➥︎ masterlist, requests closed (rules)

• feel free to send in ideas though ❤︎

➥︎ 19, bleu, enfp, american based. she/her. this blog is 18+

➥︎ IMPORTANT CW: my writing occasionally handles dubcon themes- if you are sensitive to it, beware of the warnings or avoid my blog entirely.

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venus, frankie avalon

↻︎ ▶︎ ↺︎ ▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎.▁︎▁︎ 2:22

⁎︎‧︎༚︎ day dreamin… COD, Charlie Swan, western themes, show girls, bikers, poetic erotica, ww1 analysis, ancient royalty, ww propaganda, old men, ect ect

⁎︎‧︎༚︎ runway obsession…. dior spring 1998

↬︎ works

• captain john price- scapegoat/tucked tail you and your boss, smoldered under cigar ash and a horrible day, get trapped in an elevator.
• captain john price - where the aster grows. in her absence, your grandmother leaves you a floral shop, the house above, and a neighbor.
• johnny ‘soap’ mactavish- unraveling careful threads- johnny finds you where he needs you.

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎ ▁︎‧︎✳︎⁎︎☼︎༚︎‧︎‧︎༚︎︎☼︎︎⁎︎✳︎‧▁ ▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

thanks for being here, much love ❤︎

gym buddies w johnny… okay it got a little away from me.

cw. he’s a degenerate here. sub/dom dynamics (?)

Johnny asked you if you went to the gym your third week on base. It was the first time he spoke to you.

“Sometimes.”

He grinned. It scared you a little. “may ah join?”

You didn’t know him, you didn’t love the gym the way you’re positive he did, and something about his smile was off. But none of this registered- instead you shrugged and said,

“Sure.”

It’s been 3 months now, and he’s really not subtle about it. Never has been- although you think that’s just how Johnny is.

But in any case…Johnny is interested.

He watches you closely in the gym- you’ve caught him doing so with this deepness to his face- a focus. If his eyes weren’t enough as it is, he doesn’t hesitate to place a gentle hand on any muscle you’re working if he’s nearby- which has gradually become more frequent.

And you let him. You don’t know the why- frankly there might not be one. But its felt harmless so far- if not a little flattering.

Then he bought you the matching set.

Keep reading

western price…sorry? cw…sweat and friction kink? thigh riding. age kink if you squint really really hard.

afternoon heat in nowhere midwestern soil rows. spring is approaching, and the newest seeds need to be in place before it’s blooms hits the horizon. you and your husband always ensure the best of harvests.

ice water haven under the porch roof. it sweats on your palm, like it needed anymore. your knees ache, and the view is almost enough to keep you from thinking about the soreness in your back.

his colossal shoulders. pinned to them, like wings, are the muscles that pull and push and the soil beneath him. a great machine that doesn’t show its age; void of rust, or stutters. hands holding the earth like he came from it. sweat finds his runes, slow and melting. you find yourself counting how many drops slip to the dirt.

the farm is pretty too.

he comes to a kneel on his heels, and swipes his forehead. “too hot for leather gloves” he says- so dirt drags below his hairline, and your temper flares momentarily. he must’ve sensed it, because he looks in your direction.

he pauses, before shaking his head and laughing.

“sorry darl,” he calls. you suppress your smile at the plot that’s started to form. instead, your raise a brow, and use your finger to call him over.

he does as told, and in the time it takes for him to reach the porch steps, you’ve stood and grabbed a rag.

“sit.”

Keep reading

writing cute stuff is so hard sometimes because i just have the instant urge to make it toxic or angsty

mmmm wifesharing!johnny who shoves his fat cock down your cunt after just calling simon to stop by. you push back, knowing you’ll be too spent for simon if johnny fucks you like he’s used to.

but he’ll only smile, and then say,

“ay, jus’ keepen et warm f’him, hen.”

self indulgent eater x eater simon.

simon is the kinda man who dives straight into you’re cunt before anything else. eats like a man starved, as you beg him to feed his cock into your mouth. pushing your hands against the rough sheets, dragging your sore hips away from his ceaseless hunger. only for his hands to tug you farther on his tongue than before.

it’s even more cruel that from there he slips his cock into your drooling cunt. fucks you deep and slow while you claw and bite and moan because he’s forcing you to be the focus.

and just before all of this insanity swallows your mind, he pulls out, flips you over, and shoves his wet cock down your throat. fucks it ruthlessly, til the tears start mixing with the sweat on your brow. only then does he come on your gums.

you never even get a chance to share the spotlight. sore body, sorer ego, as he cleans your drooling cunt with a cloth, kissing your knee and promising next time he’ll let you suck him off properly.

simon has a staring problem.

or, maybe problem is aggressive. but when you’d wash the dishes, read on the couch, sleep in his arms, his eyes are there. a habit he never explained, but you grew accustomed to. complacent- receiving as his eyes trail wherever you went, and his body would soon follow. his gaze the precursor to action. the “I” before “I love you”.

or something like that.

you ask him, one day. “why are you staring?”

simon only blinks. “can’t help it, sweet’eart,” kisses the top of your head, and goes back to his coffee, “guess I just can’t get enough of you.”