#irvingstarter

JEREMIAH: im not into that just so u know like i dont get off on that or anything it was a joke for a friend

the wallet glowed like the shiny coins she knew were resting in it. surreptitiously, she turned her head to watch the people passing by. it was too obvious the wallet wasn’t hers. desperation clung to her, stinking like too much perfume. her hands itched to pick up the thing and take it home with her. not only did she want the money but the feel of the leather and the fingers that it had graced before. her shoulders moving up and down with the sigh, antonia picked up the wallet. as she opened it, she glanced at the cash, but her eyes settled on the id. stopping the person closet to her, she tried to be a good samaritan. that is if one didn’t count the few bills she secretly slipped into her pocket moments before, but it was hardly enough to be noticeable. “is this your wallet? if it is, you look very different from the id photo, but i’m not one to judge.” she pretended to study the photo closely before staring at the other’s face. it would be best if she got the wallet out of her hands. “hey, let’s go get matching tattoos to commemorate this fine moment and this formed friendship. i know you can afford it.” one look at her and it was clear she was serious about the tattoos. 

              “not gonna lie, i feel like i’m in a shitty coming-of-age movie, you know?” it seems like a recipe for hepatitis c  —  a rum and coke in one hand and a sewing needle strapped to a pencil in the other, her ( somewhat ) willing subordinate straddled beneath her on the couch. blue latex snaps against her wrist as she pulls the rubber gloves on, fishing in her bra for a lighter to sterilise the needle. “either that or like... fuckin’ trainspotting.”  fire licks the needle point ; she dips it back into the bottle of indian ink and places a gloved hand against the other’s ass, holding the skin taught as she punctures it in a thin black line. “worst one i’ve ever done? probably at thanksgiving, i gave my little cousin theo... i don’t know how fuckin’ old he was, like fourteen or some shit... i gave him a tattoo of bart simpson smoking a massive doobie. it’s what he asked for, i promise.  well he asked for bart simpson. i took some creative licence adding the joint.”   too late to back out, now. her needle dips along their skin, teeth gritted as she wipes a drop of blood from the cheek of their butt with a make up wipe.   “haha. hemorrhoids!  just kidding, it’s only a teensy bit of blood. anyway i’m now banned from ever entering that house again because my aunt’s a fucking cunt but... whatever. do it for the vine.”  sighing, margo shifts her weight to sit further down their legs, her face inches from the crack of their ass as she refines a dotted line into a smoothly inked out curve. “if you let one rip like a fucking beyblade right now, i swear to god i’ll pull your teeth out and use them to make cute necklaces for all my friends... amma crellin vibes! sorry that’s like... a massive spoiler, but whatever. you were never gonna read it.”

--𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐭. Camera in hand, curled black locks sticking to the thin layer of moisture clinging to her skin in its attempts to leave the turgid air. The moon did its best to light the night but where it failed, streetlights came to assist, thin rimmed glasses fogging as she brought the camera to them. Trying to get a shot of the melody of lights vying for her attention in that moment when she saw it -- a simple flicker. Was it a lighter? A phone? A taser? Her mind went alight with possibility. So she added to it, the flash of her camera illuminated the residential street, lighting the mysterious figure. “am I interrupting?” she inquired with a soft grin.  @irvingstarters​