#jean is INCENSED

[emry-stars-art]

I can already tell I'm not *actually* going to go back and fix up/finish these so. Here, I brought you some doodles 🤲

Find the mer aus masterpost here 💕

[heavenbarnes]

https://youtube.com/shorts/W2PxUlEZxD8?si=BZGyyfeFlUGExuBe

I’m so sorry but this just makes me think about how older bf!simon’s lady would absolutely take the piss out of him for his choice of 'practical' shoe-wear

NAH WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS ON HIS FEET GET RID OF THOSE RIGHT NOW 😭

can he not wear a sexy combat boot or something? looks like he’s about to abandon mission for some rock climbing holy fuck

[alchemistc]

Tommy doesn't quite startle, when Evan reaches out for his hand, halfway down the block on their way to the little park tucked in behind a row of boutiques, but it takes him a moment to accept the touch, Evan's pinky sliding over the back of Tommy's hand as their shoulders bump together, the both of them a little too giddy to blame the coffee alone.

Evan makes an aborted movement like he's second guessing the attempt, and Tommy twitches his hand back just enough to snag his fingers.

At his side, Evan ducks his head, cheeks pinking, lips rubbing together, smile going wide and bright.

He feels overheated in his hoodie, but now their fingers are interlocking, and Evan is shifting his weight to adjust the angle of their arms, and Tommy can just deal with the warmth, actually.

His sister's wedding. They're both insane, Tommy decides, right then and there, and if this continues - if this continues, Tommy's just going to take his cues from Evan.

(I am all in, Tommy thinks, in Scott Patterson's voice, and then drops that thought like a hot fucking potato. He tables it, at least. For later.)

"I - uh - I told Eddie, about - well I told him." Evan grimaces, but he holds up their intertwined hands for a moment, a clear gesture about what, exactly, he'd told Eddie. Tommy wonders exactly how much he'd said. He wants to climb in behind his eyeballs and pick at his brain, which is so beyond the pale of weird and intense. Evan still thinks he's cool, somehow. That won't last. "I hope that was okay? I know you said you're out, but I guess he didn't know, so -."

Tommy squeezes the hand tucked into his. "That's fine, really. He'd have figured it out on his own, eventually. It's not like I hide it."

(Anymore.)

It's - that's a huge fucking leap from "I'm an ally" actually, less than a week out from shifting his eyes around the room and spouting nervous nonsense about picking up chicks. His sister, his best friend - Christ, he's really going for the speed run on accepting his sexuality.

The wedding, Tommy had discovered, down to the dregs of a truly middling cup of coffee he kept sipping at to try to hide his own nerves, was another three weeks away, but a month of lead time between his first kiss with a man and introducing that man to all of his family and friends as a date - yeah. Tommy wouldn't trust it for a minute if he hadn't spent weeks picking Christopher's brain for hints as to exactly what was up with Evan Buckley, if he hadn't already heard from Eddie exactly how quickly they'd jumped into their friendship.

Tommy's whirlwind thoughts stutter to a halt. "Wait. Did you know?"

Evan blushes, again, ripening the apples of his cheeks. "It's - okay so I didn't know, know, obviously, but - I mean - you were flirting pretty hard."

Tommy laughs. "Evan."

"You were!" He sounds a little incensed, like he's actually offended Tommy thinks he can't clock a flirt, and Tommy can't quite resist the urge to squeeze at his hand, again. "You aren't exactly the first guy who's ever flirted with me, Mr. Kinard." He says it prim and proper, chin raised, lips pursing after the pause, and Tommy is - shit, he's smitten. He also has no fucking clue how Evan never pieced together how hard he was flirting back. God, even Mr. Kinard has his stomach fluttering, a little.

"Just the first one who's ever reached out and slapped you in the face with it."

Evan's grin goes blindingly bright, eyes still a little squinted under the sunlight making the shots of red in his hair a little more obvious. "It was a very gentle slap. You could - you could slap a little harder, next time."

Jesus.

He's not even a hundred percent sure what the implication is there, but he can at least roll with the tamer one. He tugs, a bit, on their intertwined hands, just hard enough to knock their shoulders together again. He's a solid weight against Tommy's side, the bulk of him a little mind numbingly hot, in his bright white shirt and the dark wash jeans Tommy'd taken his time checking out when Evan went to toss their coffee cups. "You still owe me a beer, Buckley," he tells him, and Evan tilts his head up to check the angle of the sun, doesn't even bother to point out that Tommy'd barely let the check sit on the table long enough for Evan to pull out his wallet.

"I mean, it's a little early."

"Raincheck, again?"

Neither one of them has anywhere to be for the rest of the day. They'd both made that clear, when the coffee started to get low but the conversation didn't wind down, and Tommy - Christ, Tommy is more than willing to let himself get swept up in this, for the next few hours, for the day maybe, even. The weather is comfortable, and the company is adorable, and in response to Tommy releasing him from the pressure of being out too soon he'd sped off to his sister and his best friend for - for answers, most likely, for advice on how to turn things around. My sister says... he'd started, before Tommy'd had enough of wondering.

"Let's see where the day takes us," Evan says, another squeeze to Tommy's hand, and Tommy takes the weight when Evan checks his shoulder back.

-----

The day takes them twelve blocks up the road, Tommy pressed to his own kitchen counter, lips swollen and flushed when he finally parts for breath, Evan Buckley's dick pressed against his thigh as he whines at the loss. Tommy's hands are bunched up under the fabric of Evan's shirt, the wide expanse of skin beneath them sun-warm and smooth, and when Evan blinks back at him and digs his nose into Tommy's cheek, Tommy has the wild thought that he could do this forever - just this, rocking together in the shifting late afternoon light coming in from the gauzy white curtains over his kitchen sink.

They'd made the journey here under the pretense of grabbing a few waters, maybe making some late lunch, figuring it out from there, but when Tommy had bent over the low shelf in his fridge Evan had cut the distance between them, caged Tommy in and made good on his threat to show Tommy he could slap back, if he wanted.

They've been lazily making out for - long enough that the water bottles he'd scrambled to set aside are now sweating condensation. He'd lost his concept of time somewhere around the point Evan had grabbed for the back of his thigh and rocked against it for the first time.

"We should figure out something for dinner," Tommy announces, lips still close enough to Evan's still parted ones that he's speaking mostly into his mouth.

"Uh-huh."

"Evan," he intones, just a hint of admonishment, and Evan blinks, and gathers himself. He's - he's still got his thigh wedged between Tommy's, can clearly feel exactly how much they'd both gotten themselves worked up. Tommy's a little obsessed with exactly how unperturbed by this Evan is. Thirty some years without realizing he was attracted to men and now he's spent a good few minutes actually nipping at the cleft of Tommy's chin, purposely shifting his face against Tommy's stubble-roughened cheeks while he sucked at Tommy's earlobe.

"Somewhere with beer," Evan provides, decisive, and Tommy can feel exactly how wide his smile goes.

"I'm actually in the mood for wine, tonight," Tommy shoots back, and the moment shifts, mood slowing as Evan pulls back - just a little, just enough for each of them to take stock of exactly how disheveled they both are.

Evan's mouth is pink pink pink, his own stubble not quite enough to hide the beard-burn that had spread down his neck when Tommy found himself momentarily fascinated by the dip of his collarbone, the rush of his pulse when Tommy mouthed at the tendon of his neck. Besides the awkward bunching at the back, his shirt is all out of whack, one side of his collar flipped up, the neck shifted to one side, and Tommy vaguely remembers sliding his hand in there, at one point, swallowing the heavy groan that had elicited. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes bright and still a little wild. Tommy can't be any better.

"There - there is actually a little wine bar around here I've been meaning to try," Evan says, clearly trying to refocus, shifting his weight around in a familiar way that Tommy finds achingly endearing.

Tommy thumbs at Evan's bottom lip just to watch the way he has to fight not to be drawn back in.

"Let me change," Tommy says, hands shifting to Evan's hips to press him back, and away.

"You - you're fine. Like this."

Tommy's smile is soft, and he reaches out to smooth down Evan's collar. Evan's eyes seem to be stuck on the flash of skin behind the open button of his Henley, the knowledge of which he is absolutely going to use to his advantage.

"This isn't exactly date attire," Tommy impresses upon him, and Evan's brow goes adorably crinkly.

"Tommy, we've been on a date the entire day."

Tommy's mouth does something uncontrollable, the smile breaking containment on one side, then the other, and the hand still tucked next to Evan's collar shifts across his chest. Beneath his ribcage, Tommy's heart does something he absolutely refuses to acknowledge until he's had a moment alone to his thoughts.

"I didn't wear this to impress you," he admits, although he gets the feeling Evan absolutely had dressed to impress. "Sorta thought I was getting a very polite let down, this morning."

"So, this is, what, your sulking attire?"

"Certain I was gonna sulk, hmm?"

"I mean, I'd have been a little insulted if you didn't at least mope, a bit. Maybe a little wallowing."

"You caught me. This is my brooding sweatshirt."

It's absolutely stupid, how much it makes his heart race to see the grin blooming across his face. Tommy needs a moment.

He brushes at Evan's shoulder as he passes him, fighting the urge to press his lips to his cheek.

"I'll be right back. Bathroom's down the hall on the left, if you need it."

In his room, with the door shut behind him, Tommy takes a long, long moment to stare at his bed, silently trying to convince himself not to throw his whole body dramatically across it like some regency era heroine. The bathroom is right next to his room, and Tommy can hear Evan drifting down the hall towards it, at a pace that suggests he's taking the time to take in the artwork and picture frames hung on the walls. It makes something ache, in his chest, in his throat, and Tommy shakes his head on the way to his closet, getting tangled in his sweatshirt when he tries to tug both it and the Henley up over his head at the same time.

He's forgotten how clothes work. Maybe. Probably.

In his walk in, once he's figured out how to get everything off without blinding himself or taking out a light, he takes a moment to stare at himself in the mirror hung by the door. His hair is a fucking disaster. His face is - embarrassingly smiley, Jesus Christ.

There's a mouth shaped bruise forming at the bolt of his jaw, and Tommy should absolutely be embarrassed about that - he's a forty year old man who just spent a good hour necking in his kitchen.

Fingers trace the edges of it and he can't muster up anything less mortifying than smugness.

He manages to get his hair in some semblance of order - doesn't bother with product, for absolutely no reason at all (certainly not to tempt Evan into running his fingers through it some more) - and finds a collared shirt in a light, hazy blue that he knows brings out the slashes of green in his eyes.

He leaves the top three buttons undone and calls it good.

Evan's back in the kitchen by the time he makes it out of his room, snooping in Tommy's fridge, and he doesn't even have the grace to look apologetic about it when Tommy taps his fingers against the doorframe.

The fridge closes on its own, Evan's mouth dropped to an intriguing O shape.

"Uh - oh," Evan says, mouth actually snapping shut as he takes Tommy in, eyes dipping up, down, catching on the skin below his collarbone. He swallows. Fuck. "This - uh. Okay. Color me impressed."

"Yeah?"

"You know you look good," Evan whines.

He's done something to fix his own, hair, too. Tommy leans in the doorway, arms crossed, one foot tucked over the other, and actually takes the time to stare back. Tommy's hands had worn through the product - there's a little bit of a curl, in his hair, that Tommy would give a lot of his earthly possessions to see in its natural state. There's still some color in his cheeks, and it's spreading as Tommy checks him out. He's fixed the neck of his shirt, and against the stark white of it, his tattoos are drawing Tommy's eye. He wonders how many other ones he might uncover, one day. "You too," Tommy finally says, when Evan looks like he might vibrate right out of his skin at the attention. Evan beams, and spins the keys in his hand around on one finger.

"You ready?"

Absolutely fucking not, Tommy thinks to himself, but he nods, and lets Evan lead the way back out his front door.

[sugarbcnes]

— “well? dig in!” ★ MUNCHIES 𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗆𝗌

cw: loser + stoner ellie. mean gf femme reader. groping. pretty much just food play. praise. ellie is a messy bitch but a munch nevertheless. obvious wlw themes. weed. high key this is so unhygienic. heavily unedited. lowercase intended. drabble don’t like it? don’t read.

“y’so handsy.”

ellie looks like a dog. a desperate puppy with her mouth hanging open on a hot day.

her chin digs into your shoulder and her free hand that isn’t holding her messily-rolled joint is grabbing at your breast like they’re going to run away. they had already spilled from their black, lacy cups the second you leant back in between ellie’s thighs, allowing her fumbling hands to grasp what they needed to keep her grounded.

“ow!” you wince as she lands a particularly hard bite on your shoulder.

“sorry, baby,” she apologizes sheepishly, grinning lazily as her lashes flutter to shade her green eyes. they look up at you, red and hazy, “i’m hungry.”

“yeah,” you mumble, standing up and tossing your bra to the floor, “i can fucking tell.”

you waltz over to her fridge, feeling the way her eager eyes burn holes through your underwear.

you scoop up an assortment of ingredients, not really taking notice of them until they’re laid out on the coffee table, her bowl and papers pushed to the side.

you roll your eyes at the sight of her lazily laid back against the arm of her sofa. she props herself up on one arm, her jeans already unbuttoned and white tanktop riding up to reveal her wispy auburn happy trail.

her eyes widen as she spots the food on the table and she freezes for a moment.

“well?” you stand with your hands on your hips, “dig in!”.

yeah. ellie thought. i’m going to dig in, alright.

“lay down.”

you turned to look up at her from your position of bending to pick your bra up.

“what?”.

she stares at you blankly, sitting up now with her hands hanging between her knees.

“leave the bra and lay down on the couch. face up.”

you squint at her, suspicion crawling over your expression as you move to lay down across from her, shifting the cushions and throws to get comfortable.

she pulls off her tanktop, slowly crawling up your body in just her sports bra and unbuttoned jeans until she’s face to face with you.

“you comfy?” she whispers against your lips. she smells of hemp, champagne and the musky incense burning on the side table.

you nod and she messily presses a kiss to your lips, getting a good handful of your tit in her hand. she savors the way you gasp into her mouth, back arching into her touch. she chuckles lowly.

you watch curiously with bruised lips and hooded eyes as she grabs a strawberry and the bottle of honey. she takes a bite of the strawberry, placing it to the side and chewing as she opens the lid.

“wha- ah!” you gasp as the cold honey hits your nipple, the syrupy gold liquid slowly dripping down your rib cage, “ellie!”.

she grins and leans down, her eyes never leaving yours as she swirls her tongue around your hardened bud. her hands grip your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into your hip bones.

she collects the syrup on her taste buds, moaning as she finally takes your whole nipple in her mouth, doing her best to suck everything off.

