#virtual blunt

[dangkst]

[short666bread]

2days journal (8/3/23)

[dragoncarrion]

they're so me idc

[gateway-2000]

im glad they called it tumblr blaze. posts so good you gotta roll em up and smoke em

[solid-six]

dream blunt rotation

[riddlerelddir]

need to be in a group chat with every hotline miami fan

[musingmycelium]

ok also mourning is also an Honest To Fault person i do not think this boy can lie to save his life and i think he would rather gut himself than try. im not sure Why exactly he feels so strongly about it (so many reasons on top of one another) but he really does. mourning values honesty and straighforward to the point talking and will be super blunt when hes not wisecracking. which. another interesting little contradictory this man is seemingly built like a maze

[yawnderu]

>Simon has a neet weirdo as a best friend Or Simon Riley lets his best friend see his naked body for art references.

This wasn't the way Simon was expecting to spend his PTO; naked in his best friend's bed with his hand covering his soft cock, hoping not to make you uncomfortable as you took notes of his body's reactions.

“Can you like... get hard?” He was trying his best not to get hard, going as far as to think about gross things he's seen throughout the years to distract himself from the feeling of your nails raking up and down his bare stomach, defined muscles tensing and bulging beneath your palm.

“'S not how it works.” He grumbled out, tired brown eyes looking away from you. Simon isn't embarrassed— not at all, he's simply not used to someone inspecting him the way you are, curious eyes fully focused on his body, taking in every single tattoo and scar, living proof of how many times he's kicked death's ass.

“Well, just think about... I don't know, tits.” He lets out a dry chuckle at the awkwardness in your tone, trying your best to keep it professional in the name of art. He looks down at you with pure amusement the moment he sees your hand drifting up, tracing the outline of his defined, muscular pecs.

You take a second to fully admire the view in front of you, absent-mindedly starting to play with his erect nipple, not registering the way his breath hitches. Simon looks like a gladiator— lightly tanned skin making his rippling muscles stand out greatly, becoming the virtual image of ancient Greek fantasies, a plethora of scars showing how often he crosses the edge of death.

“Gettin' a bit touchy there.” His playful tone doesn't save the mild embarrassment, about to let go of his nipple before his rough, calloused hand grasps your wrist, encouraging you to keep touching him.

“'S working.” Simon's other hand moves out of the way slightly, just barely enough for you to see his hardening cock, veins starting to become more prominent along his long, meaty shaft. He doesn't protest when you move his hand out of the way, getting a perfect look at him.

“That's... oddly interesting.” The awkwardness coming from you never fails to amuse him, only making his ego inflate by the second, even when you look down at your notebook to keep taking notes of his body's reactions.

“Does it feel weird to get a boner?” He thinks about it for a few seconds before shaking his head, holding back a laugh at the blunt questions. In the name of art, she says.

“Not weird, just... I don't know, bird.” The expectant look that you give him distracts him for a second, trying to think of a better way to explain it.

“Feels good. Bit tingly most of the time, and you can feel it... y'know, grow.” Explaining what getting a boner feels like isn't the weirdest thing he's done for you, half-lidded brown eyes focused on the way you simply nod and keep taking notes, using his words as inspiration for the erotic novels he knows you write.

The room is almost quiet for a few minutes, Simon's breathing becoming harder being the only sound, feeling your soft hands caressing every single inch of his skin, feeling him up more than he can take... and ultimately edging him without even being aware, stopping to take notes every once in a while.

“I can show you how a man jacks off, too. For the sake of art, yeah?”

[zvaigzdelasas]

[NewYorkTimes is Private US Media]

Over the past month, we’ve watched an astonishing, high-stakes global drama play out in The Hague. A group of countries from the poorer, less powerful bloc some call the global south, led by South Africa, dragged the government of Israel and, by extension, its rich, powerful allies into the top court of the Western rules-based order and accused Israel of prosecuting a brutal war in Gaza that is “genocidal in character.”

The responses to this presentation from the leading nations of that order were quick and blunt.

“Completely unjustified and wrong,” said a statement from Rishi Sunak, Britain’s prime minister.

“Meritless, counterproductive and completely without any basis in fact whatsoever,” said John Kirby, a spokesman for the United States National Security Council.

“The accusation has no basis in fact,” a German government spokesman said, adding that Germany opposed the “political instrumentalization” of the genocide statute.

But on Friday, that court had its say, issuing a sober and careful provisional ruling that doubled as a rebuke to those dismissals. In granting provisional measures, the court affirmed that some of South Africa’s allegations were plausible and called on Israel to take immediate steps to protect civilians, increase the amount of humanitarian aid and punish officials who engaged in violent and incendiary speech. The court stopped short of calling for a cease-fire, but it granted South Africa’s request for provisional measures to prevent further civilian death. For the most part, the court ruled in favor of the global south.[...]

