#tattoo soap red soap

[dreveel]

Nostalgic Horror Collection:

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[autistic-partisan]

d is for dragon

× - × - × × - × - × × - × - ×

bonus gif with tiny goldburn:

[deadlydreamin]

just realised i don’t think i ever posted my tattoo on here of the mushroom cat (pic was taken after it was done and it’s fully healed now, it was like a month ago). his name is toad bc i main toad in mario kart!!

(done by heather.mudtattoos on instagram)

[s8tattoo14]

S8 Tattoo

Website: https://s8tattoo.com/collections/red-soap Address: 175 S Main St, Suite 500, Salt Lake City, UT 84111 Phone: (844) 524-9056 S8 tattoo soap is alcohol-free and is made of plant enzymes and vegetable surfactants. Since the tattoo soap is only made of natural ingredients, it is safe to use on your skin. The soap is available in individual packets or in an 8 oz bottle. In an effort to help the environment, all of our products are packaged with recyclable material. S8 is a philanthropic and humanitarian company and we hope to have a positive impact on the world. You can help in our efforts by purchasing our tattoo soap today! #Tattoos#red soap Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/s8tattoo/ YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCw-CcP75qhrNZxJ5y0NeAFQ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/s8tattoo/

[whumptober]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.

And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!

[chososdiscordkitten]

You're Mine!

Synopsis: riding choso nd giving him hickeys hehe ^-^

Pairing: Switch!Choso x Fem!Reader Content: No use of y/n, some plot, porn w/ feelings, bite marks, hickeys (m&f), lipstick prints, markings, topics of ownership, praise, riding, hair pulling (M), creampie

Dedicated to; this beloved anon, may your pillows be cold and fluffy 4 the rest of ur life <3

MDNI

Choso didn’t really understand the idea of hickeys and bite marks. Had he bitten you hard enough to leave a mark, wouldn’t it hurt? And aren’t hickeys just bruises made from his lips? 

It didn’t really click in his mind, the idea of pain associated with pleasure- but if you asked him to, he would give you hickeys with a small nibble here or there. 

Giving them was just another task he had to complete when it came to pleasing you- he would happily lap and suckle on the soft skin of your neck and leave blossoming marks on you if it meant you would be happy. 

And when you gave them to him, he still didn’t get why. The process felt terrific, but the aftermath always felt raunchy. Like some horny teenagers who couldn’t control their affections. Or when people looked at the purpling marks on his neck with a little grimace on their faces. 

But when you muttered something into his ear on your way down to the pale skin of his neck- “I want everyone to know you’re mine.” that’s when Choso started associating marks with some kind of ownership. 

If little bruises and remnants of your lipstick where you had kissed him littered his neck, meant he was yours- that was something completely different. Gladly would he offer his skin for you to mark. 

It changed the way Choso looked at the tedious process of giving you small hickeys on your neck and down the swell of your chest. 

It transformed into a way of showing that you were his, just as much he was yours- and that no one else could come near you. 

Wedding rings and necklaces with his initials were one thing—but having a reminder bruised onto your skin. There being no way of removing it other than with time. Just to show people you had a person and didn’t need another. 

It made a particular depraved part of his brain twitch when he would see them on you. Even more when he would see them blooming on his own skin the following day.

Choso had half a mind to tattoo your name on him—just to have a permanent reminder of you etched on his body. 

Nothing, not even time or soap and water, would remove it. But you swatted away those thoughts with the little tickles you would kiss on his skin. 

Thinking how much more enjoyable hickeys and nibbles were than tattoos would be. 

But then came the sad sight of the pretty, pinkish-purple marks fading to an ugly shade of yellow or green. Or the soap scrubbing away the marks your lipstick would leave on his pale skin.

It always made him mournfully graze the diminishing marks in the mirror. 

Though that sight wouldn’t last long, you were always attentive to giving him fresh ones to look at when the fading ones would disappear. 

What you liked most was how fucking sensitive he would get- a few open mouth kisses on his face or his neck, and he would be putty in your hands. 

Even more when he’s sat on the couch beneath you- his hands lazily massaging the malleable skin of your thighs and his head to the side. Giving you the perfect angle to litter his skin with small circles of your spit- beneath the sheen of saliva, a blooming red mark left by your lips. 

With every moan you would vibrate onto his skin- his hands would tighten their grip. Almost urging you to grind onto the growing tent in his as you lapped at his tender skin. 

It didn’t help that you were barely wearing anything- a spaghetti strap tank that rode up your waist with every little grind his hands led you to make. And the only thing separating your core from his tented cock was a pair of panties. 

Supposedly just to do laundry and watch a film while waiting for the first load to finish- your excuse being “There were no clean clothes.” when he asked why you were barely covered. 

And him- a t-shirt and basketball shorts, no boxers because it was as you said, ‘No clean clothes.’

That’s what frustrated Choso the most. So fucking close to your cunt- but two stupid layers of clothing blocking his access. And his lips were far too occupied. Letting out small sighs of content mixed with little whimpers to voice his complaints. 

But you felt just how desperate Choso was starting to get from the way his hips bucked up when you would lightly exhale onto his damp skin. 

A wave of goosebumps rose on his skin with every nibble you would make.

Or how his soft sighs started sounding like whines as your soaked panties would press right against his leaky, clothed tip.

The whimper that left Choso’s lips bordered on a cry when you raised your hips away from him in the slightest. Inching your hand down his torso and dipping your fingers past the elastic of his shorts- your lips refusing to let up the peppering hickeys on his neck.

Your hand lightly grasped his eager shaft, smile forming on your lips against his skin as you released his cock from the prison of his shorts. 

Pulling back and giving him a few gentle strokes as you gazing at Choso's expression. His eyes shut tightly, his bottom lip threatening to quiver with perched eyebrows. And the sharp hiss falling from his parted lips when the ridges of your fingers would roll over his tip. 

Placing a soft kiss on his cheek before sliding your lips to his ear- “Pull them aside.” you commanded with a tone Choso swore you only used to get him to do what you wanted. 

And it always worked. 

His strong hand slid from your hip to your core- greeted with a drenched cotton center as you lapped at his sensitive ear. Whimpering from the light strokes mixed with every sweet exhale you made against the cartilage. 

You couldn’t help the shuddering inhale that left your lips when his finger hooked onto the side of your panties and exposed your sopping cunt to the air. Wasting no time in sliding the tip of his finger up your soaked slit and feeling your hips rise from the feather-like touch. 

As pent up and eager as Choso was- he's never been a monster. Didn’t matter how much precum leaked from his cockhead, he wanted to prep you before anything else. 

But you, the complete opposite. Swatting away his eager-to-please hand with a playful scoff. 

Choso parted his eyes and looked at you, pulling away from his ear with low eyes. His expression all but asking you if something was wrong. 

You lip tucked between your teeth with a strong willed hand grasping at the side of his neck. Taking a humming tone, “Fuck the prep- I need you inside.” you whispered, rolling your palm over his tip and pressing a sloppy kiss onto his lips. 

The kindness of granting you prep had slipped his mind entirely when you looked at him with hungry eyes. So fucking ravenous, you’d risk displeasure just to have his cock inside. 

To have a part of him, inside. 

Choso eased his grip on your sides, feeling your hand grasp right below his cock head and feeling your hips rise a bit more. A hand on the side of his neck with a tucked lip- bracing for the stretch.

The little moan that left his lips bordered on being a shuddering whimper at the heat emitting from your entrance. And when he felt the taught muscle of your cunt press right against his tip- Choso swore he would cum right then and there. 

He had far too little time to prepare himself to not spurt his mess before any real fun started, and your denial for prep didn’t help. The look of pure and utter starvation in your eye, didn’t help. 

The shared inhale of air as you lowered yourself onto him was saccharine to his ears. 

Taught, slick walls that hesitated to welcome him, making his eyes shut again. As though Choso was inviting you to suckle on his neck again, he threw his head back onto the ledge of the couch with a throaty moan. 

