#you don’t fuck Angie?
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Apparently that tattoo is a really touchy subject
#httyd books#httyd#httyd movies#hiccup horrendous haddock iii#httyd fanart#free fall au#book hiccup#httyd au#toothless#windwalker#wodensfang#don’t talk he angy#my art#Yeah that kid you found is kinda fucked up bro idk
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They said writing fanfiction with trans is bullying 🥺 uwu I wuv to boowly the cis I dwive the down with cis bus and beat the shit out of swangers 🥺
#get fucked#Harry Potter#Harry is gender-fluid in my mind and I intend to make that happen later in this fic#so I put it in the notes that it’s gonna happen later and someone got angy about it#that’s okay tho my entire point was to weed out the transphobes before they get attached and think they belong here#my fics#imagine thinking fanfiction you don’t like is bullying lmao
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Hi, surprisingly enough I am still alive. Ended up binge watching a show just before uni started and now I’m having major lego brainrot because it really be like that sometimes
For now I offer quick doodles because god my motivation just nosedived last week-
#doodles#lego monkie kid#lmk monkie kid#lmk mei#lmk red son#lmk macaque#lmk host#?#how do you tag the small child-#to absolutely no one’s surprise my favourites include the angy one. forcibly making one of them a dad for character development and-#-found family#the show has some fucking baller animation too fr#for once my main list of favourites contains two big main characters#mk and mei my beloveds the absolute twin energy of them#the show can be watched for free i just don’t have the links on hand. could watch all three seasons in like a weekend#me? consistent fixiation? it’s less likely than you think#to the asks in my inbox…i’ll get to you one day lmao
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random strange m*n who sit right next to you anywhere there’s a bunch of empty seats are annoying af and i hope they all know that myself and the majority of women are literally thinking of murdering them the entire time
#like why#what’s the fucking purpose akdhakjd#especially with strangers like?????#give people space in public fr god fucking damn#don’t even get me started on the ones who purposely try to get you to notice them by coughing and making weird noises and shit lmao#don’t care what you look like don’t care what you wanna say#if ur a cis man who does this the only thing I wanna do is cut ur dick off w/my switchblade & feed it to my dog#🙃#apple babble 🍎#non fandom#postong in real time bc this is literally happening to me right now lmaoooo#dude also REEKS of cheap cologne I’m gonna barf#*****posting#can’t type too angy ahahaHAHA
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smth smth fawn’s self rivalry in the siblings!au
#gideon shut the hell up challenge#bc we keep randomly thinking abt how Absolutely Devastating the museum is in sibs!au it ofc led to#us thinking abt the heartache of having to see river take up the sidestep name#to have (who you think is) some stranger waltz in and just stake a claim on arguably the single most important thing in your life#(read: the sidestep name bc it’s all you have left of ur brothers)#BUT. then we started thinking abt how they Also take up the sidestep name again#and the agonizing self-loathing and Constant Mourning that they go through every time they commit a crime#bc it’s not just their own hero memory who they are corrupting and bastardizing but Their Brothers’……..#fawn in the sibs!au is literally the equivalent of being so broken and bloodied and still dragging yourself onward#bc what other choice do you have?#ALSO !!!! bc we love to discuss fawn treating destroying the exhibition as a self-inflicted funeral.#knowing that in the sibs!au they probs only intended to remove their own self ?? but spare cyrus and river’s??#except then cyrus goes and blows up the fucking museum !!!!!!#I know for a fact they’re too busy helping w evacuations to actually manage to detour and save any of it too#bc they def would’ve considered it. genuinely inconsolable later when ric talks to them abt it.#bc here’s the thing. it may not have happened in actual book canon but I know in my heart he would sit them down and explain that nothing#of the sidestep exhibit could be recovered. which is fine for Just fawn but when u include the brothers ??? absolutely not#angie also is the one who chases fawn off which makes it even more fun bc they Just run from her they don’t super fight#and genuinely…. idk if they could have right then !!!! I think they’d be way too distracted and shocked to manage it#keeping up with the beckers
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#ANGY#why tf do u have to make everything a big fucking deal#all I asked was to leave your stinky work clothes in the hallway or bathroom#so I don’t have to smell it when I’m trying to relax and go to sleep#I LITERALLY rearranged my whole living space to make space for u#I took my comfortable mattress topper off for u#I end up doing you dishes the majority of the time#and I ask is not to leave your smelly ass clothes in the room where I sleep#and to not wear your dirty ass clothes with motor oil and grease on them on the fabric furniture#UUUUUUGGGGGHHHHH
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[frustrated noises]
#I SUCK SHIT AT WATERCOLOUR#I keep treating it like oil or gouache agshsjak#‘I will touch three colours and then mix on the canvas’ ‘if I add some water I can reactivate the bottom layer to mix this new colour in’#no you dumb bitch stop it#in theory you could probably do these things? I don’t know. it is definitely not the right thing for what I’m trying to do tho 😭#it’s literally just because I keep turning my brain off when I get too into the vibes#flow mode for the wrong fucking medium#on the other hand like. I am still very aware that I am way above novice level simply due to transferable skills#so it is a bit rude to complain to my friends 😬#when they are also trying.#but. angy#bytebun rambles
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The only thing this slow ass Ford Explorer is exploring in front of me the the OUTTER LIMIT OF MY PATIENCE.
#rant post#I don’t have patience#you’ve been helped at the drive thru#fucking MOVE#you don’t have to put you’re entire life away before you move up#I’m so done and I have to be back to work soon#I angy don’t talk to me
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Angry Dilfs- Bakugou Katsuki
Husband Bakugou Katsuki x Wifey Reader
Context: Your teenage son has been acting up recently, and tonight your husband has enough.
Warning: Swearing, disrespect, teenagers, reader is referred to as a mother and wife but biology or body isn't mentioned, Violence, punching, angy 'tsuki
You sat with your husband in the sitting room in his black tank top, his arms folded across his chest as pure anger rippling off of him. You watched uneasily as his knee moved up and down as he scowled, ruining that beautiful face of his. Even after two decades of marriage, Katsuki still had his stormy bubbling anger raging inside of him. It was something he had learned to diminish and lower with time, especially after your kids were born, but looking at him now, he seemed about ready to throw in the towel and release all hell.
You placed a hand over his large bicep, trying to calm him as best as you could, leaning closer to him in the quiet of your house. “Be easy on him, Katsuki.” You whispered as you put your head on his shoulder. “He’s just a kid.”
Your husband released a grunt in response but nothing more. You knew that this was going to be a bad one. Ever since your eldest son, Eitsuki, had become a teenager, him and Katsuki had been at each other’s necks like crazy. It bothered you a lot but you weren’t exactly surprised. The two of them were so similar, and that was also the problem. Katsuki saw himself in his son, specifically the part of him that he had grown out of, and he wanted his son to be better. But he sometimes came off harsher than intended.
“Are the kids in bed?” He asked, his gravelly voice pulling you out of your head.
You nodded in response, looking at his sharp features. You had put your two other kids to bed earlier and hopefully they would stay that way, but with the volume level on this family, you weren’t entirely sure. “Yah of course. It’s a school night.” You reminded him. He let out a grunt in response, nodding his head.
Before anything more could be said, the front door to your house opened. Just at the sound of the door opening, you felt your husband tense. You let out a sigh as you let go of him, knowing that it was best not to touch him when he was like this and give him his space right now.
Appearing in the hallway was your eldest son. He ran a hand through his ashen blond hair as he trudged in, pausing at the sight of you and your husband sitting together in the lounge. Just at the sight of his father he knew he was in deep shit. Eitsuki sighed as he moved to take off his shoes.
“Where were you?” Katsuki asked softer than you thought he would.
Eitsuki rolled his eyes as he swung your car keys on his finger. He slipped off his puffer jacket as he turned to head into the kitchen. “Nowhere that concerns you.”
You saw that twitch to Katsuki’s eye and you knew that he was set off. He pushed off of the couch and went storming over to where Eitsuki had gone off to. “Everything that concerns you, is my concern!” He reminded the rebellious teenager. You followed after him shortly.
Eitsuki moved to grab a glass out of the cabinet. “I’m seventeen, old man.” Eitsuki reminded his father as he looked to him unimpressed. “I can go where I want.”
“No the fuck you can’t.” Katsuki placed his hands on the marble counter across from where Eitsuki stood, leaning against the fridge.
“And why can’t I?”
“You’re my son! You’re a high schooler!” Katsuki shouted back at him. You were glad you had taken his glasses from him before he left the couch, the else you might needed to order him new ones (again). “You should be focusing on that!”
“I am fucking focused!” Eitsuki shouted, nearly slamming the glass down beside him on the counter, set off by his fathers comment. He motioned to his chest with wide angry crimson eyes. “I am the top student in the Hero Course at UA! I don’t need anything else!!”
Katsuki tilted his head with a cynical chuckle. “Oh really?” He asked loudly before pulling out Eitsuki’s report card. At the sight of the school report card, Eitsuki stilled. His body tensing as he knew that he would be in real trouble now. Your son’s eyes looked to you. You gave him a sympathetic smile. Katsuki slammed it down on the table between them and pointed a finger down on the sheet of paper. “Then why the hell were you hiding this in the first place?”
Eitsuki turned to you once again once it clicked in his head how his father got a hold of it. His eyebrows furrowed and you saw that mean hateful expression that your husband had passed on to your son focused straight on you. You tightened your hold on your hands in front of you. Eitsuki glared at you as he took a step forward. “You looked through my stuff.”
You let out a sigh. “I was just getting your laundry when I found it. Eitsuki you shouldn’t be hiding your grades from your father and I.” You spoke softly as you motioned between your husband and yourself. “If you needed help, you can always talk to us. We can get you a tutor or-”
“You couldn’t have talked to me first!” He shouted at you.
Katsuki scowled as he looked to his son who was shouting at you. He opened his mouth to speak but you put up your hand, silently telling him that you would handle this one.
You paused as you swallowed down. You frowned slightly. “Reports came out two weeks ago and yet we’re only seeing it now. Eitsuki you had time to talk to us and you didn’t. I just felt like-”
Smoke spilled from his palms as he slammed his hands in front of him, effectively breaking your voice. “I don’t want you to ever look through my stuff again you… you fucking hag!” He shouted at you, malice in his voice. “What type of fucking mother are you?”
You were taking a back as your eyes widened in surprise. You looked at your boy in front of you. Your first son. You always thought of him as so kind, maybe a bit trigger happy and wild like his father but kind. It was painful to hear him say such words to you. It felt a knife into your chest and you felt your emotions build up in your throat.
However, you quickly realised that your husband had frozen in place. You quickly looked to Katsuki. “Katsuki. Katsuki, he didn’t mean it.” You rushed, moving over to him but you soon saw your husband blinded by rage as he pushed you off of him, not being as hard as he could have been. A smile was on his face and you knew that only meant that he had forgotten all sense of reason.
At the sight of his father making quick steps of marching towards him, Eitsuki’s face dropped in slight terror. Nothing could stop the older ProHero who was still very much a large powerhouse to this day, despite spilling out of his prime. Even Eitsuki knew that you could say whatever you wanted about his father, but insulting you was something that no one should do.
