#WHAT THE HELL I WROTE OUT ALL MY TAGS AND THEN THEY JUST DISAPPEARED WHEN I HIT POST

[welcometogrouchland]

ftf owl house drawing recs (only if you want to do them, ofc)!!! uhhh how about something angsty between raine and eda what with the whole puppet-ification, or something about boscha and amity?

[ID: a digital sketch of Amity and Boscha from the owl house based on a scene from For the Future. They're in their designs from For the Future. Boscha is tackle-hugging Amity from behind, exclaiming "I won't let you leave again!" Amity is then depicted with a disturbed face and a thought bubble reading "oh! She is deranged!". The background is pale yellow and the sketch is coloured and shaded. End ID]

THE TOH CREW INCLUDED THIS DYNAMIC FOR ME. SPECIFICALLY

[leighsartworks216]

A Spawn Could Get Used To This

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Wrote this on 1 hour of sleep. I did proofread it. I am so so sleepy. I'm going back to bed after this

Warnings: embarrassment

Word Count: 1,163

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

In the few weeks he’d been traveling along with this not-so-merry band of weirdos, Astarion got used to a lot of things very quickly. Gale loudly explaining anything at the drop of a hat, Lae’zel and Shadowheart fighting, the smells. Some things were positive, too. The sun was always nice and warm, and the odd sort of comfort being with a group of weirdos brought was nice. And, of course, some things were neutral.

One of the neutrals he’d adjusted to came in the form of you, their leader, and in fact the forms you could take on. He wasn’t sold on the whole druid thing before - all of them were tree huggers who cried over a crushed blade of grass - but, well, being romantically involved with one came with some quirks.

Quite often, almost any time you weren’t busy exploring or risking their lives, you would transform into a cat and go about the camp. If Scratch and the owlbear cub were any indicators, small fluffy things raised morale. Most everyone would scratch along your spine or behind your ears, all their woes forgotten for even a brief moment. It became rather commonplace. Mundane. What an odd thing to be called mundane.

Along with this came another little quirk.

After you did your rounds, getting pets and listening to their smaller issues, you’d come back around and rub against his leg. This very quickly became a way of asking for him to pick you up. You rather enjoyed being close to his chest and purring as loudly as possible.

Today was just like any other. You’d come back with a sack of stolen goods and bloody armor, drop everything unceremoniously in a pile, and transform to make your rounds. Well, he assumed that’s what you did. He was a little preoccupied when you disappeared, but he didn’t think much of it when a cat started wandering around the tents.

So he stood and flipped through his book and busied himself, waiting to drop the act and pick you up and cuddle. It was a rather good act, he thought. He’d furrow his brow or lightly chuckle, and become so engrossed in pretending to read he stopped noticing the passage of time, until something small and fluffy rubbed against his leg.

He closed the book carelessly as he looked down at his feet. Sure enough, a cat rubbed its cheek against him, already starting to purr. He grinned, though not too wide, lest the others begin to think he went soft. “Hello, my love,” he cood. “Want me to hold you?”

The cat meowed, head butting him. He chuckled and tossed his book onto a pillow, before bending down and lifting the darling creature - his darling creature - into his arms. It flipped to its back to be cradled like a baby in the crook of his elbow, paws stretching out and claws latching lightly to the fabric of his shirt. It purred so loud he was sure everyone else for a mile could hear it.

Unusually, it didn’t seem to like when he tried stroking its belly. He thought, perhaps, you just didn’t want that kind of contact today. He’d been getting used to the boundaries touch should have, and the fact you would respect them. It was only natural to have the same grace in return.

“Awe, you got yourself a little friend!”

Astarion startled at the voice, jostling the cat slightly, who mrowled at the movement. Sure enough, standing beside his tent toweling their hair dry was his beloved druid. Not in cat form. He gaped in confusion and awe.

“Darling, don’t take this the wrong way but, where the Hells were you?” The cat rolled to its side to knead biscuits into his chest. He barely felt the pinpricks of nails.

You gave him an odd look. “I went for a wash. Our battles were a bit bloodier today, and while you may like the smell of blood, I, personally, don’t. Especially when it’s up my nose.” You scowled, rubbing your nose at the memory. “Why? Did something happen?”

His frown didn’t disappear as he slowly replied, “No, nothing at all.”

You gave him another odd look. “Are you alright?”

He blinked, shaking himself out of his dumbfounded stupor. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but…” He looked down at the cat in his arms that seemed to settle down and prepare for a nap. “Well, dear, I thought this was you.”

The laugh bursts out of you unbidden, and Astarion glares embarrassed at you. You try to bite down the giggles trying to escape. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just,” you giggle and step forward to pet the cat. You have a bubbly sort of mischief in your eyes. He prepares himself for the worst. “You can’t tell the difference between us?”

“I didn’t think I had to memorize the precise hairs, no,” he bit. “It looked like you - why would I have any reason to believe it wasn’t?”

“You don’t need to be defensive,” you assure sweetly. “It’s cute! And it seems to like you.”

He huffed and looked down at the creature. The points of its fangs peeked out as it drifted off into sleep. The purring persisted, now almost reminding him of snoring. He pouted, though he hated when you called it that. He preferred the term brooding. “Yes, well, I was rather hoping it was my darling druid come to join me for a lazy evening.”

You chuckled and kissed his cheek. “I can do that. But I don’t think your new friend is going to want to leave you alone.”

He peeked at you from the corner of his eye. “I could be persuaded to share myself with both of you.”

“What if I turned into a cat and purred, too?”

He hummed, pretending to consider the deal, but the slight lift of his mouth gave it away. “I don’t know, darling. You know how much I simply loathe sharing. I think you can do better than that.”

You smile. “Okay, what if I throw a kiss into the mix?”

He grinned, the points of his fangs peeking out just like the cat’s in his arms. “That might even it out.”

You do your best to avoid disturbing the cat as you lean in to catch his lips. You taste of fresh spring water and the barest hint of a health potion. And he loves it. The kiss doesn’t last nearly long enough before you pull away and kiss his cheek. “Get comfortable. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“I’ll count the seconds,” he teases, though there’s no hint of a lie in his voice.

You chuckle and walk away, back to the pile of stuff that Wyll and Gale are already sorting through, counting 1, 2, 3, 4… And 97 seconds later, when you and this stranger cat are both laying atop him, purring incessantly, he finds he could get used to it.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Dangerous Woman

Summary: you’ve been a thorn in Lloyd’s side for too long. Turned out you were wearing him down.

Warnings: smut, minors dni, daddy kink, dub/non con towards the end, creampie, rough sex, name calling, if there’s any tags I missed please tell me lol

(A/N: there’s no way I’m alone in my new obsession with Lloyd Hensen so I wrote this fic hoping others would see my vision. Unedited. Like, follow, and reblog with a comment 💜 ✌🏾)

———-—————-—-—————-———

It was an understatement to say that Lloyd saw you as a thorn in his side.

The way you seemed to pop up wherever he may be. Trying to get your hands on the same shit as him. Who the hell did you even think you were, trying to step to him. Must have been out of your goddamn mind.

You’d fancied yourself as a “good guy.” He took it more so to mean you were just boring. Couldn’t keep up in a world like his so you had to become a whatever the fuck you were trying to do to feel like you were doing something special.

But what were you really doing aside from annoying the fuck out of him? Not much. Well except…

It wasn’t often that a man like Lloyd found someone that could keep up with him in the slightest. He liked being one step ahead in any given situation. Was a man with a plan even if those plans didn’t account for any casualties. He didn’t give a shit if people died as long as he was still living the world was blessed with his presence and that was all anyone needed.

So when you started popping up like a gnat to the finest fruit, he knew he had to squash you somehow. Not like he was against playing dirty to get to where he needed to be. Just because you wanted to be a goody two shoes doesn’t mean he cared. If anything it only made him want to get you to cut this shit out sooner.

Such a shame though. In another life he could have marveled at your beauty. Found you cute enough that he’d even be willing to make an honest woman out of you if you didn’t annoy him so fucking much. Maybe that’s what made it worse. Crushing on the enemy? What the fuck was this? Middle school?

But first he needed to find out who the hell you were working for. So far the CIA had been ruled out. You didn’t appear to be a cop. Unaffiliated with that other shmuck and his team. That was the strange part.

Yet you managed to keep up somehow. Funny how that worked.

First it started out with you intercepting a “package” he was supposed to pick up. Then you somehow ended up getting your hands on a very expensive painting that he was pretty sure was meant to be hung up in his humble abode of a mansion in Croatia. And he was pretty sure you were responsible for that building blowing up when he had his eyes on a target.

The paranoia had started eating at him. Making him feel like he always had to watch over his back. Grown men hadn’t bothered him as much as you had. Each encounter seeming to be a bigger version of the one before and that’s why he was making it his mission to destroy you.

——————————————————

“I would have had her if you stupid fucks would stay the fuck out of my way!” He yelled as he stomped up their stairs. Not wanting everyone to know how things had really went down.

This was supposed to be easy as hell. Should have been an in and out if anything. Just take you out and boom he could finally move on from this game of cat and mouse. 

He had you! The two of you finally getting into it one on one when he found you alone on top of the building. Was just about to pin you down when the team came up. Making you do a quick disappearing act.

Before anyone could respond because it’s not like he gave any fucks about what excuses they came up with, he stomped up the stairs. One more move away from throwing a full blown tantrum. This shit should not be this fucking hard.

Lloyd huffed as he retreated to his bedroom. For once didn’t even want to say anything anymore. Probably because this was total and complete bullshit.

For once he wasn’t getting his way and he really didn’t fucking like it. It wasn’t like they didn’t know who the fuck you were. It was like you weren’t even trying to hide it. Of course he had the technology to crack your nothing ass passwords. It was the same for everything.

Sure there were things they had nothing on like your family and where you came from, but they knew your name. Your fucking phone number. What you looked like.

Almost like you wanted him to find all that shit. God it- it pissed him the fuck off. How he couldn’t stop staring at those photos of you. Like he was waiting for you to pop out from the shadows. Then he could finally show you just how fucking much you annoyed him.

His chest tightened as he inhaled deeply. Feeling a fire in the pit of his stomach. He can’t remember the last time something had gotten him this worked up.

How he found even more ready to finally get rid of you was that each time he looked, he found himself going over every feature. From those eyes to that curl in your lips to the cleavage you were definitely not trying to hide.

It wasn’t like Lloyd couldn’t get any woman he wanted. Of course he could. For all the things they say about him all of them wanted to know what it was like to get a piece of him. They’d be willing to put up with it for a millisecond.

Hell he hadn’t even been able to hit up his usual roaster of broads as he’d been too pre-occupied by you. Fucking, ugh!

He doesn’t know what it was. Call it a crush as disgusting as that sounds, but he found himself fucking obsessed with the idea of getting his hands on you and at this point you’d toyed with him so much he wasn’t even sure how he meant it anymore.

Maybe it was that no woman had ever given him a real challenge before. He couldn’t marry some basic bitch that wouldn’t understand his line of work. He deserved better for himself.

No, no. He wanted the type of woman that was just as ruthless as him. One that didn’t shrink down in his presence and let him walk all over. Someone that understood his vision for the world.

The only problem was he didn’t know what the fuck you were trying to do. But god he couldn’t stop fucking staring at that cleavage.

He didn’t even think he wanted to kill you first when he finally caught up with you. No, no, no. He wanted you to really feel it. Something… something that’ll make you understand his frustration.

Torture might be fun. Obviously tying you up. Getting that rope real tight. Duct tape around your mouth so he couldn’t hear a fucking peep. If he was really feeling like a dick he would really fuck around with you. Maybe stuff something in your mouth so you couldn’t even whimper.

He’d get a gag just for you. Or not give a shit and really humiliate you. Maybe shove your panties in t-

Lloyd shook his head. Not even sure about what the fuck he was thinking. Clearing his throat as he stepped under the shower head. Hoping to wash it all away.

If anything he was tired of thinking about you. You didn’t deserve this much attention from him. Rolling his head back as he tried to force himself to relax.

He didn’t like being this tense. Would definitely need a massage soon. Hmmm could get one of those girls that would give him a happy ending to do it. Definitely a good idea. He could really use the release.

What would really release him, is catching up to you. Forcing you to be the one to do it. Tying you up, panties stuffed in your mouth, maybe topless with those clamps attached to your-

Fuck what the hell was going on with his head. What was actually wrong with him. He knew he couldn’t be this attracted to some cleavage to make him lose his fucking mind. He was Lloyd fucking Hensen. He didn’t lose his mind over some random bitch.

Right?

Maybe it came from his need to absolutely over power you. Take advantage of you for once. Show you that he was the one in power. God he’d fuck you until he split you in half. That’s what you deserved.

It was like he was an autopilot. Had went from trying to bathe to getting distracted by how hard he was. God he doesn’t think he’d ever been like this before. Just raw fucking need.

Lloyd grasped it in his hand. Tilting his head back as he starting to move up and down his shaft. Fuck. Yeah what it he turned the shock on. Really get down to business punishing you.

Unlike his usual session, the two of you could be alone. He wouldn’t want those fuckheads to see those parts of you. Not to see he was totally against fucking you in front of an audience. But this would need to be something he did specially to you.

He could see himself degrading you. Telling you what a little bitch you were for taking shit shit. Fuck you like he hated you.

Fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking shit like this. And yet once he told himself to stop the feeling just grew.

That was when he heard a giggle that made him jump. Stopping what he was doing to grab the fluffy white towel to wrap around his waist.

Either you had him paranoid, or-

The banging on his door let him know he wasn’t totally full of shit.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s in the house!” He yelled. Still only in a towel and totally unprepared. Of course you’d catch him jerking off. Not that he even wanted to think about how it was you he was fantasizing about. “You stupid fucking morons! Are all of you that shitty at your goddamn jobs you couldn’t keep look out?”

He needed to get his gun and change considering you’d caught him with his cock out. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

As he went back to his bedroom he was ready to rip his hair out. Couldn’t even jack off without you trying to fuck with him. He swears he heard that little giggle. Where the hell were you.

“Hello, Mr. Hansen,” the greeting came out as a purr making him turn around to face you.

There you were sitting on his bed. The little cat suit you were wearing was taunting him. It clung to you in a way that made him almost think it could have been painted on. He wanted to wipe it all off and that fucking smirk off your face.

“You know you’re really fucking annoying,” was all he could even say. That feeling coming back in his chest. God he really did want to fucking destroy you.

You shrugged, before standing up. Crossing your arms. “So I’ve heard,” you replied. “What can I say? I don’t stop until I can get what I want.”

“Really? Because it seems like what you want is to get on my fucking nerves.”

There goes that giggle again. The same one he’d heard in the bathroom. Had you been watching him? God, and you were a little fucking pervert. Just wait until he gets his fucking hands on you “And what if it is?”

“Look, whatever you’re trying to do I need you to either step the fuck out of my way-,”

“Or?” You cut him off.

“Or I put a bullet in your ass.” He took a step closer to you.

“Figures you wouldn’t fight me like a man about it,” you replied with a smirk.

“What? Is that what you want?” He laughed.

“Well, no,” you mused. “I just thought you’d be a bit more… diplomatic.”

“Do I look like a give a shit about diplomacy?” He growled.

“True,” you replied. “I mean neither do I so at least we’re on the same page.”

“The only reason I haven’t killed you yet is because I’m curious to know what the hell your deal is.”

“I dunno, Mr. Hansen, you tell me.” Once again you purred out his name, getting a little closer to him. “Maybe you have something that I want.”

“Well, whatever it is get it out of your mind.”

You pouted. “What’s the matter? Don’t think you can take me?”

He found himself wishing he could fuck your face. Maybe then he’d get you to shut the hell up. Pretty soon the gap between the two of you had closed. You cocky little shit.

That’s when he finally grabbed you. Turning you around so he could wrap his hand around your neck. Shoving you into the wall. His towel loosening around his waist. “I think you want me to do my worst to you. That’s why you’ve been doing all this shit.”

You struggled against him as he pushed your face into the wall. You’re not gonna do shit.”

His lips getting close to your ear. “I’ve been dying to destroy you. Do not fucking test me.”

The grip around your neck tightened as he found himself pushing his body against you. A thought flashing in his mind about how he’d just jacked off thinking about this very moment. Shit.

“Is that a gun under your towel or are you just happy to see me?” You teased.

“You’re not exactly in the right position to make jokes.”

“No? Then what am I in this position for?”

“You’re not the one asking questions, you little bitch.” He could have sworn he heard you let out a little gasp. “Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“How did you even make it passed my men?”

You let out that fucking giggle again. “Come on, Mr. Hansen. You and I both know they’re not the most competent. Besides this is between me and you.”

He finally loosened his grip so you could turn around. Though he had you still pinned. Wasn’t about to let his guard down.

“Oh yeah? And why is that?”

“Because you have something that I want,” you replied with a shrug.

“I’m getting real fucking sick of your cryptic bullshit,” he said, grabbing your neck again. “Tell me why I shouldn’t end you right now?”

“Because you need a girl like me,” you said, then bit your lip. Were you enjoying this? You sick fucking freak.

“I don’t need shit from you,” he said.

“I dunno, Lloyd. Definitely feels like you need something from me,” you said.

As much as he was trying to annoy the affect you were having on him it wasn’t exactly easy. Considering his dick clearly wanted to make its presence known.

“Shame you didn’t get to finish taking care of that in the shower,” you added. “You know I think we’d work well together, you and I.”

He rolled his eyes. Deciding to humor you. “And what makes you say that?”

“Let’s be real, all of your men are morons. Wouldn’t it be nice if one person under you wasn’t?”

Lloyd raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. “And you’d be the person under me?” He laughed.

“I could be. In more ways than one.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it,” you said, reaching down to finally grasp his cock in your hand making him hiss. Licking your lips. “You didn’t get so worked up after our fight for no reason.”

Lloyd groaned as he let you work your hand up and down his length. It didn’t make any sense how good it felt. Damn he’d needed this bad.

Thoughts flashed in his mind again of him being the one to tie you up. Putting clamps on your nipples and turning on the electricity to watch you jolt. He wasn’t sure what kind of affect you were having on him but his dick clearly didn’t care considering it only grew harder as you worked it up and down.

A knock on the door, stopped you from taking things further. Making him look down and then up at you with a glare. Fuck. Not these idiots interrupting the two of you again.

“What?” He barked, trying to act like things were normal.

“We can’t seem to locate the target,” one of his guards told him, trying to look everyone else but him as he stood in front of him, not having bothered to cover up.

“Well, keep looking and don’t come back until you’ve got her. I shouldn’t have to do every fucking thing around here.”