And your hips- stuttering with every inch you lowered yourself on. A sharp sigh left your lips before connecting them to Choso’s neck again. Littered with previous blooming marks of a reddish pink. Yet he wanted more. 

And more, you had plenty to give. 

Licking a soft stripe down his adams apple with moans vibrating against him. A soft huff leaving your lips when your clit was flush against his pelvis. Taking your hand and placing it on the hem of his t-shirt. 

Pawing at his happy trail as you lightly rose yourself, your lips sucking on his neck with soft whimpers rumbling from his throat. 

One of Choso’s hands rising up your side and taking the hem of your tank top with it. Pulling your lips from his neck as you slowly rode him. Arching your back to give him a better view of your clothed breasts and seeing Choso’s low eyes lock on them. 

His hand rose past the mound of your breast and freed your nipple from the thin tank. His thumb gave a gentle swipe at the firm bud as your hips took on a frotting motion. His tip nudging right at the sensitive spot with every grind you made. 

Choso broke the gaze he had on your breasts, batting his eyes up to you with a soft whimper. “You’re so pretty.” he hummed, leaning his lips onto the exposed swell of your breast, pressing a gentle kiss onto the soft skin. 

Being able to feel his adoration in the sloppy laps and suckles he made at your chest. 

Lips formed in a soft ‘o’ as your hands reached for the half-removed tank. Slipping it off in its entirety and feeling Choso's hand on your hip, dip beneath the cotton of your panties and grope your ass. 

Your grinds grew in desperation with a slight ache forming in your inner thighs. Your hands slipping beneath his t-shirt and lightly clawing at his carved torso. The light stimulation of your clit grinding against his pelvis knocking more honeyed moans out of your lungs. 

Barely able to withstand the burning in your lower spine from how slow you were going. You leaned forward, raising yourself from his cock and holding yourself mid shift. His mouth full of as much of your breast as he could have. (greedy)

Choso batted his eyelashes up to you, pupils in the shapes of hearts at the feeling of your cunt clenching around his shaft.

Trailing his hand from your rib down to your other cheek, two handfuls of ass being used as mounts as he rose his hips from the couch. 

Unwilling to let go of your skin from his mouth- if anything sucking harsher as he plowed his hips up into you. A strained whine leaving your lips from the swift jab, giving Choso the confidence to continue his harsh thrusts. 

Your hands roamed up his arms and settled in his hair, gladly ignoring the little chime that sounded from the laundry machine. Lightly tugging and feeling the grunts and moans rumble onto your tit with every harsh thrust he made. 

The edges of your fingers lightly clawing at his scalp with an orgasm forming in your tummy. As though your twitching walls weren’t enough for Choso- he took his non-dominant hand from your ass, sliding to your inner thighs right where you connected with him. 

Sucking harshly at any untouched patch of skin his plush lips could find. 

His calloused ring and middle finger pressing against your puffy clit making your spine quiver with a shudder leaving your lips. A drawn-out curse littered between your moans was heard as a hymn to Choso's ears. 

As though you were singing praise from the noises you couldn’t control. Looking up at you, the curve of your neck adorned with a light sheen forming from how worked up you were. 

Releasing your skin from his lips with a little pop, his chest heaving with every whimper spilled from his lips. “Am I doing good?” he murmured against your skin. 

A moan almost in frustration at the question left your lips. Choso’s fingers moving sloppily- unable to keep a pattern with his left hand as his relentless hips bucking into you, churning your brain to mush. 

Placing his lips at your sternum- sucking harshly to create those little marks you so loved to see on your skin. As many as he could just to hear your compliments.

Barely able to comprehend his fish for praise- a sharp exhale left your lips. “D-doing so fuckin’ good.” was all Choso needed to hear to release that knot in his tummy he had been holding tightly from the second his tip pushed past your cunt. 

Holding onto his orgasm for as long as he could- so fucking needy to have you finish before him. 

But the twitching walls of your cunt made it too hard for him to keep his focus. 

Pulling away from your sternum, Choso shut his eyes, his lips pressed tightly together and thrusting into you greedily- your lips barely able to form the words, “F-fill me up-” was the last thing Choso heard before doing as you commanded. 

His hips rutted up into you in tandem with every vulgar spurt his cockhead made. White, thick and full of love coating your walls as he continued his mean thrusts. 

Your mess mixed with his spend pooling at his base and dripping down his heavy balls. Choso’s fingers refused to let up- He needed to feel you cum on his cock. 

And with your hands gripping vigorously at his hair- the moans that left your lips bordered on guttural as his hips continued their fast pace. Uncaring if he was overstimulating his cock- Choso was still hard for you. 

His shoulders trembling with unfiltered grunts and whimpers leaving his lips against your skin as he continued.  

Choso’s jaw was clenched, gripping so harshly at your ass his fingertips were turning white, his nose crinkled with his eyebrows pinched. His moans came out stifled from his nose, barely able to keep up the pace. Your tits bouncing in his face from his incessant jabs as you milked his cock for all he had. 

Eyes rolling back from the harsh nudges his overworked tip made against your gspot, mixed with the merciless circles his fingers made against your cunt made your hands pull on his hair unwillingly.

A little tear falling down your cheek from the mouth-watering pleasure—and fucking finally. Your walls started fluttering around his shaft. 

Choked whimpers graced Choso’s ears as his lips sloppily kissed at your sternum. Too overstimulated to give you any more marks of his adoration, and settling on a few lazy pecks. 

Easing your hips back down onto his lap as your breathing steadied. Shivering inhales with lazy hands sliding from his scalp. Inhaling air with an upturn of whimpers as the remnants of his seed trickled out of you.

Resting your temple onto his shoulder with a pleased smile. His cock still throbbing inside of you as you caught your breath. 

Blinking your eyes up at him as though you weren’t the one who instigated the mess that spilled between you. 

Choso looked back at your pleased expression- fucked out and happy. A sprinkle of smugness in your smile, but still. you were happy. 

Smiling to himself at how convincing the little glimmer in your eyes was- how you could convince Choso himself that you were innocent in all of this. 

Knowing full well that he would be sent to go put that load of laundry to dry before coming back and giving you another load of his. And happy to do so. 

-

(a.n) I doodled mpeg Choso, pregnant with my kids on company time. that's the level of insane im at rn

[heartlilith]

WHAT THE VENUS SIGNS REMIND ME OF

🩷Oddly specific things I think about when I hear ______ venus

Aries Venus: Summer, rubies, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, rollercoasters, fast cars, the color red, vampire fangs, Saturday nights, liquor stores and gas stations, fireworks, sour candy, cool bic lighters, “you’re mine”, Mario Kart, boys who wear nail polish, fuck it energy, oversized sweatshirts, middle finger emoji, cherries

Taurus Venus: Satin pillowcases, white candles, pearls, mirrors, hand holding, walking someone home at night, vinyls, red lipstick, full lips, fancy dinner dates, the wine and dine, old romantic movies, wallets and purses, hotels, French manicures, old money, “I won’t get on my knees for no man”

Gemini Venus: Driving around at night listening to music, reading to someone, comedy shows, mimosas, Samantha from Sex and the City, libraries, nerd kink, hot teachers/student kink, emerald green, laughter, swing sets, looking out of the window and just watching, untied shoelaces, dogs and puppies, dad jokes

Cancer Venus: Soft feather pillows, a bowl of warm soup, a bubble bath, tears and running mascara, babies and how babies laugh, poetry, “I’ll be whatever you want me to be”, hot tubs, hot coffee, teddy bears, heartbeats, soft hands & skin, lotion, bagels and cream cheese, doodling in your journal

Leo Venus: Lip gloss, mojitos, getting drunk at brunch, diamond tennis bracelets, drunk texts you regret sending later, the block button, lonely nights, shooting stars, blowing bubbles, piggy back rides, art museums, glittery eyeshadow, jumparoos, birthday parties

