#series: nasty red dogs

[plutoswritingplanet]

Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader)

a/n: as promised, here's the full chapter. as a person who's only played skyrim and oblivion, writing for fallout is like throwing a hot dog into an empty corridor (i will not elaborate)

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Attempted Kidnapping, Medical Malpractice, Cooper is a mean old man with a boner. Takes place before the events of the TV series.

Summary: The Ghoul takes up a bounty that has been gathering dust for quite some time. You, bored out of your mind, decide getting kidnapped might be the perfect way to entertain yourself. Both of you bite off more than you can chew. Cross-Posted on AO3

PT. 2

Copper knows this job will be different, before he even decides to take it up. 

Scribbled with flaky charcoal, your face looks at him from the notice board every time he delivers a bounty. For months now, a humble title of "The Healer" hangs without change, between criminals, raiders, and people who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

Cooper hasn't considered going for you, it was never his first choice. The bounty on your head was moderately low, in comparison to your notice board neighbors.  He had other priorities, bigger than a smeared over pretty face, for half his usual reward.

Until one day, as he stomped his way through the dusty floor, his eyes caught onto your wanted poster yet again. 

Well, to be frank, his eyes strayed towards your portrait almost every time he crossed the threshold, but he would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself. Like a constant companion, overlooking all his accomplishments since he decided to stick around the place, your empty gaze followed every transaction, every head delivered onto the table. Some semblance of a routine, he supposed, looking over the board. 

 There, under the regular information, freshly painted numbers stared back at him. A new bounty, significantly bigger than any reward on the board. The red paint was still dripping down the yellowed paper, the addition must've been made quite recently. 

A hefty price. One, that would supply him with enough chems to last for half a year at least. Tempting. Especially now, that he's down to only a couple of vials, his coughing fits becoming longer and closer between. So tempting, in fact, that he tears your wanted poster from the board, finally getting a closer look, a deliberate one. 

Booker gives him a raised eyebrow, all the commentary needed, encapsulated in this simple gesture, and Cooper shoots him a nasty look. There aren't many requirements regarding the job, except one, annoying detail. 

You have to be alive and in good condition. 

Now, alive Cooper could do. Alive is easy. Good condition, however, opened a whole shitbag of problems, which he would be a fool to overlook. Still, the prospect of such money couldn't be ignored. And, he'd be damned to admit it, but he was curious. Who were you? Why haven't you been caught for such a long time? What caused this sudden raise in bounty?

- Did you piss someone off that bad, little lady? - he asks the yellowed paper, and gets no answer, as expected. 

***

The bar is filled with patrons, all tripping over themselves to loose as many caps on cheap alcohol and chems from under the table. It's not as rowdy, as one would expect. This settlement must be one of the few more civilized ones, for the Wasteland's standards at least. Farmers, mechanics, shopkeepers, they all clam together, smelling of smoke, sweat, and alcohol. 

You're here too, hunched over your drink with a sour expression. Your shoulders are slumped, covered by a piece of cloth, that used to be a shawl, but currently looks more like a rag used to wipe down countertops. Despite that, Cooper sees in the way your body is poised, taunt and graceful, that you're neither a naive Vault Dweller, nor a scruffy raider. A skinny scarf is tied around your neck in a fashion, that reminds Cooper of the old westerns he used to star in. 

The sudden influx of memories is neither wanted, nor useful, and he clicks his teeth in annoyance at his own betraying mind.

The Healer, he thinks to himself, making his way through the crowds, until he reaches the side of the bar, one seat from you. Not a glance is spared in his direction. The townsfolk must be used to seeing Ghouls run around the place. Still, when he orders a glass of moonshine, out of the corner of his eye, he can see you peaking at him with curiosity. There's a intelligent glint in your eye, and Cooper feels a shiver of curiosity climbing up his back. He scolds himself for being too old imediately after. 

By all that's holy, you look tired. And not the kind of tired, that sticks to a person living in the Wastelands, no. It's the exhaustion of a shitty day, dragging your eyelids down to flutter against creeping up sleep. The alcohol can't be helping your state, however, it will most definitely help Cooper. He almost feels sorry for you, but if your dumb enough to leave yourself in the open like that, while being hunted, there's nothing more he can do but take advantage. 

Cooper turns his face ever so slightly towards you, looking over your expression for any signs of recognition. He sees none, more than that, there is no emotion at all, not even a blink at his fucked up face. Raising his hand, he touches the rim of his hat in a wordless greeting. 

That finally wrenches some resemblance of a reaction out of you, and with a blink, you tip your glass towards him, before downing its contents. Your cheeks are flushed, lips wet with remnants of moonshine and there's a lock of hair falling out of place, and damn it, Cooper suddenly feels so old.

Ordering drinks while in your current state wasn't the most intelligent thing you could've done. The harsh taste of alcohol burned your throat in a way that was less than pleasant, and for a moment you consider turning to some good old chems for help with... Well everything really. 

It started with Old Lady Sal. 

You've replaced her hip a while back with some scrap metal and a fuckload of reused body parts. Now, every other day she demands you check it out, make sure it's in working order. Which it always is. This isn't your first replaced hip, you know what you're doing.

Then, you had to sit through the insanely uncomfortable marriage offer from Old Lady Sal's grandson, who is not only dumb as a bag of rocks, but also fourteen. 

And to top it all off, suddenly everyone needs you to solve their particular pains of the day. There must be an epidemic of aching heads sweeping through the town, because as soon, as you flee from Old Lady Sal's home, you're being hounded by everyone and their mother, looking to you for help. You were in town for two hours, and your herbs reserve went down to one fucking leaf. 

The Ghoul keeps looking at you from under his hat, and at this point it's gotten from uncomfortable, to straight up creepy. You were not about to pretend this stranger's interest in your particular person didn't unnerve you. Although, thanks to your mother's efforts, and later your own, the town practically worshipped the ground you walked on, the same could not be said about the rest of the Wasteland. 

You had enemies. You had people, who would love to get their hands on you. You were also deeply aware of the bounty placed on your person. Last you checked, it was quite small, but Ghouls don't have it easy out there, and if there's anyone looking like a bounty hunter in this fine establishment, it's the shady guy giving you a shameless once-over. 

So, you place a couple of caps on the counter, and gather yourself best you can. 

Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was not the best idea, because as soon as you slide off the barstool, your head does a flip. Your balance completely off, you trip over your own feet, already accepting the floor, as your soon-to-be companion. 

That's when something strangely warm wraps itself around your waist, hoisting you up against the counter. The Ghoul smells just about as pleasant as one would expect, but moonshine is a powerful sedative, and instinctually, you lean into the warm embrace. Eyelids flutter, as you look up into the sunken eyes of your savior, and you can see his throat move, as he swallows thickly. 

- Careful now, sweetheart - the voice is low and reminds you of wind whistling through leaves - Gotta keep you in good condition.

Now, if you were completely sober, or at least less drunk, those words would fire an orchestra of alarm bells in your head. Instead, you smile, teeth on full display, as you reach up, to undo a tattered scarf from around your neck. 

- Mmm - you sigh, throwing the piece of cloth across the Ghoul's shoulders - My hero. 

Then, you grab onto his arm, still holding a tight grip around your waist, and lift it up by the sleeve of his coat. Despite your drunken disposition, you duck under the limb gracefully, and shoot the Ghoul a nasty, fully aware smirk. Realization flickers across his face, but before he can move to catch you, a series of body-wrecking coughs shakes his entire frame. 

You hesitate just for a second. The instinct to help is ingrained into your very being, passed down like a mantle from your angel of a mother. But then, self-preservation kicks in, and as the strager reaches into the pocket of his coat, to find his inhaler, you're already out the door, throwing yourself into a mad dash towards your cabin.

You were drunk, not stupid. 

***

The sun has barely had time to rise, when you're rudely awoken by the sound of a fist, pounding desperately on your front door. Hard enough to make the hinges squeak and shake. 

It tears you from your already light sleep, and you scramble to your feet, hastily pulling a shirt over your head, as you make your way towards the entrance. Hand on your pistol, you look out through the small space between two planks, which make up your door. 

It's not hard to understand what is happening. You remember one of the men standing outside your door from the nearby town. Benny or something like that, you were never good at remembering names. Hanging on his arm was another, barely breathing man, who was currently bleeding out right onto your porch. Pete. This one you recognize as a farmer and a hunter. You've treated multiple bites and scratches on him. So did your mother. 

Cursing under your breath, you undid all the makeshift locks with record speed, throwing the door open.

- I'm sorry to bother your so early in the morning Healer - you wince at the title, already making a beeline for the table in your kitchen - Pete and I were just...

Both men follow you closely behind, Pete's boots making a disgusting, sloshing noise. 

- Put him here, face up - you command, throwing a couple of papers to the floor.

- ...Coming back from a night hunt, and this fucking Ghoul was asking around town about you...

- Cut his shirt - another command, thrown over your shoulder, as you begin to rummage through a cabinet filled with chemicals and various herbs, barely registering the words. 

- ...And when we started asking questions back at him, he just shot Peter, right then and there...

You pluck a couple of twisted, dried herbs into your trusty, stone mortar, spitting into it, to gather some moisture. Throwing a semi-clean rag at the man, your voice cuts through his rambling.

- Put pressure on it.

There is no exit wound, and you almost sigh with annoyance at the prospect of fishing out a bullet. It had to be done, however, putting your sleep depriation and a building headache aside, you scoop out some of the herbal paste with your fingers, before pushing past the man.

- Hold his legs down - you mutter, taking a blink-and-you-miss-it moment to check Pete's temperature.

- ...Thankfully, he didn't kill Pete on the spot, so I brought him here straight away.

Pete flinches on the table, as you apply the paste to the wound. That's about as big of a reaction he's capable of, given the amount of blood he just spilled onto your porch. Another thing to clean up, after you take care of the table. What a way to start a fucking day. You can see his eyes follow your movements, barely conscious, but still alive. Sweat beads and gathers at his brow, and you reach out with a clean rag, to dab it off his skin.

Then, as if coming out of a stupor, your eyebrows scrunch together. The story of this faithful encounter finally registering in your brain. 

- A man was asking about me? - you ask, despite already knowing the answer. 

- Well, kinda. A Ghoul. 

You knew which Ghoul, it was not difficult to piece together. 

- And he didn't kill Pete, just injured him - you can feel another headache brewing just behind your eyes, as the sheer stupidity of the man in front of you finally comes to the surface.

They led him to you. 

Three, steady knocks to your door, smug and confident, interrupt the conversation, and deep down you can see the future of every person present in this cabin. As if you've developed some magical powers. 

Stilling your suddenly trembing hands, you settle the mortar back on the table. Thenyou instruct the man to keep pressure once more. Covering yourself with a robe you got as payment for stitching up a sliced finger, you make your way to the door. Fabric flows around your feet, shuffling like the wings of a moth. 

Your eyes flicker to the side, where, placed against a wall, stands a small end table. Under it, you've hidden a rather large kitchen knife, and for a second you debate, whether going for it now would be the best course of action. Call it dumb optimism, but deep down, you pray this is some big misunderstanding, and you'll be allowed to go back to your patient, preferably sooner than later. 

There's no need to bother with a gun, no time too. Pete is bleeding out faster than a stuck pig, and you were not one to leave your customers unsatisfied. Or, in this particular line of work, dead. 

The door opens with a slam. There's a small indent in the wooden wall, where the door handle has hit the surface.  The cabin is slowly entering the state of ruin, although, some places are more taken care of than others. Still, it has a roof, a semi intact entrance and even a window with actual glass in it. Quite the luxury in the Wastelands. 

Cooper didn't know what to expect, not really. Seeing you for the first time gave him a mixture of varying feelings, as well as a rather uncomfortable throbbing in the nether regions. Who could blame him, really? Your wanted poster gave you no favors, and although he was able to recognize you almost immediately, he still felt slightly short of breath.

He scolds himself for getting distracted by his thoughts, and as your eyes lock down on him, he lifts the barrel of his gun, touching the rim of his hat. Your eyes shift like little sparkling gems onto the weapon, before your jaw locks.

- Salutations Ma'am - his voice is rough from lack of use, the southern twang even more prominent, than usual. - I believe our introduction was cut short.

Yellowed teeth flash in a mirthless smirk, and then his expression tightens.

Cooper is used to people reacting, let's say, negatively towards him. Fear is the most common, and he can't blame the masses, he really can't. Disgust, as well, happens quite often. But as he looks over your feverish gaze, he can't really see either one of the emotions. 

No, what you give him is an annoyed roll of your eyes, and he's surprised to say, it bothers him more than he'd be comfortable admitting. He's a goddamned bounty hunter, a ruthless one at that, and a fucking Ghoul. Fuck you mean, you're annoyed by his presence?

- Look - you're already turning away from him, shooting a look towards your kitchen, where he can see a leg twitch in a spasm on top of your table - I ain't got time for whatever this is - your hands wave around in Cooper's general direction. - You'll have to wait your turn.

- Ah, well, I'm not the patient kind.

A squeak of surprise leaves you, as the Ghoul pushes past your body, entering your house gun first, murder clear in his deep set eyes. His steps take him through your living room, dangerously close to your kitchen. You know exactly, what's going to happen, and your arms shoot out on instinct. His body is unnaturally warm, even through layers of clothing, as you wrap yourself around his waist, tugging him back with all your might.

 He looks down on you, more bothered by the sudden contact, than the fact you're trying to stop him. It gives you a small leverage, and you push him back a couple of steps, settling yourself between the entrance to the kitchen, and the bounty hunter, raising your hands and getting ready to fight. 

- I don't have time for this kinda bullshit. Git. - Cooper snarls at you, his gun-free hand coming up to grab at your hair.

Before you have time to react, five fingers twist hard into your roots, and you stifle a scream, as the Ghoul pushes you off of him. On instinct, your hands come up to tug against his wrist, nails digging into the leathery skin. He lets you go with a hiss, and you use that second, to throw yourself towards the end-table. 

Your fingers find the handle with a practiced ease. Then, your body twists like a radioactive viper, and all Cooper sees is a flash of metal. The blade is rusty and chipped, but it could still do some damage. Especially now, that it's pressed against Cooper's jugular, the dull, cold presence halting all his movements. Your eyebrows raise in small recognition at the thin fabric tied around his neck. The scarf. Your mouth goes dry.

- Everything okay back there? - Benny asks from the kitchen, you can hear his approaching footsteps.

- All's well, kee pressure on the wound - your voice is tight with nerves, but the man obeys. 

Cooper watches your face carefully, his gun tucked neatly into the meat of your stomach, ready to fire, should the situation escalate. You can feel it, pressed right into the hollow space under your spleen, a good place to be shot, if you could even say that. You're dealing with a professional, apparently. 

- We seem to have a bit of a conundrum on our hands, little lady - Cooper drawls, voice bordering on a whisper, his eyes follow the way your tongue darts out to lick your chapped lips. 

- I have a patient, he needs help - you explain in an even tone, breathing shallow - After that, I'll deal with you.

Despite being at a loosing position, you refuse to back down, your eyes glued to the Ghoul in front of you. You're bracing yourself for the imminent pain, should he decide shooting you would be easier, but it never comes. Instead, the barrel of the gun presses further into your flesh, before lightly retracting. The cold metal is dragged up, across the expanse of your stomach. You bite the inside of your cheek, and surpress a shiver, when it travels between the swell of your breast, and settles into the dip of your collarbones. 

You swallow thickly, Cooper's eyes catching the movements of your trachea like a hungry vulture. The tip of the gun touches the underside of your chin, pushing your head to one side, then the other, as if the bounty hunter is taking inventory in a butcher's shop. Once he's had his fill, he lifts the gun completely, raising his hands as a peace offering.

- Git - you whisper back at him, and a flash of something rushes through his mangled expression. 

You take a step back, chest rising in falling rapidly, blade still in front of you, just in case. Then another step, and the bounty hunter dusts off his coat, before sitting down on a stool in your cluttered living room. You don't like the way he looks at you, eyes shining from under his hat, as he occupies your space like it belongs to him. Long legs apread in front of him, and you try very hard not to sneak a peak between them. Finally, you cross the entrance to the kitchen, and the knife is tucked under the leather belt of your pants. 

A sigh, a roll of shoulders, and you're off.

Cooper watches with curiosity, as you immediately start to work on the poor bastard stuck on your table. Your back is taunt, hands bloodied but steady, as you lean down to take the metal bullet out of the wound. The herbal paste you've provided earlier has dried up, and is currently working wonders for the bleeding, while you reach inside with not-so-sterile pliers. 

- Hold him down - he hears you say, as the legs on the table start to twitch again. 

Finally, a metallic sound of the bullet hitting a dish is heard, and you stand up, making your way towards the cabinet filled with chems. There is a grace to your movements Cooper wasn't expecting. Reminds him of dancers, ballet ones. 

Back in the day, his ex-wife would drag him to all those ballet shows, ones that made him feel stupid and uncultured. He swallows around the memory, willing it to die down, as you shoot him a cautious look over your shoulders. 

He wiggles his gun at you lightly, a reminder, that all this is happening because of his good humor. You scoff. 

Pete starts screaming as soon, as you begin to dress the wound properly. Chemical smell fills the air, and although Cooper lacks the nose to feel it, his eyes water all the same. You seem to be unbothered, years of doing this exact job must've hardened your senses. Finally, it's done. There's nothing more you can do for the man, and you wipe your hand on your forehead, leaving a large smear of red.

- He'll be fine - you mutter towards the other man in the kitchen - He needs rest, and a loads of it too. 

A couple of small bottles and dried herbs land onto a checkered cloth, and you tie it closed, like a small care package. 

- Dress his wounds twice a day - you press the package into the other man's hands while he helps his partner off the table - Good luck. 

Cooper glares at the men, as they stagger out the front door. They don't seem to pay him any mind. Well, the shot one definitely doesn't, he can barely walk on his own. His friend is too preoccupied with keeping him on his arm, to even acknowledge that this whole situation was orchestrated by Cooper himself. Or perhaps, he's to stupid to connect the dots. It's hard to tell these days. 

The door closes with a click, and Cooper stands up from his stool, sauntering over to the kitchen. 

You're currently trying to wash blood off of your hands, which are stained crimson almost up to your elbows. It goes about as well as expected, and as you dry your arms with a rag, there's still a pinkish stain to your skin. 

The table is a mess, blood and herbs seeping into the wooden planks which make up the surface. Cooper leans against the doorframe, as he watches you splash some chemicals onto the wood. It bubbles up in a disgusting mixture of red, green and yellow. You let it sizzle for a moment, before taking that same bowl of water you've been using to clean up, and dumping it all onto the table. The mixture flows down to the floor, the residing surface looking much cleaner. 

- Now, as much as I'd love to sit around and play house with you, honey - Cooper starts, and has to clear his throat, when you look up at him wordlessly, blood on your face and fire in your eyes - I have a bounty to collect.

Sighing, you push your hair back from your forehead, exhaustion, which is synonymous with living in the Wastelands seeping off of you like a tidal wave. 

- Do you have a name? - you ask, reaching for a leather bag sitting on one of the chairs. 

- I do - he says, and you roll your eyes at the deliberate lack of information his answer has given you. 

You mutter something that sounds scarily close to "asshole", and begin to chuck a couple of vials into the bag, then some herbs, then a water canteen. It's like you're ready to move out at any time, and a sneaking suspicion arises in Cooper's mind. This isn't the first time you're in this situation, if your calm demeanor is anything to go by. Suspicious, highly so, and as you turn around to face him, Cooper raises his hand ever so slightly. 

Your eyes fall onto the bundle of rope in his grip, eyebrow raising in annoyance. 

- You serious? 

- As a funeral, sweetheart - he sways the bundle lighty, his other hand pointing the gun at your abdoment - Now, are you going to be good, and come over here? Or should I come over there and make it unpleasant for us both?

- You're already making it unpleasant - you mutter, but cross the kitchen towards him, raising your hands, palms up. 

- Wait. 

Confusion hits you, when the Ghoul reaches into his pocket, producing a small piece of torn cloth. Your entire body goes still, as he grabs onto your chin, cold metal of his gun digging into your cheek, the barrel settling into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Then, despite your best efforts at freeing yourself from his grip, he brings the cloth to his lips, wetting the fabric with his tongue. 

The bloody smear on your forehead is wiped down rather roughly, and you twist in place like an impatient toddler, when Cooper leans his head back, to look at his handywork. You shiver with disgust, at the feeling of his drying saliva on your skin, and as soon, as he lets you go, you begin to rub at your forehead with the sleeve of your robe. 

- Good condition - he rasps, and if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.

He gives you a nasty smirk, settling his gun down for just a moment, and grabbing your wrists together, so he can tie them up. Which is all the time you need to make a decision, and kick out your knee, nailing him right in the crotch. He doubles over, cursing loudly, hands shooting out to grab you, but all he catches is your tattered robe, which you slide out of easily. 

Fater than he would've anticipated, you grab at your bag, and bolt to the back of the kitchen, where he watches you jump over the table and all but slide out of the house through an open window. It's like a choreographed dance, the way you move out of his grasp. When he reaches the window himself, there's no sight of you, other than the rustling of tree branches somewhere in the woods behind your cabin. 

