#but needle felting just makes me go 'mmm no I'd rather be doing something else right now'

[skitterjitter]

my father got me a needle felt kit for my birthday and turns out I don't like the process very much -- it takes too much patience that I just don't have, plus the wool irritates my skin, eyes, nose and throat, so even if I didn't mind the process I'd still be having a hard time

[mypoisonedvine]

ear candy || Mike Weiss x reader

summary: for a good time, call ‘candy.’  she can’t fix your life but she can distract you from it for a while.

word count: about 2k

warnings: technically not smut but definitely close enough (dirty talk/phone sex), some angst, daddy kink, a touch of degradation/objectification kink?? very subtle tho

a/n: my goal with this was to make it very dialogue heavy because I wanted it, like real phone sex, to be mostly about the words rather than anything else!  so I kept the descriptions to a minimum, hope you don’t mind…

You’d heard that more established phone sex operators had companies and screeners and services to help them disguise their number.  All you had was an ad in the paper and a landline, but it got the job done.

Technically, you had no way to know if a call from a number you didn’t recognize was a horny customer or something actually important, but it was pretty obvious when the phone rang at one in the morning on Friday night wasn’t going to be your bank or something.

You let it ring two, three, four times before picking up, putting on a slightly sultry voice as you greeted, “hey.”

“Hey,” the voice returned— so much more assured than you were used to, more confident and casual, nothing like the married men whispering to keep from waking up their wives, nothing like the nervous first-timers who made it clear that you were a mistake they would regret.  “Saw your ad in the paper…”

“I’m glad you called,” you smiled, “what’s your name?”

"Mike,” he answered quickly.  “What’s yours?”

"Hi, Mike,” you purred.  “You can call me Candy.”

“I’m not gonna call you that,” he sighed, and suddenly the air of confidence was gone; not to fear or secrecy, but to obvious weakness, to exhaustion, to an ache that you wish you didn’t understand as well as you did.  “Tell me your real name.”

“You don’t know that Candy isn’t my real name,” you defended.

“Yes I do.  Tell me your real name,” he demanded again, though his tone wasn’t actually very demanding.  You did it anyway.  “It’s pretty,” he decided, a little crack in his voice making your heart twist.

“You don't sound like you're doing too good,” you noted, trying not to make it too pitying but still sympathetic.

"My wife left me."

You nodded, to no one in particular, because you definitely knew how to handle this kind of guy, even if it had been a while since one had called.  "I'm sorry to hear that.  How can I help you?"

"I can't stand being alone," he explained tensely.

"I can definitely help with that…" you trailed off.  “I can just listen, if that’s what you need.”

“No, I... I want you to talk,” he assured, making you smirk slightly.

“Do you have a credit card, Mike?” you prompted.

“Yeah, yeah, lemme give you the number,” he mumbled, the sounds of shuffling indicated that he was searching for his wallet.

He dictated the numbers to you as you sat up and dashed to your computer, entering them in and stalling a bit until the card came back approved.  “So, Mike, tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Nothing, it’s a blank slate,” he murmured, voice lilted with a smirk.  “Wanna give me something to think about?”

“What do you wanna know?”

“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Not much, I was in bed when you called… so just a t-shirt.”

“Just a t-shirt?” 

“Yeah… it’s too big for me, it’s an old Cowboys shirt my ex left behind…”

“Cowboys?  You’re breakin’ my heart, honey,” he chuckled.

“You’re a Houston fan?”

“It’s a symptom of being in Houston, right now, as we speak.”

“Fair enough,” you giggled.  “Maybe I should take it off then, if it bothers you…?”

“So if my calculations are correct, that should mean you’re completely naked right now.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

You set the phone down to remove the shirt, coming back with a chipper announcement: "Done!"

“Yep,” you agreed, popping your lips at the end of the word.

“Then do me a favor and play with your tits a little bit.  Are your nipples hard?”

“Yeah, they got hard when I heard your voice, it’s really sexy.”

“Good, give ‘em a little pinch then…   does it make you wet, when you touch them like that?”

“Mhmm, they’re really sensitive,” you admitted.

“I bet you’d love my tongue on them, wouldn’t you?  You’d like me sucking on your tits?”

“Yes,” you sighed, “please, I’d love it so much.”

“Why don’t you touch your pussy for me?” he prompted, cocky as ever.

“Tell me how, exactly,” you bargained.  “I wanna touch myself the way you would touch me.”

“Two fingers on your clit— slow, smooth circles…”

You moaned a little, following his instructions.  “Fuck, Mike, it feels really good.”

“I like when you moan my name like that.  By the end of the night you’re gonna be screaming it for me, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds like exactly what I need.”

“Yeah, I bet so, bet you really need to get fucked.  And it’s handy, then, that I really, really need to fuck something, god I’m so worked up I could just lose it.”

"Yeah?  Tell me about it."

"M'hard, so hard, can't stop thinking about what it would be like to be inside you."

"I like the sound of that.  What would you do to me, if you could?'