Virgo Venus: Taking a shower, Dove soap, smooth skin, symmetry, butterflies, the smell of books, getting a facial or going to the spa, chicken caesar salads, the good tasting water, chunky headphones, acoustic guitar, running errands, getting your eyebrows done, neat handwriting, neutral colors, sushi

Libra Venus: Blush, dimples, Y2K fashion, Hello Kitty, makeup skills, those little hand mirrors, princes and princesses, cupcakes, pedicures, Margaritas, taking pictures, art, castles, Disney movies, daisies, spin the bottle, cartwheels, soft hair, bubblegum, skincare, watermelon and pineapple

Scorpio Venus: Psychology, neck tattoos, “until death do us part”, Kings & Queens, snakes, sacred sex, chess, secrets, hickeys, the feeling after you stay up all night, the feeling of being at a concert, roses, knives, tequila shots, legs intertwined, dirty martinis, sparklers, Avril Lavigne, fantasy books, true crime and dark history

Sagittarius Venus: Clouds, rock climbing, rappers, Hip Hop and R&B, going on vacation, açaí bowls and fresh fruit, sun kissed/radiant skin, the color yellow, retreats, history, yoga and Pilates, spicy food, “it is what it is”, curly hair, the smell of weed, casinos, the last day of school, Las Vegas

Capricorn Venus: Leather, red wine, the cow pattern, cowgirl boots, the color brown, espresso, dark chocolate, briefcase of money like in the movies, the movie Scarface, whiskey on the rocks, bosses, owls, turtle necks, caramel, wearing suits, lingerie, business, New York City

Aquarius Venus: Lightbulbs, telescopes and microscopes, LED lights, hamsters, college parties, glitter, peace signs, 70s concerts, food trucks, skipping school, “fuck it”, diving in the pool, the beach at night, disco balls, getting detentions in school

Pisces Venus: Mermaids, kittens, cartoons and Disney princesses, champagne, Webkinz, little kid stories like Goldilocks, 3 Little Pigs, Hansel and Gretel, clear glittery lip gloss, holographic, snowmen and icicles, swimming in the pool, flower gardens, glow sticks , picnics, bumblebees, sand castles, elementary art class, 3D movies

Book a Reading 🩷

Masterlist 🩷

[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

��⁹⁾ 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

[coryosbaby]

18+, MDNI !! ♡

༉‧₊˚. Rafe Cameron x fem! Reader

Thinkin’ of Rafe Cameron + trailer park! Au <3 being his neighbor and also Barry’s younger sister, Rafe always giving you long glances and licking his lips whenever his eyes land on your cute little sundresses or tight jean shorts. Letting you have a smoke break with him because Barry doesn’t allow you to have cigarettes— he holds the lighter up and lights it for you every time. Slipping you a bottle of alcohol, inviting you into his empty trailer and letting you sprawl out on his bed as you pass it back and forth.

“Truth or dare?” He asks, and the game goes on for a good twenty minutes before you answer dare. Rafe’s eyes stare down at your pouty mouth, a small smile on his own as he says, “I dare you to kiss me.”

Your eyes widen, a blush creeping up your neck. A grin spreads out on Rafe’s handsome face, his hand moving up to your cheek. He rubs your lip with his thumb, spreading out the glossy red lipstick you had applied a few hours prior.

“Cmon,” he presses. “‘s part of the game, Kitty cat. Jus’ a little peck.”

You’re blushing still, a little drunk— when he had begun to call you that? Never before now, but you like it— you like it a lot.

You set the bottle of vodka down beside the bed and scoot closer to him. He smells like cologne and soap, and stubble is on his face from a forgotten shave. You look down at his hands, just for a moment. One is on his crotch, a small star tattoo on his middle finger etched in black ink. Your eyes flick back up to his lips, and you lean in.

Your plush lips hit his and it’s like the air in the room shifts. Rafe lets out a relaxed sigh, pretty lashes fluttering shut as he hungrily moves against your mouth. Your fingers card through his messy bangs, pushing them back from his forehead. Heat grows between your legs, a small ache beginning to form when rafe’s hand moves lower and lower until it reaches your hip. He grips the soft skin there, gently squeezing. You let out a whine, little tongue lolling out of your mouth to slip into his own. He groans against you, spreading his legs so you can crawl in between them. He pulls away from the kiss, letting you lean back against his chest. Your lipstick is smeared onto his mouth and the sight makes you dizzy.

“horny, kiddo? I’ve barely touched you.”

You don’t say anything. Letting out a tiny mewl, your hand grasping his and guiding it underneath the hem of your dress. Little pussy so wet and throbbing that rafe can’t help but drool over it :(( his fingers circling your clit through your cotton panties, his other arm wrapping around your throat so he can adjust you just how he likes. Your thighs spread and you lift them up, letting him see the outline of your plump pussy more. His fingers slide underneath your panties, finally coming into contact with your aching sex.

“Shit, such a wet little pussy..” and then, slipping a finger inside your hole, “and so tight, momma. You a virgin?”

You nod, a pout on your lips. He grins, slowly massaging your walls with the pad of his middle finger.

“Baby’s never had her kitty cat touched, huh?”

“Rafe..” you mewl, and he tsks.

“Don’t think that’s what you wanna be callin’ me,” his movements speed up, your eyes beginning to roll as he squeezes in his ring finger alongside the other. “Daddy might be a better fit, yeah?”

A gasp tumbles out of your throat, thighs shaking.

“Yes,” It’s an instant reply. “Yes, yes, daddy. Please..”

He chuckles at your eagerness, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Good girl. Pull those panties to the side, baby, let me see.”

You can’t disobey him, and so your fingers hook into the crotch of your gingham cotton panties and you slide the fabric to the side. Your cunt glistens with sweet slick, swollen clit poking out due to your arousal.

“Oh,” Rafe breathes, almost in a trance. “Such a pretty girl..”

He rubs against that spongey spot inside you— or, more so, stabs that spongey spot inside of you, his fingers scissoring apart your achy cunt ‘n making it burn while also giving you the most delicious friction. It’s fast, a little animalistic, and you love it. Sobs tear through your throat, the only form of purchase for your hands being Rafe’s big, muscled thighs, your head sinking deeper and deeper into his shoulder with every course of pleasure. A third finger makes its way inside your cunt, your eyes widening as big as saucers. Rafe’s got a smile on his face and a glint in his eyes.

“We’re gonna stretch you nice ‘n good, kitty cat,” and then, watching your slick drip and your hole widen for him, “That’s it, look at daddy fingerin’ this little slut cunt open. We’re gonna have some fun tonight, aren’t we, baby?”

@mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

[milqueandsugar]

🌼☕` Wearing His Clothes`☕🌼

Gen / Fluff

Includes / Alastor , Lucifer

| ALASTOR |

If Alastor could spend every evening like this, he would. A warm hellish day, a pleasant breeze that made the usual sulphuric smell that lingered in the air tolerable, and most of all, you by his side. The scarlet parasol you carried over your shoulder sifted the dying rays of the sun into a glorious red. If Alastor could devour an image he'd have this walk on a plate.

"Have I ever mentioned how marvelous you are in red?" The static of his voice crackled to life, so did the blood in your cheeks. "Very, very often." You tease, his grin widens. "Oh so not nearly enough."

You were working up a come back when something heavy dropped onto your shoulders. It smelled of chicory and black coffee, it smelled of Alastor. You poked your head up out of a collar, his collar. You stared up at your lover who twirled the parasol you must have dropped in hid hand. Spinning the red refracted light around the both if you like a kelidoscope.

"You are darling in red, I'll have to ring up Rosie to get you one of your own."

"Matching outfits Alastor? Tattoos next?"

"I was thinking rings, but by the by."

Alastor is definitely a possessive character but I don't think that translates at all to you wearing his clothes

He's actually quite protective of them, he's as particular as he is possessive and it has to be some sort of gesture for him to lend it to you

He especially holds off on lending clothes to you if you make it know you like it, just for teasing purposes of course!