Before you could stop him, Katsuki had punched your son in the face. You gasped moving to cover your mouth in surprise. He had never hit any of your children before. His words were far more painful to say the least. However, he was a great parent and had learnt better ways of discipline, but this was a shock to you.
Eitsuki stumbled back but before he could fall back, Katsuki grabbed his son by the collar of his jacket and forced him to look him square in the face. You had never seen your son look so terrified before as he stared up at his father. “Don’t you ever speak like that to my wife again! Do you understand me!” He shouted down at Eistuki, not caring for his volume. “I said, do you fucking understand me!”
Eitsuki nodded his head, tears brimming his eyes. “Y-yes-”
“You think you’re a man!? You think you’re tough shit? That you can do whatever the fuck you want!? Real men don’t insult women like that! If I ever see you disrespecting your mother again, there will be hell to pay. You are lucky that you have even an ounce of relation to me the else I’d send you to hell myself! That!” He pointed a finger at you, who was frozen at the interaction. “That is your mother and you are going to damn well respect her and you’re going to respect me! I don’t want to ever see or hear you lying to us or leaving this house without our fucking permission. Do you understand me!” Your son nodded his head silently, a frown on his face but no retort to give. You watched your husband look your son over and scoff. He let go of Eitsuki and took a few steps back away from his son. He turned around to placing his hands on the sink and looking out the window to outside. “Go to your fucking room. It’s midnight and you’ve got school tomorrow.”
Eitsuki didn’t say anything more and you didn’t move from your place as he practically ran past you to upstairs to his room, slamming his door in the process. You winced at the sound of the slammed door but didn’t say anything. Luckily that didn’t trigger your husband into another bout of rage.
With the fighting now over, you could finally attend to each individual separately. You slowly moved over to your husband. You placed a hand on his back, hot muscle underneath his tank top as he gripped the sink with a white knuckled grip. You leaned your head against his back as you wrapped your arms around him. “Go upstairs, my love. You’re tired. You’ve had a long day. I’ll be there soon.” You whispered. It took Katsuki a second but he nodded his head with a sigh. He moved a hand over yours, giving it a squeeze before walking out of the room as well.
With him on autopilot for a while you, you moved to grab a tray. You grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, a banana, a muffin you had baked earlier and pain killers too. Grabbing an ice bag from the freezer as well, you put it on the tray. You made some of the tea you knew he liked. Taking the tray, you moved out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Catching your eye was a photo of Eitsuki and his father. Eitsuki sat on his father’s shoulders as a young boy, their happy smiles and wide happy crimson eyes as they stood together with gold medals in victory at winning the dads and sons race at his primary school. You smiled at the photo. You continued down the hallway to Eitsuki’s room. Hazard tape on his door. You hesitated but knocked on the door.
You entered his dark room, none of the lights on other than the light that fell behind you from the hallway. “Eitsuki…” Your son lay on his bed, his back towards you as he was silent, not responding to you in his silent anger and sadness. You let out a breath but walked over to him. You put the tray down on his bedside, his phone charging there. You carefully sat down on the bed beside him, grabbing the ice bag. You were gentle as you carefully placed it on his left cheek, hearing him suck in a breath but nothing more. “Eitsuki, you know how your father is.” You started softly. “He’s just worried about you and angry. I know… I know it’s been tough with all the pressure you get being Dynamight’s son but… we love you. I love you. We… we just need you to talk to us, love.” You spoke to him. He didn’t respond as he kept his back to you. You didn’t expect him to either. “I’ve left you some pain killers and something to snack on if you’re hungry. Your father and I are in our room if you need us.”
You gave him a weak smile, feeling tears in your eyes. You removed the ice bag and placed a kiss on his head. You were prompt, knowing he didn’t like much of your physical affection anymore. You placed the ice bag next to him and turned to leave. Right before you could properly stand up and off the bed, you felt arms wrap around your midsection and keep you seated. You froze as you didn’t want to move. You felt his hold on you tightened with his face buried in your side. You looked down at him, seeing soft blond hair and not his face.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled.
You frowned as you tilted your head but it soon moved to a smile. You let out a soft hum as you ran your hand through his soft hair. Bakugou men were all the same, always hiding their faces when their emotions got too much for them. “it’s okay.” You whispered as you stared sitting there for as long as he needed you to. Small sobs and ugly tears coming out of him but you didn’t move. You didn’t move until he eased his hold on you, turning his face away, wiping at his eyes, before you could see. “Take your meds and eat the muffin, honey. Go to bed. You have school tomorrow.” You reminded him as you stood up and left his room.
With one Bakugou male done, you went to your bedroom. You entered it and closed the door behind you. Once again, sitting with his back to you was Katsuki. His face in his hands as he sat in silence in the darkness of the room. The light from outside illuminated him enough that you didn’t have to switch on the lights to see him. You walked to him slowly, moving to position yourself next to him, leaning against his side and remaining silent, knowing that he would speak when he was ready.
It was silent between the both of you for a long time, the both of you sitting together in the darkness.
You heard a tsk come out of your husband as he shook his head. You looked up at your husband who finally moved his hands from his face. His eyes staring out the window absently. “I don’t know what’s up with that boy.” He let out lowly. “I swear, he acts like he’s crazy. I don’t understand him. Who goes partying in the middle of the week and doesn’t tell a soul!! He’s always so fucking angry and reckless. He’s pushing everyone away! It’s like he’s-”
“Just like you?” You tried with a raised eyebrow looking at him with a gentle smirk. He looked down at you with a scowl which only made you giggle. You pushed against him lightly, making him grumble. “He’s just trying to find himself Katsuki. Some people’s paths are harder than others.” You whispered, your head resting on his chest. “Also, you didn’t have to hit him that hard.”
Katsuki let out an amused scoff. “The little shit deserved it.”
“Katsuki.”
He grumbled as he looked away from you. It was silent for another moment. You watched your husband carefully, as he stared down at his hands. “I… I didn’t mean to hit him so hard…” He whispered softly. You saw the regret in his brows as his hands bawled into fists. “I… I just couldn’t allow him to talk like that about you. Son or not, he stepped out of line.”
You nodded your head as you leaned against him. You gave him a gentle smile. “Well thank you…” You whispered. “For standing up for me. Although I don’t like how you did it… I’m happy to know my husband still thinks so highly of me.”
You heard a scoff come out of him as he wrapped an arm around you. He pulled you down so that you could lie down with him. His arms stayed wrapped around you, making you feel safe and warm in his arms. “Of course, I would. You’ve given me no reason not to.”
“Yah… it was… well… a bit attractive too.”
Katsuki’s eyebrows raised in surprise as he turned to look down at you. You refused to look at him as you cleared your throat. He raised an eyebrow as he looked down at you with a smirk. “Oh, so you liked me standing for you?” He asked lowly.
You whined and shoved him lightly, trying to get out of his hold. “Katsuki.”
“No, no, no, there’s no escaping it now.” He chuckled as he tightened his hold on you, as he kept you plastered to his chest. He looked down at you with one of those full of himself grins that made you laugh. You moved your hands to cup his face as you looked up at him. He tilted his head and smirked. “So… since your husband has had such a rough day, it’s only fair that you suck his cock.”
At his words your mouth fell open in shock, heat moving to your face. “Katsuki!” You shouted at him.
“I think it’s only fair!”
-Glitch1d
Hey yall. I'm back from my haitus and I'm taking requests again!! So its so good to be back. Next on this three part tumblr series will be Izuku!!
[Angry Dilfs- Midoriya Izuku]
[Angry Dilfs- Kirishima Eijiro]
#mha x y/n#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou x you#katsuki bakugo x reader#katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugou#dilf bakugou#dilf mha
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RANT TO ME, I LIKE THE SOUND…
— charlie + angel + alastor talking about their day, completely absorbed when they look at you, completely smitten
— masc!reader (angel)
— charlie
“and then, he kicked me out of the room! can you fucking believe him?!” charlie grumbled, ranting about her meeting with adam as you brushed her hair. “i swear… i’ll go to heaven and i’ll make them listen” she sighed determinedly.
“and… after that—“ charlie wandered off again, thoughts interrupted when she no longer felt the bristles against her hair and instead, you face on her shoulder, hugging her waist from behind.
“oh… are you tired? i..i’m sorry if i was talking too much…” she awkwardly laughed. “no, don’t apologize, babe… keep talking, i like the sound.” you sighed as you kissed her on the cheek.
charlie’s heart tightened at what you had said. you like to listen to her ranting… you’ll have no idea how much it means to her; for you to not dismiss her ramblings, but instead listen closely.
“are you sure you’re not tired though?” she asked one last time. “nuh-uh, i’m wide awake, see?” you said before tickling her at the back of her neck, her ticklish spot.
“agh! noo, i believe you!” charlie screamed out, trying to get herself free from your grip around her waist. “stop! i believe you, no more!!” she cried out as you laughed, stopping your antics.
— angel
“today, val was a complete dickhead, i swear…” angel frowned, hugging fat nuggets in his top two arms and hugging you in his lower two. “today, he had me filming a bunch’a back shots while getting my hair pulled…” he sighed grimly, pulling you closer as your hands moved to his hair, carefully massaging it.
“are you okay?” you asked worriedly. “‘course i am, you’re here” angel grinned sappily. “afta’ that, cherri and i went drinking at that new club. i didn’t have buy any drugs today, i spent all my money on shots…”
“i’m proud of you, babe. you’re getting better.” you smiled, looking at him lovingly. “ya really think so?” he asked hopefully. “i know so. you’re already doing so well.” you ran your thumb against his cheek.
angel’s shoulders relaxed under your touch as he buried himself deeper in your touch. “love ya so much, babe.” angel smiled, eyes growing heavy.
“i love you too, angie. keep talking if you wanna, i like your pretty mouth.” you said, pulling him closer as you kissed his head.
— alastor
“so, then i headed to the tailor’s… they fixed my coat and when i came out, eugh…” alastor groaned in disgust, telling you about today as he sat by the fireplace in the hotel den. “vox was on various of those picture boxes, singing about how i am ‘outdated’.”
“and, as per expected, his modern technology failed and caused a blackout across the city!” he chuckled to himself. “you don’t think i’m outdated, do you, love?” alastor looked up, seeing you on the sofa as you stare at him, listening to his words intently.
“dear? are you even listening?” he smugly grinned. “of course i am…” you frowned. “i’m just… admiring you, i guess.”
“oh, are you now?” he sighed at your little lovey-dovey habits. “yeah… i like your voice, it’s soothing…” you blushed. “you find my voice comforting?” he asked. “how interesting, perhaps i’ll decide to ramble to you more often.” he grinned, closing his book.
he got up from his seat and over to you as he pulled you close by your shoulder. “now, back to my question— you don’t think i am outdated, do you?” he raised an eyebrow. “of course not…” you said. “hmph, good.” he nodded as he laid your head on him.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor x reader#hazbin alastor#hasbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#angel dust#angel dust x reader#anthony hazbin hotel#charlie magne x reader#hazbin charlie#charlie morningstar#charlotte morningstar x reader#charlie magne#charlotte morningstar
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backspin | bbf!frankie
surprise! we're taking a quick detour to fuck around with our brother's best friend again. what else is new.
pairing: bbf!frankie morales x fem!reader
summary: you try to get even with frankie. it works.
warnings: reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, enemies to lovers, mention of throwing up, alcohol consumption, cursing, oral, more dickhead frankie and more sassy reader
word count: 6.3k
part one: rack 'em | main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💙
So, you fucked around with Frankie.