“fuck,” you hiss as she releases it with a pop. the skin swells slightly and she grins, knowing a hickey will form there.

this feels like a fever dream, your mind blurry as she flattens her tongue on your skin and follows the sticky trail down to your navel.

“having fun there?” you manage to choke out, hands subconsciously tugging at the hair that lays by the nape of her neck.

she smirks lazily, collecting the sweet remnants on two of her fingers and bringing them to your face.

“have a taste, baby.”

you eye her down before slowly opening your mouth a little, letting her shove her fingers in. she moans at the warmth, your saliva coating her fingers as she sinks two slender digits in until you’re gagging on them knuckle deep. she feels herself getting irritable, her boxers now wet and uncomfortable.

“that’s it,” she whispers, looking down the bridge of her freckled nasal at you, “good fucking girl.”

she pulls them out and your hole clenches at the sight of your spit leaking down the veins in her hands and wrists.

after wiping her hand clean, she turns back to the coffee table.

you feel dizzy, trying to process the sensuality of what just happened to the point you hadn’t even noticed ellie tug your panties to your ankles.

she giggles slightly as your hips jump at the feeling of her nose bumping your puffy clit. you forgot she was high.

“ellie, i swear to god- fuck!”

you hear it before you even feel it. the slight hissing sound and then the feeling of the cold whipped cream swirled in perfect little mountain on your mound.

she ogles it, proud of her creation before she’s got her whole mouth on your pussy.

your jaw slacks and your mouth falls open yet your brain short circuits, failing to produce any sounds.

“mmm” she hums, lips smacking as she pulls off, “fuck yeah.”

ellie’s long fingers wrap around your ankles, the anklet she got you for your anniversary jingling in her ear as she raises them up, pressing your knees toward your chest.

you cry out as she latches onto your throbbing clit, tongue plunging deep into your hole to taste the main treat. you grip her hair, forcing her face into as if it were even possible for her to be any deeper inside you. trying your best to remember curtesy and your elderly neighbors, you chew on your bottom lip until it’s beaded raw and puffy. your mind goes misty, already hazed from how much you smoked and the spot ellie was repeatedly hitting with her tongue.

your orgasm is accompanied by a string of curses and white vision as your saccharine juices coat ellie’s chin and lips. your limbs twitch, toes curling as you struggle to grab onto any remaining strings of sanity let alone your own breath.

she gives you a lopsided smile and flops back against the sofa, rubbing your thigh tenderly just the way you liked.

“that was like— munchies but on steroids, babe.”

that was the last you heard of her ramble before you fell asleep. god, she was such a fucking weirdo.

[angelbwrry]

𝐼𝒩𝒦𝐸𝒟—toji z.

in which your tattoo artist asks for your number.

mature content ahead,18+

word count:5k

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈•

You had to be utterly deranged. You’d come to the conclusion that you’d finally lost your marbles. Here you were, on some random strip in the heart of bustling New Orleans, letting your best friend, Min, cajole you into getting a tattoo. You’re deathly afraid of needles, and the mere thought of one poking and prodding into your skin sends a wave of nausea crashing over you like a golden tidal wave.

Yet, the persistent voice in the recesses of your mind urged you on. You blamed it on those damnably colorful cocktails you’d imbibed at the bar.But how could you forgo alcohol tonight? The semester had just ended, and after countless nights of crying and tearing at your hair over medical terms you couldn’t pronounce, while guzzling energy drinks like they were lifelines, you were finally done.

Back to the point, tattoos. You always thought tattoos were hot on other people but could never muster the courage to get one yourself. But tonight, you felt brave, daring even. Before your mind even realized what you were doing, you were nodding your head, an excited squeal filling the chilly air as Min did a happy dance.

Sucking in a deep breath, you pushed open the large wooden door and stepped inside. The sound of the bell above the door signaled your entrance. The interior of the shop was cozy and inviting, walls adorned with various tattoo designs and artwork. The scent of antiseptic mixed with a hint of incense created an oddly comforting atmosphere.

“Welcome, ladies! I’m Toji. Welcome to Ink and Needle.” A deep voice greeted, and you averted your eyes from the wall to the man. He was undeniably cute. Long raven hair touched his shoulders, giving him a rugged but clean look. His smile was bright and wide, a subtle dimple indenting his cheek, and your stomach flipped.There was a jagged cut on his lips and you pondered its backstory.

His eyes were a mesmerizing grey, holding your gaze intensely. You could feel your neck warming in embarrassment as you realized you were staring like a creep. His olive skin was extremely clear,he wore a long-sleeved black compression shirt that hugged his muscles just right, paired with dark denim jeans and a pair of scuffed-up red Converses.

The combination was effortlessly stylish and made him even more attractive to you. He was so close that his scent was practically smothering, a hint of spice and sweet.

He was talking, but you were completely zoned out, fascinated by the way his sharp jaw tensed with each word. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to how good his head game probably was. You shook your head.

Perv much.

“Hi,” you sheepishly mustered out.

Min grabbed your shoulders, a grin plastered on her face. "Yeah, hi Toji, my friend here is looking to get her first tattoo. The sign outside says you take walk-ins?"

Toji smiled, scratching at his eyebrow piercing before folding his arms over his chest. "Yeah, what were you contemplating getting?" He steps closer as you fish your phone from your pocket. You can't help but hitch a breath at this; the height difference between him and you is stark.

"I was thinking about this, but a bit smaller," you say, biting the inside of your cheek as he examines the picture. He nods, "Where were you thinking about getting it?" he questions.

"Oh, my hip."

"Awesome, I'll just need you to sign a consent form and provide some form of ID."

You nod, rummaging through your purse and pulling out your ID. He takes your ID and hands you a clipboard. You skim over the rules and aftercare steps before initialing the bottom. He steps behind the counter and types something on the desktop before he's back at your side. He collects the clipboard and hands back your ID, a nervous "thanks" leaving your lips.

"You can have a seat over there; I'll get my things and we can get started," Toji motions over to a tattoo station.

"Good luck!" Min giggles. You turn and quirk an eyebrow at her.

"You're not staying?"

"I'm gonna go grab some pizza from that parlor down the street. Want me to bring you back something?" she asks. You frown and cross your arms over your chest. Your first ever tattoo that she had convinced you to get, and she wouldn't even be here to witness it. So much for squeezing her hand.

“Slice of pepperoni topped with extra cheese. Please hurry back," you huff out, watching her nod before spinning on her heels. The chime of the doorbell sounding like your own undoing.

Fuck, why did you let her convince you to do this.

You sink into the plush black chair, your heart thundering against your chest in fervent anticipation. God, you prayed you wouldn't vomit on this man. Toji's busy gathering his equipment, and your heart skips a beat as the hum of the tattoo machine reverberates through the air.

"So, you're a uni student?" Toji inquires, noticing your palpable anxiety. You're sweating, despite the tattoo shop being a cool seventy degrees, your leg bouncing with nervous energy.

"Yeah, I'm a sophomore," you respond, casting a glance his way. "What about you? How did you get into tattooing?"

A smile tugs at his pink lips as he scoots his seat closer to you. You try not to let the awkwardness seep in as you lie there on the chair, your backside practically in his face. Regret starts to creep in about your Y2K fashion choice—low-rise jeans with a thong and a cropped pink shirt. You try not to dwell on it too much, lest you melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

“Well,” Toji begins, his eyes catching a glimpse of your pink lace underwear. He'd be lying if he said his dick didn't twitch in his pants. He couldn’t help but notice how incredibly soft your brown skin looked, and he had to constantly remind himself to keep his touch professional.

It was a struggle, especially when he noticed the gentle curves of your body and the way you smelled—sweet, warm, and utterly intoxicating. Every time he leaned in to sketch a different part of the design, your scent filled his senses, making it hard to concentrate.

“I’ve always loved art, and tattooing seemed like a natural extension of that. Plus, I enjoy the idea of creating something permanent and meaningful to someone.”

You flinch slightly when the needle makes contact with your flesh. As it works on your brown skin, you relax; it’s not as bad as you imagined, kind of like an intense mosquito bite. As Toji works, you can feel yourself relaxing more and more, actually enjoying the banter and the needle on your skin.

“May I ask as to why you selected a semicolon tattoo? If it’s too personal, I completely understand.”

“No, no, it’s fine. A semicolon is utilized when an author could have concluded a sentence but chose to continue. For me, it represents my struggle with mental health. There were instances when I thought I couldn't go on, but I chose to persevere. This little mark serves as a reminder that my journey isn't over, and I have the power to keep writing my own story."

A moment of silence ensues before Toji speaks up, “Wow. That’s incredibly powerful,” he replies, admiration evident in his voice. "I had no idea a simple punctuation mark could carry such profound meaning. It’s truly inspiring to see how you've transformed your struggles into something so positive and empowering."

You can’t help but let a small smile form on your face, relieved that he can’t see it.

“So,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood, “do you have any tattoos?”

“A few,” he smirks, “maybe you’ll get to see them one day.”

“Maybe.” You're full-on smiling now, heart fluttering. Was he flirting? He was definitely flirting. You found him attractive, and clearly, he thought the same about you. Before you knew it, Toji had finished the tattoo. He was now carefully cleaning the area and applying a bandage. His cold fingertips pressing into your skin sent shivers down your back. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t slightly turned on; his touch was so caring and gentle.

Damn, were you this touch-deprived?

“All done, wanna take a look?” Toji questions, flipping off the humming machine. You’d been laying down for so long your legs had fallen asleep. You took a minute to stretch your sore limbs before sauntering over to the mirror. It was perfect, the lines were clean, and it was the perfect size.

This man had the hands of a perfectionist.

“I love it!” you smile, looking at your hip in the mirror.

“I’m glad. It looks perfect on you,” Toji compliments, and you can’t help but turn your eyes away from the mirror to look at him. He’s already staring at you, a glint in his eyes that you can’t quite read. He knows it’s inappropriate to be staring at you like this, but he can’t resist. He finds you absolutely intoxicating.

The way your coiled hair cascaded down your back and framed your round face so perfectly. Your lips, coated in a glossy sheen, pulled into a sheepish smile, making his heart race. He’d been hard the entire time he was working on your tattoo, and he was grateful your back was turned to him. It gave him a moment to compose himself before he finished, though it was torture not being able to see your face.

“So, how much is it?”

Your sweet voice breaks his train of thought. “It’s on the house,” Toji smiles at you, standing to his feet and pulling his gloves off. You raise an eyebrow at him but decide not to press the matter. If it’s free, that’s more money in your pockets.

“Thanks so much, Toji. You did a great job. I’ll definitely be recommending you to all my friends,” you beam, admiring the way the tattoo clashed with your brown skin. He can’t help but let his eyes falter to your ass before he meets your gaze.

“I know this might sound weird, but do you think I could get your number?”

You’re taken aback. This fine-ass man had given you a free tattoo, and he wanted your number. Could your night get any better?

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” You giggle, feeling like a schoolgirl once again. Your hand digs into your purse, and you hand him your phone, watching as his large hands hold your phone, making it look like a toy. He types his number in and hands it back.

“Text me, okay? I’ll be looking forward to it.” He smiles, and you can’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

“Of course. Guess I’ll see you around?”

He nods, watching you exit the shop.

Now that you were back on the streets, you remembered Min. She’d been gone for an hour now. Your stomach grumbled in dissatisfaction. Where the hell was your pizza with extra cheese? You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest before you began making your way to the parlor.

“Oh my god! He gave you a free tat and asked for your number? Lucky bitch!” Min exclaims loudly, catching a couple of gazes from people eating around you. You giggled and pushed her shoulder.

“He was cute, right? Like DILF material.” You crack a smile before munching on your pizza. The cheese melts in your mouth, and you can’t help but moan at the greasy masterpiece, your stomach grumbling in agreement.

“I wonder if he has any cute DILF friends.” Min pouts.

“Oh yeah, I’ll text him, ‘Hey mister, got any DILF friends for my friend?’”

“Really?” Min perks up.

“I’m being sarcastic.”

She pouts.

“Boo, you whore.”

You both laugh, and Min leans in closer, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “But seriously, he was so into you. Did you see the way he looked at you?”

You smirk, feeling your face get hot.

“Yeah, I noticed. His eyes were like, piercing through my soul or something.”

Min sighs dreamily. “Ugh, why can’t guys like that ever notice me? I swear, I’d be the perfect girlfriend for a tattoo artist.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Maybe you should get a tattoo next time. Who knows, you might get lucky too.”

Min giggles. “I just might. But for now, I’ll live vicariously through you and your hot tattoo guy.”

It’d been about a month now, and you and Toji talked almost every single day. You've learned so much about him. He grew up in New Orleans, and he's 29. Not only is he incredibly smart, but he also has a degree in psychology. You were relieved when you asked if he had kids, and he said no.

That would've been a huge turnoff for you, but lucky for you, he's waiting for the right person. His messages are always funny and flirty, often leaving you swinging and kicking your feet like an excited child. Still, you’re kinda bummed that you two haven’t hung out yet. It seems like every time he’s free, you’re busy, and when you’re free, he’s busy.

You think back to all the late-night conversations where he made you laugh so hard your sides hurt. The way he talks about his favorite jazz spots in New Orleans makes you want to visit the city just to see it through his eyes. You can almost hear his deep, soothing voice in your head when you read his texts, and it sends a shiver down your spine every time.

Despite the scheduling conflicts, you’re hopeful. You imagine the day you finally get to meet him in person, feeling the butterflies in your stomach just thinking about it. You know it’ll be worth the wait, and until then, his sweet and playful messages are enough to keep you smiling.

You're perched on the couch with a glass of wine, feet tucked underneath you as you watch "The Hills Have Eyes." You're a sucker for scary movies, and it’s only right to watch one when it’s pouring outside. Your kitten, Midnight, prowls around the living room before finally cuddling into your lap. “Hi Middy,” you coo, stroking her soft fur. You're distracted when your phone vibrates against the sofa.

Toji🤍: Hi pretty, sorry I haven’t been able to text much. Had appointments back to back.

It’s okay :) I missed talking to you.

Toji🤍: Can I come over? I’m dying to see that pretty face again.

You can’t help but let out an excited squeal as you type in the address. You’re not one to get so easily worked up over a man, but Toji is different. He makes you feel special, and he’s way more mature than those stupid college boys you’re used to dealing with.

“Sorry, Midnight,” you laugh, watching your kitty jump off your lap at the sudden movement. You’re currently wearing your ugly PJs; you can’t possibly see Toji in this.

You practically break your ankle running upstairs to your room, trying to get changed. Your heart races with excitement, but frustration builds as you can’t find the item you’re looking for. Where is it?

