#WHY THE FUCK DO YOU SLAM DOORS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKIN NIGHT

[hotmess-exe]

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[a-b-riddle]

Part 8

You had planned to spend Sunday morning nursing a hangover with Mere and Tabitha, but after last night’s events you had decided to catch up on organizing the shop while putting your phone on do not disturb.

You had turned your location services off in hopes that for a few hours the world would just leave you the fuck alone.

A few hours was all you were given before a tapping came on the front door of your shop around noon. Peering through the glass window, you spotted him.

He was holding a huge brown paper bag looking at little worse for wear since the last time he showed up. You debated on ignoring him. He had missed the early morning shower otherwise you really would have left him outside.

Bastard.

"John-" When you opened the door, he entered immediately. No doubt guessing you planned to slam the door immediately after telling him to fuck off.

He would have been right.

"Please," you say flatly before closing the door. "Do come in." After last night, after this week, the last thing you wanted to do was see anybody. Him, Johnny, Simon, Kyle, fucking Meredith or Tabitha. Why was it so hard for a person who had very few people in her life, all of which were on the skirts with her, to leave her alone for a single day?

"Well?" You asked when he said nothing. He cleared his throat, as if preparing himself for a long, drawn out speech.

Instead he handed you the bag, the smell hitting you. Warm and welcoming. Price was the only one out of the four who could cook a damn good meal, which made him extra picky when it came to eating out. “Wanted to check in.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do with them now. “Simon said you had a rough night.”

You scoffed at the understatement. "Yeah," you hated this. You didn't want to tell John about your shitty night with your even shittier friends. "It wasn't the best night out."

"So you know that bloke who got handsy or was he just some random prick?" Your mouth fell open in shock. You didn't expect Simon to be such a fucking gossip. And how fuckin' dare John for thinking he had any right to know who was grabbing your ass and your involvement to that person.

No. Fuck that.

"We're not doing this," you said putting the bag on an empty display table. Fuck. You need to go ahead and unbox that shipment in the back.

"What?" He asked, oblivious as to what he said that was wrong. You push heel of your hands into your eyes, trying to stop the headache that was threatening to form. "Some prick took a feel of ya' and I want to see if-"

"If what?" You cut in. "If I need some comfort at being utterly fucking humiliated at Simon going all caveman in front of everyone and dragging me outside like a child? Or do you want to finish want Simon start with almost killing him!"

"From what I heard, he didn't kill him," John's audacity to correct you as if Simon's restraint was remarkable baffled you. "There's something to be said about that."

"He held him by the neck in the air like a ragdoll. He choked him out in the middle of the pub."

"But," he held up a finger. "he didn't break his neck. He knew you'd be upset."

"You're not seriously defending him right now." You could feel your blood pressure rising. Your lid ready to blow like a fucking kettle.

"From what Simon said it didn't look like the attraction was mutual." That gave you pause. Simon told John it didn't look... mutual. Could Simon tell you were uncomfortable? Did he hear everything Percy said?

Where the fuck did Simon come from anyway?

why the fuck was he at the pub in the first place???

Your mouth hung open for several beats. Any longer and a bug could fly in. But fuck if it didn't feel like cold water had been dumped on you. Why and how did Simon think it wasn't mutual? Why did he care??? Why was he acting like he didn't?

"He-" You began, trying to think of what to ask only to simply screech out "What?" John held his hands up in surrender. Your kettle whistled. You were pissed. More pissed than John had ever seen you and it was still a miracle you hadn't hurled the take out at his head.

"All I'm saying is if he grabbed you without an invitation and Simon saw, the prick is lucky to be alive, much less still walking around with hands."

"Si-" you started. "He-" You clinched your fists so tightly your nails painfully cut into the palm of your hand. "UGH!" You stomped your foot. It was childish, but you didn't care. "I don't need him rescuing me goddamit! I don't need any of you pissing on my legs like a fucking dog and-" you didn't stop. You weren't sure how long you carried on verbally lashing John nor did you give a single flying fuck.

Fuck him. Fuck Simon. Fuck all of them. They didn't get to stalk you and relay information like gossiping fucking school girls. They didn't get to break your heart and believe that you would let them piece it back together. They didn't get to neglect you only to realize you knew your worth. Only giving a shit until you walked away.

You went on and on until your throat ached. You weren't sure what thoughts had left your lips. You weren't entirely sure all what you said. All you knew is that you didn't feel any better. The look on Price's fallen face didn't give you any relief. You took it out on him and you were still hurting.

"Why?" Your voice was hoarse and pleading. "Why won't you guys just fucking leave? You were barely staying in it when we were together? Why now?"

He took a tentative step forwarding. His hands started to reach out to touch your arms before falling back down at his side. He knew he had lost the right to touch you. To comfort you.

"I miss you, Dove." He confessed it as if it would somehow make it all better. "We miss you." You try not to let it phase you, but fuck you were made of flesh, not stone. No matter how angry furious disgusted absolutely devastated you were with everything that happened, with what they did and didn't do, you still, or at least had, loved them. That love didn't vanish over the span of a week. Lord know your broken heart hadn't. "We'll do better."

"It's not that simple." You shook your head, your palms covering your eyes as they began to prickle. You hoped the motion would come across as tired frustration, but John knew. It was your tell. You were close to crying. You always rubbed your face when you were upset.

"It is." He said, finally taking the chance to touch you. Even if it was just to hold your hands in his calloused ones. "We mucked things up, let us fix it. Give us at least the change to be better."

"How?" You asked. "Stop fucking yelling at me for a couple of months until something makes you blow your fucking lid and I'm left feeling like a little kid who's in trouble?" You were surprised not to see him flinch away, but the soft look in his eyes was enough to break your heart all over again. "Or Kyle actually showing up for dates? Johnny not treating me like a fuck buddy?"

"We haven't been good to you." He admits and you still don't feel better. Leaving them hasn't made you feel any better. Only angrier. Yelling at him didn't. Fucking Johnny and breaking his heart didn't. Maybe Mer had a point. Just not with Percy. "We all wanted you and slacked off in doing right by ya."

"So what?" You press. "You want to resume where we left off? I just take you all back and work through the fact of how shitty you all were and hope that you make it up to me?

"No," he shook his head. "Not like that."

"Then what?" You asked.

"I'm fighting for me and you. No one else." You didn't know what to say. The four of them had always been a part of the deal. All or nothing. I mean, the fact that you even entertained the idea of being with all of them was the reasoning that if one of them had went down on the field, three more were there to take care of you.

"If the others can get their own shit together great." He shrugged his shoulders. "If I can't and they can, that's fine too." He stared in your eyes and for a moment, you thought about the first time John apologized for getting angry. Not at you, just in front of you. How he had gotten on his knees and told you the last thing he wanted was for you to be afraid of him. To look at him the same way recruits looked at him. "But I think where we failed was all of us was expecting another one to pick up the slack."