As he slammed the door in his face he turned back to see you back on his bed. God he still wanted to wipe that smirk off your fucking face.

He found himself grabbing your face. Squeezing your cheeks in his hand and bringing your head up. “If you want this, let’s get one thing straight. I’m the one in charge. I sign off on every goddamn thing you do. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” you said again.

That was when he leaned forward. Finally closing the gap between the two of you as he finally put his lips to yours. You putting your hands on his shoulders as he brought your leg up so he could grind his hardness into you.

Quickly pushing you away, by grabbing your neck again. “Hope you like it rough, Dollface, because I don’t plan on showing you any mercy.”

“You promise?” You pouted at him again.

God he should have known you were a little fucking slut. “Is that what you’ve been wanting? That’s why you’ve been pissing me off. Needed me to fuck the annoying out of you.”

“Uh huh,” you whimpered.

“Beg for it. You don’t get to just have my dick after all the trouble you’ve caused.”

Before you could even say anything, you got on your knees looking up at him. “It’s prettier than I thought it’d be.”

“Yeah?” He groaned.

“Mhm,” you hummed out. “Can I please put it in my mouth? Been wanting to suck it so bad. Can I? Please? Can I suck your dick, Sir.”

Lloyd knew that as soon as he said yes, his brain would shut off. Was he ready for that? To have his guard down around you.

“Hold on,” he said.

You groaned. “What?”

“Because just because you look like a good like cock sucker doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Another pout came on your lips. “Fine.”

“Ever sucked dick with a gun pointed at you?” He asked as he came back with his firearm in hand.

Fucking whore he could see you salivating. “No, but there’s a first for everything.”

Lloyd groaned when you finally put your mouth on him. Sucking him like you’d done it a million times before. Fuck you were good with your mouth. Had him thinking that damn maybe he did need a little freak like you around.

“Fuck,” he put his hand in your hair. “You’re a good little cocksucker.”

“Think so?” You asked him as you pulled off.

All he did was glare at you. “I don’t think I told you to fucking stop.”

With that he tightened his grip in your hair. Forcing himself back into your mouth. You wanted to do this? Then you would have to take him exactly like he wanted you to.

He pushed you back so your head was against the bed. Pinned in between the mattress and his hips. You wanted to act like a thirsty little bitch for him, then he’d treat you like one.

Lloyd Hensen could be a very cruel man and sex was no different. He wanted to dominate. Show no mercy. Maybe you were the perfect candidate to be treated like this. Not like he hadn’t already been thinking about it.

He moved his hips so he could fuck your throat. Laughing to himself as you gagged around him. Finally letting you off so you could breathe.

“Get up,” he demanded grabbing you by your hair again, so he could toss you on the bed. Still in that little suit and he needed to get you the hell out of it.

Hurrying to take off the thigh high boots because the quicker he could have access the quicker he could fuck you like he’d been wanting to. Something about a woman doing all this shit to impress him made him only want to fuck you more.

As soon as your skin came into view he got to nipping at your skin. You were so damn ready for him. Maybe it was because of all the fighting served as a kind of foreplay for him. Maybe you were onto something.

“Lloyd,” you gasped, putting your hands in his hair. Tugging at it as he started kissing your stomach. Pushing you down so he could move to your thighs.

Bringing your legs up so he could finish taking you out of your suit. His lips going to your tits as he climbed on top of you.

“Ugh!” You moaned.

Fuck you sounded so pathetic, but he kind of liked it. Wanted to bring it out in out more. Take you down a few notches. Make you really feel it.

Fuck what the hell were you doing to him. Was he really planning on keeping you around. After all of that? Right now he had the upper hand and instead of taking you down to his men, he was about to fuck the shit out of you. And you were a very willing sex toy.

Maybe a part of him was flattered even. All he knows is you did look sexy as fuck. Ready for him to use you however he pleased. But first…

You let out another pathetic noise as his tongue touched your clit. What can he say? He wanted to know what you tasted like.

And fuck did you taste good.

“Fuck me, please,” you sobbed out.

“Yeah? And why should I do that?” He asked, pulling away. Keeping his fingers inside of you so he could twist them inside of you. “I could get a million other bitches on my dick. What makes you so special?”

“Cuz I think you like the challenge,” you replied.

Lloyd rolled his eyes. Couldn’t argue with that one. That was the worst part. Instead he pushed you back down to climb back on top of you. Keeping your legs up so he could still finger fuck you.

“Fuck!” You gasped into his mouth as he started kissing you again.

“That’s it,” he hissed. “Little slut. Did all this shit for my attention. So fucking desperate for me. You just wanna get fucked that bad.”

“Uh huh,” you breathed out as you tensed up. Could tell he was getting you on the edge and he wanted nothing more than to push you there.

“Fuckin’ cum for me,” he said. “Cum all over my fucking hand.”

The way your body jolted as you squirted out. Trying to find something to grab onto as he took you over the edge. Damn you were getting his sheets all messy. Nasty little slut.

“This what I do to you?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you cried as you finally clawed at his shoulders. “Oh god! Oh my god!”

“That’s a- that’s a good bitch keep cummin’ for me,” he hissed into your ear.

You let out another one of those embarrassing little whimpers. “I- ugh- god!”

While a part of him wanted to keep doing this another part wanted to feel this wet little pussy creaming on his cock. Watching as your grool covered his hand.

Lloyd smirked at it and then back at you. Chuckling to himself before smacking it onto your face in a sharp slap. Making you let out a little squeak before he smacked one of your breasts. Fuck be was having so much fun disrespecting you. It was exactly what you deserved after all the trouble you’d caused.

And god was he planning on fucking you like it. He’d get to the other punishments later. For now he was gonna let his dick tell you all you needed to know.

He dipped the head of his dick into your wetness first making you mewl. Fuck you were so ready for him. And he was ready to give it to you.

“Oh, fuck!” You cried when he finally slammed in. As if he was about to go easy on you. He’ll savor it later. Right now he needed to hate fuck you.

“Acting fucking crazy just so you can get my dick. Wonder what’ll happen when you’re fucking addicted to it for real,” he said into your ear.

“Lloyd!” You squeaked scratching his back. “Yes!”

He was so deep. Definitely trying to rearrange your guts. You scratched at his shoulders. Practically clawing at him.

He grabbed the back of your head, bringing it up as he pressed his forehead to yours. Your deep breathing fanning across his face as

“This what you wanted, huh?” He asked with a groan. Fuck you felt good all tight and snug around him. Only getting worse as you clenched around him. “You gonna cum for me?” He asked into your ear next.

“Yes, Daddy,” you cried.

“That’s it. That’s a good little bitch. You know who your fucking daddy is don’t you,” he groaned. “Cum for me, Baby. Cum all over daddy’s dick.” He hissed as you did as he told you. Screaming out with tears in your eyes.

Lloyd pulled out, but didn’t let you get comfortable in thinking he was going to let you take a break. Instead he just grabbed you again, snatching you close so he could pull you into his lap.

“Come here,” he said, grasping your hip as he positioned you on top. Not giving you anytime to recover from your orgasm as he worked you up and down his length. Slamming his hips up so he could meet every thrust.

You pushed his hands away, getting on your feet so you could take better control. Lloyd let out a moan as you started riding him just fucking right. Like you’d done this a million times before.

He tilted his head back, closing his eyes as he got comfortable underneath you. He’d be lying if he said he’d felt a woman feel as good as you did. The way your pussy tightened around him. How wet you were. Fuck. Maybe you weren’t the only one about to get addicted.

He grabbed your ass as you leaned down to kiss him. Gripping your flesh as he moaned into your mouth. Fuck. He was not about to be able to hold on at all.

“Shit, I didn’t put a condom on. Lemme cum on your face,” he groaned as he tried to push you off. Instead you stayed firmly on top of him. If anything riding him a little harder. Slamming your pussy down his dick like you were trying to force it out of him.

You shook your head as these gasps came from your mouth. “No.”

“Get- fuck!” He groaned as it started to hit whether he liked it or not. His eyes rolling to the back of his head. “That’s it, Baby, fuck you’re riding me so fucking good.” He groaned.

You put your hands on his chest, holding him down as he succumbed. “You’re mine!” You purred as he felt it hit cumming deep inside you. Not stopping until every last drop of him was milked from his cock and inside of you. Even sinking down a little deeper like you were trying to make sure you got it all. Breathing all heavy as you fell off of him finally.

Lloyd looked at you, unsure of what he was supposed to do next. If he’d been expecting for you to be the one obsessed, he had another thing coming apparently. But that’s why men shouldn’t stick their dick in crazy, he was bound to get hooked.

[unexpectedbrickattack]

old. man. yaois.

tiny gnome has very good senses and smells everything so much and so strongly. help him.

actually. going to keep this contained in the post and not in the tags bc its kink stuff and i think it should stay behind a readmore oop

spreading the 'old man engages in freak behavior' agenda...its not even freak behavior it is so tame for other shit i am writing w them LMAO musk is like whatever. its WHATEVER ! (its good) but my homebrew gnomes are based off of rodents and they have heightened senses of smell and hearing because of it and i think it is so funny to give my fave characters the most benign, yet debilitating kinks. Like bro im fine dw also u need to not be right next to me bc im going to go feral and i dont have it in my soul to explain why

i think its sooooo silly to have him already devote so much of his time to peppino and this business and now hes like god. what is that stickman meme picture of someone gripping their leg so hard its bleeding? thats gus hes like in his own hell. i think i wrote it before that peppino is sooooo aware of like. being a sweaty man and it makes him uncomfortable and he tries to avoid it but its like an inevitable facet of life and he deals w it the best he can. hes not smelly hes sweaty n musky and so working in the back w a hot oven means he ends his shifts absolutely drenched and miserable.

and gus is like👁️👁️ but hes a respectable man (tm) and he doesnt openly gawk n fawn. But. He is not shameless; he absolutely steals a shirt or two when he can and works w that for a while. he steals a shirt, keeps it, then rotates it w another shirt and when peppino is like WAA! My shirt !!! where did u disappear to??? Gus has to pretend he didnt snatch it away for like a month like the squirrel he is.

it (the thieving) would start before they get together and he would get caught a little while after they get together. like hey. not that i think that you think im stupid. but um. for like two years my shirts would disappear when u came over. like. after a couple of months it stops being a coincidence. so like. explain urself maybe?? and its definitely like a New feeling for gus, who is generally regarded as a dom (albeit a sweet one) to feel bashful about this but like in timid way that doesnt usually come naturally to him LOL. and i like the idea of peppino being an anxious little freak about soooo many things including sex, but when he gets more comfy w someone hes way more of a dick and blunt asshole (affectionate) and he absolutely would bully gus about this.

okay thats all i got just imagine my vision of gus and his little tail shooting straight up bc hes huffing this fucking shirt before he passes out for the night okay? and avoiding brick the next day bc beast to beast communication is real, okay? for me? thank u ....

[honeypiehotchner]

Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part ten

I listened to the stripped version of "Good Looking" a lotttt starting around now as I wrote this fic. It's perfect for how the reader is beginning to feel, the sadness and confusion, remembering how Hotch was and realizing how she no longer knows him 😭😭

Warnings: things are beginning to unravel

Follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be "tagged" when a new chapter goes up!

Ten: The skyline falls as I try to make sense of it all -- "Good Looking" by Suki Waterhouse

“Hotch said he didn’t have any of the files, JJ,” Dave said, stepping into her office. The two of them spoke on the phone last night, as promised, and Dave wanted to give JJ the update first thing in the morning, as promised. “He said he had older ones.” He listed the names off and JJ nodded along.

“I have those accounted for,” she said, looking at her computer, shaking her head. “I know he had those. The others are probably in here somewhere. It’s just weird.”

“I agree,” Rossi said. Files didn’t disappear randomly. If some were taken or even copied, JJ was notified, and she logged it. “But we’ll figure it out.”

“Did you look through Hotch’s office?” JJ suggested. She seemed hesitant to even ask, chewing on her nails after proposing the question. 

“No,” Rossi said. “Should we?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, should we?”

Rossi thought it over. Strauss’s concern. Your odd reaction to his questions. Hotch’s strange character every time Rossi called. None of it made any sense. Rossi assumed it was grief, just like you told him, just like he told himself, that maybe it was Hotch even trying to convince himself that he was feeling better than he was. But there was a nagging feeling deep in his chest that he couldn’t get rid of.

“Yeah,” Rossi finally said. “I’ll go look.” He knew how it looked and felt: like an invasion of Aaron’s privacy. But this was becoming too convoluted to worry about privacy.

Rossi went back into the bullpen, glad to see you sitting at your desk already. He tapped your shoulder as he went by, nodding his head up to the second level.

You got up and followed, assuming he was going to his office. Your heart began hammering in your chest when Rossi stopped outside Hotch’s office. No one had been in there since Hotch left. It was locked. 

You watched in terror as Rossi took out his keys and let himself into Hotch’s office, flicking the light switch.

You walked inside slowly, your voice low as you asked, “What are you doing?”

“What I don’t want to be doing,” Rossi replied in a hiss, pinching the bridge of his nose. He gestured toward you. “Shut the door.”

You closed the door and pulled the blinds for good measure. Or to help your paranoia. You had a bad feeling in your stomach and a bad taste in your mouth. “Rossi, what the hell is going on?”

“JJ can’t find a few files,” he replied, stopping in front of Aaron’s desk facing you, placing his hands on his hips.

“I know, she told me--”

“One of them she can’t find is Issac Holman.”

“What?” That was not right. That had to be a bad coincidence. The file showed up missing and Holman was dead? Impossible. Too eerie to be a coincidence.

“Another one missing is Nicholas Edwards,” Rossi continued. “He died two days ago. Shot in the back of the head, executioner style.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell us?” That was a brutal method; it was necessary to alert the team.

“Because I didn’t want to say anything just yet,” Rossi replied. His fuming eyes landed on you next. “I need you to come clean with me.”

Fear shot through you so hard that you took a step back from him. “What?”

“When I called you into my office a couple of days ago, you acted like I was interrogating you when I asked simple questions,” Rossi recalled, stepping closer to you. “What did you and Aaron talk about? Tell me the truth. Right now.”

You shook your head. This was a nightmare. This was not happening to you. “Rossi--”

“Agent L/N, I am ordering you,” he pressed, raising his voice. He stepped closer, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Tell me. This is bigger than whatever secrets you might have, so I need you to get over it and--”

“We had sex!” you blurted, shame rising in your chest like flames, burning their way to your neck. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Stunned, Rossi struggled to find words, eyes blinking and jaw opening and closing. “You-- Are-- Are you two seeing each other?”

“No,” you replied, your face burning with embarrassment. You wished that was the reason behind the sex, that it was a sweet, romantic, domestic relationship you were hiding. “He kicked me out. He wanted nothing to do with me. Can we move on now?”

“Yeah,” Rossi said, turning around slowly. “Help me look for any files he kept in here. Holman and Edwards might be in them.”

You nodded, glad your failed fling with your boss was forgotten for the moment. “Why would they be in here?”

“He liked to go over them afterwards,” Rossi explained. 

“Yeah, I know.” You turned to look on the side tables by the couch, but there were only random magazines, no doubt put there by someone else. Strauss probably put them there one day to liven the place up a bit.

Rossi studied one section of Aaron’s desk against the back wall. “This is empty.”

You leaned over. “Yeah.” You stared at it, eyebrows furrowing. “He used to have a lot of books and…” Files. You remember. You watched him close his briefcase as he said he was sorry but you knew he didn’t mean it.

Rossi turned and looked at you, the same haunted expression on his face. “He took them with him.”

You nodded slowly, your hand covering your mouth. “I watched him take them.” You paused, a sick feeling settling into your bones. “Rossi…what is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Rossi said slowly, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

But he knew. You both knew. Neither of you wanted to admit it.

+++

Aaron was washing the blood off his hands in the unsub’s bathroom sink. 

He didn’t mean for that much blood to be shed, but he got carried away. The unsub fought back harder than Aaron expected him to. One punch led to another and then Aaron had flashbacks to George Foyet. The unsub’s face no longer existed. It was only Foyet, and Aaron got revenge. Again. And again.

Unfortunately, it made a mess of the fucking bedroom. Thankfully, none of Aaron’s blood was shed. He caught a few blows to his chest and abdomen, but none to the face, none that bled, not like the unsub bled all over the goddamn place. Aaron knew the human body carried 5 liters of blood -- thanks to Reid -- but it looked like much more.

He needed to leave as soon as possible, so he settled for cleaning his hands thoroughly and forgetting the rest.

He rode back to his home in Quantico in silence. No music, no news. He needed to think.

But thinking only landed him in places he didn’t want to be, so he stopped. He stopped for food and carried on back to Quantico to get his things together.

He had one more unsub to hunt, and it wouldn’t be easy. The fucker ran from him once, he assumed he would do it again. So, Aaron needed to be careful and meticulous about this one. It would take longer than a weekend getaway.

+++

You were called into Strauss’s office the following day. You knew it wasn’t good, but you knew that even before you saw Rossi sitting in one of her chairs, fingers pressed to his temple. 

“You called for me, ma’am?” you asked, shutting her office door behind you.

“Yes,” Strauss rounded her desk, gesturing to one of the empty seats on her couch. “Sit.”

This is not good. You did as you were told, sitting on the very edge of the cushion. Rossi refused to look at you, and it made your stomach turn. You took a deep breath. 

“What do you know of Hotch’s whereabouts?” Strauss asked conversationally. She went over to her minifridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

“Uh, he’s at his apartment, I guess?” you replied, taking the water from her.

“You guess?” Strauss pressed.

You chuckled awkwardly. “Ma’am, with all due respect, I don’t know where Agent Hotchner is. We haven’t spoken since he left.”

Strauss laughed as she sat down across from you. “Well, Dave told me you did speak to Aaron.”

You looked at Rossi with wide eyes, sensing betrayal, but he shook his head only slightly. So he told her the truth, but not the full truth.

“I went to his apartment to offer condolences,” you said. “And to check on how he was doing.”

“And how was he doing?”

“He seemed fine,” you shrugged, putting the water down on her coffee table. “What is this about?”

Strauss sighed. “Agent Hotchner’s behavior has been worrying me since the day I sent him home,” she said. “Now, supposedly, he needs to get away, with no phone, no devices. And frankly, I cannot let him do that.”

You looked at Rossi, your eyebrows furrowed. “Where is he going? What is he thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Rossi replied. “He wouldn’t tell me. Just that he is heading out tomorrow morning.”

You turned back to Strauss. “Ma’am, I had no idea--”

“I know,” she stopped you with her hand in the air. “I don’t care to know the details of your relationship with Agent Hotchner. I hope there aren’t any details. But seeing as you are someone he trusts, I need you to follow him.”

