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ego-meliorem-esse · 7 months

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Stormy Eyes

The 7-year-old looking boy with boundless energy, stood atop the hill, looking down at the small church where a somber funeral was taking place. In his small hand, Alfred clutched a single flower, a blue daisy. The daisy, a simple tribute to his best friend, Davie. Alfred had returned from London with excitement, eager to share his discoveries and stories, only to discover the devastating news of Davie's passing. His young heart ached, and the weight of grief hung heavily upon him.

Throughout his short life, Alfred had always been a whirlwind of activity, his mind racing from one thought to another, his body in constant motion. His father, Arthur, had observed these tendencies with a watchful eye, understanding that his son's boundless enthusiasm often came with moments of restlessness and broken vases.

As Arthur approached his young son, he saw the boy's restless fidgeting, his hands twisting the flower stem, and his gaze darting in all directions. He knew with how much enthusiasm and excitement Alfred carried and took care of the flower on his long journey to Boston. So, having Alfred bend and break the stem was a certain cause for concern. He recognized his boys fidgeting and what it stood for. An understanding that had developed over years of being Alfred's father and mentor.

"Alfred," Arthur said sternly, yet without a hint of annoyance. His voice carrying the weight of centuries of history and responsibility. Arthur looked down from the hill to the quaint church where a crowd of silhouettes gathered, and with an almost inaudible "Ah." understood the weight of the situation. He looked down at his son, his eyes softened with concern. "I'm sorry lad."

Alfred's response was not in words but in frantic fidgeting. His young mind was trapped in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, rendering him staring down at the destroyed flower stem he seemed to cherish only a few hours before.

Seeing his son's distress, Arthur's concern deepened. He slowly kneeled down, reached out and gently held Alfred's face in his hands, physically anchoring the restless child and forcing their eyes to meet.

"Alfred," Arthur said firmly once again, his voice breaking through the chaos in Alfred's mind. "Focus, my son. You must."

Alfred's tear-filled eyes finally met his father's, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Arthur could see his son's eyes trying to suppress more tears from welling up. The effort was unsuccessful, because as soon as Alfred took a breath, all the supressed tears fell all at once. Through all that his boy didn't make a single sound.

Arthur's words continued, his voice carrying the weight of wistom obtained by blood and violence. "My boy, your life will be a lonely but fulfilling one. You will meet many people, nations, enemies and friends along the way. Each one will leave a mark on your heart, just as your friend here did." Arthur didn't dare look away at the funeral for the friend he just mentioned in fear of loosing Alfred to his own mind once again.

Arthur's voice almost quivered as he spoke of Alfred's lost friend. "Remember them, Alfred. Remember them all, and carry their memories with you. Your existence, my dear boy, is both a solitary journey and a shared one. You are not alone in this world of nations."

He paused, his grip on Alfred's face unwavering. "Your restless spirit is a part of who you are, Alfred, and it's a gift. Use it to carry the torch for those who have gone before us and for those who will come after. You have the strength within you to focus when it truly matters. Because, my son, when you do, miracles will happen."

He released his son and instead of going back to fidget with the plant, Alfred stood still and kept looking at his father.

As the funeral procession continued below, father and son remained standing on that grassy hill. Arthur's words seemed to echo back and forth in the young boys mind, his ocean eyes finally resembling calm waters. In that moment Arthur was reminded of stormy nights at sea and the calm morning that followed.

He was always good at sailing through the storm.

#hetalia #hws england #hws america #meli speaks #myart #my art #historical hetalia #i hate hate hate the anatomy here pls dont focus on that im begging #will i ever let these two live a non dramatic life #no.#my wriring #meli writes #hetalia fanfiction #alfred f jones #arthur kirkland

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melis-writes · 4 months

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AL PACINO as MICHAEL CORLEONE | THE GODFATHER PART II (1974) dir. Francis Ford Coppola.

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sixpennydame · 2 months

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Just thinking about postwar!Levi and him watching a film in a movie theater for the first time. It’s well after The Rumbling, and everyone was talking about the new “moving pictures” showing up in these newly built movie theatres. Levi had never been one to attend theatre productions or music concerts before, but he was curious to see what the fuss was all about, so he goes one night with Onyakopon and Yelena.

And what he sees is nothing short of spectacular to him.

People in fantastical costumes traveling beyond this world and meeting new creatures Levi had never thought of in his wildest dreams. After that first time, he started going every weekend with Onyakopon, eager to view new stories and places long gone, forgotten, or never created.

But one afternoon, he sits in the theater and watches as the screen fills with soldiers attacking innocent, unarmed people. A woman holds a child with tears in her eyes, but the soldiers march forward. There’s no sound, but Levi can hear every pop of the guns, every cry of the women and children. He stands up and leaves.

Onyakopon finds him sitting in the lobby, his head in his hands.

“You ok, Levi?” He asks.

Levi looks up, sweat on his brow. “Yeah…it was just a little too realistic.”

#I’m teaching a film art class this semester #and it made me wonder what Levi would think if he watched #a trip to the moon #by Melies #or Metropolis by Lange #but it was a scene from Battleship Potempkin #that made me want to write this #I think Levi would have a hard time watching battle scenes #levi ackerman #levi headcanons #sailor is thinking about Levi

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daggermeli · 3 months

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Tease

(Husband!Choso X Reader)

Warning: Smut 🔞

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You walked through the front door of your apartment. A fiery aura emitting from you. Behind you, your tease of a husband trailing behind, smiling to himself about the stunt he pulled earlier.

*4 hours ago*

It was the 4th annual Jujutsu Tech Social event. An event where all the famous names of the jujutsu world come together, discussing business and plans for the future.

This year you were forced to go, as the current head of the L/N clan. Your plus one being your charming as ever husband, Choso kamo. You arrived at the event in style, in a black Mercedes and with a beautiful dress and jewelry to match.

Upon entering the event, you both received many looks. Whether it be due to your appearance, the presence of the Kamo clan, or the fact that the two of you are newly weds, it didn't matter. The attention made you feel like the most gorgeous being on this planet, and it showed through the aura you displayed.

Throughout the night the two of you danced, laughed, and drank, enjoying each others company. But of course, being the tease he is, he loved to push his luck, especially in a room full of people.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He started by gently caressing the small of your back as he held you close. He moved his hand slowly down your body, stopping to grab and squeeze your ass. You were taken by surprise at the bold action, but played it off.

As the night went on, he didn't stop there. He kept touching you, groping you, even kissing you on the cheek in public. You thought you had gotten used to it until his actions became more sexual. He was getting too handsy and touchy, and it was becoming more apparent that he was turned on.

It was obvious. You could see the bulge in his pants, and feel his growing length on your backside. His hands would find themselves roaming your body, groping any exposed skin they could get to. You had enough.

