#I’m gnawing off my arm rn

[evanbuckleysarms]

With everything released this week - I can’t help but think of Karen’s speech to Hen in “Tomorrow” when reconciling their relationship in the flashback, while Hen works on restoring her rhythm in the back of the ambulance.

“Because I thought you were dead. When Howie called, there was a moment when I thought you died in that accident. When I felt like I’d lost you forever. And it scared me. To think of you being gone. Never having a chance to fix things or try again. It’s not [too late]. As long as we are both here on this earth… as long as we have tomorrow… it’s not too late”

I can’t stop thinking about the potential for a parallel scene in 6x10…

[mossflower]

okay not dropping out 👍

[cowboycereal]

asked my mom what time we were going to get out on the road and she went “oh i don’t know! :) i’m not telling u it’s more fun that way” i am about to start screaming.

[gothgoblinbabe]

hiyaa <333 just wanted to drop a Logan request here.. (pref from the ver of the x-men, 2000?) because it's always like sunshine reader this and grumpy/mean logan that (i luv them btw) but what about cool!reader. what about the reader that can and will not put the cocky shit he is on his place but keep him there??? what about the reader that tames him down, the reader that casually grabs the back of his shirt to keep him from launching himself at Scott with a deadpan face, the one that lets him bite??? the one that will literally outmatch his agressive and violent energy????? the one that grabs his wrist when his claws go out and quirks an eyebrow at him like 'really?'???? like pls we do seriously need a bit of a level-head/intermediator!reader with Logan (can be smut if u feel like it?) 🙏🙇 fem if possible <33

IM KICKING MY FEET SO HARD RN OMG, I also love grumpy Logan x sunshine reader but being w someone that matches his energy? Oh my god, that’s my shit

NSFW/18+ // This isn’t like a full oneshot ig but if you do want that with plot and stuff lmk!)

- Within the first few months of meeting each other, everyone would definitely tease Logan (and you) about how you’re like the female version of him. You don’t put up with anyone’s shit, including his. He learned that the hard way, nearly being knocked on his ass when you yanked the back of his jacket to prevent him from ripping Scott to shreds because of some stupid comment. That wasn’t a one time occurrence, either. You were the only one bold enough to actually try to put him in his place when the claws came out, going as far as to use both hands to hold his wrist in place while you glared up at him.

“Chill the fuck out, would you?”

And the first time you had the balls to actually do that, everyone else stood back in mild fear, anticipating some kind of fight between the two of you. Instead, he rolled his eyes and retracted his claws. It was an unusual influence you had over him, something about you that made him feel hypnotized.

- He’ll never admit it to another soul, but he definitely likes that you’re dominant over him at times when you have to cool him down. Grabbing his arm, pushing him back - lightly tugging at his hair if you really couldn’t get his attention. He likes when you put him in his place, get a little rough with him or talk in an angry tone.

- And because I’m a sucker for friends to lovers, I think he’d be so head over heels for you because of that. He’d try his best to be stone faced when you were stern with him, but he’d be gnawing on his bottom lip to the point of drawing blood.

- Same thing with training: If you actually manage to wrestle him down to the mat, he knows he can push you off if he really wants to, but he never does - he gets way too engrossed in staring up at you while you straddle his lap and hold his arms down.

- Though Logan wasn’t always levelheaded, he could return the favor of holding you back when you got too aggressive, wrapping his arms around the middle of your waist and pulling you back - sometimes even having to lift you off the ground and sling you over his shoulder. Truthfully, he’d let you tear someone apart if it were up to him - the assholes usually deserve it - but he knew it would be frowned upon to not stop you.

- I think when you somehow do admit your feelings - maybe you get pissed when he puts himself in danger and just tell him you love him or he does the same when he starts to become a little too jealous of anyone else hanging around near you - he’d always have his hands on you in some way. Maybe the small of your back, your hands, your wrist - anything. And the jealousy thing? Oh, forget it, he won’t even let another guy stand too close to you. He’s not toxic (maybe if you wanted him to be🫣) but very protective, he’ll let another guy talk to you if he’s gotta but his hand is in your back pocket the entire time while he stares the dude down.

- Angry sex is a regular occurrence. Are you really mad at each other? Not even close, but it doesn’t take much more than a few choice words exchanged in the hall for Logan to be dragging you into the nearest room with a lock, holding you up against the wall and drilling into you till he has to hold a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. There were definitely a handful of times you’d almost been caught, trying to babble out an excuse about being busy to whoever was behind the door while your leg was hiked over Logan’s shoulder, messily eating you out with your skirt bunched up at your waist.

- Overall I think you’d make a good pair, keeping each other in balance when one of you gets a little feral (though, let’s be honest, it’s definitely usually you having to hold him back).

Like I said if you want more of that concept or like something w plot pls lmk!! Absolutely love the idea 🫶🏻

[k0yaz]

hello hi sorry i know your inbox is probably super full rn 😭 but can i request a one-shot of arlecchino comforting female reader while they have a panic attack, preferably without specifying the reason for it if that’s okay <3

burning flame.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, panic attacks, big anxiety wow, it’s a rlly short oneshot sorry, this is off my own experience of what ik of a panic attack so I apologize if what you were hoping for is a little different i hope i covered atleast the fundamentals of it, soft arle yay, symbolism woah, wlw, fluff, not proofread.

A/N: More arlefreaky content yayayayaya this actually turned out really good I’m proud 🕯️

“There you go, breathe.”

Arlecchino’s calloused hand pressed flat against your chest as she whispered to you in hushed tone, heart thudding against your chest so quickly and violently that she could feel it against her hand. Still, she didn’t budge, pushing her hand further up as it grazed the cloth of your shirt along your skin. Your mind still spun as a storm continued to brew up within you, vision all blurry and your surroundings unclear. You begin to question where you were, only able to hear the fervent beats of your pulsing heart and shaky breaths emanating from you.

However, Arlecchino’s hand didn’t budge from your chest, keeping firm despite your intemperate heartbeat pounding so viciously, as if it was actively clashing against her palm. Shallow breaths fanned over her blackened hand, your uncontrolled hiccups and wide eyes making you jolt with each rough jerk of your body. You nearly tumbled forward as it grew hard to maintain any semblance of tranquility, both within your messy thoughts and your surroundings.

The harbinger’s broad arms circling your waist and hemming you into her grasp slowly began to subside the intense whirlwind of dread swallowing your subconscious whole, making your breaths become more drawn in and elaborate. Yet that awful unrest and distress resumed to gnaw at you continuously. Arlecchino didn’t take long to notice this, proceeding to trace your tensed up muscles from the collarbone down, outlining your silhouette slowly.

“Deep breaths, (Name).”