“Follow him?”

“Yes. See where he goes. If it’s nothing troubling, you will return to the BAU. This is a private assignment and you are not to discuss this with anyone outside of this room, do you understand?”

You nodded. “I do.”

You felt like you were signing your life away.

[jakes3resin]

Can you tell us about your other fics if you already have an established plot?

I'd love to! So there's quite a number of them I won't lie. I tend to get inspired by the randomest things. These are all in various stages of plotted out and written.

A/B/O fic (technically turning into 3 fics) that follows Bucky & Buck through the war, described below.

Courting Arc (top of my list to finish writing) - Bucky POV as he is anonymously courted during his time in the states just before he gets sent over to England (there's a post I'm basing my writing around I'll link it in a moment) <- published

England Arc- a quick look into their lives as they run missions with A/B/O elements (this will be pretty short I think) mostly snippets of scenes from the show just now with Omega Bucky and Alpha Buck <- published

Stalag Arc - Omega Bucky and his awful time in Germany. Here is where we see what being an Omega in war is really like in my omegaverse. Bucky is the highest ranked Omega in the camp meaning he's technically 'in charge' of keeping those Omegas in line. He's tested by his heats, keeping his pack together, and finally by a German order that could tear Buck and Bucky apart. This is a big fic for me to prepare for, and I'm building up to it by writing the Courting Arc first <- next on deck

Biker Gale AU (my beloved, genuinely obsessed with this AU) - this was inspired by one of hogans-heroes AUs. So, Gale leads an outlaw-esque biker club, and Bucky used to be his right hand (and lover) except one day out of the blue he just disappeared. Gale does everything he can to find Bucky, but there's no trail to follow, no clues to put together, nothing. Fast forward about two years, Bucky arrives on Curt's doorstep holding a small baby with the brightest blue eyes and prettiest blonde curls and begs Curt to watch his baby for 5 days. 5 days later Bucky comes back in town bruised to all hell with the FBI on his tail with their own nefarious reasons for tracking Bucky down. Bucky has nowhere else to turn especially since when he comes back to Curt's he finds Gale holding his little baby. (This could be A/B/O I haven't decided, but it's definitely at least mpreg)

Amnesia fic - this is based off of a post I made about the effects of Bucky getting hit over the head like 3 times in the span of two days, its... somewhere (edit: here). But its about Bucky waking up with no memory of who he is just before he gets interrogated by the Germans and sent to Stalag Luft III where he meets a man that his heart rejoices at seeing but his mind doesn't recognize. Buck of course has to deal with the love of his life forgetting him.

Magic AU - Bucky is a Scamander and its now everyone's problem to deal with it. The tag to find all of my ramblings for it is magic au (not that Tumblr's tag system works), and @getinthefuckingjaeger just wrote the best ever fic of Bucky and Theseus so go read that.

I've also got a few paragraphs written of Foster Kid Bucky somewhere but that might never see the light of day (that's also from a hogans-heroes AU) where Bucky is a jaded teenager just trying to make it to 18 to get out of his shitty foster placement when in comes Buck whose mother finally divorced his dad, got custody of her kids, and moved to her hometown to escape. It's about a Bright Buck meeting a Jaded Bucky (a flip on their usual dynamics)

Blonde Bucky AU - I wrote a blurb on the Twin Cleven AU post, and the idea of Bucky bleaching his hair on a drunken night out with Curt and Bubbles has haunted me since <- published as well

There might be more? But these are the only ones I can remember off the top of my head right now that are plotted out beyond oh that'd be a good fic. I have a lot of time spent sitting and waiting right now, so I have the ability to write a multitude of fics. I'm happy to talk about any of these fics if you want to come into my inbox or my messages.

[margowritesthings]

ROMEO AND JULIET: I

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬, 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲…

series masterpost

pairing: low honour!Arthur Morgan x O'Driscoll!reader (f) word count: 4253 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, low honour Arthur, rough sex, fingering (r receiving), blood play, knife play, touch of cnc, dirty talk, degradation, enemies while lovers authors note: here it is! the first chapter of my most requested, most talked about series. I'm so excited for this one, y'all. I really pushed myself out of my comfort zone and wrote some absolute filth. I hope you enjoy the first official instalment of Romeo and Juliet! update - this is a reupload after the orignal didnt show up in tags! taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes

It’s always astounded you, the way those warm orbs of light hang over the streets, glowing bright no matter the time of night. Saint Denis is a city that never seems to truly sleep. There’s always some lady of the night stalking her prey, some street urchins playing in the street no matter how high the moon, or, in the case of tonight, a shadowed outlaw sneaking through the hidden alleys and veins of the town. Arthur Morgan, enforcer and right hand man of the infamous Van der Linde gang.

It’s not the first time you’ve been assigned a job like this, following Morgan around gathering scraps of whatever intel he’s collecting at the time to get a head start on any jobs around. You’re by far the stealthiest of the O’Driscolls and Colm knows that, hence why you get sent out every time. This time, you’re pretty sure it’s a home robbery in one of the apartments atop a store in the city. Arthur has been scoping the same building out for the last 10 minutes, making circles with the turns in the streets and alleys he takes. 

You’re always 10 steps behind him, so used to the skill of following someone through their shadows that it comes naturally to you. You’re so light on your feet that your boots hardly make a sound against the cobblestone streets. Currently, your fingers clutch at the corner of a brick wall as you peer around a bend, watching Arthur make that face you’ve learnt over time means he’s got something. Despite the fact the two of you have never actually spoken a positive word towards one another, you know far too much about each and every little mannerism Arthur has for your liking, but when his lip twitches at the corners, you know he’s pleased with himself. You hate that you know it, but you just goddamn do.

Thinking about it, you hate a hell of a lot about the Van Der Linde. You hate that he’s there at every turn, with his cocky smirk and that drawl. You hate the way that every time you get one up on him, the next time he’s right there giving it back. You hate his stupid fucking smirk and the way he outsmarts your idiot family every damn time. Most of all, you hate that every time you cross paths, he lingers in your mind, hidden in the darkest shadows until it’s the dead of night and it’s just you, all by yourself in your tent. 

…anyway. 

Fuck Arthur Fucking Morgan. And his stupid goddamn shit-eating grin. 

Following his eyeline, you can see what he’s grinning at: it’s a back entrance, with a rusty old ladder just barely clinging to the bricks of the building. It would be all too easy to follow Arthur in and attempt to get to the loot before him, but why expend the effort when you can let him do all the work and pickpocket him on his way out? It’s the perfect plan, or it would be if Arthur hadn’t disappeared in the few seconds you spent looking over the ladder. Where you were watching is now completely deserted, the street lamps casting orange-hued light and striking shadows over the backs of the stores and apartments. Arthur is nowhere to be seen and your brows pull together with the strongest confusion. The ladder remains untouched, home un-looted and yet Morgan is gone? 

Your voice is barely audible as you whisper to yourself, “What in the-”

You’re cut off as metal cooled by the night air is pressed firmly against the tendons in your throat, to the point where swallowing might just break the skin. Your breath hitches in your chest when you feel a hard, large body press against your back, an arm snaking around your waist to keep you firmly in place. The sharpness of the weapon is so evident, you daren’t breathe.

“Now now, just what do we have here? A little stray who lost her way…” Arthur’s voice rumbles in his chest, low and throaty as his breath dances right on your ear. He’s so close, pressing the knife into your windpipe so that the only relief you can get comes from pushing your back further into him. It’s near impossible to think as you feel the outline of his cock against your ass, but you have to, because there’s literally a knife to your throat. And it’s Arthur Morgan and his cock should not matter. 

“Get the fuck off me, Morgan.” You hiss, voice restrained by not wanting to move your neck too much.

“Not a chance, O’Driscoll. Just what do you think you’re doin’, followin’ me like this? Can’t get your own leads?” He’s speaking through gritted teeth, the whiskey on his breath intoxicating your senses.

“I ain’t- argh!” A sharp pain shoots up your neck as the very tip of the knife knicks your skin.

“Don’t lie. Or it’ll get worse. What’s your plan, little stray? Gonna jump me? Stab me from behind, kill me in the shadows like the rest of your backward coward cousins?” 

Your eyes roll with the low blow. You’re so much better than your idiot cousins in every way and Arthur damn well knows that. He knows you’re the only one to match him, the only one he ends up head to head in heated, spitting arguments because you’re the one who can keep up. He also knows how much it makes you seethe to be compared to the bastards. 

Your movements are quick, as to not have your neck slashed open, but somehow you manage to whack Arthur in the stomach with your elbow. The second plays out like an hour when you spin out from under his vice-like grip and manage to grasp your own hunting knife. It’s jabbed into Arthur’s side, but not before he can push his arm into your chest and pin you to the wall, his knife back on your neck. 

Now, your chest is heaving against Arthur’s, the cold brick of the wall cooling your flushed back. It seems to have taken both of you considerable effort to dance around each other and end up like this, as you’re both fighting for breath. A defiant fire burns in your eyes as you look up at him, refusing to be the first to move or break this stalemate. Your knife presses firmer to Arthur’s side as the blade on your neck actually starts to steam.

“You know full well I don’t need to get you from behind, Morgan.” You spit, trying not to let Arthur’s distinct scent, that one that haunts you when you’re all alone, distract you. Instead you focus on the sensation of the sharp tip of Arthur’s hunting knife threatening to rip your skin again. This time, you barely flinch, not even breaking eye contact with the knife’s owner as it nicks you again. The cockiest smirk tugs on Arthur’s stubbled lip as his free hand reaches up to caress the origin of the sting.

“Oh, sure, you’re doin’ just great right now, princess…” A shiver rushes through your veins and runs down your spine when Arthur’s calloused finger swipes across your neck, spreading bright red blood in a line across the tendons. He brings the finger to his mouth, sucking the crimson clean off in one smooth movement. He actually moans, low and deep and you swear you can feel it in your cunt. The tiny cuts burn, but not as much as the scorched, invisible gash Arthur has left on you with his mere touch. 

You can’t buckle, can’t for even a second rely on anybody else to keep you upright, especially not the enforcer of the gang your entire family practically devote themselves to the ruining of. So you put all your focus into not thinking about the heat pooling between your legs again, and you try to keep the strength in your limbs. It’s near impossible when he leans right into you, his lips a hair away from the lobe of your ear. 

“Twice now I could’ve killed ya’. Slit that pretty little throat and watched the life drain from those big doe eyes… You’re losin’ your touch, little stray…” His breath on your skin is too much and you feel your instincts turning your head, but you can’t tell if it’s to get away from him or to further expose yourself. God, you hope it's the former. You’re terrified it’s the latter.

The cool metal is pulled away from your flushed skin, instead replaced by Arthur’s huge palm wrapping around your neck, his fingers winding upwards to cup your jaw and force your glare back to him. Arthur dips his head to the tiny patch of skin between your ear and jaw not covered by his grasp and, god help you, he sniffs. You can hear the growl catch in his throat as you do so and it takes everything you have to keep the gasp in your mouth. So much so that the grip around your knife falters, even if just for a second, letting the blade go slack against Arthur’s jet black shirt. 

He chuckles, forcing you to realise your mistake and rectify it with an even stronger hold, “See? I bet I could have that knife clanging on these cobblestones before anybody would ever know we’re here…”

…oh?

Your pulse is pounding against Arthur’s palm and you’re sure he can feel it’s quickening as you realise exactly where this is going. It screams your true thoughts, those carnal, forbidden desires out to Arthur despite the demeanour of resistance you’re so desperately managing to cling onto. Your pulse is pounding in other places, too, and it’s making it ridiculously difficult to stay focused.

Your jaw opens and closes helplessly, mind racing to find a smug enough quip to rival Arthur’s annoyingly quick wit. You’re coming up empty, having to put all your energy into not collapsing into his weight and letting him have his way with you. Arthur’s thumb creeps up your jaw to caress your cheek, kneading the reddening flesh with a tenderness that juxtaposes everything about this moment. The fury burning in your stare, the hatred engrained in years of butting heads and foiled jobs and venomous words spat at each other. For as long as you’ve known of Arthur Morgan, he has kept this fire burning in you. It’s the anger, it’s the fury and the hatred and the venom and the tension… and…

And fuck if you’re not about to shatter at the hands of this man.

You’re squirming under Arthur’s grip, your legs starting to feel like jelly as his intense stare burns at your skin like glass on an ant. You don’t know when it becomes inevitable, maybe it’s when your lips part for his thumb to run over the bottom one, or maybe it’s when your tongue darts out to lick his pad, or maybe it’s when he smirks at you, dipping right next to your lobe and taking it between your teeth. It doesn’t matter when it becomes inevitable, only that it does. And oh, god, does it.

You’re both wordless, the sounds of the people of Saint Denis existing around you and two hot, panting breaths the only disruption from an otherwise silent air. 

The knife returns to poke your cheek, leaving the faintest trace of your own blood on your skin as Arthur pulls the blade down your neck, chest and stomach. It’s featherlight, almost tickling until it reaches the crotch of your jeans and another gasp gets caught in your throat. 

A single seam rips open. 

With it, the smallest sound of the knife slicing the cotton becomes the loudest noise you’ve ever heard in your life. Arthur’s brow raises, and you hate that he gives you this second to back out. Even more so, you detest that you can’t seem to bring yourself to do it.

Arthur’s hand clamped on your throat, his knife physically warming at the heat he’s creating right between your legs, you mirror his expression, knowing speaking these three little words will be your undoing.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

There are two things you know about Arthur Morgan with absolute certainty: he never backs down from a challenge and he’s the out-and-out last person you should trust. 

…so why does your composure never once falter as Arthur cuts the crotch of your jeans clean open in one swift, expert movement? 

Each individual stitch tears effortlessly against the edge of the metal and you finally allow that gasp to escape you. The cold night air seeps through and clings to the wetness starting to soak the cotton of your underwear and you can feel the most furious blush alighting your skin. You’ve never felt so exposed, emotionally, as Arthur feels just how wet you are for him with a drag of his index finger up your covered slit, and physically, as he hooks said finger into the band of your panties, ripping them open effortlessly. At this, your cunt clenches around nothing and you have to stop yourself from crying out. You can’t lose your composure, won’t let him win even if you’re all but dripping down your own leg.

“Tsk tsk… All this for me, hm? I don’t think Uncle Colm would be all too happy to see what a mess you are for mean old Arthur Morgan…” He’s sneering, his teasing too much to bear, especially when considering both the angel and the devil sitting on your shoulders telling you to get the fuck out of here and definitely not-

“Are you gonna shut the fuck up and-”

You’re rendered unable to finish your demand, struggled out through Arthur’s grip, when two long, thick fingers plunge into your cunt and curl up inside you. You cry out, a strangled, pathetic sound before Arthur lets go of your throat and clamps a hand over your mouth instead. The rush of blood returning to your head sends you dizzy, mixing with the intensity of Arthur’s fingers oh so deep inside you to the point where it’s difficult to form coherent thoughts. 

Good. Coherent thoughts are not what you need right now, for they would tell you that this is the worst decision you could possibly make right now and/or ever and you really don’t think you could make yourself stop right now. 

You coil tighter and tighter each time Arthur pumps into you, trying in vain to stop the whines that vibrate the outlaw’s palm against your lips. You’ve never climaxed without some sort of clit stimulation, but you’ve also never been handled so… expertly. Arthur somehow knows you, inside and out as he pulls you right to the edge, pushing his fingers in as deep as they can go and tickling your walls with a come hither motion. In that moment, you’re sure you’d follow him to the ends of the earth… even if you’d shoot him there afterwards. 

Your own weapon is still tightly fisted in your grip, still pressing against Arthur’s side because you cannot lose this bet, despite the fact that you’re seconds away from cumming all over one of his hands and have your jaw clamped into the flesh of the other. You’re watching him, seeing the ever so slight concentration tugging his brows together a little before his blue-green eyes, darkened by the shadows to the point of near-blackness, meet yours. It’s the most intense eye contact you’ve ever experienced and it washes over you like ice water. 

Your jaw hurts from the force Arthur is applying to it and you feel so full even from just his fingers and when you’re sure you can’t take any more stimulation else you might break into pieces, you feel another inch slide into you and that cold metal press against the hood of your clit.

Because of course he hasn’t put the knife down. 

Fucking Arthur fucking Morgan. 

The pressure and the sensation of the cold on your clit hangs you over the edge like a damned man awaiting the gallows, and there's an excruciating moment that drags out a lifetime before your whole body is wracked with white hot pleasure and red hot pain pulling you apart at both ends. The very tip of the knife pokes at your inner thigh exposed by the large rip in the denim of your pants, but you can’t stop your legs shaking and pushing together. Your skin breaks just as you reach your pinnacle and you feel both sensations everywhere. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, opposing forces at war in your very being, leaving splattered crimson on your leg and tear tracks on your cheeks. 

You don’t even realise you’ve dropped the damn knife, the clatter echoing around the alleyway over your mewls and the downright obscene sounds of Arthur working your soaked cunt through your high, fingers pumping in and out of you. 

It’s over with the force of a wave cresting and crashing. Blood rushing in your ears, you whimper when he slides his fingers out of you and follow his gaze downwards when he begins to chuckle again. He’s looking down at your knife, long discarded on the floor, and he’s smirking that smirk that makes you want to smack it right off his face. 

Arthur’s eyes drag from your weapon back to you, raking them over your whole body as he releases his clamp on your mouth. Air rushes to fill your lungs and you stretch out your jaw to ease the ache. He looks so fucking smug, especially when he lifts his hand to his mouth, inserting the two fingers he just had inside you past his lips. When he removes them with a tiny pop, he holds his knife up to catch the nearby street lamp. The tip is scarlet, shimmering through sticky blood, but the blade itself is covered in your slick.

“Looks like I win…”

Fuck. 

The regret is creeping around the corner, ready to set in and have you running down the street away from the man you hate most in the world, but just before it does, Arthur grasps your cheeks again,   forcing your jaw open and squeezing until there’s no room in your mouth for your tongue and you have to stick it out. It trembles, suspended in the tiny space between you and Arthur until he lifts the blade and runs the smooth edge over the muscle. You taste the metallic tang of your own blood and the sweetness of your juices mixing together. It’s lewd and carnal and disgusting and so fucking hot you could just cum on the spot. 

“Ah, see? You can be a good girl when you wanna be, can’t you? Cleanin’ up your mess…”

But you can’t. Not again, at least… You have to get out of here, away from this fucking devil in disguise who just made you cum quicker than you’ve ever cum in your life.