"Oh, Y/N! How are you?" A man named Suguru Geto greeted, approaching you and Choso.

"I'm doing good! It's so nice to see you." You responded, putting on a friendly face.

Choso, however, didn't share the same sentiments. He was glaring daggers into the other male, not liking the fact that he's speaking to his wife. He's always been possessive, and the fact that he's the most attractive man at this event isn't helping.

"How's married life treating you?"

"It's been great so far, I can't complain." You smiled, trying to keep a conversation going.

"You know, if you're ever looking for something a bit more exciting, my doors are always open."

It was almost as if Choso was on autopilot, as he immediately stepped in between you and the man. He stood with his back facing you, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

"Excuse me?" Choso questioned.

"I just thought I'd let her know."

"Well, she's not interested." Choso interjected.

"Oh really? How would you know?" Geto challenged.

"Because I'm her husband, and we're leaving." Choso stated before turning towards you.

"Goodbye Suguru." You said, walking away from the interaction.

*Back to present*

The moment the two of you arrived home, you slammed the door and locked it.

"What the fuck was that Choso?!" You yelled.

"He was flirting with you You know!"

"It was harmless! I'm not even interested in him, not to mention I'm married!"

"It doesn't matter. Men are dogs, all of them"

"All men? Even you?"

"Especially Me"

"Well maybe if you weren't being such a fucking tease at the event, I would've been able to stop that from happening!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He smirked.

"You're unbelievable!" You scoffed.

"I think I'm very believable."

He replied, a smirk still present on his face.

He stepped towards you, backing you up against the wall.

"I don't know what you're trying to do here, but you need to stop."

You warned, crossing your arms.

"Do what, love?"

"You've been teasing me all night, and now this? You're really playing with fire, aren't you?"

"I'd be happy to get burned." He chuckled.

You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up at you.

"You know, I could end you right here and now."

"Do it."

"What?"

"Go ahead, end me." He taunted, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Is that what you want?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I want something else."

"And what is that?"

"I want you. I want to watch your demeanor change as you succumb to your desire for me. I want to hear those sweet sounds as I touch you in the ways only I know how. And finally, I want to watch as I ruin you, as I take the thing you hold dearest. You're mine and mine alone, and I want everyone to know."

Your lips crashed onto his. His words went straight to your core, igniting the fire you felt for him. You could feel his cock twitch at the feeling of your lips.

The kiss was desperate and passionate, the two of you fighting for dominance. His tongue entered your mouth, dancing with yours.

His hands were grabbing at your body, touching any exposed skin they could reach.

His hand slipped under your dress, moving your panties aside. He ran his fingers along your slick folds, a groan escaping his throat.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me already. I'm the only one that can do this to you, aren't I?" He asked, his voice low and raspy.

"Mhm." You nodded.

"Use your words, princess."

"Yes. Yes, you are the only one who can do this."

You confirmed, feeling his fingers graze your clit.

"Good girl. I'm the only one who can fuck you like this."

"Please. I want you so bad." You moaned.

"What do you want me to do? Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

"I want you to fuck me. Please, Choso, I need you inside of me."

He quickly picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you to the bedroom. He threw you on the bed, immediately crawling on top of you. He ripped off his shirt and jacket, throwing them across the room.

He kissed you once more, his lips attacking yours with urgency. He trailed his lips down your neck, leaving wet kisses in their path. His hands were all over your body, squeezing and caressing every inch of your skin.

His lips found their way to the tops of your breasts, sucking and nipping at the soft skin. He pulled your dress down, your breasts bouncing free. He wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking and licking it.

His hand traveled down to your underwear, rubbing slow circles on your clit. You let out a gasp, the sudden feeling of his finger against your clothed clit surprising you.

"Mmm, you're so wet."

"Only for you." You replied, your head rolling back.

He continued his assault on your breast, while his hand slipped under your panties, running his fingers along your dripping cunt. He pushed a finger into your pussy, earning a moan from you.

"Oh god." You groaned, your fingers tangling themselves in his hair.

"You're so wet for me, fuck. Can't wait to bury myself in your tight pussy."

"Please, I want to feel you."

"Don't worry, you will. Soon."

He pulled his fingers out of you, making a show of licking them clean.

"You taste so good, love. But I'm sure you taste better down here." He said, a devilish smile on his face.

He took your panties and removed them, tossing them somewhere in the room. He settled himself between your legs, spreading them wide.

"Look at you, already so ready for me. Your pussy is dripping."

"Choso, please."

"Don't worry, love. I've got you."

He dove right in, latching his lips onto your clit. Your body reacted immediately, your back arching off the bed.

"Oh shit."

"You like that?"

"Yes, so much."

"Such a pretty pussy."

"You're so good with your mouth."

"You like when I eat your pussy?"

"God, yes. Fuck, I'm close."

"You're close already? What a good girl, cumming on my tongue. Go ahead, love. Cum on my tongue."

"Mmm, yes."

"Come on, I know you can do it. Cum on my tongue."

That was it. That's what made you unravel, your orgasm washing over you.

"Good girl. You did so well for me."

"Thank you. Now, please fuck me."

"Anything for my beautiful wife."

"Please, Choso. I need you."

"Don't worry, I'll give it to you. I'm going to wreck you."

He pulled his cock out, stroking himself as he admired you. You looked beautiful, a mess from his touches and kisses. He could tell you were eager to get fucked, the look on your face said it all.

"Fuck, you're so pretty." He muttered.

"Choso, please."

"Be patient, love. You'll get what you want soon enough."

He aligned himself with your entrance, the head of his cock prodding at your slick folds.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good."

"I know you will."

He thrust himself into you, your walls squeezing his cock.

"Oh my god." You moaned, the feeling of his cock filling you up overwhelming you.

"Fuck, youre so tight."

"You feel so good inside of me."

"Shit, and you're taking me so well. Such a good girl."

He began to thrust his hips, setting a fast and rough pace.

"You're so pretty when I'm fucking you."

"Mmm, keep going."

"Oh yeah, you love it, don't you?"

"Yes, I love it so much."

"Who fucks you better than me?"

"Nobody."

"And who do you belong to?"

"You. You, Choso."

"Good girl. My good girl. You're mine, aren't you?"

"I'm all yours. All yours."

"Mmm, all mine."

"So deep." You whined, your legs shaking as he fucked you.

"Your pussy's swallowing me whole."

"So big, you're so big."

"That's it, say my name. Tell the whole neighborhood whose fucking you."

"Ahh, Choso." You moan out as you both release.

"Fuck, you're amazing."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Next time, try not to be such a dick, ok?"

"No promises. I just can't help it, I can't control myself when it comes to you. Besides, seeing the angry look on your face is so hot."

"Choso." You groaned, lightly slapping him.

