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glitterjuju · 6 months

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Chapter Two

Synopsis: The stories of six friends living in the city, navigating love and life while maintaining their careers.

Warning: 18+, alcohol use, cheating, smut, slow burn

Thank you again for reading this part @stargirlfics

Divider by @firefly-graphics

La Vie Est Belle

February 14th, 2023 12:57 pm

Kabrina opened the door to La Vie Est Belle, her favorite cafe. It was a quaint cafe. The white and gold marble flooring screamed classy and expensive. She loved how the walls were predominantly glass. Pink and white roses were on every table. It was pretty. Kabrina was always happy to walk in the cafe.

She wasn’t sure why Peggy invited her here, considering she finished the final alterations on her anniversary dress last month. She looked around until the auburn-haired woman came into view. She was sitting in the glass enclosure of the building, drinking from her tea cup.

Kabrina maneuvered through the tables and approached her. Peggy looked up from her cup and smiled up at Kabrina.

“Good morning, Peggy.” Kabrina sat at the table across from Peggy. The waiter stopped by to take Kabrina’s order. She placed her usual order- a strawberry and kiwi salad and a glass of champagne. The soft jazz music played as the two of them sat in silence.

“I love this little cafe. I love the aesthetic. It’s soft and beautiful in here.”

“I come here a lot to sketch. I gain so much inspiration from sitting in here. I can sketch for hours.”

The waiter returned with Kabrina’s food and a bottle of champagne. The silence between them returned. Kabrina played with the kiwis on her plate, pushing them around with her fork.

“Steve and I have been married for a long time. Twenty years today, to be exact.”

“That’s beautiful Peggy. I hope your dress is still fitting well.”

“The dress is perfect, Kabrina. Thank you.” Peggy took another sip of her tea.

Kabrina was wracking her brain, trying to figure out why Peggy invited her here when she should be getting ready for her anniversary dinner. Peggy pushed her cup away again and folded her hands on the table.

“Kabrina, I do want to thank you for coming to meet me here. I know you’re wondering why I call you here, today of all days. But I just needed some girl talk. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfectly fine, Peggy.”

Peggy grabbed the bottle and poured some into her glass. She drank the first glass in less than five seconds before she poured another.

“Steve and I met in the military. Our relationship was rocky in the beginning, but we eventually became inseparable. We got married after a year. We were both so young and in love. Both of us were only in our early twenties, but we knew we were it for one another. Time goes by, we retire, and he decides to put the degree he earned in school to use and goes to teach at the university. Somewhere around year ten, things died down between us. We tried counseling and sex therapy, but nothing worked. I wanted him to be happy. So, I opened our marriage. He was against it at first, but he eventually came around. He would go out and have fun and come home and be the man I fell in love with.”

“Peggy-”

“Don’t get me wrong, I had my fun too. But we did have a rule- no falling for the other person. That was the only rule. And it worked until it didn’t. I saw text messages between him and a young woman- I don’t know her name. He had her saved under the name Treasure and she calls him names like Prince, Beloved, Cap.” Peggy rolled her eyes at the last nickname. “He never said he loved her but I could see it in his eyes when his phone would buzz and it was her. I wanted to pretend that I didn’t know. After all, I was having sex with other people as well, but I only loved Steve. And then I found out that Steve fell in love with someone else.”

Kabrina passed her napkin over to Peggy as tears fell from her eyes. Her heart broke at the sight in front of her. In the six months that she’d been working with Peggy on an anniversary dress, she had never seen her like this.

“Peggy, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say about all of this, but I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I don’t blame her either. I did see that he explained what was happening between us, and she expressed concerns. She was ready to call their relationship off, but Steve can be very convincing when he wants something.”

“I’m sorry...Convincing?”

“Oh, Steve can sell someone their social security number. He is very good with his words. He is calm and closed off but when he really wants something, he can be charming and seductive. I’m not sure how many women Steve has done this with, but it is…heartbreaking to know that even with me opening the door, I am not enough for him. So it leads me to wonder if anyone ever will be.”

Kabrina’s Apartment

February 14th, 2023 10:48 pm

Kabrina paced the floor of her apartment. Her mind was still an unamusing park of emotions after her talk with Peggy. She grabbed her bottle of wine and took a drink. Her nerves were frayed as her mind replayed the last five months. When her friend Bucky introduced her to Peggy and Steve, she never thought that she would wind up caught in the middle.

The sound of keys in the door pulled her from her thoughts. Kabrina braced herself against the arm of her couch as she watched him walk into her apartment. He was wearing a vibrant red sweater and dark brown pants and carrying two dozen red roses and a teddy bear. He walked over to Kabrina, the sound of his shoes shaking her to her core.

He handed her the flowers and bear. Kabrina’s hands shook as she took them from him. He smiled down at her as her eyes looked over the gifts he gave her.

Kabrina placed them on her coffee table and looked back up at him. He walked over to her and placed his hands on her hips. He gently squeezed as his eyes traced the satin lilac nightgown she was wearing.

“You look beautiful Treasure”

“Steve-’

“Steve? No Beloved, Prince, or Cap?” He smirked. Kabrina pulled away from Steve’s grasp. A confused look crossed his face as Kabrina stepped away from him.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?”

“Peggy asked to see me today. She saw our messages and it broke her heart. She was crying and hurting. Steve, she thinks you’re in love with me”

Steve placed his hand on his hip and tapped his fingers from his other hand against the arm of the couch. He chewed on his bottom lip and looked over at Kabrina. She crossed her arms and looked down at her feet. He could see her thoughts pulling her everywhere. He took a step toward her and she backed away.

“Treasure-”

“My name is Kabrina. Please don’t call me Treasure anymore. I’ll call you Steve and we’ll end this thing tonight. You’ll go back home to Peggy and make things right with her. Actually, you shouldn’t even be here right now. It’s your anniversary. You need to be at home with her right now.”

“I love you Kabrina”

Steve walked toward Kabrina. She backed away from him again until her back hit the glass of her balcony doors. He caged her in by pressing his hands against the glass. Kabrina turned her head away from him, stealing a peek at the city below her. Steve traced his nose along her jaw. Kabrina shivered under his touch.

He never failed to give her butterflies.

“Look at me, baby” Steve whispered.

“Steve, I can’t”

“Treasure, look at me, please. Look at me, baby.”

Kabrina looked up at Steve. His blue eyes pierced through her, staring into her soul. He could read her like a book and make her feel things that no man had ever made her feel before.

“I love you. You are the most important person in my life. I only want you.”