But you can’t think straight, can’t even hold yourself up, really, the rough brick of the wall behind you burning the back of your neck from the weight you’re putting into it when Arthur lets go of you completely. You hate that you feel the lack of his touch burning you worse than acid. You have to go. Now. 

“I… I have to…”

But Arthur isn’t listening. He’s already unzipping his pants, the shadow of his cock branding down his thigh.

“Oh no, I don’t think so. I’ve gotta get my prize, don’t I?”

Oh god. 

Oh god. 

You have to craft an expression of distaste, cannot under any circumstance let on that you can’t think of anything you want more in this moment. The distaste shatters quickly, however, when Arthur sheathes his knife and pulls his hard, thick cock out of his jeans. It’s a fucking masterpiece, twitching and pulsing, his deep veins and rosy head practically entrancing you. 

…until Arthur begins to palm his throbbing erection and his growl reminds you just who’s cock you’re all but drooling over.

“I ain’t a-“ 

But your protest is the next victim to die at the hands of the Van Der Linde as he grasps an ass cheek in each hand, effortlessly lifting you to your tiptoes so he can spear into you. He wastes no time or gentleness, invading you to the hilt first time. You’ve never felt so full. It’s almost too much, your sensitive nub still reeling from its first orgasm, but you take it like the most beautiful punishment you’ve ever experienced. You bite down onto your bottom lip to keep from screaming out, watching from the hidden shadows of the alley as a lawman walks past, completely unaware of the carnal sins of the flesh being committed just feet away from him. 

That thought only winds you further and higher as Arthur’s hard, relentless thrusts pound deep into you. He’s hitting the same spot his fingers were curling up into only seconds ago every damn time, completely overwhelming you and stealing the breath from your lungs. 

Arthur leans in close to the shell of your ear, “Oh, I bet you just fuckin’ love this, don’tcha princess? Little whore, comin’ undone like this just for me…”

“F-Fuck off-" you stutter out, barely managing to gasp for the air required to do so. You can’t finish your insult as calloused hands grip tighter onto your thighs and pick you up fully. It exposes you even more and allows a new angle for Arthur to fuck up into you and you see stars. You think your lip is bleeding from the way you’re biting on it, but you probably couldn’t count to ten right now. Who knows what’s going on around you when Arthur is so deep inside you. 

You’re hurtling towards another orgasm even without the external stimulation, feeling everything. The lewd sensation of Arthur’s balls slapping against your ass, his fingernails digging hard into your fleshy thighs, the mixture of the both of you dripping down your leg and soaking your newly ripped jeans, the taste of your own blood filling your moaning, mewling mouth. All of it.

“Don’t fucking cum in me, Morgan, or I swear I’ll-”

“Shut up.” he demands, his grip on your legs moving to wrap them tight around his waist so that he can release one side and pin you to the wall by your throat. It shuts you up, alright, as you can barely manage the gasp ripped out of you when he uses his other hand to smack your ass hard. His thumb squeezes your neck in just the right place and your vision starts to blur, and just when you think you might black out, he thrusts up into you, gyrating his hips in a circular motion. The head of his cock feels like it’s massaging you, the pressure in your temples growing and the throbbing in your cunt intensifying to the point where it feels like the earth is shattering around you. Arthur is growling into your ear, your nails scratching deep marks into his neck, ripping open the skin every so often.

“Oh fuck, oh Arthur d-don’t stop, don’t fucking stop I-I-” Your voice is croaked but somehow you manage your demand, and Arthur obliges, continuing to spear you. His pelvis is grinding down on your clit in perfect time to the pulsing waves you feel all over and at one point you swear those orbs of light hanging above seem to dance around your vision. Your complete release comes at the same time as Arthur’s release of your neck, the blood rushing back through your veins and making everything feel distant.

Arthur’s grunts and moans vibrating against your ear guide you back to Earth, your tight cunt feeling that much fuller after its second climax of the evening. You know you can’t take much more. You’re a drooling, mumbling mess in his arms. Arthur lifts your chin, taking the weight of your head in his hand to force your eyes onto him as he thrusts in and out a final, intense, invasive, wonderful time. 

He slips out of you just in time, his hot seed spilling out in between the two of you and splattering over your shirt. If you had enough pieces of your own mind to gather a coherent thought, you would probably be furious, but your tired limbs ache from being suspended for so long, the skin of your neck burning from the rough brick you’ve been forced against. 

It’s the most gentle he’s been all night when he places you onto the floor, supporting your weight until your legs have enough integrity to do it themselves. You can hear the teeth of Arthur’s zip, feel the cold air on your exposed jeans as everything starts to sink in.

“Here.” Arthur grumbles, as if it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do is help you, but you just about manage to grab the jacket he throws at you. You’re speechless, that fire once fuelled by lust now holding pure fury and hatred. Hatred for Arthur and his stupid fucking smirk, fury for yourself for giving into him… and now here you are, tying Arthur Morgan’s jacket around your waist after fucking him in an alleyway, his spurs clicking against the cobblestone as he leaves you alone in the middle of Saint Denis.

                         …God fucking dammit.

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Familia mea mea est domus – My family is my home

I loved @mistydeyes medical checkup thingy here and got a little inspired, so thanks for that, hun

Unedited because I wrote this on a whim

Tagging my usuals that asked, just because: @glitterypirateduck @letsreadallday @jamesrifftapes @sofasoap @mmyrrhh

A soft knock on his office's door made Price look up briefly.

''Come in''

The door opened swiftly, even before the last word was uttered, and Riot stepped inside, closing behind her hurriedly. Then, without asking, she all but collapsed on the chair in front of him.

''Oh, good you're here, I need clarification on what this means, my German is a bit rusty...'' Price leaned back in his chair, leaving his fountain pen and looking up again, but the slight grin on his face disappeared when he saw her eyes.

Her haunted, wide eyes.

''Kid''

Riot's blue-gray eyes - no, Christine's - looked straight into his, unblinking, and he noticed that just as she sat down, her right knee had started bouncing wildly.

''I have my physical checkup'' Even her voice sounded lower than normal, strained, controlled. ''In half an hour''

''I know'' Price nodded, still lost about what could have happened. ''What's the matter, kid?''

''Can you come with me?''

''... what?''

She moved slightly in the chair, visibly uncomfortable, but her eyes didn't waver and still stared at him, desperate, pleading.

''In my file there's specifications that say I only want female personnel in the physical checkup'' When Price nodded again, Christine tried to overcome the knot in her throat. ''I was just there. There's only male personnel working at the moment. They told me Dr. Benítez was on break and wouldn't be back till noon''

''Can't they move your appointment to when she's in?'' Price was already shutting down his laptop, knowing where this was going, and feeling the exasperation boiling inside. Fucking idiots everywhere.

''They said I could either do the checkup now with the personnel that was in or they would put in my file that I refused to do it'' Christine's voice was even lower now, her fingers tapping furiously on her thighs, and her right knee still bouncing. ''Price, I can't...''

Half an hour later, Price was sitting uncomfortably right in front of the door of the room where Dr. Benitez and a female nurse were performing the physical exam on Sgt. Vega. It had cost him only five minutes of raising his voice at the incompetent idiot in charge of the clinic for the day, and a personal call to Dr. Benitez's phone (who had been appalled by the situation and cut her break short, God blessed that woman, and told off herself the idiots at the reception).

''I know. I'll fix this'' Price stood up and walked around his desk to offer his hand to her. ''Come on, kid, we're gonna give them a piece of our minds''

*

To pass the time, he had sent a text to Heather, explaining the situation, and her answer had been almost instant, and indignant.

I personally put in her file she was NOT to be examined physically by any male presenting person. I'm going to raise hell at whoever is ignoring the personal notes in people's files.

Great, now Heather was in the warpath too. Sighing, Price was about to put his phone away when he got a message from Nikolai, some stupid short video of something he had found on the internet.

For a second he considered telling him, but decided against it. There was no need to have an angry Russian mercenary storming into the base demanding to behead someone for upsetting his solnysh... solhn... his sunshine.

Price also wondered why she hadn't asked Soap or Gaz, or Ghost, but was still musing over it when the door opened and Christine stepped out, talking with Dr. Benitez.

It was like night and day. Now she looked her usual self, or at least her usual masking self, chatty and bright, confident and brilliant. Dr. Benitez nodded at Price and then went back inside, and Christine walked over to him as he stood up.

''All set, kid?''

''All set, sir'' She smiled, and then offered him a lollipop. Price stared at it for a second and then at her eyes, unable to avoid grinning when he saw the usual mischief in there. How in the world he had ended with two Soap in the same unit was beyond him, but it made him feel thankful everyday.

''Really? A lollie?''

''She gave me one and I asked for another one for you'' Christine shrugged, with a cheeky grin. He noticed with sadness how the left corner of her lips was uneven, twisted due to the scar, but he admired her 'fuck it all' attitude about it and her refusal to wear her mask most of the time.

''Oh, thank you then'' Price accepted the lollipop and both unwrapped them as they walked to the exit. ''I'm glad I was still around to come with you. I bet if Ghost, Soap and Gaz had arrived sooner from the drill with the rookies they would have been happy to accompany you''

Christine hummed quietly, enjoying the lollipop, but when he finished talking she looked up at him.

''They were already back when I asked you''

Price opened the door for her, and stared at her hair as she stepped out. She had gone to him, for support and safety, even when she could have chosen any of the other Sergeants or Ghost. Price was well aware of the something brewing between the Lieutenant and her, and that her and Soap were practically siblings, and that Gaz and her were thick as thieves too... but still, she had sought him out instead of them... His heart swelled.

''Alright, sunshine'' Price ruffled her hair playfully, grinning when she protested. ''I think we've earned a coffee. Let's go find the rest of the muppets. My treat''

[freetobeeyouandme]

Chapter 1: The Cleric Zone-of-Truth's Me

It's time!! The first chapter of my Byler Isekai AU is now up on Ao3.

I'm finally ready to start posting this and y'all have no idea how excited I am! All fanfic is self-indulgent, but this one has been more so than others, which feels very appropriate, considering it is 100% the kind of thing Mike would daydream about in class (Cin's words). I also have to credit @iryfic and @fizzseed for the concept. They were discussing a different fanfic idea, had a misunderstanding and came up with this…and since we all wanted to see it, I sat down and wrote it :D

Tags: M, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Fantasy AU, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Horror, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

Summary:

Mike Wheeler hates High School, so when he almost dies and falls through a portal to another world, he’s not going to complain. Especially not when that world does not only have swords and magic but seems to work exactly according to the rules of his favorite tabletop role-playing game. But his euphoria might be short lived because the party of adventurers he falls in with turns out to be the target of an evil god and the fate of the world might rest on their shoulders. So, exactly like his games of D&D. Except the wanna-be Paladin soon realizes that being a hero is much harder in real life than it is in-game. - Or, Mike gets isekai’d into a world where D&D is real.

An excerpt and taglist below the cut:

Excerpt:

High School has, thus far, been the worst period of Mike Wheeler’s life, so it’s not really a surprise for him when spring break starts the way it does. In many ways he should have seen it coming, and in many ways he could have prevented it. If he’d just biked home right after school, accepting that his one week’s vacation would be nothing but hiding out in his basement some more, playing Atari on his own and working on school assignments, none of this would have happened. But Mike has had a bad year, and it being the anniversary of the week his life went from ‘kinda bad’ to ‘absolute hell’ only makes him stubbornly cling to a moment of reprieve all the more. So what happens is this: He takes the long way home, and he drowns.

The way from school to the Wheeler’s house is a straightforward one, cutting through downtown and then the suburban neighborhood he calls his home. It’s a safe path. But when school lets out, Mike doesn’t feel safe, and he sure as shit doesn’t feel straightforward. He has a weird sense of foreboding, as if tomorrow he’ll wake up to find the police at his doorstep with questions about the disappearance of Eddie Munson – except Eddie has been gone for a year now. Mike would know where the former leader of Hellfire Club was these days if he bothered to ask Eddie’s uncle, Wayne, but Mike hasn’t. He knows Gareth and Jeff were in contact with Eddie through Wayne, but Eddie only sent postcards to his uncle, choosing to ignore his friends, and, well, two could play that game. Eddie was fine, that much Mike knew, but Hellfire had fallen apart in his absence – and worse become the source of ridicule and persecution for its remaining members. So, Mike couldn’t care less what Eddie was doing. Eddie didn’t care about them either, after all.

With Eddie gone, Mike only had his basement, the safety of his own four walls, the only place in the world where the bullies could not get to him. And even at home safety was a strong word considering how concerned his parents still were about him falling prey to satanism and the evil doctrine that they, like the rest of Hawkins, couldn’t quite not believe Hellfire had propagated. They had hidden it better than most, but Mike knew their feelings on his hobbies didn’t differ much from the rest of town. Their opinions rarely did.

And so Mike, contrary to what he had promised his mother, contrary to common sense and every reprimand he can bring in retrospective, doesn’t head straight home. He swings onto his bike and veers sharply in the opposite direction, speeding past houses and streets and those wonderfully concerned citizens who all judge him silently as he runs past them – must judge him, for he is known. His face had been plastered all across town on those posters that had been circulating for months even after Eddie had been found at the end of spring break, alive and hale with his runaway girlfriend, who had been everyone’s real reason of concern, let’s be honest.

He doesn’t slow down until he hits the line of trees outside of town, then jumps out of the saddle to push his bike along their shade.

The woods had been another place of safety, back when he had still been a child. If the rain and the years hadn’t washed it away, the wooden castle that they had played in must still be standing, hidden away in between the trees, safe from the town and their judgment. Sometimes he misses that boy who had been so long gone now that Mike doesn’t even remember his name anymore. His best friend, once, and then overnight nobody as his mother packed him and his brother up and hid from her ex-husband on the other side of the country.

They had only sent a single Christmas card, no return address. Reassurance that they were fine – still alive, happier, even – but also the goodbye they never got to say in person as they disappeared just the same way Eddie had. For a while Mike had kept it in a frame on his desk, as if by clinging to the picture he could keep their friendship alive. He’s not sure where the card had ended up afterwards. Probably the trash.

Mike considers walking into the woods, considers looking for the castle, but he knows he’ll be better of with the memory instead of the real thing. The memory is bittersweet, reality can only disappoint.

Maybe if he had gone down the path of nostalgia, things would have turned out differently. Instead, he continues along the edge of the trees and, eventually, inevitably, into the arms of Troy and James.

He doesn’t see them at first, but they see him.

-

Unofficial Tag List (aka you interacted with my snippet posts, please tell me if you want me to not tag you in the future (or want to be added)): @smalltownwheeler @wheelerpilled @wrong-energy @willthelies @foodiewithdahoodie @doggo9 @gardenfairie @beelikesbyler @beverlysclown @yickarus @sourdough-el @hessolivagant @hesquietoday

[4ragon]

So I just reblogged another aa fanfic masterlist, and that seemed like a cool idea. SO, since so many people are migrating to here from Twitter (and especially since this is the only place where my name doesn't match my AO3 account) I thought should put a list of my AA fics together! (I'd do the other fandoms but I don't think I'd have a substantial enough list)

So here's the JJ Ace Attorney fanfic masterlist:

Long Fics -

The Miraculous Disappearance Of Phoenix Wright (107,213 words)

Phoenix Wright wakes up in a world where he never existed. What will he do when he's trapped in a world where everything he's ever loved is gone? Minor narumitsu. My first AA fic, and the fic that got me back into writing for the first time since I was a shitty teenager.

(Also please read the tags, this one has some heavy subject matter and a LOT of spoilers)

Singderella (28,103 words)

Apollo decides to try his hand at a singing contest, held by a certain ex-rockstar, for a chance to win some runner-up money. He didn't want to win the dang contest. And he sure as hell didn't want to become Klavier Gavin's mysterious disappearing muse. This one is Klapollo and this one's Silly As Hell.

Vacation All I Ever Wanted (111,197 words)

Six lawyers and a magician spend a week at the beach. One condo. Six lawyers. Seven secret plans. What could possibly go wrong? Established narumitsu, getting-together klapollo, platonic Athena and Simon, and Trucy Wright in all her glory. (Also has some AA4 and 5 spoilers)

also @/ministarfruit drew me fanart and it made me cry

Shorter Klapollo fics -

Google Search: how to turn off a gaviners alarm clock

Google Search: off button on gaviners alarm clock Google Search: how to end my suffering Google Search: please god i just wanted to sleep in

No I did not write this as a thinly veiled excuse to complain about my roommate's alarm clock what are you talking about

Also fanart from @/lycheestew

Don't Get Too Comfortable

Apollo gets caught in a rainstorm, so Klavier invites him to wait it out at his condo. Written for the Klapollo Unfolding Melody zine. I'm really proud of this one!

Either Way

It's Klavier's first week back since the Misham Trial, and Klavier had yet to gather the courage to see Apollo Justice. At least, until Apollo Justice grabs him in a panic and shoves the two of them into a broom closet.

(Klapollo Week 2021 - Protection)

Atroquinine My Love (Accoustic)

When Apollo asks Klavier for guitar lessons, Klavier is more than happy to oblige. Written for the 2021 Klapollo minibang, featuring lovely art from the wonderful @/nhuquyen

Half-and-Half

Klavier and Apollo go on their first date. That's it. That's the fic.

(Klapollo Week 2021 - Firsts)

Of Petals and Punctuality

Klavier forgets about their anniversary. That's also it. (Everyone also says this fic makes them sad but I thought it was fucking funny when I wrote it)

(Klapollo Week 2021 - Flowers)

Just A Quiet Morning

Apollo Justice wakes up to make breakfast on his wedding anniversary.

(Klapollo Week 2023 - Domesticity)

Schatz

“Hey, Athena, what does ‘shots’ mean?” Pre-dating, Athena and Phoenix mess with Apollo.

(Klapollo Week 2023 - Nicknames)

Narumitsu fics -

Procrastination

Prompt: Pre-dating narumitsu pinning and yearning for each other and all their friends and family trying to find a way for them to be finally be together

This was for a secret santa.

The Gentleman Always Gets the Girl

Sorry, Mr. Edgeworth, but the gentleman always gets the girl.

(Narumitsu Week 2023 - Foreign)

But I Thought You Hated The Mall

Miles takes Trucy to the mall. This does not go as planned.

(Narumitsu Week 2023 - Family)

Gen Fics -

A Different Kind of Lullaby (Warning, major AAI2 Spoilers)

“Hi Mr. Edgeworth, do you think Pops killed my mom?”

@/ehlihr drew the coolest fucking comic btw holy shit

Baking and Entering

Kay and Sebastian break into Edgeworth's house to bake a cake. This one was for the Dadworth Lion Lillies zine and I'm also super proud of it.