That much was true. Where others failed, others thrived. Simon always stayed after sex, Johnny never raised his voice, John was insistent on going on dates, and Gaz was emotionally available... when he was around at least.

"I know I wasn't the man I needed to be. I wasn't the man you deserved. I took things out on you that weren't your fault. I spoke to you in a way that if any other man did, I would knock him right the fuck out." He shook his head before giving your hands a squeeze. "I'll do what I need to do to set things right between you and me. I'll put in the work to do whatever it takes to have you trust me again."

"It wasn't about not trusting you." You counter

"But it is now." He said. "You don't trust me to respect you; to show kindness, patience. And I know I have my own shit to sort out before even thinking about us being like we were. When things were good, I mean."

You don't know what to say, but you can't say he's right. You don't trust him. Not with your heart. Not anymore.

Moments of silence pass before John lets go of your hands and takes a quick survey of the boxes around you. Your background music of Van Morrison still playing softly from the speaker near your computer.

"You seem busy, so I'll let you get to it." He takes in a deep breath. You're expecting another spiel about how he promises to work on it. Just to give him a chance. You're actually worried you'll consider it. "I picked up your usual. Figured things haven't changed that much since we last went to our spot down by the river."

"Haven't been there in a minute."

"You wouldn't." He said. "Closed the place and moved shop. It's over by the park."

"The one with the asshole geese or the one where Johnny and I were flashed by that guy strung out?" That makes him laugh. You can't remember the last time John laughed. The way his eyes crinkled and his smile shifted his whole face into something entirely joyous.

You missed it.

"Asshole geese." He answered before turning and heading to the door. You didn't speak until the chime of the bell rang.

"What if the others don't?" You ask before he had the chance to close the door. "Get their shit together, I mean."

He turned, giving you that signature closed smile that makes him look like a quokka. You told him that once and he had to googling before arguing that he didn't look like the world's happiest rodent. "That's on them. I have my own work to do." His smile dropping into something softer. Something pleading and pitiful. "But, we still want this. We all still want this. Want you."

You shook your head. The threat of tears returning as you realized how wrong he was. Maybe he did. But not all of them. "Simon doesn't." you huffed, arms crossing over your chest. "He's made that much clear."

"That I don't believe." He shook his head. "Not for a minute."

"Believe it." You sucked in air through your nose as if trying to clear it. Price knew he had to leave. He knew he couldn't see you cry. He knew you wouldn't want him to even if he wanted to stay and make up for all the times he was the reasons behind your tears.

"I didn't do what I needed to and I'll do whatever it takes to get you back." He promises. "But if it came down to it... if you want to settle down and just chose one of us to have you, to keep you," he took in a deep breath. The next words like a knife twisting in his chest. "I wouldn't truly love you if I didn't tell you that Simon is the only one of us who deserves you."

"Why?" You knew in that moment Simon hadn't told John about that night. About his cruel words and your realization that he was right. There was never a true happily ever after with them.

"Because he's the only one willing to hide in the shadows and let you live your life," his smile now gone completely. "I'm sorry that I'm too selfish to do that."

[wherewritersgotodie-blog]

Superstitious (Kai Anderson x reader)

“swear on your life you don’t want me.”

warnings: smut. penetration w/o protection. dom!kai. oral (reader receiving). light degradation & taunting. bdsm themes. kinky. idk what else prob smth

You were Winter’s best friend since middle school. Two girls who grew up to have the same values, the same beliefs, and a lot of love for each other. She took care of you, you took care of her.

Every Saturday, you went over to her house for dinner. Sometimes you’d go out to parties, some nights you’d stay in and watch a movie.

So, as always, you knock on Winter’s door at 6pm on Saturday evening with a bag of take-out hanging from your left arm. You waited at the door, almost going to knock again, just before the door swung open, her asshole brother Kai, not Winter, standing at the door. “Hm. My favorite little brat. What can I do for you?” He cocked his head to the side, leaning his arm against the door.

“Uh… I’m looking for Winter?” You say, sliding sideways passed him, underneath his arm.

“She didn’t text you?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“She’s gonna be out tonight. She went to campaign. I thought you were going with her!”

“Oh, fuck!” you say, “I totally forgot. I’m such a flake.”

“It’s fine. She’s good on her own.”

“And she called me this morning. Damn. Whatever, I’m going next weekend. It’s fine,” you say, mostly to yourself. Then you turn and reach out to open the door.

“Hey, wait!” he called out, “You’re taking the food?”

“What, you want it?” you asked, raising your eyebrows, holding out the bag.

“Are you kidding?” he said, taking the bag from your hand and placing it on the table.

“Alright, see ya,” you wave dismissively.

“Bye, slut,” he responded, sitting down at the table.

You get in your car and turn the keys. The car stalls. Shit. You turn the keys again. The engine sputters.

You walk back into the house, your keys swinging around your finger. Kai is lifting weights in the living room when you get back in. He stops to turn and look at you. Those muscles. “Hey, big guy, any idea how to fix an old Honda?”

“Yeah. Get a fuckin’ new car,” he laughs to himself.

“Kai, seriously,” you say with a whiny tone, pouting.

He caves, exhaling. “Fine. You owe me.”

He saunters out to the car, popping the hood. He looks at it for a few minutes. “Well, I could fix it, but my box is in my car. Winter has it,” he says, leaning on the front of the car, crossing his arms.

“Shit,” You say.

“You can wait here ‘til she gets back,” he smirks.

“Uhm, I think I’ll walk home,” You say, looking him up and down, “Thanks…”

“Walk home? Across town? Alright,” he says, slamming the hood shut then walking back toward the house.

You looking down the street, the wind hitting your face, freezing cold. “Ugh,” you say, then run up behind Kai. He holds the door open for you.

“Attagirl,” he says, smirking.

“Whatever.”

“Don’t be a bitch or I’ll make you walk home.”

“You wouldn’t,” you say, smirking, leaning against the doorway.

“I would,” he says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I totally would.”

You walk to the sink. He watches you bend over the counter slightly and reach up on your tippy toes. “Why are your glasses all the way up on that shelf?” You say, frustrated.

He walks up behind you, grabbing a glass. He then raises his hand to hold up the glass out of your reach. You look at him in frustration. “Come get it,” he smirks.

“Kai, stop,” you say.

“Come get it or I’m not giving it to you.”

“Ugh!” you say, then try to reach up to grab the glass. He lowers it, then pulls it away. You reach up again. “Please?” you ask.

“There we go,” he says, handing you the glass. “Was that so hard?”

“You are a huge dick,” you say, filling up the glass.

“You wanna know about my huge dick?” he whispers in your ear from behind you.

You cringe, scrunching your nose, “Ugh! Gross.” You turn around, taking a sip from your glass.

