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True Detective themed faux sticker set commission for @snaillesnaille. Thank you so much for commissioning and for the opportunity to do some fanart from a show I loved!

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simon :P

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Like to charge reblog to cast

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striking resemblance

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there's nothing more freeing for Ghost than knowing he might never have sex with you. holding your face between his hands and kissing you without an agenda, without a reason for it, sometimes soft and gentle, sometimes hard and desperate. he likes picking you out of his teeth, likes the popcorn kernels of affection that rot down to the root leaving cavities he won't find until he's deployed and they start to ache.

he could put a ring on your finger without ever feeling your cunt wrap around him, and it isnt something so respectable as the religious fanaticism that soap has, its more akin to a whale fall. the soft critters sucking pollution out of the dead tissue, the saltwater purging contamination from the blood, food and homes found in his ribs, bones repurposed into something bigger than him.

"biblically" thats how he'd heard it described once, knowing someone biblically. but what does he need a book for? he knows the whorl of your fingerprints, the veins of your eyes, the bpm of your heart —his fingers pressed tight against your wrist counting softly in the dark, one, two, three— so what could be closer, deeper? he doesn’t want it to just be sex, he doesn’t want to end the dance, he doesn’t want to be human with you, because he has erred so much, so deeply, he is so deeply human

and he doesn’t want to have sex,

and you don't make him,

and he doesn't have to wonder why.

it's because you love him too

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Your Johnny birthday smut is served >:)

Warnings: SMUT, obviously. Johnny and reader are parents, but it’s not the main focus. Breastfeeding/lactation kink. Handjob. Unprotected PIV, creampie. MDNI.

Main Masterlist

“And, uh- happy birthday again, mate. We’ll see ya tomorrow,” Price claps Johnny on the shoulder and shoots him a friendly grin, dismissing him from the office.

Johnny sucks in a deep breath, pulling off his gloves and tucking them into his bag. They’re covered in sand and blood from the latest op a couple of weeks ago and he still hasn’t gotten a chance to wash them yet. He knows that if you see them, you’ll fuss over him and try to wash them yourself, and he refuses to let you do that. His work clothes are tainted. Everything that sees destruction is his own responsibility, and he makes sure you know that. The last thing he needs is his perfect lass worrying her pretty little head off any more.

It’s been a long day. Perhaps the most boring of birthdays since his eighteenth, when he was finally enlisted into the military with no way to contact his family. He’s never been more eager to get home to you and your precious new addition to the MacTavishes. Johnny had always dreamed of being a husband and father but never thought he deserved something so sweet. With the amount of lives he’s taken, he was convinced that his punishment from God would be a lack of what he truly desired—a family of his own. Then he met you, who showed him that he is more than his bloodlust and sins, someone worthy of love and peace.

The drive home is as dull as usual, but the moment he turns into the driveway, Johnny is practically shaking with excitement. The scowl he’d adorned all day is quickly replaced in favor of that charming smile he knows you adore. He quickly unlocks the door and steps inside, immediately kicking off his boots and allowing his duffel bag to fall to the floor. Usually, you’d be right there to greet him, but you’re not. He sucks his teeth nervously despite knowing there’s more than likely a reason you aren’t here.

“Bon’? Where are ye?” Calls Johnny, scanning the house diligently.

It doesn’t take long for him to find you, and once he does, he allows himself to breathe. You’re in the kitchen busying yourself by making something that requires you to whisk vigorously, which explains why you didn’t hear him come in. That, and the fact that aside from a pair of panties, you are stark fucking naked. Your husband leans against the doorframe with an amused grin and a racing heart.

“There ye are,” he coos, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Fuck! Scared the shit outta me, Tav,” you giggle, holding the handle of the saucepan a bit tighter. “I didn’t realize what time it was.”

“Nae worries, bunny. More concerned about… eh, the state o’ye?”

“Hm?” You question, looking down and realizing what he’s talking about. “Oh! Yeah, baby girl’s been clusterfeeding today and I got sick of having to lift my shirt, so I just took it off altogether.”

“Mm, ye willnae catch me complainin’, lass,” chuckles Johnny as he slowly approaches you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “Where is the wee one?”

“Napping,” you reply, goosebumps rising along the skin of your neck where his beard brushes against you. “She’s been so restless today, I nearly cried when she finally went in her bassinet.”

“Are ye no' tired?” He questions, breaking the embrace and turning you to face him. “Why’re ye cookin’?”

“Because it’s your birthday and I want to,” you shrug. “Besides, I’m not cooking! I’m baking. I called your mom and asked what you might like since you said you didn’t want a cake this year, and she told me that every year for your birthday when you were little, she’d make you a batch of millionare shortbread. I was hoping to surprise you with it when you got home, but I, er- I obviously got a late start.”