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Cross Post From My Wattpad: @Levi_and_Chosos_wife

#choso kamo #choso x female reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #meli writes

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kibu-me · 6 months

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I re-designed some of my very first OCs!

#ocs #original character #draek sarkany #sierk #theron #nailah #liath #meli hundyr #my art #i used to roleplay with them on da when i was a cringe teenager good times #they could pass as LI don't they since they're all single #maybe in the future whenever i write their story

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90sbee · 5 months

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The patrol is over

Leon S. Kennedy x Ashley Graham

2k words. Also on ao3

As Leon and Ashley await for the helicopter to take them to safety, Leon is slowly spiralling, full of concern still. It is then that a ghost from his past decides to visit him.

What can I say, I had this idea already and then I saw Leshley Week... It was like the perfect excuse to write and post this one. Also this fic is quite silly but, hey, I love writing Leon's pov. Also @lightning-hawke is a sweetheart and she made sure that this was readable. Everybody please thank you to this brave soldier who had to face my 3am delusional writing.

Content: All Leon's pov, angsty and sad but also. Cathartic. Ash is asleep the whole time cos baby needed a nap after all that. Spooning, protective!Leon.

Warnings: Hallucinations, anxiety. Mention of guns, knives, zombies. Sleep deprivation. And I think that's it? Yeah, this is actually SFW, for once, haha.

It’s been three hours. Maybe four. Perhaps five.

Leon can’t sleep. He has tried it, though, but his body is still running on adrenaline and anxiety and he doubts that he will actually get some rest today.

Whatever. He has had it worse.

Ashley is passed out on the bed, curled up into herself, softly snoring. Leon blinks, trying to keep his eyes open. Even if his body is exhausted, his mind is still rushing through all the different scenarios in which this could still go wrong, heart rattling inside his chest.

What if Luis was wrong? What if the Plagas is still inside them? What if he ends up falling asleep, body going slump on this old chair and when he wakes up, he has hurt her?

God. Such idea gives him goosebumps, and he sits even farther from the bed.

What if instead, it is her? What if Ashley opens her eyes and tries to attack him?

Leon eyes the knife on the nightstand, the guns on the floor.

He knows he wouldn’t use any weapon against her, anyway. But if she hurt anyone, he’d be responsible.

God. Fuck responsibilities and guilt. It would’ve meant he had failed.

His blood runs cold then.

A failure. Assigned on what was, probably, the most important mission in his life. The president’s daughter involved, and what was supposed to be one of the top agents in the country, ruining everything. Returning a shadow of a woman, a timebomb.

Leon hides his face in his hands for a while, trying to catch his breath.

He knows he is spiralling.

He has to keep some faith: faith in Ashley, faith in Luis.

In himself, even if he is not used to it.

He looks at her, pursing his lips.

She breathes so calmly. Expression soft, features finally having some well-deserved rest. She is so gorgeous too. A soul too kind for him. He feels guilty for refusing to accept her proposal, though he is aware that being her bodyguard would have never actually been possible.

He blushes slightly, knowing that she at least wanted his company for a little longer. Maybe he is not so useless after all. She had also asked him to hold her to sleep, but he had simply shaken his head. “You’ll be fine, I promise. You’ll probably have a better rest taking up the whole bed”.

He sighs, crossing his arms. Leon is not sure how long it will take until the helicopter arrives. He hopes it is soon, because his head hurts and he feels hungry but he can’t leave her side and he definitely doesn’t trust the police officers next door.

No, scratch that.

He wishes the helicopter never arrives.

Because that means it is all over.

His gaze softens as he looks at her, feeling his heart pulling at its strings. For a moment, he considers it. A life with her. Visiting her at the White House. Maybe indeed fighting to accept the bodyguard position, his hand on her back as he keeps her safe once more, the sound of her laugh. The idea of getting acquainted with her shampoo brand, learning her favourite colour, kissing her forehead.

He is spiralling again, but this time in a more dangerous direction. Leon cracks his knuckles, yawning.

There is no point into wasting time thinking of all this. He can’t afford to lose footing in reality. And the reality is forcing him to remember that only a few hours they had both been fighting a Plagas, and he can’t be completely sure that the coast is clear. The mission isn’t over until she is back home, until they both reach American ground.

His foot starts hitting the floor quickly, as his headache gets even worse. He has to keep himself awake, he can’t lose focus.

At any given point Ashley could wake up and look at him with those soft doe eyes and ask anything, anything from him and, god, he’d give her the world, but first… But first he has to make sure that they’re both safe.

She’s make him feel like a worthy prince.

He can’t lose the princess for being careless.

He feels thirsty but he doesn’t even want to move his eyes away from her. His heart picks up when he thinks her chest stops moving up and down, but he realises it is his mind playing tricks on him as she sighs again.

Fuck. He is really losing his shit. He’s been trained for this crap. He barely sleeps anyway.

He curses in a whisper and looks down, grabs the water bottle next to his foot and sits down again.

That’s when he notices there is someone else in the room.

How? How would that be possible? There is no fucking way. It takes him just a second to fucking comprehend what is going on, but in an instant he has his knife on his fist, standing up as he approaches the figure, ready to attack the stranger.

The knife doesn’t hit anything.

Leon stills his movements then, realising that he recognises the face in front of him: the dirty-bloodied uniform, the stupid toothy smile, the look of hope in his eyes.

It’s him. The ghost of his younger version, the one from Raccoon City, stands before him.

“Fuck off,” Leon groans. He knows now that he is hallucinating. “Go away,” he pleads, in a growl, sitting down once more. His fucking head feels like about to explode.

“Buddy, I don’t think I’m going anywhere,” answers the more excitedly voice.

Leon considers replying, but he doesn’t want to wake Ashley up. The poor thing has already gone through too much, the least she needs at the moment is the man that is supposed to keep her safe having a full-on discussion with himself.

Fucking insane. He hides his face in his hands.

It’s not the first time it’s happened, that’s for sure. He’s gone through it all: hallucinations for being sleep-deprived, sleep paralysis after the most excruciating missions.

Most of the times it’s not even monsters, or zombies. Most times it’s people he knew: Annette, Ada a couple of times too. Last time it was Marvin, his body bloody and his eyes white as he swears he could hear his cries of pain still.

He wonders if maybe Luis will join as well, sometime, another painful reminder of his failures.

But himself? This was new.

“What the fuck do you want?” he mumbles. It Is stupid, Leon knows that. But perhaps by talking to this ghost of himself he could get rid of it faster, make sure he can go back to guard Ashley.

“Heh, I think it is obvious what you want,” the high-pitched voice replies. Leon looks up a moment, seeing the rookie sitting on the floor next to the bed, pointing at Ashley.

“Very funny,” Leon groans.

“What? Are you gonna deny it? I’m literally you.”

“Just, shut up.”