“Right,” he smirks. He looks down at you, cornering you into the counter, slowly, so you almost don’t notice it. “So you don’t ever think about me?”

“What?” you say, turning red, putting the glass down.

“You don’t think about me fucking you? Ever? You’ve never thought about it once?” he says, leaning his arm on the cabinet.

“I- No! No, I haven’t,” you affirm.

“Really? Swear on your life?” he smirks.

“What?”

“Do you swear on your life you’ve never thought about me fucking you?”

“That’s not fair. You know I’m superstitious about that. I don’t know everything I’ve ever thought!” you retort.

“Fine. Swear on your life you don’t want me. Swear on your life in the past week you haven’t thought about me fucking you and liked it?”

“I,” you pause, panicking. “Fuck this! I’m not doing this with you.”

“I knew it!” he smirks, “I knew you had a crush on me,” he says victoriously, backing away from you completely.

“Oh, you are such an asshole!” you shout, embarrassed.

“And you like it, that’s the fucked up part,” he says.

“Stop,” you glare at him, blushing a deep red, “Seriously.”

He walks up to you again, pressing your back against the counter, putting one hand on the back of your neck, one on your waist. Your breath hitches. Your chest heaves. You blush, looking up at him, eyes flickering all across his face.

“Right,” he smirks, nodding like he had just proven what he knew all along. “Swear on your life you aren’t wet as fuck right now.”

He’s a fucking sadist.

“Kai, please,” you say breathlessly.

“Do it. Do it or I’ll find out myself,” he whispers in your ear.

You feel like you’re drowning, your breath is so heavy. He is relentless.

He waits a moment, smirking at your silence. He then puts his hand down your leggings, over your underwear. When he feels a large pool of wetness through the lacy fabric, he closes his eyes for a moment. “Fuck,” he whispers.

He pulls his hand back up, making sure to brush his fingers over your clit long enough that you ache when he puts his hand back around your waist, pulling you against him.

“How long have you had a crush on me?” he says, looking you in your eyes.

“I don’t know,” you breathe.

“Nah, you do. Tell me,” he said quickly, confidently, the words almost stringing together into one word.

“I don’t know, a couple years,” you mumble.

“A couple years?” he laughs. He slides his hand down over your leggings between your legs again, “Shit, you must like this then.” He rubs you, sliding his hand roughly, even possessively, farther down and up, his middle finger in line with your clit.

You moan, leaning your head against his chest. “Yeah… Yeah, you do,” he says in a mocking tone. You can hear his malevolent smirk. “You like it a lot.”

He uses his other hand to wrap around where your jaw meets your neck, forcing your face up to look at him. “So you do want my huge dick?”

You stare at him, biting your lip. Were you really about to fuck your best friend’s brother? Really? Seriously? No. You should say no. You’re gonna say no.

“Yes.” Shit.

He picks you up, wrapping your legs around his hips, holding you by the back of your head, stroking your hair, and around your waist. You lean your head over his shoulder. He carries you to his room.

He throws you onto his bed.

“You’re a fuckin’ slut,” he smirks, leaning down to kiss you, positioned between your legs.

“Not usually,” you deny mindlessly.

He grabs your breasts through your shirt, letting out a low growl. “So you’re just my slut, then?”

You look up at him. “I didn’t say that.”

He then pulls your one leg farther towards him so you’re forced on your side, then he smacks your ass hard through your leggings. You gasp, then blush.

He raises his hand again, smirks and brings it down harder than the first time. You whimper. He rears his hand up one more time, then stutters, searching for your anticipation. He sees your expression carved into your profile. Were you… smiling?

He was rock solid now.

“Shit, you like that?” he laughs. “Anybody ever do that to you before?” he pushes you again onto your back.

“Uh-uh,” you respond.

“Yeah… you are my little slut,” he affirms. Then, he kisses you deeply, holding you by the back of the neck, his other hand wandering down your body, squeezing periodically.

You lean up suddenly, so he offers no resistance. You put your hands up his shirt, pulling it up. He leans down to allow you to pull it over his head. You through it onto the floor.

Everything accelerates viciously after this one move.

He pulls off your shirt, throwing it to the floor. You begin to unbuckle his belt, and he attempts to pull off your pants. It’s chaotic; your hands are clashing, you’re getting in each others’ way.

It becomes, to Kai, at least, a race to see who can get the other bare faster.

Obviously, Kai wins. He pushes your hands to the side many times, pulling your leggings over your legs, unclasping your bra with his one hand (concerning, but you ignore it), throwing it to the floor. Then, he leans down to your hip bones and he pulls your underwear off with his teeth.

You haven’t even finished unbuckling his pants.

He throws your body so your head is against his pillows. He crawls up to you, leaning over you, necklace hanging in your face.

He’s a fucking animal.

Just like you imagined.

He kisses you harshly, nearly biting you. Then, he kneels, legs tucked under themselves, widely spread. He pulls your body up, wrapping you around his waist again. He is holding onto your entire body like his life depends on it, kissing down your neck, sucking on your collar bone. You are scratching at his back, head tilted to the bed, eyes closed.

He throws you back down again, then puts his head between your thighs.

“So easy to toss around,” he talks against you.

He begins working on you with his tongue. You wrap your fingertips in his hair, tugging at it, pressing his face farther into you.

He takes only a few moments of this before he comes back so his face is in line with yours. He grabs your wrists and presses them together above your head. He squeezes them hard for emphasis.

“Don’t move them,” he whispers. You know he’s serious.

He leans back down, continuing to you work you with his tongue. He wraps his arms around the highest place of your thigh, pulling you down into his face.

Your back arches and he chuckles against you. The vibration shakes to your core.

It hits you all at once and you unravel beneath his mouth. It’s so intense you convince yourself you’ve died for a moment.

He leans himself back up to hover over you, wiping his mouth with his hand.

You stare up at him in admiration. He does not miss this. You keep your hands above your head.

He pulls his belt off, laying it next to both of you. Then, he pulls his pants down, along with his boxers, all in one smooth movement.

Fuck. He wasn’t kidding.

What were you even supposed to do with it? Surely all of him wouldn’t even fit inside you.

He smirked as he saw your train of thought reflected on your face.

In one swift motion, he flipped you over so you were on top of him, hovering over his thighs.

He leaned up, grabbing your wrists, putting them together behind your back.

He held them together with his one hand, grabbing his belt with the other. Then, with a few moments and his two hands behind your back, looking into your eyes, he tied your wrists together. You struggled against the leather, but the crafty contraption was totally foolproof.

Then, he grabbed your hips, leaning back to rest his back on the two pillows stacked against his headboard.

“You okay?” he asked with a genuine smile, putting his hand on your arm.

“Very,” you nod.

“Good,” he said, and that was all he needed. He put his hand back on your hip, lifting your body up so you were hovering over his length. “Breathe,” he commanded.