Juniper Dumped Me

Wait, wait when were Juniper and I dating?!

In which Juniper dumps Apollo, who absolutely knows what's happening, don't worry about it. Minor Junithena, literally the stupidest thing I've ever written. Dedicated to my discord friends who helped me come up with the idea.

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Kay Faraday has a secret and Miles has to get to the bottom of it. Also has some AAI2 spoilers.

Another Trip Around The Sun

Apollo Justice's first birthday without Clay Terran. Minor klapollo. It's a story about grief and I did cry while writing it.

Just a Roll of Stamps

It's been a year since Phoenix officially adopted Trucy, and Phoenix is starting to worry that she hasn't made any friends.

(Wright Family Week 2021 - Friends)

Bet On It

Apollo and Athena vs. Trucy and Phoenix. Whoever beats the escape room first wins. Whoever loses buys noodles for a year. But…it can't be that simple, right?

(Wright Family Week 2021 - Scheming and Hijinks)

Dear Runo

Phoenix and Trucy decide to clean out their spare room, and discover an old cardboard box labeled Grandpa Ryuu. Inside, they discover some old books, some letters, and possibly an old secret?! (Or maybe not). This one was for another secret santa exchange.

First Class Accomodations

After the events of Investigations 2, Sebastian Debeste is invited to spend a few nights at the Courtney residence while he figures out what to do next.

This was written for the AA Writer Zine and I am very proud of it.

Tumblr Original Ficlets

Ficlets include narumitsu, klapollo, and a few junithena, and one (1) blackmadhi.

Anyway, I think that's everything. Y'all super don't have to read these, I just wanted all of them in one place. If you do read them, though, feel free to let me know if you liked them! Comments and stuff make my day.

[pedrito-friskito]

head to head - frank castle x fem!reader (hell’s angel part i)

summary: you’re a bounty hunter with a price on your head. frank comes to collect, but you both quickly have other ideas.

warnings: WHERE TO BEGIN. uhm. this is PWP basically. canon-typical violence (the punisher is R-rated after all) - unprotected p-in-v sex (no glove no love), oral (m and f receiving), brat!kink, dom!frank, frank’s filthy mouth, fingering, cursing, a few soft moments for ✨flavour✨

a/n: also kind of threw this into the deadpool universe just for shits and giggles? @saintmurd0ck and I have been suffering from SERIOUS frank castle brainrot and this was the end-product for me (she always wrote the most delicious matt murdock x reader x frank drabble - GO READ IT HERE!)

this is my first frank fic so pls be kind - tagging some people below I think might like this (based on my post likes lmao). this might eventually turn into a series, who knows, but ENJOY 😮‍💨

(main masterlist) (series masterlist) (ao3)

Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Children. The hottest place in New York, for a mercenary. Gold cards, a decent stack of cash, enough job-flow to keep you coming back for more. And fuck, if Weasel doesn’t make a mean whiskey sour. Sometimes. Other times you’re half-sure its just Jack Daniel’s and root beer, but it always goes down like a dream.

The place is packed, the bar itself filled stem to stern with all manner of mercs. Most of them give you a nod when you saunter in, your fur-lined jacket more noticeable than most, and the shotgun strapped to your back a warning like no other. It had taken some time to make a name for yourself at Sister Margaret’s, a good few jobs under your belt before the big burly men stopped calling you sweetheart and little girl and got the hell out of your way.

The truth of it all was that was that you were good at what you did, and Sister Margaret’s was the kind of place you had needed when you were a kid. Someone looking out for the sad-sacks and lowlifes of the city with nothing better to do than to prey on young girls and try to ‘make them into women.’

To put it plainly, you had a penchant for abusers, leaving them much worse off than when you found them, and you liked it. The cash was just an added bonus, and the name? Well, you were still deciding if you liked it or not.

“If it isn’t Hell’s Angel,” Weasel calls from behind the bar, his hands spread wide across the top, a gold card notched between his knuckles. “How sweet of you to grace us with your presence.” His tone is dry, and you smirk, sliding your finished card across the bar top and reaching for the one he’s holding, but before you can snag it, he pulls it out of reach. “Not so fast.”

“Don’t be like that, Weas,” you chide, pouting at him. “Someone’s gotta pick up the slack around here now that Wilson disappeared.”

“Medical sabbatical, I told you,” Weasel shoots back and you roll your eyes. “He’ll be back, and he’ll be pissed to know there’s no jobs left roaming the streets for him when he does.”

You sigh, trying to snag the card again. “Give me the card.”

“No can do,” he says, his tone still dry, but then his voice changes. He reaches beneath the bar, and presents you with…a whiskey sour, complete with a cherry speared on one of those stupid little plastic swords. “I can pay you out, but that’s it, Angel. You’re cut off”

“What?” You start looking up and down the bar. You reach for the glass, and toss back the drink in one slug. Fuck, that’s a lot of whiskey, but you’re too fired up to really care. “Which one of these fuckers complained, huh? Point me in his fucking direction, why don’t you.”

Weasel reaches across the bar, card still between his knuckles, and grabs your arm. “Calm your shit, no one complained. It’s…worse that that.”

You balk. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. “Worse?”

“Someone put out a hit on you, Angel,” he says, tone seesawing between dry and genuine. “You gotta go. I’m sorry.”

“Who…?”

“I can’t tell you who,” he says instantly, shaking his head. “You know I can’t tell you who put it out. Or who took the card. I can’t tell you shit.” He sighs. “Them’s the rules.”

Fuck.

You push a hard breath out, feeling the whiskey start to buzz through your veins. Time to get the hell out of dodge. “Well, pay me out, Weas, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Ten minutes later, a decently large wad of cash stuffed in your pocket, and you’re headed home. Or, what you’ve called home for the last six months. The outskirts of New York are littered with empty houses, and you like taking your pick of the richer neighbourhoods, breaking into the homes who’s owners have left them empty for the season, picking your way through designer closets and wine cellars before slinking off to the next.

Problem is, someone’s already waiting for you.

Perched on the steps of your latest abode, a shotgun larger than yours balanced on his knees. There’s something…familiar. You haven’t seen him at Sister Margaret’s, that much you know. But the face, there’s something there that twinges the back of your brain.

Crew cut, square jaw, big nose that fits the face perfectly. Just enough stubble to know the beard that lurks. Hard stare, dark eyes, unfairly full lips. Broad shouldered, covered in black head to toe, and big fucking hands holding that shotgun.

“Number’s up, sweetheart,” he calls as soon as you’re close enough, your boots clicking on the pavement as you reach behind you casually, your fingers curling around the handle of your own gun. He lifts one hand, and you see the tell-tale gold card wedged between his thick fingers. You bite your lip. Motherfucker. “You wanna dance?”

“There’s a lot of things I’d like to do with you, handsome,” you call back, tilting your head to the side as he rises to stand. You’ve seen enough well-cut men to know he’s packing muscle beneath the dark get-up, and you let your eyes wander south. You’ve seen enough well-hung men to know that he’s packing something else too. “But dancing isn’t one of them.”

He smirks, a little half-assed thing that manages to send a zap of heat through you. Fucking hell in a hand basket, are you actually attracted to the man that’s come to…collect you? There’s gotta be some law against that somewhere, right? Somewhere deep in the merc’s handbook, for sure.

“S’a pretty price on your head, sweetheart,” he continues, and slowly starts to descend the steps, closing the distance between you just enough to send your heart racing in your chest. He’s got a good head on you, and peers down his nose as you grip your shotgun and pull it from your back, letting it hang loosely at your side. He’s got a big nose, suits his face, busted enough to make you think it’s been broken more than once. “Who’d you piss off?”

“Dunno,” you say with a shrug, starting to around him, meandering pace as you keep your eyes glued to him, watching his reaction. You keep a fair distance between you, and he doesn’t turn as you circle him, but you catch his eyes raking over you when you disappear and reappear in his line of sight. He’s toying with you; you’re toying with each other. This is gonna be fun, at least, a good way to go. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly kind to the lowlife assholes of the world. Some of them must work for someone with deep pockets.”

“Heard they call you Angel,” he says, his voice gruff and grating and fuck, if he says your real name you might just dissolve into a puddle. “Knew a guy once, they called him the Devil.”

“Maybe I’d get along better with him.” You grin. “And it’s Hell’s Angel, just for the record. What do they call you?”

His nose twitches. “Punisher.”

Your brows shoot up. The memory tweaks; a newspaper strewn on the bar at Sister Margaret’s. Punisher Punished. “Ahh, I knew I knew you,” you purr, tapping a finger to the tip of your nose. “You’ve got more of a rep than I do, handsome.”

“Gotta stop calling me that, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re stalling.”

“And?” you ask, looping around him again, lifting your shotgun onto your shoulder. “You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?”

He just smirks. 

“What are you gonna do if I don’t stop, huh?” You’re in front of him again now, staring at that stupidly, ruggedly handsome face. “You gonna punish me, hmm?” A step forward, than another. “I might like it.”

He’s staring down his nose at you, mouth a taut line, eyes hard and unwavering. “Watch it now, sweetheart. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew.”

“Oh, I don’t bite,” you purr back, grinning as you chance a hand forward, walking your fingers up his chest. No armour beneath the dark shirt, nothing but hard muscle that jumps beneath your touch, which has you thinking… “Not unless you ask me to.”

You do another circle, your steps slower this time. He doesn’t turn, but his head does, one eye watching you as you move, slinking up the steps one at a time, shotgun still resting on your shoulder. One, two, three…

He swings around, lifting his own gun and levelling it with your face at the same moment you lift yours. It’s a standoff, each of your staring down the barrel of the other’s gun, at the mercy of the other’s trigger finger, or lack thereof…

“Gimme a good reason, Angel,” he barks, “why I shouldn’t pull the trigger.”

You lift a brow. “The Punisher, giving me a chance to beg? You’re not the big bad I thought you were, handsome.”

“You don’t know me at all, babydoll,” he grits out, and the switch in the nickname alone makes your heart stutter.

But then the world implodes.

Shots ring out, the glass of the window beside the house’s front door shatters, the door itself splintering inward. You both drop, more shots exploding toward you, bullets whizzing by your shoulder and head. There’s a big hand grabbing the scruff of your jacket, hauling you up and shoving you through the now open door. More gunshots, and the Punisher shoves you out of the the doorway the moment you’re through.

You hit the ground hard, rolling through shards of glass that poke and prod and make you wince. You’re quick to head for the window ledge, using it as a bunker while you cock your gun and take aim. The hooded figure standing in the road isn’t familiar to you, the large gun in his hand lifted and ready to end one or both of you.

Then you see the gold card. “Your time is up, Castle!” the merc yells. The memory twigs again; Castle, Frank Castle. You read that article so many times Weasel had to pry the newspaper from your hands. You chance a glance over at the man in question, see him propped up beside the door. He looks unharmed, mostly, dust and debris on his jacket and pants. Your brow hardens.

“Come on out, Angel!” the merc calls. “I’m not here for you!”

What the fuck?

You look at Frank again, and this time, he’s staring right back. There are no words, no gestures, nothing. But something unspoken, and he slowly drops a handgun to the floor, covers it with his boot, and then slides it across the floor to you. An easier shot than the shotgun propped on your shoulder.

Then he nods.

“I just want my money!” the merc shouts, and you roll your eyes. Who the fuck is this guy?

You scramble for the handgun for a moment, swinging it out the broken window to take aim just as a hand grenade goes sailing over your head, hitting the ground behind you. You take the shot, the bang echoing through your head as the bullet finds it’s mark, and then that big hand is at your shoulder again, hauling you up and out, a large body covering yours as you hit the hard ground. Overhead, the first floor implodes, wood and glass and debris flying everywhere.

Your ears are ringing, you can taste blood, and everything hurts. When you try and lift your head, your eyes immediately meet a large shard of glass that’s sticking out of your shoulder and you groan and you’re pulled to your feet, yanked against a warm body. Your knee barks in protest, and you look down to see more glass, this time accompanied by a thin piece of wood speared through your leg. Fuck.

“You okay, sweetheart?” a gruff voice asks, right by your ear, and a thick arm slides around your waist, taking most of your weight.

“Shoulder,” you managed to rasp out. Who the fuck even blows people up anymore? “Knee. Nothing major.”

“Good,” Frank Castle says. “Let’s get outta here, huh?”

“Thought you wanted to,” you wince hard when a falter in your step sends a shock of pain up your leg, “dance.”

“That can wait,” he tells you, glancing over his shoulder, starting to shuffle you down the street. “That was an impressive shot. Besides, saved my ass; least I can do is clean you up, show you a good time.” He smirks. “Dancing comes later.”

+

You’re not what he expected.

He was hoping for some fat, ugly asshole. Some easy kill, swipe the gold card and collect the cash, get the hell out and never look back. That would have been easy, that would have been simple.

You are already proving to be anything but.

He half-carries you to the motel, trying to ignore the feeling of your body heat against his arm. That god awful coat of yours is covered in debris from the house, dust and broken glass and wood. The shard in your shoulder needs to come out, along with the twig in your knee. You’re taking it like a champ, that much he’s sure of, wincing occasionally but not a word of protest falling out of you.

“What hurts more?” he asks once he’s brought you through the door and deposited you on the bathroom counter. Both your guns bounce onto one of the the mattresses, forgotten for the time being. Dancing comes later. Not that he’s even planning on dancing, now. “Shoulder or leg?”

“Leg,” you rasp, and he tries not to let his eyes linger on the expanse of your throat when you throw your head back, crown hitting the mirror as he takes your ankle in hand and lifts. The wood is jammed just above your knee, through and through, blood staining the fabric of your jeans. He leaves you for a moment to grab his kit before he comes back, pushing a bottle of whiskey in your hands.

“Drink,” he orders, and you listen, yanking the cap off and tossing it to the side, tipping the bottle to your lips and chugging. He waits a moment, waits until you tip the bottle back down, until you’re wiping your lips, takes hold of the wood, and pulls.

“Motherfucker!” you screech, good arm reaching out and fisting in his shoulder. “Warn a girl next time, huh?”

“Nope,” he responds, sinking to his knees. He tugs on your good leg. “Get down. Pants off.”

“There are nicer ways to get me naked, you know, Castle,” you quip, but obey, sliding off the counter and undoing the button on your jeans, kicking off your boots. You push your jeans down as far as they’ll go, and Frank bites the inside of his cheek at the scrap of lace covering you. Then he eases your pants down further, carefully around your injury, helping you step out of them and kicking the fabric to the side.

“You don’t ever stop, do you?” he grumbles, grabbing your hips and lifting you back onto the counter. You’re so much…smaller than him, a good head shorter, and he towers over you, even sat on the countertop as you are. You grin, and he bites his cheek so hard he can taste blood.

He fishes bandages and antiseptic out of the kit. Ignores your whine when he wipes the wound clean. So much for taking it like a champ. He wraps it carefully, ties off the gauze, then reaches for your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says lowly, “eyes on me.”

You do — fuck, you perfect little obedient thing — and he reaches for a cloth, wrapping it around the glass sticking out of your shoulder. One hand on the shard, and he lifts the other to your throat, thumb swiping the curve of your jaw.

“I’m not killin’ you, sweetheart,” he tells you, and watches your eyes go wide. “Not tonight.”

You suck in a breath, a retort on the tip of your tongue, and then he pulls.

“Motherfucker!”

There’s a spurt of blood when he yanks the glass out, letting the smeared shard clatter into the sink. He reaches for your shoulder, pushing the edge of your coat back, and grabs another piece of gauze, holding it to the wound, pressing hard enough that your teeth sink into your lip. Your head tilts back, knocking against the mirror again, face pinching when he presses harder, trying to staunch the bleeding.

“That was an impressive shot,” he mumbles, dragging his eyes from your face and staring at the gauze pressed to your blood-stained skin. You’re a mess — you both are — skin covered in dust and blood, your chest heaving and Frank can’t stop himself from planting his other hand on your thigh, fingers curling around the bare muscle. It twitches in his grip and he hides his grin. You’re reactive, your body already giving in to him. “Where’d you learn how to shoot like that?”

“Self-taught,” you tell him, and he can’t stop himself from staring you right in the face. No way in hell. You’re smirking, head lolling a bit on your shoulders, hips adjusting on the counter. He’s got half a mind to just rip those panties off right here and now, throw your knees around his ears and eat your pussy until the sun comes up. But he’s more of a gentleman than that. He wants to ease you into it, wants to watch you break down and…submit to him. He’s holding that gold card over your head, holding your shoulder, watching your gaze flicker down when his thumb slides down the inside of your thigh.

He’s not killing you, not tonight. Maybe not ever. But he is gonna do something else.

“No way, princess,” he says with a shake of his head. “Tell the truth.”

You let out a laugh that’s more like a scoff. “I am telling the truth, Castle.” You wince as he peels back the gauze. It’s still bleeding, but not as much; he’s gonna have to stitch it. Your eyes are hard, just watching as he moves, reaching into the kit, pushing at the collar of your coat. He opens his mouth to tell you to take it off, but you beat him to it, shrugging carefully out of the thing, tugging it out from under your ass and letting it drop to the floor. It leaves you in a little black tank top, the straps thin and the neckline scooping across your chest. He lets his eyes dip shamelessly, tearing open an antiseptic wipe, and your eyes traipse up his body, until they meet his, and that shit-eating grin is back on your mouth.

The grin disappears as he sets to work, wiping the blood away, disinfecting and pushing the whiskey back into your hand. You turn your head to the side, taking another healthy swig, and he watches your throat bob, his jeans tightening at the sight.

Fuck, you are really not what he expected.

“I really am self-taught,” you say, your head still turned, pointedly not looking at him stitching your shoulder. No wincing though, no complaining. “You go after enough fuck-heads who don’t understand the word no and you turn into more than a decent shot. That, and I go to the shooting range so often they give me half off now.” A little smirk. “It ain’t pretty, but it’s a living, right?” Your eyes cut to him, watching his expression. He feels a little vulnerable under your gaze, then remembers the gold card in his back pocket. “You grow up thinking it was all gonna shake out like this, Castle?”

His brow hardens. “What d’ya mean?”

You lean your head back against the mirror again. “I grew up wanting to be a truck driver by day, ballet dancer by night. Bounty hunter with a price on her head didn’t exactly make the list.”

Frank barks a laugh, pulling the stitch as he does. “That’s quite the combination, sweetheart. My daughter wanted to be, uh, a veterinarian.”

Your head snaps to look at him. For the first time, you have a soft look on your face, rather than a shit-eating grin or a seductive smirk. He waits for you to ask, to try and deep dive into his past, to try and pull something out of him. Something he’s not willing to give to you. Not yet.