The court was not asked to rule on whether Israel had in fact committed genocide, a matter that is likely to take years to adjudicate. Whatever the eventual outcome of the case, it sets up an epic battle over the meaning and values of the so-called rules-based order. If these rules don’t apply when powerful countries don’t want them to, are they rules at all?

“As long as those who make rules enforce them against others while believing that they and their allies are above those rules, the international governance system is in trouble,” Thuli Madonsela, one of South Africa’s leading legal minds and an architect of its post-apartheid Constitution, told me. “We say these rules are the rules when Russia invades Ukraine or when the Rohingya are being massacred by Myanmar, but if it’s now Israel butchering Palestinians, depriving them of food, displacing them en masse, then the rules don’t apply and whoever tries to apply the rules is antisemitic? It is really putting those rules in jeopardy.”[...]

The military campaign has “wreaked more destruction than the razing of Syria’s Aleppo between 2012 and 2016, Ukraine’s Mariupol or, proportionally, the Allied bombing of Germany in World War II,” the report quoted researchers as saying. The researchers, hardly some raving left-wing activists, are experts cited in one of the most respected news organizations in the world, The Associated Press.[...]

The International Court of Justice issued a nonbinding opinion in 2004 that the security barriers Israel was erecting in the West Bank violated international law, but that ruling has had no effect. The walls still stand.[...]

Indeed, what is a rules-based system if the rules apply only selectively and if seeking to apply them to certain countries is viewed as self-evidently prejudiced? To put it more simply, is there no venue in the international system to which the stateless people of Palestine and their allies and friends can go to seek redress amid the slaughter in Gaza? And if not, what are they to do?

For the cause of Palestinian statehood, every alternative to violence has been virtually snuffed out, in part because Israel’s allies have helped to discredit them. The most recent example is the boycott, divestment and sanctions movement that has, in many places, been successfully tarred as antisemitic or even banned altogether. Efforts to use the United Nations Security Council have drawn U.S. vetoes for decades. Is seeking redress at the appropriate venue for alleged violations of international law also antisemitic, as Israel’s defense minister said on Friday? Does no law apply to Israel? Are there no limits to what it may do to defend itself?[...]

The Biden administration has made the shoring up of the international rules-based order a centerpiece of its foreign policy but, unsurprisingly, has struggled to live up to that aspiration.[...]

Occasionally straying from your principles because circumstances require it is very different from being seen to have no principles at all, and that is precisely how much of the global south has come to regard the United States.

It seems especially shortsighted in these times that the Biden administration elected to wave away the carefully documented case prepared by South Africa. One of the biggest threats to the rules-based international order is the growing consensus in the poor world that the rich world will apply those rules selectively, at its discretion, when it suits the powerful nations that make up the global north, such as when Russia invaded Ukraine.[...]

As far as the rules-based order is concerned, when it comes to crimes like genocide and ethnic cleansing, it simply does not matter who started it. [...] The best way to shore up the rules-based order is to be seen, in word and deed, as committing to the institutions and moral commitments of that order.

28 Jan 24

[fooligandan]

depressed keanu smoking on balcony image as im talking to sis on texting getting the lowdown on family issues

[fayes-fics]

Vignette

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: An artist meet-cute in the park.

Warnings: none... this is the fluffiest of fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Authors Note: Anon request fill (see HERE) about Benedict and an artist having a meet-cute in the park. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy this, Nonny, and sorry it has taken so many months! <3

A wooden toy hoop whooshing inches from your knee interrupts your quiet refuge amid the flower gardens of Regents Park, breaking your intense concentration on your drawing and almost dropping your charcoal.

Seconds later, a pretty young girl of maybe eleven years old comes running after the errant object, her plaited hair bouncing, her blush pink dress swishing around her knees as she calls out an apology to you and retrieves the hoop from the nearby bush.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her face a picture of impish inquisition as she wanders back to your bench.

“I am drawing,” you smile benevolently; something about her mischievous spirit reminds you of your nieces.

“What are you drawing?” her grin somehow infectious.

“You see those roses there?” you point with your charcoal to a nearby white alba maxima rose bush, stems almost bowing under the weight of the heavily ruffled peach-tipped petals. “Those are in peak bloom, and I am attempting to capture them, their ephemeral beauty...”

“Are you any good?” 

You chuckle at her youthful bluntness, but just as you are tilting your work towards her, you are interrupted by a man rounding into this same quiet corner. 

“Hyacinth! Please refrain from injuring and bother…” his refined voice begins to chastise but suddenly grinds to a halt mid-sentence as soon as he catches sight of you.

But he is not the only one who has lost the power of speech. 

Something vaults hard in your stomach like you are plunging down an invisible chasm. He is handsome in a way you have never seen before in your twenty years on this earth: tall, with a strong jaw and a dandyish colourful outfit that fits him very well. 