You took a deep breath and he sunk himself into slowly, pulling you down onto him. You dropped your head back, letting a moan escape.

He groaned, also leaning his head back, “Holy shit,” he dragged out the words. “Holy shit. Fuck.”

His grip loosened on your hips as he was fully submerged in you. “Woah,” he whispered. You smiled at the commentary.

He kept his hand on you, pushing you back and forth. You worked on him, rolling your hips and pushing yourself up and down on top of him.

You moaned out as he thrusted himself up into you slightly. It had to be at least eight, you thought.

You both move against each other with an intense rhythm, your hands behind your back, his traveling all across your upper half.

He watches you intently, his mind worshipping the sight of all of you on top of him like this, eyes gliding down your hips, over your stomach, your face as you bit your lip and closed your eyes in ecstasy. He groans deeply, almost growling, digging his fingertips into your hips.

He pushes himself forward so he’s sitting, his one hand behind his back, propping himself up.

You rest your forehead on his shoulder and he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you back and forth against himself, the entire warmth whole bodies in full contact.

“Fuck, Kai!” you moan.

“Yeah, baby?” he smirks, his forehead coated in sweat.

You feel that you’re going to finish again, and he feels that he will, too. You pull away, looking into his eyes. He looks back into yours.

Then, you rest your forehead on his. The knot in your stomach is wound so tight you can barely breathe.

His chest is heaving, which is saying a lot, considering his fitness.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan against his mouth. He nods.

You both release at the same time, him grasping onto your body, you moaning into his ear, him groaning against your neck.

When he finishes inside of you, you both pull away. He laughs, and you do, too. He undoes the belt behind your back.

You pull away from him, laying beside him.

He lays on his back for a moment, then turns on his side, propping his head on his hand, tracing his fingertips down the center of your stomach.

“My slut,” he whispers. You turn to him, pushing his shoulder playfully.

Then, he kisses you, smiling into your mouth.

When he pulls away, he looks at you, then smirks. You watch him, smiling, slightly confused. He pushes himself up from the bed, then leans down to look underneath it.

“Oh, shoot,” he says.

You cock your head to the side, “What?”

“Toolbox was here all along,” he smirks, putting his hands on his hips.

if you liked this pls tell me i love validation. also i will take requests asf

[macfrog]

call me

idea came to me in a dream. enjoy also! i made a notifs blog! taglist life is NOT for me, babies. feel free to head on over, follow and turn notifs on to be updated anytime i post! 👉 @macfroglets 👈 you’re gonna wanna do it before this sunday…😉🤠

inspired by @bageldaddy who is the author of the dreamiest series on this site, my biggest crush, and also told me not to tag her but i respect my elders so.

pairing: joel miller x call girl!reader

summary: you moonlight as a call girl, receiving mediocre call after mediocre call. one night, one joel miller dials in, and grants you the most exciting ten minutes of your career

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) this fic is pro-sex work. reader is a phone sex operator, mentions of anal and oral, dirty talk, couple mentions of daddy, praise kink, mutual masturbation, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 3k

main masterlist

“What now, baby?” you whisper, laughing to yourself. You’re palming at your breast, your fingers pulling in around your nipple. Your core begins to throb. “You’re gonna touch yourself.” “That what you want?” “’s what I want, angel. Do it for me.”

It started out as a joke, if you’re being honest.

A wine-drunk night with Liv, sat at opposite ends of the couch, legs intertwined somewhere in the middle of the cushions. Her blouse was stained pink – your fault, apparently, for making her laugh too hard. Her glass tilted a fraction too far and before you knew it, you owed her a new shirt.

“Say it again, say it how he said it,” she snorted, patting her chest down with the damp towel you’d handed her.

“…quite frankly, disappointed with your performance,” your head tilted back and forth, mocking the nasally voice of your fifty-one-year-old, receding-hairline-equipped boss. Ex-boss. Asshole.

“Oh, fuck,” she heaved, still catching her breath. “That’s so fucking funny.”

You sighed in agreement.

“So…what are you actually gonna do now?”

You shrugged. “Sell my body.”

“Dare you.”

“I would.”

“I know you would. And you’d be good at it, too. ‘s why I’m telling you to do it.”

You kicked her ankle. “I got bills to pay, dude.”

“What about one of those call girls?”

And, well. That was that.

You’d googled it after seeing her off to her own apartment, watching her wobbly form stagger across the hall and stab her key a few times into the wood before it landed in the lock. The door closed with an accidental slam which echoed up the stone stairwell, and you crept back to your own place.

Palms either side of your laptop on the counter, face lit in a blue glow, dripdripdrip of your busted tap echoing around your dark kitchen. They asked for an email address – you used the one you’d made up before you realized email addresses were permanent – and a phone number. Said someone would call you to discuss it. You shrugged, hit Sign up and went to bed.

Within hours, you’d spoken to some sharp-accented woman who asked quick, snappy questions and uhuhed her way through your answers. Her name was Erica. She told you she’d look after you, told you to call her with any questions or concerns you had.

All she wanted from you were the basics: you liked sex, you masturbated, you knew how to dirty talk. You sorta knew your way around things like anal, and could manage a convincing pitch for things of a more…exploratory nature.

And then she asked when you wanted to start. You told her that night.

Your first caller – like, ever – was some guy with a midwestern accent who asked you to narrate fucking him. Like, spanking him with a paddle, calling him a bad, bad boy. You threw your nerves to the wind and went along with it, and honestly, had a pretty rad time. He was cool.

But one was enough for your first night. You logged out and went to bed. You told Liv the next morning, and she punched your arm a little too hard and yelled, That’s my fuckin’ girl! Was it hot? Did you…y’know?

No. You never get that lucky. Some calls you can lie idly on your couch and let your limp hand surf beneath the hem of your underwear, push lazy circles against your clit as the dude moans in your ear or gasps when you whine.

Sometimes their mics can pick up the faint sound of them jacking off, and your brain slips you an image that makes your stomach flutter. Sometimes you’ll hang up and take yourself the whole nine yards with your laptop sitting on your mattress, porn on the screen, and your vibrator between your open legs.

It’s pretty intense work. Sometimes.

But all in all: no. You never…y’know.

One week in, you were cooking dinner whilst telling Trevor – thirty-nine, Buffalo, New York – how you’d take his huge, throbbing dick in your throat and let him fuck it. He asked to hear how turned on you were, just talking about it. You lowered your phone down to the pot of macaroni and gave it a stir.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned down the line, “you’re so fuckin’ wet right now, huh?”

Huh.

Tonight, you had pizza rolls. Less sexy.

You just got off another call. Thirty minutes of describing how good you’d take him up your ass. You’re bored, turned off by this point, and tired. It’s almost 3AM.

You pace around your apartment, flicking switches off and tossing cushions back into place. Spilling small sips of wine from your glass onto your tongue as you’re plunged into darkness, one click at a time.