Surprisingly, that works. When Leon looks up once more, the figure isn’t there. He yawns, rubbing his temple. Maybe he is gone, for real. Maybe his mind will stop playing tricks on him now. He resumes his watch, his whole attention directed towards Ashley.

He is not even sure what time it is now, but he hopes it won’t be too long. At this point, he is being more of a nuisance than an actual help, a real protection for her. He knows he will have to sleep soon.

Not yet, though. Not fucking yet. He has to fucking hold on, try to keep it together.

“Hey, maybe you should get some actual sleep,” the voice suddenly interrupts him, now coming from next to him.

Leon almost stumbles from his chair, heart racing.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he half-shouts, and immediately purses his lips, embarrassed.

The rookie, the fucking rookie, sitting down next to him.

“Sorry, just trying to help,” he mumbles.

Leon shakes his head. He doesn’t want to say anything else. He is sure he almost woke Ashley up. He decides to acknowledge this presence, since it is becoming quite clear that it is not leaving for now.

“What do you want? Don’t fucking say Ashley, I swear to God,” he whispers, ashamed.

“Well, you’re the one that should know that. Your brain is literally hallucinating me at this point.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I can’t sleep yet,” he replies, crossing his arm as he stands up, trying to walk around the room a little, forcing his body not to pass out.

“You look incredibly nervous, dude,” his younger version chuckles, seemingly amused.

“I’m not.”

“Why are you walking around, then?”

“Well, someone has to make sure the president’s daughter doesn’t die on my watch. I’d say that’s some pretty big responsibility,” his heart is about to get out of his chest, and he is sweating.

The headache is now deeper, more annoying.

“She is safe now, Jesus Christ. Give yourself some credit, man.”

“She is not,” Leon suddenly replies.

“She is. Don��t you trust Luis? Do you think he would have lied to you?”

That does stop him in his tracks. Perhaps the rookie has a point. Leon nods, slowly. In the darkness of the room, he looks at his arms. The veins are normal still. He hasn’t had any weird visions since they got the Plagas expelled.

Well, except for the unpleasant vision that his own mind conjures. Maybe even more annoying than Lord Saddler’s ones.

He doesn’t acknowledge the rookie, though, but he comes back to sit on the chair.

“How many hours has it been now?” this ghost insists.

“I dunno.”

“You do know.”

God. He didn’t remember his younger voice being that annoying. Leon inhales, trying to calm himself down.

“Five hours,” he replies after a moment.

“If any of you were still infected, don’t you think the Plagas would have acted up by now? Also, Lord Saddled is dead now. There is no one controlling the Plagas now. All the Ganado died, remember?”

Leon hates that the little kid is right.

“I guess that’s true,” Leon admits.

The rookie laughs.

“She is fine. You don’t need to keep watching over her like a creep. I mean, not that we are being creepy…”

Leon interrupts himself: “Just go to the point, man”.

The rookie looks up at him, glittering eyes full of hope and a gentle small on his face.

“Look, I thought I was the rookie here, but you’re being a whole amateur now,” he stands up, in silence. “The patrol is over, rookie”.

Leon looks at himself. That shadow of himself, too full of hope and of light. He blinks, still processing the rookie’s words… His own words, echoing from and inside his head.

The patrol is over.

Fuck.

He slumps on the chair, eyes welling up with tears. For a moment, he lets himself cry in silence, under the soft sound of Ashley’s breathing. He breaks down a little, feels pity for himself, as well as relief. He dries off his tears with his palm, trying not to be too much of a mess in case she wakes up. He should be strong still. He needs to be.

By now, the headache is unbearable and his eyes hurt, a combination of exhaustion and the tears. But he knows it’s true: they’re both safe. He saved her. Ashley is safe. And even if he can’t have her, if this story ends in a few hours, he can still breathe without regrets. He can even make sure that their last memories together are something pleasant, something nice and comforting.

Leon tries to calm his breathing. He looks up, still curious as to whether the old presence is still there, but not anymore.

No more ghosts in the room. Just Ashley and him now.

With heavy steps he moves towards the bed, dizzy by now. He lies down on the bed and allows himself to breathe against Ashley’s shoulder, timidly holding her from behind. He grips her body close to his, knowing this is the only and last time he’ll have this chance. And even if she is half-asleep, Ashley sighs, content on her sleep, as Leon closes his eyes, finally allowing himself to rest.

The patrol is over and so is their story. But for a while, they can still lie close together, in the dark. Both finally safe, at last.

My brain actually wanted to be mean and make it Marvin instead of Rookie Leon but you know what. I don't need to break my heart like that SO much. Let Leon be angry at himself, it's fun, lol.

#leshleyweek2023 #leshley #eagleone #leon kennedy x ashley graham #leon x ashley #dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/vase-of-lilies #i know this will do bad but i don't care i just like them :3 i want to write for pretty much every leon ship there is tbh hehe #leon kennedy fanfiction #leon kennedy angst #mine #writer bee #meli <3

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gifsbymel · 9 months

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Melis Sezen

in Gülcemal, episode 13.

#Melis Sezen #Melis Sezen gifs #turkishedit #tessgifs #usermina #userbass #userdevon #dearindies #user-oomh #user-dee #gülcemal #gulcemal #turkishfcs #turkishfc #turkish fc #Please also take on roles where you smile more than cry.#I would make a gif of her but usually she just cries or screams in every series.#If anyone has a suggestion for a series/episode where she doesn't cry feel free to write it.

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melisusthewee · 4 months

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Summary: There are two games played at the Winter Palace: one of murder and deceit among the nobles, and another between Cassandra Pentaghast and Inquisitor Trevelyan who is determined to charm and dance with her.

Pairing: Cassandra Pentaghast/Male Trevelyan

Characters: Cassandra Pentaghast; Quinn Trevelyan; with brief appearances by Blackwall and Duke Gaspard

Rating: G

Word Count: 2,656

Notes: My piece for the @loveacrossthedaszine ! The zine version (if you have not yet downloaded yourself a copy) comes with really lovely spot art. But here it is now forever enshrined on AO3! It was a really great honour to be a part of this project and to get to share these silly sweet blorbos with everyone. And if you're feeling a bit spicy, this can very much be treated as the direct prequel to my first Cassmancing smut fic Impetus.