He only truly lends you his bow tie or jacket and only, of course, on his terms

He finds it endearing, how flattered or excited you are at something as simple as a coat, though he holds this little secret close to his chest

It's not as fun if you can tease him back!

Due to his more animalistic tendencies/physicality he is particularly sensitive to smell

If you REALLY want to rile him up use his cologne or soap, it might take a day or two but it's impossible not to notice his increase in physical affection

Once he registers that wearing his clothes is another, far more subtle way of having you smell like him he'll be far more generous with lending you garments.

| LUCIFER |

Every few months you cleaned out the closet, Lucifer liked to buy things, you liked to wear things, both of you were terrible for over filling your closet. He was out for a day out with Charlie, which made things easier. You loved him truly but he made tossing things out difficult, it was too pretty or to cute, to sexy for him to part with. He wasn't wrong, he had an excellent eye for picking clothes you liked, but at this rate you'd need to buy a new home to accommodate for the mass amounts of clothes!

It was when putting the keeps back when you noticed it, his hat. A hat you both loved and hated, the golden snake around its brim gleaned in the light. You snatched it from the shelf at the top of the closet. Your surprised he didn't bring it today, he wore it always, especially when with Charlie. You wondered if she liked it, or if she liked it when she was a kid and bright colours were like moths to light.

You step over to stand in front of the floor length mirror. It felt like a normal hat, of beautiful craftsmanship of course, but just a normal hat. You couldn't see why he was obsessed with the thing. You felt a little silly wearing it, you felt even sillier when a snort sounded from behind you.

"Oh so that's where my hat went"

He thinks it's cute!!

He's confident so he doesn't see any real need to mark or claim you, he knows he loved you, and he knows you love him just as much!

Absolutely pleased to lend you clothes!

If it becomes a habit of yours he even goes out of his way to pick up clothes he thinks both of you will like

Turns into a fun shopping activity!

Be fully prepared for him to start stealing your clothes too though this is a two way street

Maybe it's for the best too he's got no style let's be honest

Absolutely tortures you if he discovers you think it's hot, wears your clothes out, wears your clothes in private, when your on a date

Good luck, they're pretty much his now

No hiding if you dress more feminely either he's not afraid of rocking a mini skirt

The act itself doesn't do anything but seeing you so excited about it?? That does it for him

[emilys-bangs]

we were wild and fluorescent (come home to my heart) | e.p

Tags: established relationship, rockstar!emily, no use of yn, use of petnames, smoking, fluff

Summary: You’re your girlfriend’s muse. She writes a song about you.

Word count: 2.6k

inspired by this post

Emily Prentiss is captivating. She has the world on its knees with a blink of deep brown eyes, has the strings of fate at her mercy with a tilt of red lips and a flash of dimples. On the stage, she reigns over people’s hearts, capturing them with a riff of her electric guitar, a toss of her raven hair back as she dances to her own music.

She’s gorgeous and alluring and unattainable, flitting past people’s extended hands with sly smiles. The envy of fellow artists and the dream of every youth, her pictures are hung up on walls, her songs continually hummed on tongues, her talent dissected by critics whom she blows away with a few honeyed lyrics. 

Her image is striking; with her cherry red guitar and her bold eyeliner and her leather jackets that barely brush the bottom of her ass. She wears silver rings on fingers with bitten nails and has small, colorful tattoos littering her body and takes pictures of her cat more often than of herself, so much so that Sergio has unironically and unexpectedly become her mascot, another unique brand on her already formidable name.

On the stage she’s untouchable, dressed in black and red and leather, a sheen of sweat making her glow, the darkness of her eyes made darker by the liner she draws on her skin. She’s a wild, electric thing in front of the crowds, buzzing with intensity, brimming with energy, larger than life.

And she’s all yours.

“Hi, dolcezza.”

Her body crashes into yours. She’s warm, the scent of her perfume mixing with the clean scent of her sweat. It’s a mix you’re well acquainted with, one that feels like home. The rougher quality of her voice makes your stomach swoop as you hug her back and ignore the buzz of backstage, the eyes drawn to your girlfriend—and consequently, you. 

“Hi, Em.” A smile lights up your face as she nuzzles into your neck, her fingers twisting in your shirt. She always claims she misses you after a show. “You were amazing up there.” You murmur, squeezing the leather-clad skin of her hips.

Emily glows, her eyes brightening at your praise. “It felt great,” she breathes. Her tongue skips over her lips, her cheeks flushed from the heat and adrenaline. There’s always a certain buzz to her after she performs, an incandescence that outlines her in gold. There are stars in her eyes, lightning in the curve of her lips. 

She’s radiant.

Emily takes you back home and heightens her high, pressing you into her mattress and drowning in your skin, your scent, the beat of your heart. Her fingers wander over your collarbone and the line of your jaw, lips pressing against yours to swallow the sweet sounds you’re unable to hold back. She’s always like this after a show—if exhaustion doesn’t pull her under—needy for you and determined to spend hour after hour imprinting the feel of you onto her skin.

When you’re both sated and your legs have turned into jelly, she coaxes you into the shower. There you press her against the tiles and taste the water off her skin before gently, reverently washing away the sweat of the night from her body, using careful fingers and jasmine soap.

After the shower you dress in an oversized shirt and she wears a satin short pajama set, the material slipping over the marble of her counter as she lifts herself onto it and watches you make her the usual drink after every show; chamomile tea with honey. Making it has become a routine, something to soothe her throat and ease her into sleep after a night of pumping adrenaline and burning it off.

Emily watches you prepare her tea. Your movements are light and practiced as you slip your way through the kitchen, the socks on your feet softening your steps. She hears you hum out a familiar tune over the rumble of the kettle—a song of hers, she then realizes, biting her lip to hide a smile as you pour the hot water into a mug.

As you stand there, your wet hair soaking your shirt, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks as you steep the tea and squeeze in a generous amount of honey, she feels the light of inspiration hit her, swift and sudden as lightning. Lyrics form in her head, uncoordinated and incomplete, but the more she looks at you the more they rush forward.

“Oh,” she breathes, sliding off the counter and rushing to grab a notebook, a piece of paper, anything to write the words down on before they disappear.

“Em?” You call out after her, brows knotting together at her sudden departure. From the kitchen you can see her rummaging for something in the living room, damp hair falling across her shoulders. 

“Hey, everything alright?” You ask as you walk into the living room, the mug of tea forgotten. Emily doesn’t respond. 

When you see the notebook in her hands, it all makes sense. Her lip is between her teeth as she raises her index finger, an indication for you to shut up while she frantically scribbles something. With a fond smile and a roll of your eyes, you oblige and go back to fetch her tea, setting it on the coffee table in front of her before sitting next to her on the couch. 

You sink back on the cushions and watch her in silence, smiling at the way she stares off into the distance. She taps her pen in a quick pattern on the side of her notebook, her gaze distant and glassy; you can almost see the gears turn in her head. Then she perks up, her eyes brightening with a familiar spark as she returns to writing vigorously, her hand flying across the paper. 

She’s lost in her own world by this point. Smiling, you rise and kiss the top of her head, lips lingering on her raven hair before you flit about the living room in search of your pack of cigarettes. If Emily’s writing, you know it’ll be a long night.

Finally locating the pack and slipping a cigarette between your lips, you light it and pad back to the couch, socks slipping on the floorboards as the smoke exits your mouth with a low exhale.

Unsurprisingly, Emily is still bent over her notebook, though now she rests her back on the couch and gazes down thoughtfully at the words rather than writing manically. You smile and pick up her discarded tea, nudging it into her hand.

“Drink.”

She obliges, her smile disappearing beneath the rim of the mug when she brings it to her lips. Her eyes meet yours over it as she drinks and you blow out another puff of smoke, before darting down to the notebook. Emily picks up the pen again and scrawls a few lines. She settles the mug precariously on her thigh and holds out her hand without looking up.