“Who put out the hit on me?” is what you ask instead, and Frank drops his gaze, reaching over to run his hands under the tap, cleaning your blood from his skin. Then he reaches for the bandages, taping up your shoulder.

“Dunno,” he mumbles, eyes focused on your shoulder, ignoring the way the strap of your tank top keeps falling across your collarbone. There’s a silver chain at your neck, a tiny little pendant that looks like a star sitting in the hollow of your throat. “Didn’t ask.”

“So you just took a hit on another hunter, no questions asked?” When he doesn’t reply, you scoff. “Punisher, my ass.”

“What’s that supposed t’mean?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“You go after bad people, right? Isn’t that your gig?” Satisfied with his bandage work, he takes a step back from the counter, and you slide off in an instant, taking the whiskey with you, bouncing away in your skimpy little top and panties barely covering your ass. He swallows hard. “That’s your schtick?”

Frank turns around, leans against the counter, crosses his arms over his chest. “Not a schtick, sweetheart.”

“I’m not a bad person,” you say, setting the whiskey bottle on the dresser. “I’m not bad people. I do what you do; I only go after people who hurt other people. People who can’t protect themselves.” You glance over your shoulder at him, the corner of your mouth quirking. “Mostly men. Idiots who don’t know the meaning of consent, who like to prey on little girls in dark alleyways. Those are easy shots. Easy money.” You tap your fingers on the dresser. “Boom.”

“God,” he drawls, tapping his foot against the floor. “You really don’t ever stop, do you, sweetheart?”

You spin to look at him, eyes bright and fiery. Ah, there she is. “What, I’m not allowed to plead my case? I thank you for the chivalry of stitching me up, Frank,” you say, and he has to stifle the choked noise that worms up his throat when you actually bow, curtsying to him and giving him and eyeful of your chest, “but I don’t think I need to remind you that you had a shotgun pointed at my head less than an hour ago.”

“You had one pointed at me too, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you bark, pointing a finger at him. Fuck, he’s got you riled now. “I don’t deserve the gold card, is what I’m saying. Sure, I’ve pissed off a few people, but who hasn’t? You think every fucking idiot who rolls into Sister Margaret’s is a saint before they walk in the door? I think the fuck not.”

And he’s had enough.

Frank pushes off the counter, takes two long strides towards you. “Would you just shut the fuck up,” he says, and watches your reaction, watches your back straighten and your eyes widen, “for two seconds?”

But you don’t. “I’m just saying,” you continue, “you should know this shit before you try and put a fucking bullet in me.”

“I don’t wanna put a bullet in you,” he throws back, and takes another step. Your knees knock together and he closes the distance with a final stride. Knuckles under your chin, tilting your head up to face him. Your brow is a hard line, lips pressed together, and he lets his thumb wander over the seam, feeling your breath on his skin. “I wanna put my cock in you.”

Your quip is fast, eyes rolling to the back of your head: “Now, there’s a line if I ever heard one.”

But Frank sees it, sees that hint of submission creep into your eyes, the way your jaw goes slack in his grip for a fraction of a second before the big bad bitch returns. He grins. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, huh, princess? Shut you up for a minute with this big fat cock in your mouth?” He grabs your wrist with his other hand, yanks it down and presses your palm to his crotch. Your fingers twitch over the outline of him and his jaw goes tight.

This time, there’s no quip, no witty response, just big shiny eyes and he watches the tip of your tongue snake the corner of your mouth. You’re fucking drooling, just at the thought of it. Good. He adjusts his grip on your face, holding your chin in his hand, squeezing your cheeks slightly.

“You gonna let me fuck you, babydoll?” he asks, and your mouth pops open, warm breath tickling his face. He should kiss you, wants to kiss you. Needs to kiss you. You make a tiny noise somewhere between a whine and a moan and he reaches for your hip, yanking your body towards him, shoving his hand under the lace covering your pussy. “C’mon, when’s the last time somebody fucked you like you deserve, huh, sweetheart? Last time someone ate this pussy till you screamed?”

“Frank,” you groan out, hands reaching for the wrist holding your face, nails digging into his skin. God, you look pretty like this, big eyes and wet lips, pupils blown and tongue between your teeth.

He’s done waiting, done fucking around and talking. At least, talking pretty.

“Say yes, princess,” he says, leaning in until he’s almost talking against your mouth. “I wanna hear it.”

You nod your head furiously in his grip, eyes going wide as dinner plates, canting your hips into his hand. You’re dripping, all wet heat and soft curls against his fingers.

“Use your words,” he commands, and can’t help but capture your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging not so lightly. It makes you moan, and this time, he can’t stop himself from capturing the sound, swallowing it.

+

It’s not a kiss so much as a collision. 

You were losing it when he grabbed your chin in his big fucking hand. More so when he bit your lip. And now? Absolutely gone. His fingers working between your legs, calloused pads scraping your clit in a way that makes you want to scream in pleasure.

He’s been pulling you apart since you walked into this motel room. Piece by piece, brick by brick, stitching you up just so he could tear you apart in a different way. You think you could drown in that voice, fall apart in those big hands, get down on your knees and worship the big cock that jumps towards your palm when you reach for his crotch again.

He growls into your mouth, tongue spearing against yours, tasting of black coffee and something else so violently delicious your knees start to quake. You’re so far gone now, between the pet names and the big hands and the I wanna put my cock in you. You’re out of witty responses and daring quips.

When’s the last time somebody fucked you like you deserve, huh, sweetheart?

The answer? Far too fucking long.

He pulls his hand from between your legs abruptly. You almost whimper, but the noise is cut off when he releases your face, reaches both hands down to cup your ass, gripping your cheeks in an iron vice before they slip lower, grabbing your thighs and lifting you up and against him. Your hands scrabble for his shoulders, clawing at his t-shirt, pulling at the tight fabric. He’s wearing too many clothes; you need to explore what lies beneath.

Frank kisses like he’s trying to eat you alive, and you love it. You only come up for air when he drags his teeth along your jaw, nips at your earlobe, drags his stubbly cheek across your neck. “C’mon, princess,” he grumbles against your skin, and then he drops you, your back hitting the bed, body bouncing slightly on the mattress. His eyes rake across you, and he reaches for your knees, fingers curling around the backs and yanking you towards him, spreading your legs wide. “Words.”

His hands move down your thighs, thumbs pressing in deep as he goes, moving towards the heat pooling between your legs. You’re absolutely losing it. “Yes,” you finally moan out, chewing your lip furiously as he reaches the hinge of your thigh, lets one thumb reach out and swipe over your drenched core.

“Yes, what?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, you think, wanting to roll your eyes, to yell at him to just fuck you already. But you know this game, and judging from the twitching bulge in his pants, it’s a game Frank likes to play. “Yes, I want you to fuck me.”

His mouth splits into a grin and he rewards you for the admission, moving his whole hand to your pussy, dragging his fingers up and down, up and down. You keen into the touch, back arching off the mattress. “Mmm, yeah, good girl,” he grits out, and you feel him reach for the elastic of your underwear, snapping it against your skin. “Gonna make you feel really fucking good, sweetheart. Gonna fuck the brat right out of you.” He snaps the band again and again, and you lift your hips, feeling him tear the scrap of fabric down your thighs.

Before you can even react, he’s on his knees, big hands curling around your hips and yanking you to the edge of the bed. There’s little ceremony, no build up, just his mouth sealing over your pussy, that big fucking nose grinding into your clit, lips sucking and tasting and sending white sparks across your vision. You reach down, grab his head in your hands, lock your fingers in the longer hair on top of his head. He groans against you when you pull hard, thrusting your hips up against his face and it sends a wave of vibrations rippling through you, your back arching harder.

That busted nose of his feels like heaven against your clit, the stubble on his chin grating just enough to bring you higher and higher, and he’s holding your hips so tight you’re sure you’ll have bruises shaped like his hands come morning, but you don’t fucking care. As long as he doesn’t fucking stop.

He’s rutting into the bed, eating your pussy with such vigour and enthusiasm that he’s moving you up the mattress, further and further until he’s half on it with you, knees pressing into the duvet while he pulls you up towards his mouth, your knees bent over his shoulders. He adjusts his grip, locking his arms around you completely, holding you to him.

When his tongue dips into your dripping heat, prodding the deepest parts of you, that’s when you lose it.

You try to shout as you cum, try to drawl his name, but no sound falls out of you. Especially when one of his arms comes loose around you, holding you in place with one bulging bicep, and his hand closes around your throat, squeezing just enough for you to notice, not enough to cut off your air. You can feel the strength that he’s withholding, what he’s using to hold your pussy to his face, but what he’s not wielding on you like a weapon.

I’m not killin’ you, sweetheart. Not tonight.

Can you die from the most intense orgasm of your life?

As soon as he pulls his tongue from you, he jams two fingers in, slamming your hips back onto the bed and covering your body with his own. His knees bracket your hips and then his mouth is on yours again, free hand curling around the side of your face, peering down between you as he thrusts his fingers in and out, thumb pressing hard on your clit. Still, you don’t have words, only heaving breaths and gasped moans that only climb higher when he finds that spongy spot deep inside, caressing it softly before he twists his wrist, scissoring his fingers wide.

“Where’s that smart mouth now, huh, baby girl?” he whispers, his mouth right by your ear. You can only moan, digging your hands into his shoulders as hard as you can, grabbing onto him like a lifeline. “Can’t talk, huh? That good?” He continues to move his fingers, rough and then soft, the quick changes nearly giving you whiplash. “Gotta warm you up first, sweetheart, so you can take this big fucking cock.”

You push your face into his thick neck as you cum a second time, the first one barely bled away before the second takes over. Your fingers and toes are static, limbs taut and limp at the same time, and you hook your arm around his neck, something between a moan and a sob bouncing off his skin. He curls his fingers up, pressing against that devastating spot, drawing the orgasm out longer, making you gush around his knuckles.

“Tha’s a good girl,” he grunts, turning his head to kiss your temple, the action softer than you’re expecting as he drags his fingers out of you. You watch, hazy-eyed, as he shoves his fingers between his lips one at a time, sucking the taste of you from them, and then he’s grabbing your face again, kissing you rough and passionate, his mouth tasting of your release, fingers spanning your jaw and cheek. 

He pulls back, eyes boring into yours, searching your face. Your chest heaves with breaths, eyes rolling back as he lowers his weight onto you more, making a home for himself between your thighs. Your can feel how hard he is, even behind his jeans, the rough material pressing against your sensitive core, making your hips stutter against him. 

“This what you needed, huh?” he asks, grinding into you slightly. “Baby needed somebody to shut her up, is that it? Somebody to give her what she needed.”

Somehow, you find it in you to nod, gripping him tighter, lifting yourself against him to chase his mouth, to kiss him as hard as he kissed you. He grunts, rolling over until he’s on his back and you’re astride him, hips still on his, knees pressing into he mattress. You can feel his cock straining against his zipper, jolting when you grind down on him, sensitive but still desperate for more.

You reach for the hem of his shirt, sliding your hands underneath. His muscles jump at your touch, and you can feel his eyes on your face, but yours are too busy watching the slow ride of his shirt up his stomach, caught on your wrists as you move higher and higher. You can feel the ridges of scars and the curves of muscle, dips and valleys you want to drag your tongue along. You push the shirt up his chest as high as the position will allow, and then drop your head, your mouth at his sternum.

You’ve never seen this much muscle on one man, thickly packed onto his body, a wild landscape for you to explore. And he’s so fucking broad, shoulders nearly twice as wide as your own, tapering down to well-cut hips, deep adonis lines that disappear beneath his belt, making your mouth water just thinking about what lurks below.

You can feel his heartbeat hammering against your lips, and one of his hands lifts to your head, running his fingers through your hair, pushing it back from your face. “What ya gonna do now, pretty baby?” he asks, his tone low and music to your ears. “Huh?”

Moving your hips back, you move your hands from his chest, lifting your head and dragging your mouth right down the middle of his body. He makes a pleased noise, letting your hair sift through his fingers until you’re out of reach. You sit up straight, hands reaching for his belt buckle, and you can feel those dark eyes still watching you, gaze hard and lust-blown, mouth twitching with a grin.

You shuffle back further, letting your feet hit the ground and planting your hands on his knees when yours threaten to give out. He’s just watching, reaching up to fold his hands behind his head. You reach for the button on his jeans, and his brow lifts. “Yeah? You want my cock, huh?”

Nodding, your pinch the zipper, pulling slowly, feeling the jump of his length towards your hand. Your hands are shaking, but you’re more sure of your footing now, and, surprising even yourself, grab the waist of his jeans and pull down hard, lifting his hips up and pulling his jeans and briefs down all in one shot. He grunts as you do, one hand flying for your shoulder, and then you drop your mouth to his stomach again, dragging your tongue along the ridge of his abs, unable to hold back the moan in your throat when his bare cock lifts against your chest, tip hitting your breasts, a smear of precum across your skin.

You go to move your head lower, to take him between your lips, but before you can, there’s a big hand around your jaw, jerking your head up, forcing your eyes on his. “You gotta ask nicely, babydoll,” he says, and swipes his thumb over your lips, dipping his fingertip between them for a moment. “I told ya, use your words.”

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask, batting your eyelashes. You can’t help the slightly bratty tone, but it gives way to desperation quicker than you mean to, dragging your hands down his sides, squeezing his hips and then his thighs. “Please, Frank.”

He smirks, giving you a slight nod. “Show me what you got, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and the way he tucks your hair behind your ear makes your stomach lurch, his hands settling at his sides, tapping softly against the duvet. A happy little moan escape you, and you lower your head again, uninterrupted this time.

He’s thick. Thicker than you imagined, a prominent vein running down the side, precum still beading at the tip. Neatly trimmed hair at the base, those deep-cut lines at his hips truly trailing to something magnificent. You knew he was packing the moment you laid eyes on him, but even you couldn’t have imagined this.

A sharp inhale reaches your ears as you close your lips around his tip, sucking lightly, experimentally. His palm lands at the crown of your head, fingers working along your scalp, and you do it again, waiting for the hitch in his breath.

It doesn’t come, and instead, he works most of your hair into his fist, tugging hard until your head lifts again. “Don’t wanna be teased, baby,” he grunts, eyes glued to the way your lips aren’t around his cock, but its resting against your mouth. “Not tonight.”

Frank keeps your hair in his fist, but the grip is more lax, giving you more room to move.

There’d been little ceremony or build-up before he’d buried his face in your pussy, and he said no teasing. So, you dive right in.

He groans loudly when you take him all the way, cock sliding past your lips and across your tongue, hitting the roof of your mouth while your hollow your cheeks and suck hard. The sound he makes is deep and guttural, sending a shock of heat through you as it bounces off the walls of the motel room. Part of you wonders if the neighbours can hear, a bigger part of you doesn’t care.

You curl your fingers around the base of him, bobbing your head, working against your gag reflex as best as you can. There’s a sliver of a tear in your eye, but you ignore it, swallowing him down, dragging your tongue along that thick vein. His hips jump when you do that, cock thrusting deeper, hitting the back of your throat and he groans again.

Then he starts talking.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he says, and it makes your eyes roll back, feeling his other hand move to your hair, both locking in your hair now. You let out a little moan around his cock, gripping his hip tightly in your free hand, digging your nails into his skin. You’re moving faster now, spurred on by his gravelly voice in your ears. “S’right, babydoll, you suck that cock so good, huh? That’s what you needed, big dick in your mouth to shut you up, make you feel good.” He sits up a little, getting a better grip on your head, stomach jumping against your forehead. “Does that turn you on, baby, huh? You like sucking that dick?”

With one hand still wrapped around him, your other drags down his leg, squeezing his knee before you’re slipping it between your legs, toying with your clit and moaning around his cock again. You go harder, faster, moving your head as fast as your muscles will allow, sucking him deep while the salty taste paints your tongue.

“Fuck me,” he grits. “Sweet little thing, sucking my cock like a champ.” One hand moves under your chin, and he pulls you off of him slowly, leaving you gasping for air, a string of spit connecting you to him. “Shit. C’mere.” He hauls you up, pulling you back onto the bed and into his lap, still gripping your chin, swiping this thumb through the spit on your lips before bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking his thumb clean. It makes everything in you clench. 

He grabs your face again, this time with both hands, and pulls your mouth to his. His tongue invades your mouth, licking into it, gathering you closer and closer until your chest is pressed against his. He gathers your hair into his fist again, mouth still on yours, and pulls at the neckline of your tank top, yanking it down, curving his fingers around the swell of your breast. You moan into his mouth, teeth knocking together before he moves his face to your chest, lips closing around your nipple, tongue dancing over it until its a hard peak.

Frank pulls back after a moment, looking up at you. “Gonna make me cum if you keep sucking me off like that,” he whispers, hands reaching for the hem of your tank top, pulling it up and over your head. Then he reaches for your wrists, moving your hands between the two of you. “Put my cock in you, baby. Want you to ride me, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

You nod, almost frantic, reaching down and curling your fingers around him again. His hands settle on your hips, angling you up. You whimper when his tip notches at your opening, and he lifts his head to kiss you, nipping at your bottom lip. Then you sink down, slowly, slowly, slowly.

Even with your two wild orgasms and how worked up you are from sucking his cock, the stretch still burns. It rides that thin line between pleasure and pain, your jaw dropping open as you lower yourself, head dropping forward onto his shoulder. “Frank,” you manage to moan out, and his arms slide around you tight, holding you to him, keeping your hips pressed to his. Your clit is captive against the hard ridge of his stomach, and with every breath he takes, there’s a shock of pleasure through your system.

After a moment, the pain gives way completely to the pleasure, the stretch nothing more than blissful and you start to move. He adjusts his grip on you, one palm flat between your shoulder blades, other arm hooking around your waist. “That’s it,” he whispers as you start to roll your hips. “Good girl, baby.”

You wrap one arm around his neck, the other skimming the back of his head, the short hairs at his nape tickling your palm. He turns his head, kisses your cheek, drags his tongue up the side of your neck. He chases your hips with his own, fucking up into you, and the tip of his cock manages to find that spot, sending lightning shocks of pleasure through your whole body, making you shake.

You must get tighter around him, because Frank groans, fingers scraping against your spine. “You gonna cum again, baby?” he croons, voice right at your ear, whispered but just as husky. “You gonna cum on this cock, huh?”

You go to groan out a yes, jaw hinging open, but before you can say anything, he’s tipping you back, wrenching himself out of you and tilting you sideways, laying you out on the bed. You whimper at the loss, but it’s not gone for long, Frank knocking your legs wide with his hand and covering your body with his own again, taking his cock in hand and guiding himself back into you. You keen up into his touch, sighing as he plants his elbows beside your head, caging you in.