Flickers of light above outstretched your own shadow before you, causing you to nearly stray away from Arlecchino’s easing words, yet you did as she instructed, drawing in a deep intake of air through your nostrils and pushing it out of your lips. “There you go. Keep doing that. And focus on my hands.” She asserted, giving a gentle nudge to your shoulders and coaxing you to relax them.

You complied, lowering your hunched shoulders and fixing your mind to feel her nails gliding along your skin from the way she held you, back flush against her chest.

Repeating each deep breath, you gradually found yourself slowly fluttering your eyes open, submerged in a mellow sense of comfort flooding your senses. Your squinted gaze weakly shifted over to the flickering candle rested atop the bedside table, its flame jittering in the blink of an eye repeatedly. You leaned further into Arlecchino’s touch, seeking her warmth as her hand shifted to rest atop your head.

You were strangely similar to this alluring candle, your brightness always flickered with each gust of wind threatening to erase your flame of a soul in a seemingly endless battle. However, Arlecchino stood with you through thick and thin, at your worst and at your best. No matter how you saw it, Arlecchino was your burning flame, who kindled the wick of your candle. She was the lighter to your flame.

“Feeling any better?” Arlecchino mused, glancing down at your slumped body as she continued to hold you. You only gave a quiet and exhausted nod in response, signaling that you wanted to rest with her for a bit.

No matter what, she‘ll always be there for you.

A/N: I LOVE HOW THIS ONE TURNED OUT PERSONALLY WAWAWAW also I hope that you’re doing well anon and that you’ll get through whatever you’re going through <33

[pandapetals]

Stay With Me

old man logan x fem!reader - angst, set during logan film, logan injured, established relationship, mentions of death, no y/n used, no reader description, hopeful ending

a/n: sorry for writing this shit. i'm emotional rn due to my period and being sick.

Logan comes back injured again and you debate whether you should stay or leave because you can't keep watching him kill himself.

read on Ao3

The blazing sun prickled sweat from your skin as a gust of hot wind swept across the barren landscape, stirring up dust and sand. This was the middle of nowhere—a wasteland, forgotten by the rest of the world—but it was your home now. Isolated, bleak, but safe. At least, it was supposed to be.

Your arms were crossed, eyes scanning the horizon, searching for the familiar black limo. It had been days since you last saw Logan, and the worry gnawing at the pit of your stomach was becoming unbearable. You knew he wasn’t doing well. His healing factor was fading, almost gone, and each time he returned, there were new scars. New wounds that didn’t close as quickly. Grey streaked through his hair now, more prominent with every visit, and his eyes... his once-sharp, steely gaze was dulled by spotty vision.

The question haunted you, whether you wanted to admit it or not—How much longer can he survive like this? Would he even last another year? Another month?

You should’ve been inside, checking on Charles. Instead, you were out here, frozen in place by the gnawing fear that today, Logan wouldn’t return at all. And if he did... how bad would it be this time?

You spotted it just as your mind began to spiral with worst-case scenarios. The black limo, limped along the horizon, dust trailing behind it like a funeral procession. The familiar knot of dread tightened in your chest as you watched the car slowly crawl toward the makeshift home you’d built out here. He had made it back—but something told you this wouldn’t be a quick recovery.

When the limo finally came to a stop, the door creaked open, and Logan practically spilled out onto the cracked earth. Your heart jumped in your throat as you rushed over to him, your feet moving before you could even think. His body was slumped, his clothes torn and stained with blood. Too much blood. You could see the jagged gashes across his arms, his chest, his side. Deep cuts that weren’t healing.

“Logan!” you called out, voice tight with panic as you dropped to your knees beside him.

He groaned, brushing you off with a grunt as he tried to push himself up. “I’m fine,” he rasped, his voice rough and ragged, like gravel scraping together.

“You’re not fine,” you snapped, your hands hovering over his injuries, unsure of where to start. His body was a mess of torn flesh and bruises, the telltale signs of another fight he couldn’t fully walk away from. “Logan, you’re bleeding everywhere.”

Logan let out a pained chuckle, his lips curling into a grimace. “It’s just a scratch, darlin’.”

You glared at him, frustration bubbling up as you struggled to keep your emotions in check. How many times had he said that? How many times had he limped through that door, barely holding himself together, only to shrug it off like it was nothing? This time was different. You could see it in his eyes—the exhaustion, the pain. He was getting worse, and it terrified you.

“Let me patch you up,” you muttered, your voice softer now but still laced with anger. “You’re not invincible anymore, Logan.”

He didn’t argue, which in itself was alarming. Instead, he just gave a slight nod and allowed you to help him to his feet, his weight heavy against your side. You guided him inside, to the small, cluttered living space where the first-aid kit was always waiting.

Logan collapsed into the nearest chair, his breathing labored as you grabbed the supplies and knelt beside him. His blood-soaked shirt clung to his skin, and you winced as you peeled it back, revealing the extent of the damage. Gashes deep enough to need stitches, burns, bruises—he looked like he’d been through hell and barely crawled out alive.

You worked in silence for a while, cleaning the wounds, stitching up the deepest cuts. Logan winced here and there, but otherwise stayed quiet, his gaze far away, lost in whatever battle he’d just fought. His hand rested limply on his knee, trembling slightly.

“Logan, you can’t keep doing this,” you said after a long stretch of silence, your voice strained with the weight of all the worry, all the fear you’d been holding back. “You’re not healing like you used to. I... I can’t keep watching you come back like this. You’re dying.”

He grunted, barely acknowledging your words. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not!” you snapped, the frustration finally boiling over. You paused, trying to steady yourself, but the tears that had been threatening to fall stung at your eyes. “I’m scared, Logan. I’m scared that one day, you won’t come back. That I’ll lose you. And you won’t even care.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, refusing to meet your eyes. “I’ve been through worse.”

You stared at him for a long moment, shaking your head. “That doesn’t make this okay.”

Logan remained silent, his face set in a hard, stubborn mask, like he always did when he didn’t want to talk about his mortality, about how much time he had left. It was the same damn argument every time. He would dismiss it, pretend it didn’t matter, and you would let it go because you couldn’t force him to care. But this time, it was different. You couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine, not when his body was falling apart right in front of you.

“I can’t watch you like this,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I can’t keep patching you up and pretending you’ll just walk it off like before. You’re not invincible anymore, Logan, and if you keep going like this... I’m gonna lose you.”

Logan didn’t respond. He just closed his eyes, his breathing heavy and labored, as though every word you said weighed him down more.

Eventually, exhaustion took over, and Logan’s body slumped in the chair. He’d fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. You stood there for a long moment, watching him—watching the man who had been your strength, your anchor, slowly fall apart.

Your heart ached with the weight of everything unsaid, but you knew you couldn’t stay. Not if this was how it was going to be. Not if he was going to keep killing himself and expect you to watch him die a little more each day.

As you zipped up the bag, you heard a low, gravelly voice behind you.