It’s no big deal, right? It was just a one-time thing. There was tension, you guys relieved it. Scratched an itch. Served a purpose. You still fucking hate the guy, and he still fucking hates you.
Nothing’s changed.
Right?
Mal sprays wine all over the kitchen table when you tell her. Gargles a, Sorry – fuck – sorry, through what little of the alcohol is left in her mouth.
You wipe your face clean in the crook of your elbow. It’s in your fucking eyelashes. You blink the room back into focus, and – “Jesus, Mal!”
Dark droplets teeter around the edge of the table, threatening to plunge straight down onto your mom’s chair cushions – thus damning you to her very own personal hell for all eternity. You can feel the flames licking at your feet already.
Your best friend rips a sheet of paper towel and drags it over the wood – white bleeding violet at the first swipe. “Why’d you tell me as I was taking a sip?”
“I didn’t think you’d fucking hose me down,” you hiss, taking the soaked crumple from her hands.
“You didn’t think I’d be a little surprised that you and Catfish Morales hooked up? Are you fucking ser–? Actually, you know what? I’m not that surprised.”
You glare at her from the sink, upper lip curled.
Mallory Bennett has been privy to your every thought since you were six years old. Hand in hand, arms swinging as you marched into first grade together.
Most days, you barely have to open your mouth – one flinching expression, one flash of eye contact, and she can parrot your own thoughts back to you.
Francisco Morales going down on you two nights ago is the first thing you’ve ever had to confess to her. It’s the first thing she never saw coming.
“Shut up,” you breathe, eventually thawing and sweeping over to your chair. The table sticks to your arms when you sit back down.
“There’s a lot to unpack there, alright? A lot of tension. I mean, you gotta fuckin’ feel it. You two hate each other’s guts! And you’re both single, and you’re only here for two weeks. And – he’s Santi’s best friend. It’s just…it’s the perfect storm.”
Another exasperated sigh passes your lips. You settle back, eyes closed, and lift your palm. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”
“You wouldn’t’ve told me if you didn’t wanna talk about it. Was he good?”
“Mal.”
“Was he?”
“I was drunk. I don’t remember.”
“Bullshit.” Her face screws up; the gold hoops wobble from her ears. “Like hell you don’t remember. Tell me.”
Your eyes slip from her over to Ange. The old pup pushes herself to her feet with a huff, her joints stiff and bones frail. She moseys over to your side. You scratch the back of the dog’s neck, shrugging to Mal.
“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated your way to a free round of drinks, I’d remember enough to share.”
“Fuck you,” she snorts, voice rounded by her wine glass. “Maybe that just means you gotta do it again – sober.”
You scoff.
Angie looks up at you – watery eyes blinking, tail slowly fanning.
Mal’s already recounting the time Frankie snitched on the two of you for raiding your mom’s makeup bag. She waves her hands in the air, eyes bulging.
Do it again. The thought actually makes you want to laugh.
You and Frankie – you and Catfish, hooking up again. As if the first time wasn’t a total mishap, the biggest mistake in judgement you think you’ve ever made.
He drove you home, he made you come, he left.
One nil, right? You have one up on him. You got yours, and he probably went home and jerked off to the thought of it. Alone in his room, tongue licking at the corners of his mouth where he could still taste your release.
You won.
You won, against Frankie Morales.
“…and then fuckin’ – Pope tried to help us tidy it up, remember? He was scrubbing the hell outta the lipstick on the mirror. But that asshole – Frankie,” she seethes, “he went downstairs as soon as your mom came home. As soon as she…And he fucking ratted!”
She growls, balls her fists. Screws her eyes tight shut like the enraged eight-year-old she was back then. She still has the same little crease between her brows. “What the hell got into you that night? We hate him, junior!”
Ange slumps to the floor with a sigh.
“Me too, girl,” you mutter to her, twirling the base of your glass. You look back up at the crazed woman opposite. “I don’t know,” you insist. “I was drunk, we were on our own…It just happened, alright?”
Her shoulders roll in a shrug. She lifts her glass to clink the neck of the bottle against the rim, purple wine spilling in a swirl. “Maybe it’s the start of something.”
You scoff. “Mal. Come on.”
“I’m serious. Perfect storm.”
“Nope. No storm. Stop that.”
She jabs a tipsy finger in your direction. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you messed around with your arch fucking menesis– arch fucking…with – with Frankie, and you just – still feel nothing for him?”
“No,” you admit, “I feel plenty for him. I hate his fucking guts. I used to wish every birthday that he’d disappear. One time in church, when Father Joseph told everybody to bow their heads ‘n pray, I actually asked God to kill him for me.”
“Not Father Joseph!” Mal shrieks, grinning. “He was so fucking hot, by the way, for a dude with no hair. When the sunlight caught that cueball just right…that was a real fucking miracle. Goddamn.”
You bat her snicker away. “Me and Frankie used to brawl so bad that our moms had to separate us,” you continue. “I had to sit in the front seat if we drove anywhere – and that still didn’t stop him! He’d reach around the headrest and flick my fucking ear.”
“You gave as good as you got, though. I’m surprised he can even still get hard, the number of times your foot…” She swings her leg and kicks your thigh softly. “He was an ass, I know.”
“He was an ass then, he’s still an ass now. That’s all there is to it.”
“Okay,” Mal concedes. Her dark, glossy hair surfs around the lip of her wine glass when she leans in. “But you wouldn’t’ve told me unless it was still on your mind. ‘s all I’m saying.”
You throw yourself back with a quick, angry shake of your head. Your tongue flicks over your top lip.
“All I’m saying,” she repeats, holding her hands up.
But I won, you think – in a petulant little whine. Like you could shake your fists and stamp your feet at the same time. You got one up on him. He – he made you…
He made you come. He saw you. Felt you. Tasted you.
He knows what you sound like, whimpering his fucking name. Drunk on him, begging him not to stop. And now, the image of him fisting his cock over the memory of it feels less like a victory, and more like –
Another fucking loss.
You have no idea what he looks like, coming undone. No clue what his fragmented moans sound like as they tear from the bottom of his throat and rain down over you. You don’t know the weight of him in your hands, the wet slip of his tip as he leaks over your tongue.
Mal’s onto something new. Taken by a Facebook post from some girl you went to high school with. Biggest head I ever saw on a fucking baby, she mutters, wincing and then sprinkling a handful of salted peanuts on her tongue.
Frankie’s cocky smirk clouds over the sight of her at the opposite end of your kitchen table.
Francisco fucking Morales. The asshole wins again.
All at once, you hear his rotten little jeers in your ear – curbed painfully by his middle finger searing across your lobe. You feel his heavy palm on your skull, fingers scrunching roughly into your scalp.
A temper boils between your ears, heavy over your head. It feels juvenile, as if it’s armed with a Barbie in one fist and a juice box in the other. Sunken and wallowing in shame and rage, red-hot waves which wash over you as Mal cackles at some video on her phone.
You feel Frankie’s hands around your legs; the flicks of his hair tickling the inside of your thighs. The swarm of butterflies deep in your belly as you watched his figure swagger back across the street to his truck.
Loss after loss after loss. Each one wearing a satisfied smirk and a Standard Oil baseball cap.
Each one staining deeper than red wine in varnished oak.
You grit your teeth.
Frankie –
fucking –
Morales.
Santi floats the idea of a barbecue. Because of course he fucking does.
He says his place is too small, too many neighbors in earshot – and as long as Ms. Teller takes both hearing aids out, she won’t even know it’s happening.
“Just the guys ‘n us,” he chirps. “You, me, Will, Benny…Fran-kie…?”
You gag down the line. Body instinct whenever his name is mentioned, worsened by the latest developments in your relations. Ange glances up from her spot beneath the oak tree – her milky fur stark against the velvet green grass.
Santi chokes on a laugh. “Mal, too, if that helps with the Catfish thing.”
You lean the phone on your collarbone, sitting forward to apply a second coat of polish to your toes. The red gloss shines in the early morning light. “He is not welcome in my house.”
“First off: not your house. Second –”
“My house for the next eleven days.”
He says your name flatly. It sounds like a door being slammed. It shuts you up as though you’re nine again. “…Second: he won’t be in the house. He’ll be in the backyard.”
“You owe me,” you protest. “For ditching me the other night. I’m cashing in, Santiago. You want a cookout? No Frankie.”
Your brother sighs. “And how am I supposed to explain that to him, hermana?”
“Don’t,” you tell him. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”
Santi mutters something incoherent, though you know from the razor-sharp tone of voice that it’s no compliment. Still – he’s a man of his word.
Eventually he agrees: no Frankie at the barbecue.
The store is chilly, plucking goosebumps along your arms.
You round the aisles, scanning your list. You’ve been battling with a janky front wheel which has squealed and veered off-course at every fucking turn. It almost mowed over an elderly woman in the meat aisle.
You’ve cleared most of what Santi told you to get. Drinks, ice, buns, meat, corn on the cob. He wanted to use Mom’s dinner plates – but that, you countered, runs the risk of them being scraped, chipped, or worst of all, smashed.
That’s not a risk you’re willing to take. So you’ve piled in some paper plates and plastic cutlery, too – just to be on the safe side.
The cashier cuts a familiar figure at the checkout: her navy apron and full-cheek grin. She’s a staple sight from your childhood – a pair of dimples and sweet giggle trailing after you as you’d follow your mom’s skirt back out to the parking lot.
Her eyes widen and she clasps her hands when she notices you approaching. “Well, would you look who it is?” she sings.
“Hey, Pol,” you say, fanning yourself with your scrawled shopping list. “How you doing?”
The belt jolts your supplies closer to her bejeweled fingers.
“Same as always, honey. Rockin’ and rollin’. What brings you back to town?”
“Housesitting, dog-sitting…Santi-sitting. Mom and Dad are on a cruise.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she says, nodding. “She told me last week. Caribbean, right?”
You nod, sucking a deep, unenthused breath in.
Pol hums, smiling to herself as she clicks the barcode for your hotdogs into her computer. She begins telling you what her granddaughter thinks of second grade – her two times table and the tadpoles they’re keeping in class.
Your eyes sweep around the store as she chats. Everything looks the way it always did, a time capsule from the nineties. Speckled floor and fluorescent lights; placards hanging overhead which sway each time the great glass doors pull open.
Baskets of fruit and veg lined alongside a lawn set on offer. Beside that, heaps of flowers and stacked planters. Beside those, a discarded shopping cart. And beside that –
Frankie fucking Morales.
Well – the silhouette of him. It’s pretty bright outside. But you’d recognize the outline of that dumb baseball cap anywhere. He’s talking to one of the assistants.