You yank open your closet and start shuffling through the hangers, tossing clothes aside until you finally find your v-necked silk nightgown. It cuts off just below your ass, and you know Toji will love it. You strip off your old t-shirt and sweat pants, your hands trembling slightly with anticipation, before slipping into the gown.

It hugs your curves perfectly and cups your breasts beautifully. You ruffle up your hair a bit, adding a touch of wildness, before giving yourself one more look in the mirror.

Twenty minutes rolled around, and you heard a knock on the door. You didn’t know why, but suddenly you were nervous, your heart beating rapidly against your chest. Fuck, you’re a grown woman—why’re you scared? You take a deep breath and knock back the rest of your wine.

As soon as you open the door, Toji’s soft lips are on yours, his inked arms wrapping around your waist as he pushes against you. You can't help but let a moan slip from your lips as his tongue slips into your mouth, his foot pressing the door closed.

You’d been longing for this moment for what seemed like forever, and now that it was finally happening, your head was swirling. His kiss was rough but passionate, and it had your stomach burning with desire. You frowned when he suddenly pulled away.

"God, you have no idea how much I’ve been waiting for that," he husks, his dark eyes locked with your brown ones. His hands are still firmly around your waist, his closeness making your entire body ache with desire. He smells so fucking good it makes your mouth water.

"Toji?" you breathe, barely recognizing your own voice.

"Yeah?"

"I need you."

"Lead me to the bedroom, princess."

You nod, grasping his hand in yours before making your way through the cozy apartment. As soon as you enter the room, his lips are back on yours. The way your soft lips move against his has his head spinning; they’re so soft and plump. His hands press into your hips, drawing you deeper into his embrace. The heat between your legs grows, and you fist his shirt desperately.

You can feel his bulge pressing into you eagerly. He pulls away from the kiss, a string of your combined saliva breaking apart. You watch as he lays on the bed, motioning for you to come over. His eyes are low and dark, and you can tell he’s restraining himself as he watches you saunter over to him. His eyes are glued to your body, his breath quickening as he takes in the sight of you. The way you swing your hips, the way your brown skin shimmers, the way your gown accentuates every curve—he fucking loves it.

"Sit on my face," he murmurs. You freeze for a moment; you’ve never actually sat on anyone’s face, and you’re afraid you’ll hurt him. Toji can see the uncertainties on your face, and he chuckles softly before sitting up. "You won’t hurt me, I’m not fragile," he reassures, wrapping his big hands in yours and searching your eyes.

His touch is firm yet gentle, grounding you in the moment. The intensity in his gaze melts your doubts away. Slowly, you climb onto the bed, your heart pounding in anticipation. He lays back, his eyes never leaving yours as you position yourself above him. His hands grip your thighs, guiding you down with a possessive yet tender hold.

As you lower yourself onto his face, you feel his hot breath against your core. His mouth eagerly meets you, his tongue exploring you with a hunger that sends waves of pleasure through your body.

You gasp, your hands finding purchase in his hair as he devours you. The sensation is overwhelming, every flick of his tongue and every groan vibrating against you, driving you closer to the edge.

Toji's hands squeeze your thighs, encouraging you to move. You begin to rock your hips, finding a rhythm that has both of you moaning in unison

“Oh—fuck, feels so g-good,” you whine,attempting to keep your heavy head up.His tongue wildly laps up your juices,darting over your entrance.He moans, the vibration against your quivering pussy eliciting a shaky moan from you.

You’ve never had your pussy eaten like this, and it’s evident to Toji as you greedily buck your hips against his face.His fingertips press into your doughy thighs holding you in place, “D-don’t stop, p-please don’t stop.” you sob.

“Bounce on my face doll,”

You bite your lip hesitantly,Toji nods, silently telling you it’s okay.You squat over his face,almost losing your balance when Toji’s slimy long tongue swipes across your core.

“Ughhh,” you draw out,pussy smacking down on his face with each descent of your hips.The noises you’re making are filthy and desperate, but you can’t help it, this man is a munch.

Each time you lower yourself onto him you can feel his tongue push through your folds.

He can’t help but groan you taste so fucking delicious and it’s hard to ignore the way his cock is pressing against his khaki jeans, threatening to burst at the seams.

Your moans are so damn pretty,they’re the perfect mix of breathy and whiny.You’re putty on top of Toji, he’s eating your pussy like a starved man.Your stomach flips each time you meet his mouth,broken mewls fumbling from your mouth.Your legs are trembling and you find it hard to continue to bounce,”It’s okay pretty.Let me do the work,” Toji mutters, hands latching back around your thighs.

“E-eating my p-pussy so good,” you stutter,Toji’s tongue is swirling inside of you, his pointed nose rubbing against your sensitive clit.Your sweet cries are motivation as he slurps, teeth grazing your clit.

The pleasure builds, your body trembling as you lose yourself in the ecstasy of his touch. You look down, meeting his dark, lust-filled eyes,and the sight pushes you over the edge. With a final, shuddering cry, you come undone, the pleasure washing over you in waves as Toji holds you steady, his mouth still working you through your climax.

"God, Toji," you pant, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. "That was incredible."

He pulls back slightly, his lips glistening with your arousal, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Told you, you wouldn't hurt me," he teases, his voice husky. "And you taste fucking amazing."

Toji can’t get enough of you. Every moment with you feels like a drug he can't quit. His lips find their way back to yours, capturing them in a kiss that is both fervent and tender, as if he’s trying to memorize the taste of you. Your fingers, delicate yet determined, dance at the hem of his shirt, teasing the fabric before finally pulling it off.

The sight that greets you is breathtaking. His body, now exposed, is a canvas of muscle and ink. Tattoos, each one telling a story, are scattered across his skin, enhancing his already rugged beauty.

You take a moment to admire him, your eyes tracing the lines and curves of his form. He is even more beautiful unclothed, each tattoo adding to the allure of his physique. Toji, sensing your admiration, smirks slightly before positioning himself between your legs. The anticipation is palpable, each breath you take filled with the electricity of the moment.

"God, you’re beautiful," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.

As he pushes into you, your jaw goes slack, a soft gasp escaping your lips. The stretching sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and intimacy that leaves you breathless. He feels incredible inside of you, filling you completely and making your stomach turn with every movement.

Your body responds instinctively, slick with sweat as you become a mess underneath him. His deliberate, controlled thrusts send waves of ecstasy through you, each one intensifying the connection between you.

"Toji…," you moan, your voice barely a whisper.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I love the way you say my name," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

Your mind races, thoughts jumbled and incoherent. How does he make me feel this way? Every touch, every movement, it’s like he knows exactly what I need. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. Your bodies move in perfect harmony, a dance of passion and desire that neither of you wants to end.

"I need you," you manage to say, your voice trembling with emotion.

"I’m right here," he replies, his eyes locking onto yours, filled with a mix of tenderness and raw desire.Your nails dig into his back, leaving faint red marks against his skin.The sound of your wetness echos through his ears like music, your pussy queefing each time he pushes back inside of you.

He can’t help but groan in pleasure, you’re so fucking tight around him he wants to fill you up.You hook your legs around him, forcing him deeper into your cunt.His mouth waters at your bouncing tittes and he kneads one between his large hands.

Your nipples are and have always been extremely sensitive and you squirm as he massages the bud between his fingers.”This pussy is amazing,fuck,” he grunts,head dropping into the crane of your neck.Instinctively, you run your hands through his sweaty hair.He mewls in pleasure, kissing at your neck as his hands spreads your cheeks apart, plunging into your creamy pussy at a better angle.

“Fucking me so good,” you whine, stomach clenching.His swollen tip is prodding at your cervix and you can only take his relentless thrust.He feels so good inside of you, stretching your poor hole to it’s limit, you’re surprised he hasn’t ripped you.

You can tell he’s getting tired as his thrust become erratic,you’re sure as hell not a pillow princess either, you kiss his face gently swallowing back a whimper at another thrust.

“Let me ride you,”

Instantly, you’re straddling Toji.He looks so damn sexy underneath you, hair swiped to the back with sweat, needy eyes silently begging you to milk his cock.”Easy boy,” you giggle,grabbing the base of his dick.His tip is flushed with pre-cum and your arousal, you can’t resist swiping your thumb across him.

He whines underneath you, body tensing.You line him up with your dripping cunt, sliding your pussy folds against him earning a moan from him.You continue this, letting your folds roll over his tip then back down to his base.You can’t help but moan at the friction against your throbbing clit.

Toji’s a whiny red-faced mess under you, he’s throbbing excitedly in your hand.His hands pressed tightly into your waist, straining to hold himself back from pushing his hips up into you.Finally you sink onto him, your wetness welcoming his twitching cock warmly.

”Fuck…” he growls, he’s deeper than ever inside of you and you grip his shoulders as pain racks your body.He caresses your thighs as you adjust, fighting the urge to once again roll his hips into you.

“So proud of you, taking all of me like a big girl,” he mutters.

Your stomach flips at his words of gratification, hips finally beginning to grind against him.A boost of confidence rushes through you as his head lulls back, face scrunched as you ride him.

His needy gasps and whines are so fucking sexy, “fucking me so good,” he quivers, legs shaking as you sink back onto him.You’re so tight around him it’s got his toes curling,fuck, he could fill you up right now.You’re a shaky mess on top of him, your pussy suckling at him,begging for his cum.

You nearly scream as he starts rolling his hips into you, “r-right there,” you gasp out, fisting the sheets in complete bliss.Your moans mix with his, your neighbors probably hate you.His balls slap against your ass he snaps his hips into you, you look so breedable to him.He resists the urge to nut in you, the thought of your stomach swollen with his seed making his dick throb.

“Toji!” you rasp, he was fucking the shit out of you and it had your head spinning.With each prod of his dick into you, you could feel the knot in your stomach banding tighter.You sobbed as his thumb found your clit, flicking over your bud in hard circular motions.

“So s-sensitive,” you hiss,back arching allowing him to slide into you deeper.The feeling of his cock against your contracting walls making him groan deeply,his thumb still massaging your pink clit.

Tears well in your eyes,you’re so close.

“Kiss me,” Toji moans.

Toji's lips met yours in a wet, hungry kiss that left you both gasping for air. The kiss was desperate and passionate, a clash of teeth and tongues that sent shivers down your spine. You could taste the salty sweat on his lips, mingling with the heat of his breath. Your fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer as if you could merge your bodies into one.

Toji's kiss was relentless, a mixture of need and longing that left you both breathless.”Fuck,I’m cumming!” you whine against his lips,body shivering as your climax hits you.

“Cum on me baby, take what you need. It’s yours.” Toji encourages you, arms wrapping around you as he continues plunging into you.

He bucks his hips into your creamy heat until he feels the knot in his stomach snap, he gently pushes you off to release.His back arches of the bed as you grip him in your hands, deepthroating his cock.You gag as he hits the back of your throat, his seed shooting in your mouth.

”Oh my fucking god,” he whines, legs tense as you suck every drop of cum from him.His eyes snap close, reveling in the feeling of your warm mouth around his cock.

“I could marry your beautiful ass,” he laughs, as you pop him out of your mouth.

“maybe.” you tease.

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈•

this has been sitting in my drafts forever and i’m sick of looking at it! k bye.

[scealaiscoite]

.☽༊˚ a hundred assorted prompts

¹⁾ raspberry lip gloss

²⁾ pajama bottoms

³⁾ a silver lighter

⁴⁾ fresh honey

⁵⁾ flushed cheeks

⁶⁾ a fogged-up mirror

⁷⁾ the imprint of a belt buckle on skin

⁸⁾ helium balloons

⁹⁾ a broken cocktail glass

¹⁰⁾ old playing cards

¹¹⁾ chipped green nail polish

¹²⁾ a brown leather wallet

¹³⁾ bullet holes in a wooden wall

¹⁴⁾ seashells lined up along the curve of a spine

¹⁵⁾ beaded curtains

¹⁶⁾ pomegranate seeds

¹⁷⁾ a carabiner heavy with keys

¹⁸⁾ fresh-cut orchids in a pottery vase

¹⁹⁾ vending machine cigarettes

²⁰⁾ an out of date map

²¹⁾ a creaky wooden gate

²²⁾ a minifridge stocked with budweiser and paracetamol

²³⁾ snapdragons growing between pavement slabs

²⁴⁾ smudged yellow eyeshadow

²⁵⁾ slept-in braids

²⁶⁾ library books that’ll never be returned

²⁷⁾ a pink-tiled shower

²⁸⁾ a honeybee on a linen shirtsleeve

²⁹⁾ burnt popcorn

³⁰⁾ watching an eclipse from bed

³¹⁾ a black lace bralette

³²⁾ a tattered patchwork quilt

³³⁾ blue raspberry bubblegum

³⁴⁾ a rusted fishing rod and a dried-up lake

³⁶⁾ the taste of whiskey on someone else’s lips

³⁷⁾ rose-scented candles burned down to the wick

³⁸⁾ crescent-shaped coffee stains on a wooden tabletop 

³⁹⁾ odd socks 

⁴⁰⁾ a loose thread on a jumper sleeve

⁴¹⁾ warm sheets on cold skin

⁴²⁾ amber-tinged perfume

⁴³⁾ gold jewelry 

⁴⁴⁾  a calloused palm against a soft cheek 

⁴⁵⁾ a busted headlight

⁴⁶⁾ sunrise from a jail cell

⁴⁷⁾ hand tattoos that weave around fingers

⁴⁸⁾ coconut shampoo

⁴⁹⁾ a doorbell sounding in the middle of the night

⁵⁰⁾ ladybugs crawling across a headstone

⁵¹⁾ grass stains on blue jeans

⁵²⁾ a loaded saddlebag

⁵³⁾ a dusty wine cellar

⁵⁴⁾ a bikini top draped over a bedpost

⁵⁵⁾ snow in july

⁵⁶⁾ dirt-red mountaintops

⁵⁷⁾ goosebumps in a heatwave

⁵⁸⁾ an empty dinnertable

⁵⁹⁾ a fresh manicure and bruised knuckles

⁶⁰⁾ zombie movies

⁶¹⁾ bitten lips

⁶²⁾ dark eyes full of tears

⁶³⁾ a soft cast in summertime

⁶⁴⁾ stale coffee in paper cups

⁶⁵⁾ frozen peaches on a black eye

⁶⁶⁾ acrid smoke

⁶⁷⁾ bound hands

⁶⁸⁾ animal tracks

⁶⁹⁾ unwound vhs tapes

⁷⁰⁾ cartoon plasters

⁷¹⁾ lipstick marks on shirt collars

⁷²⁾ silver bangles

⁷³⁾ sharing a coat in a downpour

⁷⁴⁾ fields with grass at waist-height

⁷⁵⁾ daisy chains up to your forearm

⁷⁶⁾ rolled-up shirtsleeves

⁷⁷⁾ the smell of bleach in a dark room

⁷⁸⁾ a shared sleeping bag

⁷⁹⁾ a new haircut

⁸⁰⁾ swimsuit tanlines

⁸¹⁾ perfume clinging to a pillow

⁸²⁾ lollipops dangling between lips

⁸³⁾ a badly-timed grin

⁸⁴⁾ old books

⁸⁵⁾ tongues stained from slushies

⁸⁶⁾ waking up in a hailstorm

⁸⁷⁾ dying sunflowers

⁸⁸⁾ colourful sunglasses

⁸⁹⁾ the last pew

⁹⁰⁾ tall, rattling windows in a storm

⁹¹⁾ six missed calls

⁹²⁾ sticks of incense burned down to the last

⁹³⁾ bunk beds

⁹⁴⁾ matching sets

⁹⁵⁾ ruined mascara

⁹⁶⁾ a boxing ring

⁹⁷⁾ stained glass windows

⁹⁸⁾ fairy forts

⁹⁹⁾ a cluttered bedside table

¹⁰⁰⁾ a hangover in the evening

[mitchellnman]

Always Hungry.

