i thought i lost my black lipstick but i found it bless

Beneath the Shade of the Sunflowers

Hi guys! This imagine was inspired by early beat poetry, (namely Gary Snyder and Allen Ginsberg) so I hope that you like it! It’s starts out really sweet, but ends really filthy? I hope that’s okay lol???? I just wanna blow Tom Holland? (But also love him, and make sure he’s happy forever?)

Beneath the Shade of the Sunflowers

Tom watched her glide a tube of soft, rose lipstick over her mouth and smear concealer beneath her eyes. She dragged a heavy brush through her hair and sighed at her reflection.

    He crossed across the room and slid behind her in the chair she sat in, her legs crossed while Tom’s legs spread behind her back. They were so close that Tom could feel her inhaling. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” He moved a stray piece of her hair behind her ear.

    “Meh,” She voiced back to him, looking down at the floor. Tom knew something was bothering her, he just couldn’t decipher what.

    “Don’t give me that, what’s wrong? Let me help fix it,” Tom said as he traced her shoulders through her jumper.

    “I just, don’t, I don’t know, feel that pretty right now.” She paused and Tom’s mouth dropped open, the million and one beautiful things about her were ready to leap from his lips, when she cut him off by speaking again. “I’m breaking out on my chin, my face is too square, and my eyes are too big for my face. My thighs are just, ugh, you know what? Let’s not even talk about those tree trunks right now,” Her lower lip trembled and water sparkled in her eyes. She stopped and leaned forward to fiddle with a makeup brush.

    Tom quickly removed his body from it’s place behind her own, and got down on both knees onto their floor, taking her face in his palms. He kissed her closed eyes and wiped the tears away the best that he could. “Let take you somewhere that will make you feel better.”

    She nodded and Tom grabbed her bag from their kitchen table as he locked the door.

    Truth be told, Tom had planned to take her to this place under better circumstances. He wanted to plan a candlelit dinner, maybe get some eclairs and strawberries, definitely some champagne, but he knew she needed this place right now. Her hand was curled beneath her head as she leaned up against his car’s window, while Tom kept one hand focused on the steering wheel, and the other hand holding her own.

    Tom had found the place while he was hiking with some of his friends and he was completely awestruck by how much it reminded him of her.

It was secluded, hidden beneath layers of trees and leaves. When the wind blew and tickled the leaves, it sounded like groups of fairies flitting from tree to tree. Overgrown sunflowers, daisies and weeds scattered the ground with color and he could hear the soft brush of waves somewhere that he was unable to locate. When the sun bled through the leaves, everything was enveloped in a hazy, dreamy glow.

He wanted to build her a treehouse here.

Tom could picture them, kissing underneath a tree, while the leaves rustled around them and her hair tickled his chin. He thought about her voice echoing through the emptiness, the love that only she could portray through her words, marking the haven as their own.

Tom could visualize them fucking in the treehouse. Blankets, pillows, stacks of novels would be scattered all over the floor, and she’d be begging him to love her harder. He’d hold her hand when she came, and he’d lick the drops of their time together from in between her legs and they’d share a bottle of water when they just couldn’t go anymore.

He parked the car and guided her to the spot, helping her over rocks and debris. Tom couldn’t wait to show her how much she meant to him, even though he wished that he’d had time to build her their treehouse, and to cook her something sweet for dessert.

After thirty minutes of walking, the pair finally reached their destination. Tom let go of her hand and watched, his back up against a tree, as she spun in circles, drinking in the image of their place around her.

She couldn’t believe that Tom had stumbled upon this place. It was like pixie hollow brought to life, and she opened and shut her mouth like a guppy, unsure where to start her exploration.

“When I got lost on that hike I told you about, this is where I ended up. I knew it was made for you because it’s the most ethereal place that I can think of, that I know of. You belong here, with all the trees, and the flowers, and the light. I’m going to make this all for you.” Tom’s boots crunched across the leaves as he made his way over to her. He noticed her eyes were glittering in the sun again.

“I know that you said that you don’t feel pretty right now, so I’m going to comfort you in Allen Ginsberg’s words, because you know that they’re inherently better than whatever falls out of my mouth.” Tom reached out for her, “Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower? when did you look at your skin and decide you were an impotent dirty old locomotive? the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and shade of a once powerful mad American locomotive?