You hand Pol the cash Santiago gave you, and she trades it for a receipt. Dumping your bags back into your cart, you nod to her in thanks and stalk off towards the sliding doors.
Frankie tosses and twirls a pack of cigarettes in his hand. The assistant is telling him about some big college football game.
Your grip tightens on the janky-wheeled cart. You feel your skin begin to heat; prickling all over your arms, flushing down between your shoulder blades. Gathering somewhere south of there.
But you walk by him with purpose, choosing to ignore that warm feeling. Choosing to ignore…him.
He doesn’t turn. Thankfully.
The doors grant you exit and you give your cart one good shove across the threshold, back out into blinding daylight and sticky heat.
“Alright, man,” Frankie’s voice calls from behind. “Good talkin’ to ya.”
You nail your eye on the car. It’s, like, fifteen paces. You can make it fifteen steps without having to deal with him, right? If you take longer strides, it’s probably more like ten.
Ten steps, and then you’re in the sanctuary of your car. You don’t have to see, speak to, or deal with him.
So why are you slowing down?
You’re slowing down. You are. You’re borderline fucking loitering. Quietly hoping he’ll notice, catch up, maybe talk to –
You click the unlock button. The car beeps in response.
Five steps out. The front wheel is rattling. You’re doing your best to ignore it.
Four.
Three.
The wheel spins, flitting like a confused compass needle, and stops dead in the opposite direction. The cart hurtles out of your grip for less than a second before you recover it and haul it close to your car, cursing under your breath.
But a force – stronger, steadier – reaches around your body and takes hold of the thing. It guides it back to course. A force which, when it speaks, sounds a shit ton like –
“Woah, lil Santi,” Frankie mutters, and your chest leaps.
You freeze in your tracks. His weight is still around your back. He’s right fucking there, when you turn to look.
The brim of his cap bumps against your head. He steps back with a smirk on his face. He’s so fucking smug, you could slap him. “You tryna cause a goddamn accident with that thing?”
You pull a disingenuous smile. “Hey, Fish. Ever tried minding your own business?”
He feigns a wounded sound and clutches his chest. “Ouch. I’m just looking out for ya.”
“Feels more like you’re pestering me.” You pull on the door handle and slot the first bag along the backseat.
Frankie lifts his chin, peering in at the contents. The star-spangled plated, the dripping bags of ice. “Having a party?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked.
You yank the bag from his sight, spinning to push it alongside the others. “Nope.”
He crosses his arms. “Sure looks like you’re having one.”
“Well, I’m not.” You slam the door and turn back to him, staring blankly.
“Forgot,” he sniffs, “you need friends to have a party.”
“Hilarious. Those shit jokes how you make all your friends?”
He nods, impressed. Pouts his lips like an annoying little fish. Suits his stupid fucking nickname. “Then why’d Benny call ‘n ask if I’ll be at Pope’s parents’ tonight?”
Shit. Fucking – Benny.
You sigh, eyes rolling closed. Your fingers massage your temples. “It’s not…it’s…”
“Cookout, right? Yeah. That stings, baby. No call, no text. You owe me, remember?”
“I owe you jack sh–”
“Two drinks,” Frankie clips, holding a finger up to shush you. “Three, if you count saving your car from one hell of a scratch.”
“Fuck off,” you breathe, and then give voice to, “It’s a small gathering of friends, and – now you, apparently.”
He sways forward, bumping the cart into your hip. “You need me to bring anything?”
You heave it straight back at him, hopefully hard enough to bruise. “Tranquilizer gun, if you’ve got one.”
“Can get something even stronger, if it’s a party you’re after.”
Your eyes thin. “Wouldn’t be my mom’s favorite for much longer if she found out you were doing coke in her backyard.”
Frankie smiles. That trademark Catfish grin. “I’ve done worse in her kitchen, baby.”
He’s so goddamn cocky. So full of it, it makes you want to scream. He studies you, eyes shadowed by his cap. His hair flicks out around his ears, dark curls doused in golden sunlight.
When your eyes trace the shape of his jaw, the wiry hair above his top lip – the faint flicker of a memory glows across your skin.
The weight of his hand on your stomach, pinning you to the bed. The bristling feeling ghosting the inside of your thighs. Your desperate wet, his tongue covering ground across your body like claiming territory.
Every shade of wrong. Ignoring every atom in your body – betraying every version of yourself for ten minutes of euphoria. He brought every numb nerve under your skin to attention, the second he knelt between your knees.
But he’s looking at you now, the same way he did the other night. It’s boyish and dangerous. A naked match just waiting to fall.
Maybe you’re waiting for an excuse to drop it.
Frankie gives his cap a quick tug, and makes off for his truck.
“See you at seven, Garcia.”
Daylight melts into dusk and with it, goes the sharp sting of summer. A pale blue rolls across the horizon, covering the yard in a hazy sort of chill. A relieving breeze, like satin over newly burned skin.
You’re still fucking sweating.
“Are you going to help me, or you just gonna lie there and text your girlfriend?” you call across the yard.
The dark figure spilling over the edge of the hammock grunts in response.
“Santi.”
Your brother groans, rolling free from the marigold fabric. He strides across the lawn, swinging an arm down to ruffle Ange’s ears. “Not a girlfriend,” he says, slipping his phone into his back pocket. “She’s…she’s more of a…”
You lift your hand. “Not something I need to know.”
He laughs and looks at the spread on the table. He lifts the corner of a tricolor napkin, straightens a plastic fork. The foil over the hamburger buns crinkles. “We did a good job. Looks great.”
“We?” You scoff, slapping his wrist away. “Yeah, me and the fucking dog, more like.”
“How much did it all come to? The food and shit?”
You shrug. “Like, forty dollars. I don’t know.”
“Gave you sixty. Where’s my change?”
You frown, hands on your hips. “If you don’t know how to budget properly, that’s not my problem.”
“And if you don’t know when to just lie and say you spent it all, that’s not mine. Twenty bucks, kid.” He holds his hand out, fingers beckoning.
The squeal of the gate interrupts, followed by a barrage of voices. Will and Benny and Mal and – as you lean back to watch them parade through the yard, you spot the figure of Frankie at their heels.
“Pope?” Will calls. “Pope, do me a favor. Remind me which one of us threw up at Busch Gardens that one time. Remember – right after we rode Gwazi?”
Santiago chuckles. “I remember Mallory wearing her raspberry slushie.”
Will guffaws in Mal’s face.
“I spit up!” she protests. “I spit up in a flowerbed. I was not wearing my slushie.”
“You were fluorescent pink the whole day,” Will says. He slings an arm around your shoulders. “You remember, lil Santi?”
You frown. Yeah, you fucking remember.
You remember being forced to sit between Frankie and Mal the entire way home. Santiago got dibs on the front seat by pretending he was carsick, and Mal had to sit by an open window so she didn’t stink your dad’s car out with all her raspberry-flavored puke.
You and Frankie bickered the whole journey. Both absolutely certain that the other was leaning too far over your seats. Your dad vowed he’d never let you both in his car at the same time, ever again.
“Mhm,” you grit, shooting daggers at your best friend.
She mouths a Sorry, and then places her salad bowl in the middle of the table. “Enough about throwing up. I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
The boys spend twenty minutes arguing over how the barbecue works, before a single bit of food is cooked. You and Mal watch from the table, sneaking Ange slices of cheese and giggling when Will and Benny break into their fifth argument of the night.
Santi and Frankie take charge, shoving the brothers out of the way.
Pope passes over the meat, while Frankie mans the grill. He lifts his cap and wipes his brow with his bicep, giving his head a shake as he flips burgers and turns sausages.
And no, you’re not watching him. You’re focused on Mal and her story about some guy from work. Or – it might be a guy from her yoga class. The instructor, maybe? You’re not sure. Frankie just flapped the collar of his shirt and the hem lifted, exposing a sliver of his tummy.
You’re not watching him, though.
He runs his tongue along his top lip, focusing on the sizzle and spatter of the grill. His arm tenses, turning the tongs over and over. Wide shoulders stretch when he reaches for a plate.
He’s laughing quietly at whatever Santi’s babbling about at his side. His eyes are stuck on the barbecue in front of him. His fingers twirl around the tongs again. He never looked so lean and so broad and so fucking different, all at once.
Weird different. Good different?
You feel your cheeks flush with heat. This time, it’s not so much anger, as it is –
Oh, shit.
Mal gets up for a refill at the same time Santiago jogs inside to grab more meat. You and Frankie are alone on the patio – Will and Benny are kicking a ball for Ange to chase on the grass.
Morales turns, and you instantly stare down at your beer. You take a forceful swig as he approaches.
“Hotdog?” he asks, holding a plate down to you.
“Huh?”
He glares at you and scoffs. “Are you dumb? Hotdog.” He slips it onto the table in front of you.
You squint at the grill marks, and then squint up at Frankie. Puzzled and…offended, at the same time. You come back to your body with a jolt. “Why the hell are you–? Have you laced it with something?”
He shoots a glance over his shoulder, tongue between his teeth. “No, I haven’t fucking laced it with anything. I just figured you should have the first one, since you put all this on for us. But – Jesus, give me it.”
Your fingers lock around the paper plate when he tries to steal it back. For all that he’s a dick and might actually try to poison you – you’re fucking starving.
You figure you can stomach the poison.
Frankie sighs. He lets go. “I’m tryna be nice, alright? You know nice?”
“I know nice. You’re not it.”
“Shut up and eat your hotdog, lil Santi.”
You mimic him in a squeak as he strolls off, shaking his head. Still, the second he’s back at the grill, you rip into the hotdog.
Frankie stays at the opposite end of the table for the entire meal – closest seat to the barbecue, and furthest seat from you. There’s too much chatter, too much hilarity being thrown back and forth between you for either of you to kick up a row.
Probably better for the guys’ sakes, but – you want to fucking row.
It’s like a hit, now. A rush of electricity, any time Frankie looks at you for longer than it takes his face to twist into a grimace. You’re hunting for ways to ignite something – anything. Looking for an excuse to drop that naked match and set the whole thing alight.
Because it’s fun, when you’re in the heat of it. Feeling his eyes on you, as hot and angry as flames. Being suffocated by the smoke of it all; breathing in less and less air and more…him.
And, anyway – who knows you better than the one person who pisses you off the most?
As the sun is snuffed by the heavy hand of dusk, you disappear to a quieter corner of the yard. Tucked between two thick beech trees, you throw yourself into the hammock – one leg draped over the side, swinging idly through the night air.
A beer bottle balanced on your tummy, the round base seeping a chilled ring into your shirt. The swish of leaves overhead and the annoying midges at your ears for company.
That is – until the sound of footsteps over crisp grass, and the creak of an old, splintered garden chair disturb your peace.
Frankie adjusts his cap, flatting his fringe beneath it, and sits back. “You never change, do you, Garcia? Still the same little longer you always were.”
You hold your hands out, gulping back beer – and glee. “Can I fucking help you? I’m minding my own business.”
“Thought you might want some company.”
“Not yours, dickhead. You think I’m way the hell over here ‘cause I wanted you to come annoy me?”