MDNI.

PAIRING: Martin x reader

WARNINGS: pwp, mentions of bruises and scrapes (martin) pussy eating. Reader is afab, but there's no gendered pronouns or use of y/n. Hastily written, no beta reader we die like victorian children.

WORD COUNT: 942.

A/N: Hi hello I haven't written a fic in 2 years but Martin made me crawl from my grave please enjoy!

—

Martin's room smelled like incense. Cheap incense, bought online with a holder that made the smoke look like a waterfall. Martin only burned the incense to cover up the smell of sex and sweat, in case the landlord came knocking. It mostly worked, unless you pulled back the blankets on his bed. Then, it was all him, musky and heady and sweet, and you, more or less the same.

He was feeding his skink some blue worms, to match his blue eyes, and the blue candy that poked out from between his lips. He smiled. Martin always smiled when his skink ate, her blue tongue flicking out. She was a silly little creature, lacking a few brain cells, but cute nonetheless. More importantly, she seemed to like you, when you scratched under her chin, or held her little hands with your fingertips. Martin liked it too.

He was shirtless, only in a pair of black jeans that hung low on his hips. You followed the curve of his spine with your eyes from under his hair, down to his waist, and further down, his pants only halfway covering his perfect ass. He was covered in bruises, scrapes, and what you supposed you could call rope burn, from seatbelts digging into his skin. He was beautiful in a nihilistic sort of way, as if Chuck Palahniuk had specialized in paintings instead of novels.

You pushed away from the wall you were leaning on as you watched him, unable to resist touching him anymore. Your cheek brushed over his shoulder, fingers tracing up his sides. He smelled like you, and like sugar. His jaw flexed as his tongue rasped over the candy. Your hands moved up his back, cold fingers on warm skin.

Martin set the skink down in her tank and turned around in your grasp. He regarded you for a long moment, his eyes piercing as he tried to read your mind. You had half a mind to tell him everything you thought. His fingers cupped your chin, and tapped your lips. A wordless request for you to open your mouth. You did, and he brought his lips to yours, pushing the blue raspberry candy into your mouth. You kissed around it, your senses overwhelmed by the artificial flavor. Blue raspberry, what was it, really? Certainly nothing that occurred in nature.

His black hair fell around both of your faces, shielding you from the sunlight that was streaming in through the window. He made an obscene moan, and pushed the rest of the candy into your mouth with his tongue.

"Finish it." He whispered. His blue tongue darted out, and licked your lips. He smiled, a devilish thing that could only mean sin was on his mind. With that knowledge, you took his hands, and walked backwards to the bed. Your thighs hit the mattress, and you fell back. Your tongue pressed the candy to the roof of your mouth so you didn't choke on it.

He descended upon you like an animal, ravenous after starving for days, his hands pushing your shirt up over your ribs. His blue tongue darted out and licked your skin, teasing for only a moment. Then he bit down, nipping at your stomach with that same grin. His large hand squeezed your crotch, concealed by a pair of his sweatpants. His palm pressed against you, slowly massaging you through the fabric.

Martin sucked a mark into your skin, below your belly button. His head dipped down further, sniffing at your crotch, his nose pushing against your clit.

You smiled, and your hands found a home in his hair. It was a little greasy to be sure, but it was soft on your fingers, and he moaned so sweetly when you tugged on his dark locks.

His clever hands tugged your pants down around your ankles, and he didn't give you a moment to breathe. How could he, when you were the best thing he'd ever tasted? Vaguely, he wondered if he could make a candy that tasted like you.

His tongue swiped over your clit, and you shivered with want. Your thighs pressed against his cheeks as his head dipped lower, intent on devouring you.

"Martin," you gasped. "I have to go to work—"

You could feel him smile against you, his breath hot against your cunt as he laughed.

"Should have thought of that before..." He teased, utterly merciless. He pushed two fingers inside of you with ease, still slick from last night, and this morning. In fact, he could still taste himself inside of you.

Your back arched as he found your sweet spot with a practiced ease. Your hands curled in his hair, and the moans he made sent vibrations straight up your spine, like a low bass played from a quality speaker.

He coaxed you to your peak, and you came with a loud cry, your vision going utterly white with previews of heaven. He held you in place as you thrashed, a large hand pressing into your thigh.

When you opened your eyes again, his head was on your stomach, cheek resting against your skin. Martin was smiling, obviously pleased with himself. His nose and chin were shiny with spit and slick, his chest pressed against your core, just enough to keep your body thrumming.

“Call out. Spend the day with me.” He said. His fingers traced over your skin, drawing nonsensical patterns, writing invisible sheet music that only made sense to him.

“Martin…”

“Please.”

It was hard to resist him. Him with his blue lips, and shiny chin. Him with his black, messy hair. You sighed, and admitted defeat.

“Fine.”

[chvoswxtch]

personal

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: lately frank has been acting suspicious, and you've decided to finally confront him about it.

warnings: swearing, lots of angst

word count: 3.4k

a/n: i hope y'all have been enjoying things being nice & light & sexy & fun bc these last few chapters aren't holding back any punches. shit is about to get real. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

Not even five minutes after Frank walked through the threshold of his apartment, the rumble of an incessant banging sounded on his front door. His dark brows instantly furrowed with irritation at the sound. Slipping his right hand behind his back to grab the handle of the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, he turned the knob and swung the door open with just as much ferocity as the person knocking on the other side. 

The creases of annoyance on his sharp features suddenly smoothed into recognition at the sight of you standing in front of him, but not long after, his warm brown eyes widened in complete bewilderment seeing the raw fury that was burning in your eyes. 

“Hey-”

Before he could utter another word, you forced your way inside his apartment, causing him to quickly retreat backwards, wincing when you swiftly slammed the front door shut behind yourself.

“You need to tell me what the fuck is going on with you, right now.”

Frank was utterly caught off guard by your aggressive behavior. The last time he had seen you this angry with him was when he showed up at your place after Cavella and Walker had attacked you. He was so distracted by your incensed entrance, he almost missed what you said. But when his brain finally caught up with his ears, your words only fueled his convoluted confusion.

“There nothin’ goin’ on-”

“Bullshit! Don’t you dare fucking lie to me, Frank.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not lyin’-”

“You’ve lied to me three times in the past month.”

Creases of puzzlement settled between Frank’s thick brows hearing that. Had he really lied to you three times? He couldn’t even remember what he’d lied about, or how you caught onto the fact that he was. Frank admittedly had been a bit out of it when it came to you lately, but he wasn’t doing it on purpose to hurt you. He just happened to be caught in the middle of something he was trying to keep you as far away from as possible.

Taking his silence as evidence of guilt, you stared up into his eyes, wanting him to see the proof of grief in your reflection that his actions had caused. You wanted him to hear the severity in the words that lacerated your tongue as they slipped past your lips that had been bitten raw from your tortured anxiety.

“You never once lied to me before Frank, ever. I don’t know why you’re choosing to start now, but if I hear one more lie come out of your mouth, I am done. I will walk out that door and I will have nothing to do with you ever again, that's it. Do you hear me?”

That caught Frank’s attention. There was no waver in your voice, no threat in your tone, just raw emotion and sincerity. 

For the past month, Frank had been acting strange. You’d caught him in three white lies, and while they may have seemed small and trivial to someone else, they were anything but that to you. Because you’d been stuck with a pathological liar before, and there was no such thing as harmless lies. A lie was a lie, and it was a crack in the foundation of trust and integrity that you’d built with Frank, and a crack could turn into a rift, and a rift could divide you and make it all come crumbling down.

Since yours and Frank’s schedules didn’t always line up, you’d both done everything you could to make every moment count since your first date. But lately, it felt like you were the only one putting in the effort. Frank was chronically distracted these last few weeks. He was late to meet you for dates, he didn’t call when he said he was going to, and sometimes you didn’t hear from him at all until the day was practically over. And when he was with you, Frank was physically present, but mentally he seemed to be somewhere you couldn’t follow. Even sitting right beside one another, it felt like there were oceans of distance separating you subconsciously. 

At first, you’d tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was one little white lie. One missed call after a long day. Just fifteen minutes of waiting at the restaurant. This was Frank, the man who had saved your life more times than you could count. He was different. This was real. You had nothing to be concerned about.

But then one white lie turned to three, and one missed call turned into not hearing from him until an excuse appeared across your screen at half past midnight, and fifteen minutes late turned into not showing up at all. His behavior planted a seed of suspicion in your mind that grew like wild ivy, coveting the sense of security you had in him with leaves of doubt, sprouting spirals of diabolical hypotheticals that canvassed your brain with catastrophe. 

Every knot of faith Frank had woven into your heart with his actions over the last nine months were steadily being unraveled by his own hand in a matter of weeks. The confidence you had in him was now frayed in shreds and left you in a fit of mania, scrutinizing his every intent under a microscope. 

You had been here before. You’d been lied to, manipulated, cheated on, pushed to the brink of insanity, and eventually left behind. You recognized all the signs of duplicity and betrayal, but you’d covered your own eyes so you wouldn’t have to acknowledge them, because it was Frank. 

Blunt-and-brutally-honest, jump-in-front-of-a-bullet, remembers-every-little-detail, got-his-knuckles-bloody-for-you, killed-for-you, Frank.

And that’s why this hurt so much. That’s why this dagger of deceit tore clean right through your chest, leaving you standing in the middle of Frank’s living room, hysterical and furious for an elixir of truth that could make this pain go away and heal your belief in him once again. He’d been so MIA lately that you had spent hours camped out in front of his apartment building tonight, waiting to see his truck pull up just so you could follow him inside and finally have this conversation face to face.

Frank could hear in your voice that he’d hurt you, and even worse, he could see the evidence of it shining in your eyes. The pieces of yourself you’d lent him to patch up his own heart were suddenly bleeding at the seams seeing how his unintentionally selfish preoccupation had left you marooned. Shame didn’t begin to cover the way he felt. He knew he needed to be honest, but he couldn’t tell you everything.

Not yet.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. But it ain’t what you think, sweetheart.”

“Then what is it? Explain it to me.”

Frank took a seat on the couch and gently patted the space next to him, looking up at you with diligent patience while you internally debated between standing stubbornly or giving into his request to sit with him. After a moment you finally sat down, but you intentionally put space between the two of you and folded your arms across your chest in a silent gesture of defensiveness. Resting his forearms on the tops of his thighs, Frank clasped his right hand over his left wrist, staring down at his worn boots while deciding his next words carefully.

“I got a new assignment.”

The quiet tone of Frank’s voice and the lack of eye contact while he spoke immediately caused a spark in your nervous system. 

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Frank let a moment of silence pass before turning his head to look at you with an apologetic gleam in his warm brown eyes.

“I’ve been helpin’ Madani with somethin’.”

Pinching at the bridge of your nose, you let out a slow exhale of irritation. Frank had already strained your patience with his behavior this past month, and his obscure responses were only making it worse.

“Why are you being so secretive about this?”

“It’s complicated-”

“Complicated how? You didn’t have to hide the last job from me-”

“This one is different-”

“Different how? That doesn’t make any sense-”

“You gonna let me talk? Or you gonna keep yellin’ at me?”

The way you clenched your jaw and narrowed your gaze at his quip made Frank regret letting his own frustration get the best of him. You were already pissed off, now was not the time for him to snap back at you like he normally did when the two of you argued about something. A wave of annoyance quickly crested within you. The second you stood up from the couch, Frank’s large hand reached out to grab your wrist.

“Hey, c’mon. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Walk away from this conversation-”

“What conversation, Frank? You’re not doing anything but giving me vague excuses. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

Frank gave your wrist a gentle tug to get you to sit back down next to him on the couch. He once again waited calmly as you stood defiantly for a moment before reluctantly sitting back down. He let his large hand glide across your wrist to take your hand into his own, holding it firmly in his lap while cocking his head to the side to try and catch your gaze.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

When he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, the prolonged pause of silence caused you to eventually shift your attention back to Frank, and you could see that his brown eyes were a deep shade of contrition.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distracted lately, and I haven’t been ‘round like I shoulda been. And you’re right, I did lie to ya, and I’m sorry ‘bout that. I’m not tryin’ to keep things from ya, sweetheart. It’s just…this one is…it’s different.” 

“Why? What makes this one so different that you have to lie to me about it?”

“It’s personal.”

Now it was your turn to be perplexed. You thought Frank was long past holding you at arms length and keeping up a fortified impenetrable steel wall around his heart and mind. He’d opened up to you before, talked about his life in the Marines, told you about the family he’d loved and lost, even spoke about them more comfortably and freely now without the shadow of grief looming over his words. Why was he back to shielding his vulnerability?

“Personal?”

Frank knew you wanted more of an explanation. You needed more. And he hated that he couldn’t give it to you right now. He hated that there was still so much that he was holding back from you, and that it was his own fault you were even doubting him in the first place.

“Listen, I can’t explain it right now, alright? But I will. When it’s all said and done, I’m…I’m gonna…I’ll have to tell ya some things first, some things you may not wanna hear and probably won’t like hearin’. But I promise, I’m gonna tell you everythin’, alright? I just need you to trust me right now.”

Every word Frank spoke hid another piece of the puzzle he was crafting, and you were left with misshapen gaps of confusion. You didn’t know what he meant by saying there were things he had to explain that you might not want to hear, or how that factored into the job he was currently working. Nothing he was saying made any sense to you, and it only left you with more crucial questions than justifiable answers. Pulling your hand away from his, you got up from the couch and started to stressfully pace back and forth.