There are a few moments where all you do is stare at each other, lips parted, before he appears to shake himself a fraction and bows his head in polite greeting.

“Where are my manners? I would like to apologise for my little sister almost causing you injury, Miss. The fault is entirely mine; I should not have let her play quite so spiritedly in a public park. I-I hope you are not injured?”

“N-Not at all; the hoop merely brushed my skirt. I am more than fine,” you assure hurriedly. “Mr….?”

“Bridgerton,” he offers, nodding to you in a more formal greeting.

You would know that name anywhere—one of the most esteemed families of the Ton. You instantly know he is not the Viscount, having seen him at society events, so you surmise this must be one of his younger brothers. Before you can offer your name, however, he speaks again. 

“You draw?” 

“Oh.. yes, yes… I-I do,” you stumble, a little taken aback by his question, even as you feel his sister’s gaze volleying between the two of you with a bemused expression.

“I draw too,” he explains, placing a hand over his sternum, the sunlight catching upon a signet ring on his little finger. 

“Oh…” you seem inordinately pleased to share such a hobby with this virtual stranger.

“I also know well that charcoal fingers are an occupational hazard..” he adds cordially as he catches you attempting to wipe the dark smears upon your hands with a rag. “May I see your work? If it is not too impudent of me to ask,” he adds modestly.

“I-I am not very good…” you fret, looking down at the partial image you see on your sketch pad. “Tis merely a pastime I use to escape…”

“Believe me, Miss…?”

“Y/l/n.”

“Believe me, Miss y/l/n, it is very much the case for me too - being that I am one of eight. Including such trouble-makers as this one,” he rolls his eyes affectionately as he signals to Hyacinth, who seems to be rapidly losing interest, distractedly spinning the hoop she holds. “Escaping is almost a full-time hobby for me…” 

You cannot help but giggle at his droll humour, and he seems delighted, his face lighting up as you hide a mild blush behind the back of your hand.

“May I?” his ask is so soft you cannot do anything but acquiesce.

“‘Tis just a small vignette…” you excuse meekly as you hand over your sketchpad, suddenly so nervous to hear his opinion. You have never shared your drawings with anyone before, but something about his affable demeanour makes you bold enough to do so.

He is quiet for some time. It feels like an age, even though it is likely only a matter of seconds, but still long enough that butterflies start to roil in your stomach.

“I did say it is just a hobby…” you titter nervously, looking away.

“It is beautiful…” he exhales quietly, tone filled with admiration as your eyes ping back to him.

Your heart flutters as he extols the virtues of your work, effusively admiring your use of shading to capture shadows and the lines you have used to denote the multitudinous layers of petals, his gracious hand gesturing over the picture as he speaks.

“You flatter me entirely too much, Mr Bridgerton…” you demure, even as you feel yourself blooming under his praise, just like the flower you have painstakingly attempted to capture. A warmth in your chest that seems to radiate out to glow all over.

“I assure you I do not,” he smiles, handing you back your sketch pad.

“Benedict,” Hyacinth whines, stamping her little boot on the grass, “you said we would play…”

“I do not wish to interrupt your family time,” you placate, pleased you have learned his first name.

“Hyacinth, I am sure Eloise said something about sandwiches; you want lunch, do you not?” Benedict responds, raising a pointed brow.

“Well, yes, but…”

“Run along then,” he pulls an exasperated face at her that again has you giggling, making a shooing gesture with his hands.

She sighs but departs with a dramatic flounce.

“Sadly, I must also depart; a family picnic indeed awaits. But if I may be so bold, I would very much like for us to meet again. If you would be amendable? With a chaperone, of course,” he adds hurriedly, keen to be gentlemanly. “I think perhaps we would have much to speak of… around art. And perhaps we could… draw together? Here?”

His proposal, so sweet and straightforward, has you rendered speechless again, heart leaping at the very thought.

“I…I would like that very much,” your honest confession out of your mouth before you can swallow it.

“As would I,” his response instant, his face beaming. “Would you be here, perchance, Thursday afternoon around this same time?”

“I would…” The hitch of excitement in your own voice unmistakable.

“Excellent!” his hazy blue eyes seem to dance in the sunlight as he respectfully tilts his head again. “I am so looking forward to it, Miss y/l/n…” are his parting words before he takes his leave.

“As am I, Mr Bridgerton…” you murmur belatedly, the words shared only with the fragrant roses surrounding you, swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.

Your stare lingers where he stood long after he has left, an excited buzz over your skin at the thought you have met a kindred, artistic spirit. And one so very handsome, too.

Join my taglist HERE

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @hanji-emo-blog @Huffelpuffforlife @0x1harmonia0x1 @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Obedience Training.

Pairing: Yandere!Illumi x Reader (HxH).