“But you can’t Steve. We can’t be together. It’s hurting your wife.”

“Kabrina, I love you. I am in love with you. I will do whatever it takes to show you that it’s you I want to be with. I will leave her”

“You can’t. She loves you, Steve. She wants her husband back and I am preventing you from doing that. Whatever arrangement the two of you made those years ago…If the two of you decide to continue to sleep with other people, fine. But, I can’t do this anymore Steve.”

Steve cupped Kabrina’s face. He tilted her chin up toward him, his lips ghosted over hers. He could feel the stickiness of her lip gloss. He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her closer to him. His eyes searched her face.

“Do you love me, baby?” His voice was soft.

“I can’t love you.”

“That’s not what I asked you. Kabrina Stewart, do you love me?”

“...Yes…Yes, I love you, Steve.”

“Then please, let me love you. Don’t push me away. Treasure…”

Steve leaned down to place a kiss on her lips but she stopped him by placing her hand on his chest. She looked up at him, apologetically, with tears in her eyes. She wanted to live in a bubble with Steve but she knew that she couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Steve. We can’t do this anymore.”

Steve reached into his pocket and placed his key on the accent table beside the glass doors. His eyes lingered on hers, hoping that she’d change her mind. Steve looked down at his feet. He didn’t want to show that he was heartbroken, but the few tears slipped from his eyes anyway.

“If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me. Even if it’s just a body to warm your bed. Call me. I will give you whatever you want.”

Steve turned to walk away before stopping in his tracks. He turned back and faced Kabrina, cupping her face and kissing her passionately. He pressed her body against the glass, the cold in the air pricking her skin.

“Steve, please” Kabrina pleaded.

“One last time. Use me one last time.”

Steve dropped to his knees. He reached up her nightgown and pulled her panties down her brown legs. He tossed them over his shoulder, not caring where they landed. He pushed her dress up her body and draped her leg over his shoulder.

“Use me Treasure. I’m yours.”

Tags: @starynighty @celestianstars @cardierreh15 @xsapphirescrollsx @angrythingstarlight @beautiful-loserr @amelatonin @mermaidchansons @fineanddandy @avintagekiss24 @lotusss-flowerbomb @navybrat817 @inklore @mcondance @afriendlyblackhottie @aswrittenbyaj @jackburtonsays @purplehairgawdess @syntheticavenger @straywords @rustytricycle @dc418writes @boxofbonesfic @mypoisonedvine @cherienymphe @blackmissfrizzle @lavitabella87 @twistedcharismaaa @royallyprincesslilly @laketaj24 @samwilsonsbabymama

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glitterjuju · 7 months

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I want that Bruce Wayne and that Frank

KINKTOBER 2023 MASTERLIST

NOW ENTERING THE REALM OF DESIRE

if you’re looking for a frighteningly fun time you’ve come to the right place—welcome to my first kinktober! many spooky thrills wait just around the corner if you dare to peek

18+ ONLY WARNING - HAVE A VERY FILTHY STAY!

Week One: Standing in the Eye of the Storm

soulmate au!joel miller + finding each other at the end of the world

Week Two: Hunger of the Pine

vampire!alfred pennyworth + an autumn walk in the gardens at Wayne Manor

Week Three: Cat Got Your Tongue?

the batman!bruce wayne + stolen diamonds and a little game of chase on Halloween night

Week Four: Fright Night

slasher!frank castle + the sweet next door neighbor comes over to keep a very bad man company

very excited to bring you all of these plus maybe a few extra surprise blurbs for spooky season, fingers crossed! 🖤

dividers used here are by the wonderful @saradika!

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glitterjuju · 7 months

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Literally the crème de la crème of writers on this site

PARASITIC

premise: your fingers wrap around his throat to pull his head from your neck. his heart thrumming against your palm. you could end it right now, squeeze the life out of him, wait for another unsuspecting human to fall into your lap. but you won’t.

pairing: marc spector x succubus!reader

contents: p in v, coming inside, somnophilia, light choking, mind control so dubcon, death mentions, blood and slight gore, biting, oral, masturbation, sub!marc i guess, reader is a monster therefore has a monsters body | wc: 2.8k

note: i hope everyone is having the best hornfilled month thus far, i missed writing for my number one emo boy!

KINKTOBER WEEK ONE: succubus, somnophilia.

You know hunger.

You’ve grown accustomed to it—the never ending rumbling in the pit of your stomach that begs you to feed. The ache your teeth get to bite into something, your lungs threaten to stop working if you don’t cater to the hunger. To fill them with something leaking with life—that sweet tang that only humans have to hold onto their meek lives with a determined fist that makes them taste sweeter on your tongue.

It’s been months since you’ve gotten your fill.

The pile of decomposing bodies you sit on like a throne becoming one with the dirt on the cave floor. The drip drip drip of water and the scurry of nails in mud from the rats who share your feast with you, your only company. Nagging noises that only set you on edge and make the craving in your gut worsen.

Feeding off the dead only makes you sicker.

Serves no purpose for what you are. What you were made into. What you became so long ago. What keeps you destitute in this cave and the relic you’re bound to.

Magic put you here, and by magic, you’ll stay and wait.

Wait for your next meal; for the grins of unsuspecting humans to enter a cave they expect to find undiscovered and holding riches where it only holds a death sentence.

A dinner for one.

They come; they always do.

And they always see the same thing; a beautiful woman trapped in a cave, crying and begging for help, so weak and caked with mud, naked and inviting. A potential victim to some, a treasure to others. But they always fall the same and taste the same when you have them pressed against a wall, your tongue down their throat, licking at their insides. Tasting their misery, their fear when the veil is finally pulled back and the horns, jagged teeth, and black eyes come into view. Gone is the innoence of a lost woman, and gone is their want for you.

Fear tastes delicious on your tongue, but the hunger inside your gut gnaws for the carnage that only comes from lust. The little death that you bring when you keep the veil over their eyes. When you lower them to the floor and sink down on their weeping cocks and use their bodies until their nothing but a shell, you’ve sucked dry.

Fucked until their life beats in your belly and you feel full.

Taking bites out of them and wearing their blood like a blanket. The coppery taste makes the opening between your legs clench. An added high to your appetites.

Your life an endless cycle of feeding—devouring—only getting your fill for a while until your body longs for more substance. More death. More life.

And maybe if the kills—the fucking, the blood, the taste of the cords of a neck, the tang of a life being drained through a straw and into you—weren’t so delicious, you’d want something more than kills in a dirty cave. A variety of lungs to squeeze into your mouth like a flimsy can.