- Fucking women. - Cooper whistles.

He can't deny the shiver of excitement running down his back, as he secures the hat over his eyes.  If that's how you want to play, he would oblidge. It's been far too long since he could actually enjoy a more challenging bounty. Cooper slowly walks out of your cabin, looking over all the little trinkets you've gathered inside. Then, almost lazily, he lifts the robe you've left him to his nose. He feels nothing, of course, but he has quite a vivid imagination. Vivid enough to supply him with a memory of a scent from his past life. Lavender, he'd bet you smell like lavender. 

Your tracks are deep and visible across the ground, and so, the hunt begins. 

[bahablastplz]

All in | Chapter 3

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: you escape and face the consequences of your actions

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

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It’s cold outside, you think, and you wish you had brought a little more thought to your choice in outfit because the shirt you’re wearing does little to protect your skin from the harsh wind. You regret not finding something a little thicker, something with longer sleeves perhaps when you had raided the wardrobe earlier. You were searching for comfort, not practicality, and now that decision was coming to bite you in the ass. 

Your body carries you through the wooded area surrounding the house, brambles scratching at your arms and drawing blood. You thank your body for pumping out adrenaline once again, protecting you from feeling too much pain. You’re not sure if you’ve ever run this hard or this fast in your entire life, the burning in your lungs evident that maybe you should have focused a bit more on staying in shape. Your shoes were definitely not made for running and you add it to the list of things to curse yourself for later. 

The pavement under your feet is different from the mushy grass surrounding the SKZ base and you find yourself trying not to connect your feet as hard to the ground to make up for it, lest the burning in your legs slow you down. Wait… pavement? You slow, coming to a stop to allow yourself a moment to view your surroundings and catch your breath. 

You notice you're in the city, albeit a deserted part of it that you don't recognize. Looking left and right, you decide to go in the direction of the faded city lights. At every car that passes you hold your breath and try to sink into the bushes, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible just in case Chan is in one of the vehicles. 

Salvation comes to you in the form of a gas station, seemingly devoid of any life. As you near close, you let out a sigh of relief when you see the blinking ‘open’ sign. One person mans the register, a man in his mid-30s that doesn’t seem to pay you any mind. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey but even so you can’t find it in you to be displeased. 

“Excuse me, sir,” you say, saccharine sweet. “Do you have a phone I could borrow?” The first thing you would like to do is give your sister a phone call, to let her know you’re on the way.

“You have to buy something first,” he replies instantly, not even bothering to look up from his newspaper. 

You freeze. “But… I don't have any money.” It's the truth. God knows where your phone and wallet are; you haven’t had either since you started dating Jungwon and became dependent on him for everything. 

“That's not my problem,” he says. You take a deep breath to ground yourself, inhaling the aroma of hot dogs and nacho cheese. A slushie machine whirls behind you, reds and blues that could be impossibly easy to get lost in. 

“Listen sir, I've had a rough couple of days, and I don't know where I am, and I would really appreciate it if–” 

“No, you listen, brat,” he spits the word out, finally slamming his paper down and shooting you a nasty glare. “I don't give a damn who you are, either buy something or get the Hell out of my store before I call the cops.” 

You feel inclined to listen and book it out of here but you realistically don’t have many other options. You ignore the tears threatening to spill from your lash line. If he won’t let you use the phone, the least you could do is try to figure out where you are. 

“Um… okay, how far is Second Street from here?” 

“Least three miles.” 

“Three miles? Okay. What about downtown?” 

“Still at least an hour walk.” 

“Shit, okay. Have a nice night, sir,” you say, but you don’t mean it and he doesn't deserve it. You walk out of the store nonetheless, walking on the abandoned sidewalk in the direction of the city. Your body aches and you’re not sure how far you’ve walked when you hear voices in front of you. 

There’s three men. One of them sways back and forth as he walks, obviously inebriated. Fuck. You keep your eyes glued to the sidewalk and your pace quickens, hoping that a lack of engagement will increase your luck. Maybe, just maybe for once in your life you’ll get a free pass here. Of course that doesn’t happen. 

“Hey, pretty thang. What's a girl like you doing all by yourself this late at night?” The man nudges his friend, the noticeably drunker one. 

“I don't want any trouble,” you mumble, pushing forward. 

A large unwelcoming hand reaches out to grab your wrist and you shout out in pain. Broken. Despite the ice and bandage wrapped around your appendage, your wrist is still broken. 

“What wash that? I think she said she wantshta show ush a good time!” He slurs, and anxiety settles in the pit of your stomach. You’re starting to get really tired of the feeling. 

“Let me go, please!” Your other hand gripped the offender’s, placing it over his tight grasp. 

You're shoved to the ground, knees scraping against the sidewalk. Your breath is caught in your throat, and the scene is all too familiar. 

“Come on bunny, don't you want to play?” A hand grips around your throat, and you feel like prey. How they managed to find the parts of you that were weak and vulnerable, you had no clue. Men like this just had a knack for being awful like that. A hand snakes in your hair and grabs tight, and you’re reminded of just days ago being in this exact situation. 

“Look, she’s crying!” one of them coos. You let out a loud sob and think, God, I’m going to die here. How you always have a knack for making wrong decisions, you’ll never know. 

“Let her go.” Your eyes shoot open when you hear a familiar deep voice. Instead of being filled with fear at finally being caught, you can’t help but to feel relieved. 

“Felix!” you cry out. You try to crane your head to look at him but the man’s grip on your hair is too tight. 

“Let her go? Why? We were having a good time!” One of them laughs and you feel his grip on you tighten. You whimper in pain. “Do you wanna join in?” 

Felix doesn’t say anything, but you hear a soft, mechanical clicking sound. It’s too silent and you’re afraid that you know the reason why. Your eyes stay closed but you’re free, suddenly. As you begin to fall you brace to hit the concrete but you’re surprised when you don’t. A warm and steady arm wraps around your middle and you relax into Felix as the men scamper away. 

“He's fucking crazy, man. The bitch isn't worth it.” And like that, they are gone. You allow yourself to glance down at Felix and the gun he is holding, but you aren't intimidated anymore. He has gotten rid of the real threat. 

“Are you hurt?” He asks, not looking at you. You swallow, hating to be the target of his disappointment. The gun is put away and forgotten about and you slump out his grasp and onto the concrete. You shake your head at him, trying to indicate that you are okay, you’re not seriously hurt, but you can tell he doesn’t believe you. Instead he ushers you into a car that you hadn’t even noticed had appeared, obviously too caught up in the situation at hand. He opens the door for you and you climb in, noticing that he sits in the passenger seat, not the driver’s. You furrow your brow until you recognize Hyunjin in the driver’s seat, tapping furiously on the wheel. On your left you recognize the broad frame as Changbin, who seems to be more distressed than anyone else in the car. You hope for silence, but once again, you can never be so lucky. 

“How do you always manage to get yourself into such trouble?” Hyunjin laughs. He irritates you to no end, always so sure of himself and full of it. “First Jungwon, us, and now these thugs? Do you have a knack for finding trouble or does trouble find you?” You notice Felix tense, and you decide staying in silence is probably better to not irritate the men further. You look out the window instead as the car speeds off. 

Hyunjin continues, “Normally Chan would want us to blindfold you if we were taking you back to our place, but he told us not to bother this time. He seems incessant that there’s no reason to.” Does he ever shut up? “Expect for him to be pissed. He knew you were going to leave, though.” 

Now that was enough to break your silence. 

“He knew?” you ask, incredulous. 

“Of course. It was a test, after all. To see where your loyalties lie, if he threatens you and tells you not to escape, you’re much more likely to leave right after because you think you can get away with it.” Shit. Now you feel dumb. But instead of letting on, you scoff and turn your head back to the window, finding the view much more interesting. You’re shivering still from the cold despite the heat pumping through the air vents. Felix wordlessly takes off his coat and hands it to you, and while you want to be proud and reject the offer you can’t help but want for this chill in your bones to go away. His jacket is warm and you can smell the trace of his cologne, floral, like jasmine yet earthy.  

You couldn’t have been in the car for more than ten minutes, and you curse yourself, realizing that you really didn’t get as far as you thought. 

Then, you approach a long driveway, adorned with a large iron gate that would intimidate anyone that made it to this part of the city, encased in grime and rust that’s indicative of its age. The car drives down the winding roads with familiarity which puts you at ease and keeps you from feeling nauseous, which you feel grateful for. When you arrive at the front of the house, you are finally given the opportunity to take a look at where you have been staying, as previous circumstances hadn’t allowed you to do so. 

The exterior of the house is a little dreary, the age of the cracked brick and marble noticeable. Even in the dark you could tell everything else is well-taken care of, well-trimmed shrubbery and flower beds surprising you. You don’t get as much time to look around as you would like, though you do notice the sheer size of the house as you follow the men up the gravel pathway. Large front doors open up and you’re guided inside. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You and Felix walk in silence to your room. You’re almost ashamed to meet his eye. 

“How did you know where to find me?” you finally ask. 

“I came to bring you this,” he says, gesturing to what he had been holding. A hard brace for your wrist. “When I came to your room and you weren’t there, I panicked. You couldn’t have gotten far, but we jumped in the car right away.” 

“But… What about what Hyunjin said?” You ask. Meanwhile he starts to unwrap the bandage on your wrist, revealing the very swollen and purple affected area. You wince slightly. 

“About it being a test? I wouldn’t be surprised, you’re probably in deep shit with Chris.” He says. You notice that he uses a nickname when referring to the man but you don’t say anything. He pulls out a first aid kit and starts to sanitize the surface of your skin and it stings more than you’d like to admit. Still, he does so delicately, making sure his fingers don’t press onto your injury too harshly. “I didn’t think you would leave,” he admits. “It was really stupid, you do realize that, right? I was just… really hoping you would be smarter than that.” 

You scoff. “Stupid, got it. I’m sorry that I didn’t want to stay trapped with the mafia, but I saw my opportunity. I have a life out there I want to get back to! I can’t stay here for the rest of my life.” 

“That may be true, but you won’t have a life to get back to if you’re killed the moment you leave,” he points out. “I’m not trying to be malicious, but you have a huge target on your back. Even if it’s not Jungwon who comes for you, you’re affiliated with ENHA. People who are not as kind as we are will see you as a way to get to him and they’ll kill you in cold blood.” He delicately places the new brace onto your wrist, strapping it shut tight. You try not to think about how his touch lingers on your skin, that you can still feel where he touched you and how it makes your face heat up. Instead you try to flex your wrist to test the brace, finding that it provides enough support for you not to move it too intensely. Felix hums in approval. 

“Come with me,” he says. He takes you to the bathroom and gestures for you to sit on the toilet lid. You do, looking up at him inquisitively. You see that he has brought the first aid kit with him and he’s keen on tending to your other injuries. 

“I just don’t understand,” you say, breaking the silence. He takes an antiseptic wipe and starts to wipe away scratches on your head. “Just… Why do you care if I live or die?” 

“That’s a tough one,” he says. You can’t tell if he’s joking. “I guess you can say I don’t like Yang Jungwon. Our feud with them has lasted for several years and he’s just a nuisance. He kills people in cold blood and is remorseless. I’m sure you’ve seen it first hand just how manipulative he can be, and we really just want to make sure that he doesn’t do anything to undermine us. That being said, you’re a benefit to SKZ. I know you might not see it yet, but you might be the ticket we need to finally one-up them. If you’re dead then we’re back to an even playing field.” 

“What about the infiltration? Don’t you have plans with Lee Know?” you ask. 

“Oh, Minho? He’s a very skilled person, he excels at this kind of thing. We’ve been wanting to do something like this for a while and we finally have an opportunity to do so. I hear that they’re planning to start up an underground drug-ring, something that would put us both in the public eye more than we want. Minho is going to try to find out what he can about it and then we can proceed.” 

Felix bends down, kneeling before you. Your breath hitches before you can think about it; it’s not fitting for someone who looks so majestic to be below you, you think. 

He starts to clean the scrapes on your knees. They’re bloody and raw from your fall and you’re only now starting to feel the aftereffects from it. You’re grateful that he’s taking the time to tend to your injuries, scanning your entire body from head to toe until he’s content. “You’re too good for all of this,” he finally says. “Someone like you should have never gotten involved in our lifestyle. You have so much potential, I can just see it. How did you even get stuck in this life?” The question is so intimate that it takes you a moment to process that he asked it. 

“I didn’t know who he was when I started dating him,” you admit. “Like you said, he’s manipulative. He’s mastered the art of deception. When I met him, he was charming and sweet, you know? It feels dumb to say, but by the time he admitted to me he was part of the mafia, I was head over heels in love with him. By the time I realized that the Jungwon I knew was just a facade it was too late, he caused me to completely rely on him for everything. I lost everything, Felix.” He nods in understanding, looking up at you before he stiffens. 

“Your neck… Did he do that, too?” he asks. There’s no judgment in his voice. You realize that the makeup you applied so diligently before must have completely rubbed off by now. You sigh. 

“Yeah. The night Chan found me, Jungwon and I got into a fight. It was my fault, but he threatened me, and it got physical, and…” 

“I don’t know what happened, but I severely doubt it could have been your fault,” he says. You decide not to divulge the details of your argumentThis is the first time you have admitted the situation out loud, and you feel very vulnerable. For some reason, you really want to tell Felix, despite the tears threatening to spill from your lashes. 

“He knocked me unconscious outside of the club, and when I woke up, I was here.” He finishes bandaging up your injuries and he stands, stretching his back and popping his joints. There’s blood on his white dress shirt. Your blood, though you don’t remember how it got there. 

“When you left tonight, where were you planning to go? You weren’t going–” 

“Not back to him, God no. Um… I have a sister, I was just trying to get in touch.” He seems content with your answer. You wonder if he’s just going to relay all of that information back to Chan. You feel like a weight has been lifted off of your chest, though, so you can’t really bring yourself to care. 

“I don’t know how long you’re going to be here. But for now, this is the safest place for you. So, try not to do anything else that’s stupid.” He turns to the door to leave, but you find yourself calling out. 

“Felix?” He halts and his eyes meet yours as you call his name. “Thank you.” There’s a lot of meaning to convey with just two words, but you hope you get your point across; thank you, for saving my life, for talking with me, for treating my wounds. He seems to understand. He graces you with a small smile before leaving 

You take a minute to breathe and look at yourself in the mirror. You are definitely not the same person you were two days ago. You smile at the reflection of yourself that has been beaten and bruised, and you hardly recognize her. You open the door to retreat to your bedroom for the night, but are shocked by what you see. 

For the second time in one night, Bang Christopher Chan sits on your bed, waiting expectantly. 

“We need to talk,” he says. 

He looks pissed. His glare sends shivers straight up your spine, and it takes everything for you to not break down and cry on the spot. It makes you feel guilty for everything that happened tonight, but you have to shake that thought. You were justified, you need to stand strong. You sit on the bed next to him without him gesturing for you to do so, as it feels like what he wants. You aren’t stupid enough to disobey him again. 

You look him in the eye. 

“I’d like to think I’m a kind person,” he says. “I don’t ask much of you–”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. 

“Speak when spoken to. I won’t tell you again.” He clears his throat. “I don’t ask much of you. In fact, I gave you just two, simple, commands that you couldn’t be bothered to follow. Do not contact Yang Jungwon, and do not leave. What did you do?” He looks at you but you stay silent. “Answer.” 

“I left.” 

“That’s right. You must be pretty stupid, Y/N. Stupid enough to somehow end up here, and even more stupid to disobey me. I knew you were going to try to push your luck,” he says. “Explain yourself.” 

“I…” you gulp. You decide honesty is the best way to go about this. “I got scared. I know you told me not to leave and I didn’t listen, and I truly apologize but I remembered how trapped I felt when I was with Jungwon, and, well… the prospect of staying here for the rest of my life really really scared me.  I wanted to see my sister and tell her I’m alright. My phone is gone, and she probably thinks I’m dead. I envisioned a world where I  never got to see her again and make things right, and I thought this would be my only chance.” 

He sits in silence for a moment, contemplating. “This will be the last time I extend such kindness to you,” he says slowly. “From here on, I want your complete loyalty to me and the rest of SKZ.I will ensure your safety from ENHA and any potential threat. For now, that’s all you need. If you try to undermine me one more time, I will make sure you never see your sister again. Take that any way you want.” He stands. 

“Hyunjin said that this was a test,” you say cautiously. “Are you going to punish me?” 

“I thought I made myself very clear that there would be consequences to your actions,” he says. “I will go lightly on you, just this time. I’m being very nice, just so you are aware: I am not usually known by others as a kind person.” He sighs. “Pick a number between one and ten.” 

“Um… five?” you say, trying to play it safe and pick a number that’s not too high and not too low. His hands slide down to his waistband, unbuckling his belt and taking it out of the loops. 

“Lift your shirt up and turn around.” 

You do, with shaky hands, turn around and lift your shirt up so just your back is revealed to Chan. You don’t protest, worrying that that could somehow make things worse. 

You steady your breath and brace for impact. 

Thwack. 

One time, Chan’s leather belt comes down and hits the skin of your back hard. It’s obvious he has no intention of holding back and it stings; you bite down on your bottom lip to suppress your cries. 

Thwack. 

The second time, just as hard. 

Five times Chan hits you hard with your belt and you can’t hold back your tears any longer, though you do stay strong in the decision to not let him see them. After the fifth hit, you stand and pull down your shirt. 

“Rest up,” he tells you. “Tomorrow you’ll meet everyone else.” 

It’s stupid of you to think about, but you practically disregarded the fact that there are other members you have not met yet. You’re not entirely looking forward to it, though you don’t say so.  

“Does everyone know?” you ask him just as he’s about to leave. “Does everyone know that I’m associated with Jungwon?” 

“Everyone knows,” he confirms. “I trust my group implicitly. I felt no need to hide it from them, though at this point I don’t think it’s something to be ashamed of.” You nod your head at the information, lost in thought. 

Then Chan leaves and you’re finally alone. When you lie down in bed you finally take note of how your body feels after all this time. Every muscle aches and you can’t lay down on your back and once again you ignore the incessant throbbing in your skull. When you lay down in the bed to sleep, it’s on the comfiest, most luxurious mattress that you’ve ever laid on. You stare at the wall until you drift off with a dreamless yet peaceful sleep.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

taglist: @shuporanporang ; @purp13st4r ; @eurydiceofterabithia ; @heartsbyandra ; @thicccurls ;

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[bsdawgz]

「 ✦ I Belong To ...✦ 」 Bungo Stray Dogs, Port Mafia: Michizō Tachihara

a/n: this is the dirtiest thing i've ever written and also my most prized possession

genre: nasty, literally this is p0rn

content: f!reader. MDNI! dirty talk, fingering, cunnilingus, rough sex, overstim. no protection (wrap it up, y'all). > assume that they take plan B after (that's just my headcanon in this one). you go dumb. tachihara is a sexy tease w/ a dominant streak ♡ tiny drug reference at the end (marijuana, cuz let's go full circle on this)

summary: tachihara fucks ur lights out >> final part of the best friend! tachihara series. read: part one | part two | part three.

Your legs are tightly wrapped around his narrow hips, hands messily tangled in his rust red hair as he clumsily carries you up to his studio apartment. You're sucking splotches of red onto the side of his neck as he stumbles up the stairs. Then, once he finally reaches the door, you hear him mumble as he shuffles through his pockets, "Fuck, my keys – give me a sec."

“Use your ability, idiot,” you grumble, rolling your eyes at him as he fumbles with the key.

“Not tryna fuck up the lock, smartass,” he snaps back, keying into the apartment. Then, his attention is back on you – and so are his hands, grabbing you by your hips, then your ass. “Impatient, huh?” he whispers in your ear erotically, pushing you down into the plush mattress. You gasp softly as you feel his weight on top of you, his hard-on suddenly pressed between your legs, zipper tight on his pants and then skimming your bare stomach from your now-rucked up shirt. "It’s alright. I am too,” he says, voice hot in your ear as he grins up at you, sliding his hands up your blouse.

You feel him thumb over your nipples through your bra. You writhe, holding back a moan as you turn your face away from him in embarrassment. “You like it when I touch you like that, right?” he teases, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “Come on, don’t be so stubborn this time.” His breath is warm against your neck, lips relentless as he kisses up and down the sensitive skin on your shoulder. "Tell me how you want me – where you want me."

This time, you can't help but moan when you feel him tweak a nipple between his fingers. He grabs you roughly, and your breasts spill out as he tugs your bra down. Then, his mouth is full of you as he switches between each hardening nipple. "Michi, please... don't... make me say it..." you whimper, pushing his head away when you see that annoying grin on his face as he peers up at you expectantly. "Nm… you're so… annoying..."

"Yeah?" he breathes, and his eyes are wild with desire as he swipes his tongue over his lips. "God, you're fuckin' cute."

You roll your eyes at him, pawing at him weakly, then you feel his fingers slowly hook around the waistband of your pants, prying them off your hips. You’re leaking between the legs, arousal dampening your cotton panties as you squirm underneath him. You’re so, so wet for him that it’s downright sinful.