Commissioned by the very lovely @h2o2-and-baking-soda.

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Pet Play, Dehumanization, and Controlling Behavior.

The ring was beyond repair.

It was the ugly kind of damage, too – the gold chipped and dented, some parts entirely flattened while others had scratched and tarnished to the point of virtual unrecognizability. The jewel itself (a diamond the color of the sky just before sunrise and the size of the nail on your pointer finger) had been pried out of its casing and polished with the blunt side of the hammer you’d pilfered from collection of one of the more forgetful servants. Any fragments that might’ve been worth salvaging were then washed down the sink of your en suite, and the near-microscopic remnants glistened against the table’s dark mahogany – twinkling whenever they caught the ample sunlight.

It'd been his mother’s ring; albeit, one of countless. Breaking it in such an obviously deliberate way had been a stupid thing to do, and a part of you must’ve known that while you were doing it. A part of you must’ve basked in the idiotic rage of it all, must’ve been dying to see what Illumi would be like when he couldn’t hide behind those big, blank eyes and that unreadable expression. As hazy as it seemed, you could remember being excited to see how Illumi would react, what he thought he could do to you that he hadn’t already put you through.

Now, though, standing next to him as he evaluated the damage, watching as those dark, glossy eyes skirted from the splintered wood to the decimated ring to the sparkling residue…

You weren’t excited, anymore.

Several seconds passed in silent paralysis. Images of braided rope and rusted chains and broken legs flashed through your subconscious, but he managed to draw you out of your spiraling thoughts with a low hum, a startling click of his tongue. Finally, he turned toward you and raised a hand, and you braced yourself for the feeling his fist around your neck, two fingers piercing the fragile bone of your skull, his pointed nails clawing out your eyes and leaving you to ble—

His palm came to rest on top of your head, petting over your hair gently. “Sweetheart,” he muttered with a tone as warm and as affectionate as a corpse in a snowstorm. “Would you come with me?”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. You nodded, the gesture stilted and jerky, and Illumi offered an approving smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, letting his hand fall to your wrist. He pressed a lingering kiss into the top of your head before tugging you gently towards the door.

Neither of you spoke as he guided you through the halls of his mansion. Usually, you could count on running into one of the sociopaths that made up his family or a member of their bloodthirsty staff whenever you left your room, but today, his sprawling home seemed to be vacant, lifeless, as empty as the killers who dwelled inside of it. Steadily, you moved downward, the marble walls turning to rough stone, the filtered sunlight soon traded out for the artificial glow of dim gas lamps. He didn’t drag his feet or try to prolong your walk to the gallows, but he didn’t rush, either, didn’t seem to be in any rush to carry out your inevitably punishment. Eventually, he came to a stop in front of a simple wooden door – unremarkable in every aspect save for the deep well of dread it managed to dredge up inside of you.

With little ceremony, the door was pushed open and you were ushered inside of ahead of him. Your attention quickly fell onto the object most immediately in front of you: a dog crate.

It was almost shockingly mundane; not overly massive, but big enough for a large pitbull or golden retriever, the bars thin but close together and the bottom cushioned by a small bed with pink and white paw prints splattered across it. A handful of miscellaneous items had been laid on top of it. Your attention caught on the collar, first, the cutesy type with a bell and fake (or, knowing Illumi, very real) gemstones studded into the leather and a matching leash, and then headband with what couldn’t be—

Illumi moved past you, approaching the crate and taking up the undeniably, indisputably dog-eared headband. He turned it over in his hands once, then twice, before speaking. “Strip.”

It sounded like gibberish; partially muffled by the static buzzing over your conscious mind and made even more difficult to process by your own unwillingness to do so. “What?”

“Strip,” he repeated. “Or I’ll break every bone in your right hand.”

It was the specificity of the threat (paired with the implication that your left wouldn’t be long to follow) that had your shaking hands reaching for the hem of your shirt and hauling it over your head. You looked towards him for approval after every shed article, but he only seemed to notice your obedience at all when you stood bare and vulnerable in front of him, completely unprotected from both his prying gaze and the chill of the damp dungeon air. You started to move towards him, but he stopped you with a quick shake of his head, a new softness to his expression. “Kneel.”

With a shallow breath, you complied, lowering yourself onto your knees. Now, now, he took his time, his terrible eyes raking over your trembling form as he came to stand in front of you. The collar was fastened around your neck deftly, the leash allowed to hang loose and pool in your lap. He was more careful with the headband – meticulously lining it up with your ears, your face before sliding it into place with a satisfied hum. In a very distant, very muted way, you found that you were surprised less that your hitman-turned-kidnapper would have a pet play lair hidden away in some dark corner of his basement, and more that the aforementioned kidnapper would use that pet play lair to dress you up as a dog, rather than a cat. Illumi was as cat-like as a man could be – silent and skulking, prone to digging his claws into what he loved most – but the more you thought about it, the more sense it made. Cats were smart and sly and perfectly capable of surviving on their own, whereas dogs were stupid and clumsy and almost painfully reliant on their owners. People get cats because they want something that can choose to love them back. People get dogs because they want something that doesn’t have another choice.