Thoughts of leaving the depths of your cave don’t come until you see him.

Until he enters your feeding ground.

Marc.

There’s always a different smell to humans; greed, anger, fear, excitement.

Never darkness. Never shadows cast behind the eyes and a desperation to rid the tar pulling at the bottom of their hearts. Begging to be rung dry of the misery that’s sunk into it. That holds on. That can’t be found at the bottom of a bottle, inside someone's pussy, or through bloodied fists.

It’s all you can smell when he enters the cave.

The two others' scents clouded over by his.

By the deep set of his brow.

By the way anger and grief cling to how he moves. How he steals and claims things within your home like he owns them. Like he’s found the answer to that desperation in his heart. The score that will finally fix everything.

You don’t make yourself known. Don’t put a veil up, don’t hide in the shadows, and wait for your victim to find you.

No.

You’re a breeze on his cheek when you reach your fingers out to brush against his skin, his eyes unknowingly meeting yours. Staring into the black depths of the soul you don’t have—making something quench and yearn for something you haven’t felt since before.

A deep groan rattling in the cave as you let your tongue slip from your mouth, the feathery touch of the tip running along his pulse point—a slap at his neck, a bug to him—his taste sour and sweet and intoxicating.

The perfect blood bag.

A beautiful tortured soul to feed off of.

To play with.

For days, months.

Forever.

The sweetest of treats falling into your lap, you can’t let him go. Refuse to let him become another meaningless body in this cavern. He’s too pretty, too delicious to drain within seconds. To not drain that desperation with a slow, loving hand would be cruel.

And with a helping hand, your relic is placed in plain sight like an offering from the devil; he’s putting it in his pocket, unlike the other jewels that lay clattering in a bag at his side, like he knows. Knows all you can give, take, and lick from his body—that tar soaked heart dug into by your nails until he’s coming and you’ve fixed him—drained him.

You don’t touch him for weeks.

Letting yourself continue to go hungry and crave.

Your insides gnawing at you like a rabid dog trying to let itself free from a cage to bite the hand that feeds it.

And it seems the more you play with him—the more you haunt his mind with dreams of meeting a strange woman in the shadows, her hand around his throat as she rides him, his fingers dug into her skull as he fucks up into her, hard, rough, raw, marks on both their skin red and bloody. The sweetest noises falling from his lips as his hips rock against his mattress, the weak noise of him coming in his pants and waking up in a cold sweat, chest heaving and heart pounding like a symphony of hymns to your hungry belly—the more you wonder whos torturing who here.

The more your teeth ache, the more you feel starved.

So many nights spent beside him in bed watching him sleep, making him dream, whispering in his ear. Never allowing yourself to touch him because you know you won't be able to stop.

He’s a prized treasure you want to take your time with.

To keep.

But allowing yourself a little appetizer won’t hurt. You need it. After all the playing you’ve done with him from afar. A little touch won’t hurt, you won’t let it.

As you round his bed, Marc on his back, his chest moving rhythmically as he sleeps peacefully, the tip of your nail moves along his arm. You can feel the beat of his heart, slow and calm, as you press into the crease of his arm. The thrum making arousal beat it’s own drum between your legs.

His scent even more intoxicating now that you’re closer to him. Now that you’re moving the covers from his body, perched at the side of his bed as you watch the twitches and small beads of sweat move along his frame. The dark briefs he’s wearing cling to his thighs—thighs you want to sink your teeth into—hiding the treat you want to taste tonight.

You don’t need to touch him to make him see you or to plague his dreams once more with the girl from the shadows. But you want to touch. Need to touch. So you press your fingers to this temple and smile at the way his mouth parts with a small gasp when you’ve inserted yourself into his mind. Your fingers grip his jaw with a light hold—lighter than you’ve ever treated a human—as you turn his head towards you.

Watching the contorts of his brow bone as he dreams, the hard swallow, the grunts as you waste no time in getting the dream to where you want it—him fucking you, the girl from the shadows, a dream disguised as a nightmare.

You watch his face for a beat more. Let your fingers run through his hair, trace the pulse in his neck, his bottom lip before you press the lightest of kisses to his parted mouth—letting your tongue run along the chapped skin of his bottom lip for less than you’d like to.

There’s something else you want to taste.

The nails at your feet digging into the mattress as you climb over him, maneuvering yourself so you’re kneeling between his thighs.

He doesn’t stir when you pull down his boxers; why would he? He wouldn’t. He’s too happy in the throes of his dream. Buried deep in the pussy of a monster with a beautiful smile.

The evidence of that, of the enjoyment of the dream you’re casting, leaking at the tip of his cock. Clear and sweet as you bend and gather it onto your tongue. Swallow it down and sigh contently when your stomach flutters in approval.

You’ve watched him wrap his fist around his cock for weeks now.

Even after he’s woken from his dream, his boxers sticky and clinging to him. A vengeful fist wrapped around his spent cock, the scowl on his brow from how oversensitive he is—from the burn you know he feels, the ache and pang of being overused and finding pleasure from it making you bite into your own arm so you won’t reach out and feed off of him. So you won’t stop this beautiful sight.

He looks so pretty like that.

Making himself grip the sheets, grunts and groans, flowing through the air as he fucks up into his fist in anger, frustration. There's a hatred in it, and it makes you yearn.

And when he says your name, a name you whisper against his lips in his dreams but in his ear in reality, it’s better than feeding you think.

But not better than the way he tastes.

Your tongue runs up the length of his cock, a smile at the corners of your mouth when you look up, and his lips have parted more. Fingers dug into the sheets, a whimper stuck in his throat as his hips buck.

Those pretty noises make your hunger greedy the more your tongue moves against him, the tip wrapping around the head, pushing into the slit of his cock to taste the bountiful offering he’s giving you for pleasing his cock.

When you finally put him into your mouth, the guttural noise that falls from his lips as his back bows makes you purr. Makes you pump your mouth faster and harder so he’s reached the back of your throat—a cavern without a bottom—the suction your body contorts to pull more of his noises, more of his pre-come from the very cock you’ve been hungry for for weeks—is animistic. Not fully your style.

But Marc is different.

Marc is potential.

A divine feast.

You know he’s going to come soon.

And your stomach begs for it. Begs for you to keep going until he’s come so deep down your throat that you’ll feel fed for days or weeks. Your hunger sedated by his sweet taste.

But you want more.

Another part of your body begs to be fed—filled by his leaking cock.