Please, you almost want to beg for him to touch you already. Ever since stopping your little quickie in the car, you've been aching in between your thighs. There… – of course you want him there...

"Want you," you finally stammer out. The words melt on your tongue, and heat rushes to your face as soon as they leave your lips. When you glance up at Tachihara, you're astounded to see that he's staring at you with an expression just as flustered, blush reaching the tips of his ears.

He glances away quickly, embarrassed. "You know, I've always been yours," he mumbles, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. "You think I just let anyone boss me around like that? You've been there since the beginning – even before Port. Of course it was gonna be you…”

It's your turn to tease him now. You giggle at him and poke his cheek, much to his annoyance. He raises an unamused eyebrow at you and pushes your hand away, scoffing. Then, that brief moment of power is over, and that damn cocky grin is back on his face.

"Now," he murmurs, voice a soft, playful hum in your ear as he nears closer. Those fingers of his are pressing up against you now, tracing your folds through the thin fabric of your underwear. You gasp, turning your face away from him as you feel him apply pressure to your clit. "Since you like to doubt me so much, how about I show you just how much I like you?"

You yelp as Tachihara suddenly grabs you by the hips, pulling you flush against his face and prying your underwear to the side. Then, you feel him, his tongue dragging across your slick folds, saliva dripping from his tongue. When you glance up, you see him looking down at you like a wolf with this wicked grin on his face as he digs his fingertips into your thighs. You twist your hips, then feel him bury his nose in you and lick you up and down slowly; then, you writhe and feel him smirk when his name leaves your lips.

You feel his tongue swirling around your clit, his mouth enclosing around you. He lifts his head to see your reaction as you watch drool and your arousal drip down his chin. Then, diving back into your pussy, he dips his fingers deep inside of your entrance, teasing you, getting off on the way that your hips chase after the feeling of being fucked by his fingers – and you can't help but let his name spill out of you relentlessly now, pleading for him: "Please, please..."

"I have you begging for what now?" he asks you teasingly – the fucking smartass. But you don't even care at this point, just dumb from being so stimulated from him. You watch, absolutely blissed out, as he pulls back his fingers; you squeeze around nothing at all, pulsing erratically. Then, he circles his thumb around your clit, grinning cockily at the way you throw your head back and throw your hand over your mouth to keep yourself from crying. You're whimpering his name so sweetly – Michi... Michi, please... please. Fuck, yes, say it just like that. His name sounds so fucking good when it's coming from you.

"You... I want you..." you confess, grabbing a handful of his hair as he rubs you faster. It feels so good – too good. Your hips convulse, then you're there. There. His name pours from you like a fountain; you're so shameless that you pull him by his hair and shove his face against your pussy, begging him to drink you all up again. "Please, Michi, don't... don't stop..." Then, you whine out, "Put it in, need you, please."

-

Soon, he’s towering over you now at the foot of his bed, hand curled around your hip, the other grasping your face delicately. You feel his thumb brush over the protrusion of your bottom lip before he wets it on your tongue. "God," he sighs in amazement, watching the way you open your mouth for him, letting him soak his fingers deep inside your throat. "You’re fucking perfect."

He's so turned on by the image of you beneath him – those desperate eyes of yours peering at him, your breasts bouncing with every slow, deep thrust, his dick sliding in and out of you and the delicious way your pussy just swallows him. "Taking me so well tonight," he groans, biting back a grin, then you watch as he throws his head back in pleasure and thrusts faster. Your vision shakes and blurs from the harsh snap of his hips, and you feel his nails dig into the fat of your flesh as he brings you closer, closer. It’s still not enough.

You shut your eyes, listening to the sound of your skin smacking his, his shallow breath, and the bed frame thudding rhythmically against the wall. His moans are so hot – strangled sounds that get caught in his throat every time he pulls the entirety of himself out only to shove himself all the way back inside of you.

Then suddenly, you feel him grab you roughly, and you're on your knees; he's pulling you by your ass hard and fast against him. You yelp at the sudden change in position and pace as hands firmly shove you down into the mattress. "Best part is you're all fuckin' mine," you hear his raspy voice in your ear, then feel those sweet lips kissing tenderly up and down your spine. “I might cum soon..."

Then, "Shit – I should... pull out – ..."

Yet you find yourself begging for him not to, though you know you should heed his warning. "Oh, God, don't – !" you cry out, wrapping your fist around the comforter as his thrusts become erratic. You hear him hiss in response, feel him bruisingly grab your wrists and fuck you harder. Your knees give in and you collapse on your elbows. You bury your face in his pillows and sob out his name. Then, hot ropes of his cum are spurting inside of you.

“Oh. Oh… Oh, fuck,” he pants with an exasperated laugh, watching as cum dribbles down your leg. Then, “First my sweats, now my fuckin' sheets…”

Then, he smiles and scoops you into his arms, curling into your naked body. "I know we should clean up. But, can we stay like this a little longer? We can smoke a bit too, if you want."

You beam at him, resting your head on his chest. "When have I ever said no to weed?"

author ps: thank u sm to everyone who has supported this series, the lovely tachihara cult. i know tachihara doesn't get sm love, and my tachihara fics don't get nearly as many notes as fics i make of other characters, but tachihara fics are my fav fics and i've had the joy of interacting w/ amazing anons + more ppl cuz of these fics so i'm so happy ab writing them. and i FOREVER STAN TACHIHARA. i'm never gonna stop writing for him. ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

© BSDAWGZ 2024. Do not steal or repost ANY of my works! That’s plagiarism, and it’s mean. :(( Beautiful dividers by @ v6que~!

[hellishjoel]

playing hooky

9.2k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter l Next Chapter

summary: Frankie calls in sick for his shift. You simply must investigate. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), mentions of reader previously being on her period, smoking w33d, getting h!gh, swearing, pet names (angel, princess, etc.), handjob if you squint, oral (f! receiving), unprotected p in v, h!gh sex, aftercare, tangled feelings/messy emotions, sitcom vibes

A/N: tune in next time for a special halloween episode of Table for Two! 

follow hellishfics and turn on notifications to see the next time I update!

“We’re not at the diner right now, y’know? We can,” he pauses to find the right words, seeming to get lost in the beautiful hue of your eyes. “We can take things slow. Wanna take my time with you.” 

You purse your lips as you scribble another drawing on your order pad. You’re sitting at one of the empty barstools at the counter, one leg lazily swinging back and forth while the other is brought up under you. 

“You’re gonna get hip dysplasia.” Carla, your sarcastic manager, hums as she passes you. She playfully smacks you with her own order pad before she settles down beside you, a loud and tired sigh leaving her ruby-red lips. She rolls her swollen ankles, a side effect of being on her feet all day. A side effect of being alive. 

Your eyes lightly screw together, eyebrows knitting in curiosity. “I thought only animals get hip dysplasia.” You trail off and watch her sit with slight confusion. She parts her lips and takes a breath before her face contorts in thought. 

Finally, Carla reemerged with a new confidence. “No, baby, because my cousin- my second cousin,” she illustrates all of this with her hands. “They were born with it! I swear, look it up.”

You stifle a giggle before you both hover over your phone in search of the truth via Google. That’s when you clock the time. 

Your head swivels to the wall clock and confirms it’s half an hour past five in the evening. “No Frankie tonight?” You ask, eyes still attentive to your phone as you attempt to try and hide any obvious interest or concern. Where the hell was he?

Carla eyed you up and down. Since when did you start caring if Frankie showed up for his shifts or not? She decides not to press it, clearing her throat as she moves off her barstool once she hears the doorbell chime, a new customer sauntering in. 

“Just said he was under the weather. And we don’t need another sick line cook, that’s for damn sure. Everyone would be coughin’ and sneezin’ over their undercooked bacon and runny, nasty eggs.” She said with a little umph at the end for distaste. 

You sigh and nibble on your thumbnail. 

Frankie was a bit of an ass, but he made the shifts go by faster. Yes, even before you started fooling around, he was entertaining. 

Let’s see, there was the night he tried to see how many coffee cups he could stack and if he could make a tower to the ceiling - he tried this multiple times, and each attempt left glazed ceramic shards everywhere, to which Carla made him sweep up.

There was another time the diner needed supplies, and Rudy, the owner’s son, sent you and Frankie on an errand run. He pushed you in the cart through nearly the entire store, in search of toilet paper and paper towels, dish soap, and other amenities. Frankie bought you a Redbull at the end of it. 

Now, more recently, Frankie fucking pavloved you! Like a damn dog! Every time you worked a shift, you got ferociously horny. You had gotten so used to clocking in, working for a bit, then getting your needs met. And now that you had finished serving time being on your period, you were needy for what you missed while you were surfing the crimson wave. 

Your foot, more anxiously now, taps against the metal stand of the barstool you were sitting on, huffing in annoyance hearing that Frankie was ill. The pit in your stomach was already coiling, searching for a release that just wouldn’t be satisfied tonight. Or would it?

You’re not in the back kitchen as much as everyone else, but as the end of your shift wound down and it was nearly ten o’clock, you decided to piece together a panini and a side of fries for Frankie. You thought about how he learned you weren’t feeling good just last week, and he knew how far a simple meal went to make you feel better. Maybe you could do the same for him. And that was it. You swear there were no ulterior motives. Just a nice coworker bringing a bite to eat. 

You yank your phone from your uniform. Your fingerprints smear your phone screen with grease from the fries. 

text me your address if you’re still up

frankie (work) Huh?

You have to will yourself not to roll your eyes. 

read the first message again and ask me if you’re still confused

frankie (work) Okay sassy pants 194 Rivercrest Apartments #501

His stupid reply leaves a broken, twitchy smile on the right side of your mouth. Stupid asshole. 

Once the restaurant closes, your clunky car takes you across town to Frankie’s apartment. Your gleamy, tired vision catches the streaks from passing cars and street lamps. You pull into a visitor parking spot and let out a disgruntled sigh as you sit in silence, waiting in your idling car.

A weird part of you is nervous. Overthinking. Was this taking it too far, helping him out while he’s sick? 

You push aside any nerves and force yourself out of the car, a death grip on the doggy bag of food you had packed him. The evening Texas air tickles your bare legs, trying to adjust your uniform under your jacket after it got smushed around in the car. You buzz his number before you hear the entrance’s lock click, allowing you in. 

Glancing around for an elevator is hopeless. The entrance leads you straight to a set of stairs,  and you clench your jaw in annoyance. God dammit. You were not a woman who prayed to the cardio gods. 

Your lungs feel strained, and your feet ache, desperate to sit down after your shift and the mild hike up to Frankie’s apartment. You rap your knuckles against his door in disdain, lips parted with a few light pants for breath as you wait. The door had a few random dents and marks, obvious trails of someone moving items in and out of the apartment over time. The numbers on his door were crooked, the paint chipped. Did he have to live in such a sketchy place? It looked like the birthplace of tetanus. 

There were a few heavy footsteps on the other side before the door jangled open. And a very healthy, Frankie opened the door. Your face fell, and your eyebrows furrowed. A heavy whiff of weed smacked you in the face, and you swore it nearly gave you a contact high, even from the hallway. 

Frankie was all too happy to see you here. You drove all the way to his apartment just to see him. His face was dripping in a smirky grin. He barely fit through the door frame, his large broad shoulders and tall stature filled the entire rectangular entrance. He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against his door. He was perfectly fucking fine. 

“Hey, princess. Surprised to see you-”

Your lips purse and your eyes screw tight as you smack him with his bag of food. “What the hell-” smack, “is wrong with you! Fuckin-” smack, “asshole!” 

He’s slow to defend himself at first, letting you exhaust your hits as you fist the brown paper bag in annoyance. Finally on the last hit, he swipes the bag from your hand and sighs. He’s trying to dial down his stupid smirk, but it ends up turning into this stomach-twisting, sweet smile. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and chew on the inside of your cheek. “Carla told me you were sick.” 

“I am sick.” Frankie playfully defended, standing straight and shrugging his shoulders with a half-innocent smile. “Sick.. and tired of working.” He laughs at his own joke, and you bite back a smile. Such a fucking dork. 

You’re at a weird standoff outside of his apartment. It’s like he’s holding your invitation to enter over your head, and out of your reach. He wants you to ask. You want him to ask. You’re both so goddamn stubborn. You cross your arms and stand straight, eyeing him down. 

Frankie rolls his eyes, his smile breaking into a larger one as he grabs your wrist and pulls you inside. “So fuckin’ difficult.” You hide your smile as your face lightly glides against his chest, unintentionally inhaling his scent. By the looks of his hair, he was fresh from a shower. 

Frankie closes the door behind you, and his front brushes against your back as you stand in the tiny entrance hallway to his apartment. Music was playing deeper inside. 

His hands gently settle themselves on your arms, slowly coasting his warmth up and down your goosebump-covered skin. You inhale slowly, your back lightly resting back against his front. He was so easy to sink into. But then you remember how he bailed on work today, and you jut your elbow into his gut. He lets out a puff of air at the force you hit him with. 

“You’re such an ass ditching work. Ditching Carla.” You say as you step away from him and invite yourself further in, exiting the dark hallway and working your way further into the apartment. “We had to make do-it-all Paul step into the kitchen. Do you know how terrifying that is? Such a dick, Frankie.” 

“And you’re so sweet for bringin’ me food.” You hear him rifle through the paper bag, digging out his packaged food, and seeing him smile at the contents. “Thanks. You shouldn’t have.” He brushes past you and towards the kitchen while you stand in the living room. 

You didn’t concern yourself much with Frankie up until recent events, it was odd to see his evil lair. Okay, he wasn’t evil, but you know what I mean. You take in as many important details as you can while you slowly peel off your jacket and toss it on his couch. 

It’s quaint, really. He has no other furniture in the living room besides a couch, which you feel is by design. It sits perfectly opposite his mounted flatscreen. The walls are plain beige but are decorated with band and movie posters. You admire one that was purposely framed, unlike the others, with signatures. You didn’t recognize the band, but by their look, they seemed like an 80s rocker group. 

Below his flatscreen was an impressive vinyl collection, a record spins, and you recognize it as the melody you initially heard upon entering. It was serene, jazzy almost. 

“This is what you listen to when you’re alone?” You tease, kneeling down and flicking through a few album covers to see his taste. It was expansive, to say the least. There were only a fair few that you recognized. TOTO, ABBA, Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, Metallica, a little Van Halen, and a whole lot of The Beatles. 

Frankie sucks the salt from the fries off his fingers, seeing he’s already munched on half his panini. “It’s something I listen to when I’m stoned.” He half-jokes, a slight smile on his face. So that’s what he’s been up to. 

“You called in so you could lay around your apartment and get high all day?” Your tone is playfully judging, but he gives you a proud nod, not a care in the world behind those slightly glazed eyes. 

“I didn’t really lay around all day.” His tone is softer since you’re both so close. He’s standing just to the right of where you’re kneeling down, your head could lay against his thigh if you wanted. “I was trying out some new recipes and shit.” He mutters as he points a thumb behind him and to the kitchen. You glance up and notice his pretty curls in the light. You don’t often see him without his hat or his bandana. Come to think of it, you don’t really see him outside of his yellow-stained apron. 

Your eyes slowly took Frankie in, seeing him casually for the first time outside of work was startling. He was big. Tall and broad, with squishy thighs and a soft tummy, strong arms, and defined biceps. He was comfortably relaxing in a pair of black basketball shorts that landed just above his knees, eyeing a few tattoos by the hem. On his upper half was a tattered, well-loved Lakers shirt with a small tear at the shoulder, which has since been sewn closed. He had a little bracelet on, one of those leather brown ones that twisted around his wrist, accompanied by a spherical, multicolor beaded one. 

Your eyes linger for a hair too long, and now he’s already smirking at you. “Like what you see, princess?” God, that stupid fucking nickname needed a break. Heat shoots up your spine nonetheless, and you have trouble staring daggers at him like you usually would. 

You huff a breath through your nose and stand up on your feet, raising your eyebrow at him. “What do you mean you trying new recipes? You can actually cook?” It sounds rude and sarcastic, but you thought Frankie just goofed around at work and cooked for the cash, not as a hobby. You slowly make your way past him, eyeing his kitchen in the process. 

There are recipe books, honest to god recipe books. Big ones, small ones. Different categories of food outlined on the covers and spines. And his kitchen was a chaotic mess, with multiple cutting boards of varying sizes across his already limited counter space. There were bright-colored vegetables cut up and diced, the scraps having been tossed in a spare plastic bag sitting on the sidelines. There was an open bottle of soy sauce and another for sesame oil, a little tin of cornstarch, and diced chicken sizzling in oil on a frying pan. 

You take a few steps in further, your sneakers landing on linoleum as you really smell what’s simmering in a large skillet. Mushrooms, bell peppers, green onions, broccoli, and peas are cooking in a thick sauce, coating them amidst freshly minced garlic onion.  Your lips part as you inhale, and you can’t believe it. You don’t even know what it is, but it smells heavenly.

You finally have to ask, because hunger is carving a hole in your stomach. “What are you making?”

Frankie parks his hands on his hips and looks at you with knitted eyebrows. “What? You’ve never had stir fry before?” 

You purse your lips and reach for the spatula, looking to Frankie for reassurance, to which he nods his head. Go for it. 

You smile as the vegetables sizzle once you push them around on the pan, relishing in the attention as you allow the other less glazed vegetables to catch some heat from the burner. Frankie hums, like he’s debating something, like he’s learned something from his little experimentation. He reaches past you, his front brushing against your shoulders as he reaches around you and adds a little brownish-amber liquid to the pan. It sizzles, splashes, and dances across the different vegetables, which makes you grin. 

You were never big into cooking, especially since you started working at Tommy’s Diner. You’ve seen enough grease to last a lifetime. You were fine settling in on the couch with a bowl of cereal and a glass of cheap wine. You saved making extravagant dishes for when you had a date over, and even then, that was risky. 

But there was something about Frankie actually knowing how to cook cuisine that you liked. “I didn’t know you knew how to make dishes besides burgers and fries.” 

He sneers and rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling the entire time and lets you continue slowly shifting the vegetables around, watching as the glaze sizzles. “I didn’t know you cared enough about me to visit me at my apartment. We’re both a bit surprised tonight.” This was your worst nightmare. 

“I only came here under the impression that you were sick-”

“So you came to my aid?”

“Psh,” You huff, “You wish. But no.” You insist more forcefully, setting the spatula down and turning to face Frankie, who is all too close to you. You lose a lot of your angry traction as his hand finds your hip, feeling his fingers flip to the stovetop’s burner switch to a lower setting. 

His hands navigate you away from the oven, your back flushed against his counter now. His eyes trail you, grazing over your body as his hips now plant you in one spot. You swallowed a lump in your throat, your still resisting hands planting against his chest. You can feel his cock twitch against your thigh. 

You can’t explain why your fingers twitch and start to clutch his shirt, pulling him a little closer. Stupid Frankie with his goading smirk, bringing his forehead down against yours. It was so hot in his kitchen, in the middle of summer. You feel a bead of sweat sprout behind your ear and lightly glide down your neck as you flutter your eyes closed. It wasn’t often you felt your power to resist him rendered useless, but tonight you felt like he had a quite literal home-field advantage. 

“You want me to stop?” He asks, voice low and lust-drenched. His leg parts purposely between yours, jutting them open and spreading what was his. 

Your throat is closed off, the lack of air draining from your busy head. “I..” Your words fall off, distracted by something scampering through the living room.

“Do you have a cat?” Your eyes light up as you slink past Frankie. He found your stray of attention a bit adorable, despite being given a slight case of blue balls. 

You carefully padded out of the kitchen and into the living room, using the excuse to slip off your sneakers at the entrance. The small orange cat had curled up onto Frankie’s couch by your tossed jacket from earlier, forming a perfect circle amongst all of its tangerine fluff. Its eyes were closed serenely, absent of a new presence. It was fucking adorable, in short. 

Frankie was still flummoxed in the kitchen, adding the cooked chicken into the stir fry before turning the burner off and putting his masterpiece aside. “That’s Leo.” He announces, Frankie’s voice carrying annoyance that he lost a sure thing in the kitchen. Now you were cooing over his cat. 

He settles two bowls on the counter and adds the stir fry to each, a few splashes of the sauce splattering around the rim of the bowl. With two forks randomly stabbed into the piles of food, he walks one of them out to you. “Could have eaten this whole thing by myself.”

You smile, taking the offering and humming as you flop on the couch, the orange tabby finally peeking its eyes open. “I don’t doubt that, so thanks for sharing.” You recognize how he had eaten the panini and fries, and he was still excited over the stir fry. Poor guy probably had the munchies like crazy. 

With the kitty taking up one of Frankie’s couch cushions, he’s forced on the end with you in the middle. He sets his food aside on a spare side table and reaches for a small pipe, your breath pausing at the sight. “You want a hit?” He asks.

His face glows orange as he flicks on the lighter, spreading the flame over the green, now black, substance in the tiny bowl. He inhales, and you watch in mystification as he takes in the smoke filtering through. Your heart thumps harder in your chest, the right side of your mouth twitching up in a sly smirk. 

Let’s smoke weed with Frankie Morales tonight. 