“I--Illumi,” you managed, his name still awkward and bitter on your tongue. “I… I’m really sorry, and I’ve learned my lesson, and—”

One second, you were staring at his feet, and the next, your head was snapped to the side, a searing pain stitched deeply into your cheek. His open palm slipped downward, cupping your chin and tilting your head back, forcing you to face him properly. “Good pets don’t talk.” His tone was shockingly sweet, coercive, as if he was trying to explain something very simple to a very stupid child. “Good pets only follow commands. Can you do that for me, puppy?”

Tears were starting to gather in the corners of your eyes, a tight knot lodging itself at the base of your throat, but you did your best to keep both at bay. You started to nod, then thought better of it, straightening your back and squaring your shoulders, trying to communicate the only thing you could seem to think – please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me – without giving him a reason to land another blow. In the end, he rewarded you with the ghost of a smile, his free hand held in front of your mouth. “Good puppy. Now lick.”

You hesitated, but the steady ache pounding in your cheek was enough to make you swallow your pride. Your tongue darted out from between trembling lips, and with no small amount of trepidation, you lapped over the back of his closed fist. He let you begin to pull away before moving – before forcing two fingers into your open mouth and pressing the pads of his digits into the back of your throat. You gagged, your body instinctually recoiling, but he didn’t relent, his thumb digging into your jaw as he held you in place. Your hands shot to his thighs, the tears you’d forced back resurfacing and flooding down your cheeks, but he didn’t budge, didn’t pull away until you were gasping and breathless and utterly humiliated. Finally, he drew back, wiping his spit-soaked digits on your shoulder as his eyes moved from your open mouth to your hands, still balled around the fabric of his pants. “I have something upstairs for those,” he said, voice dripping with all the warmth and affection he usually denied you. “I’ll forgive you this time, puppy, but good pets shouldn’t be able to grab.”

He reached down, taking you by the leash. You were too detached to resist as he half-led, half-dragged you towards the crate. This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from shaking your head, from stammering out little ‘no, no, no’s as his fist curled around your collar and forced you past the metal gate and into the confined space, suddenly so much smaller than it’d seemed from the outside. You had just enough time to scramble for the door before Illumi slammed it shut, letting the clasp fall into place and leaving you withering inside the makeshift cage. You couldn’t stop yourself – hands curling around the bars as you looked toward him with your most pleading expression, but Illumi only shook his head. “You don’t have to sulk. Maybe, with some time, we’ll be able to move your bed somewhere warmer.”

He paused, his grin widening into the first real smile you’d ever earned from him.

“After you’ve proved you can be a good dog, of course.”

[kingwizurd]

Yo i just realized I’ve been on tumblr 10 year lol

To all the people whom follow me I fuck with you heavy!

[murdrdocs]

INTERVIEW 007

with. ethan landry

includes. munch!ethan, fem!reader, dom!reader, slight breath play, suffocation via cunt [evil grin]

→ kinktober masterlist

He does it on purpose. 

You’re sure of it as you chew on the end of your pencil, trying to look interested in whatever nonsense Ethan is surely wasting your time with at the moment. It’s not like you’re trying to be mean, he actually spews nonsense, at least in your perspective. 

Nothing he has to tell you can be as important as the work you’ve been attempting to finish for the last hour. Having helped you at first, Ethan was now virtually useless. Indisposable. He stopped explaining your work to you when you’d ran down your second eraser at the top of your pencil and reached for the larger one he kept in his bag, which required you to brush against his thigh to reach over him. 

You knew that the slight touch is what has him fidgeting so much, leg bouncing as his mouth runs a mile a minute, spewing out rants about the new game he’s been playing. And you’re sure you would find it charming and a little interesting if you weren’t completely frustrated out of your mind. 

Maybe if you weren’t hunched over your desk, suffering from nearly chronic pain in your shoulders and back, eyes strained from looking from your screen to your page over and over again, you would’ve smiled and giggled and kissed him stupid as he attempted to talk around your lips. 

But at this moment, you need to shut him up. 

So you do it in the best way you know how. 

Your shorts slid off, your panties pushed to the side, and Ethan on his knees before you, his nose and mouth stuffed up to your cunt. 

It’s the best form of relaxation you could possibly get; Your nails digging into Ethan’s curls, red standing out prettily against true brown. His equally as brown eyes peer up at you, lashes fanning out around them, kissing underneath his eyes as he blinks. He watches you for your reactions, seeing if you want him to lick around your clit or fuck you with his tongue. 