You were made to seek pleasure, after all. To share it with your victims, to come as you bared your teeth into their throat or watched the life drain from their eyes with your tongue down it. Your come coating their cock as there’s pulled the last breath of life from them.

Your indulgence in Marc has gone as far as it should tonight. Has gone past what you promised to be just a taste, but you can’t stop yourself from climbing on top of him. From sinking your wet cunt down onto his hard cock, the air caught in his lungs as he fills you. A deep sigh of relief makes your body shake.

And you should leave it there; you should just fuck him until you’re both coming. Not let your hunger get the best of you and drain him before you want to—before he’s ready.

But you want to see his eyes when he’s coming inside you. Want to see the desperation they hold.

“Marc,” you whisper into his ear. Your hips rocking slowly, enough to have his cock moving against the walls of your pussy. Enough to make him stir and whimper. “Marc, wake up.” You kiss at the skin below his earlobe, your tongue coming to lick at the sweat that coats his body, your taste buds mewling.

When he finally comes to, slow and out of breath, he doesn’t freak out. Doesn’t push you off of him when he sits up and wraps his arms around your ribcage. His dark eyes looking up into your black ones.

He doesn’t see the horns, the sharp teeth, or your dark lips and tongue. Doesn’t see that you’re nothing like the girl in his dreams—except you are; you’re she, and he still thinks he’s dreaming. Still thinks you are nothing but an innocent fuck, a hole for him to feel at home in.

To forget those parts of his brain that cause those shadows to gloss over his eyes and that anger that makes him bloody his knuckles and punish himself.

He looks up at you with need in his eyes, desperation, hunger, admiration.

And all you can do is smile.

Cup the back of his head, your fingers digging into his hair, your hips moving again—faster and rougher his time.

His mouth biting and kissing at your collarbone and chest, his fingers digging into your shoulder as he holds onto you as you fuck him. As you bounce on his cock.

It’s so much better than you’ve imagined. Than you’ve watched playout in his mind, than you’ve felt with other victims.

But Marc’s not your victim.

He’s not just a feast.

Something to fuck and eat.

He’s saying your name into your neck, letting his teeth sink into your flesh. Your own purrs and noises mix with the sounds of skin on skin, wetness, and raw fucking that only feels this good when it’s depraved. When someone’s about to lose something.

Not this time, though.

Or maybe even the next.

You feel your lips tingle, a silent plea to press to his mouth and deflate his lungs. To feed on more than just the taste of his cock and the fill of it inside your cunt.

Your nails dig into his back to stop yourself—making him groan, his hips bucking, fingers and mouth becoming rougher against you the closer he gets to coming. The more needy and desperate he is for his release.

There will be dried blood there in the morning. Scratches he won’t be able to explain.

A satisfied noise rumbles in your belly at the image of watching him look at them in the mirror with a scowl.

Your own orgasm on the cusp of soaking his cock.

Your fingers wrapping around his throat to pull his head from your neck; his lips wet and swollen, his pupils blown out, heart thrumming against your palm. You could end it all right now, squeeze the life out of him, and wait for another unsuspecting human to fall into your lap.

But you won’t.

Not even as you press your lips to his, the kiss rough, Marc’s hand at the back of your neck to keep you there. Like he’s been waiting for your mouth to be on his all night. Like it’s what he needed to finally be able to come—his hips thrusting up more sloppy and quick. His breathing more ragged.

“Look at me, Marc.” You say against his lips before using the hold on his neck to bend his head, so he has no choice but to look up at you. To look up at the monster who’s claimed him. Who’s falling into the depths of the darkness in his eyes and squeezing the tar from his heart one dirty dream at a time—one stroke and clench of her cunt at a time.

“Come for me.”

His head nods, a weak noise that sounds too much like your name to be anything else as his hips thrust up one more time before he’s spilling inside. Before you’re coming on his cock from the way his eyes gloss over as he keeps looking up at you. As he clings to your body—this big, tough man.

This killer, this self loathing human, looking weak and all yours.

You don’t let him catch his breath before you press your mouth against his and take it from him. A few puffs—the appetizer.

Your eyes rolling back, hunger sedated, full, warm, fed.

When you pull your mouth back, his eyes are hooded.

His fingers come up to your cheek, thumb pressing into the line of your jaw. “Thank you,” he murmurs before you press your fingers to his temple and make him slip back into sleep.

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glitterjuju · 7 months

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🗡. KINKTOBER'23

who’s ready to get skanky spooky?!!! i swear i wait in anticipation every year for the sluttiest month to plague the tumblr tags. as we all know your girl has zero self control so here i am again bringing you some filthy feral content during this wonderful month.

minors please dni with the fics below, it is strictly eighteen+ content. i highly rec following @lorelibrary to stay updated.

WEEK ONE.

PARASITIC ( MARC SPECTOR ) ….. the one where marc goes searching in a cave and comes home with something attached to me. a leech who wants to do more than drain him.

⚠︎: succubus, haunting, mind control, somnophilia.

WEEK TWO.

PUNISHER ( JOEL MILLER ) ….. the one where your father owes a debt and joel is not opposed in taking what is owed to him. what is promised to him. and you’re the perfect little consolation prize.

⚠︎: purge au, claiming, praise kink, agegap, deceit.

WEEK THREE.

MY WOMAN ( CARMY BERZATTO + LUCA ) ….. the one where you can’t remember who came first carmy or luca, the lines having blurred the longer you split your time between the two.

⚠︎: threesome, double penetration, deep throating.

WEEK FOUR.

CRAWLING INTO YOU ( FLIP ZIMMERMAN + CLYDE LOGAN + OFFICER PETERSON ) ….. the one where hot pavement and rattle snakes are the least of your worries when driving through the desert turns into a game of survival you’ve already lost.

⚠︎: texas chainsaw au, hunter x prey, breeding, dubcon.

— BONUS DAYS.

tell me where it hurts — love quinn (choking, murder)

concentrate — jake ‘hangman’ seresin (phonesex)

figured you out — joe velasco (forbidden, hair pulling)

asteroid blues — poe dameron (sexpollen)

midnight snack — bruce wayne variants (spitting, cheating)

guilty of love — villanelle (restraints, forced voyeurism)

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glitterjuju · 7 months

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Big Brat Energy

Summary: Sometimes it takes being a brat to teach Frank how you like being handled.

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Warnings: Smut. Degradation. Oral. Toxic relationships. Reader is mean. Weed smoking.

A/N: For all the brats who know that being a sub is a position of power.