Rolling your eyes, you hand her your cigarette.

The two of you share it back and forth as you lean over her shoulder, peeking at her lyrics despite her initial, displeased grunt. When you nuzzled your nose into her cheek, however, and let your lips ghost over her jaw, she relaxed and stayed silent. 

Moments like these always feel special, like there’s something big cresting right over your heads, something life changing, earth shattering, even when it starts as nothing more than words on paper. You feel the magic in the air, feel Emily’s genius and her passion and her love for her craft as she labors over songs with furrowed eyebrows, tweaking and editing until everything is just right.

A few crossed out lines and torn out pages later, she has a complete song. The cigarette has long since been stubbed out and Emily’s mug is drained, the tea bag drying in a tiny pool of leftover chamomile. You read over her shoulder, a light blush on your cheeks at the words Emily has written, for you.

“That’s really good, Em.” You say softly and run your fingers through a few strands of her hair, tucking it behind her ear so you can kiss her cheek. Her dimple appears beneath your lips.

“Mm, let’s see how it sounds on the guitar.” She turns and catches your lips in a quick kiss before extracting herself from your arms.

And the two of you stay up until night starts blending into day, your legs crossed on the couch as Emily tries out riffs and tunes, sings out her lyrics with high pitches and lows. The exhaustion of the day doesn’t register in either of your bodies as you go through the song with her, offering your opinions and your praise, your cheeks heating until they’re close to the color of her guitar. It makes your heart pound, how her love for you produced something tangible, something you could almost hold in both your palms. 

She titles the song and writes down the notes, noting the highs and lows, where she softens her voice to almost a whisper and where she lets it build into a strong cadence, aided by the grit in the back of her throat. By the time your girlfriend sets aside her notebook and guitar it’s somewhere near three in the morning, the whole world asleep except for the two of you.

You’ve witnessed this very process of creating countless times, and yet it never ceases to blow you away. Sometimes it happens over days, sometimes weeks; but sometimes she’s lucky and it takes only hours.

“That was amazing, Emily.” You tell her, your voice hushed with awe. She has your legs over her lap, one of her hands lightly resting on your ankle bone.

Emily sighs softly. “You’re my muse, dolcezza.” She murmurs, her voice like silk in your ears. “The air in my lungs and the light in my soul.” She takes your jaw in her hand and kisses you, slow, as your cheeks burn.

Her hands squeeze your waist, wander over the bare skin of your thighs. The coarse calluses on her fingertips scrape over your skin and you shiver. Emily pulls away, staying just close enough to keep your lips touching, her forehead resting against yours. 

“Still in writer mode?” You try to tease, the words escaping breathily against her mouth.

“Always in writer mode when I’m with you.” She replies, taking your lips in another kiss.

Though security stands guard outside, though the cook sleeps quietly upstairs, in this moment, it’s just you and her.

——

By the time her next show rolls around, she’s perfected the song.

“Stay still,” you murmur, a chiding tone to your voice as you finish up Emily’s makeup. “And keep your eyes closed.” She just had to start getting jittery during the eyeliner.

“Sorry.” She stills, her hands lightly grabbing for your waist, but her lips turn up at the corners. Backstage, she’s careless about hiding her affection for you, quite openly calling you nicknames and linking your fingers through hers—not that you mind in the slightest. You shake your head, smiling in half fondness, half exasperation as you sharpen her wing. 

The reason for her abundant excitement is obvious. She’d been going over her new song—editing it, recording it at the studio, singing out the lyrics at odd times—and tonight she’ll be releasing it out into the open for the first time. A similar excitement runs through your veins, but you steady your hand as you cap the eyeliner and take out her lipstick.

Sometimes she has time for this. Time to brush away her makeup artist and take you by the hand instead, her grin bashful and sly all at once as she asks you to do her makeup instead. You never say no, knowing that the possibility of her passing out after a show is a big one.

“All done.” You wipe gently at a smudge of lipstick on the corner of her mouth.

Emily’s eyes flutter open. “How do I look?” She grins, the action carving two dimples into her cheeks.

Unfairly gorgeous. In this moment, you almost resent the crowd waiting for her just outside. But you smile and brush her dark hair away from her face. You’ll have her after. 

“Perfect as ever.” You wink. 

Emily takes your hand and kisses your knuckles, her lips catching on one of the rings adorning your fingers. Your breath hitches as her eyes meet yours, dark and lovely as she says, “Thank you, mi amor.” Dropping your hand, she cups your jaw instead and kisses your cheek. “I’ll be sure to treat you extra well when we get home, hmm?”

Your skin heats. Before you can grab her hip and keep her close, someone calls for her—five minutes till show time. She steps back, her lips leaving your skin, the warmth of her replaced by the cold air of backstage. 

Emily winks, “See you on the other side.”

“Blow me a kiss.” You tease.

She throws you a salute and you laugh, barely getting time to look after her retreating from before one of the organizers ushers you to a sectioned off area in front of the stage, in clear view of Emily.

When she appears between fog and strobing lights, her fans go wild. Her dress tonight is red, short and swathed in black lace, her leather jacket falling off one shoulder and exposing pale, ivory skin. When she starts strumming her guitar, falling into the music, her lips tilt into the familiar smile, slow and just for her before she widens it and directs it to the screaming crowd.

She makes two hours feel like a matter of minutes. Though Emily is alone on the stage, she embodies the whole space, controlling it with tosses of her hair and shakes of her hips and strums of her guitar. More than once she strays to the edge, close enough to touch you, her lashes fluttering in the faintest wink when your eyes meet. It makes you sickeningly giddy, your heart jumping each time she smiles at you, though it’s hardly new.

“Tonight,” she drawls into her microphone after her last song, the rasp of her voice quieting down the crowd, “I’ll be singing a song I wrote for a special someone. You know who you are.” Her eyes meet yours and she winks, deliberately, just enough that some girls shift in front of you, thinking she meant it to them.

Emily eventually tears her eyes away, but they keep straying back to you as she sings her new song—your song—the butterflies in your stomach growing wild each time she smiles at you and looks away, her struggle in looking somewhere else clear as day.

When the concert ends you bound to backstage once more, waiting impatiently for your girlfriend to arrive. A smile breaks across your face when she does, guitar slung over one shoulder, her hair mussed and fluffy, her makeup somehow perfectly intact. A matching smile tugs at her mouth as she pulls you gently from the guitar pick that hangs around your neck—one of her favorites, strung through a chain—and kisses you hungrily, a maddening, dizzying juxtaposition of controlling lips and tender hands that makes your brain fog.

“I’m yours,” Emily whispers, her mouth swollen and pink, her eyes nearly darkened to black. “Only ever yours.” Her fingers tangle in your shirt again, twisting, twisting.

You smile. 

“Mine.”

taglist: @suckerforcate

Reblogs and comments mean the world! Please let me know what you think <3

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ touch me feel me, renji abarai (nsfw)

renji helps you relax after a long day at the nursing home.

for @roronoaswifey 🫶🏾🫶🏾

you huff out a deep breath as you finally open the door to your apartment. with a close of your eyes, you begin to feel yourself swaying back and forth in near collapse, but almost jump when you feel a familiar large set of hands support you.

“renjiii, don’t touch me, i have old people piss & shit over me,” you whined, shrugging your husband off of you. “i’m sweating, i stink, i feel disgusting.

renji frowned before embracing you again. “i missed you.”

you turn your head and peck his lips before leaving your dirty shoes by the front door and begin walking barefoot to your bathroom. “i know baby, but i need to shower first. that 16 hour double really fucked my back up.”

renji nearly winces at the sound of your back cracking for comfortability. but still, he ignored your previous protests and continues to place small kisses at the nape of your neck as you undressed out your scrubs. he’d lick you in dirt if you’d let him. some sweat didn’t bother him.