“Where are you goin’?”

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. Slowly, you turned around to see Logan standing in the doorway, his hand gripping the frame for support. His face was pale, his body still weak, but his eyes... they were wide with something you hadn’t seen in a long time. Fear.

“I can’t do this, Logan,” you said softly, the words catching in your throat. “I can’t watch you die.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he limped toward you, his body swaying slightly as he fought against the pain. “You’re not leaving.”

“I have to,” you said, your voice trembling. “I can’t just sit here and watch you destroy yourself.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grab your arm, though his grip was weak. “I can’t lose you,” he rasped, his voice breaking with desperation. “I’ve lost... I’ve lost everyone. I can’t lose you too.”

Your heart clenched at his words, the raw vulnerability in his voice. Logan never let himself get emotional—he always held everything at arm’s length, especially when it came to his own feelings. But here he was, standing in front of you, broken and desperate, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re killing yourself, Logan,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision. “I can’t keep watching you like this. I can’t.”

“I’ll take care of myself,” he promised, his voice rough but full of urgency. “I swear. I’ll do better. Just... don’t go. I need you.”

You stared at him, your heart torn between the overwhelming love you had for him and the fear of what staying would mean. But the way he looked at you, the pain in his eyes... he wasn’t lying. He was afraid of losing you and he was letting his guard down to show you.

“You promise?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Logan nodded, his hand squeezing yours. “I promise.”

For a long moment, you stood there, the weight of his words settling between you. Then, slowly, you let out a breath before dropping the bag to the floor.

“Okay,” you whispered, stepping into his arms, feeling the familiar warmth of his embrace as he held you close. “Okay.”

Logan held you tightly, his breathing ragged but steady as you allowed yourself to believe him.

[ascendingtostardust]

Dev why the fuck would you post this???? what is wrong with you?????

ummm his EYES ??? ROLLING BACK IN HIS HEAD LIKE THAT ?? (x)

[milliesfishes]

I’m down bad on my period rn, perchance, should you have time and the want to, might you write a little something… like I’m such a grump on my period and I snap at everything, maybe one where the girl had really bad back cramps or something and has to do all her chores and she snaps at Billy???? And she doesn’t even immediately apologise, like she tells him to piss off when he’s being affectionate and she’s trying to do her chores - and it’s really not personal, but idk.

Also It would suck to have to deal with that back then because I mean they barely had period products if at all.

Anyway don’t feel like you have to do exactly that, anything will do I’m not picky THANK YOUUU

I’m also on my period rn anon this was perfect timing <3 ౨ৎyou snap at billy while on your period౨ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Wearied by the symptoms of what felt like your monthly punishment for lack of pregnancy, you were at your wit’s end.

Where everything had been sunny and bright before you began to bleed, the weeklong misery emerged from the crevices of your womanhood and dragged your vision of the world down to the depths of any good graces. You were dragging through your chores, the sun beating your already mangled body. The sharp flashes of pain in your lower back and belly made it impossible to focus for longer than a few minutes.

Upset at yourself for hardly completing a lengthy list of tasks that should have been done by now combined with the discomfort that had ailed you all day and hormones swimming around your mind, your mood was soured quicker than an unripe apple. Your body was heavy, feet filled with sand or concrete.

The pain was most prominent in your back. It twisted around your spine, ebbing and flowing in a way that would give you hope of it being over only for it to crash back in full force; ocean waves pounding against a rock. As you swept the porch you tried your hand at ignoring it as it pulsed near your hips. It was an untamable thing, demanding attention and heightening when it didn’t receive it.

The broom clattered against the wooden floor as the hand that had been holding it pressed a thumb and index finger right to your eyes. Frustratedly, you clenched your elbow with the fingers of the other, hand, utter discomfort piercing you like a cruel dagger.

This was the torment and burden of womanhood passed down generations, seeming to sharpen its teeth with every new girl. And now it was sinking its fangs into you, no regard for what you were trying to maintain.

In your agony you hardly noticed the approaching figure in the distance wearing a lopsided grin and a time-worn hat. Bending down painstakingly to retrieve the broom, you continued sweeping slowly, dragging the bristles across the porch and gathering the dust and dirt settled there.

The sharp feeling was gnawing at your spine when you felt a pair of arms slide around your figure, drawing you into a warm, solid figure like the sun. Billy leaned over and kissed your cheek, but you kept sweeping, twinged with annoyance that he was interrupting your chores. Another day you would have promptly abandoned them in favor of jumping into his arms. But your immense pain and anger with yourself for your lack of productivity got the best of you. "Billy."

"Everythin' alright, darlin'?" he asked, nudging your cheek with his nose. You said nothing, merely stepping out of his grasp to get another section.

His surprise was evident even in the silence. Beneath the layers of hurt and irritation you felt guilt begin to sprout. Billy hadn't done anything wrong, and it wasn't fair of you to take out what you were feeling on him. But pain is a finnicky thing, and it defied any logic you may have let take the lead on a good day.

"Whatsa matter, baby?" He leaned against the porch railing, frowning and folding his arms. "Didja-"

"Could you please stop?" you whipped your head around, eyes narrowed. "I haven't gotten any chores done and I-" You cut yourself off, lower lip trembling as you realized what you'd done. Eyes widening, you gripped the broom handle like a vice, taking a step back.

Immediately Billy caught on, and he stepped forward, taking the broom from your hand and setting it away. There wasn't any hurt in his eyes, not even under the surface. "Baby..."

Bringing your hands to your cheeks, you covered it, a slight gasp drawing from your lips. Guilt and anger with yourself overwhelmed you. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Shh," Billy hushed, his big palm finding the crown of your head. He pulled you in by the waist to lean against his chest. "'S okay. 'S okay sweetheart. I ain't mad. Deep breaths, c'mon. Deep breaths."

You leaned your head against his chest, clenching his shirt between your fingers. He dropped his lips to the top of your head, burying his nose there. "My girl...what happened?"

Eyes welling up, you succumbed to his everlasting comfort, the slats of the fence you tried to hold up crumbling with his touch. Billy had such an effect on you. He disarmed you in every way, throwing flowers to your thorns and clearing all your smoke. "I-I- started...my monthly...and...it hurts."

Instantly he was gathering you up, taking you inside and setting you to rest on the couch on his lap. Billy tucked your head into his shoulder, pressing his lips to your head. "Where's it hurtin', sweet girl?"

"M-my back...and my..." you blubbered into him.

"Awh," he murmured, big hand rubbing circles into your lower back. "Belly hurtin' too?"

"Uh huh." Your words were muffled by his chest, and he nodded, thick fingers gently working over your back.

"My poor baby," Billy cooed, sliding one palm beneath your belly button. "Hurtin' so bad..."

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," you sniffled, lifting your head. His fingers kneaded the small of your back as he took in your teary eyes, burdened by the awful hormones coursing through your body.