As you reach across your bed to your nightstand, searching for your post-sex-spliff, a realization settles on your sweat damp skin.

You have to teach Frank Castle how you like being fucked.

The first time, right now, it's... pleasant. You don't want pleasant. If you wanted pleasant, you wouldn't have taken the time out of your busy schedule to seduce the fucking Punisher.

“Hi."

"Nice to meet ya.”

That’s what it’s like. Frank takes you out to eat despite you not wanting a “date” walks you back to your place and gives you some standard , mundane bullshit. Eats you out, doggy then missionary, kisses you all throughout, respectfully comes in his condom. To be fair, any normal woman would’ve been limp-legged from his performance, but you’re not the normal woman are you? It feels good, you come, multiple times as a matter-of-fact, but where’s the fire? The passion?

“I’m not your wife, Frank,” you spit. You hope it hurts him. He's built for it – his scar clad body all but proclaims that. Men after sex are vulnerable, nows the time to slip the knife between bone. “Don’t fuck me like her.”

Even he, a trained killer, can't hide the shock in those black eyes of his. It's shock and a glint of something else. You can't put a name on it and assume that it's anger. Good. He can take it out on you if he wants.

Only a small percentage of light from outside your window enters your room. It paints Frank hideously. Hard lines. Jagged nose. A small scrape cutting across his cheek. You can see the monster that terrorizes Hell’s Kitchen. You understand why so many are afraid of him.

He reaches for the lamp next to him. When his turns it on, the monster remains. “The fuck you just say to me?"

The joint magically appears after rummaging through your junky desk. Right there beneath all the ripped out magazine pics you hoard for inspiration. Indica after dick was a tried-and-true ritual regardless if the dick was bomb or not. Now all you needed was a light-

He smacks the preroll from your hand, you sigh. The spliff rolls somewhere in your junky room – forever lost amongst clothes and art supplies. You’d never see it again. Not unless you plan on cleaning which you didn't.

"Dude,” you say, “The fuck?”

“Why would you say that shit to me?”

“Because it's the truth. You're the punisher, I wanted to be punished,” you say. It's a flat tone. Deadpan. It's also a test, if Frank couldn't handle your nasty attitude, toxic and all, he didn't deserve you. And you would've been wrong about your prejudgement of him. Something tells you, he can handle you, he's just holding back. “Feels like I slept with Mr. Rogers and now I'm out of weed. I deserve a refund.”

You expect him to be angry over bringing up his dead wife and surprisingly, he's not. If his next barb back to your is any indicator, he's pissed about something else. His bare shoulders hunch and he’s quiet. Mute. Like he’s trying to put together a puzzle not knowing that you’d stolen some of its pieces.

“You weren’t talking all that shit when I was making you come.”

There it is. The criticism of his sex game irks him.

Aww, you hurt his precious male ego.

“So? That’s what a dick is supposed to do. You did your job. You want kudos because you did the goddamn bare minimum?”

“The bare minimum had you calling me daddy.”

“To be fair, I thought that moaning Mr. Roger would've been inappropriate,” you chuckle. “Dude, don't be so sensitive. Man the fuck up, marine.”

It's mean. Who cares. You're without weed now so he has to feel your wrath. It's not a surprise that Frank leaves after that. He grabs his clothes, puts them on in silence, and slams the door shut behind him.

Whatever.

You suck him off next to one of your graffiti paintings of him.

Did he really think he wouldn’t sleep with you again? Did he really believe he had that much restraint? You had him figured out before he could get the one-up on you.

He’s on punishment. After that last fuck session he’s not allowed to touch your pussy let alone fuck you. But goddammit if you weren’t going to swallow every inch of him.

Head bobbing along his dick, you take your hands and grab his own. You place them behind your head. It gives him the go ahead to control the pace. Let’s him fuck your mouth just how he wants.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, pushing your head further than he ever anticipates it going. If anyone catches you both on the rooftop of this random building, they were in for one helluva sight.

He looks down, watching as you go to town on him. It’s a work of art. A trained skill that he doesn’t want to know how you got so talented at. It’s wet. More spit than he’s used to. It coats him shaft to ass crack in smathers of sloppiness and drips into his pants that pool around his ankles.

“You got a mouth on you, girl, I’ll tell you that.“

Your throat convulses around him and you make a strangled noise. He immediately lets go of you, but that’s when he feels it. The slight pinch of your teeth along him. It’s not enough to hurt, but it’s enough to wake him the fuck up.

"Alright,” he says. “Alright. I hear ya.”

You choke on him and it’s an odd thing for him to get used to. But get used to it he will.

His head hits the back of the wall behind him when he sinks into the rhythm of your mouth. A rhythm that he commands you to follow. You know what’s to next. Can feel it as his hands tighten in your hair and his breathing deepens to hard grunts.

You moan around him, that sweet fucking mouth of yours vibrating against him tip to base and he loses it.

“Goddamn,” he grunts and you taste him in the back of your throat. He fills up your mouth pretty damn quick. You can’t contain all of it.

“Fucking fuck.”

He’s not a very poetic man.

You’re teary eyed and pouty lipped when you finish Tiny trickles of his come and your spit drip along your chin.

His eyes stare directly into yours. They’re lust filled. Hazy with it. Just a hunch, but you bet he probably can't see straight right now. You did your job and you did it well. Because of it, you own his ass. He didn’t even fucking know it yet.

You gather the remains of his juices on your fingers and make sure none of him is lost.

“Thank you, sir,” you’re panting. He’s fucked the wind out of your lungs and you’re proud of your work. As proud of it as you were the mural you painted that sits behind him like a halo. “May I get off my knees, please?”

Jesus Christ. He’s never been at the receiving end of this kind of shit. He and Maria had a good sex life, but it was not this. Never this.

“Sir?"

Your voice bring him back into his body.

"Yeah,” he says and you stand. You were kind enough to pull his pants up along the way. Beneath your dress, there’s harsh bruises on your knees from where cruel asphalt dug. Shit, he didn’t mean to hurt you. “You alrig-”

“Did I do a good job?” you ask. Your voice is gentle, but he knows. He’s not that daft. You don’t want kindness.

“Yeah, you did good. Real good.”

“I should’ve waited for you to tell me to swallow, but I couldn’t help myself.”

This was a test.

He wipes at the fucked-out tears on your cheeks. The next bit makes you smirk. “Don’t let it happen again.”

He kisses the top of your head and you guys get pastrami sandwiches after this. You talk about life as an art teacher. He tells you a few stories of his life in the Marines. You both realize how weird each other is.