DAFF Tag List: @warpedlegacy @rakshadow @rosella-writes @effelants @bluewren @breninarthur @ar-lath-ma-cully @dreadfutures @ir0n-angel @inquisimer @crackinglamb @theluckywizard @nirikeehan @oxygenforthewicked @exalted-dawn-drabbles @blarrghe @agentkatie @delicatefade

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #cassandra pentaghast #inquisitor trevelyan #quinn trevelyan #melis writes stuff #oc: quinn trevelyan

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bcyoureallthatmakessense · 3 months

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you are the best thing (that's ever been mine) // A Betting on You ficlet

I say, "Can you believe it?" As we're lyin' on the couch The moment, I can see it Yes, yes, I can see it now

read on ao3 ☆ playlist

#meli writes #betting on you #charliebailey #lynn painter #jules im so fucking nervous rn #jules🌼#<- bcs she is the only reason this came to fruition #charlie sampson #bailey mitchell #mine #melismusings

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maranull · 6 months

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The Great Miquella Hunt is up on AO3 :P (chapter 7 of the demigods chatfic)

#elden ring #miquella the unalloyed #ranni the witch #malenia blade of miquella #godwyn the golden #my writing #fanfic update #meli and tiche and rykard show up too but not as prominent #i don't think i need to say that the title is a joke right?#the fic is a fluff/comedy

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delicatepoets · 9 months

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oh i am a wreck!!!!!!!!!

#this book is so ): but i loved it!#i loved the writing style and as the topics are heavy i think about it a lot #hanya yanagihara you GOT me fr #hanya yanagihara #a little life #mely talks books!#txt.post

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ego-meliorem-esse · 11 months

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The Wooden Floor

1790, London

The grandeur of the manor's parlor enveloped Arthur as he drowned his sorrows in a sea of whisky. The room exuded an air of faded elegance, its walls adorned with ornate tapestries depicting scenes of triumph and loss. The soft glow of the flickering candles cast dancing shadows upon the antique furniture, adding a touch of melancholy to the atmosphere.

But amidst the haze of his own self-pity, Arthur caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision. His eyes flickered, the embers of irritation beginning to smolder within him. It was Matthew, standing in the hallway, his presence a stark reminder of the emptiness that had taken root in Arthur's life.

The resemblance between Matthew and his lifelong rival, Francis, was unmistakable. The wavy blond hair, the big, piercing blue eyes, even the curve of the jawline—it was a constant reminder of the betrayal that had shattered Arthur's world, his family. A surge of anger welled within him, threatening to consume him whole.

His life was taken away from him by idiotic people and thier foolish ideas. The only time in his life where he could with certainty have considered himself truly happy. Arthur didn't even realize that he wanted--even liked children up until he was left without his very own one.

As Arthur's mind churned with resentment and reflection, he inadvertently shifted his gaze back towards the hallway. There, Matthew still stood, a specter of unwelcome resemblance. The anger simmered beneath the surface, intensifying with each passing second. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone with his thoughts, to wallow in his own misery without the reminder of what he had lost and who he held responsible for it.

But Matthew persisted, lingering in the periphery of Arthur's consciousness like an unwanted specter. The ember of anger flared to life, engulfing Arthur's thoughts. How dare this boy intrude upon his solitude, upon the sanctuary he had built around his own pain?

With a heavy sigh, Arthur tore his gaze away from the almost empty hallway, desperate to reclaim his moment of solace. His thoughts swirled, a tempest of bitterness and regret. He tried to drown out the intruding presence, to focus solely on his own sorrow. But like a stubborn weed, Matthew's presence refused to be ignored.

And then, in a moment of heightened frustration, Arthur's eyes landed on Matthew once more. The boy, timid and unassuming, stood as a constant reminder of everything that had been taken from him. The anger surged within Arthur, a tempest of emotions ready to be unleashed.

Driven by the boiling tempest within, Arthur turned towards Matthew, his voice laced with a bitter edge.

"What do you want, boy!?"

Arthur spat, the words dripping with disdain and frustration. The question hung heavy in the air, echoing back and forth off the walls. A challenge to the boy who dared to intrude upon his sanctuary.

Arthur's eyes bore into Matthew's, his anger seething beneath the surface. He longed for the boy to retreat, to disappear into the shadows where he belonged. The weight of his own bitterness consumed him, blinding him to the fragile vulnerability that lay behind Matthew's timid gaze.

In that moment, the parlor seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Matthew's response. But the silence that followed was a stark reminder of the chasm that had formed between them—a chasm forged by anger, regret, and a stubborn refusal to bridge the divide and accept their situation. At least, Arthurs own refusal to face the situation.

Minutes turned into an eternity as Matthew lingered, torn between the desire to comfort and the fear he felt in his whole, yet still small, person. He had seen the toll that the loss of the colonies, Francis' aid to the revolution, and the absence of Alfred had taken on Arthur's spirit. The weight of history seemed to rest upon the man's weary shoulders, burdening him with regrets and shattered dreams.The weight of his own bitterness consuming him, blinding him to the fragile vulnerability that lay behind Matthew's timid gaze.

Matthew stood in the hallway, his eyes downcast, as Arthur's words hung in the air like a heavy fog. He could feel the weight of the anger in the room, pressing against his shoulders, threatening to crush him. His heart raced, his palms moist with nervous sweat. He had tried so hard to find the right words, to reach out to Arthur, but in that moment his English seemed more foreign to him than it actually was.

Slowly, Matthew raised his gaze, meeting Arthur's piercing eyes. He swallowed hard, his throat dry with apprehension. In his trembling voice, he managed to speak, his words stumbling and fractured.

"I... I am sorry, sir."

He said, his slight, nowhere near noticable anymore, French accent coloring his English. "I... did not mean to disturb you."

But the apology seemed to only fuel Arthur's simmering anger. The lines of his face tightened, his brows furrowed with disdain. The room seemed to shrink in on itself as Arthur's rage escalated, his frustration boiling over. It was as if every word Matthew uttered was a taunt, a reminder of the bitter memories that plagued Arthur's mind.

Unable to find the right words, Matthew's responses remained short and stilted. He wanted to bridge the gap, to connect with Arthur in some way, but the emotional barrier proved to be an insurmountable obstacle. The weight of Arthur's anger hung heavy in the air, suffocating any attempts at communication.

"Can I... help somehow ...sir?" Matthew tried. He really did, but the words didn't seem right. They didn't seem to be what Arthur wanted. And Matthew noticed this. The already visible anger on Arthurs face only seemed to sharpen. And the sharp point of the dagger that was his mentors anger was pointed directly at him.

"...Help?"

Silence. Arthur wasn't usually silent when angry. Whenever Alfred broke a vase, tore a painting or his own stovkings, it wasn't silence that followed. Arthur would be angry, but that anger was never acompanied by silence. The anger coming from Arthur was a newly familiar one to Matthew. After all, Alfred did make a mess quite a lot. And Matthew was tended to be there to witness the before and aftermath. The yelling and bickering and lecturing he was familiar with. And while he was frightened by it in the begining, the past decades had thought him that with Alfred, Arthur was only ever words and scolding. And while it was loud, it was something he could handle.

This was different. It felt different. As if the tension was building at a faster pace, almost clouding his vision. His flight response arose but he pushed it down to stare down at his mentors wooden flooring, trying to make himself as small as possible.