“So the reason you’ve been a shitty boyfriend lately is because of this new assignment, that you can’t tell me anything about, other than it’s personal, but you can’t explain why that is. And it’s going to take you somewhere eventually, but you can’t tell me where, because you don’t even know yet, and even if you did, you still wouldn’t tell me. And I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume that you have no idea how long this is going to last, but you expect me to sit here and act like everything is fine between us and trust you even though I have no fucking idea where you’re going or what you’re doing. Did I miss anything?”

Frank could hear the barely concealed hostility in your tone. He couldn’t combat a single thing you said. When you finally stopped pacing and turned to face him, staring at him expectantly, a ring of treachery was blazing around your irises. He could see it right then in your eyes. If he didn’t fix this, he would lose you.

Slowly rising from the couch, Frank stood there with a dispirited weight resting on his shoulders, a look of pleading softening his warm brown eyes. 

“I’m gonna handle this as soon as I can, I promise.”

“I can’t do another month of this, Frank.”

“Then it won’t be another month. I’ll figure it out before then.”

“How?”

The resentment you felt towards Frank was rapidly fading into pure desperation. All you wanted was an answer, a real answer. Something of substance that you could understand, something tangible to hold onto during this period of uncertainty. Frank could feel the despair radiating off of you in thick sorrowful waves, and the fact that you were close to forfeiting this argument had him instantly tensing as the chill of dread straightened his spine. He had to give you something.

“Listen, Madani gave me some intel, alright? I’ve been followin’ it, tryin’ to find proof she’s right, or if she’s just seein’ what she wants to see.”

“But why did she give it to you? What can you do that Homeland Security can’t?”

Frank stared at you silently for a moment, and you could see a look of hesitation flash in his eyes. There was something there, something you couldn’t figure out. But you could tell by the expression on his face that there was a lot more to this than it being a top secret assignment from Homeland. Whatever it was, it had everything to do with Frank. You just couldn’t figure out why. After a terse minute of silence, Frank stood up a little straighter while subtly clenching his jaw, and there was a hardened look in his eyes.

“Cause it’s connected to someone I know.”

The way he spoke that sentence with an ominous undertone sent an icy torrent down your spine. Sensing your trepidation, Frank let out a deep sigh and glanced around his apartment for a moment while lost in thought before eventually looking at you again, this time with a softer gaze.

“Look, I can’t explain it all right now, sweetheart. All I can tell ya is that Madani needed someone she could trust on this, and I owe her a debt.”

Letting those words sink in, you tried to put your biased emotions aside for a moment and think logically about what Frank was saying. Dinah had asked him for a favor. Part of you found it  surprising that she came to Frank and Billy, considering the way she acted towards Billy the day Steven was arrested. But maybe that look of distrust and disdain had everything to do with the complicated relationship they’d had that Billy mentioned. 

If Frank was working for Dinah, then he was working for Homeland, which meant he probably didn’t have a choice but to keep everything from you. And yet, here he was still trying to give you crumbs of explanations, and promising to tell you everything once this new assignment was over. At least you could lay the fear to rest that he was seeing someone else. Standing here now, you felt ridiculous that you’d restlessly jumped to the conclusion of an illicit affair. But in your own defense, it had been difficult to think clearly when Frank’s covert behavior mirrored that of past boyfriends' unfaithful performances.

As your shoulders physically deflated from your own conspiracies unraveling just to get tangled in a new set of ambiguities, you let out a deep exhale and rubbed both of your palms tiredly down your face, grasping onto the back of your neck for a moment. When you first showed up at Frank’s apartment, you had felt completely warranted in your anger. Now, you weren’t sure if you had overreacted in your manic state, or if you still had a right to be upset with Frank. At this point, you just felt drained from trying to balance on that tightrope of your own conflicting emotions.

Frank had saved your life several times over, and Dinah personally made sure that Steven would spend the rest of his life in prison. You owed them both everything. The least you could do was show them a little patience. 

“Alright. Fine.”

In the nine months that Frank had known you, never once had you conceded in an argument. Even when you were in the wrong, you struggled with admitting that you had been erroneous. Frank’s blood ran cold with the thought that he might have pushed you too far healing the casual defeat in your voice. He didn’t want you to give up on him like this. Frank quickly took a step towards you the second you took a step towards the door, reaching out to gently grab your arm.

“Hey, hey c’mon. Don’t go.”

“Frank, I’m tired-”

“Then stay. Just stay here, c’mon. It’s late, yeah? Stay.”

Frank wasn’t giving you any room to decline the offer disguised as a command. One of his strong arms slipped around your waist, pulling you firmly into his chest while his large hand gently cradled the back of your head. He pressed his lips in a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, hugging onto you tightly while resting his cheek against the side of your head. The rigid tension in your body lethargically began to melt, and Frank’s deep gravelly voice whispering into your ear dismantled the last of your defensiveness.

“Just stay with me, baby. Please stay.”

Frank knew that he didn’t deserve you. He didn’t feel that he’d earned this second chance at life he was getting. But he would be damned if he’d let anything ruin this now that he had you. He would’ve told Madani to go to hell if he’d known the favor was going to cause such a big disruption to the peace he’d found within you.

But not only did he owe his second shot to her, he desperately needed to know the truth himself.

“When will you leave?”

Frank hugged onto you even tighter, rubbing his hand along your lower back in soothing slow circles.

“M’not sure yet. But I’ll tell ya as soon as I know, I promise. And I’ll make sure you’re taken care of while I’m gone, yeah? I’ll be back before ya know it, baby.”

Hearing the soft sigh that sounded from you, Frank nuzzled his nose into your hair and whispered gently to you.

“Listen, I won’t take no more jobs like this, alright? I’m gonna handle this for Madani, and that’s it. I won’t do anythin’ else that’ll take me too far from you, yeah? I’m not gonna leave ya, sweetheart. I told ya I’m always gonna be here. I meant that then, and I mean it now. You ain’t ever gotta worry ‘bout that.”

You tried to find comfort in those words, but you weren’t in the mental state to accept any vows. You couldn’t get past the glaring truth that Frank was hiding something from you, and until you knew what it was, that crack of dishonesty would continue to slowly spread. You had a sneaking suspicion in the pit of your stomach that whatever verity Frank was concealing had the potential to shatter everything; unveiling the illusion that your relationship hadn’t been formed out of the impervious stone that you’d believed in, but rather of futile glass.

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[the-californicationist]

The Welcome Distraction

MDNI/18+ --- TW: Blow jobs, face-fucking (lovingly) AO3 Link

“Everything alright, babe?” You asked, watching your huge, frustrated husband pace back and forth in your small den. 

John Price was usually such a level-headed man. His cool exterior shell hid a furious temper underneath, but he was so very careful never to let it show. The hound was always on its leash. Today, though, it was growling — figuratively and literally. 

“The wrong fucking intel… how could Laswell let this happen? All those months we spent planning to infil this base — wasted,” he gripped the iPad like it owed him money, the plastic casing creaking under his enormous hand. You watched the tiny muscles and tendons battle against the bones inside of it, remembering exactly how that generous grip felt on your skin. 

You knew how to make him relax. Taking his iPad from him gently, you sat him down on the couch and poured him a generous glass of his favorite scotch. It was the fourteen year Oban, and you could smell the salty, smoky scent of apples and ginger, bookended by its signature creaminess. You stole a taste before you handed him the glass, getting his attention with your thievery. Then, you dug a fat cigar from his humidor, something that would smoke for an hour or more if he let it, clipping and punching it just as he had showed you. 

Settling him down on the couch, you preened, enjoying his look of baffled confusion. His eyes were still rimmed with some frustration, but you could tell your distractions were working.  

You were wearing one of his white button-down shirts as a nightgown, allowing the large collar to hang off of you at odd angles to show most of your skin. There was nothing underneath. He’d been pretty adamant about keeping you in as few clothes as possible when you moved in together, praising you for going commando, begging you to sleep naked, giving you little kisses and treats when he found you under the blankets on the couch with nothing on. 

You learned quickly from these sweet rewards, so you knew what he wanted to see. Wearing his shirts had dawned on you like a eureka moment one day, and it had worked like a damn charm. He could barely keep his hands off of you when you had one on, and if you had an appointment or somewhere important to be, you made sure to be out of it before he got home. Otherwise, you would be at his mercy. You joked that he was your wild, untamed caveman; always ready to take his woman at a moment’s notice. He had just smiled and rolled a dark chuckle around in this throat, insatiable. 

Gazing down at him now on the couch, you admired the absolute specimen that you’d been given. His wide, hairy chest stretched out his army green tee, the sleeves straining to accommodate his heavy arms. John had the most gorgeous mouth, and as he wet his cigar, lighting it carefully, you let your body reminisce about how those full lips felt against your warm center. Then, his jeans. Every pair fit like latex around his muscular ass and thighs, and the zipper was always tested by his fat, flaccid cock, cruelly stuffed against the fabric commando-style. He dressed to the left, and you could see how his shaft had begun to strain as it grew hard down the side of his thigh, reaching for something warm and wet. 

You pulled a pillow off of the couch and knelt down in front of him, making quite the show of pinning up your hair. He watched you like a hawk watches a field, looking for movement and eager to sink his talons into the soft body of his squealing prey. 

Then, you focused on him. John was held in your stare, his blue eyes bright and curious. Smoke fell down his mouth and into his scruffy beard like a waterfall of incense, the smell making you feel braver than you had a right to. You made sure he watched you as you plucked the buttons on his oversized shirt. Each loose button let the collar open further and further until finally, the silky cloth fell away, pooling around you. 

“What’s all this, then?” He asked, sitting forward with one hand palming his cock and the other still busy with his cigar.

John kissed you, feeling how weak and pliant your mouth was, wetting your tongue with his own, becoming more ravenous by the second. You kissed him back languidly, making sure to keep your affections relaxed, slowing him down gently. You pulled away, smiling at him knowingly. 

“Would you like to pick a toy for me, Captain?” You nodded to the end table where an assortment of plugs and vibrators lived. They were stashed all over the house just like the cigars — in case of emergencies. 

He stirred at your use of his title, or at your suggestion about the toys; maybe both. But, he played along, bending over to the drawer and choosing an easy silicone dildo, something to keep you company down there on the floor. Your captain held it in his hands and waited for your next move, happy to be commanded for a change. 

You let him hold it for you, and you sank your mouth around it, coating it in your spit and giving him a preview of what was about to happen to him. You sucked the head of the toy teasingly, and you let it slide into the back of your throat, coating it in your drool. You heard him let out a low, rumbling sigh, and you removed it from your lips. 

You took it from him and slipped it into yourself with some difficulty, letting the fullness of the toy cock settle into you and warm itself with your core. Your little mewls of pleasure caught him like a fire, and you could sense the tension in his body, ready to burn.

Then, slowly, as if you were approaching a dangerous animal — you were — you popped open the button fly of his jeans, letting each button slip satisfyingly out of its hole, revealing the base of his impossibly thick cock. His hair was dark and coarse, curling around his velvety shaft and balls. You took him out carefully, admiring his girth. The rosy, swollen head was still tucked behind his smooth foreskin, and you were eager to slide it out. 

You smiled up at him, watching him watch you, 

“I want you to relax, John. So, I’m going to let you use me for a while. You can go back to your emails if you want, or maybe turn on the game,” you glanced at the television behind you, “But, I’m starving, and you’re going to feed me until you’re done with that cigar. Does that sound good?”

You licked the underside of his cock while he decided how to answer you. He melted into you so quickly, and he nodded, 

“Sure thing, love. Anything you want.”

“Thank you, Captain,” you kissed his shining head and started your work. 

 Licking the underside of his shaft was one of his favorite parts, so you took your sweet time, softening your tongue and making sure to sweep over his head at the end of each long journey from his base to his tip. You took breaks here and there to suck gently on his large balls, taking them inside of your mouth like the round candy of a lollipop. 

He had already started with his moaning, furrowing his brow and taking a long drag from his cigar. You looked up at him, watching the orange glow give way to thick, creamy smoke. He reached over for the scotch and drank, savoring all of the heat and the flavors you’d presented to his palette. 

Slowly but surely, as you massaged and sucked and licked and kissed, his body lost more and more of that tension. After a while, he was pliant for you, high from his nicotine, buzzed from his drink, and floating in the river of hedonistic pleasure you had crafted. 

In a way, you too had been weakened by him. Having him in your mouth was a challenge, but it was comforting. You suckled from his tip as if from the sweet flesh of a fruit, soothing yourself and letting your mind go blank. You didn’t need to think about anything else but him, and he was easy. 

The toy was giving you a delicious amount of feedback. As you clenched around it, you could feel your pussy becoming softer and more pliant, and you could tell that you were soaking. You could even feel it on your thighs, and if you twisted your hips just so, you could make your lips slide against each other, making little wet clicking noises as you fucked the dildo against the pillow. It wasn’t enough to make you come, but it was enough to get you started. 

Only when he started to get restless again did you care to speed up your efforts. So far, you’d been taking him only halfway, focusing on his sensitive head, licking long swipes along his glans, letting him fill with blood until he was taut like a bowstring. But, now, nearly finished with his whiskey and about a third of the way through his cigar, you began to notice little clues from his body that he needed more. 

His hips would buck a bit when you took him deeper, and if you massaged his balls, his head would fall back and he would let out a deep, roiling grunt. The muscles in his lower belly were pulling and pushing against themselves, now, and every now and then, you could feel a twitch from his heavy rod, pulsing for you and mimicking its grand finale. 

But, you knew your time was up when he opened that mouth again. He loved talking you through it, and when he was worked up, he would tell you all sorts of wonderful things. You heard him start in on his praise, generous and enticing, 

“Makin’ me feel so good, pretty girl. Seein’ you with me in your mouth… ungh, yeah just like that, baby. Feels so fuckin’ good. Oh, fuck…” 

So, you obliged him. You knew what he wanted. It was not the soothing comfort of your slow massages and delicate suckling. He wanted your throat, and he wanted to take it from you. He wouldn’t rush you though. Somehow, for all his fury, John was a patient man. If you kept at your languid pacing, he would swallow his desire and let you continue, happy to be at your mercy. But, you didn’t much like him as your harmless servant. You wanted your cruel master. 

You called to him with your efforts, making new attempts at taking him deeper and deeper within you, reaching for his base with your tongue when you hit your limit. As you increased your pace, moving your body became more of an event. The toy cock nestled inside of you was making you more stimulated now, and it was slipping through your fluids, pressing a little deeper into your core as you slicked and clenched around its body. You swallowed around his thickness with your throat, unable to breathe when he was pushed past a certain point, counting down from ten in a steady rhythm, training yourself to take him farther each time. 