He hums, picking at a flake of paint on the armrest. “Sure wanted me to annoy you the other night.”
“Alright,” you clip. “Cheap shot. You been practicing that one all afternoon?”
“Since I saw you at the store.”
You roll your eyes.
Frankie slips a cigarette from its pack and lights it, tipping his chin to blow a white cloud to the sky. “You’re too much fun,” he tells the stars.
You squint through the dark, staring at the glowing cherry. “What?”
“You. You get so pissed, so easily. Always have.”
“Well, you antagonize me. Always have.”
His cheeks lift. It’s something softer than a smirk, still laced with too much attitude to be a smile. “That’s ‘cause you were always around. Everywhere Santi went, there you were. Closer than his shadow.”
“Well,” you glower, “’s what happens when you have a big brother. You’re void of love; I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“No, I get it,” he says. “It just got fun to mess with you, after a while.”
“Uhuh,” you take another swig, “so is that what you’re doing? Messing with me?”
Frankie’s shoulders jump. “You tell me. There were two of us in your room that night.”
You swing your legs down to the grass. It’s brittle under your socks when you stand, still focusing on the end of his cigarette. “Damn, you really can’t shut up about it, can you? How many times have you tugged one to the thought of it?”
“Tugged one,” he snickers, but he seems nervous – watching as you approach. “What age are you?”
You push his knees wider, slotting between his thighs. “Which part does it for you? What sends you over the edge?”
“Come on, lil Santi,” Frankie says, averting his eye. “You’re embarrassing yourself now.”
One knee up, resting on the crease of his jeans. You lean forward and nudge his hip, lay your hands gently on his shoulders. “I bet you still hear me in your dreams.”
He scans up and down your body, lingering on your bare thigh. “Not – not gonna work, kid,” he promises, shaking his head. “You still annoy the fuck outta me.”
“Right, right.” You pinch the pale stick from between his teeth. “’cause nothing’s changed, yeah?”
His head sways in agreement. He’s distracted, watching as you lift your hand to your mouth.
You smile down at him. “’cept you know how I taste now, so.”
You slot the damp end of the cigarette between your lips and suck. Sharp, acrid heat sails over your tongue and down your throat, filling your chest in one inhale. You cough a little, batting the smoke as you blow it out.
“Tastes fucking disgusting,” you croak. “How can you smoke these?”
Frankie’s eyes never leave your lips. “You get used to it.”
You take another draw, letting the smoke soar through the space between you. “Gross,” you say, and prop the cig back between his lips. “Just like you!”
“Sh…shut up,” he groans, adjusting in his seat.
“Make me.”
But he doesn’t bite. Doesn’t flinch. He just stares back, rolling the smoldering stick between his thumb and finger. Running his tongue along his teeth.
You spill the last of your beer onto your tongue, cocking an eyebrow at him, and push from his lap.
You make it no more than five steps, before that same weight from the parking lot is around your shoulders.
He pings the cigarette somewhere in the grass, and grabs onto your elbow.
“Fran– Jesus – Where are we–?”
He drags you through the dull dusk to the other side of the lawn, ignoring the click of the motion sensor. You’re thrown through a wooden door onto cold concrete before the yard light floods over you.
It takes a second for your eyes to adjust. Weak slivers of moonlight illuminate each tool hanging from the wall. The fairy lights outside lose their battle against the darkness the second they creep through the window.
Before you can sling something mocking at him, Frankie has you pinned against the wall.
“You want me to make you shut up?” he growls, teeth grazing your neck. His fingers slip behind the waist of your shorts, plucking at the button. “I’ll make you shut up. Make you shut up all goddamn night.”
“Frankie,” you gasp, grabbing hold of his shirt. You push on his chest, walking him backwards over to the workbench.
The thing shudders when he rocks against it.
“The fuck are you doing?” he murmurs, watching as you kneel before him.
“Getting used to it,” you reply.
You pull his belt apart, loosen the fly on his pants, and pull until they’re low on his hips.
Frankie holds onto the bench with a white-knuckle grip. He lays his hand over the crown of your head, rubbing small circles. A laugh slips across his tongue. “This what you’ve been thinkin’ about?”
You ignore him, instead focusing on the solid shape in his underwear.
His hips flinch when you drag your palm along it. He’s hard already. He hisses at your cold fingers on his stomach, tensing as your knuckles skim below the elastic.
And then…he’s in your palm. All of him. Frankie fucking Morales.
You’re trying not to think too deep about it.
Your fingers wrap around him, barely meeting around his width, and you slip him from his boxers.
His cock springs free, swaying once, twice – then settling to the right.
Your mouth fills with saliva. Suddenly – there’s no way not to think too deep about it.
He’s…he’s big. He’s thick; smooth and sculpted, veins trailing around his shaft. It’s not like you ever considered what he’s walking around with before, but looking at it now – you can’t believe it’s him.
Without thinking, you lean in and kiss him all the way down to the hair at his base. A wet trail, lips curving around the size of him. You run your tongue up and down, circling the tip and toying with it.
Frankie cups your cheek. “Pretty little mouth,” he utters. “Put it to good use, huh?”
You don’t need him to ask twice.
You sink down on him. Every inch of him – every aching, choking inch. Your jaw slackens to take him; nails digging into his thighs when he bumps the back of your throat.
“Oh, shit, baby,” he hisses. His hand comes down on your head a little too heavily.
You yelp and pull back, gasping when he slips out. “Prick,” you breathe, closing your lips around his tip again.
“Just too sweet with it,” he murmurs, guiding himself back across your tongue.
You suckle on him, using your hands to pump the inches your mouth can’t take.
Frankie’s head tips back, panting at the roof. His hips thrust to meet your movements. “Feels so – goddamn – good,” he moans, and you hum with glee.
You take his balls in your hands, kneading them as you work your way lower. He’s so deep in your mouth that it makes your eyes water. Each slip of his tip against the back of your throat makes you gag, pulls a lewd, muffled sound from your chest.
It shouldn’t feel like this. You shouldn’t be enjoying it this much. But he’s falling apart under your fingertips, he’s unwinding right before you. He’s whispering your name, begging you not to stop. Just like that, just like that, just like that. Oh, fuck, just like that.
It’s addictive. Now that you know how he looks, how he feels, you’ll never go back to before. When the most thrill he gave you was a burning temper; feeling your pulse jump in your throat with rage.
This – whatever the fuck this is – is all you know, now. Pulling threads from one another, watching the way they unravel. Watching each other unravel. Flashes of eye contact, salt and slick and sex dripping from every secret word.
Frankie’s hips jerk. His cock spasms.
You don’t want him to come down your throat. You don’t want him to climax when he’s too deep for you to taste it.
You want him all over – your lips, your tongue, dribbling down your chin. You want to mix him with your saliva and swallow; warm, salty, Frankie.
He got his taste. Now you want yours.
You bring your hands up to his thighs, purposefully pushing back off him.
His grip loosens, and he looks down. Brows low and close, eyes blown wide like he’s higher than any drug could take him.
He’s as addicted as you are.
“My mouth,” you mumble, head of his cock circling your glistening lips. “In my mouth.”
“Yeah?” he says, and the weight of his cock slaps on your bottom lip. “That where you want it, baby?”
“Mhm.” You wrap your lips back around him.
“Fuckin’ filthy,” Frankie spits, laughing. “Shit – just like that. Yeah, that’s it.”
Three, four more soaking strokes of your tongue and he’s twitching again.
You pull back only enough to rest his tip on your tongue, feeling the pulsing heat as he comes. Watching the way his face tightens, the pull of his brows as it overcomes him.
His eyes stay locked on you. Your fluttering lashes, your puffy, glossy lips. He fills your mouth and then some – semen spilling from the corners and dribbling down your jaw. And the sound he makes – this broken, scattered moan, bordering on a fucking whimper – is fucking perfect.
Frankie’s hand locks at the base of your skull, holding you steady until he’s done. His cock slips from your bottom lip. He gives one last satisfied sigh, petting your head as you stroke him slowly, tenderly – swiping kitten licks at the dripping mess of him.
“Fuck,” he moans, letting his eyes close over. His weight slumps against the workbench. “The fuck do you spend so much time yapping for when you’re that good with your mouth?”
You hum in amusement, tongue dragging along the underside of his cock. He’s softening, but still a decent size. Still a weight to it that makes your cunt clench around nothing.
One last little kiss, and you tuck him back into his boxers. You drag the back of your hand across your chin.
Frankie holds his hands out, and you pull yourself up. He fixes himself into his jeans, turning away to do up his belt. He had his cock in your throat two minutes ago, and here he is pretending to be shy.
He turns back around, half disappeared to the dark shed. “I, uh…I don’t want you to think that I came here just to…just for that.”
Your tongue dabs at the inside of your cheek, all salty. “Then this is awkward, ‘cause that’s the only reason I hadn’t kicked you out yet.”
He laughs, dropping your gaze. “You…” he shakes his head, “…are such a little shit, you know that?”
It’s nicer than he would’ve worded it half an hour ago. But still – having an exchange with Frankie that doesn’t involve spitting insults or jagged glares, warms your blood in a way that’s new and…unsettling.
“We should probably…” You toss a thumb over your shoulder, eyes flitting to the string bulbs outside. “We don’t want them wondering what’s…you know.”
He nods and strides over to the door. The wood squeals against concrete as he pulls it open.
The summer swirls around you again, sweetening the stuffy heat of the shed. Mal’s voice surfs through the breeze – she’s still arguing over the Busch Gardens story.
You make to step out, and Frankie’s arm halts you.
He opens his palm. “Even,” he tells you. “We’re even.”
He seems sure of himself. Sure of you. He looks you in the eye and doesn’t blink.
You smirk. Your hand slips into his, letting him shake your fist once. You stare straight back at him.
“We’re just getting fucking started, Francisco.”
#frankie morales#frankie morales fic#frankie morales smut#bbf!frankie#pedro pascal#triple frontier#triple frontier fic
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The other day I fell down the stairs of my building and had to just like. Get back up and go to work and my knees are all fucked up and I’m so sore. Do you think you could write doctor!remus or casual dom Remus when his girl tells him about it hours later? Or whatever you think is best story wise lol.
Don’t worry about it if not, your writing is literally my absolute favourite right now, you are so amazing!! -angie
Hi Angie, thank you for requesting <3
cw: blood
doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 666 words (oooo)
When the car stops, Remus won’t let you get out on your own, which is embarrassing even though there’s no one but him around to witness it. Remus is overall in a horribly embarrassing mood.
Though you tried to hide it, you’d noticed him noticing the stiffness in your legs as you walked out to his car after work, and before you’d had a chance Remus had reached over and buckled your seatbelt himself. The whole drive home he’d been spooky silent, occasionally shooting narrow-eyed looks to the blood stains on your work pants.
“I’m okay,” you try to reason with him now, when he sets his hands on your hips to take some of your weight. “I’ve been walking all day, baby.”
“I know, that’s worse.” Your boyfriend is huffy. He seems to be contemplating fully picking you up and carrying you inside.