"If you need something... I can, euh, trying.... I could aider-help."

Arthur only stared at the mess that was the little français canadien.

"Sir."

The boy almost forgot to add. It didn't seem to better the situation or make the air around them less tense.

Matthew tried to find the words to answer the not-really-a-question but all he managed was broken english stuttering and the inclusion of French vocabulary whenever he couldn't remember the English equivalent. The boy was trying his best to express empathy for the man who tried his best to shun him back into the darkness and out of his sight.

This did not have the desired outcome. Matthews shift and lack of confidence in his expression brought Arthurs annoyance to a boiling point.

Why couldn't he just say what he needed to say to him and have it be over? Is it that difficult to just leave Arthur in peace and go back to whatever meaningless thing he was doing before he intruded upon his solitude. And why is it suddenly so difficult to muster up a simple English sentence? After all he has had almost no trouble with the language when Alfred was around and they decided what game they were going to play.

These thoughts came so suddenly to Arthur, almost like a whiplash. It further fueled his indignation. The grip on his fury looseing completely.

And then, in a fit of explosive rage, Arthur's grip tightened around the almost-empty whisky bottle. Without warning, he hurled it towards Matthew, the glass shattering against the wall with a sharp crash. Matthew instinctively flinched, his body recoiling from the shards that scattered across the floor. Fear gripped his heart, a mixture of shock and hurt etched across his face.

In that moment, Matthew knew he had to retreat. His flight instinct taking over. He turned on his heels, the sound of his hurried footsteps echoing through the hallway, up the stairs as he fled to the safety of his room. Fear and confusion swirled within him, mingling with the sting of the glass and the weight of Arthur's anger.

Arthur, frozen in the aftermath of his outburst, watched as Matthew disappeared from sight. Regret flooded his being, saturating his soul with a profound sense of loss. The gravity of his actions washed over him, the realization of his own cruelty crashing down like a tidal wave.

Grief and remorse welled up within Arthur, the weight of his choices heavy upon his shoulders. The room felt emptier now, the silence suffocating. He buried his face in his hands, his trembling fingers brushing against his temples. The walls of his once impenetrable fortress had crumbled, leaving him vulnerable and alone.

In the wake of the shattered glass, Arthur's anger dissipated, replaced by a profound sadness. He longed to go after Matthew, to apologize and bridge the gap that had grown between them. But his feet felt rooted to the floor, his back nailed to the armchair, his heart heavy with regret. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt haunted by the echoes of his own mistakes.

In the stillness of the parlor, Arthur's mind swirled with a whirlwind of emotions. He understood the depth of his own pain and how it had spilled over onto the innocent boy who stood as a constant reminder of his past. It was a bitter pill to swallow, a humbling realization of his own flawed humanity. Or rather, the lack of it.

Arthur put his head in his hands and stared at the same exact wooden flooring Matthew had a few minutes before. Before he fled. Before he fled from Arthur. In fear.

There were few times in his life, where Arthur wished for the flooring to split apart and engulf him along with every piece of furniture in the stuffy and much too big parlor. Yet there he sat, for the remainder of the night. Alive and whole. Much to his own dissapointment.

........

I told you! I told you I like making them suffer. I told you I like making Arthur the most dislikable and infuriating bastard mankind (or in this case Matthew) has ever seen! But also like, pls excuse my angsty, moody and dark shit. I wanted to make Matt cry. I did, I admit it. And what could hurt the boy more than Arthur after the loss of his firstborn.

So, ya kno, sorry :/

#historical hetalia #hws england #hws canada #hetalia #meli writes #meli writes???? wowzers!!#hetalia fanfiction #arthur kirkland #matthew williams #tw: abuse

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melis-writes · 5 months

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Eyes like Stars [Bobby Axel x Reader Multi-chapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 19 - The Secrets We Keep.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 18 [AO3] / [Tumblr] / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+ explicit smut, multi-chapter read.

"What did he want?! Did you fuck him? Did you?!” / “I WAS GONNA MARRY YOU! I WAS GONNA MARRY A WHORE! A whore!”

Everything you've done up to this point was for Bobby and Bobby alone. What else would your intentions be for if it wasn't to hold onto and save everything the two of you have for one another? Bobby's set in his ways but the idea of losing you to the same fate Helen chose for herself is too much to bear. To see it is one thing, experience it--another, but just how much love can you claim if the one you adore is now the one hurting you?

[WARNINGS]: Mentions & themes of drug addiction and selling / Domestic abuse / Physical abuse / Verbal abuse / Depictions & themes of injury and blood.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The Eyes Like Stars girlies can EAT!! 🥺🙏🏻 And especially so since I will be putting this fic on a temporary hiatus as I focus more on finishing up/writing my Godfather fics first. I'm definitely not abandoning this fic and I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea that I am! With so my fics in my rotation and life changes, I'm struggling between balancing all of them and burning out/hitting writer's block. I will definitely return to this fic once I've completed my others and then we will go on with Emily and Bobby's story! For now, enjoy this (temporary) last chapter before the hiatus kicks in. I would also like to clarify for the sensitive nature of this chapter that I do not condone or romanticize abuse in any sort of way. This chapter also doesn't glorify it or anything like that.

Bobby’s release from prison marks the end of his and Helen’s relationship and you find yourself spending more time with Bobby and taking care of him after everything he’s been through. Working and living in Manhattan as a college drop-out, you distance yourself from Helen who Bobby and you take solace with one another in hopes to get out of the toxic lifestyle of drug use—promising each other to start a new life with one another and get clean. Falling in love with Bobby, you experience a mutual, passionate and loving relationship with its own highs and lows that promises to bloom into something more serious but also can threaten to collapse. As Bobby’s new girlfriend, your relationship hangs on a thread with old skeletons coming back into Bobby’s life, relapses, and a new panic on the horizon that threatens to undo it all.

Bobby knows Upper West Side Manhattan like the back of his hand; better than the majority of Manhattan-born residents through every street, turn, and block.

Give him a street and Bobby could tell you every corner store, the names of apartment buildings, if he knows anyone who lives there, who is shooting up, who is selling, and where the narcs are like it’s common sense.

“Bobby Axel” is a name every dealer, junkie, and narco alike knows on the street; word going around and connections made just like everybody else.

Bobby knows every detail of his home like it’s his duty, and it’s given him the advantage of sneaking away from the unwary or police at the perfect time with the layout of the city engrained in the back of his mind.

Bobby can never see himself doing anything else, anywhere else. Upper West Side Manhattan is his home. Needle Park is his home; it always has been, it always will be.

Being from New York City yourself but having memorized the same streets you, Bobby, and your friends are in day after day, everything you know and think you know of Upper West Side Manhattan pales in comparison to what Bobby knows.