“i’ll run you a bath. then lemme give you a massage afterward, mama.” his voice is so convincing. all you wanted to do was collapse and fall asleep, but it would be a cold day in hell before you sat on any piece of your furniture in your contaminated work clothes. renji picks up your scrubs and places them in your work hamper set to wash in the morning.

finally, you give in with a bare nod as renji makes his way over to the tall white tub. running piping hot water just the way he knew you liked, you’re in the bath in two minutes. you sink to your bottom and tiredly rest your cheek against the base of your knee. renji notices how you’re so exhausted, you forgot to put your braids up so they wouldn’t get wet. grabbing pieces of your hair, he ties it up in a makeshift bun atop your head, to which you thank him with a mutter.

“bad day mama?” he asks as he began soaping your back with your washcloth. you let out a deep breath for the millionth time. you were just so happy to be home with him now. from the quietness of your response, he already knows your answer. “what happened baby?”

“so much shit. this shift was more traumatizing than the last. some old bitchy aide reported me to the nurse for a small mistake of leaving a trash bag in a room and i just kept making a bunch of mistakes today. i’m already an outcast because of how new i am to this shit, so this just makes it all much more embarrassing,” you admit it. “i don’t really wanna talk too much on it, ‘fore i get pissed off. that okay?”

renji looks at you as you turn to him with sad eyes. he gives you an adoring smile as he kisses your ear. “you just worked 16 hours. wouldn’t be expecting no different shit from you,” he teased with a small laugh from you. “just remember, everyone starts from somewhere. at the end of the day, you have a bigger goal to reach after school and most of that shit just stems from jealousy. a lot of older people don’t like seeing younger ones win or get bread. it’s fucking crazy.”

you giggle at his words, slowly feeling the stress leave your body. leaning against renji’s arm on the side of the tub, you run your pruny fingers across the terrain of his multiple tattoos. with soft eyes, you turn your head to face him once more.

“still wanna give me that massage?”

and that was how you ended up with your back to the mattress, getting between your legs ate out like no tomorrow. you always knew renji ate pussy. it was one of the reasons you got and stayed with him. but to say he was average at doing so—would be one of the biggest lies ever told.

“oh,” your voice is barely audible as your each up to stare down at the scene before you. a full head of red hair is busy obstructing your view as you can only see the side of renji’s face while he eats you out. “right there.”

you don’t have it in you to scream, you don’t have it in you to do too much. all you could do was cry and whine. your entire body is moisturized and glistening with cocnout oil with exception to your pretty pussy that’s being devoured by your husband.

“renji,” you let out, mind too confuzzled from the intense pleasure from your lower half to form any proper words. “t-that feels s-so—fuck daddy,” you bite your lip so hard, you swear you feel blood drawing from the pricked skin.

“feels good baby?” renji’s deep voice sends vibrations between your thighs as you nearly suffocate him from squeezing so tight around his head. he couldn’t blame you, you were a head squeezer as much as he was a head pusher.

“so good, ‘m gonna cum soon,” you cried, watching the euphoric scene unfold beneath you. renji licked long stripes up the base of his cunt before spreading your fat lips open to get a better view of your soaked clit already beginning to coat itself in white. to make matters better worse, renji slipped in a long and slender middle finger into your entrance, slowly pumping in and iut of you.

you begin to feel his digits curl in and out of you as he continues working around your creamy clit. it’s inevitable for your hands to immediately fly to his maroon red hair, wavy strands damp from helping you out in the bath.

your knees are folded so far back behind your head, the dangling jewelry of your belly piercing is digging deep into your skin as you threaten to collapse your legs along renji’s own back. “can’t—can’t hold it,” you’re breathing heavily, unsure on whether or not you can contain your orgasm.

renji hums at the sweet spot between your legs and continues at his slow pace. he was gonna take his time with you tonight. he knew how hard you worked, and only wanted nothing but the best treatment he could give you for the night. the pleasure wasn’t his, but instead yours.

within seconds, the devious redhead is kissing your clit, still working wonders on you. 11:59 by elijah blake is now playing lowly through your shared room as you grip the bedsheets beside you. renji uses his free hand to slowly slide up your body, making sure to touch every aspect of your curvaceous terrain.

without the use of his eyes, his hands immediately find home to one of your breasts, and he grabs the fat flesh in his hand, squeezing it contently. he removes his touch from you to spread your lips open once more, deciding to turn the heat up just a bit.

“renji!” you’re gasping when you feel his tongue poke your open hole. that was enough to send you creaming all over his face, milky white arousal coating his long tongue diving in and out of you. “please please, right there, i’m cumming, i’m cumm—“ your boyfriend ignores your exasperated cries as your legs tremble around him.

an hour later, he’s still going and by now you’re on your fourth orgasm. renji never joked around when he said he ate pussy for his pleasure. and not just any pussy—your pussy. the man could eat you out for hours on end then fall asleep like a baby without ever expecting anything back from you in return. he proved himself right every time he got between your plush thighs and ate you out like your pussy was his last meal on death row.

renji comes up from between your legs for the first time in a while. “c’mon ma, you can cum one more time for me. make a mess on my face baby, you deserve it.” a taunting smirk is rested upon his face as he admires the reaction he managed to have on you.

your entire body felt like it was going through shock. how could him eating your pussy soft and slow make you feel like a thousand volts of electricity where running through your bloodstream? you can’t even remember the trouble you went through earlier that day at work by the time you’re finally squirting along his face, completely done and overstimulated.

your mouth is held wide open in an o position as your breath gets caught in your throat. you can’t find the breath to speak as you continue releasing yourself all over renji, who, in turn is basking in your arousal like a child at a waterpark. tears flow from your dolly eyes as you finally feel all energy suck out of you like a vacuum.

by now, renji is doing his last rounds and licking you up completely clean. he always managed to get you so fucked out whether it was with his dick or with his fingers and tongue alone. by the time you’re pretty much wiped up clean, your man presses kisses along the brown terrain of your body. your braids are long gone out your bonnet by now, and you’re sure that your sheets were next in line to wash.

renji’s voice is sensual and low as he comes back up to you and looks down in your eyes with love and lust clouding his pupils. running his large hand down your breasts and giving it a comforting rub, he asks you, “you finally forgot about all that shit that got you worked up at your job earlier?”

the nod on your head isn’t enough to hide your smile as you throw your leg over him and finally knock out for the night.

[matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl]

Safe - John Wick x Fem!Reader

Summary: John comes home from work and he is wounded, and as his worried wife, you help him.

Warnings: swearing, oral m!receiving, blood/gore, talk of violence, mainly fluff.

Enjoy!

You sit alone in your large kitchen, biting your nails and shaking your leg as you anxiously wait for your husband to come home.

His profession was extremely dangerous. Every time he went out you didn’t know if he was alive. Whenever you heard a car pass by your house, you wondered if it were the police coming to inform you that your husband had passed.

You knew that you had to make certain sacrifices that came with being married to The John Wick, the Boogie Man, as they call him.

You hear the door unlock, and your breath hitched. Running to the door, you are met with John. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding back tears as you nuzzle your face into the crook of us neck. “Oh, John…”

His hands weakily wrap around your waist. “Y/N…” he sighs, resting his chin atop your head.

Your hand trails down the chest of his suit. You find the red substance of blood on his white shirt. “You were shot?”

“Stabbed,” he says. “Not too bad. I’ve been though worse,”

You sigh. “Yeah, just stabbed.” You say sarcastically. “What if next time you get stabbed even worse, or shot, and you don’t make it through?” You question.

John gives you a saddened look. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You have a right to be mad, and worried.”

You give him an angered gaze, but it slowly fades as you hear the sincerity in his voice. You lean up to kiss him. “You’re right,” you say.

You take him to the kitchen where you strip him of his suit jacket and button up shirt. “This is going to sting,” you say. “I know,” he replies.