You don’t get much while the sun’s up. Most days, nothing at all. That works for you, though. You can run errands, grab groceries, do sweet-fucking-nothing whilst waiting for the influx of calls that will inevitably come your way by nightfall. When the streetlights come on, the rush hour traffic dies out front, the shuffling of tired feet up the concrete staircase outside your front door slows down – you just log in, and your cell will eventually start to ring.

Your cell, which now lies wedged between the couch cushions. You notice the sound of it vibrating as you’re pulling your curtains closed. Half-way shut, you desert them and wander over. Intrigued.

No Caller ID. The usual. You swipe right. The robotic voice tells you there’s a request on your account for a ten-minute call. Tells you to dial 1 to accept, or hang up.

Ten minutes? At three in the morning?

Usually, at this time of night, they’re longer. They’re drunk, or their partner finally fell asleep, or they just want your attention for a bit. See them through the uncomfortably quiet night.

But ten fucking minutes?

Ten minutes would make you somewhere around thirty-five dollars. They had the option as the timer ran out to extend the call, if they wanted. Most of them did. And that worked fine for you.

You’re unemployed. Who knows what money you’ll have in a week’s time? An extra thirty bucks – probably more – right before bed? A little nightcap?

You dial in and answer the call.

He doesn’t say anything when it connects. You hear the ruffling of clothes.

Your voice naturally dips a couple octaves, coats in something smooth and husky. Glistening, gleaming, sex-driven. “Hello?”

He clears his throat. His voice is deep, rich. More vibration than speech. He speaks with a Southern drawl, like bare skin running over silken sheets. It’s smooth, and sensual, and sexy. “Evenin’.”

You knock the last light switch off with your hip and doddle through to your bedroom. Mornin’, actually. “Hi. What’re you after, baby?”

He takes a beat to reply. More ruffling. He chuckles a little before he says it. “Baby? That what you wanna call me?”

Your glass scrapes softly across your nightstand. You bounce down on your mattress, springs moaning as you roll onto your stomach. Knees bent, your ankles link in the air. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Guess we can figure that one out together.”

“Alright. I like a challenge. You wanna start with your name?”

Another pause. He sucks in a deep breath. “Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeat, thumb picking at your nailbeds. “That’s a sexy name.”

He doesn’t respond. Just gives a non-committal grunt, and a smile pulls across your lips.

“What are you into, Joel?”

He sniffs. “Thought we could figure that out, too.”

Something in the way he says it, the curve in the words, maybe, tells you he knows damn well what he’s into. What he means is: you can figure that out by yourself.

Like you said: you like a fucking challenge.

“You like nicknames? Daddy? That kinda thing?”

A low growl passes his lips. “Not this early on, I don’t.”

You know from the hitch in his voice that he likes it. That little catch at the bottom of his throat, the way the words stumble on their way up. Know you’ve plucked a string deep inside.

“Well, you know you only got ten minutes, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“’kay,” you sing, flipping your hair over your shoulder. You exhale, drawing shapes on the pattern of your bedsheets. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinkin’ about, then? What’s on your mind, cowboy?”

Cowboy. It’s the accent. He sounds Texan, or something. His words float through the receiver all wound, coiled up and tight.

Joel doesn’t seem to care. He answers your question truthfully.

“Thinkin’ about what you’re doin’ right now.”

You smirk. Sometimes you like the attention, too. You turn your head, check the clock by your bed. Two minutes have passed.

“I’m…lying in bed, in the dark. Had a couple wines, feelin’ pretty good. But this is all about you, so.”

He chuckles softly. “’m lyin’ in bed, too. In the dark.”

“You feelin’ lonely?”

He takes another deep breath. You figure he does this before he gives most answers. He sounds the contemplative type. Always double, triple checking his sentences before he lets them go.

“Just need somethin’ to take the edge off.”

“Okay,” you breathe, “let me. What do you need?”

There’s a long break between the end of your question and the sound he makes before he answers. You pull the phone from your ear and glance at the screen to make sure it’s still connected. Time says another two minutes have passed.

Joel grumbles. It echoes around your ear like thunder in the distance. “You touchin’ yourself?” he eventually asks.

“Uhuh,” you reply, nails picking at a loose thread on your comforter.

“Yeah? How’s it feel?”

“Good,” you mewl, tugging at the seam. Your teeth grit as you yank at it. “So – fucking – good.”

There’s another growl from the other end. It vibrates through your speaker, purrs in your ear.

“You ain’t fuckin’ touchin’ yourself.”

Your hand stops. Your eyes stick on the thread. “I am.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how.”

You roll your eyes, turning onto your back. Your fingers play with the buttons of your shirt. Fuckin’ – tell me how. “I’m…” you sigh, “…I’m laying in bed, on my back. My hands are –”

“What you wearin’?”

“Isn’t that the sorta stuff you oughta ask when I first pick up?”

He speaks calmer. Clearer. You can hear the smile on his lips. “’m askin’ you now. What you wearin’, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. So he’s that type. Whatever. He’s kind of pissing you off.

“A shirt. And socks. And panties. No bra.”

“’n where you touchin’ yourself?”

You huff. “Between my –”

“Watch the attitude.”

You almost fucking laugh. Your breath escapes your chest in a silent burst. “Between my legs,” you tell him, flat and annoyed.

“Mhm. Above or beneath the panties?”

“Beneath, daddy.”

A tiny groan passes his lips. He doesn’t mean for it to, and a second, angry grumble follows, like he’s pissed at himself for letting it slip.

You take a lock of hair and twirl it around your finger, pulling tight until the tip whitens. “You touching yourself?” you ask, voice sickly sweet.

Joel ignores you. “Take it off. The shirt,” he clarifies, when you don’t answer.

You shuffle around a little, making sure he can hear the movement. You unbutton the shirt until it’s lying loose over your breasts, then tug it down over one shoulder.

“Alright,” you tell him with a heavy breath, laying back on the mattress, “it’s off.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and your eyes flutter closed.

“Mhm.”

Joel chuckles under his breath. “Know when you’re lyin’, angel. Take – it – off. Don’t be a brat about it.”

This is half the game for him, you realize. This is his thing. He gives commands, you disobey them, and he kicks you into line. Tells you to behave.

You figure you like it almost as much, going by the heat pooling between your legs.

Your shoulders lift and you tug the shirt over them, tossing it to the floor. You lie back, bare against the sheets, and your hand instantly cups over your breast.

“Better,” Joel breathes.

“What now, baby?” you whisper, laughing to yourself. You’re palming at your breast, your fingers pulling in around your nipple. Your core begins to throb.

“You’re gonna touch yourself.”

“That what you want?”

“’s what I want, angel. Do it for me.”

You don’t take much more convincing. Your hand slips down your front, cups over your mound. You gasp when your fingertips brush against your clit.