He lets out a labored breath, the smoke flying loosely in the air and creating hazy grey circles that flood the ceiling before disappearing altogether. The stench fills the small apartment rather quickly. 

“I get really weird dreams after I smoke.” You whisper, biting down on your lower lip as you glance down at the pipe he’s holding, a small glow still coming from the weed. 

“It’s still lit if you want some.” His voice is low from smoking, and you have to clench your thighs closer together. Damn this stupid uniform, you wished you would have brought a change of clothes so you’d at least be comfy eating stir fry, petting his cat, and getting stoned with him. 

He raises the piece in an offering, and you look to him for one last look of reassurance. It’s polite to be offered free weed, especially since he’s the one who paid for it. He gives you a nod and looks at you with furrowed eyebrows. Are you crazy? If you want it, take it. 

So you do. And you smoke it. And you pat yourself on the back to do so without coughing. It’s a small hit, but you don’t need much, your brain already feels like it’s as light as a cloud, dancing in slow motion. You giggle by accident. 

Frankie lets out a sputter of laughter, watching you get high with him is a bit comical. “Princess knows how to smoke. Kudos.” 

You let out a puff of laughter through your nose and grab your warm bowl of stir fry, stabbing into a green pepper. “Shut up, Frankie.” 

He ends up putting on a show you both agree on, something comical that makes you both laugh your high asses off. You eat the stir fry and almost forget Frankie is the one who made it. It was delicious, you ate everything down the the finely chopped green onions. 

You both shared another hit, and you felt like you were loosening up. Any need to hold onto control slipped through your fingers. Any issues you had been dealing with drifted away. And you realized how stupidly happy you were to be beside Frankie. Trying to do anything of actual initiative went out the window after your second hit. You both found yourselves on the floor of Frankie's room, sat side by side, heads resting on the edge of his bed as you both stared up at the ceiling and spoke gibberish. 

“Aliens?” He asks, your thighs brushing. 

“Of course.” You hum, slowly blinking in a gentle haze. “Ghosts?”

He sighs and takes a long time to answer, which apparently offends you because you snap your head up and look at him in disbelief. 

“You can’t be serious. If you believe in aliens, you have to believe in ghosts.” You argue as you stare at his fan. 

He lets out a throaty groan, closes his eyes, and runs his hands down his face. His curls are pretty. They haven’t been run through a million times yet or smothered by a bandana or hat. 

“I think… I do believe in ghosts. I just don’t want them to bother me.” He says, a weak smile on his face. 

“What? Like you’re afraid to be haunted?” Your head lays back on the bed but rolls over, watching his profile while he continues to look up absentmindedly at the ceiling. 

He’s silent for far too long. Finally, he rolls his head over to face you, your noses lightly brushing. He’s so close that looking at him feels a bit cross-eyed. 

“Wait- what? Sorry.” He finally says with a broken, short laugh. 

“Can you focus?” You ask teasingly, pushing your hand up against his cheek and making him stop staring at you. 

You take the soft silence as an opportunity to rest your hand lightly on his thigh. He does the same, except he feels the warmth of your skin and the material of your uniform. Goosebumps form shortly after, and you smile shyly up at the ceiling. 

“Have you…” You start to say but trailed off, bashfulness overcoming you. 

“Have I what?” He asks. You both blink slowly as a car’s lights flash through his window only for a few seconds, lighting up the dim room before it is filled with darkness again. The moon and an orange lava lamp was the only source of glow. 

You distractedly look away from him, admiring a tapestry on his wall and his soft comforter. “Have you had sex with someone high?” 

He shrugs and slowly smiles before gently nodding his head against the edge of his bed. “Yeah. Have you?” His head rolls over to look at you again. You feel his warm gaze, but you just keep your eyes locked on his ceiling fan. 

Warmth and a subtle shyness flush across your chest, your thighs nearly trembling in excitement. “No.” You whisper. 

He doesn’t say anything, but he watches you for a few moments. 

“Want to, though.” You finish, feeling a knot slowly grow in your stomach. 

Frankie’s eyes flick to your long lashes, then down to warmth creeping up your neck. “Yeah?” He asks.

You gently nod, too, eyes still too shy to meet his own. “Yeah-” 

He doesn’t let you get out one more syllable. His large hand comes up and meets your cheek, guiding your head to meet his gaze.

Frankie kisses you deeply but at a slow pace. And you’re feeling a desperate hunger to have him. You eagerly cup his cheeks in return and swing a leg over his lap, intensifying the kiss as your hands glide down the landscape of his clothed chest, bunching up his shirt in the process. You feel like a horny jackrabbit, but it’s really all his fault. You can feel his half-hard cock as you grind the center of your pelvis over his own, whimpering into his mouth desperately.

“Take care of me,” you whisper, and it ends up sounding a little more like a desperate, whiney plea. 

Frankie’s lips part against your own, feeling the neediness of your touches. His hazy vision peers open, breaking your kiss for a moment. 

“Hold on, baby,” He sits up a little bit against the bed, his eyes scanning yours with a certain deepness. 

You pause, your chest heaving lightly as you regain your breath. “Frankie, come on, don’t make me beg.” You say as you lean in once more, but he catches your face and pauses your movements. You feel like a deer in headlights, static tingling in your ears as you feel a sudden rush for embarrassment. Why wasn’t he just as excited? Or eager? Or desperate? Were you the problem?

Suddenly, your eyes were dashing around for an escape. Then he speaks your name. Soft, gentle, careful. Hear him out. You swallow your pride and stay seated over his lap. 

“We’re not at the diner right now, y’know? We can,” he pauses to find the right words, seeming to get lost in the beautiful hue of your eyes. “We can take things slow. Wanna take my time with you.” 

You can’t help but let an awkward chuckle escape between you, eyes having a hard time meeting his. You playfully scoff and smack his shoulder lightly to regain a sense of control. “Shut up, Frankie.”

His head cocks, and he looks at you with that stupid fucking smirk. “You don’t know how to take it slow, do you?” 

His words antagonize you, and your eyes light with fire. A defensive fire, because he was right. 

Slow meant feelings, slow meant experiencing, slow meant bonding. You weren’t slow. Sex was supposed to be fast, hot, desperate, counting down the seconds until a sweet escape, racing to an orgasm, chasing it like a fever dream. You weren’t good at slow. 

You hate that Frankie has learned this about you. Giving up the upper hand wasn’t in your caliber. And you find yourself frowning as you look down at him once his smirk washes away. He’s looking at you like he cares. Even with you both stoned, brain’s hazy and light, he sees through all that and looks at you like he gives a damn. 

He lightly shrugs his shoulders and softens the hold he has on your face, his thumb gently stroking along your cheekbone. “Can show you.” 

Hesitancy screams across your blank face, but he reads you better than anyone else. He speaks your name, more genuinely explaining his offer. “Let me teach you.” 

You let out a gentle sigh, slowly giving in to temptation. Because having him at all was better than not. So you take it slow. Frankie teaches you zen. Teaches you how to melt. 

One of his hands falls from your cheek and lands on your waist, gently stroking your hip in a soothing slow circle. It feels like heaven. 

His brown orbs dip close, and you let him take the lead. He kisses you tenderly, soft. His tongue lines your lower lip once he’s ready to lightly increase the intensity, begging your mouth for permission to part. If it was any other night, your tongue would be down his throat, and you’d be a grinding, sloppy mess in his lap. Let him teach you.

You take a deep breath in as your tongues tangle. 

It almost makes you giggle again, because it feels stupid, but you sort of like it. 

His stubble brushes your face, and you fight to release a moan. Frankie’s hand on your hip shuffles to your lower back, and you feel him add pressure. Your chest meets his, and you let yourself melt into him. His strong torso easily keeps you both up. Your heavy breaths hit the room, and you force yourself to pull away for air, despite how much you enjoy making out with him. He grins at the sight of satisfying you. 

Frankie pushes a stray hair that’s fallen out from your loose ponytail behind your ear, smiling as his hands move to the back of your uniform. This will be the first time he actually undresses you properly, not just shoving the material up past your ass so he has access to your pussy. 

“You know how to work the zipper?” You playfully ask as you settle your head on his shoulder, taking the slower moments to breathe and relax. 

He stuffs down a chuckle and nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I think so. Am I doing it right?” He asks as he guides the zipper down your back, feeling your flesh exposed to the rest of his room. 

You purse your lips and slowly sit up in his lap, watching him take in a deep inhale as your centers brush lightly. You hide your coy smile as his eyes light with excitement, but he’s made a point to be slow with you. You guide the sleeves of your uniform down to your hips, exposing your breasts to him. Giggles leave your mouth as you wiggle out the last bit of your dress, Frankie is more than happy to help you. 

“I’m feeling a little alone here.” Your voice is soft, tugging at his shirt before you push it up just past his pecs. Your high ass got a little distracted, staring at the hair sprinkled in dark trails across his torso, feeling him struggle in his shirt as he laughed. 

“Focus, princess,” his arms tangle with his shirt before he tosses it off, especially since you started slacking. You shyly smile and flutter your eyes down to his warm body as your hands explore the landscape for the first time. You had yet to undress each other like this, you sort of liked it, especially with this whole slow and steady thing going for you both. 

Frankie leans back against the bed, admiring the sight before him. You feel a little awkward, goosebumps rushing up your arms as you shyly smile and playfully push his face away. “Stop staring, perv. You’ve never seen a pair of tits before?”

He’s quick. “Not a pair that nice.” 

You smile and crack out a laugh, knowing sex has never felt this casual before. No pressure. Good vibes. And it’s not just because of the weed. It’s because it’s Frankie. And he looks at you like you put the sun in the sky and you could do no wrong. But then he starts staring at your tits, and you realize he’s just another guy. 

His hands caress your waist, thumbs dipping into the curves and appreciating the way they run up you like beautiful rivers. You decide to do the same. Your hands slip lower, letting his happy trail guide you to his black mesh basketball shorts. His rough and calloused hands cup your tits, taking them in his palms and giving you a tentative squeeze. He’s figuring you out, what you like, what makes you squirm and whine. As soon as he pinches your nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers, a broken gasp is elicited from your mouth. 

“Shit,” you curse breathily. Everything was a bit heightened right now, including your sensitivity. It felt like a million little strums were being played, making your spine shiver and your head grow foggy. And you were determined to make him feel the same way. 

You bite down on your lower lip, fishing your hand into his shorts and fisting a hand around his already hardening cock. A smirk tangles on your lips as he lets out an earthy grunt, low to the ground and heaven to your ears. 

You start a bit fast, eager to please, wanting to see him tremble for your touch.

His lips meet yours in a distracting manner, rocking your steady pace. “Slow.” He murmurs against your lips, and you gently nod, a shy smile spreading from embarrassment.

“Slow.” You whisper, your lips brushing his. Your ego trips on the power you have over him, fisting him, his heavy length weighing in your hand. You couldn’t even fully wrap your fingers around him, he was all just… girth. Your body ached for him, needy for the feeling only he could satisfy by being inside of you. His tip trickles with precum, and a low moan drips off his tongue like honey. It fuels you. 

“Spit on my cock, princess.” He grunts out, his face leaning in to capture one of your nipples in your mouth. You squeak lightly in excitement before doing just as he asks of you. 

You angle your head over your centers, letting a long line of saliva puddle down onto him. It meets the strokes of your hand, and Frankie’s jaw twitches as he squeezes your breasts involuntarily harder.  You let out a long whine as your nipples form peaks between his fingers, feeling your heart thrum against your chest. 

Frankie likes how you look on top. Back arched, chest pushed up, messy hair falling loose, eyes lit with an eagerness and curiosity for him to teach you the method of going slow. Admiration mixed with respect. He feels like he’s dreaming. 

All he can imagine is you like this, bodies in sync, riding his cock. Tight walls milking his cock for everything he has. His skin becomes riddled with goosebumps, thinking about your nails digging into his chest, your tits rocking up and down, how he would tumble out moans of your name and squeeze your hips with adoration. Yeah, he’d like to see that one day. 

He’s not sure how much longer he can last with merely your hand on him. 

“C’mere, baby.” 

A gasp of surprise jumps from your throat before you can stop it, Frankie managing to stand up off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist for security. His strength, how easily he lifts you and shuffles you around like a ragdoll spurs white hot heat in your stomach. You were going to fuck him good if you ever got past the going slow part. 

His smirky mouth meets yours in a hot kiss, one heavier than before. Like he’s needy for you. Your eyes melt closed as your fingers wind into the pretty curls that were formed at the nape of his neck. Your back meets his mattress and blankets, your fingers dance along the pattern, your high mind hypnotized seeing Frankie on top of you. 

His body rests between your parted legs. You whimper into his mouth, feeling his hardened cock resting against your core. 

“Take my fucking panties off,” you beg more than you mean to. 

Frankie tries not to sneer. His teeth capture your lower lip, and you mewl out a moan before he lets you go. 

“To hell with going slow.” 

You hastily nod, feeling his fingers grip your panties at either side of your hips before he shuffles them down. You whine with how the sticky center stays latched to your core, he gently peels it loose with a hellish smirk. 

Frankie’s heart thrums against his chest and echoes into his ears. Hearing you desperate for his touch was heaven, he felt undeserving to have such an angel vying for his attention. “So wet f’me, barely touched you, princess.” 

He discards your panties to the side, off on the floor with the rest of the clothing you both have shed. You’re completely naked together, makes you a little nervous. 

Frankie promised to speed up, but you’re finding harmony in the way his soft lips trail down your body, leaving wet prints between the valley of your breasts to the soft skin of your stomach. Your breaths come out heavier, thighs shaking as he drops back down to kneel at the edge of the bed. His hands grip your thighs and yank you impatiently closer to his eager mouth. You whimper as your body is shuffled closer, your fists that were clutching the sheets being torn away. 

You giggle as your thighs shake around his head, feeling those perfect kisses move between the warmth of your legs. 

“Fuck,” you finally let out, excitement seeping through your bones. Frankie’s stubble drags across the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, and again, you feel that heightened sensitivity that makes your stomach roll. 

Frankie decides that dragging out the teasing is enough. He wanted to taste you, every mile, every inch, every centimeter. 

Your core glistens in his eyeline, begging to be touched, kissed, fucked. He can’t help but dive in. His dopey brown eyes meet yours as his face disappears lower and lower before he’s past the valley of your tits, and all you can see when you crane your neck are those mocha brown eyes. 

His tongue tastes you, and divides your folds, as he laps up your juices. 

The feeling is exhilarating, like the rise and fall of a roller coaster. 

A gasp riddles its way up through your throat, concaves your chest, and your pupils blow wide in excitement. Frankie enjoys your taste but aims to pleasure. His mouth latches onto your sensitive clit and suckles, his tongue intervening every few swipes to flick across your clit. Rise. 

His large hands grip the outside of your thighs, pinning your lower half to his mattress, and lapping over you in a heated race to the finish line. Your face contorts in pleasure, fingers drifting down your stomach before you wind them in Frankie’s hair. He growls against your pussy, you’ve never felt your blood pump faster. Fall. 

“Fucking- Christ,” you push out, gripping his hair strands tighter and making him grunt hot heat against your core. “Feels so fucking good- oh my god,”

He pulls away for a breath and sucks a love bite into the sensitive flesh of your thigh until it swells pink and purple. One of his hands on your outer thighs wraps around the shell of your body, playing with your clit. He slowly shakes his head as he looks at you. You wonder if he shares your hazy vision. The pleasure makes you feel like you’re seeing double. 

“Christ isn’t making you feel good,” his words make you whimper, “I am.”

You quickly nod, but you realize your body can’t move quickly under the influence. You’re just hazily bobbing your head, your hand in his hair dropping to his strong bicep. 

“Frankie, I need you,” you plead as you gently sit up on your elbows and cup his cheek, wiping your glistening slick off his pretty bottom lip. “Need you inside of me.” You whisper, a desperate look splashed across your face. 

You hated how much power he had over you. He almost just made you cum from playing with your clit. You need him biblically, fully, flesh and blood, blood to bone. It was carnal, primal. 

He doesn’t need much further convincing. Frankie preferred to pull an orgasm from going down on you, but he listened to your needs and what you wanted. 

His lips meet yours in a hungry kiss, working you further up the bed and letting you collapse into his pillows. Your eyes catch the sight of a dream catcher while his tongue tangles with yours. You flush at the taste of your own arousal. That’s when you realize his hand is still between your thighs and working soothing circles into your clit. 

You whimper as he adds a tad bit more pressure, and you feel the white-hot heat of adrenaline making your stomach pool even more excitement into your tummy. 

“Frankie,” you whisper softly, and his forehead rests over yours while he guides his shaft to your center. 

He lines his tip up and down between your folds, your jaw dropping as he sickeningly uses your slick to lube himself. He lets his entire shaft rest against your sex, and he does slow thrusts back and forth, lining his entire cock with you. Holy fuck. A shiver was sent up your spine, goosebumps parading across your body. 

Your chest swelled for him. 

“What do you say?” He asks in a taunt, knowing how weak you are. 

You huff and move your hands up his arms and hang them loosely around his shoulders. He complies in moving in closer. 

“Please.” You finally admit between gritted teeth, which makes him grin. 

“Alright, princess,” his forehead now rests against your temple, cocking his chin down to get a better angle of your centers. He guides his tip to your entrance, slow and patient, before he notches himself inside of you. 

Your eyelashes flutter, and you watch as his eyes clench closed. He likes to act all tough like he wouldn’t fold for you, but you know he would time and time again without having to say more than a simple please. 

Both of you share unsteady breaths. It feels like a dam is giving way inside your chest. 

Frankie thinks how he has never been inside a tighter pussy, squeezing the last bits of air from his lungs. 

Your walls pulsate around the intrusion, but your dripping core and his wet tongue from earlier allowed him to slowly push in, inch by inch. 

You swallow a lump in your throat. You don’t realize your eyes are closed, and you're gripping him around the neck to keep him close until he sponges a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“Alright?” He forces out. It’s like you’re choking him, and it makes you twitch up a smile. 

“Mhm,” you muster up, feeling his chest rumble lightly with laughter. 

“Baby,” he whispers, and your chest surges at the pet name. “Can’t breathe.” Oh, shit. You damn near had him in a headlock.

You loosen your grip around his neck, shyly smiling as your desperate hands look for something to ground you. 

Frankie stays flushed inside you but shifts to be more centered over your body, gently resting his forehead just above yours. 

“C’mere,” he whispers before he takes your hands. You decide not to question why he interlocks your fingers. But it feels safe, and you’re still high, so you’ll blame any poor decision-making on that. 

“Fuck me,” you finally grit out, desperate for him to just fucking, “Move.” 

Your whine is met by him reeling back his hips, only for him to plow right back into you at an unforgiving rate. A gasp ripples through your throat, and you feel like screaming. Your entire goddamn body was on fire with the way his girth parted your walls, splitting you open. You let out a string of whimpery moans, and your eyes glared desperate daggers into him. 

“S’what you wanted, right?” He grunts out, jaw tight, pretty curls falling limply in front of his eyes and crowding his forehead. “You wanna be fucked hard, is that it?” He can barely speak authoritatively, you’re squeezing him like your last lifeline. 

But he’s right. Tears cloud your vision, and you weakly nod as desperate puffs of air leave your pretty parted lips. “Yes,” you squeak out, relaxing your hips so Frankie falls into you more. 

“Feels so fucking good, can’t-” An eager cry leaves your lips as he pulls himself out, just to thrust right back in and rocking you further up his bed. Your chin tips to the ceiling as you curse every god, man, woman, whoever the hell created Frankie Morales. 

“Can’t what, princess?” His tone is lower, sinister even as your walls twitch around him but only gush out more arousal for his cock to slide in and out of you. 

You find it hard to string together syllables. So he squeezes your hands that you’re holding for dear life. He stills inside of you until you answer. 

“Shit,” you whimper. 

“Can’t what, angel?” He probes again, cocky asshole waiting for his answer. 

You whimper and peek open your eyes. The right side of his face is highlighted silver from the moon, your hazy vision thinks he looks like an angel. His hand wanders between your centers and finds your throbbing clit, making you cry out the answer. Your face crumbles as you own up to what you need to say. 

“Fuck! Fuck, Frankie! Can’t go without your dick,” you pant out as he subtly rocks into you at a good pace upon your confession. “Can’t even go- can’t even go a week without it,” you admit in defeat. 

That stupid, cocky smirk of his graces his parted lips. It’s crooked and perfect, and he’s fucking you like your life depends on it. Because it does, you think. 

His thighs clap against your ass, pounding you into the bed, drilling you into place, suffocating the air from your lungs.

Your vision goes hazy, seeing white, then rainbow, then stars. They cloud your vision, and you’re not sure if you’re still high off the weed anymore. Or just high off Frankie. 

You whimper strings of his name tangled with profanity, he’s still filling you to the brim. It once seethed hot with pain, but now your stomach is contorting in pleasure. It’s like he knows exactly how to crack your vault, penetrating your walls, unlocking something deep inside of you that no one else manages to know the code. 

His messy fingers continue to circle your clit, and you know your end is coming. 