The wound was shallow, but it was still gushing a fair amount of blood. Once you were able to slow down the bleeding, you begin to clean it. John lightly hisses as you disinfect his wound.

You quickly bandage it neatly, then reward him with a warm kiss on his lips. “You have to stop this, John,”

“I know,” he says again. “I- I can retire, if you want.”

“Will you really do that for me?”

“Of course, baby. You are more important than work.”

You smile softly. “If you think it’s the best, then you can. I will support whatever you do,” you say. “Will you be safe?” You ask.

“We are safe. We will always be safe.”

“No, will you be safe?”

John pauses for a concerning amount of time. “I will be safe.” He says. “And if anybody comes after you, or me, I will kill them.”

“John,” you say like a disappointed mother. But, you couldn’t help but smile. You loved your mass murderer husband.

“That’s the spirit, love,” he smiles and gives you a kiss.

“You should go wash up,” you tell him. His face was cut, as well as his hair slicked back with sweat.

“Join me?”

“Very funny,” you laugh before sending him up to the bathroom to clean off the sins of the night. “Be mindful of your bandages,”

“Yes, ma’am,” John chuckled.

John finds his way to the master bathroom. He strips the rest of his clothes and got into the shower. His bandage inevitably got wet.

He ran his hands through his hair, feeling as the heterogeneous mixture of sweat, styling gel and water ran down his back. It felt so releiving to wash himself of the stress and torment of his job.

He used a musky scented soap to wash off the sweat and grime he had accumulated through the night. He exited the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist before redressing his wound.

John left the bathroom, towel still lazily around his waist. You were in bed, reading a book as you awaited for your husband to join you.

You couldn’t help but look at his chiseled abs and cutting hip bones. Of course, you also couldn’t ignore his broad shoulders and tattoo covered back.

“Y/N. You’re starring,”

“Oh,” you say. “Sorry,” you laugh, and he smirks. “Is it such a crime to appreciate my husbands body?”

“No. Just funny to call you out on it,” he says. He grabs a pair of sweatpants and slipped them on.

“Come lay down, babe,” you pull back the comforter in the empty space for him to fill. He slowly lays down, and he groans as his aching back hits the bed.

“Are you really going to retire?” You ask as your hand gently rests on his chest. You slowly draw circles on his skin, avoiding any bruised areas.

“Anything for you,”

You smile, and he slowly leans in to connect your lips in a gently kiss. “I will love you forever…” he murmurs agaisnt your lips. “I will love you when I’m below the ground, and I will love you after the earth ceases to exist…”

You rest your forehead against his, shakily sighing. “I love you, too. Always and forever…”

John kisses you again, hungerly needing your touch and presence against his skin. He gently grips your hair as he hums against your soft, pillowy lips.

His hand reaches for your waist, pulling your laying body closer to his. He squeezes your flesh though your sleep shirt. You whine at the tight squeeze.

Johns lips trail off yours, adventuring down your jaw to suck hot sores on your neck. His hand on your waist moves up, dangerously close to your chest. He cups your breast with his sore and bruised hands through your shirt, gently massaging it in his palm. He knew just how to make you fold.

“John-“ you whisper.

“What, love?”

“Not tonight. You need to heal.” You tell him.

He rests his head on your shoulder, sighing softly. “You’re right,” he whispers. “It’s just so hard to keep my hands off you.” He glances down at his lap, seeing the tent growing in his sweatpants.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, baby?” You reply.

“I- um. I know you said I have to heal. But, what am I supposed to do about that?” He asks, moving away from the crook of your neck to show the erection in his pants.

You think for a moment, keeping your eyes fixated on his bulge. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t use my hands or my mouth on you,” you tell him, and he grins.

You reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, slowly pulling them off his thighs. Johns cock springs out from his pants. He was hard and throbbing just by touching your breasts.

You grasp his length. His breath hitched at the sight of your hand around his dick. You slowly begin stroking him. You hover above him, letting a string of spit slowly dripping down onto his tip.

“Oh-“ he mumbled as the warm liquid touches his pulsating crown.

You gently kiss the tip, your hand still stroking his shaft slowly.

“Y/N…”

You whimper against his cock at the sound of his voice. You knew you had to resist him. You couldn’t risk opening his wound and causing him any pain. Hopefully an orgasm would help his aching body in some way.

You slowly take in his length. You suck the tip, humming at the salty taste of his pre-cum. You knew he wasn’t going to last too long. He never lasted long when you sucked him off.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised, “don’t stop- fuck. Don’t stop-“

You didn’t stop, and you weren’t going to stop until you pleasured him to your full ability.

You take in more of his cock. John shivered at the sight of his erection engulfed in your mouth.

“I’m close- shit. I’m gonna cum. Fuck.” He moans.

You began sucking him faster. You felt as your lips glided over the thriving veins on his cock, but always focusing on the tip. He loved it when you toyed with his tip.

His hips shudder, causing you to gag. “Sorry, baby,” he quickly says. You don’t reply, gagging again. You didn’t care if you gagged on his cock. You loved it, because you knew that you were doing good.

His hips jerk up again. He grips your hair, moaning your name as you quickly and steadily suck his cock. He began chasing his release.

“Fuck!” He moans. His eyes roll back, head hitting the pillow as his cum shoots into your mouth. You always loved the taste of his cum.

You finish him off with your hand, swallowing all his arousal as you did. Cum continued to shoot out, going all over your hand as he bucked his hips into your palm.

You happily licked it off, humming at the salty, yet at the same time, sweet taste.

“Fuck. Thank you, baby…” he whispers. The pleasure helped ease some of his pain.

“Anything for you,” you smile. You kiss him, and he tastes his own cum off your lips.

“Can I return the favour?” He asks, toying with the elastic band of your sleep shorts.

You shake your head. “Not tonight. You can in the morning once you have some rest,” you tell him. He frowns, but obeys.

“Okay,” John says. He fixes his sweatpants, and you grab a tissue off the night stand to wipe the spit and cum off your hand, and a bit of the white fluid that got on his stomach. John reachs over to turn off the bedside lamp, groaning as his body was strained to make the reach.

“Goodnight, baby…” you lay your head on his chest, yet again mindful of the bruises and cuts.

“Goodnight. I love you…” John whispers

“I love you too…”

[wakatshi]

𖥾 ゚ ࣭ with. — SIMON “GHOST” RILEY | female reader, no warnings | word count : 400 words | masterlist

“what are you doin’ with that?”

“calm down, simon. stop moving so much,” you tighten your grip around his arm, but simon knows better than to listen to you.

“stay still, goddammit! i’m trying to… look.”

you put the cheap marker in your mouth and take off the cap with your teeth quickly. “i’m coloring your tattoos. you should thank me,” the marker tingles his skin, but he doesn’t really react, he doesn’t look away from you, and surely not away your face.

a small frown forms on your face, you furrow your eyebrows instinctively, coloring his tattoos is a job you take seriously. you fill every empty space with the few markers you’ve brought with you. red, green, yellow, some purple here and there.

“thank you? you’re an odd woman.”

he doesn’t find it odd in the slightest, but rather endearing.

“i’m the odd one?”

“the fuck is that supposed to mean?” simon moves in his seat and you’re quick to hold onto his arm. he’s stronger than you, though.

“why do you have so many skulls on your arm anyways?”

“what about ‘em?”

“a normal person wouldn’t have so many skulls tattooed on their forearm.”

you bet there’s story hiding behind all those skulls and tattoos. or maybe he just enjoys them— probably the former.

“who said i’m normal?”

“so you agree. you’re odd.”

simon knows he’s an strange man and being close to him doesn’t change a single thing. but getting to know him is like constantly seeking the meaning behind his strangeness. most of the time. simon has a disgustingly funny sense of humor, an endless collection of balaclavas and masks and well, his tattoos.

“piss off.”

“you snarky man. don’t you dare wash my work off.”

“wasn’t plannin’ to.”