Just as you think you’re taking the regular route back home from work, Bobby keeps his distance far behind you—blending into the crowd and particularly remaining next to the other outcasts and junkies dressed in navy jeans and a baggy hoodie like him.

You walk straight towards your apartment as you always have; not a single convenience store or grocery surrounds you upon the path you’re taking and Bobby can’t help but analyze your environment carefully; thinking if you took a different turn, you may bump into him in the next few minutes.

You don’t, and on purpose, Bobby lets you get home far before he does. So as long as you don’t know he’s coming and that Bobby wants to talk to you, he can approach you with time and circumstance on Bobby’s side.

Bobby takes the “scenic” route home, letting himself linger around the streets with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and the hood up, covering his head.

Trash litters the sidewalks with torn newspaper pages flying about, wrapping over flickering lampposts; the scents of cigarettes, garbage, and body odor lingering around the corners of each street Bobby passes by accompany him with the cool fall air and dimly lit, grimy blocks twisting and leading to your apartment.

It’s been years since Bobby’s memorized the crumbling streets before him, every old building and every hot spot that normally distracts and cools Bobby down when he’s pissed or stressed to shit but nothing gets through to him now.

Bobby can’t walk off his anger this time and he knows it. Bobby’s only able to remind himself why he’s going home—with the belief you’ve been lying to him this entire time.

Lying to him about the true nature of your work relationship with Sykes; every complaint you made, every time you called in sick just to avoid seeing him, and all that you explained to Bobby—what else would it all be for?

‘It makes sense.’ Bobby grits his teeth, keeping his eyes on the street as he continues briskly walking down the block.

Bobby’s judgment is immediately clouded with his irritation and anger; the idea of your encounter that he saw firsthand can’t be thought of as anything else but some sort of affair.

Why else would that smug son of a bitch have that look on his face watching you leave, let alone stand there adjusting his jeans after another secret get-together the two of you had?

Unbeknownst of Bobby’s eyes on both you and Sykes, you know the truth of what happened and how you still feel against your supervisor; bitter, mostly indifferent, and annoyed, but when it comes to shooting and selling, everyone’s needs are all the same. Everyone’s the same.

Thinking nothing of it and unsurprised by Bobby’s absence back at your apartment, you step in and set your purse and keys down before locking the front door.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you rub your temple gingerly before slipping off your shoes and shrugging off your jacket.

The only thing on your mind at the moment is relaxation—time to yourself and nothing more; that is all shared with Bobby once he gets back home from what you subconsciously assume is selling or out with Chico, Irene, and the others.

You open your purse and carefully take out the wad of cash from Sykes you quickly stuffed inside before setting it on the coffee table in the living room.

Pulling your hair up into a loose ponytail, you head towards your bedroom and undress; opting for a comfy pair of sweatpants and a black spaghetti-strap tank top.

Feeling at ease in the comfort of your own home with no need to pretend to be inconspicuous or watch for a narco on the side of the street, you step into the bathroom momentarily to freshen up.

Glancing up in the mirror, you blink at your reflection and realize how you’ve been wearing nothing but exhaustion over your expression—and all too well at that.

Sighing softly, you turn on the tap to lukewarm water before adjusting it to get hotter—grabbing a bar of soap and beginning to scrub at your hands to wash them off and give them a good rinse.

You pause for a moment, staring at the running water as you swallow hard. You can’t help but feel you’re expecting something—anticipating something you’ve forgotten.

Attempting to shake off the queasy feeling brewing in your stomach, you purposefully avoid looking towards your arms and adjust the water to an almost ice-cold temperature.

Splashing your face off to awaken yourself a bit, you then close the tap and dry off your hands and face with a towel before walking back into the living room.

Your eyes land on the wad of cash placed upon the center of the coffee table once more as you begin to approach it; plopping down on the couch and reaching over for the money.

‘Eighty dollars.’ You can still practically hear Sykes’ voice in your head; seeping with the same desperation as someone whose used it more than once, but hasn’t fallen into an addiction just yet.

Your fingers flip through the twenty dollar bills in your hands again and again as you find yourself zoning in and out, barely focused on what you’re doing, to begin with.

You frown, staring at the fading number twenty imprinted on one of the dollar bills before you graze your thumb over it.

You know more than anything you don’t need this money, but Bobby does.

‘All of this is for Bobby,’ you think to yourself, sitting up to set down the cash neatly on the coffee table. ‘It’s not for me. I don’t need this… I don’t need any of this. This is all for him.’

Just as you set down the neatly stacked wad of cash down upon the coffee table in front of you again, you almost knock it over and send it flying from the impact of how hard you flinch at the sound of the front door abruptly unlocking and flying open.

Blinking in surprise, you look up to see Bobby entering your apartment and letting the door slam behind him.

Without so much as a smile, a “hello” or even that soft look in Bobby’s eyes you’ve gotten used to seeing when he comes home to you, all you can pick up is the anger, irritation, and bitterness scowling over Bobby’s expression.

‘Bobby?’ The unforgiving look in Bobby’s eyes replaces any look of love he once ever gave you; his body language demanding and expectant as if you demanded Bobby to approach you as such.

In a split second, Bobby’s eyes dart down to the money in front of you before cruelty mixes with the anger in his eyes and he sends his apartment keys flying onto the dining table across the room.

“Bobby—” You flinch again pressing your back against the couch.

“Yeah,” Bobby raises his voice over you sharply, cutting you off. “Counting that good money Sykes gave you? Made sure every dollar was accounted for?”

Stunned and at a loss for words, your reaction merely gives Bobby a green light to continue as he grits his teeth, approaching you in the living room.

“Did that son of a bitch pay you before or after you sucked his cock?”

“What?!” You flinch again as Bobby kicks the stack of money off of the coffee table, sending it flying to various spots in the living room.

“Answer my fucking questions!” Bobby shouts at you, facing you directly. “What did you do to him, huh? What did he want?! Did you fuck him? Did you?!”

“Bobby, I—”

“You stupid fucking whore!” Bobby seethes, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tilting your head back instantaneously to slap you across the face.

“Ah!” Yelping out loudly in pain, the force of Bobby’s slap with him letting go of your hair was harsh enough to cause you to flail off the couch face down—hitting the side of your body against the armrest.

“Bobby! What are you—" You hiccup, bursting out sobbing from fear, pain, and confusion hitting you all at once.

Without even realizing it, you’re holding up your arms—still quivering—up to your face to shield you from impact, shakily looking up at your boyfriend.

Bobby breathes heavily, taking a step back from you; his eyes bloodshot and glistening with tears of frustration and anger as both of you take in what just occurred.

‘Bobby…’ Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach as shock and guilt rack over you in a wave of nausea and numbness throughout your body.

‘Baby…’ Bobby hit you.