Frankie’s grunting with every thrust, moaning a symphony of your name every chance he gets. He likes holding your hand, resting his sweaty forehead against your own, listening to you beg for his cock, for your finish. It’s the only thing he wants to give you. He’d be at your every beck and call if you let him. He wouldn’t mind if the only thing he ever got was a fraction of your praise. 

Frankie’s thighs clap against your ass, the sound echoes around his bedroom. If his neighbors didn’t know his name, they did now. 

“Fuck! Frankie!” You cry out, feeling every inch of his cock massage your insides. His tip kisses your cervix, and your jaw drops. Nothing more comes out of your mouth, so your blown-out eyes do all the talking. 

I’m so fucking close.

“I know, baby, feels good, doesn’t it?” He grunts as his balls slap against you. “Feels good having my fat fucking cock inside you, huh?” 

You shake under him, your thighs clench around his hips, and you pray to the gods for making Frankie. You take back what you thought before, you need him. 

You don’t care that he’s a little older, that he’s an asshole, that he eggs you on. 

Because in the shelter of his bedroom, locked in your embrace, he swallows your name and persuades you into pleasure, time and time again. 

Your clit tingles, and your walls furiously clench around him. Finally, your mouth finds words to try and elaborate on what you’ve been holding inside. 

“Fucking- shit! Fuck me harder, right there- fuck me, Frankie! God- I’m coming!” You cry out as his pants fill your space, fanning across your face. He fucks you harder and faster as you near your orgasm, wanting to help you reach it. And he gets you there.

Your back arches, and he groans lowly as he stills inside of you. It’s almost beautiful the way you cum in unison. 

Your hands hold his tighter, and he reciprocates by squeezing gently. I’m right here, I’m here, baby. 

You’re not sure how long you lay there, still. Your hips get a little achy. He feels you twitch and knows it's time to let you go. 

A gentle whimper leaves you as he pulls out. You feel a bit empty, a little cold.

His sweet laughter makes you peek open your eyes. He’s trying to move out from around you, but you haven’t let go of his hands. 

You shyly let go, and both of you squeeze your hands to flex the knotted muscles and stiff knuckles. You close your legs and lightly curl up. He doesn’t come to rest, he gently pats your outer thigh once or twice before he disappears to his bathroom. 

You think he couldn’t have been gone for more than thirty seconds, but he comes back in a fresh pair of boxers and his basketball shorts, his tanned torso still exposed for your viewing. 

“Frankie,” he pauses like a deer in headlights as he stands up from grabbing your panties. “I’m gonna… spill.” You finally pitch out, a bit embarrassed. 

“Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot. He circles back to the bathroom and grabs a towel and a wet washcloth. 

“Sorry, my brain is all-” he starts to say, but you quickly shake your head. 

“I know me too. S’okay.” You whisper with a smile as you weakly sit up on your elbows. The record playing in the living room had stopped. He shimmies the towel under your hips before he aids you with a clean washcloth. 

Feels too domestic, so you take over, much to his annoyance. You wrap yourself in the towel once you’re done, and sit up to retrieve your uniform. You dread putting it on. 

“Can I take the towel for the way home? My underwear is still too..” you trail off. Soaking wet was the words you would have used. 

Frankie’s face screws up in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together. 

“You’re going home?” 

Now your expressions match. “Yeah?” It sounds more like a guess than a statement. “What else would I do?”

Frankie shifts back and forth on his feet before he sits down beside you on the bed. “Dunno. Stay here.” 

You take in a hesitant breath, and he feels it. “You shouldn’t drive home, you know. You’re stoned. And tired. Don’t need you falling asleep at the wheel or some shit.” 

You frown. Staying here does sound nice. Thinking about going down those five flights of stairs with your jelly legs sounds like a walk to hell. 

But there’s a certain rule about sleeping over. One you don’t want to cross. You and Frankie are just fooling around. Nothing more. 

“I don’t know, Frankie.” You say with a small frown, tightening the towel around you even more. His sullen look deepens at your words. He doesn’t want to overly convince you. If you want to go, he doesn’t want to stand in your way. 

You chew on your bottom lip and weigh your options. You don’t want to go down the stairs. You’re tired as fuck, and you don’t want to get pulled over or something else. And you really don’t want to put your uniform back on. And you want to stop trying to put issues in your own way when you really just want to stick around. But the decision is made for you. 

“Stay.” 

Your eyes meet his. He’s more certain now, going after what he wants. 

“Stay the night, it won’t kill you. I’ll get you something more comfortable to wear, and you can just…” he trails off and shrugs. 

“Stay?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. He nods. 

You sigh loudly but inevitably smile as you point to his closet. “I need a shirt. Please.” 

A big smile glides across his face, and you can’t believe you’re the one who put it there. 

“Alright, princess, whatever you say.” He squeezes your thigh and stands up, his back to you as he fishes through his closet and smells a few shirts to see how clean they are. 

You roll your eyes and sigh as you fall back into his pillows. 

You change into something clean, you hope it’s clean, and end up curling into a protective ball under his covers. 

His cat, Leo, circles up by your feet, and you coo, gently stroking the pretty fur along his back. Frankie retrieves two glasses filled with water and hands you one. You instantly take a few gulps before your hand gently strokes down the shirt he’s put you in. It swims a bit on you, but you like it. The hem hangs at your thighs. 

“Can you get in here?” You ask impatiently. “M’getting chilly.” You whisper with a coy smile. 

Frankie blows out a few candles in his living room and finishes putting away any leftover stir fry. 

Your high has worn off, and now you’re just a sleepy little thing. A long shift plus getting railed would be your new nighttime sleep aid. 

Now that the apartment is drenched in darkness, he pulls back the covers and moves in beside you. Cuddling was not an option. He spoons you, yanking you halfway across the bed and out of your little ball. His warm flesh meets your back, and you hum at the feeling. He was a furnace. His head settles above yours, you feel the stubble gently poke at your hair. Your eyes are already closed as his arm wraps around your waist, an affirming hand settling on your tummy. He must need skin-to-skin contact because his hand slips under the shirt he’s put on you and settles on the warm skin by your belly button.  

You let out a short little laugh. “You do this with all the girls you sleep with?” 

“No.” He quickly says, and your eyes peek open. 

“No?” You ask curiously. 

“No. Just all my coworkers I sleep with.” You roll your eyes and reach around to slap the back of your hand against his hip, forcing out a chuckle from him. 

“M’kidding.” He somehow pulls you closer. Your head rests comfortably on his bicep, the cold tip of your nose warmed by his flesh. 

Questions pour out of your stupid brain. Were you the only one he was sleeping with? If you weren’t, who else was there? Was this normal to him, cuddling after a friends-with-benefits situation? Did Frankie want something more? 

You sigh and close your eyes, attempting to shut off your brain as your finger lazily draws shape on his forearm. 

He murmurs a goodnight against the shell of your ear. You blame how happy and comfortable you are right now on his cat. And it somewhat makes you feel better. You never pictured falling asleep beside your coworker, let alone Frankie Morales. 

Sleep eventually overcomes you. You dream of Frankie sitting in a bowl of stir fry like a hot tub. 

---

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[bonebabbles]

Mm, if the tone of this book was different and WC was a series that was more willing to make characters flawed and self-destructive on purpose, I would LOVE the ring of this paragraph. Unfortunately, I feel like they're trying to frame this "former version of Ivypool" like it was a good thing.

It wasn't "courage, determination, and loyalty" that drove her to train there, those are excuses. Justifications. It was jealousy, anger, and fear. The Dark Forest exploited her weaknesses to groom her, suck her in. The fact she threw herself into danger, and no one protected her, was a BAD thing.

She was the worst possible version of herself back then, nasty and violent and terrified. She killed Antpelt on their orders, and was going to kill Flametail too. Without hesitation. It's not "falling from those days" to not be that person anymore.

So... the idea that she mauls this dog, revels in the satisfaction of sadism, and appreciates the dark-forest-red color of the blood on her claws, it would be a great passage to suggest that she was going to deal with her grief in a very self-destructive way. "Maybe I can be that cat again" could give me chills, man.

[littlespacereader]

I apologize for the wait! But the Halloween special is here! I wanted to surprise you guys and not tell you what fandom this fic was, leaving it a mystery…But now it’s here!! It’s a part of my kiddo series!! I watched a ton of Scooby-Doo to properly get a feel for how the story plays out. So I reworked it a bunch of times. But it’s here!! Please enjoy this Scooby Doo Halloween story with you and the Scooby Doo gang!

Joining the Mystery💚🧡👻

Happy late Halloween everyone!!🎃

Caregivers! Fred, Daphne, Velma, and Shaggy & GN Little! Reader (SFW!)

Tags- Scooby Doo typical scares, stolen stuffed animal, thumb sucking, cuddles, hugs, hand holding

It was getting kind of late, the sun was starting to set and the park was starting to die down.

I sat on the swings, lightly swinging back and forth with my stuffie in my lap. I didn’t want the day to end! It was already such a nice day at the park.

But it was going to start getting dark soon and I didn’t want to walk home alone in the dark. So reluctantly I got off the swings.

I grab my backpack and throw it over my shoulders before heading towards the park exit. Except…there’s a rough group of people over by the exit. I pause for a moment, trying to figure out my next move.

I walked towards the exit thinking maybe I could keep my head down and just walk my way through without making eye contact or talking to anyone. But the moment I started to get closer they all started cracking jokes and teasing me.

“Awwww! It’s the overgrown baby! Going home to Mommy and Daddy?” One said.

“You’re out late! Isn’t it past your bed time?” Another said.

Tears brimmed my eyes as they kept going on. Rather than continuing to deal with their rude comments I decided the best thing to do was to find another way out of the park.

I could hear them cracking jokes and calling out to me as I made my way towards the garden at the back of the park.

“Watch out baby! That garden is haunted!! The ghost of the garden will come and take you!”

Haunted? That’s so stupid. And ghost of the garden and even stupider name…wait is stupider a word?

I unlock the fence and start walking into the garden. I remember when I was younger this garden was beautiful. Filled with flowers and butterflies. But now it was laid without flowers or butterflies or really anything.

Weeds and other plants wrap around the metal covers that are now rusted. The wooden benches now broken or splintered. The brick path cracked under my feet.

I made my way through, holding my stuffie close to me as I tried to reach the other end of the garden when suddenly…

“HAHAHAHAHA!!!!” A creepy laughter breaks the silence of the evening. There, in the path in front of me appears….a ghost?!

“WHO IS IN MY GARDEN?!” He calls out with a haunting voice.

I scream, running as fast as I can back to the park and to the safety of the playground. I run and run and run as the ghost chases me. I can feel him right behind me.

I open the fence and trip, falling hard onto the mulch below.

“Like hey! Are you okay?”

Tears brim my eyes making it hard to see who said that. But soon a guy in a green shirt and his dog walk over to check on me.

“You had a nasty fall there.” He helps me to sit on the mulch, “Are you hurt?”

“I…don’t know…” my voice sounds wobbly as tears stream down my face.

The dog comes over and licks my face, causing me to smile. I giggle as he keeps going on. “That’s it Scoob! I think they’re feeling better now.”

“Just sit down and take a deep breath.” Another woman says as she runs over to us. She’s wearing an orange sweater, a red skirt and thick glasses. “Why were you running so fast?”

“S-Someone was chasing me.” I explain, “It was a ghost.”

“A G-G-GHOST?!” The green shirt guy and the dog said at the same time….wait the dog just talked?!

“You mean the ghost of the garden?” Another guy runs over, a part of the friend group. He’s wearing an ascot and a white shirt with blue pants.

Next to him, another girl with a purple dress. She ran over to me and kneels down. “You’re okay. Just scared you huh?” She pulls down a tissue from her handbag and wipes the remaining tears away. “There we are.”

She makes me feel better. I go to hold my stuffed animal close but…

“MY STUFFIE!” I stand and run over to the fence’s gate. “The ghost! He-He must’ve taken it, I must’ve dropped it…I…I…”

I start to get upset. “He took my stuffie….”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m so sorry. Come here.” The guy in the white shirt pulls me into a hug, holding onto me tightly. “We’re going to get that stuffed animal back to you. I promise.”

“That’s strange,” the girl in the orange sweater starts to say, “First Tommy’s soccer ball and now their stuffed animal. This ghost is not haunting as much as it robbing.”

“And like why a garden? Usually they haunt mansion type places.” The green shirt guy brought up.

“There’s always been this legend that these grounds use to belong to a rich bachelor. He had this big mansion. And he was greedy, never letting anyone inside. After he died they turned it into a park for the public. And they say he haunts it because he’s angry everyone is on his property.” I explain to the group.

“That must be the ghost!” The green shirt guy says worried.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts. But there is someone who wants that garden all to themselves.” The orange shirt girl points out.

“Gang, looks like we have a mystery on our hands!” The white shirt guy says with a smile, wrapping an arm around me.

“I was afraid he’d say that…” the green shirt guy says worried again.

“And since your stuffed animal is at stake, you’re a part of this too. What do you say? Would you like to help us and stop this ghost for good?” The purple dress girl asked.

They all look to me with hopeful expressions. I immediately not my head. “Let’s save my stuffie!”

“Weah!” The dog agreed, saying a yeah.

“We haven’t even introduced ourselves! I’m Daphne.” The purple dress girl starts out saying.

“I’m Velma.” The orange sweater girl says after.

“I’m Fred.” The ascot guy introduces himself.

“I’m Shaggy.” The green shirt guy says, “And this is-.”

“Scooby Dooby Dooo!!” The dog happily says.

“Or Scooby Doo for short.” Fred jokes. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/N.” I introduce myself.

“It’s nice to meet you Y/N. Welcome to the Mystery Gang!” I smile, feeling so accepted with them already.

“Like, I don’t mean to interrupt this moment but I’m getting kinda hungry! Why don’t we go to the diner on 10th street?” Shaggy suggests.

“That’s a great idea Shaggy! We can talk about the mystery and share all the details with Y/N so we’re all on the same page.” Velma smiles.

“Come on gang, let’s go to the mystery machine.” Fred leads the way as we start to walk out of the park and to the parking lot. There sits a van, but not the white creepy van type of van.

No, this van is groovy! There’s flowers on the side, with unique colors like turquoise and orange! It looks so cool. “Y/N, you sit in the back with Shaggy and Scoob. Shaggy, make sure they’re buckled up and safe.” Fred instructs.

“Of course man. Like safety first!” Shaggy opens the side door of the van for me. I sit between him and Scooby Doo, and like instructed, he leans over and helps me with my buckle.

Then it was off to the diner!

~~~

We get one big booth that fits all of us. I sit between Shaggy and Daphne.

My eyes almost pop out of my head as I watch Shaggy and Scooby try to eat this skyscraper tall sandwiches.

“I didn’t know they made sandwiches that big!” I giggle.

“They make them special for us!” Shaggy smiles before he absolutely devours his sandwich.

“Weah! Big wandwich!” Scooby adds before eating his.

I giggle some more watching them go at it.

Daphne taps my shoulder, “You want anything to eat? It’s almost dinner time.”

“I’m okay…” I say a bit shy.

“Y/N, order whatever you want! It’s on us.” Fred smiles.

“No…I couldn’t-.”

“Please, it’s our treat.” He smiles back.

I debate on refusing more but they’re being so kind to me and it would be rude to refuse. “Could I have a milkshake? Strawberry please?”

Fred gives a gentle nod back, “Of course you can.” He pulls the waiter over and puts the order in for me.

“Great choice Y/N! I looooooovvvvvvveeeee milkshakes myself!” Shaggy drapes his arm around me.

“Reah! Rreat rhoice!” Scooby add, saying great choice.

“Now let’s get to what we know about this Ghost.” Velma starts saying. “We know he’s based on a legend, he alway appears at night or close to it. And it seems like each person who sees him, drops something and he keeps it.”

“Maybe it’s something with the garden itself. It’s been overkept for years.” I suggest.

“That’s a good point Y/N.” Fred praises.

“We talked with the mayor and he says it’s owned by the county, but since they don’t have the resources or fund to take care of it, it will soon closed permanently to the public.” Daphne explain.

“Well…” I start to say but look shy.

“What is it Y/N? Don’t be shy. We’re open to suggestions.” Fred smiles warmly.

“If it’s going to be closed…then we should see who would want the garden closed the most. Maybe someone chasing away anyone who wants to help?”

“Like great point Y/N!” Shaggy pats my back.

The waiter comes and drops off my milkshake. I thank him before taking a sip. “This is amazing!”

“See? I told you it was a great choice!” Shaggy smiles.

“We should split up tomorrow. Shaggy, Scooby and Y/N. You go back to the park. See if maybe you can scope out any possible suspects walking around or talking about the garden. Velma you check the public records, Daphne and I will talk to the Mayor again, see if he knows any more.” Fred plans outs

I nod my head, turning back to my milkshake to find it’s all gone. I look shocked but only to see the grin on Scooby-Doo’s face. I giggle and shake my head. “Scooby!” I playfully scold.

As they go about planning tomorrow, my eyes start to get heavy. I start to lean against Daphne, half listening to their conversation. My thumb finds its way to my mouth as I drift off in the diner.

I feel myself being carried and lifted from the booth. I wrap my arms around Fred as he carries me to van. I hear their hushed voices as he pulls the sliding door open and carefully puts me in the van.

I’m sat right next to Scooby and Shaggy. I rest against Shaggy’s side and feel Scoob rest his head in my lap before drifting off once again.

~~~

True to our plan, we spit up into two teams the next day. Shaggy, Scooby Doo and I go back to the park while Daphne, Velma and Fred go back to talk to city hall.

As we approach the park I can see the usual rough group of people standing by the entrance to the park. I immediately look worried.

Shaggy takes my hand, seeing the panicked look on my face. “Like what’s the matter?”

“That group of people over there. They’re the reason I tried to walk through the garden yesterday…they always make fun of me and say rude things…sometimes they push or try to grab my stuff.” I look down.

“You don’t need to worry about them today. Scoob and I will protect you.” He reassures with a small squeeze to my hand.

“Weah!” Scooby echos.

As we approach the park I can hear their snickering and their teases. I brace myself for it until…

Scooby runs in front of us and starts growling and barking at them. “RUN!” One of them yells before they all disburse.

I smile, letting go of Shaggy’s hand to hug Scooby. “My hero!”

Scooby giggles before licking my face again.

“I’ve seen that guy before.” Shaggy points to one of the guys who ran away. “I saw his photo on the Mayor’s desk.”

“He must be the Mayor’s son.” I suggest. “But what’s he doing here?”

“Wey! Who’s wat?” Scooby points out asking who’s that?

Shaggy and I pick up our heads to see a woman walking in the garden. She kneels down by a planter box, planting fresh flowers.

“Huh? I didn’t know they had a gardener.” I say confused. I mean if she’s the gardener she’s not doing a very good job of it. This place is overgrown and unkept.

“Let’s go talk to her. Maybe she knows what’s going on.” I squeezes Shaggy’s hand.

“B-B-But the ghost…” He says shaking.

“He only comes out in the evening or the night and it’s still the morning! Come on!”

We brace ourselves and enter the garden. There we meet the woman planting the flowers. Upon talking to her we learn a lot.

She knows about the ghost and has been chased away herself! She plants new flowers here each week and finds them ripped away each time. She’s on a committee to help bring the garden back. But it’s been ignored by the Mayor and city hall.

We talk to her for a while before rejoining with the rest of the Mystery Gang and share the details.

“Huh?” Velma says, adjusting her glasses. “I think I know who’s behind this mystery. But there’s only one way to find out…”

“We have to set a trap!” Fred says excited. “And I know just how we’re going to do it!”

~~~

Honestly, this is the craziest trap I’ve ever seen. Fred has been kind and patient enough to explain it not once but about 4 times to me. And each time I still can’t quite grasp it.

But simply put, from what I understand, Shaggy and Scooby are the bait. They get the ghost to chase them then this crazy trap gets sprung and then BAM! The ghost gets caught in a net.

We all wait in the garden, close by one another, waiting for Shaggy and Scooby to come running by. I hide being a large planter with Velma at my side.

I carefully peek my head out to see what’s going on when I hear Shaggy and Scooby start yelling and running.

They run down the broken brick path of the garden and right….into the trap….themselves…

Velma, Fred, Daphne and myself stand up and look shocked at the events. But we don’t have much time to stay shocked as the ghost starts chasing us!!

*Cue Scooby Doo running sequence.*

We run up the garden, down the garden, left, right, we even run so much the ghost ends up in front of us?! Then we run the other way!

I run ahead, grabbing the rope from the net and pulling it tightly. When the ghost comes by it trips on the rope and falls to the ground. Scooby runs up behind me, grabbing the net and throwing it on the ghost. We caught the ghost!

The police arrive and hold the ghost in handcuffs. “Now it’s time to see who’s really behind this haunting!” Velma announces before she takes the mask off.

And it’s…….THE MAYOR!

“The Mayor?!” We all say in unison.

“That’s right, Mayor Robertson. I became suspicious of the mayor when he said that the county didn’t have the resources to handle cleaning the park. So I did some digging on the Mayor and found out if this garden was to close, he would get a bonus in his paycheck.” Velma starts to explain.

“That’s why he dressed as a ghost, to scare anyone trying to fix the garden.” I start connecting the pieces.

“Precisely Y/N! When he heard about a committee that looked to fit the garden, he started to dress as the ghost to scare away anyone trying to fix it.” Velma goes on to say.

“He used his son as a way of getting the ghost name around town, refusing anyone to leave the park through the exit and instead by through the garden so they’d run into him. Once they’d start to go there, he’d use this,” Fred pulls a walkie talkie off the Mayor, “Walkie talkie to set up the scare.”

“B-But what about all the things he took? My stuffie?” I ask anxiously.

“That would be here.” Daphne walks over to one of the planters, she reaches behind it and grabs a box. “I saw this while we were waiting for Shaggy and Scooby to spring the trap.”

She brushes off the dirt on top before opening the cover to reveal a box full of different objects. But sitting on top sat my beloved stuffie!

I gasp, grabbing the stuffed animal and holding it close. The Mystery Gang smile, all gathering around me.

“Taking stuffed animals? Scaring kids and teens? All just to get a bonus check huh?” The police man nudges the Mayor.

“And I would’ve gotten away with it too if it weren’t for those meddling kids!” The Mayor yells.

We all laugh but Scooby has the last say, “Scooby-Dooby-Doo!”