"Aww, my angel." Billy eased you to lie down on the couch beside him, nestled into your spot in his arms. As always you fit there perfectly, like you were created together and then separated, scattered to the corners of the earth to try and find each other again. "It's okay. You're hurtin', ain't no fault 'f yours."

He rubbed your back in a tranquil way until your eyes drifted shut, comforted by the feel of his arms. Billy always knew how to bring you from the deep end, pulling you up for air.

When you rubbed your eyes, finally awakening, he was kneeling beside you, irises tender as he watched you wake. Thumb rubbing the side of your face, he whispered, "How're ya doin', angel baby?"

The previously knife-like pain had dulled, barely throbbing against the creases of your back and corners of your belly. Blinking sleepily, you shifted on your side comfortably. "Better." Then a spark of panic lit in you, and your elbows supported you as you lifted yourself up. "My chores-"

"Just finished 'em up," he assured you, hand holding your cheek. "You shouldn't have to lift a damn finger when you ain't feelin' good."

Smiling gratefully, you wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning into him. "Thank you."

"Ain't a problem, my love." Billy stroked your spine lightly, soothing any leftover aching. "I always know somethin's off when my sweet girl's upset."

There in the space of his arms, you found that the horrible beast of pain had quieted, silenced by your lover's embrace. Your body's incontrollable aspects answered to him, quieting when he said so you could be free from any suffering.

"Sweetest girl in the west," Billy mumbled into you, his voice nearly lilted. "I can handle a little snap cause my girl's such an angel anyways."

[sophsiaaa]

sorry to hop in your askbox but my Tolkien mutuals will riot if I make one more Shigaraki post and this new chapter has me gnawing my arm off in distress. what is happening. on his birthday?? (i know the chapter isn't actually happening on April 4th in-universe but still) whatever you don't think about how he probably has had a maximum of two good birthdays that he can remember assuming his dad didn't somehow ruin those, too. I have been thinking about that. and it is upsetting.

OH MY GOD, no I’m glad I’m not the only one in distress rn.

At this point I bet horikoshi is just sitting back smiling about all the pain he’s caused with this chapter. And like on shigarakis birthday??? This man cannot catch a break. But I do have a feeling that shigaraki will be back - like surely. Because if this is it then that is such an unsatisfying ending for him and for deku and I will be buying a flight to Japan to go speak with horikoshi personally.

[tojisun]

Sun!, I would like to start by saying that I greatly admire your talent and ability to write. The way you are able to create stories, is simply fascinating. Every word you put on paper seems to have a unique intensity and depth. Your writing conveys such strong and immersive emotions that it feels like I can feel every feeling, every shiver, and every moment of tension. It's incredible how you capture these elements and convey them in such a vivid and impactful way.

One Of The Girls reminds me of the early stages of the reader's 'relationship' with toxic!biker!simon. Where the reader wants to be one of the girls and fully immerse themselves in Simon's life, even if it's just scraps of an unhealthy love (that never was).

Daylight, oh my God, it's the mid-stage, where the reader is not just with Simon because of his looks... But because she loves him, but at the same time she discovers how much he harms her, but she doesn't want to leave him, she can't, because she always goes back.

Elastic Heart is their final stage in the relationship... As you yourself said, sun, my sunshine. The reader will have a happy ending, but not with Simon. It's when she will realize that their "Relationship" was never so healthy.

So, sun!, look, my future husband, Leon Kennedy. Shhhh... Simon can't know-. But I've already moved on from toxic!biker!Simon-.

This is my husband, my current obsession, the muscles-.

oh my god mocha?? thank you so much for such kind words– im genuinely melting, giggling underneath my blanket and kicking my legs because of how thoughtful and kind this!! because of how thoughtful and kind you are!! im seriously speechless, unable to think past the giddiness rushing through me like, thank you again sweet luv <33

i am so so happy that u enjoy my works! that somehow, along my ramblings and run-ons, i was able to convey the emotions of a specific scene/fic :’> im glad that u get to enjoy interpreting it too!! (especially because biker!simon became such an endearing group project that i adore. i get so heart-achingly happy when i see ur guys’ asks n links n tags!!!)

time for the songs:

OH MY GOD??? ONE OF THE GIRLS BEING READER BEGGING SIMON FOR A SCRAP OF HIS AFFECTION – “we don’t gotta be in love / i don’t gotta be the one / i just wanna be one of the girls tonight” – OH I AM UNWELL!! and the way the song fully presents their ‘relationship’: how it’s a plea from the reader, how she tries finding love from him in something thats only physical and ephemeral, how he extends an inkling affection only to pull away and leave her with nothing. again.

(heaving so bad rn)

I DIDNT EXPECT DAYLIGHT TO BE PART OF THE TOXIC BIKER SERIES BUT I SEE IT SO CLEARLY!! “oh i love it and hate it at the same time” – the way she knows their arrangement is harmful to her, and the way she knows it’s laughable and pathetic how she’s always the one doing the running and waiting, but she can’t stop because when simon calls her, sometimes she thinks it’s love. AND the part that goes “hiding all of our sins from the daylight / … / you and i drink poison from the same vine” SHOWING THE WAY SIMON NEVER BRINGS HER TO HIS HOME. AND HOW SIMON, for all his tomfoolery and bitching, GRAVITATES TOWARDS HER. HOW HE COMES BACK TO HER TOO.

(im probably gonna gnaw my lip off at this point from how much im biting)

SIA AND ELASTIC HEART IS ALSO SMTHN I DIDNT EXPECT IN THE ROSTER AND YET IT MAKES SENSE HOLY SHIT. “you did not break me (but) i’m still fighting for peace” IS READER WHEN SHE MET PRICE HELLO? the way she was hesitant to trust him. hesitant to like him because she thought, ‘not again’. but then price shows her how it is to be loved. to be prioritized. to be cared for. and yeah she starts letting go of simon and starts forging a relationship with price and!!! SHE WILL BE HAPPY I PROMISE.

(i feel like a marionette. untethered and floaty because this whole.. meta? is so fucking good oh my god)

-

THATS LEON KENNEDY? UM. THE ARMS? THE CHEST?? THE HARNESS??? THE HAIR????

pause.

THE BIKE?????

somethings shifting in my brain hold on hold on hold on hol

[les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques]

A little of what I’m working on rn:

The question of purpose followed Erik into the following Friday evening, as Augustine sat before his easel in a faded armchair, naked save for the Persian robe falling off her shoulders and a blindfold snugly tied over her eyes. Her fingertips were steepled beneath her chin, her back as straight as a pin. The only hint of feminine modesty on her was the way her ankles lightly crossed over one another. She had fallen into the pose naturally over the course of the night, between the wine and the conversation. Far be it for him to change it, despite how unnecessary it was to completing his studies for the grand staircase.