He sleeps on just a mattress. No bedframe, nothing. Just a mattress soaked in y'alls combined sweat. It’s like fucking on concrete. It makes it nasty - makes it primal.

You’re face down, ass up, a tried and true position. But the way Frank is handling you has you biting sheets. You never bite sheets. What in the fuck.

He’s earned his way back into your pretty pussy after careful training.

You’re in his apartment this time. It used to be as cold as a prison cell. Now it’s a cold prison cell, but with little shit of yours in it. A sketchpad. You have a towel. He fucking has tampons beneath his sink. Even keeps your favorite frozen pizza in his freezer.

Neither of you mention what this thing has become. No waaaay.

It’s stupid for him to be involved with you: a stoner who idolizes him in graffiti across the city.

And you’re fucking a mass murderer.

It’s recipe for disaster. The bomb is going to detonate one of these days.

But he’s dicking you down so good now. You couldn’t let him go and let the next bitch prosper.

“Get it, girl,” he grunts, slapping your ass. He does it again without giving you time to settle into the sting. “Get it.”

“You liking the view?"

"Did I say you could talk?” Your bratiness is rewarded with another hand to your ass. It’s much harder than the other two. You cry out, but you don’t tell him to stop. If you did, this whole operation would be shut. the fuck. down. “Shut up and take it.”

You toss your ass back on him and he meets you with forceful thrusts. There’s nowhere to run, no softness in how he handles you.

You give in.

“There you go, atta girl. Come on it.” He pushes you down by your spine, furthering your arch. That’s when he starts to give it to you nice and slow. He presses deep into a part of you that makes your eyes roll. “You take every inch of me so well and it’s all for you. Now come on it.”

He’s a fast learner.

309 notes · View notes

glitterjuju · 7 months

Text

I delete my account of five years with 7k followers, just to come back and on DAY ONE, a bitch is complaining about the most mundane shit.

Welcome back to tumblr.

#not to mention #I’ve been writing and a part of the punisher fandom when there was 3 fucking people in it #you’re not gonna tell me how to fandom sweetie pie

12 notes · View notes

glitterjuju · 7 months

Text

Lmaooo now it’s your reading comprehension that’s in question.

Alec Baldwin, please, this is hilarious to me.

Big Brat Energy

Summary: Sometimes it takes being a brat to teach Frank how you like being handled.

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Warnings: Smut. Degradation. Oral. Toxic relationships. Reader is mean. Weed smoking.

A/N: For all the brats who know that being a sub is a position of power.

As you reach across your bed to your nightstand, searching for your post-sex-spliff, a realization settles on your sweat damp skin.

You have to teach Frank Castle how you like being fucked.

The first time, right now, it's... pleasant. You don't want pleasant. If you wanted pleasant, you wouldn't have taken the time out of your busy schedule to seduce the fucking Punisher.

“Hi."

"Nice to meet ya.”

He reaches for the lamp next to him. When his turns it on, the monster remains. “The fuck you just say to me?"

"Dude,” you say, “The fuck?”

“Why would you say that shit to me?”

“You weren’t talking all that shit when I was making you come.”

There it is. The criticism of his sex game irks him.

Aww, you hurt his precious male ego.

“So? That’s what a dick is supposed to do. You did your job. You want kudos because you did the goddamn bare minimum?”

“The bare minimum had you calling me daddy.”

“To be fair, I thought that moaning Mr. Roger would've been inappropriate,” you chuckle. “Dude, don't be so sensitive. Man the fuck up, marine.”

Whatever.

You suck him off next to one of your graffiti paintings of him.

Did he really think he wouldn’t sleep with you again? Did he really believe he had that much restraint? You had him figured out before he could get the one-up on you.

He’s on punishment. After that last fuck session he’s not allowed to touch your pussy let alone fuck you. But goddammit if you weren’t going to swallow every inch of him.

Head bobbing along his dick, you take your hands and grab his own. You place them behind your head. It gives him the go ahead to control the pace. Let’s him fuck your mouth just how he wants.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, pushing your head further than he ever anticipates it going. If anyone catches you both on the rooftop of this random building, they were in for one helluva sight.

“You got a mouth on you, girl, I’ll tell you that.“

"Alright,” he says. “Alright. I hear ya.”

You choke on him and it’s an odd thing for him to get used to. But get used to it he will.

You moan around him, that sweet fucking mouth of yours vibrating against him tip to base and he loses it.

“Goddamn,” he grunts and you taste him in the back of your throat. He fills up your mouth pretty damn quick. You can’t contain all of it.

“Fucking fuck.”

He’s not a very poetic man.

You’re teary eyed and pouty lipped when you finish Tiny trickles of his come and your spit drip along your chin.

You gather the remains of his juices on your fingers and make sure none of him is lost.

Jesus Christ. He’s never been at the receiving end of this kind of shit. He and Maria had a good sex life, but it was not this. Never this.

“Sir?"

Your voice bring him back into his body.

“Did I do a good job?” you ask. Your voice is gentle, but he knows. He’s not that daft. You don’t want kindness.

“Yeah, you did good. Real good.”

“I should’ve waited for you to tell me to swallow, but I couldn’t help myself.”

This was a test.

He wipes at the fucked-out tears on your cheeks. The next bit makes you smirk. “Don’t let it happen again.”

He sleeps on just a mattress. No bedframe, nothing. Just a mattress soaked in y'alls combined sweat. It’s like fucking on concrete. It makes it nasty - makes it primal.

You’re face down, ass up, a tried and true position. But the way Frank is handling you has you biting sheets. You never bite sheets. What in the fuck.

He’s earned his way back into your pretty pussy after careful training.

Neither of you mention what this thing has become. No waaaay.

It’s stupid for him to be involved with you: a stoner who idolizes him in graffiti across the city.

And you’re fucking a mass murderer.

It’s recipe for disaster. The bomb is going to detonate one of these days.

But he’s dicking you down so good now. You couldn’t let him go and let the next bitch prosper.

“Get it, girl,” he grunts, slapping your ass. He does it again without giving you time to settle into the sting. “Get it.”

“You liking the view?"

You toss your ass back on him and he meets you with forceful thrusts. There’s nowhere to run, no softness in how he handles you.

You give in.

He’s a fast learner.

309 notes · View notes

glitterjuju · 7 months

Text

Why u edit ur comment?

The sheer sensory overload you have over me not tagging how you think I should is hilarious. Go touch some fucking grass. Or smoke some.