“Bloody hell, love. Tha’s it, fuck… tha’s it, baby. Fuck, mmm…” You felt him stir, and you saw him set down his glass and the cigar on the end table. He leaned forward so he could see more of your body, reaching out to gently pluck at one of your soft, puffy nipples, pinching it to make it tighten, “You havin’ fun, pretty girl?”

You nodded, not taking him out of your mouth. You were grinding your hips with a purpose, and you showed him what a good job you were doing, taking your hand and bringing back some of your wetness for him to see, holding it out to him like a sloppy gift. 

He grabbed your wrist and brought your hand to his mouth, sucking your slick off of your fingers and making you moan from it. 

“Ahh,” he sighed, “Make those noises for me, love. Feels fuckin’ good.”

You gave him what he wanted; you would have given him anything at this point, and you watched him come undone. Your screams were vibrating his swollen rod, and when you took him as deeply as you could, you could feel him throbbing against your neck from the inside.

When you tasted the salt of his precome, you knew he wouldn’t be long. You also knew that your role would soon change. His eyes darkened, and his face wore the pained snarl of him holding himself back. Then, when he had enough, he put his hand in your hair and pulled you away with a wet, slobbering pop. 

“My turn,” his smile was sinister. 

He stood, keeping control of your skull, pulling your hair at the base of your head to turn you so that your back was against the couch. Then, your captain began to command you,

“Fuck yourself with that toy, pretty girl. Tha’s it, nice and hard. Just like that.”

You were pumping the dildo in and out of your body with your hand, sitting on the floor with your legs spread, not caring how cock-drunk you looked. 

“Good girl. Does tha’ feel good? Tell me,” he let his hard cock lay against your cheek, leaving little wet trails of precome on your face and in your hair. 

“Yes, sir. It feels so good…mmm, fuck…” You whined and whimpered beneath him, showing him your neck, and opening your mouth like a little bird, eager to be fed. 

“Pretty girl,” he sighed as he put himself back into your mouth. 

Then, he moved for you, fucking himself in and out in a chanting drumbeat, choking you on the way down and allowing you to breathe on the way up. You tried to concentrate, knowing you needed to take every break he gave you, but you lost the rhythm when you started to come, fucking yourself faster and faster to drag yourself over your peak. 

“Oh, yessss…” He praised you, “Come for me, love. Come for me, just like that. Nuh-uh, don’t stop. Don’t stop riding that cock, pretty thing. Tha’s it, yeah. Keep it in. Good girl, good girl.”

You were struggling, but you did as you were told, your head swimming and dizzy from your orgasm, straining to take a full breath. You wouldn’t be so lucky to get one, not until he was done with you. 

He fucked your throat with intent, now. John had both of his hands on you, one tangled in the hair at the base of your skull and the other holding you tight around the back of your neck, scruffing you like a naughty kitten. It may have been all in your head, but that pressure made you weaker than ever, and he was able to use you to your full potential. 

His grunts morphed into longer, arching groans. He was shouting into the echoing walls of your den, growling down at you as he approached his zenith, the warm sun of him burning you up from the inside out. 

Then, he found what he had been searching for, and he chased it. His rhythm faltered, and he held your face so tightly to him, clutching you to his center, burying your nose in his fur. Your body started to fight back, needing to breathe. You may have over-acted a little, but you could see that he liked to watch you struggle, so you gave him your tear-stained, pleading eyes and writhed to get away. 

“Oh, Christ! Love, I’m... Oh… Oh, fuck me…” 

His hips bucked into your aching jaw, and you felt your body fill with his come. The soft, creamy fluid dripped down your throat and into your belly, salty and musky on the back of your tongue. Your whole mouth could feel him pulsing as he emptied himself into you, and you tried to swallow every last drop. 

John removed himself from you and aimed to lay down on the couch, using the last of his strength to pull you on top of him, laying you on him like a living blanket. You panted together, each of you breathless. 

You basked in your joy for a while, rubbing your hands all over his chest, yanking his shirt off of him so you could be skin to skin. You pet him like a big animal, stroking him and massaging him for being so good to you. You were straddling him, and as his cock softened, you could feel its body against your wet pussy, lolling over to his hip, exhausted. 

You whispered to him, brushing his hair off of his sweating brow, 

“I’m sorry you had a hard day at work, John.”

He laughed quietly, wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm and held tight to him, 

“Tha’s okay, love. It’s no trouble. Everythin’ works out in the end, hm?”

Your big captain kissed you then, tasting himself on your tongue. You could taste his scotch and his tobacco, all of his scents filling your mind with him. His soft tongue joined with yours, playing together in your mouths, lips slipping together and sucking on each other, gentle and soothing. You lay there, dozing together, sated and joyful, happily distracted.

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Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated 🩷

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Breaking Free

[A/N: I’m driving home for my externship (and Thanksgiving!) so you know what that means- too much time on the road to daydream 🙃 Pls enjoy Gibbs being an infuriating slut]

Pairing: Jethro Gibbs x female reader

__________

You repeatedly pat your boyfriend’s arm, pointing to his left at a sign that’s sure to snag you the win of your road trip competition. It’s become an annual tradition to pass the time by finding the most outrageous billboards on your way to Thanksgiving with your parents and Jethro’s father in Pennsylvania.

“That’s gotta be the best one,” you say confidently. “It even has a handcuff reference for you!”

The large sign promises that if you’re Shackled by LUST? then Jesus can FREE you.

Jethro grunts by way of acknowledgment then poses, “You scream oh my god a lot when I’m inside you- d’ya think that counts?”

“Not, like, a lot a lot,” you protest ever so eloquently, incensed by the smirk blooming on his face and his clever avoidance of admitting defeat.

Clearly your darling boyfriend takes that as a challenge.

The hand resting on your denim clad thigh begins creeping higher and you cut your eyes over to Jethro to find his focus is still dutifully on the expanse of highway ahead. “Whatcha doin’ there, Jay?”

“Driving,” he answers easily, hand moving higher yet. The corner of his lips visible to you arches upward when he meets the cool metal of the button on your jeans, but his smile falters when he fumbles to get it open. “Little help here?”

Raising one eyebrow, you counter, “You wanna prove a point, you put in the work, mister.”

He huffs out a breath, then twists his wrist and finally succeeds in popping the button open with a triumphant laugh. Jethro doesn’t even bother to try with the zipper after that; he simply shoves his hand into your pants so the zipper gets forced down its track.

You gasp when his fingers slide through your folds, and Jethro produces a quiet growl in the back of his throat when he finds you already wet for him. That sound alone has you moaning out a low, “Oh my god,” and your boyfriend outright laughs at you while his middle finger circles your clit. “That was only once- oh fuck, oh my god- okay, twice, you jerk,” you feebly defend yourself.

Jethro sinks two fingers knuckle deep into your pussy with an amused hum, and you slap your palm against the roof of the truck while crying out a third iteration of the deity-invoking phrase. “I can’t- oh fuck me- stand you sometimes,” you bite out, lifting your hips to help Jethro’s fingers slip in and out of you with ease.

“Good thing you’re sitting then,” he fires back, chancing a glance away from the road to smirk at you.

You draw your bottom lip between your teeth in a feeble attempt to muffle your cries, but Jethro brushes his palm over your clit while curling his fingers and another breathy, “Oh my god,” slips out of your traitorous mouth.

“That’s it, baby,” your boyfriend praises you, no longer bothering to mask his delight. “Free yourself from those shackles.”

A laugh punches out of you that morphs into a wanton moan when he curls his fingers again, and your cries rise higher and higher in pitch until you’re clenching around Jethro’s fingers, calling out a litany of curses with a healthy dose of his name mixed in. You drop back into the seat, boneless, with a final, “Oh my god.”

Jethro slips his slick-coated fingers out of your still throbbing cunt and points out your window to another billboard flying by, then runs his sinful tongue along his fingers, groaning at your taste. “I’m always right,” he asserts with a content hum, “and I win.”

__________

LJG tags 🖤 @ilovemark1951 @doctorwhofan24

[thecapricunt1616]

Gardenia (c.b. one-shot)

𝓢𝓷𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓽 (𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓑𝓣𝓒): You were a manager at a thrift store on the north side of Chicago. Your job was fairly boring, sorting clothes and pricing them, as well as tagging them and putting them away. Helping train new employees, working opening and closing shifts. That was until the Blondie with the piercing blue eyes and the oh so sexy nose started coming in every Sunday morning, usually right after you opened. 

♡ O/S Inspo: Promoting peace/repelling strife, protection from outside influences. Carry or wear to attract love or friendship. Burn with other healing herbs to bring peace and comfort to one who is ailing. Use dried flowers in healing incenses and mixtures. Scatter around a room to bring peaceful vibrations. ♡ Summary: You & Carmy meet at the thrift store you work, He takes you out for a cute date!! ♡ W/C: 2.0K+ ♡ Posted Date: 05/27/2024 ♡ A/N: Hello! Happy day 2/7 of the Capri 200 Follower Celebration Extravaganza!!! You can find said extravaganza ♡ Here ♡ this celebration will be going until next Sunday (06/02/24) so get your requests in! This request is based on ♡ This ♡ adorable ask from my beautiful little cow, @aestheticaltcow - I love you OOMF! You always are liking / reblogging & supporting my work. I love you to the moon! Thank you for all your support, I hope this is what you were thinking & that you enjoy!!! ♡ Warnings for BTC: None really! Fluff, Fem reader, No use of y/n (Reader goes by 'Bunny'), No use of physical descrip (pics are just vibes!) , Not very edited, Usual TB trigger warnings

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

You were a manager at a thrift store on the north side of Chicago. Your job was fairly boring, sorting clothes and pricing them, as well as tagging them and putting them away. Helping train new employees, working opening and closing shifts. That was until the Blondie with the piercing blue eyes and the oh so sexy nose started coming in every Sunday morning, usually right after you opened. 

He’d be holding a black coffee, from the coffee shop right across the way, and always head over to the men’s denim section. This was the fifth Sunday in a row he’d come in, and you couldn’t help but realize the way he checked you out whenever you checked him out, literally - and he had caught your eye so hard you looked at the credit card receipt to see his name. 

You couldn’t find him on Instagram, or Facebook - so you figured either he was a super sexy serial killer, or goes by something else online - because who the fuck doesn’t have social media even to lurk?! 

But even with his incessant staring he for sure didn’t realize you noticed, and his clockwork of coming in when you specifically were on Sundays - he still hadn’t asked you out. You figured he was shy- well knew it because any time you tried to strike up conversation with him the guy would go pink as a pig and giggle nervously. So you were going to give him an in. 

“Hey there!” You said as you approached the isle, jeans in hand. When these had come in, they immediately caught your eye. 32 34’s. His size, vintage Levi’s - they looked to be about mid to late 80s by the patch and the wear - right up his alley for what he came in for. 

His head popped up, brows raising slightly “morning” he replied, large hand wrapped nearly all the way around his iced coffee. God- he was so pretty up close. 

“Good morning! So- not to be a freak but, these came in a few days ago, and I was thinkin’ T’myself ‘hey! I know a guy who comes in for 32 34 Levi’s every Sunday! I’ll see if he’s interested’ “ you giggle a bit, holding them out. 

“You- wow those actually look sick” he took them, setting his coffee on the top rack and holding them out to see them. “Shit these are perfect. Thank you- really uh…sorry I never asked your name?” His cheeks were on fire. It was really cute though how flustered he got, he folded them, holding them over the inside of his arm and grabbing his cup again. 

“Oh! Everyone calls me Bunny! Childhood thing. Can’t remember last time used my real name” you giggled a bit “and you are?” You extend your hand to him to shake. 

He takes your hand with his tattooed one, shaking it gently. His hands were calloused, scarred, big, could probably reach spots inside of you that you could n- focus! 

“But yeah so that’s uh cool. Never met another animal named person” he chuckled a bit, and you realized that you didn’t hear anything he said. But you couldn’t just say oh! Could you repeat I totally blacked out thinking about your fingers in my pussy! So you settled for a 

“Totally! It’s the cool kids club for real. Anyway, nice to meet you Carmen” you nod 

“Oh- shit sorry I didn’t - you can call me Carmy I - I prefer it actually” he said and you wanted to smack yourself 

“I’m sorry- uh, Carmy. I’ll let you get back to it” you said and he looked like he wanted to say something else so you stayed for a moment, looking at eachother. 

“Ok so - I know you’re working and I- I respect that so tell me to go fuck myself and I will absolutely never come back but uh- would you maybe… like- wanna go out f’coffee? Sometime? Like - like I said I totally get it if-“

“I’d love to. Gimme a time and place and I’m there” you smiled and he looked a little…suprised? 

“Tomorrow? Place cross the street? Is 9:30 too early?” He asked and you shook your head. 

“Sounds perfect, it’s a date” 

9:30 am the following morning couldn’t come fast enough. That shift seemed to draaag after he’d left. As soon as you got up, you jumped in the shower, shaving every bit you had before slathering on your favorite smelling lotion. 

You decided to wear your hair naturally, so you blew it out and didn’t use any other heat on it. Your makeup was light, and you picked a not too dressy but not too casual outfit to go with it. You felt pretty, and you knew for a fact you looked even better. 

You spritz on a bit of your favorite perfume before heading out the door, a happy pep in your step at this mornings activities. You got to the coffee shop right on time, and see Carmy looking at his phone, sunglasses that were usually used as a headband in the store to keep his messy blonde curls from in front of his eyes were perched atop his nose. 

“Feels weird seein’ you on a Monday” you teased, gently touching his muscular arm and giving it a friendly squeeze. He looked up and smiled a bit 

“Right? Feels weird bein here on a Monday. Sundays’re my errand days” he joked back “it’s good t’see you, Bunny.” He said and you nodded 

“You too! I’m ready for my morning caffeine not sure about you” you said and he grabbed the door for you 

“ absolutely, after you” he pushed his sunglasses up how he usually did, following in behind you. 

“Why thank you Carmy, how gentlemanly” you head up to the line with him. 

“Of course- gotta do this thing right eh’?” He looked up at the board with a small smile. 

“Don’t indulge me, Carmy, you’re getting a black coffee” you teased knowing that was all he drank, at least from what you saw at the store when he came in. 

He chuckled, looking over at you “am I? How’d you know I wasn’t feelin’ brave t’day, huh?” He chides with a grin 

“Ohh so brave what a big brave boy mixing up your coffee order huh?” You mused, stepping up to the counter

“Good morning! What can we get started for you today?” The barista asked and Carmy extended his hand to let you know you could go first 

“Oh! Thanks, uhh ok soo- hmmm…” you look at the board for a few moments. “A large lavender iced matcha please and a blueberry scone.” You said and they nodded, 

“And for you sir? Sorry will this be together?” They ask

“Yes- I’ll have what she’s having and that’s it.” Carmy took his card out, holding it over the reader and it beeps, accepting his payment. 