She must mean a lot to you.

God damn Garnier’s voice. He realized, with an ache in his heart, how easily they both let themselves fall into such familiarities—the way Augustine would quietly undress before letting him cover her eyes without so much as being asked. How she would bend herself over the sofa, laughing, as he picked up his charcoal and settled onto his stool. If she ever questioned his methods or intentions in the making of such tableaus, he never noticed.

Instead, he watched with timorous yearning as she smiled at his direction and worried her lower lip between her teeth in anticipation. All of this, and he was free to sit there and drink her in, his face bare. There was no need to be clever—no need to distract her from his appearance with pithy words or painful music. There was only the two of them—a monster and a moll—sitting in a tatty parlor, tiptoeing around contentment together.

A stray thought, mad as the moon, passed through him: How I wish she could actually see me now. The idea seized upon Erik so suddenly and unexpectedly that he forgot the easel in front of him, the charcoal slipping from his fingers before snapping in half upon the floor.

“Is something wrong?” There was mischief in Augustine’s question, a normally despicable trait made wonderful by her voice. How right she was: there was something wrong. He cleared his throat.

“Not at all. I was distracted.”

She laughed again and uncrossed her ankles, before lifting her right foot to sit upon an arm rest. Her jaw remained perched upon her hands, her bare desire shimmering in the lamp light, as soft and silken as the robe on her shoulders.

“And now? Do I have your attention?”

The brazen woman. It was not his fault his feet took him from the easel to directly in front of where she sat, his shin bumping against her knee; he was so close that he felt the heat of her skin through his own clothes.

“I’m not paying you to make creative decisions on my behalf.” A jagged smile rippled across his face; the pleasure he felt when he caught the matching one on hers was almost as satisfying as her touch.

How I wish she could see all of me.

“What are you paying me for, then?”

He grasped her chin and tilted her head upwards, that precious grin faltering with a sharp inhale. For a long moment, he simply stared down at Augustine as if he were actually looking into her eyes and not a strip of black fabric. As his thumb traced the graceful arc of her bottom lip, the sounds drifting up from the street and through the open window wove their way around her breath—through the syncopation of a million vagaries: see me, see me, dear god never look, a kiss a kiss a kiss, I would die for her kiss, be reborn in it, see me, see me, see me.

His free hand drifted across his own mouth, terrible thing that it was, as his mind went blank. What would it mean, to kiss a woman like her, he wondered; he’d had the rest of her, lucky bastard that he was, yet still there remained a gnawing hunger—one that threatened to ruin whatever sad little happinesses he’d stolen over the course of the summer. One that reminded of him of the sort of man he was and the man he could never be. A kiss, kiss, a kiss.

“Erik.”

Her voice was a morning dove. Rosy fingertips swam before his vision. Out of reflex, his own pale ones flew up to capture Augustine’s wrist before they could touch him. And like water spiraling its way down a drain, so too did the dream leave him. It was one thing to run his lips across her body; to press them so close to her own perfect ones, however, would be to reveal the truth of his face. Such was his tragedy, that his ugliness was so superlative as to be betrayed by the most universal and simple sign of affection.

“I pay you to be my beauty.” When what was visible of Augustine’s expression fell, he returned her hand neatly to her lap. “And you’ve done a more than admirable job on that account.”

She resumed her original position in the armchair and sighed. Her right thigh, round and perfect as a Fibonacci spiral, collapsed back onto the cushion beneath it. The dream might have died, but Augustine remained, nonetheless. And that would have to be enough.

Neither of them had made it this far in life by surviving on dreams.

[loveshotzz]

making me think of that old man as often as u do should be CRIMINAL i’m gonna gnaw my arm off rn leighanne

I’ve been so so sick these past two days and he’s all I’ve been thinking about Valerie!! It’s not my fault!!

[endlessthxxghts]

MAAADELLIIIIINNEEEEEEEE PLEASE 😩😩😩😩😩 Is my somno obsession rubbing off on you or something LMAOOOOOOOO jkjkjkjk 😭😭😭😭

ANYWAY… YOU FOOKIN BIATCH THIS WAS SO HOT IM SCREAMING AND CRYING, AND THE TEARS ARE NOT FLOWING FROM MY EYEBALLS, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

AND “Frankie’s arm was wrapping under your legs, pressing your knees to your chest to stretch you open even further…” - A FUCKING MATING PRESS ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RN? PLEASE

I’M LITERALLY GNAWING AND CLAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE SOMEBODY NEEDS TO SEDATE ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW 👹👹👹👹👹👹

Sunday Naps

Summary: It's Sunday, which means it's time for your favorite weekend activity- an afternoon nap with Frankie. But when Frankie finds himself awake before you with an interesting problem, he knows just the way to wake you up, too.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no use of y/n, established relationship)

Word Count: 2.6K (The self restraint on this was UNREAL)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (don't do this irl), VERY CONSENSUAL Somnophilia, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, praise kink, this is porn with no plot, reader has no physical descriptions (but pls let me know if I missed any!!)Frankie being a menace but also literally the sweetest man alive, Frankie's a Tampa Bay Buc's fan (idk, if he lives in Florida, this makes the most sense to me, I will not elaborate), napping during football bc me too, girl

A/N: This is my first time writing somno so pls be nice, I am NERVY😭 I hope y'all enjoy, Frankie Morales is forever making me swoon, and I just know in my heart that this man absolutely loves to nap and is the world's biggest snuggler 🥺💕 not beta'd bc that's just how I roll

Before you had met Frankie, Sunday was arguably the worst of the weekend days- looming stress of the work week ahead, mettled with to-do’s and other chores before Monday got the best of you. There were very few times that you had found yourself anxiously awaiting a Sunday, but since Frankie? Sundays had easily become one of your favorite days of the week.  

Slow and easy going mornings where Frankie brought you coffee as the sun rose before tangling your bodies between the sheets in a mess of soft and unrushed sex, followed by cuddling and leisurely making your way out of bed for breakfast, awaiting a relaxing day ahead of you. 

Now that it was fall, it also meant football season, and while you didn’t really care either way about the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, you enjoyed any time that you got to spend cuddled up next to Frankie on the couch, considering more often than not, it normally resulted in the two of you fucking during half-time, followed by you promptly napping wrapped in Frankie’s arms for the better part of the 2nd half.  

This Sunday was no different, you and Frankie had found yourself happily snuggled on your couch under your favorite fluffy blanket, Buccaneers game on in the background, Frankie’s arm draped around you as you leaned against his chest, soaking in the familiar warmth and scent of him radiating from the worn cotton of his t-shirt as you felt your eyelids slowly begin to droop heavier and heavier. With the way Frankie had been mindlessly rubbing soft, gentle circles against your back, his thumb dancing in swirling patterns across your skin, it wasn’t long before the comfort of being held in Frankie’s arms had completely washed over you, and you had found yourself fast asleep well before the start of the second quarter. 