A gross excuse for a human being lmaooooooooooooooo

Over a Frank Castle story

Lmaooooooooooooooooo

LMAOAOAOAOAO

Have a blessed day, troll burger.

Big Brat Energy

Summary: Sometimes it takes being a brat to teach Frank how you like being handled.

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Warnings: Smut. Degradation. Oral. Toxic relationships. Reader is mean. Weed smoking.

A/N: For all the brats who know that being a sub is a position of power.

As you reach across your bed to your nightstand, searching for your post-sex-spliff, a realization settles on your sweat damp skin.

You have to teach Frank Castle how you like being fucked.

The first time, right now, it's... pleasant. You don't want pleasant. If you wanted pleasant, you wouldn't have taken the time out of your busy schedule to seduce the fucking Punisher.

“Hi."

"Nice to meet ya.”

He reaches for the lamp next to him. When his turns it on, the monster remains. “The fuck you just say to me?"

"Dude,” you say, “The fuck?”

“Why would you say that shit to me?”

“You weren’t talking all that shit when I was making you come.”

There it is. The criticism of his sex game irks him.

Aww, you hurt his precious male ego.

“So? That’s what a dick is supposed to do. You did your job. You want kudos because you did the goddamn bare minimum?”

“The bare minimum had you calling me daddy.”

“To be fair, I thought that moaning Mr. Roger would've been inappropriate,” you chuckle. “Dude, don't be so sensitive. Man the fuck up, marine.”

Whatever.

You suck him off next to one of your graffiti paintings of him.

Did he really think he wouldn’t sleep with you again? Did he really believe he had that much restraint? You had him figured out before he could get the one-up on you.

He’s on punishment. After that last fuck session he’s not allowed to touch your pussy let alone fuck you. But goddammit if you weren’t going to swallow every inch of him.

Head bobbing along his dick, you take your hands and grab his own. You place them behind your head. It gives him the go ahead to control the pace. Let’s him fuck your mouth just how he wants.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, pushing your head further than he ever anticipates it going. If anyone catches you both on the rooftop of this random building, they were in for one helluva sight.

“You got a mouth on you, girl, I’ll tell you that.“

"Alright,” he says. “Alright. I hear ya.”

You choke on him and it’s an odd thing for him to get used to. But get used to it he will.

You moan around him, that sweet fucking mouth of yours vibrating against him tip to base and he loses it.

“Goddamn,” he grunts and you taste him in the back of your throat. He fills up your mouth pretty damn quick. You can’t contain all of it.

“Fucking fuck.”

He’s not a very poetic man.

You’re teary eyed and pouty lipped when you finish Tiny trickles of his come and your spit drip along your chin.

You gather the remains of his juices on your fingers and make sure none of him is lost.

Jesus Christ. He’s never been at the receiving end of this kind of shit. He and Maria had a good sex life, but it was not this. Never this.

“Sir?"

Your voice bring him back into his body.

“Did I do a good job?” you ask. Your voice is gentle, but he knows. He’s not that daft. You don’t want kindness.

“Yeah, you did good. Real good.”

“I should’ve waited for you to tell me to swallow, but I couldn’t help myself.”

This was a test.

He wipes at the fucked-out tears on your cheeks. The next bit makes you smirk. “Don’t let it happen again.”

He sleeps on just a mattress. No bedframe, nothing. Just a mattress soaked in y'alls combined sweat. It’s like fucking on concrete. It makes it nasty - makes it primal.

You’re face down, ass up, a tried and true position. But the way Frank is handling you has you biting sheets. You never bite sheets. What in the fuck.

He’s earned his way back into your pretty pussy after careful training.

Neither of you mention what this thing has become. No waaaay.

It’s stupid for him to be involved with you: a stoner who idolizes him in graffiti across the city.

And you’re fucking a mass murderer.

It’s recipe for disaster. The bomb is going to detonate one of these days.

But he’s dicking you down so good now. You couldn’t let him go and let the next bitch prosper.

“Get it, girl,” he grunts, slapping your ass. He does it again without giving you time to settle into the sting. “Get it.”

“You liking the view?"

You toss your ass back on him and he meets you with forceful thrusts. There’s nowhere to run, no softness in how he handles you.

You give in.

He’s a fast learner.

309 notes · View notes

glitterjuju · 7 months

Text

Reader insert. General reader. Troll Burger, I hope they pay you well being the tumblr tag police. I’ve tagged appropriately despite what you may dictate.

BRB gonna respond to your other reblog while you still have me unblocked lmaoooo

Big Brat Energy

Summary: Sometimes it takes being a brat to teach Frank how you like being handled.

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Warnings: Smut. Degradation. Oral. Toxic relationships. Reader is mean. Weed smoking.

A/N: For all the brats who know that being a sub is a position of power.

As you reach across your bed to your nightstand, searching for your post-sex-spliff, a realization settles on your sweat damp skin.

You have to teach Frank Castle how you like being fucked.

The first time, right now, it's... pleasant. You don't want pleasant. If you wanted pleasant, you wouldn't have taken the time out of your busy schedule to seduce the fucking Punisher.

“Hi."

"Nice to meet ya.”

He reaches for the lamp next to him. When his turns it on, the monster remains. “The fuck you just say to me?"

"Dude,” you say, “The fuck?”

“Why would you say that shit to me?”

“You weren’t talking all that shit when I was making you come.”

There it is. The criticism of his sex game irks him.

Aww, you hurt his precious male ego.

“So? That’s what a dick is supposed to do. You did your job. You want kudos because you did the goddamn bare minimum?”

“The bare minimum had you calling me daddy.”

“To be fair, I thought that moaning Mr. Roger would've been inappropriate,” you chuckle. “Dude, don't be so sensitive. Man the fuck up, marine.”

Whatever.

You suck him off next to one of your graffiti paintings of him.

Did he really think he wouldn’t sleep with you again? Did he really believe he had that much restraint? You had him figured out before he could get the one-up on you.

He’s on punishment. After that last fuck session he’s not allowed to touch your pussy let alone fuck you. But goddammit if you weren’t going to swallow every inch of him.

Head bobbing along his dick, you take your hands and grab his own. You place them behind your head. It gives him the go ahead to control the pace. Let’s him fuck your mouth just how he wants.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, pushing your head further than he ever anticipates it going. If anyone catches you both on the rooftop of this random building, they were in for one helluva sight.

“You got a mouth on you, girl, I’ll tell you that.“

"Alright,” he says. “Alright. I hear ya.”

You choke on him and it’s an odd thing for him to get used to. But get used to it he will.