Joel hears. “Yeah,” he hums, “’s a good girl. Take those panties off ‘n rub that pretty little clit for me.”

Your fingertips give one last kiss to the fabric of your panties. Your mouth tips open a fraction. You suck in a quiet breath, and push your hips up off the bed. The lace slips down your thighs in one motion.

Joel’s grunting steadily now, small noises slipping past his lips and into your ear. You spread your legs and push against your bud again, massaging the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, Joel,” you whine, and he groans in response.

“I know, I know,” he’s saying, and you hear the metal tinkle of his belt buckle. The fraying sound of denim being shifted. One slow, relief-filled groan.

His hands are on his cock.

You’d put more effort into caring that he’s been fully clothed this entire time, if you could think straight. You’re applying more pressure to your clit, rubbing faster, harder, then letting your fingers drift downward, move between your gleaming folds.

“Wish I was there with you so bad,” Joel purrs, and your eyes flutter open.

“Yeah?” you choke.

“Yeah.”

“What would you – do to me?”

He shudders. “Would fuck you real good, sweetheart.”

“Fuck,” you breathe, fingers circling faster.

There’s a gentle tugging; a rhythmic breathing. The odd break in his voice when his hand tightens, or you make a sweet little sound, or he catches himself giving too much away.

“Fuckin’ – be all over you. Nice ‘n hard. You want that?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, panting. “Want it so bad.”

“Yeah, you do,” Joel says. You can hear the sticky sound of his precum, leaking from his tip and running between his fingers, being pumped down his shaft by his fist. “Feels good, angel, don’t it? When you do what you’re told?”

“Y-eah,” you whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and you picture a tight fist choking a thick cock. Picture that same fist unwinding, curving around your mound, fingers pushing deep inside you.

“Joel,” you whimper, and your fingers move down again, dipping nearer your tight, wet hole.

He grunts in response. “Don’t – not yet,” he tells you.

You whine.

“You got somethin’ else to use?” he asks, then interrupts before you can answer. “Yeah, you do. Go get it, sweetheart. Tell me what you got.”

“V-vibrator,” you mumble, hoisting yourself up and lunging across the bed to your nightstand. You haul the drawer open and sift between balled-up socks until you’re clutching the long, thick shape, fingers tight around the dips and curves.

“Let me hear it, angel.”

You click the button and the toy whirrs to life, vibrating strongly in your hand.

Joel hisses. “Alright, sweetheart, lie back. Gonna put it on that pretty little pussy, alright? Gonna make yourself cum for me.”

“Uhuh,” you murmur, one hand lowering the vibrator between your legs, the other holding the phone to your ear in a vice grip.

You push the round tip down to your clit and your head falls back with a loud moan. Joel sends one straight back at the sound of yours. It fades into a whimper, a desperate cry as you massage yourself with your toy.

Your legs clench as you dip it lower, letting the head nudge against your entrance, sending flutters of pleasure across your dripping cunt.

“Don’t fuck yourself,” Joel instructs, and your hand quickly pulls back. “Save it.”

This mystery man, who you’ve known for – if your clock is right – eight minutes, now; whose name is the most information you’ve gotten out of him; and whose face you couldn’t pick in a lineup…has such a hold on you, that your body instinctively reacts to his every word. An automatic reaction to do exactly as he says, when, five minutes ago, you couldn’t wait to get him off the phone.

You fucking listen to him. Save it for what? your head asks, and you ignore it. You don’t push the toy any closer to your center.

It drives hard against your clit, fast vibrations rippling down on the hot, swollen skin. It sends floods of warmth between your legs, drawing your arousal slick and wet from between your folds.

Your chest is damp, gleaming with sweat. Your breath cuts short in your throat, guttural noises replacing it as they reverberate through your mouth, across your tongue and into your dark bedroom.

Your walls start to clamp around nothing. You angle the vibrator so that it sends deep pulses across your pussy, shutting your eyes to picture Joel’s thick cock burying deep inside you as you climax with a loud, broken cry.

“Yeah, good girl. That’s it. Sound so pretty, angel. ‘s a good girl.”

You’re whimpering his name as you come down, holding the toy to your clit and letting your high wash over you. Your chest jumps, breaths heavy and staggered, gasping for air and then letting it rush out of your lungs in desperate pants.

“You know how good you are at that?” he asks, when your breath steadies again.

You giggle softly. “’s why I do it, baby.”

“Worth every fuckin’ penny.”

You sit in the post-orgasm haze for a few seconds, waiting for the room to stop spinning and your body to feel like yours again. You pull the phone from your sweat-stuck cheek and glance at the time. You have less than thirty seconds left. Joel seems to do the same, for his voice returns to your ear in a gentle, low whisper.

“Alright. Speak soon, angel. Be good.”

The call cuts.

----------

taglist: @slvbl @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @msjarvis @acornacreacure @totallynotastanacc @alejaa-a @aphterthoughtt @pedroluver @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @cool-iguana @serenaxpedro @lizzyervs @bitchwitch1981 @brittmb115 @stormseyer @scarletthefierce @patti7dc @pattwtf @atticrissfinch @pascalpvnk @lizzyervs @jediknightjana @jessie8605 @iknowisoundcrazy @caitispunk @vickie5446 @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi @gracieispunk @hellishjoel

(psst! after this weekend my taglist is no more! follow @macfroglets + turn on notifs if you wanna be in the know when i post!)

[razrbladekiss]

TOLERATE IT | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: an argument with joel doesn’t end the way that you think it will.

PAIRING: joel miller x afab!reader. (established relationship)

WARNINGS: very short piece. angsty argument so if u do nawt want to read, then skip <3. i’m in the middle of an argument with my bf and instead of feeding into it, i have immortalized it into my writing 😊 sorry joel for being my proverbial punching bag ! maybe ill make a part two if we ever make up LOL.

Fat tears spill over the swollen apples of your cheeks faster than you can wipe them away with the already much-too-wet sleeve of your sweatshirt, and the room starts to spin.

Your face is damp with salty—bittersweet—upset, and a splitting migraine is beginning to fester away at the inside of your fucking brain.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Joel stands with both hands on his hips while you’re sat cross-legged on the couch, a cushion sat plump in your lap. “Can’t keep cryin’ whenever we have an argument—“

“But you’ve upset me, Joel!” Almost incoherently, you blabber. “You can’t expect me to be cool with the fact that you were flirting with some—some skank last night!”

He drags his left hand over his face. Joel exerts an exasperated sigh. He doesn’t know how many more hours he can argue with you about this, before he says something that he’s going to regret.

“I know. I was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it—but why the fuck are you still crying?!” Joel barks. “It’s been hours, baby! Can’t we move past this—“

“No! We can’t!” Scraping your hand across your eyes—all tears immediately drying up—you stand to attention. You smack the pillow onto the couch in complete and utter fucking fury. “It’s been four years of us, Joel. Four fucking years that I thought we were happy—but apparnelty you’re not! Are you bored of me, or something?!”