What you hadn’t realized, was that Frankie had fallen asleep not long after you, the weight of your body pressed against his, along with the long week he’d had from work and the symphony of melodic snores now roaring from your parted lips and knocked him out almost equally as fast, leaving the two of you in a blissfully happy pile of nap on another lazy Sunday afternoon. 

That was, until, Frankie found himself wide awake well before you with a very curious problem. 

He was hard as a fucking rock. 

Some way or another in your sleepy, napping state, the both of you had rolled over on your sides, Frankie now spooning you with his arm draped over your middle and your ass pressed firmly against his crotch, quickly solving the mystery to the hardon straining at the fabric of his sweatpants. 

But if just your ass nestled against your dick wasn’t enough, Frankie looked over to see that you were definitely also dreaming, and the type of dream you were having wasn’t hard to decipher based on the way you were quietly moaning in your sleep and subtly grinding your hips into Frankie’s lap. 

“Mmmmmmm… Frankie…..” You quietly whimpered, your voice groggy with sleep as you stirred in Frankie’s arms, now finding himself almost unbearably hard at the sight that he’d awoken to, especially now knowing that the dream you were having was definitely about him. Frankie let out a deep, shaky exhale, now more awake than ever as you continued to gently squirmed your bottom half against him, biting down at his bottom lip as you moaned again. 

“Frankie… Oh fuck…..”  

“Fuck…” Frankie whispered, now raging an internal war in his head as he debated what to do next, knowing you were clearly turned on by whatever was happening in your slumber, his cock aching with each second that passed with you spooned against him. 

Should he just try to get up and jerk off before you woke up? Wake you up and then ask if you wanted to fuck? Or maybe… Maybe, he’d wake you up a different way. 

Although he hadn’t done it often, you had made it abundantly clear to Frankie that it had been more than okay to wake you up to sex, and every time he had, you’d absolutely loved it. Frankie had been hesitant at first, never wanting to do anything without your consent, or do anything that would ever make you feel even remotely uncomfortable, but after you had insisted and he had worked up the courage, he knew he had the green light from that point on- And given the state that you were in right now, Frankie was about to make good on your outstanding offer. 

Carefully shifting his body out from behind you, Frankie let you gently fall so your back was resting against the couch, caging his broad body over yours as he worked his way down to the waistband of your pants, gently sliding them off your hips before tugging at your underwear and leaving your bottom half bare for him. 

Frankie sat back on his knees, in shock and awe of the glistening, wet mess your pussy had already become in your sleep just dreaming of him, arousal coating your folds and inside of your thighs as you lazily shifted in your sleep, your legs seeming to instinctually fall open, just for him. 

“Fuck me, baby girl…” He whispered to himself under his breath, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he audibly gulped, his eyes going wide as he locked on to your cunt, already dripping and aching for him. Settling down to lay on his stomach, he carefully lifted up your legs to rest over his shoulders, wrapping his arms around your waist, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your hips while he settled himself face to face with your heat. 

With one long, flat press of his tongue, Frankie dragged himself across your clit, savoring the sweet tang of the juices that had been dripping from your hole, lapping them up with one more lengthy lick, before pulling his mouth away just enough to see how you’d react to the new presence between your legs. 

As if Frankie wasn’t already turned on enough, your reaction was clearly aiding his cause. 

After just one lick of his tongue through your folds, you were already incredibly responsive, your hips instinctively jerking towards his face as a breathy whine escaped from your lips, as if you were already begging for more without having to say a word. A slight smirk began to spread across Frankie’s face as he dove back in again, this time, working himself along your cunt in easy, languid strokes, feeling your body begin to twitch even more with the way he was working his mouth. 

“Mmmmmmm…. Yeah…..” You muttered, still sleeping as you kept bucking your bottom half against his face, only encouraging Frankie to give you more with his tongue, beginning to change his pattern to swirl deliberate, steady circles around your clit, putting more and more pressure into each movement. 

“Frankie….” 

“That’s it, sweet girl…” Frankie hummed, his words rumbling in his chest as his hot breath danced against your core, continuing to coax you out of your slumber, working through your folds and at your sensitive bud with intensifying pace. 

It wasn’t long until Frankie’s careful and meticulous work slowly began to turn more sloppy and desperate, feeling the wet mess you were becoming under his tongue driving him insane, wanting, no needing, to make you cum, to wake you up with pleasure flowing through your veins, turning your sleepy mumbles into cries of his name over and over again. 

Letting one arm untangle around your leg, he brought the hand to your pussy, gently slipping one finger into your aching core, sucking him in with your warm, wet walls, only giving it a few pumps before realizing you could easily take a second, slipping it in to meet the first and curling the pair to brush against the soft and spongy spot inside you he knew drove you absolutely mad. Almost instantly, he could feel your cunt beginning to clench in response, your tell tale sign that you were getting closer and closer to reaching your high and completely coming undone around him. 

“C’mon, querida, I’ve got you, baby.”

Suddenly, your eyes shot open, your heart racing as you felt a familiar feeling building in your belly, the coil inside you already wound so tightly as you let out a ragged moan, lifting your head up to see Frankie nestled between your legs, drinking you up like a man starved. 

“Oh fuck, Frankie, fuck- baby, fuck, don’t stop” You whimpered, shooting your hand down to burry it in the messy, dark curls of his hair, tugging at his locks for any sort of relief as you had awoken to the savory sensation shooting down your spine and through your core from Frankie’s lips latched around your clit and fingers pulsing in and out of your cunt. 

Frankie had barely any time to register that you were now awake, but as you grasped firmer at his hair and let out a ragged moan as you came, clenching around his fingers and gushing with your arousal, it had become very clear to Frankie that he had done his job, and done it well. 

“There’s my good girl. Damelo (Give it to me), Hermosa, fucking soak my face.” Frankie smirked, pulling away to reveal the shiny slick covering his beard, still gently rocking his fingers in the warm, wet walls of your heat as you came down from your high, you chest heaving in low, shallow breaths, mouth hanging open as you let a moan of pure ecstasy fall from your lips. 

“Frankie… Holy Fuck…” 

“Good morning.” Frankie mewled, pulling his fingers out of your pussy, making you hiss at the loss as he laid himself on top of you, swallowing your whimpers in an electric kiss, the tangy taste of you still lingering on his lips as his tongue swiped across your mouth, silently begging for more. “Must have been some good dreams you were having, querida. You were so fucking wet for me, baby. I couldn’t help myself.” 

“Frankie, please, I need you. Fuck- Fuck, I need you to fuck me, Frankie, please. Need you inside me.” 