You were never no locomotive, Sunflower, you were a sunflower!   

And you Locomotive, you are a locomotive, forget me not!

So I grabbed up the skeleton thick sunflower and stuck it at my side like a scepter,

and deliver my sermon to my soul, and Jack’s soul too, and anyone who’ll listen,

—We’re not our skin of grime, we’re not dread bleak dusty imageless locomotives, we’re golden sunflowers inside, blessed by our own seed & hairy naked accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our own eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sit-down vision.”

By the time Tom finished, her eyes were glazed over and she was biting down on her lip, rubbing his hand between her own, every so often pressing warm, rose colored kissed down onto his knuckles.

When he opened his mouth to continue, in his words this time, explaining how exquisitely dulcet her beauty was, and how she was his sunflower, she placed a soft kiss onto his lips.

“Let me show you how much I love you,” She said and pulled him by the tips of his fingertips onto the floor where she began to lay. “In the wise words of Gary Snyder, of course.”

Rapidly tugging his arms from the confines of his coat, he shoved it under her head when the pair finally reached their destination in the grass, hidden beneath the leaves of the sunflowers who appeared to be holding hands.

Rolling on top of her, and bracing his elbows on either side of her head, “I don’t want to bump your head on a rock.”

She quirked her head to the side, and laughed against his chest, pushing his over to straddle his lap. She slid the jacket beneath Tom’s head and mimicked his voice the best she could, “I don’t want you to bump your head on a rock.”

Tom pushed her hair all to one side and she flattened out against the firmness of his frame, kissing him as deeply as she could. He cradled the softness of her cheeks between his palms and groaned when she bit his bottom lip. Feeling the flutter of her eyelashes, Tom opened his eyes and felt her moving the rosy, wetness of her mouth down to his neck, while her hands began to unbutton his flannel.

Soon, her lips traced the lines of definition on his chest. Tom groaned and wound his fingers up into her hair. When he pulled her back up to him, her skirt had risen up and he could spot the bows on her pink panties and her mouth was slick from her kisses. Tom groaned again.

“What?” She asked him softly, peeking up at him through her lashes. “Do you like it?”

“Baby,” Tom leaned up on his elbows, “are you fucking kidding me? Of course I do, M’just making sure that my girl is doing okay.”

She made her way back up his body, kissed him lewdly on the mouth and answered him. “Course I am, I love you. I love it here. I wanna make it ours.”

Tom ached in his jeans and he whimpered when she slid her covered center over the bulge hidden inside his jeans.

Crawling onto her knees, she planted kisses down the length of Tom’s chest once more. Her voice was velvet when she spoke again, “What my hand fol­lows on your body/ Is the line. stream of love/of heat, of light, what my/eye las­civ­i­ous/licks/over watch­ing/far snow-dappled Uin­tah moun­tains/Is that stream.”

Tom watched as her tongue flicked over the area just beneath his bellybutton and Tom felt like he  was going to burst. Her nimble fingers plucked the bottom of his jeans open and she licked the length of his chest while she unzipped his zipper.

“What my/hand curves over, fol­low­ing the line./“hip” and “groin”/Where “I”/fol­low by hand and eye/the swim­ming limit of your body.”

One of Tom’s hands made the move to sweep her hair out of her way so that he could watch her. She sucked one of his fingers into her mouth and Tom was engulfed by the damp, tightness that rested behind her closed lips. Her tongue traced over his knuckle and Tom’s hips bucked. How he wanted her tongue elsewhere.

Her hands made slow work of stroking him through his boxers, all the while his finger rested inside her mouth. Their eyes never left each other’s as Tom felt her hands softly drift over the sensitive tip of his cock.

“Darling, be a good girl. Suck me off,” Tom groaned, freeing his hand from her lips.

“Always a good girl for you,” her voice soft and honeyed.

She obeyed and liberated Tom’s aching cock. She licked her lips, watching with her hands in her lap, as it leaked precum.

“C’mon good girl, show me how sweet you are. Take care of that for me.” Tom’s voice melted into her ears as he gently wrapped a hand around her hair. He loved watching her struggle to take all of him in her mouth.

Bringing her lips so close to it that Tom could feel her breath, Tom looked down as she carefully guided her tongue over his slit, licking away his early excitement.

“Does daddy need to remind you how he likes it?” Tom’s voice was gruff and heavy with want.