Johnny stares at you with a dopey smile on his face—if this was a cartoon, his eyes would be giant hearts. He cups your face in his hands and plants a kiss right on your lips, then your nose and chin and forehead and anywhere else he can reach. Your giggles only fuel him on, and he lifts you into his arms, strong hands cupping your ass as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Cannae believe ye called Ma,” he breathes, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Ah’m sure she talked yer ear off.”

“Always,” you confirm kindly, yelping when he pinches your butt. “But I love it. I know where you get your yapping from.”

“Cheeky,” he playfully rolls his eyes. “Och, lemme help ye w’the shortbread. Wha’ d’ye need me t’do?”

“Just relax and look like your sexy self,” you kiss him on the chin before patting his shoulders, silently asking him to set you back on your feet. “I’m doing it by myself.”

“But ye-”

“If you stop talking right now, I’ll let you suck on my titties later.”

Johnny contemplates for a moment, then smiles giddily.

“Aye? Our wee gal doesnae need ‘em?”

“I pumped plenty earlier, so she can take a bottle when she gets hungry again,” you hum.

“Marry me.”

“Too late,” you wink, flashing your wedding ring at him.

Your husband laughs and kisses you deeply one last time, giving your ass a smack before trudging up the stairs to take a shower. You finish up the caramel and pour it onto the batch of shortbread, making sure the layer is even before popping it in the fridge to cool. With the baby napping and nothing else to do, you decide to head upstairs and join Johnny. Instead of finding him in the shower, he’s heading into the bedroom at the same time as you, towel hung low around his hips. You forget how quickly he’s been trained to wash up.

“So, when ye said ‘later,’ did ye mean…” he stalks closer to you, putting his hands on your waist and squeezing gently.

“Mhm,” you bite your lip, hooking your fingers into his towel and pulling to let the fabric drop on the floor.

“Och, ye devil,” he teases, grabbing a handful of each of your breasts.

“C’mere,” you murmur, getting yourself situated on the bed—back against the headboard, one leg lifted so that Johnny can recline against you.

Obediently he follows, allowing you to guide him into the position you want. You place a pillow beneath his head so that he’s propped up enough to mouth at your pretty tits. You trail one hand along his body, toying with his nipples until he’s fully erect, then cup him in your soft palm. Johnny has always leaked precum like a faucet so you run your palm along his cockhead, wrapping your hand around the base to get him nice and slick. Your free hand cups the back of his head, pulling up as you lean forward.

“C’mon, baby, you can suck ‘em,” you encourage softly, slowly pumping his cock as he dazedly blinks up at you through long, dark lashes.

Johnny’s hand fondles the breast his mouth isn’t occupying, the other wrapped around your back. His fingertips dig into your supple skin for dear life when he suckles hard enough to taste the sweet milk that coats his tongue. You quicken your hand’s movements along his dick and smile with amusement as he bucks his hips desperately.

“Ye taste so fuckin’ sweet,” your man groans through a mouthful of your titty, not daring to pull away for a second.

“Yeah? Is it good?” You muse, giggling at the frantic nod he gifts you with.

“So good, bonnie,” he whines, pulling away from your nipple to move onto the other.

His tongue swirls along the peak of your breast and it makes you moan softly. He’s twitching in your hand and when you dig a thumb into the center of his scrotum, you feel them tense. He’s close, but you’re not done with him yet. You swiftly pull your hand away from his cock and yank his head back, his lips coming off of your nipple with an audible pop.

“N-no, ah was so close- why did ye-?”

You interrupt his whining with a hot, open-mouthed kiss, grabbing his hand and guiding it to the hem of your panties. Even in his milk-drunk state he knows what that little gesture means, and he practically rips the flimsy fabric off of your body. You push his shoulders down until he’s completely flat on his back, then line his dick up with your entrance. You’re already so fucking wet that he slides in with little resistance, the stretch only making you falter for a moment. Once you’re adjusted, you rest your palms on his chest, lifting your body up before plopping it back down again.

“Fuck, ye’re so bloody hot,” Johnny laughs breathlessly.

Cerulean eyes train themselves on the fat of your tummy. He gropes there fondly and watches with pure awe as your movements make you jiggle. You’ve learned not to be insecure about his obsession with your softness, instead focusing on flexing your hips and thighs to properly bounce on his cock. He looks so pretty beneath you, sweat beginning to bead at his hairline and tan skin reddening both from arousal and the heat you’re bringing him.

“Can you- can you play with my clit a little?” You ask through gritted teeth, chest heaving with effort.