“Needy girl. I’ve got you, Hermosa. Don’t worry. Woke up so fucking hard for you, baby. Didn’t stand a fucking chance with that pretty ass all pressed up against me. Fuck, you’re so perfect.” Frankie sighed, reaching down to shuffle his sweatpants and boxers down off his hips, revealing his painfully hard cock, his tip red and weeping with precum, aching to be buried inside you from the moment he had woken up. 

Wrapping his hand around his length, he stroked himself a few times before lining up with your entrance, the two of you letting out a heavy sigh of relief as Frankie pushed inside you, slowly filling you up inch by inch until his tip was kissing your cervix, taking a few moments to let you adjust to the sweet sting and stretch of his fullness. 

His forehead dropped to rest against yours, the shimmering sheen of his sweat making his dark curls stick to him and brush against your skin, his broad palm cupping your cheek as he let your lips lock onto yours again for another tender kiss as he slowly began to thrust in and out of you, taking his sweet time with each stroke. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet and tight, queirda.” Frankie grunted, gritting his teeth as his hips rutted into you, the weight of his body draped overtop of you sending your mind reeling, loving every second of being engulfed in his broadness. “What were you dreaming about, baby, hmm? What were you dreaming about that had you all worked up?” 

Suddenly, Frankie’s arm was wrapping under your legs, pressing your knees to your chest to stretch you open even further, the new position making you breathless as he began to pound into you with more intensity, the room now filling with a mix of your moans and skin slapping against each other. 

“I was dreaming- oh fuck- Fuck, I was dreaming about you, Frankie. Shit- dreaming about you fucking me like this, how good you make me feel.” You whined, Frankie’s grip in the soft flesh of your thighs growing tighter as you locked eyes with him, the dark, chocolate brown pooling with lust watching the wrecked mess you were quickly becoming as your cunt began to clench tighter, and the all too familiar tingle in your spine once again began to creep through your body. 

Your response elicited a low hum in Frankie’s chest, rutting his hips into you with more intensity as he felt your pussy starting to flutter around his cock, freeing one of his hands to snake between your legs, the pads of his fingers putting just the right amount of pressure on your clit to have you screaming out his name as you felt yourself creep closer and closer to your second orgasm. 

“Fuck me. That’s all I want baby, just wanna make you feel good. You gonna be a good girl and give me one more, Hermosa? Cum all over my cock before I fill you up?” 

Frankie could feel his own high slowly approaching now too, his thrusts becoming more sloppy and frantic as he pounded against your g-spot and circled your clit, determined to make sure you came again before he did. 

“Mmmmmhhhmmmm.” You whimpered, your brain barely even able to form a coherent thought, let alone a complete sentence, given how your eyes were practically rolling in the back of your head as Frankie’s punishing pace split you open in the best way possible, your legs beginning to tremble while you could feel the knot tightening in your core quickly building up to the point of snapping. “Oh fuck, fuck, Frankie, fuckfuckfuckfuck I’m so close, fuck, I’m gonna-ahhhhhh.” 

Before you could even finish your sentence, your orgasm crashed through you, euphoria flowing through your veins as you came, every inch of you filling with pleasure as your cunt clamped around Frankie’s length, soaking him in your arousal. Watching you cum was all Frankie needed to follow suit, gritting his teeth as a ragged groan rumbled deep in his chest, pumping a few more times into your heat before burying himself in your warm, wet walls, and milking himself of every last drop as he came, the mix of his spend and your slick leaking and coating the inside of your thighs

Letting his body collapse into yours, he draped himself on top of you, your chests rising and falling in sync with heavy, heaving breaths, the both of you trying your best to regain your composure before Frankie gently pulled himself out, making you hiss at the loss of his fullness as he flopped over next to you, planting a soft kiss on your lips as lay his arm across your stomach, pulling you into him. 

“Jesus Christ, Frankie… That’s one way to wake up from a nap.” You giggled softly, raising your eyebrows at him, softly biting down on your lip. 

“Was that okay?” Frankie asked, shifting his hand up to gently cup your face, stroking his thumb in lazy circles around your cheek, staring back at you with his sweet puppy dog gaze. “I know I’ve done it before but I just always wanna make sure you feel good and-” 

You caught the rest of his sentence in your mouth, swallowing his words in another long, and tender kiss, pulling away from his plush lips to peck a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose, giggling once again. 

“God, I love you. What did I ever do to deserve you, Fransisco Morales? Yes, baby it was more than okay. So okay that in fact,” You huffed, wrapping your arm around Frankie’s waist and letting your head fall to lay on his chest, “I think I need another nap.”

@bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @jaciejay13 @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @lola8888673 @persephone-girl @copperhalfcent @innerpersonunknown @messinadresss @devineconjuring @endlessthxxghts @cool-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @messinadress @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @ilovepedro @pascalscoffin @missladym1981 @ilovepedro @itsokbbygrl

[jacksallys]

ANYWAY

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I’m all about Lloyd rn, mean and rough Lloyd…literally doesn’t give a fuckkkkk about anything 😩

So, I kinda decided to go off again.

The Help 2

Warnings: noncon, roughness, degredation.

Even though it’s a drabble, I do appreciate any comments and feedback you have. Thanks for reading!

Part 1

🗡️🗡️🗡️

Nothing’s changed but you. It’s almost as if it never happened. As if it’s all in your head.

You quickly set down his breakfast on the desk as he stares out the window. It’s been a week and he hasn’t mentioned it. As usual, you keep to your usual rapport; yes, sir; as you please, Mr. Hansen. It’s better like that, less humiliating.

“Sir,” you say, only to let him know his breakfast is there.

He nods as his eyes remain on the yard below. You turn and go to the door.

“Ah,” he stops you with the sharp interjection. You glance back and he bends two fingers in a come hither gesture, back still to you, “I want to put my feet up.”

He finally turns and pulls back the chair. He sits heavily on the quilted leather and cracks his neck as he settles in. You don’t understand as you frown.

“Of course, sir, I’ll go grab–”

“Here,” he points in front of him as he swivels sideways.

You hesitate but only for a second. You go to him and stop cluelessly before him. He jabs his finger towards the floor. You still don’t get it.

“Down, buttercup,” he demands.

You restrain the strike of disgust, with him, with yourself knowing that you’ll do it. Your mother needs the money, your siblings too. They have nothing without you and no other household pays as well as him.

You get down on your knees and steel yourself as you put your hands to the floor. You hold yourself like a dog, feeling like one as he lifts his feet and crosses them over your back. The chair squeaks as he leans back and reaches for the tall mug of coffee.

“Ah, this is the life, buttercup,” he snickers, “you got a strong back, don’t you?” he wiggles his feet and your arms shake, his heel poking into your side.

“Sir,” you grunt as you stare at the carpet. 

You should’ve known. Lloyd isn’t the type to drop the bone. No, he’ll gnaw and gnaw to the marrow. He will break the camel’s back.