“Alright! Thank you, you can wait at the end there it’ll be right out” they said and you look over, smiling bright. That was especially nice, for you at least. The last time you went out with a guy, he expected you to pay for you both. So, to say the least it felt nice to be taken care of, even if it was just a stupid little coffee. 

You walked to the end of the counter, standing side by side as you wait “thank you. That was very polite of you” you told him, and his cheeks go that delicious adorable shade of pink that trickles down his neck and he shrugs a bit 

“S’nothin. So uh- how long you been workin’ at the thrift?” He asked, grabbing a few napkins and straws for when your drinks came out. You watched his tattooed hands, your stomach doing those flips and rushes of heat flooding your core

“Oh- yeah uh..3 years? Ish? I realized I never asked, what do you do f’r work?” You asked, playing with the sleeve of your shirt with your fingers that never stopped moving. He seemed the same, rolling paper covered straws between his fingers or constantly tapping on his coffee cup in a random rhythm. 

“Oh- shit yeah sorry I’m a chef. Sorry I never said anything but uh- yeah. The beef, well, the bear were kinda in the middle of renovating right now and changing our look.” He said and your mouth falls 

“The beef?! Holy shit! Been goin there f’years!! Since I came back to Chicago!! Fire sandwiches. So you’re sayin’ no more beef sandwiches?! Dude I didn’t even get one before I found out you were closin’!” You said and the barista came over, setting your bags and drinks in front of you 

“Have a great one guys!” They said and headed back to their station. We thanked them and headed back outside where there was little tables and chairs you could sit, and of course his sunglasses were right back over his eyes as soon as we got outside. 

“What if I told you- I could make you one an’ bring it to you whenever you want?” He set down the bags of scones he’d carried for you, one in front of both of you before handing you a straw for your drink. 

“I’d say you’re an angel sent from god, because those sandwiches are somethin else” you took the scone out of the bag and had a bite, moaning softly at the taste and sitting back “ugh fuck I love scones” you said and he chuckled a bit, having a bite of his own. 

“These uh- actually are more muffin by recipe. Scones would be way dryer, but these sell better in the states” he took another bite. You hum, mixing up your drink before having a sip. 

“Oh yeah? Hit me with another chef fact mister brave is this real matcha or whatever or the fake shit?” You hummed. It all tasted the same to you, but you wondered if he’d really have an answer. 

“Mm” he hummed and opened his straw, mixing it before taking a sip. He scrunched his nose a bit “fake, and the lavender is fake which- I mean is kind of pitiful because lavander syrup is easy as fuck to make and not even expensive” he said and mixed it up even more, hoping that helped the flavor and had another hip, shivering slightly at the sugar which made you laugh. 

“You like that?” He asked and you laughed, the kind of laugh that made your eyes crinkle just by the pure look of icky written on his features. 

“You make fun of a girl for her morning beverage choices on a first date?” You asked and he put his hands up in defense 

“Woah. Woah I said hang out i didn’t say date” he teased, causing you to laugh even more 

“Am I seeing right now why you’re single?” You joked and he caught the giggles this time, and you wish you could see the way his eyes crinkled up beneath his sunglasses. 

The rest of the meal was spent laughing, and making pleasant conversation. You spoke about where you were both from, what schools you went to, you’d learned apparently he studied abroad for being a chef which was crazy because you didn’t even know people studied abroad for simply making food but you guessed it was pretty serious by the way that he spoke about it. 

Apparently the beef had been in his family and was handed down to him recently, so he decided to do something different with it and revamp the whole thing into the bear that would be opening in 2 months. You’d say there talking for about 2 hours, until he got a call about said restaurant and had to head out. 

“Really, Bunny. This was…really great. I haven’t been able to like- it doesn’t matter. But…thank you, we should do this again if you’re down” he said and you smiled. 

“How ‘bout next Sunday, but before the store opens - 7:30 too early for you?” you repeated his words playfully from when he asked you out. 

“Nothin w' you is too early f’me, y'got y’self a date”

[phoward89]

Happy (late) 420! I tried to get this out yesterday, but that didn't happen. Anyways, here's some Dealer!Coryo x Reader in honor of 420.

Weed, drugs, guns, cussing, Coriolanus Snow being Coriolanus Snow, p in v, slight degradation?, um that's bout it

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1:

“Your brother's drunk again?” Coryo, your weed dealer and fuck buddy, asked as he flung the door to his section 8 apartment open as soon as he saw you thru the peephole. 

He knew what was wrong with you just by the sullen look on your face. Anytime you had that look on your face it was because your brother was either drunk and fighting with you or your ex (who Coryo nearly beat to death after the last time he cheated on you- which if you ask the dealer shouldn't have happened cause only a fucking idiot would stick their cock in a skeezy cunt when they've got your perfect, tight cunt to fuck on the regular) did something (like cheat) to upset you. 

After getting beat within an inch of his life, your ex skipped town. Rumor has it that he went to California. So, Coriolanus knows that there's only one reason you're on his doorstep looking like an anxious mess: your brother, Rein.

“Yep.” You popped your tongue.

“Come in.” Coriolanus ordered, moving aside to make room for you to enter his shithole. As you walked by him and into the apartment that smells heavily of cigarettes, weed, incense, and rose scented glade plug-ins, your favorite drug dealer announced with a lopsided smirk, “I was just ‘bout to roll a joint.”, while shutting and bolting the door.

“It's been a while since I smoked. I could use a few hits to calm down.” You admitted, making a beeline to the lumpy couch and in extension the glass coffee table nestled right in front of it.

A glass coffee table with chipped corners that was cluttered so much that the glass could barely be seen. It was a cluttered mess of magazines, rolling papers, plastic sandwich baggies, large bags of weed, a scale, a few empty beer bottles, an empty chip bag, a red solo cup, zippo, and a cheap ashtray.

Sometimes you wonder about Coryo, who could be a dead ringer for Eminem. Hell, his looks got him the nickname of Paneminem. You know, cause he's the Slim Shady of your small bumfuck Colorado town of Panem. 

A town that both you and Coriolanus Snow, known to a very small select few as Coryo, hate with a passion. 

But, anyways, sometimes you wonder about the dealer with the platinum buzzcut (which you were shocked to find out was his natural hair color) that lives alone. He doesn't have a lot of friends and the only family he's got is a cousin, Tigris, that's a stripper at Pluribus’ club. But they had some kind of falling out after he got a dishonorable discharge from the army and barely talk anymore.

And you only know about Tigris and his brief stint in the military cause you curiously asked him about his dog tags, chewing on the corner of them during a half-high afterglow while cuddling with him.

“What dumb shit did Rein do this time, baby girl?” The hardened drug dealer asked, following you over to the sofa. A sofa that has a board under it to level and prop up the saggy seat cushions.

“He’s pissed that I got laid off and can't find another job.” You told Coryo as the two of you sat down on the couch, making it dip under your combined weight.

“So, does that mean you're gonna start helping your favorite dealer sling shit for cash?” Coriolanus slightly chuckled, slipping his hand underneath the hem of his oversized white T-shirt and pulling his gun out of the waistband of his baggy jeans; placing it down on the coffee table.

You've seen the black Glock so many times, gosh it must be at least 50 by now, since you started buying weed and hooking up with Coryo. Him handling the weapon around you doesn't even phase you anymore. It should. It really should, especially since you weren't raised around guns or violence- but apparently the more time you spend around Snow (Coryo's surname and one of his street names- the other being Snowball) the more you're being corrupted by him.

Unknown to you, Coryo doesn't want you to become corrupted by him. He thinks you're a really sweet girl that had some shit luck of being abandoned by your mom and raised hovering above the poverty line by your much older half-brother and his girlfriend. Despite your crappy conditions, you’re as sweet as honey. Or at least to Coriolanus you are.

For some reason, the hardened drug dealer that's a couple of years older than you wants to keep you safe from any and all dangers in the world. Hell, Snow's not supposed to have feelings for you, a girl that occasionally buys weed from him; comes over to his place to vent about her life, but he does.

And that's not good because feelings are dangerous in his world. The drug underworld. The side of town, hell life, that decent people don't see. 

Coryo's got people that would love to put a bullet in him; the cops also want to lock him up for at least half his life too. Having you around him so much, getting wrapped up in shit isn't good at all. It's not good for you or for him. It'll only end up bad and in heartbreak.

And Snow can't have that. Oh, he has to protect you from his world. The world of drugs and all other illicit activities that transpire in the criminal underworld. You're just too sweet to have as a permanent fixture in his life, which is why he doesn't hang with you unless you're buying weed from him. He won't actively seek you out, despite the fact that you always bring a smile to face and warm his cold, black, dead, frostbitten heart.

“Coryo, you're my only dealer.” You dryly remind him, watching as he perches on the edge of his couch; leaning forward to grab the items he needs from his chipped coffee table to roll the joint with. “And no, I'm not gonna help you deal.”

“Only dealer, favorite dealer: same thing from how I look at it.” Coriolanus retorts while his long fingers nimbly work to fill and roll a joint for the two of you to share. “It was a joke, baby. I wasn't serious.” Your dealer dryly told you before giving out a lecture of, “My line of work’s dangerous, babe. I'd never send you out into that shit just to make a buck.” Waggling a long weed scented finger in your face, he added in, “And I would've fucked some goddamn sense into you if you’d agreed to my fake offer.”

You’re not stupid, you know that Coryo’s not just a weed dealer, but that he sells some hard shit and it makes his job- hell his life- dangerous. But you don't care. You accept him as he is. You're not trying to fix him; you're fine with him the way he is. You're also fine with being his customer/sorta friends with benefits.

You know that Coryo has a lockbox full of various pills and coke that he deals. The box is shoved in the side table, that looks like a weird ass octagon, caddy cornered between his sofa and a heavily duct taped easy chair. You saw it once when you were over, crying about being cheated on by your ex and needing some weed (and maybe some big dick) pronto to make you feel better and calm you down. 

Coryo had a customer he needed to meet and sell some powder to, so he prepared the crap right in front of you. After cutting the white powder finely with a credit card (that you're sure he stole from somebody) and portioning it up in a baggie, he made you swear to never touch the hard shit. He even said that he'd shoot whoever dares to give you the shit right between the eyes if he ever found out that you dabbled in the hard shit.

And then he sent you on your way with a few joints and a promise that he'd stop by to check up on you; see if you need anymore post getting cheated on weed to help feel better with. He kept good on that promise, he stopped by and took you out for a ride. A ride that ended with you desperately riding his cock in the backseat of his car- which was parked in some alleyway in a seedy part of town.

“Calm down, Coryo. God, don’t pop a vein over there.” You sarcastically tell the platinum blonde while he finishes rolling the joint. Watching him pick up his zippo off the table, you assure him.“You don't need to worry about me being in danger from the big bag drug dealers; I'll only make my money legally.”

“Y/N…” Snow mumbled warningly, slipping the joint between his lush lips and lighting up. Taking his first hit, he sighs, “The more you hang ‘round here, baby girl, the more you might be putting your sweet lil ass in danger.” 

“I’m a big girl, Snowball. I can take care of myself, plus I trust you and know that you'd never hurt me.” You said, watching him take his second hit. 

Passing the joint over to you, he dead ass says, “I got enemies; if they think we're a thing they'll fuck you up to get to me.” Shaking his head, he leans his elbows on his knees (of course he was manspreading- he always does when sitting on the sofa). “Cops would haul you in; jam you up just to try and catch my ass.”

Your brows furrow at his words. At their implications.

“So, what, you don't want me coming ‘round anymore?” You asked, brushing your fingertips against his rough, calloused ones as you took the joint from him. “Want me to find somebody new to buy weed from?” You took your first hit, coughing slightly. “Maybe I'll drive a couple hours to Denver and buy from a regulated dealer: from the man.” You threatened, taking your second hit and passing the joint to the broad shouldered man next to you.

“You're not driving down there for weed. You hear me?” Coryo sternly ordered before taking a deep hit off the joint.

“Then don't say you don't want me around, Coryo.” You countered, watching your dealer sexily blow a large billowing cloud of smoke from his perfect O shaped mouth.

“I didn't say that, babe.” Coryo snapped, his voice a bit hoarse from smoking weed all day (or at least you think he's been smoking all day). “I don't wanna have a heavy talk while smoking. Let's table this for now, yea?” He told you before taking a second, even longer hit from the joint perfectly pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yea, my life's stressful enough.” You agreed, taking the offered joint from Coriolanus as soon as he exhaled a lungful of smoke.

Coryo didn't say a word, just leaned back into his couch and snaked an arm to rest behind you. He gave you a lazy thin lipped smile as you took your hit. His icy eyes, usually void of emotions, were shinning with fondness as he watched you instead of whatever bullshit was on his tv. 

A very nice large flatscreen that somebody gave him for payment. Fuck, the damn thing was worth nearly a grand since it was some top of the line Samsung smart tv. Snow knew it must've fallen out the back of a truck, but he didn't give a shit. Meant he didn't have to use he crappy tablet to watch stuff anymore.

But instead of watching tv, his attention was on you. God, Coriolanus loves watching you smoke. He thinks you're so sexy when you smoke. This cute, lil sweetheart taking in a large burning lungful and letting it waft out of your mouth expertly. 

It turned him on.

“It's not polite to stare, Coryo.” You remind the menacing man next to you, your tone a bit teasing, while passing him the joint after finishing your hits.

“I'm not staring, so don't know what your talking about.” He firmly denied, acting like he wasn't just caught ogling your gloss coated lips, while taking the joint.

You're starting to feel a bit hazy from the weed, unlike Coryo you don't smoke around the clock so a few hits mellows you out quickly, and lean your head against his shoulder.

“Your such a fucking lightweight.” The platinum blonde chuckles, shaking his head with a hint of an taunting smirk on his lips. 

“Not everyone can smoke and fuck all day, Snowball.”

“I don't smoke and fuck all day. I'll let you know that if I don't sling my shit then I ain't making any bank.” Coryo sneered, sounding a bit insulted by your remark, before taking a quick hit and holding the joint out to you.

Your fingertips brush over his, sending shockwaves through both of your buzzed bodies, as you take his offering. “You know, I'm still having a dry spell.” You reluctantly sigh between taking your two puffs and passing him back the joint.

Coryo's not stupid, he knows why you've been having problems finding somebody to hookup with let alone date. Word on the street is that he's sweet on you. That you’re Snowball's baby. Or at least Plinth and Creed, his only friends that are also dealers, told him that's the word.