Blinking up at him, and she held direct eye contact as her lips enveloped his cock.

She gagged around him and Tom was caught between a smirk and a moan. Her tongue licked over the vein on the underside of him, just how he liked, and Tom begged his hips to stay put. He didn’t want to thrust into her mouth right now and surprise her, he always asked her if he was allowed to fuck her mouth before he actually did so.

Tom hissed and helped her up and down his length. He could feel the softness of her cheeks in between his legs and her mouth was just so warm. Tom didn’t know how much he could take.

“You’re doing so good, your mouth is so perfect.” Tom stroked her cheek. “Is daddy allowed to fuck your mouth today, good girl? It is okay?”

She blinked up at him and did her best to nod with him in her mouth. He was already starting to drip down her throat.

“Yeah, it’s alright sweetheart?” Tom clarified once more.

When she nodded her head, Tom wound a second hand through her hair and wrenched his hips up off the ground to buck into her mouth.

Her tongue circled around his tip and she held onto a loop in his jeans as he started to fuck her mouth just as roughly as he would if he was in between her thighs.

Maintaining eye contact, she moaned, knowing Tom loved the vibrations around him while he was so sensitive.

“Do you wanna be a good girl for me and swallow daddy down?” Tom asked, hips barely stilling.

She nodded and Tom thrusted up into the heat of her mouth a few more times, before she felt him spill himself past her lips.

She sucked him off through his orgasm as Tom whispered and groaned about how sweet, and how good she was to him.

After she’d ensured that she had swallowed him all down, she released him from her mouth with a saturated pop. Tom noticed that he had a ring of rose colored lipstick around him as he zipped himself back into his jeans.

She sat back on her heels, feeling shy after what they’d done. Tom looped his arms behind her back and pulled her up to him. He kissed her ever so delicately on her lips, “Are you okay, darling? Do you want some water, do you need anything?” He cradled her to his chest and stared down at her, surveying her mouth for any signs that he’d been too rough on accident.

“Beneath this long caress of hand and eye,” She recited the last line of Gary Snyder’s ‘Beneath My Hand And Eye The Distant Hills, Your Body.’ “‘we’ learn the flow­er­ing burn­ing, out­ward, from ‘below.’” She kissed Tom again. “I’m okay. I love it here, and I love, love, love, love you.” She licked her way down Tom’s still bare chest and Tom stirred once again in his jeans.

“Why don’t you let me show you, with my words and my mouth, how much I love you, my little sunflower?” Tom asked, laying her down, once again in the grass.                      

Miss Jackson: Part 10

Summary: Dean Winchester: an FBI agent that got down graded to a desk job due to a slip up that nearly costing a man his life.

Y/N, or better known as ‘Miss Jackson’: a black widow killer on the rise with money in her bag and murder on her mind.

Hold on tight, folks. This is going to be one hell of a ride.

Originally posted by jupiter2

HUGE Disclaimer: This is gonna be a dark fic. It involves murder, death, killing, and other dark themes that will be introduced as the story proceeds. If that doesn’t sound like your thing, I suggest turning back right now. Also, I am in now way trying to romanticize mental illness/murder. I don’t think it’s ‘cute’ or ‘attractive’, I am simply using these things to create a story.

Notes: Fair warning: I do plan on finishing it, but updates won’t be steady any longer (hence the giant gap between parts)

Please, please, please leave me feedback. It can help me so much with motivation, which means new parts will come out sooner. So if you want to see more, tell me you liked it!

Word Count: 1k+

Song: Queens Will Play - Black Mountain

Miss Jackson Masterlist

“If the blue meanies are going to get me they’d better get off their asses and do something.” - The Zodiac Killer  (The Zodiac Killer was a serial killer who operated in northern California in the late 1960s and early 1970s. The killer’s identity remains unknown. x)




“I go down and you go up?” Cas asked with raised eyebrows as the two men took their first step into the house reeking of blood and forgotten souls.

Dean nodded in reply and carefully stalked up the stairs, not sure why he felt so nervous. It wasn’t like there was going to be a booby trap. There wasn’t going to a knife that drops down the moment he opens the door, or an axe that swings when he activates a tripwire. He knew that you wouldn’t purposely risk his life.

Yet there he was, heart throbbing so loud it was the only thing he could hear.

Keep reading