“You better,” he muses.

You hold your breath as you listen to his fork clink and his shameless smacking of his lips as he eats with delight. Your eyes burn, the sensation reminds you of the bathroom, the tears that clogged your nose and suffocated you as he invaded your throat. 

Your shoulder and spine ache the longer you stay there. He moves as if you are nothing more than a piece of furniture, digging in his heel as he adjusts. You hold in a yelp and bite your tongue.

“Done,” he finally pulls his feet off of you and turns to plant them under his desk, overpriced loafers meeting the just as expensive carpet. “You can take all this.”

You get up with a ‘yes, Mr. Hansen’ from your tight jaw and take the tray. As you turn, he slaps your ass and the cream pot overturns, spilling over the edge onto the carpet.

You stare down at the puddle between your shoes. Not good.

“You clumsy fucking bitch,” he snarls.

“Sorry, sir,” you utter, “I’ll clean it up.”

“Better get on it or you’ll be paying for this carpet.”

You nod and quickly flit out. You hurry down the hall, then the wide staircase. You say nothing to Elaine as you leave the tray without clearing it and rush for some rags and the steam cleaner. 

You carry the steamer by the plastic handle as you trip up the stairs, almost forgetting to knock before you enter. You go in and quickly get to work, knees chafing as you sop up the excess and do your best to sop up the cream. He’s watching you as he paces around.

“I have a meeting soon,” he warns.

“Sir, I’m sorry, I’ll be quick–”

“Stop talking and do your work then,” he snaps then grumbles to himself, “quick…”

You turn on the steamer and drag the flat nozzle over the carpet. You think you’ve got to it quick enough that there shouldn’t be any to sour and cause a stench. You shut off the machine and get your feet under you, securing the hose in the plastic ring as you stand.

“It’ll be a bit wet but should be fine once it’s dry–”

“Did I ask for the details? If you do your job right, you don’t need an explanation.”

“Yes, sir,” you affirm, “sorry.”

You take a step away, eager to be away, but he catches your hand. You look him in the eye as he smirks.

“You really think that back can hold up,” he takes the steam from your hand and drops it carelessly.

You blink at him as he squeezes your hand tight. You don’t know what he wants but his eyes are smoky again, sinister. Your heart races in terror. Not again.

“Come on,” he lifts his hand to your arm and angles you towards the desk. 

He pushes you ahead of him so you stumble and catch yourself against the marble top. He’s close behind as he grips your shoulders and kicks your feet apart. You gasp as he pushes you down until you're bent over it, chest to the surface.

“You always got that ass up in the air,” he taunts as his fingers flutter down your back and tugs up your skirt.

“Sir, please–” you beg.

“Please?” He slaps your ass, your tights offering little protection from the strike.

“I–” you puff and seal your lips. He doesn’t care. Whatever you can say will only make him worse. “Sorry, sir.”

“You will be,” he scoffs.

He drags his fingers down the seam of your black pantyhoses. He pokes one through, then another, then more, tearing them open. You turn your face down and shut your eyes. He steps closer and shifts as your temples pound, deafening you as places his hand on the small of your back.

“Let’s see if you got a good back after all,” he chuckles and tugs your panties aside.

He leans against you, pinning you down as your leather shoes scuff on the carpet. He rubs his tip along your folds as you hold your breath. He presses against your cunt and you let out an unthinking ‘please don’t’.

He pauses. You’re not even sure you really said it. 

He slams into you in a single thrust. You cry out and lift your head as he rattles your spine. You slap your hand to the desk and whine as he rams into you again. He grabs the back of your head and forces it back down as he ruts, flesh clapping loudly as your skirt rumbles over your hips.

“You like that, don’t you, buttercup. Tell me you like it.”

You sniffle as your nerves thrum, storming with disbelief and horror.

“Say it!” he growls.

“I like it, sir. I like it… so much,” you lie, face crushed to the marble as he leans his weight onto you.

“Tell me to fuck you harder. You want me to fuck you harder, don’t you?”

“Y-Y-Yes,” you shudder, “Fuck me harder, sir.”

Your inside roil with hatred as you recite the words. It’ll be over, you tell yourself, but it doesn’t help.

“Louder!” He commands.

“Fuck me harder, sir!” You obey.

“‘Mr. Hansen, I love your dick’,” he sneers.

“Mr.--Han-sennnn,” you yipes as he rams into you particularly hard, slapping punctuating his throaty snarls, “I– lo-o-ove your…. Dick!” You nearly scream the last word as you reach back, fingertips brushing his undone pants as you try to slow him, “owwwww, it hurts.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grips your head and grouns your face into the desk, “ruin the fucking mood, buttercup.”

He huffs as he fucks you, your hips knocking against the sharp edge as you curl your fingers around it. He has your feet nearly off the floor as he pounds into you with all his strength. 

There’s a knock at the door. You barely hear it but it comes again, louder. He exhales but doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter.

“Come in,” he calls over his shoulder, keeping his motion rapid.

The door clicks and opens. You hear the tut.

“Really, Lloyd,” the man says, “you could’ve said you're busy.”

“I’m almost done,” Lloyd insists, “tight fucking snatch about to finish it.”

“I think I’ll wait in the hall.”

“Like you never saw my ass before, Carmichael,” Lloyd guffaws, “or maybe it’s that you never saw a pussy up close.”

“Jesus,” the disgust carries across the room as the man’s footsteps fade away.

“Fucking asshole always ruins the mood,” he puts his arm across your shoulders as he bends over you and speeds up, “ah, shit, buttercup, ask me nicely and I’ll cum on your ass, how about that?”

You swallow and lift your head as much as you can. Your tongue is dry and thick with imminent tears, “please, sir, will you…” you try to wet your mouth, “cum on my ass?”

“Aw, so sweet,” he mocks and impales you completely as he stops.

He stands and slowly slides out of you. He slaps his tip against your ass and strokes himself, rubbing against your skin as he groans and grunts towards his climax. He smacks your ass and kneads it as he cums over the other cheek, quaking as hot ribbons coat your flesh and seep into the torn edges of your tights.

He lets you go and you stay as you are. You peek back as he wipes himself off on your skirt and backs away. He zips up your pants and you stand, legs wobbly and bag rigid. You bat away tears with your lashes and fix your skirt.

“Sir,” you slowly cross the room to retrieve the steam cleaner, “is there anything else?”

He laughs, “wow, got a strong back. I’ll have to try harder.”

[tomsgreg]

Watching 2x03 rn and I’m foaming at the mouth. Tom had an opportunity to get in good with Logan when asked about who spoke to the biographer. He could’ve thrown Greg right under the bus, but he DIDN’T. He put Greg above his own ambition. He would’ve thrown ANYONE ELSE under the bus. Brb gonna gnaw my ARM OFF