“No!” Defensively, he exclaims. He’s just as annoyed as you, now. Though he has no place to be. “I don’t know what came over me—“

“Four years. Forty-Eight months I’ve spent being by your side—completely faithful—and you think it’s okay to just fuck around on me?!”

“I’m not fuckin’ around on you!” Mood—and tone—matching, he counters. “I love you. But I was hammered last night—“

I was hammered. I wasn’t thinking straight. I don’t know what came over me.

BULLSHIT. You’ve heard it all before and, frankly, you’re sick of it. The excuses, the lies…Dating a prolific man-whore isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, actually.

“You need to get your act together.” With a shaking hand, you point at him. Your finger is trembling against his flannel. “If you want this to work, then you’ll stop lying to me—“

“I’m. Not. Fucking. Lying.” Through gritted teeth, he says.

Joel has confessed his wrongdoings, but it’s not enough. To you, he owes you more than just an explanation.

“I don’t believe you.” Devoid of any emotion—any feeling—you state. “You told me that you were going to Tommy’s last night to watch the Cowboys game. But Tommy came here at six o’clock asking for you, and said that they weren’t even fucking set to play! You’re a fucking liar, Joel!”

He backs away with both hands up, completely defeated. You’re tenacious, when you want to be. Sanctimonious. He knows he’ll never win an argument, so he walks away to leave you alone with time to cool off.

But to you—to most people—that’s him giving up.

Joel takes the keys to his truck from the fruit bowl beside the front door, grabs his jacket and unlocks the front door.

He turns to you without even so much as a smile. “Call me when you’re ready to have an adult fucking conversation.”

Joel slams shut the door and you begin to fume all over again. To your left is a picture of the two of you last summer—when you were happy and carefree in Mykonos—and you know that it won’t do anything to help the issue, but you grab it. With a firm hand, you launch it at the door.

Fragments of glass shatter against the door, the floor and fly across the room in every which direction perfectly depicting the current state of your heart after Joel started to break it.

Your eyes are streaming again, hearing his truck peel away from the sidewalk and to god-knows fucking where.

But there’s no use in crying over him anymore. You just need to tolerate it. Tolerate this. Because Joel knows it’ll take more than an “I’m sorry” to really make it up to you.

[enchantedflameandflower]

Billy Butcher fic! 18+

-Her breath caught in her throat and she had to swallow. The way he looked, standing over her, dark and tall and brooding and wanting, his gaze sweeping across her form as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it away…

“Butcher,” she reached for him, her gaze roaming over his chest, and he kneeled on the bed next to her. 

Glimmer 35/?

(You don’t need to have read previous chapters to enjoy this smut!)

Tag List: @2dead2function @secretdreamlandmentality

Thank you for all the love! You're all the best! This takes place during season 3 episode 6 (Herogasm) right before he tells Hughie it's not his blood ;) Oi, Oi! I recommend the watch!

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter (34)

~*~*~

Chapter 35

As Butcher slammed his car door shut he eyed the doorman at the posh uptown high rise warily from across the street. First test, he reckoned.

One last time, he tried to talk himself out of this…but no. This was the best way to get the information they needed. Or at least the quickest way. He didn’t have time for anything else, he needed that address now. 

And yeah it had nothing to do with the way he saw her face every night when he closed his eyes.

Butcher strode across the street, holding his breath as the doorman caught his eye, but the old man nodded, grinning. “Long time no see, Butcher,” he barked out in his rough Brooklyn accent. 

“Aye,” Butcher gave him his most charming smile, white teeth gleaming. “Well I -“

“That fuckin’ virus goin’ round really knocked me on my ass for a couple weeks,” the doorman continued. “Hope the temporary guy didn’t give you no trouble.”

“Oh, uh aye,” Butcher winked, changing tracks smooth as silk. “S’all good mate. Good to see ya back,” he clapped him on the shoulder. 

The man opened the door for Butcher and he nodded in thanks before he made his way across the lobby to the elevator. He punched in the nine digit code that gave Addison access to the top floors and gave a huff of relief when the doors slid open without a beat. Was he surprised? He wasn’t sure… Addison had always kept him on his toes.

The next test was the code for her door. He’d made damn sure when she moved in it always automatically locked no matter what. It was near unbreakable plus it had its own long code to get in. 

He pressed the numbers quickly; she would know it was him as soon as she heard the first beep. The door opened and he slipped in letting it close and lock again automatically behind him. 

Last test. She didn’t kill him immediately the second he closed her door. But she gave a beleaguered sigh from where she was standing in the kitchen. Fuck, did women take a class to learn how to do that all in the same way?

“What the fuck do you want, Butcher?” she muttered without turning around. 

Well could be worse, he thought shrugging to himself, so he went for it. “Need a favor, love.”

Addison paused in the middle of chopping a cucumber, seemed to freeze completely, and for a moment he wondered if she was actually contemplating throwing that knife in her hand at him. Maybe he shoulda taken a hit of that temp V before he came…

“Addi. It’s important. I’ve not got much time,” he argued when she still didn’t answer. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She growled under her breath. “Why the fuck would I help you and don’t ‘love’ me.”

He still hadn’t seen her face, but he could see her clearly in his mind. Blue-grey eyes flaring, her cheeks flushed pink... “Cuz you can’t resist doin’ the right thing, can ya?” he answered with a knowing smirk.

“The right thing?” Finally Addison spun around to glare at him, her eyes shining steel, just like he’d imagined. “Are you high?” she huffed. “Are you on that shit right now?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m not. Pinky promise ya. And this is for Ryan. Would ya ever forgive yourself if something happened to him?”

Addison took a breath and closed her eyes, turning back to the counter but he knew he had her.

“I thought you didn’t give a fuck about him anymore,” she muttered.

“Aye, well, I know you still do, dontcha.”

Addison scoffed, shaking her head. “I fucking hate you sometimes, Butcher.”

He grinned and spread his hands wide. “Well join the club, sunshine. We meet on Tuesday nights.”

“We?” she muttered, as she scooped a handful of cut veggies and dumped them into a bowl. “You go to the ‘We Hate Butcher’ meetings, do you?” 

“I’m the fuckin’ President, sunshine.”

Addison rolled her eyes and turned around again, still brandishing the knife, which Butcher eyed warily. 

“What is it? What do you need so badly.”

Fuck she was gorgeous when she was mad. But he shoved the thought away and swallowed, focusing on the task at hand. “Need an address. The twins.” He made the motion of an explosion with his hands and she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“What for?”

“Just a simple deal with a… colleague , lo -“ he stopped himself just in time. 