You press your lips together while he supports you the rest of the way to the door, holding you firmly to his side when he needs one hand to unlock it. The two of you go straight to the bathroom, where the dress you were originally going to wear to work today still lies on the floor. Remus frowns but doesn’t comment.
When you’d taken a tumble on the concrete stairs outside your apartment this morning, you’d been running too late to be concerned with anything but looking presentable and getting to work. Your dress left your bloody knees exposed and made you feel like a child fallen from their bike, so you’d screwed up your mouth and forced a pair of work pants on over the burning cuts, then changed into an appropriate top to match. Your knees have been alternately stinging and aching all day, and when walking back home from work seemed too much you’d called your boyfriend for a ride. He seems determined to make you regret it.
“Sorry,” you murmur after he lifts you onto the counter.
Remus looks at you. “What for?” The question isn’t patronizing or a test. He wants to know.
“For not telling you.”
He sighs softly, looking down to fiddle with the button of your pants. You trace the cruel line of a scar from his forehead down to his cheek.
“I wouldn’t mind so much if you’d taken the time to clean them properly,” he says. “But if you were in my place—lift your hips for me, love—and I called you to say I couldn’t get home by myself because I’ve been hurting all day and not done anything about it, wouldn’t you be a bit distraught?”
“I would,” you admit. You suck in a quiet breath when he starts pulling your pants down over your knees.
“Sorry,” he says, unsticking the fabric from your ruined skin as gently as he can. They slide the rest of the way down far easier, and Remus kisses his teeth when your knees are revealed. “Dovey.” He sounds equal parts pitying and disappointed.
“Sorry.”
“Let’s stop trading apologies.” There’s the barest hint of humor in your boyfriend’s tone as he finishes tugging your pants off your ankles, letting them puddle on the floor and leaving you in your underwear. The countertop is cold on your bare skin. Remus wraps a hand around your thigh, careful of your knees as he leans forward to give you a kiss. “I’m not going to ask you not to do it again—although I hope you won’t—because I know you, but I get that you’re sorry, sweetheart.” His thumb swipes over the unbroken skin above your knee, lips turning down unhappily. “I’m sorry you hurt yourself, and that you’ve been in pain. I promise to try and lecture you about it as little as possible, okay?”
You can’t help but smile, your voice coming out wry. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, dove.” He gives your hip a condescending little pat. “You can make it up to me by sitting still while I take care of these and tell you about infection.”
#doctor!remus lupin#doctor!remus x reader#remus lupin au#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x fem!reader#remus lupin x y/n#remus lupin x you#remus lupin x self insert#remus lupin fanfiction#remus lupin fanfic#remus lupin fic#remus lupin fluff#remus lupin hurt/comfort#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin scenario#remus lupin drabble#remus lupin blurb#remus lupin one shot#remus lupin oneshot#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#the marauders#hp marauders#marauders au#marauders x reader
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I don’t know if this is an annoying request but is there any way to get a Drabble of when reader had gotten jealous (in the past before the accident) when she found out that joel and Angie had history. In one of your previous chapters, Joel described it as some of the best sex of his life 👀
-Kiwi 🥝💚
Not an annoying ask at all! Thank you for sending this to me, this was a great idea! Sorry it took so long to get to it!
Jealous
An I Know Who You Are drabble
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), blow job, unprotected piv sex, language, edging, lil bit of dom reader/sub joel, masturbation, angry/a little rough sex, jealousy, possessiveness, spanking, hair pulling
WC: 1.6K
A/N: I want to let everyone know this part of their history took place very early on in their relationship. Reader does not yet know his secret, they are in the 'messing around' stage and if you recall, Joel once compared reader to taming a wild horse. So the reader in this story is very different from the one we know. Enjoy!
"Please," Joel whimpered, no longer above begging.
You were between his legs, his cock leaking and heavy in your mouth. With every swirl of your tongue and pump of your fist, he felt himself getting closer and closer to the brink just to have you pull away with a devilish smirk. It was maybe the third time you left him gasping for breath but he lost count so he couldn't be sure. His brain was a jumbled mess and his skin was on fire, soaked with sweat due to his heart pounding so furiously in his chest for the past twenty minutes.
"God, I love it when you use your manners," you purred. You cracked your back and neck with a soft moan, completely ignoring his cock throbbing and aching for attention in front of you. "It really turns me on. Wanna see?"
He groaned and arched his back off the bed, desperately trying to get you to touch him again. He wasn't used to this. Whatever it was you were doing together was fairly new and while the sex was always good, this was something else. And all because at dinner that night, you discovered he fucked someone else well before you even arrived in Jackson.
It was beginning to bother him how non-committal you were. The first couple times you were together, he didn't mind. In fact, he preferred it that way. Especially considering the guilt that weighed him down ever since he first recognized you. But recently, something changed in the way he looked at you, thought about you, felt about you. He was so fucking rusty, he had no idea how to shift the nature of your relationship to something more meaningful. So when Angie showed up, batting her lashes and touching his shoulder at the bar while he waited for you to finish playing whatever game you were playing and come home with him, he leaned into it a bit. He tossed Angie a smile just to add fuel to the flames and make you end the charade. And out of the corner of his eye, when he saw you stiffen and slam down your drink, he felt his cock twitch with excitement.
Maybe he shouldn't have pushed your buttons.
"You're not listening to me," you said sternly, grabbing his chin and forcing his attention back onto you. "I asked you a question."
"Yes," he rasped, "show me. Please," he added, remembering at the last second how you liked it when he begged. You smiled and let his chin go, then took that very same hand and slowly dragged it down your bare chest, over your stomach and underneath the fabric of your panties. You tipped your head back and moaned when you slid two fingers into your pussy, and when you began to rock your hips into your hand, still kneeling between his legs on the bed, he whined and fisted the bedsheets next to him.
He desperately moaned your name, wiping the sweat from his forehead, but you cut him off.
"So wet," you whispered, rolling your neck and opening your eyes, steadily holding his gaze while you continued to fuck yourself with your fingers. "Feels so good. Maybe I'll just make myself come, instead."
"No!" he growled angrily, sitting up and grabbing the back of your neck. You gasped in surprise but he could see your eyes sparkling with excitement and the corners of your mouth twitch.
"No?" you repeated, tilting your head to the side and sinking your teeth into your lower lip, your eyes locked onto his, now inches away from your face while you snapped your wrist even faster between your legs.
"I wanna make you come," he said through clenched teeth while he did everything in his power not to grab you by the waist and slam you down on his cock.
"If you don't like it, maybe you should've taken her home tonight, instead," you seethed angrily, then your eyes fluttered closed and your mouth fell open when your fingers finally brushed up against that one spot that always made you come undone. Joel's nostrils flared when he realized you were close and decided he had enough.
"Fuck this," he muttered. He wrapped his hand around your wrist and yanked it out from between your legs, and before you even had a chance to open your eyes and yell at him, he scooped his other arm around your back and flipped you over so you were lying underneath him. He smirked down at you, finally getting the upper hand. "Did I make you jealous, baby?"
You scoffed and wiggled underneath him, but he pinned you down.
"Don't be ridiculous. You're allowed to fuck whoever you want."
He hummed and noticed your fingers still glistening with your slick. He grabbed your wrist and popped both your fingers into his mouth, his tongue lapping up your arousal with a heady groan, making sure to lick up every last drop before releasing your fingers with a grin.
"Only wanna fuck you, though."
He noticed the way your expression softened a bit, just for a split second. The first crack in your armor. But before he could dig into it deeper, you shifted gears.
"Then go ahead and fuck me already."
He yanked your underwear so fast down your legs, you heard the fabric rip, but you could hardly care when a moment later he was sinking himself inside you with a strangled groan, both finally finding some relief in the familiar stretch.
"Y'drive me fuckin' crazy, y'know that?" he murmured into your cheek. He held your jaw tightly in his grip, his hips roughly slamming into you as you gasped and moaned under him. With every harsh thrust, he brushed against that one spot, already stimulated from your fingers earlier. "Can't just admit you're jealous? Wouldn't look my way all night 'til someone else did and now look at you. Makin' a mess all over my cock."
Your eyes flared with anger and you yanked your chin out of his grasp. Grabbing a handful of his hair, you pulled as hard as you could, causing him to lose his balance for a moment, but it was all you needed. You wrapped your legs around his waist and with a grunt, rolled him over onto his back so you were straddling him.
Your mouth crashed down against his, teeth clashing and tongues messily licking into each other. With your heavy breaths mingling together, his hands roamed, grabbing onto every part of you he could find until they settled on your hips. He helped guide you in his lap, fingers digging into the fatty area where your thighs and hips creased, adding more force every time you dropped back down onto his thick length.
"Jesus, fuck!" Joel growled, lifting one hand to slap your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp until the pain faded and you ordered him to do it again, so he did.
You moaned and tilted your chin to the ceiling, hips grinding into him so you could give your burning thighs a break but it apparently wasn't enough because he started to ram up into you, soft grunts slipping past his lips with each thrust.
With little warning, your back arched and you cried out, convulsing and squeezing his cock as you came, gasping desperately for air. He couldn't tear his eyes away, completely mesmerized, like usual. You were gorgeous, he always knew that, but when he got to see you fall apart for him, it transcended his definition of beauty and left him in awe.
Once you collected yourself, he pulled you down to his chest, burying his face against your neck and wrapping his arms tightly around your ribs, slamming into your used cunt over and over, making you whimper against his skin.
"I wanna come inside you so fuckin' bad," he whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine.
"You can't," you whispered back, leaving out but I wish you could.
"I know."
With a rough groan, he pulled out, causing your eyelids to flutter weakly and your pussy clench angrily at the loss. He pulled your hips down flush so he could rut against you, stilling momentarily when his hot spend spilled out, smearing all over your stomachs.
After giving him a moment to catch his breath, you tried to roll off of him but he didn't loosen his grip.
"Just another minute," he said softly into your shoulder. He felt your body relax and he inhaled deeply, breathing in your scent for later. He tilted his head so he faced you and locked his lips with yours, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he deepened the kiss. But you didn't allow it for long. You never did.
"Joel," you murmured against his mouth, pulling away and pushing yourself up. He sighed and let you go, watching as you stood on shaky legs to enter his bathroom and clean yourself up. You handed him the wet towel before collecting your clothes from the floor, holding up your mangled underwear with one finger and giving him a look. He chuckled as he wiped his stomach and shrugged.
You rolled your eyes and turned around so he didn't see the smile on your face as you got dressed. His eyes raked up and down your body for a moment before he said, "you don't gotta leave, y'know."
"I have patrol in the morning."
"So?"
"So I need to get some sleep," you said, pulling your shirt on and fixing your hair. He was really growing to hate this part. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow," you added over your shoulder as you headed towards his door. He didn't respond. He just watched you leave, a slow smile pulling at his lips because even though you acted indifferent towards him, the fact remained that you were jealous of another woman giving him attention, and that had to mean something.
#no asks are annoying btw#send me all your thots#ask#ikwya fic#drabble#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#joel the last of us#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal#joel miller fluff#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#the last of us game#the last of us hbo#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us#joel miller fanfic#joel miller tlou
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Let Me Love You
Angel Dust x Reader
18+ only, /minors DNI
warnings: nsfw, val, porn and trauma mentions, implied male reader, fluffy fluffy smut
ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ
• He thought he was more than ready for your first time together after waiting, what, two months?