Been the word since somebody saw you and him at some house party few weeks back- disappearing into a bathroom together for a good 15 minutes or so (yea, long enough to fuck).

“Maybe I can do something ‘bout it then, yea?”

“Maybe.” You coyly shrugged.

Even tho both you and Coryo knew that as soon as the joint turned into a roach; was snubbed into the ash trash, you'd be making out and undressing each other on his sofa.

“Hmmm…Coryo, that feels so good…” You loudly moan, feeling your cunt twitch and grow wetter, as you ride Coryo's cock.

Coryo's sucking on one of your titties while roughly squeezing the other in his large, calloused hand. His other hand is holding onto your ass like it's the most prized jewel into the entire world. 

“God, Coryo, I needed your cock so bad.” You admit to him, your voice nothing more than a pathetic mewl, as your wrap your arms around his neck- one hand pressing into the back of his platinum buzzcut while the other holds the back of his neck- while you leverage yourself to bounce faster on his dick.

His cock, very long and thick with veins that catch every velvety piece of your walls, fills your cunt up perfectly; turns you into a whinny mess. His tip hits against your cervix, causing the coil to begin to tighten inside of your lower body with every move. And the way his cock presses into your g-spot just right- oh fuck he's completely ruined you for men.

Whether you want to admit it or not, you're addicted to Coryo's cock. He's the only man that can fuck you just right. God, you would be all hot and bothered over your dealer.

Your nipple falls from Coryo's mouth with a loud, wet pop. He looks up at you, baby blues smoldering midnight with lust, and slaps your ass. “Fuck, baby. Ride my cock, ride my cock like the lil slut you are.” His hand slides over your chest, leaving one tit and going to kneed the other, as he lands two quick slaps to your ass. “Baby, your cunt feels so tight and good. Ride me, baby, ride me.”

“Fuck…Coryo…think I'm gonna cum.” You breathing tell him, forehead pressing down against his; hair curtains around your faces, as you grind your hips faster against his.

“Yea?” He asks, his voice heavy from lust and hoarse from smoking weed, as he places his hands on either of your hips. “Hold on, baby. I'll make ya cum.” Coryo tilts his chin up, sloppily kissing you, before digging his fingers into the meat of your hips and thrusting fast and hard up into you.

“Fuck!” You scream, feeling your insides literally getting rearranged, as Coriolanus’ cock plunges deep inside of you. Deeper then you’ve ever felt it before (and that's saying something since the man’s cock always leaves an imprint in your lower stomach everytime you fuck) and it's making you see stars. 

Your arms are tightly wrapped around Coryo's neck in a vice grip as he pounds up into your cunt at such a strong, punishing pace. He's fucking you so hard and good that you can feel the rubber band inside of you get ready to snap. “Coryo…I'm gonna cum.” 

“Cum, baby. Be my good lil slut and cum on my cock.” Coryo orders, his baritone rough and raw, as he presses you against his chest while bucking his hips at lightning speed.

And you do. You cum hard, moaning a string of curses mixed with Coryo's name, before leaning limply against him and panting to catch your breath. Your head's pressed into the crook of his neck and he's now holding holding your back to keep you afloat while chasing his own high. Coryo pistons his cock in and out of you quickly before groaning a couple fucks and your name while shooting his hot load of thick pearly ropes of cum deep into your cunt.

“Damn…” Coryo trailed off, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Your head's still resting in the crook of his neck as you unwrap one of your arms from around his neck. Running your hand up and down his toned chest, you blurt out, “I'm hungry.”

“Of course, you get the munchies now.” Coryo scoffs, shaking his head. “I got some pizza rolls in the freezer, I'll nuke us some in a lil bit. Okay, babe?” He offered while trying to enjoy his blazed out afterglow moment with you. 

Honestly, he just wanted you to cockwarm him for a while because he didn't know when you'd be in that position again. 

And Coryo knows that he's going to have to cut you loose eventually. You're a liability in his line of work. Snow, the cold hearted drug dealer that doesn't think twice about popping a cap in somebody's ass, has a soft spot for you. Hell, to be honest he cares for you.

He cares a lot.

And that's dangerous. Feelings are a weakness that he can't afford in his life. The thought of you being used against him makes him sick.

And Coriolanus will never forgive himself if something bad happened to you because of him.

He knows that he'll have to cut you loose soon. Put his combat boot covered foot down; lay down some rules for the two of you to abide by. Something like he'll drop your weed off at your house then leave type of deal.

But right now, for a few minutes, he just wants to bask in your warmth.

And for right now, you're Snowball's baby.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[mudvi]

When John Lennon inhabited the room, it was a quiet, dark sanctum. John had always loved bedrooms and sleep. [...]

John’s side of the bed was sacrosanct. It was the one territory he had reserved to himself. It was where he kept his writing and his reading and his music and his cigarettes. John said several times that when he was growing up in his Aunt Mimi’s house, he had been confined; when he was grown and rich, he was determined to make up for that. Assistants knew to hand John’s tea tray to Yoko, who would then pass it to John. No one walked around John’s side of the bed. It was his last retreat. [...]

At times, the TV was not even tuned to a channel. Without his thick-lensed glasses, John was extremely near-sighted, and he liked the constantly changing warm hues of the TV screen. His Gitanes and ashtray were by his side. He liked to wear jeans and a cowboy shirt, or one of his Japanese kimonos. Incense burned twenty-four hours a day.

Rolling Stone magazine, January 22nd, 1981

[sugarbcnes]

ADULT CONTENT: MINORS DNI

ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER — BRAINROT

WARNINGS PLOTLESS PORN, DRUG USE, SQUIRTING, NEEDY ELLIE, BRAINROT, SEMI PUBLIC, CAR SEX, NOT PROOFREAD, USELESS BRAINROT OF GETTING HIGH WITH ELLIE

sorry this is bad and short but i had to post something.

the car is fragrant of everything filthy. everything ellie loves. the moroccan rose incense, your vanilla hemp cigarettes touched with the musky scent of her weed. her citrusy cologne, sweet tea mixed with vodka that swirls in her black flask. the windows become cloudy, hiding the lustful affair behind its mist.

white soles of her scuffed black converse are planted on her dash, the rubber decorated with her drawings and your calligraphy. you kneel between her thighs, black jeans pooled around her ankles and your hands hooked over her knees. she whistles, inhaling her cloud as your tongue reaches that particular spongy spot in her pussy. her taste is your favorite. sweet and creamy, pearling from her soft folds.

the euphoria of her high always leaves her horny to the max, at some points, humping the air in hopes of far fetched friction. luckily, you were there for her to use. sex reeks in the hazy atmosphere, the warm lights of the parking garage dimmed by the foggy windows.

“baby,” she drawls out. her blunt hangs loosely between her fingers, hand on the back of your head, “need more.”

your cheek rests against her thigh, eyes glassed and rosy. full of lust fulled adoration. she looks so pretty above you. lips swollen, freckled cheeks flushed and eyes brimmed with the rosy hues of a dizzy haze.

she obsesses over the way your fingers disappear between her folds, hand coated with her milky release. her core grows numb but she still feels the tingling in her body as she curls her toes, kaleidoscope of pretty little butterflies in her stomach. she holds the blunt out to you, mouth falling open as she revels in the way you inhale it, pink gloss staining the ambered paper.

as you blow it out, your fingers curl and hook, hitting her soft spot at an unreal speed. she lets out a strangled scream, white knuckle grip on your hair as she squeezes her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. her juices squelching and shoot out to coat your chin, dripping down your chest to soak the white material of your top.

everything was better, prettier, when y’all were high.

REBLOGS AND INTERACTIONS APPRECIATED

[letterful]

Jean Madar, chairman and CEO of InterParfums Inc, recently told Bloomberg that fragrance is part of a person’s “core identity”. And while cosmetic companies can face criticism for conflating external products with existential outcomes [...] perfume conveniently sidesteps the problems of the flesh. It’s not trying to change how you look, but how you feel, and, for the span of a spritz at least, it does. In the age of wellness-as-beauty and neurocosmetics, the science of scent is marketing gold.

[...] I wonder if what we’re after here is not a sense of self but a (related) sense of life.

I say “we” because – despite my documented skepticism of beauty brands – I, too, am powerless against a good perfume ad.

Last month, casually depressed and subconsciously seeking comfort and some sort of release, I spent $240 on a scent called Tears by Régime de Fleurs. “What a luxury to weep,” the website read. It described the perfume as “emotion in liquid form, the romance and the sadness”. It promised “nostalgia” too, with notes of lilac to remind me of my grandmother’s front yard and frankincense to call up childhood Sundays spent in incense-blessed church pews. I suppose I wanted Tears to take me back to a time when someone who loved me baked me cookies every week, when I believed in God and goodness, and life stretched ahead of me in an endless expanse of hope and potential.

Of course, it didn’t do that. It smelled fine. I felt something, for a second. But I was still me, and I was still mostly numb.

I thought of that perfume the other day while reading the preface to Henry James’s 1902 novel The Wings of the Dove. James summarized it as the story “of a young person conscious of a great capacity for life” – someone “passionately desiring” to “achieve, however briefly and brokenly, the sense of having lived”.

Something clicked: how to explain Tears if not a brief and broken sense of having cried?

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ one hundred paired prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ a pot of fresh coffee and split knuckles

²⁾ orange peels and a car battery

³⁾ sand dunes and leather boots

⁴⁾ a printer and a knife

⁵⁾ incense and handcuffs

⁶⁾ a crushed velvet sofa and a video camera

⁷⁾ stale cigarettes and cotton candy

⁸⁾ loose change and headlights

⁹⁾ grey hairs and a gold belt buckle

¹⁰⁾ burnt coffee and grass stains

¹¹⁾ cherry cola and blue jeans

¹²⁾ chipped green nail polish and an empty dinner table

¹³⁾ a stack of paperwork and metal music

¹⁴⁾ a patchwork quilt and sweet tea

¹⁵⁾ a hockey sweater and a two-seater sofa

¹⁶⁾ perfume oil and rolled up shirtsleeves

¹⁷⁾ fallen leaves and guilt

¹⁸⁾ radio channels and a birthday card

¹⁹⁾ ravens and meadowsweet

²⁰⁾ apologies and bitter red wine

²¹⁾ library books and pouring rain

²²⁾ a breathalyser and popcorn

²³⁾ princess plasters and iodine

²⁴⁾ a tote bag with one broken strap and a winding staircase

²⁵⁾ a parasol and a tumbler of straight whiskey

²⁶⁾ fresh honey and a cult

²⁷⁾ wisdom teeth and blue eyes

²⁸⁾ sour cherries and a stolen hoodie

²⁹⁾ the flu and a heatwave

³⁰⁾ a boonie hat and a sunset

³¹⁾ vanilla perfume and a kitchen counter

³²⁾ a buffalo skull and a leather armchair

³³⁾ a throw pillow and a doorway

³⁴⁾ pink fluffy handcuffs and an unexpected guest

³⁶⁾ a package and a divorce

³⁷⁾ a stripper pole and a hangover

³⁸⁾ familiar cologne and a black eye

³⁹⁾ a lit candle and a snowstorm

⁴⁰⁾ an unsealed letter and a fallen pine tree

⁴¹⁾ headlights and footprints

⁴²⁾ a blocked number and traffic lights

⁴³⁾ a racesuit and a countdown

⁴⁴⁾ a butcher’s apron and a phonecall

⁴⁵⁾ battered comic books and a broken window

⁴⁶⁾ cold floorboards and a roommate

⁴⁷⁾ smooth vermouth and gold rings

⁴⁸⁾ a lip piercing and a rough hand

⁴⁹⁾ someone’s spare room and an eclipse

⁵⁰⁾ a game of mahjong and bad jazz music

⁵¹⁾ a jigsaw puzzle and a mortuary

⁵²⁾ a broke-up sidewalk and a knitted scarf

⁵³⁾ a poundshop wig and broken glass

⁵⁴⁾ a bunk bed and a crush

⁵⁵⁾ a red ink tattoo and a dinner gone cold

⁵⁶⁾ a warm palm and a flannel shirt

⁵⁷⁾ fresh basil and a half-empty bottle of arrack

⁵⁸⁾ a nightclub bathroom and smeared eyeliner

⁵⁹⁾ a busted lip and strawberry icecream

⁶⁰⁾ a floral-patterned dress and a looming balcony

⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar

⁶²⁾ a white mercedes and cheap perfume

⁶³⁾ a fwb and a housekey

⁶⁴⁾ a blue sarong and a fingertip tracing over a scar

⁶⁵⁾ a sauna room and a terse exchange

⁶⁶⁾ fried plantains and a briefcase

⁶⁷⁾ dried lavender and a tiled bathtub

⁶⁸⁾ a hotel room and a bouquet of lilies

⁶⁹⁾ sweet mango lassi and a suitcase

⁷⁰⁾ orange streetlights and a nightmare

⁷¹⁾ a crucifix and a thigh tattoo

⁷²⁾ a palm tattoo and the thrum of a heartbeat

⁷³⁾ a champagne room and a police siren

⁷⁴⁾ blue nitrile gloves and a hickey

⁷⁵⁾ a double-wide trailer and shotgun shells

⁷⁶⁾ stitches and pyjama shorts

⁷⁷⁾ karaoke and a snowdrift

⁷⁸⁾ an older man and a twin bed

⁷⁹⁾ chinese takeout and a graveyard

⁸⁰⁾ wet clothes and ambulance sirens

⁸¹⁾ carbolic soap and a creaking staircase

⁸²⁾ an undercover assignment and wrung hands

⁸³⁾ the back seat of a limousine and bustling night streets

⁸⁴⁾ a steamed-up bathroom and cold floorboards

⁸⁵⁾ a grand prix and a breakup

⁸⁶⁾ a third place trophy and a picture frame

⁸⁷⁾ the last slice of birthday cake and crossed legs

⁸⁸⁾ squashed raspberries and heated cheeks

⁸⁹⁾ pink lipgloss and brass knuckles

⁹⁰⁾ a ghost mask and a late visit

⁹¹⁾ loose bullets and slashed tires

⁹²⁾ a tactical belt and patterned bedsheets

⁹³⁾ a goaltender’s stick and a lonely walk home

⁹⁴⁾ a dog bed and a migraine

⁹⁵⁾ lit billboards and a floor-length gown

⁹⁶⁾ a divebar negroni and a game of pool

⁹⁷⁾ olive trees at harvest time and divorce papers

⁹⁸⁾ a caviar bump and vanilla coke

⁹⁹⁾ a whale tail and pantsuit

¹⁰⁰⁾ legs thrown into a lap and calloused hands