“Och, bunny, stop pushin’ yerself,” he tuts, big hands stalling the movement of your hips. “Jus’ ‘cause it’s me birthday doesn’t mean ah cannae put a bit o’work in.”

“Johnny, no-” you begin, but he interrupts your protest by lifting you off of him and throwing you onto your back.

Your husband grabs your ankles and rests your calves on his shoulders, gently dragging his cock through your warm folds. He wastes no more time once his tip notches along your entrance, pushing back inside of you with a short, harsh thrust. You gasp sharply, clawing at his burly arms as he pummels into you reverently.

“Ye feel- ye feel f-fuckin’ amazin’ under me,” he stammers, fingertips dragging down your legs until they bury themselves in your plush thighs. “Made tae take this fat fuckin’ cock, weren’t ye, baby?”

“Yeah,” you whine, going crosseyed as he adjusts his hips, now knocking against your sweet spot with every single thrust. “Fuck, Johnny, right there!”

“Righ’ there,” he repeats dutifully. “Keep yer leg on me shoulder, aye?”

Before you can ask why, he removes his hand from your thigh and lifts it to his lips, spitting a glob of saliva onto his two middle fingers and bringing them down to your clit. He knows just how to work your body and he makes you look right into his eyes as he does it perfectly.

“Ye gonna cum fer me, bonnie?” Pants Johnny, hissing when he feels your walls clamp around him. “Fuckin’ righ’ ye are. Go on, then. Make a mess o’me. Cum on this cock, bunny, s’all yers.”

“Johnny!” You sob out his name, back arching deliciously as he fucks you through your high.

You’re shaking before you even come down, and your husband takes that as a challenge. He thrusts faster, harder, pushing through the tightness of your walls and kissing your overworked g-spot with vigor. His fingertips never stop their assault on your swollen clit, and the overstimulation has you nearly screeching.

“Shh, shh, ah know s’a lot, bunny,” he grins devilishly. “But ye dinnae wanna wake the wee bairn, d’ye?”

You shake your head rapidly. Johnny gasps and digs his teeth into the flesh of your ankle, holding onto your leg like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded in the midst of his approaching orgasm.

“Johnny, m’gonna-!”

“Me too,” he grunts through a clenched jaw. “Cum fer me again, lass, lemme feel ye. Fuck, fuck, fuck, jus’ like tha, jus’ like- oh, fuck!”

Johnny holds his hips flush against your ass as he empties himself deep inside of you, hot ribbons of thick semen coating your walls. He jerks and whines until there’s nothing left to release, then kisses his way down your leg before moving it off of his shoulder. Still buried deep, he drapes himself over you, nosing at your sweaty neck. Your nails gently rake along his back, occasionally scratching at the nape of his neck. Eventually, racing hearts return to normal, and heavy breaths lighten themselves again.

“Ah love ye,” he whispers, kissing along your jawline until he reaches your lips. “So bloody much. Thank ye fer everything.”

“Don’t go getting all sappy on me, I’ll cry,” you giggle. “Happy Birthday, my love.”

“Mm, maybe we can-”

Before he can finish his thought, the baby monitor alerts the both of you with its beeping and the sound of your infant daughter crying. You sigh gently, trying to move from beneath him, but he shakes his head.

“Ah’ll get ‘er,” he hums, slowly pulling out of you. “Need some time w’me other gal. Ye jus’ lay ‘ere and rest up, aye? ‘Cause when ah come back, ah’m gonna ‘ave me favorite meal. Ye ken, fer me birthday.”

Maybe it wasn’t such a boring birthday, after all.

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everything eats and is eaten,

time is fed.

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Hounskull portraits

Tip jar

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I haven’t done a full piece in ages so here you go fellas, have some emo ghost

More vers under the cut :

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I haven’t forgotten these two… have this comic, the full thing is at the end !

Aaand the full thing with my awful awful comic format:

Blood transfusion is a pretty popular trope and hahaha I couldn’t help myself but draw this out. hello hello post mission banter 😔

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wish you were here.

inspired by this tweet by queeniegalore, lyrics from "wish you were here" by pink floyd.

support me on patreon

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A nameless ghoul

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he’s explaining star wars lore

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ghost has never let you see under his mask—but you could care less. (18+)

you love your big bear. ghost was just misunderstood. he might have seemed cold and unapproachable, but it wasn't like that between the two of you, and despite his reluctance to show you his face, he was the kind of man that you think you've waited your whole life for.

you're opposites. where ghost does not budge, you melt. where he darkens a corner, you light it right back up. you're often in a constant state of laughter, and you don't really know if ghost even has the muscle memory to smile anymore.

it doesn't matter. not to you.

you don't think anyone understands the two of you, but that's okay. the first time you met his team, johnny asked if you were a paid actress. you'd squealed with delight when you saw ghost, for the first time after weeks apart, arms wrapped around his neck as you hung from him and kissed his masked face over and over again.