Your boyfriend—the one who cried in your arms night after night, the one you couldn’t bear to see in pain, suffering from his withdrawals or illness from being unable to feed and take care of himself properly; Bobby who you washed away all the pain and sadness off of his body, kissed the scratches over his stomach and would do anything for, hit you over something that never even happened.

Bobby doesn’t wait for another response from you nor is his intention to give you an explanation for his sudden outburst; he’s hellbent on releasing his anger first.

“Don’t act surprised with me,” Bobby hisses, beginning to raise his tone. “You whore! You—”

Seeing as you flinch again by being called a “whore”, Bobby lunges towards you again in response and grabs both of your arms as you scream out and attempt to thrash away.

“YOU FUCKING WHORE!” Bobby hauls you up by your arms and throws you back down on the couch. “WHORE! You were heading straight back home my ass!”

“Bobby—” You cry out in pain, “BOBBY!’

Blow after blow only worsens and grows harsher with each hit over your arms and wrists before Bobby begins to aim his fists toward your head; grabbing a fistful of your hair.

Screeching out, you struggle against Bobby’s overpowering grip but manage to clutch his wrists—digging your nails into Bobby’s wrists and prying them off of you with every ounce of strength you have left in you.

“BOBBY, STOP!” You hiccup again throughout your sobs, pushing him away from you. “Stop it, STOP! Please, stop!”

“Stop what?!” Bobby scowls, “you didn’t stop fucking lying to me so tell me why I should stop now!”

“Bobby—” Your lip trembles as you notice his gaze fall to the dollar bills scattered over the living room floor.

Bobby nods to himself slowly, eyeing every dollar bill he can see before staring back up at you; ready to lunge at you once more. “He paid you eighty dollars?”

“Bobby—” You sniffle, your bottom lip trembling as you grip the fabric of the couch tightly.

“My girlfriend’s pussy is only worth eighty dollars?” Bobby narrows his eyes, “you cheap, used fucking whore!”

“STOP IT! STOP!” Screaming out at him, you scramble up and off the couch to rush towards the bathroom. “I didn’t! I didn’t do anything, I—”

“Come here, you fucking slut!” Bobby immediately begins to follow after you, reaching out to grab you again.

“I didn’t—no! NO! STOP IT, BOBBY!” Wailing, you barely make it to the bathroom before Bobby sends you flying to the floor with a rough shove like a ragdoll.

“I SAID COME HERE!” His sudden amount of strength against you who can barely breathe through your tears would take you by surprise if you weren’t the one Bobby was releasing his frustrations out on.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” You shriek, landing on your side with a thud—almost knocking over the coffee table. “Stop it!” You shakily brace yourself for impact, holding your arms up to your face, pleading, “Please stop! PLEASE! L-let me talk to you—”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” Bobby screams back down at you, pointing, “I saw you walking out of the fucking side exit of your corporate shit hole, used and bought like the fucking whore you are! Can’t even face the front street so other people don’t pick up on it, huh?!”

“Bobby—” You flinch, wounded by his words.

“And for what?!” Bobby throws his hands up in the air, “for eighty dollars? You and that fucking asshole you kept telling me about? You think I’m fucking stupid, Emily? Huh—” Bobby hovers over top of you, leaning down to squeeze your face harshly as you continue crying out. “Huh? HUH!? You think I’m fucking stupid?!”

“B-Bobby!” You sputter, hiccupping. “How—”

“How do I know?!” Bobby scoffs, abruptly letting go of your face. “I followed you, you stupid bitch! I followed you because I knew you were fucking lying!”

“NO! I wasn’t—”

“You had someplace to be and I knew it from how you were checking that stupid fucking watch constantly—“ Bobby points to the shattered watch barely holding together over your wrist from the impact of his blows. “You fucking lied to me! You said you were gonna grab some shit from the store before coming back home, huh?! YOU WERE WITH ANOTHER MAN!”

“NO, I WASN’T! I wasn’t, Bobby! I wasn’t!” Your throat burns from screaming back at him in desperation. “I sold him shit, that’s all he wanted! I sold him what he fucking needed so he would get off my ass about it! I didn’t touch him and he didn’t touch me, I swear to you! I swear!”

Bobby ignores you, rolling his eyes; only a clear indication of the lack of a foundation of trust between the two of you.

“Listen to me,” Bobby hisses, pointing at his eyes with his hands trembling from mounting anger. “I would rather gouge my own eyes out than ever see you with someone else. Is that what I have to do? Hmm?” His eyes sting with tears. “Is that what you want me to do? Scratch my own fucking eyes out? I’ll do—”

“NO, STOP IT!” You let out a shriek at the top of your lungs before immediately trying to scramble up to your feet.

“Then my girlfriend’s a fucking whore!” Bobby lunges back at you but trips over the lamp cord, causing it to fall over and shatter to pieces on the floor—buying you a few seconds of precious time to race to the bedroom.

“And I was gonna marry you!” Bobby gives up the chase as you slam the door behind you, pressing your back against it with all of your might to keep it shut.

“YOU KNOW THAT?!” Bobby follows to the bedroom, screaming at the closed door in front of him. “I WAS GONNA MARRY YOU! I WAS GONNA MARRY A WHORE! A whore!”

Barely able to stand on your own feet and shivering out of control, you sob loudly as you rest your head against the door.

Sneering, Bobby turns back and grabs your keys off the counter before taking off from the suite entirely—purposefully letting the door slam behind him.

‘Oh my God…’ You crumble to your knees; your eyes tender and aching from sobbing but unable to stop yourself from letting your emotions consume you entirely.

With too much to process and take in, all you can do is helplessly look at the scratches and light gashes over your body from everything Bobby’s done to you.

Promised bruises and fresh blood dripping from your nose; everything stings yet feels hazy and warm to the touch.

Tilting your head back slowly, you attempt to take in a deep breath but every sense of calmness has departed you upon the first blow Bobby delivered.

All you can do is cry in pain that both your heart and mind feel. All you can do is let it eat you alive now. All you do is lay on the floor by the door and drown in your own tears.

Bobby walked out on you after all and as he did, he thought about nothing but what his relationship with you has come to now.

Bobby’s true possessive nature got the better of him, and he knows he can’t handle it at its fullest either—not after everything he went through with Helen prostituting herself.

If anything, Bobby’s made it clear to you that he desires and craves you and only you to the extent that just the thought of having to share you or seeing you with someone else makes him want to kill himself.

Still, even though he’s out on the streets with nothing but a bruised ego, his hatred, his anger, and his broken pride, the only thing he can think of is that you may just have been telling nothing but the truth.

#al pacino #al pacino x reader #melis-writes #bobby axel x reader #bobby axel x oc #bobby axel fanfic #the panic in needle park #the panic in needle park fanfic #the panic in needle park smut #bobby axel x reader smut #bobby axel #eyes like stars fanfic #the panic in needle park x reader

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