You want it all, moans high pitched and frequent, gasps and breaths slipping from your spit slickened lips. 

Your feet are propped up against your desk, your legs completely open to accommodate Ethan’s wide shoulders. His arms are snakes around your thighs, large hands squeezing the flesh, blunt fingernails digging into your skin. It’s a nice sting, something to add to the warm and wet feeling of Ethan’s tongue lapping up whatever he can, his own saliva adding to the mess of juices that gather on your cunt. 

Like the good boy he is, he does his best to please you. Knowing that this is your form of payback towards him, that this is you politely asking him to stop talking so much, and put his mouth to proper use. 

You grind against him, fist tightening in his hair as you start to get yourself off. Your eyes are squeezed shut, head thrown back, moans unabashedly spilling from your mouth, but it’s not until you lower your head and open your eyes that you notice the tears in Ethan’s eyes. The way his eyebrows are pushed together as if he’s upset, disappointed, maybe a little embarrassed. 

You can’t help but coo, grip on his locks loosening to gently cup the side of his face. 

“What’s wrong?” Your head tilts. You pout, a cocky grin brewing behind it. “You don’t think you’re doing a good job?” You know that’s it, Ethan a little too preoccupied with using his tongue against you with more ferocity, eager to prove himself. Which, he is, you’re attempting to hide the effect his new fervor has on you by planting your teeth onto your bottom lip. 

You consider degrading him, shading how he’s making you feel with taunts designed to encourage him to make you cum harder. Quicker. 

But it’s too late, he’s dug his tongue as deep as he can reach it into your entrance, using the deft muscle to reach for the spots that he knows gets you the most. His nose bumps your clit, the added stimulation drops your feet from the table to his back, your legs closing around his head as he sends you over the edge. 

He doesn’t protest, even as his air flow gets cut off. Instead, he takes it in stride, using all of his energy to lead you through the haze, to let you sit in your orgasm and then gently bring you out of it.

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Imagines: Nonsense*

————————————————————————-

Summary: A coupon book you give Joe for Christmas as a joke turns into you doing something completely out of your comfort zone.

Warnings: Smut

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine universe: Everlasting Love

————————————————————————-

December 29, 2023

(y/n’s pov)

Sitting in bed, bored.

Seems like all I've been doing since I got back to Athens.

I missed Joe with every fiber of my being. I would give so much just to be able to reach out and touch his soft skin, his blonde locks, and feel the warmth his body emitted.

It was later in the night, ten o'clock.

Joe was probably asleep already, but he hadn't texted me yet saying goodnight.

Maybe he just got busy, I thought.

My thoughts started wandering. I was getting nervous about why Joe hadn't texted me all evening.

Almost as if he could read my mind before I got too worried, Joe texted me.

Hey, baby. You're prob asleep but I'm sorry I'm just getting to you now. I was over at Sam’s and my phone died. He was being a dick and wouldn't let me use his charger for some reason.

Anyways, goodnight, I love you.

I laughed slightly at his text, able to picture Sam arguing with Joe because he didn't want him using his charger.

I'm awake actually. Sam’s stupid btw, and I love you too.

Watching the bubbles pop up quickly, it was just a few seconds later when Joe texted back.

Since you're awake, wanna ft?

Sure!

Seconds later Joe’s name showed up on my screen and I immediately accepted the call.

I was met with Joe’s smiling face when the call connected. He was lying in bed shirtless, curls slightly wet while leaning against the headboard.

“Hi, baby.” - Joe grinned

Immediately, I recognized how deep his voice was. His voice generally dropped an octave when he was tired or aroused, and right now, I had a feeling it could be both.

“Hi, Joey. What are you up to?” - you

“Lying here in bed, thinking about you and how much I want you in this bed.” - Joe

After giggling at his admission, Joe continued.

“I was just thinking about your week here, and then I started thinking about sex… and that coupon book you gave me.” - Joe groaned

“You are insatiable, Joe.” - you giggled

“Fuck… I want you so bad right now.” - Joe

“Well, you're two hours away.” - you

“I swear, I'm always the horniest when you're away. It's like my dick’s betraying me.” - Joe

I absolutely snorted, laughing at his confession.

“I’m sorry it's like that and that I can't do anything to help you, baby.” - you

“Not your fault. I just can't stop thinking about you… and being inside of you.” - Joe

“If it makes you feel any better… I think about you all the time. Wish I could suck you off through Facetime.” - you giggled

“Shit, don't say that.” - Joe

“Why not?” - you grinned

“I’m getting super fucking hard right now. I'm just trynna wait for my hard-on to go away, but that's not possible if you keep saying things that make my dick twitch.” - Joe

“Boy, you're feeling very blunt tonight.” - you laughed

“Sorry… I know I get whiney when I'm horny. If I get too annoying just hang up.” - Joe

“You’re not being annoying. Not wrong about the whiney part, though. Like I said, if I could help you I would.” - you

Joe sat for a second, looking like he was deep in thought.