"I'd fuck you so good, sweetheart, until you begged me to stop because you couldn’t come anymore."

"Mmm, I bet so, you sound like you know how to fuck.”

“Hell yeah I do, and you sound like you need a thick cock.”

“Is that what you’re offering?” you hummed, biting your lip.

“If you think you can take it.”

“Fuck, I’ll try my best… it’ll probably be a pretty tight fit.”

“Good.  I wanna fucking ruin you.”

“Oh god,” you groaned, “can I please put something inside me?  Two fingers?”

“Just one,” he instructed.

You whined when you pushed one finger in and it wasn’t nearly enough to satiate your needs.  “I need more, please…”

“Okay baby, just one more but go slow, I like when you get desperate.”

After a few quiet moments where you could only hear his breathing and your own needy moans, curiosity got the better of you.  “Are you stroking your cock, Mike?” you asked softly.

“Yes,” he answered, the little strain in his voice making you confident he was telling the truth.

“How does it feel?”

“Good,” came another hasty reply.

“It would feel so much better if it was my pussy, if I was riding you right now.”

“I’d be so fucking deep in you,” he groaned tensely.  “That’s where I wanna come, too… wanna fill you up right inside that snug little cunt.”

“Oh fuck,” you whispered.  “Please, daddy…”

“What was that?  I can’t hear you,” he taunted.

“I— I said ‘please… daddy,’” you repeated, afraid it would turn him off but he let out a dark chuckle that ended with a groan and a hissing breath in through his teeth.

“Fuck, that’s hot.  Is that what you need, sweetheart?  Need daddy to take care of you?”

“Yes, please, need you…”

“Don’t worry honey, I will, just keep fucking yourself with your fingers, and don’t come until I say so.”

You whined but didn’t dare disobey, moaning with each touch to your sensitive bud, not holding any sound back so he could hear how needy you were loud and clear.

“Please, I need to come, wanna come for you, Mike,” you begged when you were starting to worry you couldn’t hold back much longer.

“I know, but not yet… almost.”

“Please, daddy” you sobbed, weak and almost a whisper, making him grunt a little.

“Just say my name when you come, honey, and don’t stop rubbing that little clit until you’re absolutely sure you can’t take any more.”

“Fuck, Mike,” you hissed.  “Oh god, I’m gonna— fuck, daddy, I’m gonna come so hard for you.”

“Good, just like that, baby, keep going,” he egged you on.

“Mike!” you yelped, shocks reverberating through your body as your back arched up off the bed.  His moans encouraged you further, echoing in your ears and somehow making everything more intense.  It was easy like this to imagine that he was on top of you, moaning in your ear as he filled you with his cock; your walls clenched around nothing, begging to be stretched around something, as you felt a gush of warmth seep from your entrance.  

Like he’d told you to, you kept going past the peak until your hands gave out, until your body was numb with pins and needles from the intensity of your pleasure.

“Oh my god,” you sighed, “that was… I haven’t come that hard in so long.”

“You sound incredible when you come, baby,” he cooed, “think you can do it again before I finish?”

“I’m too sensitive, it’ll hurt,” you whined.

“Give it a minute, then,” he chuckled.  “Did you make a mess, honey?”

“Um, a little,” you giggled.  “I’m so wet it’s dripping onto the sheets now.”

“Fuck, wish I could help you clean that up,” he purred, laughing at your little gasp.  “Would you like that?”

“Yeah, I bet you’d be good at it… you’re good with your tongue so far.”

“And you?”

“Me?  Well, I bet no matter how big you are, I could take you all the way down my throat.”

“Fuck, honey, you’re so dirty, huh?”

“Yeah, and I really like sucking cock…” you added coyly.  “Would you let me get on my knees and taste you, daddy?”

“Whenever you wanted, sweetheart, fuck… I’m close, keep going honey, you’re so fucking good.”

“Please come for me, oh my god, please come,” you moaned, “I want you to come— please daddy?”

“I will, baby, I’m gonna come… fuck, I’m so close.”

“I wish I could help you, daddy, I wish you were fucking me so hard right now, using me, making me your toy.”

“Yeah baby, you just wanna be owned, huh?  Wanna be daddy’s little slut?”

“Yours, fuck, wanna be all yours.”

“That’s it, keep talking— m’gonna come.”

“Yes, daddy, stroke that cock for me, close your eyes and imagine I’m there with you, begging for your come… I want it all in me, daddy, I want it leaking out of me all night, please please please come, please come inside me—”

“Fuck!” he yelped, moaning louder than ever.

“Yes, keep going, fuck, you sound so hot,” you encouraged, “give me all that fucking come, daddy.”

A throaty, exhausted groan preceded a sigh as he began to catch his breath, making you smile pridefully.

“Shit,” he hissed, “I have to clean this up all by myself, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s the less fun part,” you sighed.

“You’re good,” he offered, voice still breathy as he panted a little bit.  “Thanks, that really… that helped.”

“Feeling a little better, daddy?”

“God, don’t say it like that,” he groaned, “you’re just gonna get me goin’ again.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.”