~~~

As the Mayor is brought to the police car we all stand by the Mystery Machine. “I’ve had so much fun with you guys! Thank you again for helping get my stuffie back.”

“Of course! We’ve loved having you around.” Daphne smiles.

“But speaking of that…we wanted to ask…” Fred starts to lead on, “We have an extra seat in our van and in our group. You’ve helped us so much with this mystery. We could use someone like you for the next one.”

I look in awe of the group, “Really? You don’t care that I-.”

“Regress? Like no dude! If anything we’d love to help take care of you, especially on this mystery. We’ve had fun taking care of you! And we’d like to continue to.” Shaggy right away says.

“What do you say Y/N? Would you like to join us and solve some mysteries?” Velma asks with a smile as well.

I can’t helps but smile and nod my head excitedly, “Yes!! Yes! A million times yes!”

We all share a group hug together before we gather back into the van. Velma, Daphne and Fred in the front, with Shaggy, me and Scooby Doo.

The new Mystery Gang.💚🧡

[lov3rachan]

VocalRACHA with a Flirty and Pervy s/o

“I been a nasty girl, nasty” - Nasty, Tinashe

Summary: VocalRACHA with a flirty/pervy partner

With the same concept: 3RACHA here, DanceRACHA here

Warnings: cheesy pick up lines, swear words (no more than five), suggestive

Genre: Fluff, humour, suggestive, gender neutral (you/your)

Comment: The final part of the flirty series! I hope you like it!

Requested by: @sheerfreesia007

Written: 12.12.2024-14.12.2024

Kim Seungmin

- He will insult you for it. It will be a playful insult, that’s a given, but he will tease you over how whipped you are. Otherwise, he might surprise you with a witty response. In his softer moments he will embrace you and simply answer with a “Is that so?” accompanied by his loving puppy eyes. Most of the time, though, he will be a menace if you tease him.

You were lounging around, lazily scrolling through countless puppy videos when Seungmin peeked at your screen.

“Your obsession with puppies is insane” he snorted.

With a devilish grin you replied: “Honestly, being a dog owner plays a big part in it”.

Seungmin simply raised an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to go on speaking.

“After all, I have you, pup!”

His expression turned exaggeratedly sour as he mocked you with an “Ew, you simp!”.

He even got away from you, sticking his tongue out with a fake disgusted expression.

Truth was, though, that he had heated up at the comment so he couldn't risk having you notice it.

However, as an idea came up in his mind, he went back to you and whispered in your ear: “If I'm your dog… does that make you my bitch?”

suggestive - He will be a brat about it. Seungmin will keep his composure as much as possible, considering how endearing he is finding you, and he will shoot back a remark, usually just as dirty and slightly mean. He will either rile you up and then leave or he'll be eager to prove himself to you. Which one he chooses to do… that’s a mystery.

Yang “IN” Jeongin

- He just can't take it. While his first reaction is of confusion, once he understands you he will become a blushing mess, heating up quicker than the thermostat. He will literally try to escape the room if it helps him avoid your flirting.

Jeongin was taking incredibly long to get ready for your date.

Though he was aware that you were downstairs, patiently waiting for him, he just couldn't help himself.

He wanted to look his best but he was incredibly indecisive on his look that day.

After a long internal debate he made a choice and dressed up as quickly as he could.

He had just come down the stairs when you, after laying eyes on him, shouted: “Argh! My eyes!”.

The poor boy got incredibly worried and approached you quickly, hand on your back.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He asked, panic in his voice.

“Yeah” you uttered, straightening you back “I was just blinded by your beauty!”.

IN, stunned by the fact that he had been as gullible as to worry about your condition, simply left you: he was speechless and blushing uncontrollably.

“If you’re fine let’s go” he’d say, hurrying to the door while trying to act as if nothing had happened.

Unfortunately, anyone could see that he was simply running away, face and neck as red as tomatoes.

suggestive - When you thirst after him, something within IN just snaps. Wide-eyed he smirks and (with new found confidence) he will ask: “Really? Is that what you think?”. The reassurance and appreciation for the care he takes of his body… He just can't help but crave it, prove himself to you and cater to your needs.

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel

Chapter 4: Affected Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he's alive. He's been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, low honor Arthur, NSFW content, vaginal and oral sex, spanking, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader and an allusion to slut shaming. Also a single grain of daddy kink, if you want reader to be strong and a fighter... this is not for you sorry WC: 3664 Hello! Thanks so much for reading and for all of your support, Arthur is very... something. He is so conflicted about everything. LMAO Tags: no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur is sort of delusional omg,

You get a peek into Arthur's head.

The passing hours are filled with a bit of you exploring, looking around. He only watches fondly, after he pours himself a bourbon. When you go through all of his strange rocks he has displayed on his mantle you see those plain leather bound books he had picked one from earlier. When you move to pick one up, his hand is over yours.

“You really like to get in a man's business; don't you, girl?” He looks at your eyes and he gives you a harsh look before giving a huff. He turns his gaze away, shaking his head in disbelief before he lets out a “Fine…”

You smile and select one, this one is tan leather and looks a bit more well cared for than the others. The pages are nice and smooth under your fingers. You flip to the first page and can't help but wonder at his skill, pictures of horses and trees seem to come to life. Interspersed are his personal accounts, beautiful hand lettering with scrolling script. Arthur heaves a sigh before sitting in his armchair.

“Your pictures, they're… amazing,” You smile while looking at them, flipping past animals of all kinds. He can hardly muster a word, watching with obvious anxiousness. He’s red in the face but trying to hide how much your words affect him. The look on his face is somewhere between bewildered and panicked.

“Can I read? Or do you want me to just look at your pictures?” He seems embarrassed this moment is even happening. One hand covers his mouth, elbows down on his knees while he looks away, sitting in his chair.

“Do what ya want,” His tone is flooded with petty aggravation, like a grumpy dog who lost his bone. He waves his hand but you know it's anything but flippant. You read along.

At the beginning of this journal he describes a few months of living here, taking in the sights, getting to know strange folk; the visit and departure of a man named Charles. He speaks of missing people and some “nasty business”. He laments on things he could have done differently. Wishes that it had gone a different way. That certain people had lived and others died in their stead. The tone is rather somber in his writings.

Then he goes back to living by himself for a long while. Tedious writings of ‘nothing much’ ‘nothing new’ ‘saw a bird today’. Sometimes he writes of the headaches he has after drinking himself to sleep. Here, he writes his darkest thoughts. How he deserves this for all the pain he caused, for everything he had done wrong. When he sees you look up from the journal in concern, he stands and snatches it from you.

“That's enough of that, now,” He struggles with the strap to tie it closed. When you go to help him, he shrugs you off.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, I didn’t-”

“Don't need your goddamn pity,” his voice is sour, venom like a rattlesnake, spitting it out at you. You flinch just a bit, making him sigh and shove the book away. “Really could never stop being a fool,” You move closer, even though you know he is not quite in the mood.

“I thought… I thought your pictures were beautiful, Arthur,” His hands grip the mantle and he gazes down at the fire, not saying anything. You sigh and take the book from where he put it. You flip to a landscape he drew, the view from his porch in the springtime. “This one is my favorite,”

“I’m sorry, shouldn't have-” At your words, his shoulders sag and his posture softens. Arthur looks at you and the picture you show him, his gaze so sincere. His hands tighten on the mantle, his nerves, you suppose, might be a bit frayed at the ends. He doesn't finish his sentence. He looks conflicted and at odds with his own innards. Then he snaps back into himself, like a hammer on a bullet. “Won’t happen again” he says with an odd finality. You're not sure whether he means he won't lash out at you or if he just won't let you see his journals. He walks off instead of being more specific.

The storm is much quieter now. The bellows of air no longer whip against the walls of Arthur’s sturdy house, rattle the delicate glass of his windows. Still, the hearth is lit and he has a pot of water boiling to make some stew for dinner. You sit and wonder what should happen when the storm dies down. Arthur has gone out to tend to your horses, not before giving you a kiss and telling you to stay put. You nod and it makes him smile and pet your cheek, his beautiful ram skin coat shrugged over his shoulders and then he’s out to muck the stalls and put out fresh hay. You find your clothes from yesterday, riding pants and combination and undergarments, a bit strange smelling from sitting out while wet. You lay them on a line Arthur has strung up on the wall, hoping that some of the moisture can dry. You're not sure when you’ll be riding out again so you set your boots neatly by the door. You look at the front door.

You think of putting on your clothes and running out but there’s no doubt Arthur will hear you open the front door. And even worse, he’ll be on a horse before you, running you down. By the looks of his horse you got a peek of , it wouldn't be a good idea. Instead, you walk to his kitchen, beginning to peel and chop vegetables and aromatics for the stew, cutting some meat as well. The thought of leaving is not as hopeful as you thought, whether you’ve resigned yourself to Arthur or you just don’t want to leave; you’re not sure yet.

Dinner is rather quiet, only the sound of Arthur scooping stew into his mouth. He’s finished by the time you’ve only gotten through half the bowl of soup. He spreads his legs and crosses his arms over his chest, watching you. He gives you time to eat as slow as you need, fidgeting with his hands, scratching at his cheek or rubbing his neck.

“The storm is starting to blow over,” You comment stiffly between two mouthfuls of stew. He nods, fingers twitching and drumming on his arm. He hasn't smoked any of his cigarettes nor the cigars in his bedroom. Only poured a bourbon for himself. “Do you think we can go see my family?” You ask, setting your spoon down and crossing your legs underneath the table. He seems to think for a while, tapping his foot. Arthur looks deeply at you, something he sees in your pleading look makes him say yes.

“Sure,” a not too unusual twang lifts the word, sounding so casual, despite the set and flex of his jaw. You smile genuinely, excited to go and see them, even if in the company of a man who has taken you against your choice.

“Now, c’mere, honey,” His eyes are dark and you can hardly see that bright blue under the heaviness of his eyes. “Ain’t gonna say it again,” You rise from your chair, gulping down the saliva that pools in the pockets beside your tongue. He pats his lap and you sit gently on his knee, just like he had commanded you to. He makes the warmth in the cabin pale in comparison to the heat emanating from him as he pulls you to sit flush with him. You let his arms wrap around you, let his nose and face nudge along your skin.

You’ve never had anyone simply enjoy the way you feel in their arms. Such a foreign thing, a man holding you for so long, taking in the feel of you on his body. It makes your stomach tingle and you can feel something inside you rising to the surface. Your eyes start to droop, a warmth just like his bubbling up within the depths of you. Every sound he makes brings you away from your thoughts, the drag of his rough fingertips makes it so you can’t move away.

“Wanna have ya right here on this table, darlin’, show me that pretty little ass of yours before I tan it raw,” His command is so rough, the complete opposite of his softened affections, making you hesitate just a moment before you assign meaning to his words. Reluctantly, you move to the table, standing before bending slightly at the hips, careful not to disturb some of the objects on the table.

In a rush, he sweeps them aside, uncaring of the clatter he causes of spoons and a glass which merely rolls around on the ground. You feel a bolt of lightning go down your spine when his hand rubs the fabric that covers your behind. You're quick to catch his meaning, lifting the fabric of his shirt up to your waist, a deep heat floating up to your face, a twinge of embarrassment making your stomach curdle.

Arthur gropes and rubs slowly at you, chapped skin squeezing the fat of your rear. He scoffs when you flinch and try to retreat towards the table. His thumbs spread you open from behind, peeking at your center, beginning to dampen with the way he treats you, looks at you, commands you.

“You must feel so empty after I filled you up. Gettin’ wet for me, sweetheart?” As if his ego could get any bigger right now, your back arches even more at the thought of him making you feel what he made you feel the last time he lusted after you, made you his, made you beg for his ownership. He sits down and places his fingers at the softest part of you, the folds that cover your entrance part at his tender prodding. “Get my fingers wet, honey,” He wants you to push yourself back onto him. You bite your lip, thankful he can't see your face; the pleasure makes your mouth drop open when you let his fingers slide slowly inside of you. 

At first, your motions are jittery and nervous. You know he’s looking at you; like no man has ever looked at you before. Between your legs, watching his fingers spread you open for him. You want to stall but know exactly the kind of spanking he’ll give you if you don’t comply. Your face is warm and you're making your lip hurt with how much you worry it between your teeth. He has praises for you that make your lower belly squeeze. “Look too damn good,” has your heart beating a bit faster.

The texture of his fingertips is so perfect, every little bit you take inside makes you shiver and sigh, wanting more. Your shame is forgotten, embarrassment left behind when you get the pace right, finding yourself moving to meet it. The sound of you wetting his hand doesn't even affect you, all you want is to make him proud, to feel that sensation of overwhelming pleasure.

“Ain't that a sight,” He murmurs, huffing and watching the spectacle that is you grinding back onto his fingers and moaning, small noises every time you push back and he hits as deep as he can go. You're running down your thighs, the room is heavy with heat. Just as you're about to crest over, he pulls his fingers, forcing a whine and a shiver from you. 

“Arthur,” You whimper out, knees about to buckle. He’s there to support you, pinning you to the table. His hands pull his suspenders down, unfastening his belt out of the way. He pushes your shirt above you, stripping you. One of his hands squeezes roughly at your breast and the other hikes your knee upwards. You feel so small in his hold, his hands envelop your breast, lift you so easily. His hips are high enough to put you almost onto the table entirely, gently testing, the very tip of him piercing into you, making you wiggle and pulse.

“Shit, honey, you’re so-” He can't get any more words out, only a relieved sigh and a jerky push inside of you, slow and restrained. “Jesus, girl, ain’t had nothin’ better,” The thickness of him spreads you and you feel him drive forward to fit the length of him inside the sopping heat between your legs. His words pet your ego so smoothly, undeniably happy that he likes the feel of you, the most special thing you can give a man. The stretch is so nice, already sensitive and receptive from his fingers. You can't help the noises you're making, almost like you're crying. Without much build up, he has you gasping as he tilts his hips all the way flush to you. His hands and fingers dig into your waist, helping you meet him in the middle, a hard and slow rhythm has your thoughts melting away.

“You like having me fuck you like this, sweetheart,” One of his exhales of smugness and satisfaction leave him, can practically see the smirk he has on his face. His hand comes down on your ass, making you squeal, his hand soothing the sting and then holding your shoulder, your elbows up on the table, listening to the legs scrape on the floor, the knocking of wood to the pace of him slamming inside of you. 

“Yes, I like- I like it,” you can barely speak, thoughts and tongue all jumbled together. You knew that would rile him but not so much. Arthur's even rougher, pinning you down completely. He has a fistful of your hair close to your scalp and he takes his pleasure while you brace yourself against the table. Little pants are all you can get out. “Sweet little girl, so goddamn wet,” His palm is on the side of your neck, feeling your pulse. Your hips wiggle and jolt, half away and half towards what he's doing to you. A succinct current of pleasure rolls over you, your eyes roll back in tune.

“Ruin you for good, won’t be another man but me takin’ you like this,” his hands paw at you, forcing you to meet him so that he touches just until it about hurts, so good that you hardly notice the stretch that you endure to take him. Your hips move so that he hits the perfect spot, lifting and tilting to push you towards the edge. Like a thread about to snap, you feel the tightness inside.

“You need me, darlin’?” He pants in the midst of you working on him as you chase your gratification. You nod, just wanting him to keep going. He catches on to your mindless motion, a hand slaps your ass, harder than before. You flinch and whine, “Yes, Arthur, need you-” You gasp and feel him touch and press into your most sensitive point. He’s doing something he hasn't done yet, flicking his fingers over the front of you, just under the top of your slit, rough fingertips finding something that makes you feel too much all at once. He makes you tense and moan far too loud, fingers gripping the table.

Your release is perfect, your mouth parting to call for him, his name dripping from your lips. You cry real tears when he keeps going, your wish granted; pushing you to your breaking point. 

Arthur is merciless, driving his hips into yours, even as you struggle, far too overstimulated but too weak to fight against his hold. All you can do is cry and whimper, on your tiptoes bent over his dining table. Your thoughts can't seem to focus on anything too well, can only think of how good it is, the very tip of him nudging as deep as it can go; you’re so incredibly sensitive from the peak he pulled out of you. Arthur has a bruising grip on you, over your hips and thighs. You can hear how good you make him feel, how he hisses, grunts when you wiggle too much.

A small whine of his name has him responding to you. He cusses loudly, pulling away from you, his spend splashing down your thigh, rolling down to your ankle. He’s panting and squeezing you for what feels like his life, listening to him groan and pull you to sit with him on his chair again. He’s holding your body, which is almost limp in his hold, pulling you close.

Not much is said between you, he simply listens to your breathing as it evens out slowly, choosing to kiss you over your cheeks, wet with tears. Your hands hold his scratchy cheeks, petting a scar on his chin where his hair doesn’t grow. Letting him lick you makes a small smile break onto your face, his tongue in your mouth, you can taste the slight sting of bourbon. Your smile surprises even you, relinquishing your resolve to reject your feelings. Your instincts are confused, they respond to him, no matter how much your mind tells you that you should be running. Some part of you is possessed by the warmth in your belly, the fire in his hearth. His blue eyes consume every available piece of you, unable to look away when he stares at you. He’s happy to tuck you safely within him. Your hand explores the warmth of his neck and the unshaven hair that is starting to grow along the underside of his jaw. Arthur seems to enjoy your fingers and nails, soft groans rumbling deep in his chest.

He stands up with you, tossing you over his shoulder playfully. You squirm and gasp when he puts light pats on your ass while he ambles down to the bedroom, dropping you on the bed. Careful not to toss you too hard or smack your head on the bed frame. You can almost feel the way his gaze roves over you, like marbles, rolling along your skin. Arthur marvels genuinely, can’t hide his smile as he joins you, stripping down to his union suit, peeling his suspenders and trousers off. He contemplates taking it off and you’re up on your knees, helping to unbutton it. You look up at him and he’s almost shy about your eye contact, tips of his ears flush bright red. His chest is broad and muscled, honey brown hairs grow and swirl, all the way down his belly. A layer of plushness softens him, it only serves to make him even broader, fills him out. He helps you by shrugging off the shoulders slowly, a tad apprehensive in this intimate moment, much closer than when he first undressed in front of you.

He was quick and desperate to touch you, eager and unstoppable. Now he is softer, slower. It’s difficult for him to meet your eye but he does anyway, revealing a sensitive wound under the scab that is his hard and occasionally aggressive attitude. Some part of him takes pride in his body, a workman’s body, a fighter. And the other shies away from you.

“You don’t like when I look at you?” Your hand gently tugs the fabric of his clothes down.

“Hate these damn scars. Gettin’ old, too, bet you wish you had somethin’ better to look at, don’t you?” he heaves a sigh out. There are many scars littered over his skin, in no particular pattern. One looks quite painful, it must have been a burn, a violent cauterization.

“No, I think you look…” unsure what word to say to make him know that you like his body, that his scars tell his story, that he looked better than any scrawny farmhand or drunken grizzled lumberjack you’ve seen. You want to say he looks like your man. 

“Nice,” is the word out of your mouth. He scoffs, looking down. You can’t believe you’ve flattered him. Maybe he thinks you just want him to feel better. To prove it to him, your hand drifts over his chest, the hair and thick chest, his skin, freckled in some places by the sun, pale from being under his clothes in others. He breathes slowly, you can feel his lungs puff up and upwards over his heart is the sure beating. You don’t understand how he can be so unsure of his body, even now his mouth twitches, he moves from side to side. He may not want to look nervous, unsettled. But you can feel it just under his muscles, under the scars. He has a hand under your chin, thumb petting your cheek. You hover over the scar you had noticed earlier.

“How’d you get this one?” The memory seems to make him sour a bit, grabbing your hand and ushering you to scoot over on the bed. Arthur gets comfortable, rolling his shoulders and crossing his arms behind his head.