Out of nowhere, he got that ‘lightbulb!’ Look on his face and sat up on the bed with a grin.

“What if there was a way you could?” - Joe

“What are you saying?” - you

“Can I cash in a coupon virtually?” - Joe

I thought for a second. I mean, I didn't want to make him wait to use them just when I was in Cincinnati.

“Yeah, I guess.” - you

“Fuck yeah!” - Joe

Giggling at Joe as he fist-punched the air and did a little dance, I waited to see which one he wanted to use.

“Remember you can only use one a day.” - you

“Oh, I know. I only need one.” - Joe

“Which one do you want to cash in, baby?” - you

Joe flicked through the little booklet, trying to find the one he wanted.

“Ooo! I quote… extra sexy lap dance.” - Joe

I gave him a “what?” look but he only grinned devilishly. His tongue poked out as he bit down on it.

“Joe, how am I gonna give you a lap dance when you're two hours away?” - you laughed

“Just do it right here, on call.” - Joe

A few seconds of silence passed, his cheeky smile oddly convincing.

“Okay.” - you

“Yes!” - Joe yelled

“I’ll be right back, I have to change and grab my speaker.” - you

——

I turned my camera back on once everything was set up. I already had a routine planned for a song and everything, but doing this over the phone would be so different.

Having to essentially dance and grind on my bed, pretending it was Joe.

“You ready?” - you

“So fucking ready.” - Joe

Pressing play on Nonsense by Sabrina Carpenter, I immediately started moving my hips in the most sensual way possible.

Just pretend you're in a club, performing for Joe.

Hearing Joe make a strangled noise gave me more confidence, he's enjoying this.

A few seconds later, I straddled the bed and started paying attention to the phone.

“Can I touch myself? Please?” - Joe

“Go ahead.” - you purred

Joe slid his hand down his pants and immediately wrapped it around his hard length.

“Fuck.” - Joe grunted

He was trying to match the movement of my hips with the slow pumps of his hand.

I could tell he was conflicted between closing his eyes or not. With his eyes closed, he could easily pretend it was my hand jerking him off, but he wanted to watch me.

A minute in, a third of the way through the song, Joe was moaning loudly.

“You… are so… goddam pretty.” - Joe groaned

Just a few seconds later, Joe abruptly pulled his hand out of his pants, and I heard the waistband snap against his stomach.

“I have to stop, I can’t cum yet…” - Joe breathed heavily

I stopped moving around, but Joe didn't like that one bit.

“Not you! Keep going, baby!” - Joe

Moments passed as I watched Joe bite on his lower lip, slowly rubbing over his bulge with his palm.

“Joe, there's a minute left of the song. You might wanna start back up.” - you

So he did. Joe immediately moved his hand back down his pants and pumped his cock faster than before.

“Good Girl, baby.” - Joe moaned

Joe’s head fell back as his chest started heaving, sweat dancing over his bare torso.

“Fuck! I'm gonna cum!” - Joe

“Joe, please take your shorts off. I wanna watch you.” - you

He immediately did my bidding.

I watched Joe lift his hips and pull his shorts down with one hand, never once letting go of his erection.

Joe grabbed his phone and brought it closer to his cock to give me a better view of one of my favorite parts of him.

“See what… you fucking- do to me?” - Joe

He was right. The entire shaft was beet red as his tip was wet from the precum constantly leaking out.

I watched his cock throb one last time before a loud moan left Joe’s lips, and he shot his load onto his hand and stomach.

“Shit…” - Joe hissed

Joe dropped his phone face down onto the bed, his screen was pitch black but I could still hear soft whimpers in his breath.

Pausing my music and getting under the covers of my bed, I got comfortable before checking on Joe.

“You okay, Joey?” - you

“Mhm. I'm just cleanin’ up.” - Joe

“Okay.” - you hummed

A minute later, Joe crawled into bed and picked up his phone.

One thing I loved about Joe was his post-orgasm expression. He always had this delirious smile with tired, hooded eyes.

“You want me to dance while you get off?” - Joe

“Babe, I love you, but I don't think head bobbing and the airplane is gonna help me out much in that department.” - you laughed

“What about my get the gat dance?” - Joe

I snorted when Joe formed a gun with his hand and did a little move with it.

“If you have the cigar, then yes.” - you giggled

Joe went to say something but when he opened his mouth the only thing that came out was a yawn.

“Noted.” - Joe finally said when his yawn was over

We just sat there for a moment, staring at each other with smiles on our faces.