“What you want is to take all my money by keeping me on the phone all night,” he chuckled.

“Okay, I’ll let you go,” you relented.  “I bet you’re gonna sleep well tonight.”

“Better than I have in months,” he agreed.

"Will you call me again sometime?"

A little pause made you worried he wouldn’t.  "Maybe we could meet up instead?" he offered hesitantly.

"Different price than talking on the phone…" you warned him.

"Yeah, I know, that's fine," he dismissed.  “We’ll work that out later.  But maybe you could come to my motel room?”

“I can do that,” you grinned.  “You talk a big game, I’m looking forward to finding out if you can live up to my expectations.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna regret saying that.  You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you.”

You laughed a little, clenching your thighs together.  “Promises, promises…”

[whumposaurus]

Maybe trying not to cry for Stella? Or someone else in the dystopia universe I'd you'd prefer

Trying Not to Cry

(crossed out is done, outlined is requested!)

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: None/ original work

Characters: Stella, the General (does anyone have a name rec for him...?)

Stella hated sleeping in a chair. Her neck ached, the tape on her face pinched and her legs tingled with pins and needles. Her hands were in tight fists, refusing to fiddle with the chains of tight handcuffs so she wouldn’t seem nervous. No one was in the room, but she knew there were cameras, and she would rather not reveal how terrified she was. No. Not terrified, nervous. She would never be scared of some old guy who should’ve retired already.

The metal door creaked open, and Stella’s attention was pulled away from her hands. The General strolled in, followed by a pair of armed soldiers, as if he really expected that Stella could uncuff herself and run out of there. He must have had some pretty high expectations for her. 

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, feigning politeness. Stella glared. “No need to be rude. You can’t talk, but you can still move your head. But now’s not the time to teach you manners. We haven’t gotten any response from your little gang, which means we’re going to need some more information from you on how to find them.”

Stella shook her head, eyes narrowed. If only her mouth wasn’t taped shut, she had a lot to tell him, but not about her friends. The general sighed.

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t see it our way. Very well. Men, you know what to do.” The two soldiers nodded, walking behind Stella to what she could only assume was a collection of torture devices. She squirmed, trying to see what they were doing, but she couldn’t twist around enough. It was unnerving to have people planning her torture directly behind her. She wasn’t a huge fan of it.

The soldiers came back around the table she was cuffed to, one of them carrying a box of matches. It wasn’t the terrifying torture device she expected from the government, but she knew it would hurt like crazy. And leave a scar. Or scars.

“Last chance. Even just one piece of information’ll save you a lot of pain. Have anything you want to say?” The general raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. Stella couldn’t tell him where to shove his offer, so she only glared, snarling. The general smailed.

The soldier pulled out one of the matches, striking it against the rough texture on the box. The sharp chafing sound made a chill crawl down Stella’s spine, but she kept a neutral face until the small flame was pressed into the back of her hand. She winced, letting out a squeak through the duct tape. She let out a deep breath, getting her composure back. It was a white-hot pain, but it could be worse. It could be worse.

The match was pulled away once the fire was out, leaving a small burn on Stella’s hand. The general was looking at her, his eyebrow still raised. She shook her head before he could say anything. The next match was struck, and Stella’s breath caught. She forced herself not to watch as the soldier slowly walked around her. After going full circle, he stopped directly behind her, swinging her braids over her shoulder and holding the flame to the back of her neck. Her hands squeezed into fists, and she fought to suppress a shiver.

Stella let out a pained cry when the match was pushed into her neck, shuddering violently. Tears filled her eyes, but she squeezed them shut to keep the tears from falling. No, no, don’t cry. She gasped for breath until the match was pulled away, shaking from adrenaline. This was only the second one, she couldn’t be crying already. She was stronger than that!

“You don’t need to try to be strong. It would be so much easier for everyone if you just gave in and told me something. It could be anything that could bring us closer to finding other rebels, even just one name. Save yourself the pain. Don’t try to play the hero.” It was as if the general had read her mind, hearing all of her fears and doubts. She wouldn’t give in, though. Despite the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, despite the burning on her neck and arm, she wouldn’t surrender. She wasn’t playing the hero, she was the hero. To her brother, her brother’s friends, and all of the other young rebels. They all knew there would have to be sacrifices, and Stella was content to be one. Even the thought of betraying them all after only- what, a week? With torture that was few and far between?- was enough to make fighting the tears all the more difficult. She attempted a glare and shook her head.

“I can tell you don’t want to do this. Don’t think I can’t tell how hard you’re trying not to cry. There’s a very simple solution to all this pain, but you just have to make it complicated. Kids always do,” the general muttered.

“Mmm mph!” Stella tried to yell, to tell that old man that she wasn’t a kid. She leaned back in the chair, blinking as the tears finally fell. She thought maybe the general would think she was trying to talk, but he didn’t. For some reason, Stella felt some strange sense of satisfaction from this, but also a sharp pang of fear. 

She was not weak. They would learn that faster than they knew.