heavy moans. “After I’m done with you, you won’t ever stop calling me.” He grunted.

“You’ll call me every fucking day, begging me to fuck you like this again.” He continued, “‘Cause no one fucks you like this. No one knows how to satisfy this needy little cunt like me, do they?”

All you could do was shake your head in response, unable to properly respond.

And though you hated to admit it, he was right. After this, there was no doubt in your mind that you would become a cock-drunk slut that would only crave him. You were afraid that you’d somehow become dependent, needy, and useless without his cock buried inside of you.

“No one knows that you like having someone else's spit in your mouth, or that you like to be fucked like a dog. No one knows that you enjoy being called a nasty little slut, do they?” He spat.

You whimpered at his words, whining as tension began building in your lower stomach. The feeling of your abdomen clenching, begging for some sort of release had your walls fluttering around his cock, indicating that you were close, so fucking close.

He dropped his head so that it could rest within the crook of your neck before speaking, “And no one knows that you like letting strangers cum inside of you, do they?” He spoke, his lips pressed to your neck.

“No,” You breathed, chest heaving, “No–no one knows.” You said while panting.

Geto scoffed. He almost found it pathetic, sad even. Never in his life had he met someone who would let a literal stranger fuck them senseless without even knowing their full name. It amazed him how willing and compliant you were for him. He wondered if you were always this way when it came to sex.

“Oh, God.” He groaned, head falling back to dangle over his broad shoulders.

He could feel his lower stomach growing with a need for release, begging for somewhere to create a sticky mess. His cock began to twitch, throbbing in hopes that soon it’d be able to cum inside of you.

As Geto neared his high, you felt yourself beginning to release all over his cock. A continuous chain of moans and whimpers fell from your lips as you began coating him in your milky-white cum. The way your legs started to tremble, threatening to give out beneath you had Geto reaching for your hips with both hands to keep you still as he was about to fuck his seed into you

“Look at you, makin’ such a mess–fuck.” He groaned, “M’gonna fill you up then fuck it nice and deep.” He breathed, the tension in his stomach threatening to snap at any given moment.

Geto’s pace started to slow in the slightest, but his thrusts were just as forceful. His breathing picked up as he began to pant like a fucking dog, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“M’cumming… holy fuck–oh, God. I’m cumming” He whined, hips stuttering as he began releasing several ropes of his seed inside of you, coating your walls in the sticky substance.

He continued to fuck you through his orgasm, ensuring you were stuffed nice and full. There was absolutely nothing stopping you from getting pregnant and there was no doubt in your mind that you’d end up all big and round with his baby inside of you.

“God, look at this.” He spoke as he began to pull himself out of you, “Such a fucking mess.” He began dragging his finger along your folds, collecting the mixture of cum before pushing the digits inside of you.

You winced at the feeling of his fingers pressing against your sensitive cunt. The feeling was a bit much. His intentions weren’t to get you off again, but to make sure none of his cum would go to waste. Once he was finished stuffing you full, he proceeded to pull your underwear back into place, watching in admiration as the fabric dampened with his release.

The atmosphere was warm and it smelled of sex. Geto watched as you reached for your shirt, slipping it over your head before shooting him a sheepish smile. He returned the small gesture, grinning in response.

“You think you’re gonna call me this time?” He jested as he began to pull his shorts back up his thighs.

You hummed in feign contemplation, though you already knew what your answer was. As you repositioned yourself back into the chair, you watched as he walked to the nearby sink to wash his hands before slipping on a new pair of black latex gloves.

“Maybe by the time I finish your tattoo, you’ll have an answer for me, though I’m pretty confident I know what you’re thinking.” He responded almost knowingly as he walked back over to where he previously sat.

Little did you know, this was the beginning of a newfound obsession. An unprofessional one at that. What the fuck did you just start?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*: ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

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[seravph]

I hate the way people use the word Romanticize. Romantizing Bad Things in art is not wrong or immoral. Romanticization as an artistic concept often portrays the beauty in dark themes. You wouldn’t say that Goya’s painting of Saturn devouring his son means that he loved child abuse and cannibalism. You wouldn’t say that Percy Bysshe Shelley advocated for more brooding despair and suffering in the world because that’s what he wrote about. It’s fine to romanticize horrible things in art. That’s the point. Romanticization isn’t the same as glorification or endorsement of something. Not every goddamn piece of art has to hold your hand and say BTW abuse/incest/violence/etc is bad. Sometimes the point is to express how normal and beautiful something felt or seemed despite being victimized by it, and how horrifying that is. Art doesn’t need to spoon feed you answers and assure you of it’s purity

[meo-eiru]

This is like self projecting but what if darling drew weird ass drawings of the yandere boys? Or just badly drawn portraits of them. And darling shows it to everyone proudly!! How would they react? (Lavi, silas, elias)

I have a really weird urge to make something out of this meme.

This is so cursed oh my dear god😭

Silas would just assume you’re some sort of artistic genius beyond his comprehension and he’s probably failing at following your artistic vision but he doesn’t want to be a bad mom and kill his kid’s courage so he’d say it’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen and hang it on a wall

Elias would be pretty stunned at first. His thought process would be like:

what the hell is this > does it look cursed or do I just not understand art > oh god what if this is some new trend like.. what was it? Reney…renaissance…? O-oh no I have no idea > I can’t let them understand I’m lost > they’ll think I’m an idiot who doesn’t understand anything about art

“It’s… It’s beautiful darling… very demure… yeah” (he doesn’t know what demure means)

Lavi would say “OMG what’s this weird looking thing” to your face and if you try giving it to him he’ll say “Haha humans really are so weird but it’s ok I’ll love what you give me even if it looks ugly”. He’ll probably just think you’re too poor to give him good gifts so he thinks he’s being a good person accepting the ugly thing you gave him instead of “embarrassing you”. But he does keep everything you give him no matter how ugly it is (in his opinion), he even puts some of them under his pillow