“Wanna see your face, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning down and just dragging his mouth over yours, capturing every little noise your make. “Wanna watch you lose it again.”

He starts to move again, and this way, this position, the pace is unrelenting, heavy and hard, filling the room with the sound of his skin hitting yours, the wet glide of his cock, and the quiet way he shushes you, moving one hand to cup your chin again, gripping tight enough to make you clench around him.

“Frank,” you moan again, and he just nods, that big nose dragging along yours, mouth dropping to capture your lips in a biting kiss.

It doesn’t take much more than that. A few more snaps of his hips, his hand moving from your chin to your throat, the muscle of his stomach catching on your clit, and you’re gone. It’s blinding, numbing, tingling, all of the above.

You’re somewhere in the clouds, your body completely in his control. He bites at your collarbone, his hips starting to stutter, and you know he’s close. You see his face go hard, brow pinching, and he pushes his head into your chest, biting at your breast as he keeps fucking into you, hands in your hair, sweetheart moaned into your skin.

He fucks into you hard, one final thrust that has your body sliding up the bed, legs locking around his to keep him close, keep him deep inside. You can feel the white-hot heat of him painting your insides, spurting out of him while his face stays buried in your chest. He pulls one hand from your hair, slams his fist against the mattress, as his chest starts to heave, deep breaths pushing his muscled torso against yours. You can feel every ridge and line of him, his cock twitching inside you, muscles jumping against your skin.

You’re expecting him to disappear, to roll off of you and hit the shower, leave you to clean up the mess he’s turned you into. But he doesn’t. He stays right where he is, between your legs, and after a moment, pulls his head up, adjust himself slightly, kisses you softly.

His hand reaches for your jaw again, but this time his grip is feather-light. His thumb drags across your chin, again and again, following the curve of your lower lip while his eyes trace over your face. “You really are something, sweetheart,” he whispers, and it puts a grin on your face, “you know that?”

“I do,” you throw back, smiling at him, reaching your hand to drag fingers up and down his back.

“Smart ass.”

+

Frank wakes the next morning to an empty motel room. Any and all trace of you is gone, your shotgun missing from the other bed, your mess of a coat picked up off the floor. You even cleaned your blood off the countertop.

But the sheets still smell like you, and if he thinks hard, he can feel the outline of you pressed against him, limbs tangled in his. He doesn’t have to think hard to remember how you felt underneath him, however, that obedient little thing he managed to turn you into, so good and so pretty and so perfect.

It makes his cock jump between his legs just thinking about it. About you.

He gets up slowly, gathers his things. Finds the gold card somewhere between his boots and his jeans, the stupid thing cracked down the middle. He picks it up, snaps it in two, tosses the pieces in the trash. 

When he goes to pack his kit, that’s when he sees it.

A cellphone, one of those cheap burner things you can buy at the gas station. It’s got one of those stupid dangly charms attached to it, cheap plastic shaped to look like angel’s wings. He smirks. Hell’s Angel.

And, hastily scrawled on shitty motel stationary, the pen ink barely legible, is a note from you.

hiya frank,

I can’t stay in new york, not with gold cards floating around with my name on ‘em.

hope you understand. last night was…bliss.

give me a call if you end up in chicago and you’re looking for round two

sweetheart xoxo

Frank just grins, shakes his head, and jams the phone into his pocket.

————

tagging: @saintmurd0ck @thesongof-thestars @moonlarking @grippingbeskar @itwasthereaminuteago

[thegloriousninjaturtle]

🧡🐰💙Bunny Fics💙🐰🧡

Hey y'all! I'm still alive and I'm still writing, but I wanted to share some bunny fics I've been enjoying! Please go show them some love and I hope one of them fills all your Bunny needs ❣

I Can't Believe It's Not Butters! - LozisLaw (Because of course Lozzie is going to create a fantastic Marjie fic. This fic is one of the inspirations that made me what to write my fic. It takes you right into Butters' psyche as he figures out who Marjie is to him and of course there is tons of angst between Kenny and Marjie. What's a Marjie fic if there is no angst? Please go read!)

don't know where i'm going (i promise it won't be boring) - Aquaphobe (I love the plot and the concept! I'm assuming it's a bittersweet ending since it takes place three days before the world ends, but it's a slow burn and a hurt/comfort with Kenny and Butters at the forefront)

you’re just seventeen and all you wanna do is disappear - deakcore (I don't like chat fics, but this one is an exception XD It mainly focuses on style, but I love how everyone vibes in this one. Just friends being friends XD)

Bad Times at the La Casa Bonita - Icandigelvis (The first chapter out of the second is up, and although no bunny has happened, I'm honestly invested because of the plot. It's based on "Bad Times at the El Royale", so if you've seen that, you'll know what might happen. I have not and I'm on the edge of my seat XD)

Take Us Alive - nekodairy (The fic is based on "It" and I really like how the author adapted it to fit the South Park atmosphere. I love the interaction between the characters and I also love how they take the concept of "It" and made it their own story.)

Bite Me - AHeckenGoodDeviant (Again, fantastic concept, and I love the depth and story behind each character. I'm highly invested in the plot and our bunny boys are met with immense hurt (idk if there is comfort) but there is a hell of a lot of angst. Takes place during a zombie apocalypse and the creativity with how the characters interact with their environment really helps paint a great picture of what conditions people live in now)

(NFSW) Saturday Waffles - LozisLaw (Another LozisLaw recommendation? Color everyone surprised XD She wrote this as a gift for me and it's beautiful. Angst, tension, fluff, hope, the whole nine yards. This one gets pretty dirty so...😏)

May Nothing But Happiness Come Through Your Door - boy-thighs (sop) (This is the epitome of Bunny comfort fics. It's written so well that I honestly think this could be its own canon episode in the SP universe. Kenny tries to make amends with Butters for ruining his birthday and shenanigans ensue from there. Beautiful and absolutely hilarious story!)

(NFSW) Barbie - skr3ex (Butters goes to a male strip club and ends up getting more than he bargained for. It's filthy and smutty so if you need something steamy, here it is. Oh, and bonus: There is some plot to it and that's always a plus in my book XD)

(NFSW) Posessive, Passive & Pensive. - fanbandoms (Again, it's smutty, smutty, smutty, but the plot and the character interactions are really something to read. This is a porn with plot, with emphasis on the first P, and the drama that happens, especially in the first chapter was *chef's kiss*. I hope this one gets finished soon!)

Very Good Bad Thing - UniqueMemoria (A classic mysy/chaos fic and just makes me smile and feel good when I read it. The plot is quite intriguing and I love the addition of the OC the author adds! The author also draws super cute and amazing art so please check them out on insta and tumblr <3)

(NFSW) Twenty Dollars and a Stain on the Couch - Cheylouwho, valzilla (Before diving into this one, please read the tags and archive warnings as this does delve into sensitive topics. That said, I'm in love with this one and jump out of my seat when I see it updated. Every pairing and character has a plot of its own and is connected in an intricate web of crime drama that I look forward to when the characters' storylines intersect with one another. This fills my Law and Order heart with the plot of this fic and god damn do I freaking love all the drama that happens in it! Highly recommend this one!)

[adoresbutlers]

SHATTERED LOVE.

click to be added to a permanent tag list! 🦋

Sebastian Kydd angst prompt requested by @cvpidspearl <3 also wrote this for @mamaspresley because our boy Sebastian needs more attention 🫶🏻

prompt : Sebastian sleeps with someone else when you’re on a tiny break and you find out.

warnings : mentions of cheating, angst into fluff?? i normally didn’t wanna make the reader take him back but can’t resist, mentions of image insecurities, sebastian is sorta a dick. sorry i needed my sad out </3 i hope this was okay !!

A/N: i might make a part 2 smut/fluff for this, lmk if you’d be interested!

sorry y’all… <3 i’ll make it up to you soon

🝮

Being away from your boyfriend for even a few days was itching at your throat. Three days to be exact. You knew you went on a break for a reason; you had gotten into a silly little fight and both of you let your emotions get the better. Maybe it had been for the best that you pulled back to focus on yourself but you couldn’t stop from thinking about him. For months, your every little thought had been Sebastian. How gentle he constantly was with you, how he tiptoed past his own internal struggles to make yours go away, how he made sure even on your off days when battling with your insecurities a much better day. How in love he had seemed to be with you, you loved his sneaky glances that you noticed every time, he looked so in love. The more you thought, the more you regretted even agreeing that you had to go on a break. You didn’t care if he put his own feelings aside to help you focus on yourself.

You didn’t think about your actions in the slightest when you suddenly decided you’d try to get him back somehow. Hell, you didn’t even bother changing your clothes, just slipping on a pair of biker shorts over your legs, keeping an oversized sweatshirt to dawn over your frame. Your makeup was only lightly touched up, just swiping desperately to wipe off the black clumps of mascara under your eyes, reapplying where you messed it up from your tears hours before.

You shoved your phone in the front pocket of your light gray sweatshirt, picking up your car keys from the doorway. You didn’t acknowledge the voice that called after you, your dad, asking where the hell you had to get going to at this hour especially in his words ‘dressed like a bum’, just stepped out the front door. You took one last humming breath as you turned the keys, starting your car’s engine and taking off from the curb. You hoped he missed you the way you had, hoped he couldn’t have seen anyone else without seeing your face just as you were. You knew what you were doing was equally as dangerous, the risks that went with an unknown visit, but your heart didn’t care no matter what your brain screamed behind it.

You didn’t have much more time to think about your actions in full before you were in his driveway, not even lasting a second until the engine was off and you were at his door. You managed to finally hesitate before your white pressed knuckles threw up to knock on the door. Waiting.. and waiting made you feel small, you were too close to turning on your heels and just going back home when the door latches open within perfect timing. He looks rushed, outfit thrown together. You were pretty sure his shirt had been inside out, your heart leaping in your chest and threatening to fall out from thumping against your chest so incredibly hard.

“Y/N..” Sebastian’s face was flushed, cold almost as if he had seen only a ghost in front of him. The smile that started to creep on your lips disappeared as you soon realized why he had looked so caught. Because he was. A tinier frame ghosted from the hallway behind him, your face falling and your heart thumping now at a wild pace. Your lips pursed, hitching a breath as tears brimmed your eyes. Your break hadn’t even lasted for a week yet it took him no time at all to find nightly company.

His hand reached out to touch your arm but you were quick to swat his touch away, a small tear slipping past your eyes and down your pale cheeks. “G… Get away from me.” Was all you could find to speak in that moment. Your voice was small, enough to break the boy in front of you into pieces. He never saw you like this, yet here he was being the cause of such a heart-wrenching emotion.

Your feet carried you, you weren’t sure how fast you were going but you got in your car within seconds, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your hands were clutching the wheel, head draped over the middle of the blue covered material. You thanked your past self for doing the tackiest thing of making your steering wheel cover the first one you saw in the mall. A fluffy baby blue one with sparkled bundles squeezed along the sides. You didn’t even notice as the girl was rushed out the door, running to get out of the house right as she was yelled at to. Didn’t notice the footsteps as the neared your car door, either, until you heard a small tap on your window.

Your cheeks were swollen red along with your lips, eyes an angry shade of bloodshot. You didn’t realize you had been pouring your heart around around this point. Numb to any background noise except for the constant ringing heard faintly in your ears. You shook your head at your once boyfriend’s pleaded face for you to roll down your window, head dipping back down onto the surface of the fluffed wheel.

You hadn’t noticed your car was still unlocked from the outside, let alone did you notice Sebastian slip into the passengers seat, a hand placed firm but unsure on your shoulder. “Baby..” He cooed but your hand was fast to raise up and cut him off, choking on sobs as your head raised to look at him.

“When you.. you wanted to go on a break I thought.. I thought.” You shook your head slowly. His heart broke every second you stuttered over your words. “I thought you’d at least.. at least tell me you were gonna’ see other people.” You rambled, a permanent quiver hinted in your voice. You didn’t know how to exactly feel. You knew it had for all been a break, you expected at least stolen glances and maybe a little flirting from time to time. It was Sebastian after all, but you didn’t know, hell you never imagined him to actually act upon his urges for anyone other than you. He had promised and he just.. broke such a sacred thing to you, he knew how you held promises a bit too dear to your heart. It’s one of the things that he adored, or at least he told you he adored. You weren’t so sure about it now. You weren’t so sure about anything.

His grip only seemed to tighten its hold on your shoulder. You wanted too bad to swat his touch away, never to feel his hands burn into your skin, but something inside of you couldn’t. It wouldn’t feel right if you did. You hated the feeling. Even more than you hated him. “I - I wasn’t thinking, baby. I missed you. I was trying, trying to drown out that feeling.” He despised the words as they rambled from his mouth, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. One you learned to fall in love with, your heart beginning to beat a mile a minute at his small nervous ticks. He wasn’t helping in the slightest.

You couldn’t speak up and say what you wanted to. You wanted to curse him, to tell him how much you trusted him and that you felt utterly stupid for doing just that. Yet, all that you could do was nod slowly. You’re sure you looked like a mess when you raised your head from the surface once again, finding the tiniest bit of stolen breath to scruff up pure word vomit. “I can’t believe..” You forced out, one of Sebastian’s hands cradling your cheek. His eyes were softened, blue orbs filled with panic as he waited for you to continue.

“Seb..” You cried out. You couldn’t finish your sentence, his hand burned. His touch burned. Your heart burned. Everything burned. What was a once cooling car turned into a filled sauna as your eyes finally met his ice ones. The ones you fell in love with.

“Oh, lovebug. I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry..” He whispered, his eyes brimmed with fresh tears as his orbs searched your own. Desperately trying to find any happiness in them for the moment. Your exhausted eyes fluttered closed, practically resting your head on his hand.

You had no idea what to say. To forgive him. You had no clue if you even wanted to forgive him, let alone forget what you saw so easily. You let out a shaky sigh, your eyes opening slightly so you could look him in the eyes for the first time that hour.

“I-It’s gonna take a while for me to trust you again.” You hiccuped. Oh, you hated your heart. You hated always following it. You hated how easy you were to forgive, how much harder it was to forget the idea of your boyfriend with someone else. You hated your impulse decisions. How in love you were with him to be so clouded.

“Of course, baby. Of course.. Let’s get inside and clean that pretty face up.”

As he opened the car door, rushing over to your side to take your hand, you knew. You were gonna regret your decisions in the morning.

☾.

tag list :

@izabellevicc @adoreyouusugar @lusheclectica @shrekstheloml @magnumstyles @queen-multi-fandoms @kayla-mariieee @notthegemini @bella-law @datsavageavenger @navia3000 @madilynnk @aliceforbes @b-bradshaw bradshaw @gvnchhy @austinbutler4life @re3kin @goldenmarygio @theinvisiblecapricorn @mrs-butler @cchl @itstylersblog @the-internet-ruined-me1 @djconde58 @heavenlylake @velov4mpir3 @dacreshoney @mevincentvega @xcallmetaniax @aerangi @soarocks @excepti0nalzed

-

A/N: posting this during work, shh. reminder that anyone reading this is beautiful, and to hydrate today <3

[cobiehaven]

Under My Roof — Ji Changmin

SYNOPSIS; you told changmin that you would do anything, and you mean anything, to have a place to stay for a couple of nights. although, you were a little taken aback by the things he requested from you.

PAIRING; changmin x reader

GENRE; drama, a bit suggestive.

WORD COUNT; 0.7k

TAGS/WARNINGS; changmin is lowkey a bad/fuck boy, reader just wants to live her life, story is lowkey played out like a japanese anime 😟, rude!changmin, pothead!changmin, both reader and changmin go to the same collage but it’s not really mentioned in the story, mention of sleeping together, mention of fake dating, mild language.

AUTHORS NOTE; i wrote this within like 30 mins so it’s short.

“and fuck you too!” you yelled as you watched your landlord practically throw your stuff out of your shitty apartment into the dusty hallway, her disappearing around the corner after she was done with you. you couldn’t believe you had gotten kicked out of your apartment just because you got on the landlords bad side.

taking in a deep breath, you squatted down to pick up your stuff. as you were practically shoving your thrown out clothes into your suitcase, your attention was caught when your next door neighbor, opened his door.

“changmin..?” you squinted your eyes at him, your head tilting with curiosity. “uh, yeah?” he raised a brow at you, leaning on his doorframe as he stared at your hunched over figure. “you’re my neighbor?” you asked as he took a long wif of his cigarette and puffed it out into the dirty halls.

“you mean i was your neighbor? seems like you just got kicked out.”

“well- i mean- yeah.. i did… but why do you care?”

“i don’t, you were the one who brought it up.”

why did being around him always have to make you get the worst second hand embarrassment ever?

“i just came out here to see what all of the yelling was about but now that i know it was just you, i’m not as interested anymore,” he sighed and turned around, about to shut his door when his attention was caught by the sudden cling to his door handle. “wait!” he groaned and rolled his eyes.

“what is it?”

“can i please stay the night? you’re the only person i know around here and i don’t want to be sleeping on the streets.”

it was already 10:58 pm, there was no way he could just let a young girl out on the streets with no way to protect herself!

he looked you up and down. on second thought, maybe it might have been better to just tend to the streets. “i’ll pass,” he tried closing his door again but you pushed against him.

“please!”

“what about your parents?"

“they live towns upon towns away, i couldn’t possibly be able to attend class with that amount of distance.”

“well that’s not my problem.”

“please.. i’ll do anything.”

as much as changmin hated girls who were persistent as hell and bothered him all of the time, there was no way he could pass up on a girl at his doorstep who was begging to stay the night and willing to do anything to do so.

“anything, you say?”

you nod frantically, unsure of what crude things he had in mind.

“fine.”

“thank you!”

you breathed out before practically barging in past him and dropping your stuff inside. the place reeked with smoke and other substances that didn’t smell anything like normal cigarettes, stains upon stains on his couches and crevices, empty and moldy dishes lying around that made you honestly want to pick up your stuff and actually sleep on the streets forever. but, he was kind enough to at least give you a roof so sleep under.

“so they’ll let you smoke as much weed as you want but they won’t let me paint the furniture white?” you raised a brow as you saw bags upon bags of substances stacked on his counter. he shrugged and put out his cigarette in the ash tray next to the door.

“so, where am i sleeping?” you asked, setting your things up neatly against the wall for now. “with me,” you nearly choked on your own spit.

“what?” he shrugged.

“you said you’d do anything to stay here, i say you let me have my way with you.”

“absolutely not.”

“then get out.”