You moan around him, that sweet fucking mouth of yours vibrating against him tip to base and he loses it.

“Goddamn,” he grunts and you taste him in the back of your throat. He fills up your mouth pretty damn quick. You can’t contain all of it.

“Fucking fuck.”

He’s not a very poetic man.

You’re teary eyed and pouty lipped when you finish Tiny trickles of his come and your spit drip along your chin.

You gather the remains of his juices on your fingers and make sure none of him is lost.

Jesus Christ. He’s never been at the receiving end of this kind of shit. He and Maria had a good sex life, but it was not this. Never this.

“Sir?"

Your voice bring him back into his body.

“Did I do a good job?” you ask. Your voice is gentle, but he knows. He’s not that daft. You don’t want kindness.

“Yeah, you did good. Real good.”

“I should’ve waited for you to tell me to swallow, but I couldn’t help myself.”

This was a test.

He wipes at the fucked-out tears on your cheeks. The next bit makes you smirk. “Don’t let it happen again.”

He sleeps on just a mattress. No bedframe, nothing. Just a mattress soaked in y'alls combined sweat. It’s like fucking on concrete. It makes it nasty - makes it primal.

You’re face down, ass up, a tried and true position. But the way Frank is handling you has you biting sheets. You never bite sheets. What in the fuck.

He’s earned his way back into your pretty pussy after careful training.

Neither of you mention what this thing has become. No waaaay.

It’s stupid for him to be involved with you: a stoner who idolizes him in graffiti across the city.

And you’re fucking a mass murderer.

It’s recipe for disaster. The bomb is going to detonate one of these days.

But he’s dicking you down so good now. You couldn’t let him go and let the next bitch prosper.

“Get it, girl,” he grunts, slapping your ass. He does it again without giving you time to settle into the sting. “Get it.”

“You liking the view?"

You toss your ass back on him and he meets you with forceful thrusts. There’s nowhere to run, no softness in how he handles you.

You give in.

He’s a fast learner.

309 notes · View notes

glitterjuju · 7 months

Text

Lol listen little troll burger, the fic was tagged appropriately. It’s Frank castle content hence the Frank Castle tag, you don’t dictate what the Frank Castle tag entails, troll burger, sorry to break it to you.

I also tagged it with the reader insert tag lololol.

This also isn’t my personal masturbation fantasy. Why would I need to masturbate when I have you so clearly on my dick right now, troll burger.

My answer to your request is no, please block me should you choose :)

Big Brat Energy

Summary: Sometimes it takes being a brat to teach Frank how you like being handled.

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Warnings: Smut. Degradation. Oral. Toxic relationships. Reader is mean. Weed smoking.

A/N: For all the brats who know that being a sub is a position of power.

As you reach across your bed to your nightstand, searching for your post-sex-spliff, a realization settles on your sweat damp skin.

You have to teach Frank Castle how you like being fucked.

The first time, right now, it's... pleasant. You don't want pleasant. If you wanted pleasant, you wouldn't have taken the time out of your busy schedule to seduce the fucking Punisher.

“Hi."

"Nice to meet ya.”

He reaches for the lamp next to him. When his turns it on, the monster remains. “The fuck you just say to me?"

"Dude,” you say, “The fuck?”

“Why would you say that shit to me?”

“You weren’t talking all that shit when I was making you come.”

There it is. The criticism of his sex game irks him.

Aww, you hurt his precious male ego.

“So? That’s what a dick is supposed to do. You did your job. You want kudos because you did the goddamn bare minimum?”

“The bare minimum had you calling me daddy.”

“To be fair, I thought that moaning Mr. Roger would've been inappropriate,” you chuckle. “Dude, don't be so sensitive. Man the fuck up, marine.”

Whatever.

You suck him off next to one of your graffiti paintings of him.

Did he really think he wouldn’t sleep with you again? Did he really believe he had that much restraint? You had him figured out before he could get the one-up on you.

He’s on punishment. After that last fuck session he’s not allowed to touch your pussy let alone fuck you. But goddammit if you weren’t going to swallow every inch of him.

Head bobbing along his dick, you take your hands and grab his own. You place them behind your head. It gives him the go ahead to control the pace. Let’s him fuck your mouth just how he wants.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, pushing your head further than he ever anticipates it going. If anyone catches you both on the rooftop of this random building, they were in for one helluva sight.

“You got a mouth on you, girl, I’ll tell you that.“

"Alright,” he says. “Alright. I hear ya.”

You choke on him and it’s an odd thing for him to get used to. But get used to it he will.

You moan around him, that sweet fucking mouth of yours vibrating against him tip to base and he loses it.

“Goddamn,” he grunts and you taste him in the back of your throat. He fills up your mouth pretty damn quick. You can’t contain all of it.

“Fucking fuck.”

He’s not a very poetic man.

You’re teary eyed and pouty lipped when you finish Tiny trickles of his come and your spit drip along your chin.

You gather the remains of his juices on your fingers and make sure none of him is lost.

Jesus Christ. He’s never been at the receiving end of this kind of shit. He and Maria had a good sex life, but it was not this. Never this.

“Sir?"

Your voice bring him back into his body.

“Did I do a good job?” you ask. Your voice is gentle, but he knows. He’s not that daft. You don’t want kindness.

“Yeah, you did good. Real good.”

“I should’ve waited for you to tell me to swallow, but I couldn’t help myself.”

This was a test.

He wipes at the fucked-out tears on your cheeks. The next bit makes you smirk. “Don’t let it happen again.”

He sleeps on just a mattress. No bedframe, nothing. Just a mattress soaked in y'alls combined sweat. It’s like fucking on concrete. It makes it nasty - makes it primal.

You’re face down, ass up, a tried and true position. But the way Frank is handling you has you biting sheets. You never bite sheets. What in the fuck.

He’s earned his way back into your pretty pussy after careful training.

Neither of you mention what this thing has become. No waaaay.

It’s stupid for him to be involved with you: a stoner who idolizes him in graffiti across the city.

And you’re fucking a mass murderer.

It’s recipe for disaster. The bomb is going to detonate one of these days.

But he’s dicking you down so good now. You couldn’t let him go and let the next bitch prosper.

“Get it, girl,” he grunts, slapping your ass. He does it again without giving you time to settle into the sting. “Get it.”

“You liking the view?"

You toss your ass back on him and he meets you with forceful thrusts. There’s nowhere to run, no softness in how he handles you.

You give in.

He’s a fast learner.

309 notes · View notes