• To establish the difference between you and other one night stands or “coworkers”, you insisted on dates, flowers, gifts and shit for him
• He appreciated the fuck out of it, don’t get him wrong, but he didn’t get it
• Plus he was beyond pent up
• It was safe to say Angel’s never dabbled in anything vanilla
• Hell’s porn selection is vast but Angel’s never done anything “softcore”
• If the category existed down here, Val would’ve monopolized it already
• The word for whatever it was you were doing escaped him
• Kissing his neck, his cheeks, the corners of his lips (but never directly on them)
• You held his hands not to pin them in place, just… to hold them
• “Hey, sugar—What’re you doin’?”
• “Loving on you,” You said as if it should be answer enough then hesitated, “That’s— Is that ok?”
• Yes, his heart screamed but his voice sounded unsure
• You rut against him slowly, so slowly it could be torture yet eliciting a symphony of noises from Angel
• “Wanna make you feel good,” You coo against his lips, “Fuck, Angel, you’re so beautiful.”
• He tries to cover his mouth to stop the moan he lets out upon hearing that
• “No,” You whine, gently taking hold of his wrist and prying it away, locking his fingers against your own, “Gotta hear you, baby. Need to. Need all of you.”
• You’re lost in your own pleasure you don’t realize there’s tears pricking at your boyfriends eye’s
• Overwhelmed didn’t feel like a big enough expression to convey his emotions
• Angel felt so strangely and wholly loved
• His legs wrap around your waist, arms around your back and neck pulling you closer than before
• He needs more
• You’re holding back to make sure Angel reaches his peak before you
• “You’re so— ahh— perfect, Angie.”
• His breathe hitches
• “Sweet,” a kiss, “Funny,” another, higher on his neck, “Thoughtful—“
• “I am not,” Angel snorts, then flinches and assumes he ruined the mood
• Marrying your foreheads together so he has no choice but to hold your face, you chuckle, “Are so,”
• It’s alien to him how sexy and satisfying this is— not vanilla in the slightest
• Laughing during sex? (Val would never— no. Not thinking about him. Not now)
• He’s safe and yet exposed in an entirely new way, one that’s acceptable because you’re there coaxing him through it
• Maybe not in the moment, but later when you’re holding each other chest to chest, Angel realizes he wouldn’t mind more of this sappy shit
#angel dust headcanon#angel dust x reader#angel dust imagine#hazbin hotel x reader smut#hazbin hotel smut
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Making Amends
summary: a fancy party & praising || you finally see why michael hates going home for the holidays and treat him the way he deserves
pairing: michael gavey x f!reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, breast/nipple play, heavy praise, riding, brief cockwarming, cursing, brief mention of daddy kink but it’s not used, dirty talk, angy michael (not at reader), angst but happy ending, parents being stupid, choking, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 3.4k
a/n: happy day twelve of 12 days of smuff!!! we did it!!! a very merry christmas to all those who celebrate; i hope your holidays are full of love and fun! I hope y’all enjoy this one & i look forward to writing many more stories in the new year!
TAUNT | Part 1
PRAISE | Taunt Part 2
this one can be read as a continuation of taunt & praise or as a stand alone!!
12 days of smuff masterlist!
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!
“Ohh, Michael!” An older woman croons, making you and your boyfriend turn your heads at the same time, “How lovely to see you!”
“Nice to see you too, Aunt Janet.” Michael says, his voice monotone, and gives the woman an awkward half-hug. You give him a sympathetic grin when he rolls his eyes at you over her shoulder.
“And who is this?” She asks, turning to look you up and down with a smile.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Michael explains, taking a second to introduce the two of you, “We met at uni.”
“Nice to meet you.” You smile politely and shake her hand.
“How wonderful!” She turns to you and puts a hand on your forearm before leaning in slightly with a grin, “We were beginning to give up on this one ever finding someone to put up with him!” She grins, giggling like it’s the funniest joke in the world.
You merely awkwardly chuckle, though it only takes one glance at Michael to know he’s fuming. You can’t really blame him, this is how it’s been all evening, ever since you’d arrived at his parents house. Michael had tried to talk you out of accompanying him to their annual Christmas party, claiming that hell would be a lesser punishment, but you’d insisted, saying it couldn’t be that bad.
When you’d first pulled up to the Gavey’s home, you’d been excited! They’d gone all out with the decorations, though Michael claimed they usually did, but that didn’t stop you from marveling at all the garland, lights, and wreaths that adorned every inch of the house. And since this year’s party was apparently more formal than usual, that just gave you the chance to ogle at your boyfriend in a tux, which was an automatic win in your book.
And yet, here you are, listening to yet another joke at Michael’s expense and hating every second of it. It seemed like every relative and family friend had one in store, if it wasn’t about finally finding someone to put up with him, it was about what he must’ve done to bribe you into it, or that he must be paying you to be here. Not to mention the backhanded compliments; you’d grown so tired of hearing remarks about how they’re so happy that Michael had finally found someone or, “Oh, finally! Took him long enough!”
“Old fucking bat,” Michael mutters under his breath as Aunt Janet totters off, “Knew we shouldn’t have come.” He grumbles, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
“M’sorry, babe,” you sigh, giving him a small half smile as you place a comforting hand on his leg, “I don’t understand why they can’t simply be nice.
He scoffs next to you, rolling his eyes with a sardonic smile, “Wouldn’t be a real Gavey Christmas without snide comments, fucking losers.”
The evening continues in the same fashion and suddenly you understand why Michael has always been so defensive and eager to prove himself, you would be too in a family like this.
You can tell your boyfriend is operating on a very short fuse and offer him a placating smile every time you notice him clenching his jaw or notice his breathing pick up, chest heaving under his black suit jacket.
However, it’s finally a comment his father makes during dinner that sets him off. You’ve hardly started eating when it happens, with everyone sitting around the Gavey’s impressively large dining room table passing various dishes back and forth.
“So,” Mrs. Gavey started, giving Michael a pointed look as she refilled her glass of wine, “How were your marks this term?”
You glance down in time to see your boyfriend white knuckle his fork and quickly stroke a hand over his knee, which seems to help lessen his tension somewhat, thankfully.
“Distinctions,” he answers dryly, keeping his eyes fixed on the table, “Obviously.”
His mom simply nods, not offering any praise or even a generic, “Well done,” much to your surprise.
And a few seconds later, everything blows up.
“How’s that friend of yours doing?” Mr. Gavey butts in, setting his steak knife down as he speaks, “What was his name? Owen… Oscar, maybe?”
“Oliver.” Michael corrects him, so quickly and quietly that you’re surprised his dad even catches it.
“Oliver! Of course, and how’s he doing? Hm? You haven’t mentioned him in some time.”
There’s a beat of silence in which you fight the urge to kick Mr. Gavey under the table, knowing exactly where this would go.
“We don’t… talk anymore. I haven’t seen him for ages.” He grits out; his leg tenses up under your palm once again when his mother lets out a disappointed sigh, as if she were getting ready to scold a small child.
“Michael, honestly,” she starts with a small shake of her head, “It’s not good for you to be so socially isolated all the time.”
“I’m fine.”
“What about that other boy you used to go around with, hm?” His mom continues on, seemingly oblivious to his foul mood, “The one you were so close to in primary school, oh, he was lovely.”
“Felix, wasn’t it?” Mr. Gavey quips, “Whatever happened to him? I always thought he had such a good head on his shoulders.”
“He’s a cunt.” Your boyfriend seethes lowly, all but vibrating with rage as he spits each word out.
“What was that, dear?” His mom asks, none the wiser.
“He’s a cunt!” Michael exclaims, his fork clattering across the table as he tosses it down, scraping his chair back across the floor.
“Michael!” Mrs. Gavey chides, a horrified look on her normally placid face as she, quite literally, clutches at her pearls.
“If you’ll fucking excuse me.” Michael mutters, tossing his cloth napkin down onto the table with a dull thud before retreating from the table with a growl.
The silence that follows is deafening as everyone stays frozen at the table for a moment; you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the shell shocked expression on his grandmother’s face.
After a beat, Mr. and Mrs. Gavey begin falling all over themselves to apologize, awkwardly laughing as they make excuses for Michael, as if their bullying hadn’t made him snap.
“I’m gonna go check on him,” you say after a moment, giving polite smiles to his parents as you stand from the table, “Just to make sure he’s okay.”
“Of course, dear,” his mother nods sagely, ever the beacon of motherly wisdom, “We know how sensitive little Michael is.”
As soon as your back is turned you roll your eyes, nose wrinkling in disgust. Little Michael? What the fuck?
It only takes you a minute to locate him upstairs as you quickly spot the door to his childhood bedroom tightly closed. You smile sadly as you walk over to it, you pause for a moment before knocking softly.
“Michael?” You call, pressing an ear against the door, “You in there?” Your brows furrow when you hear a small sniffle from the other side of the door and your hand automatically goes to the doorknob, a sigh of relief leaving you when it easily turns.
Your heart breaks when you push the door open and peek inside, quickly spotting Michael on his bed, head in his hands, shoulders shaking.
“Oh,” you breathe, hastily closing the door as you let yourself into his room, “Michael.” You sigh, sitting beside him on his small twin bed and slinging an arm around his shoulders.
“M’fine…” He says softly, dejectedly.
“You are not,” you pull him to you, rubbing a hand over his bicep as you hold him closely, “No one would expect you to be, not after all that.”
He merely nods and tucks his head into your neck, sniffling sadly as his blond hair tickles your chin, one arm wraps around you while he busies himself with plucking lightly at the hem of your dress, running his finger over the smooth satin seam.
“You wanna talk about it?” You ask softly, pressing a sweet kiss to the crown of his head.
“Not tonight,” his voice is muffled slightly against your collarbone as he speaks, “Please.”
You nod, opting to stay quiet and simply hold him for the time being.
You don’t know how much time passes but eventually, he seems to calm down, at least his shoulders stop trembling and he stops rubbing at his eyes and sniffling.
Finally, once his breathing has evened out, you decide to speak up.
“They don’t deserve you.” You murmur, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your heart twisting when you see his beautiful blue eyes rimmed with red.
“Love…” He sighs, ready to fight you on it.
“That’s all I wanted to say,” you assure him quickly, “They don’t.”
You hold his face in your hands gently, studying him with a soft smile. He really did look delectable in his suit, so smartly put together and polished.
Michael must be feeling the same way, no doubt riding the small high that usually came after a solid rush of emotion. His eyes darken as he looks back at you, Adam’s apple bobbing enticingly in his throat as he swallows thickly.
You don’t know who moves first, unable to find it within yourself to care as his warm lips slot perfectly against your own.
A relieved groan sounds from his chest and his hands immediately come up to cup your waist, his thumbs rubbing appreciatively over the soft material of your dress as you shiver, already getting lost in his touch.
“Mikey,” you murmur, biting into your lower lip as he kisses down across your jaw, his hands scrambling to pull you into his lap, “S-Should we?” Your voice trembles as he gently sucks at the sensitive spot on your neck, drawing your mind further and further from the party taking place downstairs.