“You seem pretty tired, baby.” - you

“After that orgasm? Yes. I don't think I've ever come that hard from jerking off.” - Joe

“It’s my effect on you, huh?” - you joked

“For real.” - Joe yawned again

“Goodnig-” - you

“Wait… can we just stay on FaceTime? I wanna fall asleep with you.” - Joe

“Of course.” - you

Butterflies erupted in my stomach as Joe placed his phone on the pillow next to his, the one I was sleeping on last week.

“Goodnight, y/n. I love you.” - Joe

“Goodnight, Joe. I love you too.” - you

A few minutes passed by and I heard his light snores through my phone speaker, causing me to smile.

I thought about hanging up, but instead plugged my phone in on my nightstand.

Though I wouldn't physically be falling asleep next to Joe, I knew he was with me.

And with him is where I wanted to always be.

————————————————————————-

Authors note: I was super hyped to write this idk why 💀

Request for this fic; I kinda tweaked it but it's still generally the same idea!

Hope you enjoyed! 💕

[manfuckthisimout]

This look RAHHHHHH

Your relationship with your boss was an odd one. It was obvious to everyone in the precinct that you and the detective were more than just boss and secretary. But you would never admit that, and August D had a weird way of showing his fondness. It was the same way every workday—come in at 6:30, find the detective already at his desk, make him coffee, start the day. He would fuss and scold you for little things, make excuses to stay at your desk and talk to you.

You two kind of danced around each other, an unspoken possessive from the detective, and you playing coy until he finally fesses up that he likes you.

He storms out of his office while you’re scheduling his next meeting.

“Didn’t I tell you not to mix up these documents?” he says, holding up a manila file folder. He looks quite frustrated, cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth, suit jacket off and sleeves rolled past his forearms.

Yelling at you like this does virtually nothing in his favor—if anything it just makes you rub your thighs together. “I’m sorry sir,” you smooth out, batting your eyelashes up at him. “I thought your desk needed some tidying, and you were out in a case so..” He gives you a pointed look. “That doesn’t give you a reason to touch anything in my office. If I want you to tidy anything of mine, I’ll ask you to.” You nod, turning your attention back to the computer screen in front of you.

“Did you schedule my meeting with Captain Jung?” He asks, leaning over the front of your desk. You can feel him staring into your forehead, almost trying to make you squirm in your seat. “Of course sir, I just finished. Your meeting is for 4:30 today.” “Good.” He gives you one last long look over before pushing off your desk and walking back into his office.

You look up from your computer, staring at the deep mahogany that separates you and your boss. “Y’know, we have a running bet pool on which of you is gonna confess first.” Your coworker, Su-min slides over to your desk and props her hand under her chin. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing going on between me and him,” you sigh. “Sure. Tell it to the rest of us.” She chides back. “Don’t you have a case to be doing right now? That missing girl right? How long has it been?” “About a week or so. I really hope we can find her alive, but it’s starting to look grim.” She grimaces. “I hope you end up finding her either way—“

“Y/N! My office, now!”

Suddenly his door was cracked, and you could see him walking back to his desk, waiting for you.

You turn to Su-min and grimace. “Duty calls. Tell me about the case after I get done with this.” She grins at you. “Don’t start fooling around in there, keep it PG!” You roll your eyes, standing from your desk and walking into the detective’s office.

“You called for me detective?” You answer sweetly. “Sit. I have something to talk to you about.” You sit in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, feeling his eyes on you the whole time. He gets up and rounds the front of his desk, leaning against it to look at you better. “We’ve known each other for quite sometime now,” he starts, arms folded and head down. He smirks. “You and I both know that I’ve been dancing around you these past years-“ “Is that what you call it sir?” He pauses. “Excuse me?” “Is that what you call it, this situation I mean. I was very aware of your feelings about me from the day we met sir. The whole precinct knows how you act around me.” “..I’ve been that bad at hiding it then?” “Pretty much.”

He sighs. “I know I haven’t been…vocal..about my feelings for you. I’d like to fix that. Do you want to go to lunch with me sometime?” You smile at his bluntness. He’s always been bad with words like this, saving his poetical vocabulary for high-stress situations with criminals. “What’s so funny?” He asks, brow raised, smile on his face. “You are. You’re so bad with words sir..” You giggle. He leans down, gripping either side of the arms on the chair. He’s so close to you now, noses almost touching. “I am, hm? And that’s funny?” You nod. He chuckles. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” “Lunch right? What time?” “Lunch time.” You grimace. “Well, I assumed that much. 12 or 1?” “12:30.” “12:30 it is. I’ll mark it on your personal calendar.”

He lifts himself from his position, rounding his desk again and sitting in his chair. He stares at you longingly. “I’d suggest you get back out there. Wouldn’t want to keep the office waiting on who won that bet.” You chuckle. “Yes sir.”

Second fic rawr

This came to me in a feverish daydream

Also because of boredom

Hope you like!!