"simon!" you gasped, making the most obnoxious kissing noises as you cradled his cheek and pressed your lips to his temple. "oh, simon, i missed you, baby..."

johnny did not believe his eyes that night. the way ghost's lashes fluttered at the sound of your voice. the loosening of his shoulders, the way he bent so he could press his face to yours as you mumbled in his ear and stroked a thumb over his cheek. ghost towered over you by a great deal, but you all but dragged him down to your level, lips puckered, glossy kisses staining the front of his mask now as you cooed at him and scratched at the nape of his neck.

the only downside to ghost's mask was the lack of proper kissing. you had only ever kissed him through fabric. in the beginning, it was hot. ghost's mask was one of the things that drew you to him in the first place. seeing nothing but his eyes was how you really noticed how hungry he was for you the first night you met. heavy, lidded, glazed-over when he first saw you—the same way he looks at you all the time now, the same look that got you into his bed that very first time and the same look that keeps you in it now.

he likes you on top. arms wrapped around his neck, seated up in his lap, mouth open as you pant against his mask as you bounce on his cock.

"you feel so good, baby," you whimper, your nails scratching along the back of his balaclava. you cup the back of his head, moaning softly as you sit down as low as you can and grind your hips against his. your pussy is pulsing—ghost smells fresh off an op, and you like him that way. eye-black smudged around his eyes. mask that smells like sand and sweat. fingernails dark with something bloody, cupped under your ass as he squeezes and tells you how hard it was to wait this long to have you again.

"tha' right, luv?" ghost sighs. "you missed me, yeah?"

"yeahhh," you whine. "i-i missed you, simon—missed you so much, missed how b-big you are—"

"i'm big, yeah?" ghost laughs.

"yeah—" you nod, closing your mouth around his through the fabric, pressing your tongue against him even though you can't taste him. you soak the front of his mask with a messy kiss, and he groans. "you're so pretty, simon...missed every bit of you."

you don't know why it hits him then, the kind of love you have between you. ghost is ugly. his entire body is a mess of traumatic history. his skin has been peeled, burned, branded, pulled apart. there's tattoos in the places he hated to look at the most, and where there isn't, a map of what people have done to him, a terrible story he tells involuntarily every time he lets his skin show.

but to have his girl call him pretty? to feel her cunt so fucking wet because it's him she's fucking? to have the ability to make her come just by sitting there, wordless, letting her touch herself with nothing but his body on display—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

you don't speak as he pushes his mask up over his nose. he goes no further, just reveals his lips, and your hands shake as you cup his jaw and stare down at him through wet eyes.

your big bear. what a sight.

when he opens his mouth, you see his chipped teeth. the skin of his lips has been torn apart and messily put back together, leaving behind pink, puffy scar tissue and criss-cross patterns across his chin. there's so much texture, so much you want to ask about, but the more important revelation is how pretty ghost really is.

not pretty in the conventional way, but that way is so boring. he's pretty in the way that only a few could maybe understand. pretty in the sense that he survived. pretty in the sense that he's smiling, and he's blushing, and there's a slight smile on his face as you squeeze your thighs around his hips and come all over his cock with just one real kiss.

messy, nasty little kiss. your teeth hit his, tongue sliding over his lips before finding his own. you dig your nails into his chest as you keep your hips moving, riding out that blissful orgasm as you taste something new and warm inside of his mouth.

maybe he'll never show you his face. maybe you'll never get to reveal all of him to yourself, but that's okay.

you're on your back now, hands up over your head, and your back arches and eyes roll back into your head as ghost peels back the hood of your clit and slides that pink tongue over you.

you don't need to know what his face looks like. your pussy already recognizes him just fine, and she's coming in his mouth to prove it.

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simon who never had sisters growing up- not like johnny and kyle. simon who grew up with cruelty and hardness. simon who never truly had a stable female figure or influence in his life.

so when he starts dating you, he observes your every move like he's watching a documentary on an endangered species. he's in awe of everything you do. the simple routines that are ingrained into your life. things that most, if not all, women are accustomed to. he's especially mesmerised when he's watching you braid your hair. you must be some kind of sorceress, he thinks. it's some sacred art to him. begs you to teach him so that when- when, not if- you have a daughter he can take care of her hair the same way you can.

simon who just loves women and their little rituals and their softness.

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LOL whos tye saultry little binch on the bottom lsft????