“Need you,” he rasps, unable to stop himself from smirking as you keen against him when he skirts his hands up your form to cup your breasts through your dress, your nipples already hard and wanting against the satin, “Just – I need you, love.”
He’s so desperate, you couldn’t say no and finally decide to throw caution to the wind. You smile triumphantly as you run your hands over his trim waist, tucking them under his jacket to get closer to him, savoring the feel of his warm skin even through the thin material of his button down.
Finally, you push the suit jacket off his shoulders and, needing to feel him against you, waste no time hastily undoing the buttons on his shirt, yanking it out from under his trousers and belt before quickly dropping both to the floor.
Apparently just as impatient, Michael chooses to simply push the thin straps of your dress off of your shoulders and growls deeply when your dress falls down your chest, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. Without missing a beat, he pulls you closer to him, groaning as your core presses tightly against his still-clothed erection. As soon as your chest is level with his face, he mouths at the underside of your breast, cupping the other in his hand. He peers up at you through his glasses, already fogging up against his cheeks, as he wraps his pink lips around your nipple and gingerly sucks it into his mouth, groaning against your supple skin at the breathy moan you let out.
You hold his head against your chest, fingers gripping tightly at his short hair as your head tilts back, small whimpers and whines escaping past your lips as you try your best to stay quiet. Your hips seem to move of their own accord, rocking against him as he worships your breasts.
“Michael,” you whimper, your core clenching tightly when you look down and take in his flushed face. You press your lips against his again, frantically kissing him as your tongue invades his mouth, “What do you want?”
“You.” His reply is automatic, his hands kneading greedily at your tits as he stares up at you, bare chest already heaving.
You can’t help but chuckle a little, pride blooming in your chest at the fact that he’s already this strung out. Nevertheless, you give a quick shake of your head, smirking when he whines impatiently.
“How do you want me, Mikey?”
The desperate look behind his eyes softens instantly, his pink lips parting enough to reveal the tiniest sliver of his front teeth. Somehow, he blushes more and just barely shakes his head at you, swallowing thickly like he always does when he’s flustered.
“Can you be on top?” He asks quietly, blue eyes flitting between yours behind his gold-rimmed glasses, “I just – I don’t have it in me to be daddy tonight, love.” He confesses quickly.
You chuckle again, always impressed with him when he shows his more vulnerable side, and instantly you nod, cupping his soft cheeks again.
“Of course I can do that,” you keep your voice soft, even the small kiss you give him is soft, “Lay back for me, yeah? I don’t wanna wait.”
Nodding eagerly, he doesn’t waste time and leans back on the narrow bed, helping you climb atop him as he does. He groans appreciatively as you settle on his hips, licking his lips as he stares up at you. He watches as your breasts heave with every breath while his hands trace down over your hips to cup your ass.
“You’re so beautiful, love,” he murmurs, tugging your dress up over your bum before kneading the supple flesh, watching intently as you whimper above him, “So soft and pretty and fuck– fucking perfect.” He finishes with a growl, blue eyes rolling back when you rock down against him.
Heat courses through your veins at his words and you hurry to undo his belt, the metal buckle tinkling softly in the quiet of his bedroom as you push it to the side, too frantic to bother to pull it off him entirely. Your fingers quickly find the button of his trousers and you all but yank them open the second you have the zipper undone, sighing happily as his hard cock bobs against his stomach, the head already flushed and steadily leaking.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans, his back arching a little with the relief of his erection finally being freed, “Y’gonna ride me, princess?”
“Mhm,” you nod with a smirk, wiggling on his lap as you situate yourself perfectly above his length, “You deserve to be taken care of, Michael.” You coo softly, bending forward a little to pull your lacy underwear to the side, not having the patience to properly remove them.
Your comment seems to have gone to your boyfriend’s head and you smirk when you feel his cock jump up, twitching against your center as a soft groan leaves him. You bite your lip when you grab his length, loving how warm it felt in your hand. Carefully, you position him at your dripping center and slot the head against your entrance.
Both of you moan in unison as you sink down slowly, his thick length filling you completely as your hips finally press against his.
“Goddammit,” he curses, roughly grabbing your ass as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep himself anchored even though he knows in the back of his mind it’s useless with how tightly you’re gripping him, “You feel so fucking good, pretty girl, fucking love this sweet little cunt.”
His praises go straight to your core and you clench around him, somehow tighter, making him grunt underneath you. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you start moving your hips over him, using your thighs to push off of his lap before sinking back down, whining when you feel the head of his cock press perfectly against that delicious little spot inside you.
“You’re so good, Mikey, fuck,” you pant, fighting to keep your eyes open to savor each expression that crosses his flushed face, “Y-You feel so perfect, holy shit, everything about you is perfect.”
He groans deeply, lower lip trembling as he stares up at you in awe, brows furrowed as he takes in every inch of you. Blue eyes trace slowly over your form, lingering on your face before looking over your breasts. He swallows thickly as he pauses to watch them bounce tantalizingly, matching every one of your thrusts against him. Eventually, he looks down and moans softly, watching your slick pussy move over his length.
“Yeah, princess?” He encourages, making you smile softly as you realize how badly he needs this, how badly he needs to be told how good he is.
“Y-Yeah, shit,” you whimper, head spinning when he leans up to lick over one of your nipples, gently suckling at the bud as you continue, “You’re the best, Michael, fuck – best boyfriend, you’re so smart and s-so precious and f-funny and – and God!”
You practically squeal when his thumb comes down to rub at your clit, your eyes crossing at the sudden jolt of pleasure that washes over you.
“I love you, holy fuck,” you huff, thighs burning as you move somehow quicker over him, “I love you, I love – oh, shit – everything about you.” Your voice is hoarse as you breathe through soft pants, practically squirming on top of him as your head spins every time he circles his thumb over you.
“I love you too, princess,” he hums, pulling you down for a quick, desperate kiss, “You’re so damn good to me.”
“You deserve it,” you say quickly, swallowing as you pant above him, your heart hammering wildly in your chest, “You deserve everything, Michael, you’re so, so good.”
He growls at that, lips parting as he watches you. He keeps circling a thumb over your clit but fans the rest of his fingers out, holding your hip more securely. You hardly have time to think before you squeak in surprise, gasping as he begins rutting his hips up into you, the tip of his cock hitting your sensitive spot at a dizzying speed.
“O-Oh, shit!” You huff, eyes wide and wild, “Michael, Mikey, I –” You cut yourself off with a loud cry, too loud given the circumstances, but your brain whites out the second he reaches up and wraps a hand around your throat, not tightly enough to choke you but enough to hold you steady above him.
“Y’close, love?” He pants, smirking when you quickly nod, “Fucking cum with me, princess, shit, you fucking deserve it.” He hisses through clenched teeth.
All you can do is obey, your fingernails digging harshly into his shoulders as your high finally washes over you. You freeze, tensing up above him as you cry out, uncaring for the party below as your cunt clenches tightly around his length, rhythmically milking him.
“Shit, shit, fuck,” he grunts beneath you, eyes rolling back as he feels your walls contracting around his cock, drawing his own high from him as well, “Good girl, good girl.” He praises before finally cumming with a snarl. You whimper when you feel him twitch inside you, coating your walls with his thick spend.
The two of you lay panting for a while, neither of you wanting to get up or break the spell of the safe little bubble you seem to be stuck in as you lazily press kisses against whatever bits of skin you can reach.
Eventually, the sound of holiday music seems to float up to you from downstairs, along with the sounds of laughter and loud conversation. In the background, you can just barely make out the sound of wrapping paper tearing and taped boxes being pulled open.
“Sounds like it’s time for gifts,” you muse, tracing shapes on Michael’s chest as he holds you to him, softening length still buried within you, “You wanna join them again?”
He hums softly and shakes his head no with a small smile before tilting his head to look at you, his glasses sitting slightly crooked on his nose as he studies your flushed face. One hand rubs soothingly over your back as he holds you tightly to him, relishing the way your soft skin feels against him.
“Don’t need any gifts from those entitled idiots,” he laughs softly and leans down just enough to press a soft, sweet kiss to your forehead, “I have the most perfect gift right here with me already.”
tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel @avidreader73 @marvelescvpe @imawhorecrux @grsveeth0m @rae-11 @ms-morningstaarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolfdressedinlace @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc
(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)
#michael gavey#michael gavey x reader#michael gavey x you#michael gavey fanfiction#michael gavey fanfic#michael gavey smut#saltburn#saltburn fanfiction#saltburn fanfic#saltburn smut#fanfiction#fanfic#smut#my writing#12 days of smuff
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finished dead boy detectives!!! (spoilers ahead!)
quick disclaimer: i haven’t gotten around to the comics yet but i’ve been very interested since the sandman came out and i do plan on reading them eventually lol.
- edwin is my new blorbo cutie and i too would go to hell for him. also, his style is immaculate, exactly how i want to dress all the time.
- i am SO sad about niko. but i’m glad that it seems like she’s not totally gone? i hope she’s not an antagonist in the next series (the ending was a touch ominous), but i’ll honestly be happy either way. it’s so rare to find good western-japanese characters. it made me incredibly happy when she switched into a japanese accent when saying “osaka” because it’s something i recognise in my family and in me. i know people from lots of different backgrounds do that with words from their own languages, but i’d never seen a japanese character do it before so i was very tickled.
- charles. man. please fall in love with edwin. how tf are you quite literally dragging him out of hell and he confesses to you and you look him in the eyes and say that you love him but you’re not in love with him. i mean that’s the best possible way he could’ve gone about it, but if i were edwin i might just have gone back down to the doll face spider thing.
- i hope that crystal’s past doesn’t land her in jail or anything. i really like her dynamic with the others but i’m not sold on her and charles romantically, mostly because edwin is so fucking sweet and i don’t want his heart to be broken. he’ll be happy if charles is happy, but i cannot stand see him get hurt even the tiniest bit.
- jenny is amazing. she’s literally me fr. also i love how she just hands people cleavers.
- i found the night nurse’s breakdown when she was in angie’s stomach very relatable. i feel like that a lot lmao. and i love her accent. i will go to bat for my own weird ass culchie irish/valley girl hybrid, but if had to pick another accent…
- i need a wise and eternal south asian man to talk me down from the ledge. it’s almost finals week and a ring from kashina would be a big help.
- tragic mick (top tier wordplay name) is a sweetheart and i hope he gets to be a walrus again eventually. my first reaction when i saw the cat king was “oh my god, it’s the piss kink guy from You!” but that aside, he was ok in the end. so was monty. i hope the night nurse can help crystal drag david the demon back down to hell.
#dead boy detectives#renew dead boy detectives#i need more!#netflix don’t be evil please#i willl never forget or forgive what they did to the oa#george rexstrew#jayden revri#kassius nelson#yuyu kitamura#briana cuoco#the sandman#tom sturridge#kirby howell baptiste#neil gaiman#to boost:#good omens#david tennant#michael sheen#and technically the two of them are in the sandman universe so#starlightseraph’s brainrot
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