“isn’t there anything else i can do for you? like, clean your house or pay most of the bill for you? i’d say both of those are pretty good options.”

you were both interrupted by an unexpected text chiming from changmin’s phone, him pushing past you to answer it. it took him a couple of minutes to read it, his expression contorting into a furrowed and stressed out one. “on second thought,” he set his phone down after hitting send on his phone. “i have something different i want you to do instead.”

“and that would be?”

“could you maybe, pretend to be my girlfriend?”

© cobiehaven 2023

[hoodie-buck]

from my newest wip, the first in my christmas ones, aka the one april forced me to write

thanks to all my loves for the tags: @dickley-buddie @buddierights @eddiediazisascorpio @monsterrae1 @prettyboybuckley @rogerzsteven @spotsandsocks @swiftiediaz mwah <33

“One of the two models cancelled last minute, but we have any easy replacement.”

Another model cancelled? He got that it was the holiday season, but weren’t people desperate for work this time of year?

Seeming to hear his unsaid question, Maddie answered with, “the guy had a last-minute family emergency and said he could do a re-shoot, but we’re already behind on time.”

Yea, Buck was aware.

He shook his head out, trying to right himself.

“Ok. Fine, whatever. Why are you telling me all of this anyway if you’ve already found a replacement?”

Maddie often kept him out of the loop if it meant more stress, so he wasn’t sure why she was laying all of this on him last minute.

She smiled brightly to him, something mischievous about it.

“Well, Chim and I were talking, and we thought, who better to model for the covers than the one who wrote them?”

No, no, no. He was so not getting roped into this!

“Mads, no way! I’m already way in over my head with all these bonus chapters. Besides, I don’t know the first thing about modeling.”

His answer only made her smile wider.

“Well that’s perfect, seeing as our other model doesn’t have any prior experience either.

Before Buck could protest further, Maddie was dragging him along, May coming up to pat some powder substance over his face. He tried to brush them all off, stopping when Chim came into view.

“Man, what the hell did you let my sister get me into?”

Chimney gave a chuckle with a pop of his gum, motioning with his hand. Buck followed his finger, stopping when his eyes landed on a man, one that was dressed in firefighter attire. Well, almost; the man was missing everything but his shirt.

There was the signature work boots on the man’s feet, followed by the standard blue work pants, Buck watching with almost baited breath as the man slipped the shirt over his head, pulling it down over his taught muscles, Buck just catching sight of where his happy trail disappeared. And—was that an eight pack?

Buck wrinkled his nose, turning back to Chimney as he hitched his thumb at the offending man.

“Uh, what do we need him for?”

Both Maddie and Chimney snickered at that, as well as his other team members on location, Buck refusing to give the man another look.

Bobby came sauntering up then, Buck suddenly reminded of the chapters he was supposed to turn in by the end of the day. He clapped Buck on the back of the shoulder, pulling him along.

“C’mon kid, I’ll introduce the two of you. He likes to be called eight-pack.”

Suddenly, Buck’s books didn’t need any new covers at all; no, the old ones would do just fine.

tagging: @mansikkaomenabanaani @confetti-cupcake @justsmilestuffhappens @loveyourownsmiilee @honestlydarkprincess @onward--upward @masterminddiaz @panicatthediaz @jacksadventuresinwriting

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Edge of Seventeen - Chapter Nine.

Thank you for all your lovely feedback, besties! Try not to hate me too much for all the turmoil and angst you’re about to read! :(

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,396

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

(Note - Bella’s lyrics are not mine, but taken from the Juliet Simms song End of the World)

Lying beside a sleeping Bella, holding her close as he stroked her nakedness, Angel felt wretched inside. Wretched because of what he’d done, knowingly having sex with an underage girl, and wretched because he had to leave her. He was angry at himself for listening to the pleading of his poor, lovelorn heart and not the common sense he should have, but he hadn’t been able to help himself.

She was the love of his life.  

This did not make it right, though.  

He allowed himself a few minutes, stroking her hair, drinking her in, kissing her forehead one final time before he slowly and carefully detangled himself from her, dressing quickly and quietly as she slept on. He looked at her one final time, his eyes flitting to the top of her dresser, seeing her current notebook placed atop it, a pen tucked into the spiral spine. He took it with him when he left, letting himself out and going to the kitchen, opening it up. There, on the last page she’d begun, with tear-stained ink, he read her emotions, poured out onto paper in song form, or at least, the beginnings of such...

We flew too close to the sun so close I thought it was heaven If hell is a life without love am I being punished for what I've done?

The skies on fire, All the stars disappear, no signs of life, without you here

Tears will fall Oceans will rise, The earth will stop turning

Since you left, every breath feels like it's burning I know that life will go on I will survive, but for tonight I'd swear on my life that this is the end of the world

He couldn’t stop the tears that fell as he read it, swallowing hard, steeling himself as he wiped his eyes. Her words were heartbreaking, even more so for the fact that her devastation exactly matched his. It tore him up, reading it. Turning to a fresh page, he pulled the pen out, thoughtful for a few moments.  

He wrote his last words to her, right from the heart, leaving it there on the counter and exiting the house, dropping the lock on his way so he’d know the house was locked up and she would sleep safely, heading back to his bike and hitting the road.  

It hurt even more to leave that time, knowing it was the very last.  

Bella awoke two hours later, sitting up with a start when she realised the space beside her was empty. “Angel?” she called out, gasping a little sob when she saw his clothes gone. Getting out of bed, she pulled her dress and cardigan back on, padding through to the kitchen, tears slipping from her eyes. He’d left. It was really, really over. A tiny little part of her had thought that them having sex again might’ve been him returning, not able to part ways with her, but most of her had recognised the truth. It was them saying goodbye to it, to them, to what they shared, but couldn’t continue.  

Walking into the kitchen, she poured away her now cold tea, turning the hob on below the copper kettle to make a fresh mug, looking to her left to see one of her notebooks open upon the island, her fingers reaching for it as she walked over.  

Bella,

What we just did shouldn’t have happened, but that’s on me this time, not you. I have no idea how the hell I say goodbye to someone who I love as much as I do you, and if you want the truth, it’s tearing me apart. I’m still mad at you for what you did, but the sadness of losing you eclipses that. We’ll get over one another, though. We have to, because we weren’t meant to be.  

I think on some level, I’ll always love you, for what it’s worth. You need to find someone closer to your own age, though, and for god’s sakes, don’t do to him what you did to me. Going through this is the hardest thing I’ve faced since my mom died. No one should have to love you as much as I do, only to have to lose you.

Wherever your life leads you, I hope you’ll be happy. I really do. I wish more than anything that things were different, but they aren’t. And they can’t be. Maybe one day I’ll be able to think of you and smile, but that day is a long, long way into the future. Until then, it’ll be hard, living without you, but that’s the way it has to be. I know one thing for sure, though. I’ll never forget you.

Angel x

Her fingers trawled over the page, her tears falling, Bella wailing in grief all over again as she rested her head down on the smooth wood of the island and cried her heart out. She knew there’d be plenty more tears to cry yet, that getting over him would take a long time, and not a single clue how she would begin. Her heart ached for him, the fact she could still smell him on her skin torture, wishing for nothing more than him to come back.  

He wouldn’t, though. She knew that falter was singular. He wouldn’t let himself do so again. She knew that because despite what he often thought of himself, he was a good guy, and not one who would knowingly continue a relationship with her, knowing she was underage.  

Why couldn’t she have been born two years earlier?  

Why had she lied in the first place? Because since the first moment she saw him, she knew, she just knew. There was her person. Angel might have written them off for good, but Bella couldn’t quite reconcile that it was over forever. Some little part of her held hope that one day, in the future, after she’d turned eighteen, they would find a way back to one another.  

“Or you’re doing that wishful thinking thing you always do again,” she sighed, pouring her tea. “He doesn’t trust you, you broke that for him. You need to get it through your head, that he isn’t coming back. Not now, not ever.”  

Her tears stung her eyes, turning off the gas and picking up her tea and notebook, reading his final words to her again before turning the page back, continuing to detail her feelings to the song lyrics she’d penned the previous night, while rolling in the depths of despair. It was a place she expected to be stuck in for a long, long time yet.  

By the end of the week, she could at least go for most of the day without crying, only indulging those moments when she woke up or went to bed, torturing herself by looking at pictures of Angel she’d taken over the course of their relationship, or them together, when they were so sublimely happy, when everything was wonderful. She was okay, as long as no one mentioned his name.  

“B, I’ve been thinking about buying an old motorcycle now I’ve passed my test,” Ian began as they sat and looked over music on Friday night at band practice. “Would Angel mind coming with me, so I don’t get ripped off? He’ll probably know what’s best to begin with, too.”

Her heart turned over, her stomach, too. “Angel and I aren’t together any longer, and that’s the last time I ever want him mentioned to me.”  

Ian was a little startled. “Woah. Okay, dude. Shit, sorry it didn’t work out.” She nodded, glad he wasn’t about to ask any further questions. Guys were simple like that. Girls, though, specifically the ones at the salon the morning after, were a different matter entirely.

“Hmmm, did you leave that sexy piece of Mexico of yours in bed this morning, little lady?” Ruby asked as she entered the salon, head weaving around as she scanned the street for Angel, who nearly always ran her to work on a Saturday morning.  

“No,” she replied in a small voice, dropping her head. “We broke up.”

“What?” Ruby yelled. “Baby, what happened? Oh, honey child!” Rushing to her as she began to cry, she was pulled into a big hug, a nearby Gloria sweeping over quickly, too.  

“I don’t get it, mami? You two were so happy!” she said softly, Ruby reluctantly having to leave the loving huddle when her client walked in, Gloria steering her to the back of the shop, into the privacy of the staff room. “Here, sit down, let me make you some coffee.”  

“We were happy, we really were, but I ruined it by not being truthful,” she began, Gloria preparing the coffees before moving to sit in front of her, taking her hands in hers. “I lied to him about my age, told him I was older than I am.”  

Gloria nodded, cocking her head with a little frown. “Well, how could that be bad? I mean, I don’t think you’ve ever told me how old you actually are, but I always thought about nineteen?”  

Bella shook her head. “I told him I was eighteen, but I’m not. I’m sixteen.”  

A gasp slipped from Gloria’s perfectly painted mouth. “Oh, Bella. Oh no, darling.”

“I know, I know it was my fault, to deceive him like that, the trouble I could have gotten him into,” she tremored, beginning to cry again. “And that’s what kills me the most, how much I hurt him.”  

Gloria nodded, stroking her hands. “Well, at least you do acknowledge how wrong you were, because you were, for the exact reason you just stated, the trouble he could have gotten into. Jesus.” She paused, shaking her head. She’d only briefly met Angel when he was picking Bella up one evening, but he seemed like a really great guy, one who definitely didn’t deserve the fate he could have been handed at sleeping with an underage girl. No matter how much it had hurt Bella, she certainly thought even more of him for immediately calling time on it when he’d discovered her true age.

“I suppose you were too afraid of telling him, weren’t you? Knowing it’d mean you’d lose him. I know it hurts so much, my love, but think of it this way; if he’d have been prepared to stay with you, then he wouldn’t have been the kind of man you’d have wanted to be around, not at all. I get it, though, that no matter the cause, you’re heartbroken to lose him.”  

Bella was pulled into a comforting cuddle, crying against Gloria’s immaculate mane of beautifully scented hair, her hand rubbing her back as she soothed her young friend, knowing that this would be a lesson she needed to learn about truthfulness, albeit a very painful one, losing the man who was likely her first real love.  

“I am. I’m completely heartbroken,” Bella confirmed, composing herself, taking some tissues from the box on the table and drying her eyes, glad she was still in the ‘I’m too stricken to care about wearing makeup’ stage of her breakup, else half of it would have been running down her face at that precise moment. “I was terrified to lose him. He’s the love of my life, and I still don’t really know how to go on without him. I wanted it all with him, marriage, babies, everything. I know at sixteen that sounds ridiculous, but some people do find that when they’re young.”

Gloria nodded. “Your parents?”  

“Yes. A little different, though, with them both being fifteen when they began dating. I wish I was born earlier, so my age wasn’t a problem. I still feel like we’re meant to be together, Gloria. I mean, not now, I know not now. But in the future.” Gloria smiled thinly as she dried her eyes, tucking her hair behind her ear affectionately.  

“You can’t hang onto that though, mami. As much as I know you want to think that there’ll be a point in time where Angel will return to you, and all of this hurt will heal, you have to realise that he probably won’t, and healing yourself, by yourself, is the path you have to take.” For all of her sweet, motherliness, Gloria was very much a realist. It was likely the same advice she would tell her own two daughters when they began dating, and Bella appreciated her for it hugely. What she needed most, though, was the perspective of her own mother, who she was glad to see return the following afternoon.  

Deb noticed how withdrawn her daughter was as they ate takeout sushi for dinner, all curled up on the sofa watching a Julia Roberts movie marathon, their favourite of Pretty Woman playing currently. Bella hadn’t wanted to pour it all out to her as soon as she’d arrived tired from her flight and with laundry to get done before she settled, and it weighed on her.  

“Belly boo, what’s wrong? I mean, I know you say little with a gob full of sashimi, but even for you and the large tray of sushi before you, you’re quiet,” she noted, sipping her wine, chuckling at the scene on the television, of Vivienne in the large bathtub in Edward’s hotel suite, singing very out of tune to a Prince song.  

Bella swallowed her mouthful of soy sauce laden California roll, clearing her throat. “Can we finish eating and I’ll tell you then?”  

“Yeah, of course, sweetie.” It was noted that Bella only ate a couple more pieces, her appetite definitely dented by whatever it was she had to reveal.  

“So,” Bella began, taking a deep breath, her face crumpling. “I’m going to try not to cry, but I probably won’t manage it.” Deb’s eyes widened with concern, her daughter revealing everything to her. Absolutely everything, from the lie she’d told Angel, to the ones she’d told her too about him being her age, Deb absolutely gobsmacked by it all. Her first reaction was to be angry with her for lying, but she realised why she had. She was a sixteen-year-old girl, who’d gotten herself into a real mess, trying to negotiate a very real relationship with an adult man, one who she actually thought well of, for the fact that he’d broken it off with her as soon as he’d found out she was only sixteen.  

She’d have beaten him with her own shoes, should he have hung around after discovering such.  

“Christ, Bella. Oh my bloody god. You got yourself into a real mess, didn’t you? Sweetheart.” Pulling her close, Deb cradled her head, stroking her hair, laying loving kisses to her forehead. “You know, whereas what you did is perfectly legal back at home, I think California have the right idea. Kids do a hell of a lot of maturing between sixteen and eighteen, and I don’t think you’re emotionally mature enough to have gotten into what you did with Angel. I really don’t, lovely. The fact you lied to both him and me goes to show that. And if I’m being completely honest, even if you were eighteen, I’d still say an age gap like that is too much. Twenty years, Bella, crikey! That’s just too big.”

“It’s moot now, now he’s gone,” she mumbled, the comforting smell of her mum’s Anais Anais perfume flooding her nose, moving down to rest her head in her lap, Deb still stroking her hair lovingly. “But I understand what you’re saying, and I think you might be right. We were so good together though, mum, and I’m going to miss him so much.”  

“I know, darling. I know. First love and all that. What you need to realise, though, is that a big part of it just wasn’t real, because it was built on a lie.” It was a truth that smacked Bella in the heart quite hard, her thoughts going to Angel. “You’ll get over him though, eventually. Just give yourself lots of time, and you’ll see. Day by day, it’ll get a little easier. I promise.”

While she lay there and navigated her feelings with her mum, making healthy coping choices in dealing with her breakup, accepting her blame and knowing how she had to learn from it all, the same couldn’t be said for Angel.  

He was so drunk, his vision blurred, lying on his back in bed, unable to remember the name of the girl bouncing on top of him, closing his eyes, only able to see one face in his mind. Her. His bed still carried the lingering scent of apple shampoo, his mind torturing him, flashing up images of her being in the same position as the girl riding him thoroughly, so thoroughly he should have been enjoying it, but nothing connected, nothing made sense, and nothing mattered. Not without her.  

The girl was meant to be a distraction, from everything he felt inside, but there, inside of her, he knew there was no distracting and no escaping from it. He also hadn’t wanted to be alone, slowly suffocating as his loneliness buried him, so hence why he’d taken her home.  

Jasmine. That was her name.  

It didn’t matter.  

The loud music of the Slipknot album she’d requested he put on quietened, the song Vermillion Part 2 filtering from the large speakers in his bedroom, the lyrics to the second verse hitting him in the chest, resounding, Angel closing his eyes, seeing his beloved Bella there in his mind’s eye, smiling at him.  

She is everything to me The unrequited dream A song that no one sings The unattainable She's a myth that I have to believe in All I need to make it real is one more reason I don't know what to do I don't know what to do When she makes me sad

“Angel? Are you even enjoying this, or am I wasting my time?” Jasmine asked, grinding to a halt atop him.  

He grasped her waist, pulling her off him. “No. You’re wasting your time.” Swinging his legs off the bed, he threw her clothes behind him before getting up, staggering. “Get out.”  

“But I...”

“Leave, now! Call a damned Uber and get the fuck out of my house!” Anything else she might have followed with, he didn’t hear, absconding himself to the bathroom, turning the shower on and standing under the freezing cold jet, the immediate hit of icy water sobering. Not sobering enough, though.  

The last woman he was inside of wasn’t his darling.  

But then, she wasn’t a woman. She was a kid, and it was messing him up, that he was still so in love with her, and he knew it was wrong to be. If only he could forget her, just forget, pretend she wasn’t real, but no. She was burrowed so deeply in his heart, it was killing him, that he couldn’t reach in and cut her out of it.  

No end of a relationship had ever hit him so hard before.  

Turning the shower off, he felt marginally better, getting out and wrapping himself in a towel, hearing his front door slam shut, Jasmine leaving. That was better, being alone. He knew he couldn’t distract himself from it, couldn’t cheat the process of grieving for Bella, even if it was driving him mad. He closed his eyes and saw her again, saw her at the moment he should have walked away, heard her words, wiping steam from the mirror to stare at his reflection.  

“I love you, Angel. I love you endlessly, without pause for thought or breath, with every word of every song I sing, every chord I strum, until the last beat of my heart.”

Balling his fist, he punched it, the glass shattering loudly, his rings taking most of the brunt, two of his knuckles lacerating, spilling blood, Angel closing his eyes tightly, tears prickling as he leaned back against the wall and slid to the floor, sitting there alone, in emotional agony, with no clue how the hell to heal himself. Without her, he couldn’t breathe.

He ended up stretched out on the tiles, his head spinning, his hand bleeding onto his chest, blood dripping across her name as his thumb stroked the tattoo right there above his broken heart.