“That’s a long story and not a particularly fond memory of mine,” he reaches an arm out when he notices you keeping your distance, tugging you into the space that he designated you, holding you. “Ain’t exactly proud; some idiot got the better of me, goddamn O’ Driscoll boys,” on instinct, he reaches for the pack of premium cigarettes on his nightstand but he puts them down. His brows crinkle, clicks his tongue. “The things a fool does for a woman,”

“Did you really stop for me?” You whisper, not quite understanding why he would do such a thing. A selfless act in the face of all that he has done, all that he has made you do. You lay down beside him, sleepy and relaxed on his chest. He pets your hair.

“Yeah, well, it’s like I said,” he puts out the oil lamp. In the dark, you can smell dried tobacco and you lay awake, listening to him fidget with the box of cigarettes, never striking a match.

i really enjoy writing this series and thank you guys so much for the feedback, it fuels me to write more for this deranged arthur LMAO

Snow Angel Series Masterlist

[kosmicdream]

The FATE of FEAST FOR A KING

.. and Nasty Red Dogs… 

And some other miscellaneous thoughts about comics, writing, and time.... AND ENDINGS...

============= 

As I’m approaching 10 years on FFAK and NRD is currently 5, I’ve been reflecting a lot on How far this journey with comics has taken me and how far I still have yet to go. For those unaware, my first webcomic was actually Eggshells, which started in 2011, but i only started posting pages publicly in 2013. It too is unfinished, but its planned for 7 chapters. (I’m currently working on chapter 5, which probably will come out early next year.) I have 9 ongoing comics I’m working on. NINE!! 3 of those are FFAK related. (FFAK, After Dinner Treat, and the prequel series “Help.”) It is so many comics though. And beyond that! I have two other stories I’ve been working on for the past few years in secret, one being Nice Blue Cats, which I might still draw as a comic someday.. As well as a series of “one shots” that is meant to be its own collection. Slugmom and “The Teacher & The Fairy” are part of these one shot collections. Which, uh, it was designed to help me practice writing short stories. Which TT&TF is now going to be three parts long, and roughly 300 pages. So I guess that’s short enough…? Ha.. laughs… Anyway, as I was saying.. Sometimes I’m sure, readers might wonder. “Do you ever feel overwhelmed, with so many projects Kosmic?” Yeah dude. I sure fucking do. I got 9 of them! That’s more than a full pokemon team of projects that are potentially a decade + of work. A couple of them already are a decade old/older at this point. (Praeymoon is actually one of my oldest-lasting projects, even tho its first chapter only finally released in 2023.. I first attempted to draw ch1 back in 2016, but was unable to finish it and scrapped the “full color” angle i was trying then. ) All my current ongoing comic projects are as follows: Feast for a King, Nasty Red Dogs, Eggshells, The Teacher & the Fairy, Replacer, The Eyes of Miasma, FFAK: After Dinner Treat, FFAK: Help, are all written. The only one which isnt fully written is Praeymoon, which I don’t mind because the way that story is organized is almost more of a sandbox-fantasy world of mini stories. I’ll be honest, if you havent heard of Replacer or The Eyes of Miasma, I don’t blame you- its not that i don’t like those stories. They just kind of are the “most neglected” comics yet I’m also kind of amazed they exist at all, like I DONT know how I found the time to draw over 100 pages for both of them. They also have fully written outlines and all things considered, are probably only going to be under 400-500 pages in length. But that’s still a decent amount of work there. Its been ten years since I more or less started making webcomics… and as I plan, and try to calculate all my projects for the next 10 years, my main priority at the moment is well.. Finishing all of these fucking stories one way or another. Its hard! I don’t know if I can as I put way too much on my plate. But at the same time like.. Whatever. I could easily drop most of them, if I felt inclined to - but I don’t. They are my library of work, and I’ve sort of made an artist oath to myself that I will see as many of them to the end as I can. I’m excited that three are very close to its end. (Nasty Red Dogs, The Teacher & the Fairy, and Eggshells.) After that well.. I’ll see what I can cross off my list next once I get there.. That’s still going to take years to get those done. But hopefully not too many. 

[Spoilers for potential LENGTHS of FFAK/NRD.. And other things.. I speak very transparently about writing and working on comics here AND including my thoughts on ENDINGS.. You’ve been warned]

I’m comfortable enough sharing that the fairy comic is 3 parts, Eggshells is 7 chapters, but when it comes to FFAK/NRD.. Its much harder to give an estimate, or if sharing those things will only be disappointing or annoying to hear about.. If you have ever been around me for more than 10 minutes, i am constantly talk about the “length left” on these projects a lot anyway. At night, i count them in my head. In the day, I write little lists as if I’ve forgotten the names of them.. They are MY LIST.

 But for those who do not know and wish to, NRD is likely going to end with 10 chapters. I have extended this in the past, so it could still change.. but it only really has gotten “longer” due to pacing of scenes rather than the actual content. And Honestly, it was paced out specifically to avoid this next chapter. Not that I didn’t want to draw it, its because i was Scared to do it.. Why? Because there’s cars I have to draw in it. And dogs. I have drawn those things before, at least once or twice. But I do not enjoy drawing cars or dogs. Dogs are okay now, but i hate that they have legs. Dont give me references, i have those. Its just how my brain is, with those fuckign legs and how there’s four of them. I know practice makes perfect. Or do-able. I have drawn amost 1000 pages of NRD, i dont remember how they bend and i’ve forgiven myself for knowing there’s just some things god cannot do, which is to give kosmic the ability to look at a dog leg and understand. Anyway. Because of this reason, somehow, finishing NRD with it only possibly being 4 more chapters, still feels harder than finishing ALL of FFAK - which (drumroll) might be .. only around 10 or 12 chapters left. Yes, you heard me- for the second AND third arc. 10 or 12 more. Will that also change? Probably!!!!!! Like, yes… its been 9 years and I’ve completed a lot more than just 10 chapters of comics in that time.. But wrapping up a story is way harder and I dont know what that’s like..yet! But i feel still confident that i will. I mean, i don’t really have any other choice than to experience it. I used to recoil and fall apart just emotionally contemplating finishing FFAK. my FUCKING baby. My joy. You mean that has to end?? NEVER. My attachment to it and the characters was incomparable to anything else I had done, and in my mind ever WILL make… (and that is still true.) But.. I’m okay with that now and I actually look forward to seeing how it could end up. Even if its bad! 

Its kind of weird to say, I just don’t really think it will be.. super good? Like.. it could be? I don’t know how readers will react. I dont even know how I feel about the whole thing.. I have felt so many feelings about this comic already, now I’m kind of.. Past it in a new stage. Zen like peace almost. There’s just.. so much that I wanted to PUT in FFAK and so much i could STILL put in. But I kind of just am okay with what i wrote, does that even make sense? The whole comic has felt like such a fluke to me, from the very start. And I managed to accidentally make so many great things in it I don’t actually understand sometimes. And my dreams for the comic has been nearly limitless. I couldn’t possibly contain all the feelings I’ve had over this story over the many years I have been making it, and all the incredible narrative outcomes I could see the characters going in.. the possibilities, the parallels.. The anime music videos..  I would NOT compare my writing style to GRRM, I haven’t read his books. but I can’t help but feel a bit like a weird baby version of him with the amount of cast members I have to push around and draw.. And I want to be clear. If FFAK was written as a book, it wouldn’t happen. I cannot write books. I do not think writing books is easier/faster than making comics, but sometimes it is hard to have to draw everyone. Point is, I understand the reality of a long-term comic project now, I have numbers and logs to prove it  and my range. And I’m fairly consistent, even in my low days. So.. in recent years my writing style has.. has changed to accommodate.. Those.. General Realities i’ve observed in myself. 

That’s why the second arc excites me. It has a lot of uhh, urgency that underlies it. You might have already noticed a change in the tone in chapter 16, which I’ve been working on for almost a year now. (I mean, I’ve been working on the written version for.. LOL.. much longer.) Maybe you haven’t! It could all just be from my own POV with how differently i feel that I delegate time to characters now. I did not start “writing” FFAK until chapter 10, and then i did not really start WRITING writing ffak until about.. Honestly, i want to say as late as 2019. It TOOK SO LONG you guys. I dont even know how many fucking thousands of pages of madness word documents I’ve got, with revision after revision and trying to list, contain, every possibly plotline… character backstory.. Blah blah blah.. Ive cut it down so much its impressive only to me. I don’t remember my lore anymore , and i love it. My readers probably know my lore better, and I don’t love it. Except when it benefits me. Then Its good. I would not describe myself as a RUTHLESS cut THROAT author, im actually too way sentimental to really let go of anyone. That’s why it took me so long to kill off Rock, but also because I wanted spoon to look really sexy and evil and that’s hard to do sometimes when I cant remember what half side he is. And when he was flipping around, I had to actually make a paper doll for him so i could TRY .. TRY to draw his arm on the correct side. Sometimes I didn’t. I just let it go if the drawing is good enough and i let it be a fun game for the readers to catch. But anyway, That’s why characters like Aeschylus are still around. Now that time has passed, I kind of regret it. Rome was right.. I dont need Aeschylus here and I’m mad he brought his friend Randall too. That being said, they’re some of my favorite characters in this arc even if they’re totally useless. In general, i have tried my best to not repeat all my writing sins and all my regrets of arc 1. I would not have been able to do this without the help of NRD to help get me to see that I can get attached and motivated to write new stories. When I hit my writing block in 2016/2017, it almost broke FFAK. FFAK still continued, but it also didn’t. But i was patient, and i worked through it.. And now I look forward to the ends of my comics, not because I want them to end but I’m very deeply excited for all the new opportunities my imagination to go to. I don’t know what that will be like. I don’t know how long it will still take me to get there, but I have it on [digital] paper and it does feel good to see that. Its affirming. I feel like i have a clear mission and I feel strong enough to really do it and commit to it. The second arc has barely started but in my heart I’ve made peace with the ending, whatever it might actually result as. 

Plus if I finish it and its so bad, I’m sure that will be inspiring in itself! People might actually write fanfics!! I think a lot of readers are NOT going to enjoy the ships, for one. The MEAN greedy part of me hopes they don’t. That’s the most ruthless part of my writing to me is the ship choices. Oh! My evil mind. I mean theres no possible way to please everyone, or even myself, but there is a possible way to displease a lot of people. Including myself. So that’s kind of the route I find myself drawn to. Why? Because it gets me out of the hole of like.. I dunno, being stuck. 

I used to write out a lot of big posts but over the years, I’ve kinda stopped. Mostly bc they were honestly really repetitive..or about lore that didn’t truly matter too much… That hasn’t really changed. This post is more or less “im still working on it, everyone! Just hang tight! Wow it’ll be a crazy wild ride” but it also is something I wanted to write to myself as words of encouragement. This has been a tough year. Like so tough that its hard to think about. But its very nice to feel like, i guess, my drive for my stories hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, i really feel like i’ve gone through the mourning and ego death of “not being able to write a thing how you want” and now I’ve made total peace with it. Its just gonna be what it is, and I like that actually. When my life is tough, my comics at the moment serve as a place of hope for me - and assurance that I can survive through tough years. That’s the message they have ultimately given me, finished or not. And… I honestly don’t think of FFAK or NRD as my masterpieces or anything, but i know they might very well be the only stories people will know of when they think of me. If they think of me! So I wanna do a complete job with those. Rest assured, it’ll get there. I cant make big promises about all the comics I work on… even the bonus comics for FFAK, but at least those main two are my main priorities. That has not changed. THE FIRE is still in me. Even if FFAK took a like.. Mental.. 5 year hiatus its back baby. 

I’m about 30 pages in to my 50 page script for chapter 16, so I guess it’ll be around 300-400 pages more before its done. Things are picking up speed! So it could be less. I am also preparing for the monster that is the 7th nasty red dogs chapter. I cannot stress ENOUGH that this next chapter, I have put off since chapter 4. Yes, I’ve actually buffed the story out to be longer than it intended, just to avoid drawing it. I even put a horse guy in there, I never draw horses because those ALSO have legs but they’re worse than dog legs. And, its not that i didn’t want to draw this part of the comic! But I didn’t think i could do it. It intimidated me. It still does, but, I’m gonna do it already. I know chapters 8-10 will be hard too but like…eh… I know in my heart its gonna really be about 7 for me. It always has been about 7 to me.. 2024 will be a big year for my comics for sure, just because of that alone I think. Not only will I have chapter 16 done, as the first step of the 2nd arc and a new adventure of my apocalyptic wormy drama, I’ll be facing my fears of the dog variety. Its TIME. 

I’m so happy people have stuck around for my work, or shared it with others, even if they’re a strange mess. Its interesting to see, who comes and goes. I still enjoy refreshing my comments every morning when I wake up, and right before I go to bed. Its comforting.

My closing thoughts on this. I don’t HATE the ending of FFAK. I… like it! Its an ending. But I LOVE the ending to NRD. i think that ones legit good, i hope. With FFAK, part of me kinda hopes that turning up the pressure on myself of proceeding anyway will help the story. I don’t really know, or expect the ending to change though LOL…. Maybe i’ll come up with something better, but it will be too late so I cant do it or something, and then we can ALL write fanfics together of something else. Then sometimes I think about GUNNM and how the first ending was retconned but then last order was like? Basically the first ending again? I dont know actually, its hard to remember. THATS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN BTW. Also the ending is not everyone dies, even though that ending is fun and tempting. I didn’t do it, because end of evangelion already exists and its got a great song to go along with it too. YES it is also tempting to have someone go “WELL That was A FEAST.. For a KING” as the like final line, but I.. it wont wont. I prommy i take the ending seriously.

The reason I wanted to write all this, with webcomics, I think in general too people are so scared about writing their big comics that take 328523895235 years and the ending being bad. I see so many webcomics just, kinda die before the finale.. Which I totally understand, But I just.. Wanna show everyone that its much better and much more satisfying to just write the ending even if its a fucking disaster LOL. Because ultimately, its a webcomic. I don’t even know how to spell but people read mine! And so.. If theres anything I feel like i can promise and deliver to the world of the internet/my readers, is this big fucking disaster mess.. But it will end someday! And I’ll miss it. I hope readers will too, when that day comes (?) in probably another… 10 years…. idk.... BUT UNTIL THEN.. I hope you’ll enjoy the rest of chapter 16!!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-Kosmic Dream

[missvelvetsstuff]

Just A Number

Bucky Barnes x Older Reader

Summary: Reader meets Bucky at a party and the attraction is more than either one of them wants to resist.

Notes: Since most stories are younger readers I felt like having a more mature reader could be a nice change of pace. Especially since I'm creeping up on senior discounts and want to believe Bucky could fall in love with someone like me.

I try to keep my readers description vague but, as always, she's female, tall and this one is obviously 40+

Previous chapter....

As they went to get up they could hear the doorbell and the dogs barking. Y/N gave him a kiss before they headed for the front door to see who was there.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 13

Warnings: swearing, a little angst

By the time Y/N made it to the living room Dawn and the puppies were already at the door and John was practically climbing the walls to get away from them.

"Dammit Dawn get your nasty fighting dogs away from me and tell me where the fuck my wife is." He squealed.

Dawn snapped at him "They aren't fighting dogs, don't be such a pussy."

John was ready to snap back at her until he looked up to see Y/N and Bucky entering the living room.

He scowled at Bucky "Why is this asshole here? God dammit Y/N I told you to stay away from him and Barnes you need to leave. Like now."

Bucky put his arm around Y/N's shoulders and smirked at John "Make me."

She leaned into him, smiling sweetly at John.

Johns face grew red with anger, he sputtered "B bbut I I I'm head of this damn family and you dumb bitches are gonna listen to me." Pointing at Dawn and then Y/N.

John jumped when he heard Bucky growl and looked at the super soldier whose hands were clenched, muscles flexing and prosthetic whirring.

"I think you need to apologize to my girl and Dawn, your sisters are neither dumb or bitches."

He gave John his worst Winter Soldier stare.

Y/N could barely keep from moaning at Bucky's display and had to restrain herself from climbing him like a tree. Damn he's sexy when he's angry (fine he's sexy all the time but something about a person standing up for their person does something for me). She felt her panties dampen then her face heated up when Bucky's nose flared scenting her and he growled deep in his chest.

John whimpered and swallowed "Look Barnes, I don't want to fight with you but she's my sister and-"

A figure came down the stairs "JOHN!", making him jump. When he turned to look he saw Olivia at the foot of the stairs. He tried to take control.

"Olivia! What the Hell are you doing here? We landed a little while ago and I went home to a cold and empty house. You should have-"

Olivia shook her head "I'm so fucking tired of your lies and abuse John. Tell me, who is Sharon Carter?"

John paled before he caught himself and rolled his eyes "Don't be stupid Olivia. She's just another agent. Her aunt Peggy Carter founded SHIELD with Howard Stark."

Olivia's eyes narrowed "were you sleeping with her?"

John shook his head a little too quickly "No, we're just co-workers that's all."

Olivia sighed "Sargent Barnes said you were sleeping with her."

John flashed a glare at Bucky "Why were you telling my wife lies? You're the one who was fucking Sharon, she has the pics to prove it."

Bucky chuckled "I didn't tell your wife anything, she overheard me talking to Y/N LAST NIGHT after we landed. I came straight here. What took you so long?"

John sputtered "B b bbut I had to debrief. Then I went home to a dark, empty house and I've been looking all over the place for my wife." he crossed his arms over his chest "I even called my in-laws and they didn't know anything."

Olivia raised an eyebrow skeptically "You called my parents?"

John nodded quickly

She scoffed "And they didn't know where I was? Bullshit! Why didn't you call me?"

John chuckled nervously "I did call you, I mean of course I did but it just went to voicemail."

Olivia hummed and reached into her pocket. "You sure you called me? Because I don't see any calls from you anytime recently. Sounds like more bullshit."

John tried again to take control of the conversation "Must be something wrong with your phone. Why don't we just go home and talk about it?"

Olivia shook her head "We're about to have brunch, I'll be home later."

John felt his temper rising "No Olivia" he spoke to her like she was a child, trying to put his foot down. "We are going home. Now. So get your shit and lets go."

Olivia looked at Dawn and Y/N nervously, they both nodded, giving her confidence "No John. You haven't cared where I was for months, leaving me alone without any contact while you were off fucking someone else so feel free to go home but I'm staying."

"NO! Olivia that's enough. I won't have my wife using that kind of language or defying me like that. Now lets go!" He moved towards her until Loki and Thor got in between them, growling.

He looked to his sister's "Would you call your dogs off? My wife and I are leaving."

Dawn laughed "Sorry Johnny, it's time for brunch. You're welcome to stay if you can be nice."

They headed for the dining room while John stood alone in the middle of the living room wondering when he had lost control. Eventually he went to eat but just sat at the table with his arms crossed throwing nasty looks at everyone else.

After brunch was eaten and the kitchen cleaned up Y/N and Bucky disappeared to her room, to take a shower and get cleaned up before Jessie showed up for dinner.

At 4pm the doorbell rang, then Jessie let herself in. The dogs were the first ones there to greet her and started barking and playing when they saw she had her dog, Luna, with her. All three of them caught the zoomies and raced around the house.

Y/N came to the entry to greet her daughter, with Bucky trailing behind.

After hugging her mother Jessie smiled and offered her hand to Bucky "You must be the infamous Sargent Barnes that I've heard so much about."

Bucky grinned shyly "Please call me Bucky. Your mom has told me a lot about you as well. I feel like I know you."

Jessie smirked "She didn't show you any of my baby pictures did she? It's a bad habit of hers."

Bucky chuckled "No, we haven't gotten to the important going thru photo albums stage yet. I don't have any so I can probably find a way to convince her to skate past that one."

Jessie grinned "You have my tentative approval since you have a sense of humor but I'll be honest, anyone who makes my mom smile like that is alright in my book."

Bucky exaggeratedly wiped his forehead "Whew! I was sweating on that one. I doubt your brother will offer the same grace."

Jessie rolled her eyes at the thought of her brother "Mikey isn't a complete tool but he's kind of a dumbass sometimes. He'll come around eventually."

Y/N made margaritas for everyone while her enchiladas were in the oven and they sat in the living room chatting and listening to music.

Shortly after 5pm the doorbell rang again and the dogs went crazy. Y/N was checking on dinner while Jessie made a salad so Bucky answered the door to a tall, slender young man who had Y/N's smile until he saw who opened the door and scowled at Bucky.

Bucky grinned while offering Michael his hand to shake. Michael grimaced but shook Bucky's hand. "You must be Michael, I'm Bucky, pleased to meet you."

Michael scoffed "I know who you are. Is that stupid sounding nickname supposed to make people forget you're the Winter Soldier?"

Bucky chuckled "No, it's been my nickname since I was a kid, based on my middle name Buchanan. Do you prefer to go by Michael or Mike?"

Michael shook his head "I'd prefer you didn't address me at all. Don't you have some important save slash terrorize the world mission to run off to?"

Bucky couldn't help but laugh out loud "No, I got back from that last night and came straight over to see your mom." Bucky gestured towards the pitcher "Do you want some margaritas?"

Michael sneered "I don't need your fake hospitality in the house I grew up in. I need to talk to my sister." and stormed out of the room. Bucky followed behind him but was much more relaxed and moved more slowly.