“will you keep it on your mission with johnny?”

soap would most likely laugh in his face ‘nice tats, l.t.’

but then again, if johnny knew about your idea, simon would’ve woken up with a penis on his face the next morning. “and come to think of it, soap’s gonna love this.”

“don’t push it, dollface.”

“so you will.”

“naturally.”

likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated 🤍

[skelnexswriting]

Tattoos and Markers

➪ | Pairing: | Ghost x reader

➪ | Warnings: | Short Fluffy, Fem! reader, Y/n used, 3rd person POV.

➪ | Summary: | Y/n and Ghost are bored out of their minds during a debriefing. Looking down at the marker in her hand and Ghost's tattoo, y/n gets an idea.

➪ | A/n: | Just a short little story, lmk if you have any request! :D

_

The debriefing seemed like it had been going on for days. Ghost wasn't exactly sure when he stopped listening to whatever Price was saying. His mind had gone blank from boredom.

Y/n was bored out of her mind as well. She twirled the marker she had in her hand as she listened to Price talk. The information however, seemed to just go in one ear and out the other.

Y/n turned and saw Ghost next to her, who seemed zoned out. She looked down at his arm and saw his sleeve was rolled up. Tattoo on display.

An idea popped into her head. She uncapped her marker and went to color in Ghost's tattoo.

Ghost had only came back to his senses when he felt something cold and wet touch his arm. Ghost's arm flinched away and he heard y/n huff.

"Don't move." Was all she said while grabbing his arm again and pulling it back toward her. Ghost raised an eyebrow, confused as to what exactly it was she was doing.

But that was soon answered when he saw the colored marker in her hand. So that's what touched his arm..

The marker touched his skin again as y/n began coloring on his arm. He looked down and saw that she was coloring in his tattoos. As much as Ghost didn't want to admit it, the concentrated look on y/n's face was cute. She was so focused it looked as if this was some important task.

Ghost simply sat there watching as she grabbed different markers, coloring in the spaces in his tattoos. Her hand was almost touching his and it made his heart flutter.

Ghost looked away as she looked up at him. Thank god for his mask or else she would see his red cheeks. Y/n simply continued coloring his tattoos as if nothing.

By the end of the debriefing, Ghost had a very colorful arm and a proud y/n. Y/n even signed her name near the tattoo.

Soap walked over to Ghost, "Nice tattoo Lt. love the pop of color" he said clearly teasing him. "Can I color it next"

"No." Ghost simply said and left the debriefing room. It was clear that y/n would be the only one to ever color in his tattoos.

[charnelhouse]

Ok but Ghost reacting to Red getting a tattoo of a skull somewhere on her body?? So cute!! I love the way you write them, you always do such a good job ❤️❤️

It’s post-mission at a bar in Saint Martin. It’s barely a bar, more of a shack, wooden and threadbare. 

But it does the trick. The owners are dead. They were targets 141 had been given. Names on slips of paper. Soap plays bartender. Gaz has figured out the radio so that new wave pulses from the speaker. No one is there. No one around. The Caribbean laps at the lopsided porch. The sand is white as aged paper and velvet-soft.

They’re all sun-touched. Dizzy with it. Even, Ghost.

He’s removed his mask just for today. These few hours where not a soul exists beyond the boys and Red. He’s getting back at relaxing. He’s somewhat comfortable with his naked face when it’s within the steel trap of 141. He does still cling to the shadows, hovering in corners and away from open doorways and raw light. He prefers to keep himself partially inside insulating darkness. One foot firmly settled into safety should he need to burrow deep if anyone were to show up.

It’s not likely. There’s no one left on this tiny corner of the island. The bodies are in a pit out back, waiting for retrieval. In addition to the artificial scent of coconut sunscreen, there’s blood, faint but catching on the balmy breeze. Sand in his boots. Liquor bottles the color of sea glass and coated in a thin film of dust and gun residue. The floor is sticky with alcohol and shards of glass from the shootout. Coagulating blood drying like dark chocolate glaze.

Perched on a bar stool, Red’s clad in a dirty tank top and loose tax pants. There’s engine oil smeared across the plump of her cheek, which makes her appear both young and endearing. She’s drunk. Too much tequila on an empty stomach. She’d only eaten a handful of roasted peanuts that she’d found in a bowl next to the maraschino cherries.

“There could be blood in there.” Soap remarked, audibly concerned. Slightly disturbed.

“There could be,” she equipped and smiled before shoving the nuts messily into her mouth. Ghost wanted to lick the salt from her lips.

She leans forward, elbows planted on the bar top as she lets Soap pour liquor onto her tongue. Ghost curls his fingers into a fist, clenching tight before remembering that it was his cock in her mouth not a day ago. It was her with her arms around his neck before they went into this guns blazing.

“Stay alive.”

“Don’t die.”

“Affirmative.”

“Foxy’s tolerance is sky fuckin’ high,” Soap exclaims. “Christ - she could drink all ya twats under the table.” Soap is close to a blackout, his accent rolling into a thick paste that sticks his words together. These are the times he tends to regard Red like she hung the bloody moon. “Takin’ it like a champ, aye?”

Ghost rolls his eyes, but doesn’t stop watching.

The muscle in her jaw flexes as her lashes flutter. Soap hoots again and she laughs, spilling tequila across the counter before wiping it from her mouth with the back of her hand. When she shifts, the pale blue strap of her bra moves, and Ghost’s gaze is drawn to her shoulder.

At first, he thinks it’s dirt, a bit of mud, or a drop of blood. But then he steps closer, bottle upturned as he takes another swallow, and his vision focuses -

Ghost sputters, partially choking on the beer sliding down his throat. Red twists around, peeking at him with wide eyes and an arched brow. What?

It’s there. Small and black and significant. A skull stenciled into her shoulder, the same patch of flesh he loves to kiss, to worship when she’s on her belly, and he’s spread her knees apart. 

Smooth, curved, and brined in sweat. 

“Would you look at that?” Price mutters before returning his half-chewed cigar to his lips. Gaz snickers. Soap, oblivious as usual, loudly asks what they’re talking about. 

Ghost edges closer before firmly planting his chest against her back, one hand grasping her waist and the other on her bicep. He caresses the tattoo, pushing the blunt tip of his thumb into the design until she shudders. He pets the bony brow, the square teeth, and the black sockets.

“When?” he murmurs. He can smell all of her. The floral shampoo, the sugar punch of whiskey, and the bite of Price’s cigar smoke. 

“Post-Francisco Dorado assassination,” she replies. “Tulum.”

“Without me?”

“You got yours without me.”

Something is unfurling in his chest. It feels like he’s free-falling from a plane. He has no parachute, but he doesn’t care. He wants to crash. He wants to slam into Earth because this is too much and not enough at once. 

“Red…” he utters quietly, strangely touched, strangely bulldozed by this small mark upon her person. 

No one has ever done this for him. No one would. It was one thing to get a tattoo for her. She was Red Fox. He wouldn’t be surprised if several men out there had gotten her name carved into them at one point or another. He imagined she’d left a trail of broken hearts in her wake because she was structured with that kind of chaos. Emotional gut-punch. Sister hurricane. When she fucked him, it felt like he was being sucked dry. Terrifying and destabilizing, and pleasurable. The most mind-numbing orgasms he’d ever experienced.

“Simon,” she says, reaching back to tug at his belt. It’s a comforting gesture and one she uses often in the field when no one can know what they mean to each other. A small hand squeeze. Her arm brushing his bicep. I’m here. I’m here. You and Me.

He lowers his head, lips skating across her ear. Her skin is hot as the bone-white sand beneath this hut, and he intends to fuck her dumb on top of it. What else is there to do? How else can he verbalize his appreciation for what she’s done? Permanent. Always. 

He knows how to show her.  His voice is husky when he speaks, loaded with desperation that he doesn’t mind revealing.

“Outside,” he demands, requests. “Meet me outside.”