Y/N heard footsteps and looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Bucky but was surprised to see her son. She finished sprinkling cheese on top of the enchiladas and put them back into the oven then set the timer for 15 minutes before turning around to look at her son. She looked him over and raised her brow in question, noting the angry look on his face "Michael. Long time no see." leaning back against the counter she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "What brings you here tonight?"

Michael rolled his eyes at her "What? Am I not invited for Sunday dinner anymore?" he pointed at Bucky "He's not even family but he was in our living room playing hostess."

Y/N shook her head "You know you're always invited here, any day of the week, any time of the day but it's been months since you even answered a text from me."

He spat at her "I was hoping you would come to your senses but he's here so apparently not."

Y/N felt her shoulders tense "I'm not the one whose taken leave of my senses. If you can't treat me and my guest with respect you can turn around and leave."

John came out from Jessie's bedroom, where he had been arguing with Olivia all afternoon, to see what the dogs were making noise about. Olivia trailed behind him with an annoyed look on her face.

"Barnes! Why are you still here, I thought I told you to leave?"

He went to shake Michael's hand "Sorry kid, your mom still isn't listening to me. He'll get bored and toss her aside before long."

Bucky smirked at both of them and went to put his arm around her "Not a chance. You're stuck with me unless Y/N decides otherwise."

Y/N smiled and leaned into him before giving her brother and her son an angry glare "Johnny you get the same rule Michael does, treat me and my guest with respect or go eat somewhere else."

Olivia was tired of John trying to order everyone around "You need to stop trying to control everyone John, you aren't in the Army anymore. I'm staying for dinner, what you do is your problem."

John was ready to lose it and stormed out of the house only to pace the sidewalk in front, expecting Olivia to come after him but she didn't.

Michael made a face that looked like a rotten fish was being held under his nose but kept his mouth shut as his sat next to his sister, across from Bucky. Even when everyone else was talking and eating he ate silently, the look never changing.

Jessie finally got fed up with her brothers attitude and asked him a direct question about the show he was working on but he just gave her a dirty look and kept eating. She elbowed him in the ribs until he shouted.

"What is your deal, Jessie? I'm trying to eat and don't feel like talking."

Jessie rolled her eyes "You're sulking like a big baby who didn't get their way. Bucky is a good guy who went through some awful shit and he makes mom happier than I've seen her since dad died. Stop being a punk."

Bucky felt his chest warm up at this young woman he just met sticking up for him. And the idea that he makes Y/N happy.

He reached for her hand and pulled it to his mouth where he kissed her "That's all I want to do with the rest of my life, doll, make you happy."

Y/N felt her face heat up, he made her feel like a teenager again, the nervous excitement of new love, and leaned over to kiss him.

The rest of the meal was less tense but Michael still didn't talk much. Jessie did catch him laughing during one of Bucky's stories about pre-serum Steve Rogers but his smile dropped as soon as he caught her eye and the grin on her face.

By the time they had dessert he was smiling more and arguing with himself about reconsidering his opinion of Bucky.

They were cleaning up when the doorbell rang again, Dawn looked at Y/N who shrugged "I'm not expecting anyone" and kept the dogs back.

Dawn opened the door to a petite, well dressed, dark haired woman who stared at her for a moment "You must be the sister, Dawn right?"

Dawn nodded "and you?"

The woman sighed "I'm Contessa Valentina Allegra de Fontaine but you can call me Val. I'm told your entire family is here tonight and I need a word."

@supraveng @cjand10 @440mxs-wife @kandis-mom @dtba-grey81 @calwitch @ozwriterchick

Chapter 14

[whumpkink]

Alphabet of Whump 2024 – Food

The Beauty of Suffering // Series: A Coven's Violence // Warnings: dehumanization, it/its pronouns used for a person, mild descriptions of injuries

"It's feeding time," Mistress smiled, a cruel and sadistic smile that sent shivers down Violet's spine.

The mission had been a bust, a failure, Violet only survived because It wasn't as human as the other member of the team sent out. The girl kept saying it was a suicide mission, she was right as she seemed to be a lot of the time. Violet was injured, It could feel the bruises on Its back and chest and arms, cuts scattered across Its body, hitting every spot the uniform wasn't thick enough to keep It safe.

Violet was still conscious only out of years of stamina training.

Mistress had hoosed It down, the ice cold water left It shivering. It was still soaked and shaking as It stood in the middle of the secret room. Violet didn't look up as Mistress roughly out the bowl a couple of steps away from It. The metal against the ground echoed against the walls.

"You don't deserve to eat anything," she stepped closer and poked a nasty cut on Violet's left shoulder. "But not even you can heal without sustenance. Be grateful that I'm not giving you literal dog food. Eat."

Violet kneeled. The metal bowl, probably bought from the nearby pet shop, was filled to the brim. It seemed to be a mix of leftover rice, grains, some potatoes and carrots and other pieces It couldn't identify. There was also pieces of meat that would usually be discarded, red meat and chicken and pork.

It was garbage, dog food would be more pleasant.

But Violet had been using Core magic to stay up for the last several hours, any sustenance was welcomed. It was thankful that Mistress didn't tell it to not use hands. Hands that had blood caked under fingernails, fingers covered in scrapes, shaking from exhaustion. But Violet dug in, stomach craving for anything to fill it and turn into energy.

Violet knew an actual punishment would come eventually, It could appreciate a meal for the time being.

[godblooded]

jesus christ bruce for once for fucking once can you just do what i’m asking without fucking making me explain myself? i just -- look after holls. can you just fucking do it? this fucking once, stop asking.

when she looks up at him his whole body is moving. the armor is sleek, black, perfectly so. around him flow tendrils and tendrils, moving and slithering. (he isn’t in the suit. he’s wearing a nirvana tee and jeans. he isn’t in the suit.) his eyes are white-blue and they don’t glow, but their vicious set peers at her, holds her whole. she’s going to be sick. the world is all glow-worms and colors like they float out from where they are. the cowl’s ears are knife-sharp. (he’s not wearing the suit.)

holly’s face has no definition to speak of. it’s all waves and ever-changing geometry. she’s trying to push the giant penny, like she always tries to do. she’s nothing but a blur of gold in selina’s view.

she doesn’t know what she’s been drugged with, but it’s fucking nasty. her eyes are burning, her skin is burning. that bite mark at her shoulder’s nearly healed, but the urge to scratch at it is almost overwhelming. bruce reaches out to touch her --

she hits him right across the face, clips his jaw hard, leaves three red marks where her nails connect. it’s horror that she feels when she realizes with her claws on she would’ve really hurt him. her fingers curl up into her palm and start scratch scratch scratching just light. her temples are beating. her mouth is dry and when she tries to breathe in it feels like her throat is cracking.

lina!!

she freezes when holly collides with her in a hug, a customary goodbye that’s always theirs. her heart hammers so hard in her chest it chisels its way through her ribcage. she can’t find the wherewithal to see, not really, so she presses both her palms to holly’s face and kisses her forehead for a moment so lingering she doesn’t even know if time keeps moving. she tells her bruce wanted to hang out, asked her specifically if she would watch nightmare on elm street with him. she lies so easily. a car backfires somewhere aboveground and she almost jumps out of her skin before turning on a heel to retreat quickly, clicking all the while.

-----------

she’s lost track of time. it’s going on hour three of this delirium, and this terrifying confusion heaps and heaps on in piles. she paces the apartment, tries to stop blinking the blood-splatter from her eyes, slowly going bloodshot themselves. her pupils are absolutely enormous, black discs swallowing gentle brown. there’s a hand underneath the couch that belongs to a child when she looks to the floor and it shoots under and out of sight, dropping the cat to her bruised knees to look. (there’s nothing there.)

she doesn’t know what’s in her system. she thinks she’s waiting for it to wear off, but a looming paranoid shadow makes her reluctant to even speak to anyone. colorless, she knows, odorless, she knows. gaseous -- that’s the only reason she’s reacting this way. she hadn’t ingested anything, but something she’d breathed in is the culprit. her palms are red, red, red where she’s dug blunt nails in enough to viciously irritate her pale skin. that bite mark is dog-eared with angry pink where it was nearly closed, scraped at furiously by her hands. pain is the only thing that makes sense when the world throws itself into reverse.

there’s a differentiation in sound outside. noise changes. something isn’t right, something is wrong, something is right-wrong. the front door is suddenly violently assaulted by a series of slamming blows, and the sound of a voice bellowing warps into a senseless uproar.

(it’s not. the door isn’t moving. there’s no sound coming from it at all.)

but the cat swears there’s a man’s voice growling through the doorjamb and she finds she throws herself backwards to the floor, skittering away in a frantic attempt at escape. it’s silent, and then -- another BANG BANG BANG.

LINA.

she presses her hands to her ears and goes quiet.

[talesfrommedinastation]

REDNECK DOUG IS A DAMN HERO IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD

Nothing much, but we had a disgusting, horrid, stupid ass skunk on our block. This fucker.

It tore up multiple gardens. It chewed through all sorts of shit. The holes it dug on different yards killed a good chunk of our plants. Mine included.

RIP my poor dahlias, kale, and vague sad attempt at homegrown peppers from my kid's science project.

It was a lot of work that ended in this stupid stinky fuck digging it all up looking for his damn worms. It has evaded us for months, like a musky El Chapo, waddling his nasty stank ass all over the damn alley.

The skunk also killed a couple of my friend's poor chickens, too. She got it on camera. The rest of the flock is elsewhere, now.

Finally, the skunk sprayed my poor dog, who came into the house wailing and made the entire place reek. Cue a very unhappy doggo getting a bath in the cold yard and my poor kids and I trying to clean up the house so it doesn't smell like a burning tire fucked a bag of weed.

Anyway, long story short, Redneck Doug had a busy day at work, took Jimmers to the dog park, and made it back after the sun set, normally when Senor Hedor del Diablo does his Spray n Pray on the neighborhood dogs, commit chicken homicide, and dig up our yards like a crackhead trying to find a stash in a trap house. Skunko was running across the alley from garage to garage...right where Doug was headed in his pickup, Jimmers riding shotgun.

When in battle between a skunk and a 1999 Mazda B-Series...the truck will win, swiftly and without mercy. At least Skunk had a quick ending.

And Doug ain't paying for drinks for quite some time in this neighborhood! We are free!

PS- I hold our inept avian community accountable for this bullshit. Our urban neighborhood is famous for Great Horned Owls, one of the top predators of skunks. Come the FUCK ON, owls. We also have multiple red-tailed hawks, coyotes, and foxes nearby. Watch, they're all dumpster diving instead of being actual predators. Ugh.

[worrior-studios]

Alfred’s playhouse characters info for my series:

Alfred alfer: Alfred is a weak brown and white dog that is scared constantly and has been abused his whole life. He lets others take advantage of him often and seemingly cannot stand up for himself. Sometimes when he gets into a bad situation his mind mentally resorts to his “playhouse” And another alter takes over. His alters can talk to him inside his mind and can appear in his dream and hurt him.

Alfred alter 1: Dictator Pickles: Dictator Pickles is a horrible, crude dog that’s strong and commanding. He looks like Alfred but with a military uniform. He doesn’t let anybody hurt him and he often hurts others. He manipulates Alfred into causing acts of violence and his main goal is to always be in control and have power. Formed after Alfred got abused a lot. He made Alfred kill his father.

Alfred Alter 2: Alfem: Alfem is The female version of Alfred Alfer. She is a carefree girl that doesn't have to experience any of the pain that Alfred Alfer does. She has red hair and is usually seen wearing white thigh-high socks or a school girl outfit. She is happy and often cares for Alfred like a mother figure. She does molest him a bit too. But Alfred prefers it over everybody else. considering it not as bad. Formed when his father used to call him a "little girl" when he rapes him. Also formed because of his mother's drug abuse and his urge for a mother.

Labby: Big black dog with red eyes. He's a demon and he forces kids and weak minded people (Like Alfred) to do horrible things. He does horrible things and makes Alfred do horrible things. There kind of dating. Not really. But Alfred considers they are. Labby assaults Alfred a lot.

ocs (Just for my Alfred's playhouse series) Biscuit:

Breed: Pittbull

Apperance: Tiny, black, brown and white pitbull with green eyes and many scars.

Alfred's younger brother. five years younger then Alfred. Got along with his brother well and Alfred tried his best to protect him from the abuse. But he died after his father killed him.

Amoral:

Breed: Irish wolfhound Appearance: Nasty unkept gray and almost dark-green Irish wolfhound. Covered in scars, tall, long and slightly overweight. Twice the size of Alfred.

Alfred Alfer's father. He abused him basically his whole life and he sexually assaulted him multiple times. He left him abandoned in stores before as well. He died after Dictator Pickles took over and killed him. Once that happened Alfred Alfer ended up running away.

Linda:

Breed: Whippet

Apperance: Tiny (Tiny bit bigger then Alfred) light cream with darker cream fur. Kind of looks like Alfred but more muted and she has a diamond necklace around her neck and she wears makeup a lot. She always has a souless, methhead look in her eyes.

Alfred Alfer's mother. She was addicted to heroin and several other drugs. Took them while she was pregnant. Never wanted a child. Much younger then Amoral. Most likely got pregnant because he raped her and she couldn't leave. Had two puppies. Alfred and then biscuit two years later. She died from a drug overdose after that. It's unknown whether it was intentional or not. But Alfred believes that it was a suicide. Once his mother died his father started to abuse Alfred more.

[mad-raptorzzz]

[ID: Multiple sketches of green dragon-like creatures called drakes from the book series Draconis Memoria by Anthony Ryan. They look oddly gecko-like with bulging yellow eyes on the tops of their heads. Instead of wings, they have a large spike erupting from each shoulder. On the left, there is a fullbody and headshot of a forest dwelling green drake. It is bright green with darker green stripes along its body. It's legs are squat, like a lizard. The drake has a long thin tail ending in a sharp arrow-head like spike. It has many spikes around its face. There is a red colored throat poach on it's neck. It has unique pupils that are thin slits with two hatch marks in its bright yellow eyes. The middle of the image has a fullbody and headshot of a prairie drake, which is a duller yellow-green. This drake is taller and has more of an upright posture. It's whole body gradually gets darker in color, with the multi-spiked tail being light colored again. There is some very subtle striping around its legs. The feet of this drake look more like a dogs paws with blunt claws. It's pupils are cat-like slits in golden yellow eyes. The right side of the image has a river dragon. This one is a dark teal with a light teal underbelly. It has horizontal striping and some light speckles on its body. There are many whiskers coming from its mouth, nose, and chin. It has small fins around its face and on its legs. The feet are large and webbed. Instead of a spike, its tail is more paddle-shaped. It has very large round pupils in its bright yellow-green eyes. The headshot of the river drake has its mouth open showing very sharp yellow-ish teeth and breathing a small yellow flame. The background is a muddy green. /.End]

Like I said I finished the Draconis Memoria series and I wanted to try my hands at illustrating the dragons, or drakes as they call them in the books, featured in the series. There are 5 main types.

The first if the green drake. Drinking the blood of green drakes can be done by anyone, even non-blood-blessed. It helps heal wounds and take pain away. If you are blood-blessed, it gives you superhuman strength, speed, and senses for a short time. Greens are the smallest overall drake and instead of wings they have two large shoulder spikes. The can breathe fire and have large spikes at the end of their tails. While not venomous, their bites are full of nasty bacteria. Greens are pack hunters and travel in large family groups. There are three subclasses of greens: forest, prairie, and river.

Forest greens are the smallest and the most adept at climbing. Their small size allows them to prosper in the very dense rainforest/jungle of the interior. They are also the best at changing their colors. Headcannon time now. Generally, their base color is a vibrant green with some striping. I think forest greens look the most like geckos/lizards. They have a lot of spikes and spines that actually help break up their shape and allows them to blend in more with their environment. Ambush predators, they prefer to silently creep up on prety then drop from above. The sticky pads on their wide splayed toes help them stick to surfaces. They have a throat flap like anoles that they can puff up to intimidate other dragons.

Prairie greens are the next largest of the greens. They have a more upright appearance as they live and hunt on the plains of the interior, thus need to be able to gallop quickly after prey. This gives them more of an upright appearance. Now headcannon stuff. They have a more dull-green-yellow color to blend in with the more brown yellow prairie grasses. They aren't great at changing their colors, but they are more chase-based predators anyway. Their packs operate like hyena packs: coordinated attacks and overwhelm the prey with numbers. They have fewer spikes for a more streamlined appearance. Their feet are more mammalian with almost dog/cheetah like toes better suited for running than climbing.

Last are the river greens, the largest and most aggressive of the bunch. They live in the fresh water rivers, swamps, and marshes of the interior. They can be very difficult to see in the murky waters, only to burst up without warning and drag their prey down to the depths. For headcannon things, they are also pretty good at color changing, but can't quite do it to the extent of forest greens. For example, they are restricted to green-blue colors mostly. They typically are a dark teal green with rippling patterns and a lighter belly. These greens have many whiskers and barbles to feel around in murky water. They have some pseudo-fins as well, with even their shoulder spikes having a membrane. The feet of river greens are big, floppy, webbed and paddle-like. Their tail is also flattened and the spike is more of a paddle, though still sharp. Fire from river greens is the weakest of any drake.

There weren't any notable green drakes in the books like the other dragons, so these are just some random guys. Next up will be the red drakes!

[myaoiboy]

favorite gross nasty mgs fic? 👀

Okay ummm this HIGHLY depends on your definition of "gross nasty" so just a roundup of a few in no particular order (sorry nonnie you're getting dumped on lmaooo):

Actor Out Of Work - FaggotTapedeck

If MGS gave me a gun kink, this fic diagnosed it. It's not that *gross* but it is *fucky* and I love that shit so much. Helped me solidify my HC's about Kaz living past '05.

Hawaiian Red Fruit Punch - FaggotTapedeck

Okay I promise no more of Deck's fics because it feels like cheating, honestly. I love fucked up Snotacon, I love drug use/OD fics, I have mixed feelings about forcefem and some of the specifics of this fic wigged me out but it's so good that I had to keep going.

Also it's posted with PUP lyrics which makes it automatically based.

(I promise no more Deck fics but special mention of Hands Away and Mr. Credit for rewiring my brain in the direction of Zerocelot)

Aren't You Ashamed Of Yourself & The Only Thing That I Ask, Love Me Mercilessly - corpsefluid

Putting these together since they're sort of a continuity? Another account that feels like cheating ngl. Ocelot has Huey strung out on heroin, there's drug use, there's pimping of dubious consent, there's deserved abuse of Huey Emmerich. Nice, sweet, simple, gotta love it. I pray to the Ao3 gods every day that they will have the time and desire to add more to this series

Cat Farts - corpsefluid

If you want gross-nasty? Here's the thing. The secret to writing good gross nasty fic is that you can never really go full /j, there's gotta be a core of /srs in there. The more /srs the better.

I'm warning you now that it's. It's just fart fetish. Very well written fart fetish. That's not my thing, generally.

...But--

l̵i̵s̵t̵e̵n̵ ̵i̵m̵ ̵c̵h̵r̵o̵n̵i̵c̵a̵l̵l̵y̵ ̵i̵l̵l̵ ̵i̵ ̵l̵i̵k̵e̵ ̵w̵h̵e̵n̵ ̵p̵e̵o̵p̵l̵e̵s̵ ̵f̵e̵t̵i̵s̵h̵e̵s̵ ̵s̵e̵x̵u̵a̵l̵i̵z̵e̵ ̵t̵h̵e̵ ̵t̵h̵i̵n̵g̵s̵ ̵i̵ ̵f̵i̵n̵d̵ ̵d̵e̵e̵p̵l̵y̵ ̵u̵n̵s̵e̵x̵y̵ ̵a̵b̵o̵u̵t̵ ̵m̵y̵s̵e̵l̵f̵ ̵l̵e̵t̵ ̵m̵e̵ ̵l̵i̵v̵e̵e̵e̵e̵e̵

(special mention: Personal Business, also by corpsefluid, which I would say exactly the same things about, except it's scat instead of fart fetish)

Methadone - ifeelsodirty

UGGGGHHJHHHHHHHH! Did someone say zerocelot? Oh, no, just me? Well, Zerocelot nonconsensual overdose fic, I don't think I really need to explain more tbh.

Dog Days - doodlebughero

I dunno man all I can say is "knots." And also we all know this was going down behind the scenes.

The Coldest Goodbye - serpenthomosexual

One of the first mgs fics I read bc when I join a fandom I start by checking the fuckiest pairings and seeing what the quality of the fics are like. Snakecest was the only one I knew for sure at the time. Solimiller would follow very quickly behind.

There is. So much going on here. The necro-twincest. The shame. The shame over the necro-twincest bleeding over into snotacon where snake....envisions that otacon is liquid?? Mwah. Serpent Homosexual I want to give you sloppy in return for this delicious meal.

I could literally keep going forever. I mean. I can't at this moment. But in theory I could. I tried to include a variety of pairings and fetishes.

There are DEFINITELY some fics that didn't spring to mind right now, and some that are on the edge of "gross and nasty" but I didn't feel were gross and/or nasty enough to justify making this post even longer lmaooo