Addison shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. You’re working with Soldier Boy, aren’t you? Are you insane? Did you miss the part when he blew up midtown? You look like a lunatic or worse helping him -"

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks ‘bout me. This ain’t just about revenge anymore and you know it. Homelander could kill half the country before the sun went down. That don’t compare to one building, which was an accident by the way. And half the country now…now that includes Ryan. And you. And…and this baby. And it ain’t fuckin’ right.”

He saw when her face changed and he knew he was manipulating her ruthlessly, but the fact was that it was true, too, and she knew it. 

“This is our best chance right now and I won’t let it go to waste.”

She sighed. “Explain what the fuck happened in midtown?”

Butcher shook his head. “It weren’t on purpose, whatever happened it was an accident. Look I’m not sayin’ the guy is an angel but this is our shot.”

Addison took another breath and blew it out and he knew he had gotten through to her. 

“Fine,” Addison said. “If you’re really sure this is the only way.”

“Too fuckin’ right I am.”

“I’ll get the address. But only because Tommy is a fucking piece of shit and I’ve been trying to get something solid on him for years,” she paused, looking at him. “But I want a favor in return.”

Butcher took a step closer, the corner of his mouth lifting in his most pleased smirk. He couldn’t help himself. She looked like his favorite desert and he was a starving man. “And what might that be?”

******

Addison eyed him for a moment, teetering somewhere between so fucking turned on she couldn’t stand it and irritated out of her mind… the smug, rugged, handsome asshole. And fuck if she didn’t miss him so much it hurt like an iron fist to the face. She had broke it off and she wasn’t changing her mind, but it wasn’t her fault she was going absolutely crazy….

“I wanna fuck.” She had to bite back a smirk of her own at the way his eyes lit up and then he grinned, dimple and all, the fucking bastard.

“Miss me that much, eh?” he teased.

“Listen,” she huffed. “My hormones are going crazy, and that is your fucking fault by the way,” she pointed the knife at him, “and the vibrator just isn’t doing the job.”

“You could always find a new lad to play with, can’t ya?”

Addison lifted her chin, just a fraction of an inch. “No.” She couldn’t. He was the father of her child, and to her…to her, no one else mattered. Not like that. So even if there was ever a time she didn’t want him, she didn’t want anyone else either. 

She turned back to the kitchen counter, chopping again before her expression could give anything away to him. Not that he didn’t already know but fuck. She wasn’t going to show it.

She heard him though, she heard him step up behind her and then his big, strong hand was sliding over her hip, and oh the things those fingers could do…

Butcher paused for a moment as if he was testing her, then, “Deal,” he husked and he spun her around. His hazel eyes were dark with emotion and she almost sighed dreamily with relief when he let his guard down and she saw that he wanted her too, that it wasn’t just her, that his words before had been just as hollow and false as she knew they were. As hers were.

Addison threw her arms around his shoulders at the same time he pulled her hard against him and captured her mouth with his. 

He groaned against her lips and she held on tighter. 

“Fuck, love,” he gasped when he finally pulled away to breathe, and that’s when she realized she had sliced into her arm with the knife, her blood smearing across his neck. 

“Shit, sorry…” she mumbled stepping back, chagrined. She tossed the knife in the sink and wiped off the blood on her forearm to make sure the cut had healed, and when she saw it had, she grabbed his hand, pulling him toward her bedroom. She couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Fuckin’ mental,” he muttered dragging his knuckles over the blood on his neck but she turned to kiss him again to shut him up, fusing her mouth to his, and then he was scooping her up in his arms to carry her the rest of the way. 

He coaxed her mouth open and his tongue swept over hers, playing and teasing. She broke away just as he reached the bed, her breath heavy and nodded toward her desk. “I’ll start a search really quick,” she breathed.

“Ah…almost forgot about that…” he grinned.

He set her down next to her desk and she leaned down, her fingers flying over her keyboard as she entered in a lengthy password and set up a scan for the information he wanted. When it was set, he swept her off her feet again and laid her down across the bed. 

Her breath caught in her throat and she had to swallow. The way he looked, standing over her, dark and tall and brooding and wanting, his gaze sweeping across her form as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it away…

“Butcher,” she reached for him, her gaze roaming over his chest, and he kneeled on the bed next to her. 

He helped her push her t-shirt over her head, and rumbled when he saw she had nothing on beneath, then pressed her back down to the bed and started a line of hot kisses down between her breasts, nipping and licking on his way. She bit her lip when he paused at her stomach and brushed his mouth just below her belly button and she knew, she knew he was thinking about what they had now, what was theirs, and she wished he would come to terms with it… But then he hooked his fingers in her shorts and tugged them down her long legs along with her underwear until she was naked beneath him and she felt like she was catching on fire. 

He kissed her knee then rubbed his chin over the top of her thigh and her entire body shuddered in response. 

“Butcher, fuck, please,” she begged before she could stop herself and she felt him smirk against her leg.

Impatient and eager, she moved, with his hands helping, until he could settle between her legs, his broad shoulders pushing her knees apart. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmured and then he dipped his head to slip his tongue inside of her. When he gave a gruff moan, and flicked his tongue lazily over her clit before stroking his tongue inside of her again she realized this wasn’t going to be a quick ‘get her warmed up then move on to the main event.’ No he seemed quite happy right there….

“Ohhh…” she whimpered, desperate and needy and eager. Almost as eager as he seemed to be.

Butcher swirled his tongue around her swollen bud and pressed his palms roughly against her legs, urging her to open wider for him. His skin was hot where it touched her and his beard tickled along her inner thighs. She slid one hand into his hair while she gripped the pillow with the other. 

“So good…” she whimpered. He knew. He knew every inch of her. Shifting again, he moved so he could slide his fingertips along her folds and then he teased two fingers just an inch inside of her, rumbling at how slick she was for him. His tongue kept up its lazy patterns over her swollen clit and when he felt her climb to the next precipice, he pressed his fingers all the way inside of her. 

Addison cried out as pleasure flooded through her body. Nothing could compare to this, to him. She lifted her hips eagerly, taking his fingers deeper and pushing against his tongue and he groaned in response, a pleased rumble of pride and approval. 

So perfectly, he began to pump his fingers inside of her and he caught her clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over it then sucking hard. Addison was already so turned on she felt like it would only take another second to explode, and she was ready, but then he slowed, teasing her. 

“This all for me, sunshine?” he rumbled, his fingers gliding easily though her wetness, looking up along the length of her body with dark eyes. 

“Yes,” she moaned; writhing against him; begging for more. “Just you. Please…”

“Good girl, so sweet…” he ran the tip of his tongue across his lush lower lip. “I can give ya what ya need.”

“Please Butcher,” she whimpered, tugging on his hair. 

He groaned and dipped his head back to her core, using his tongue and his mouth and his hand to hold her down and in the next moment she was clenching hard around his long fingers, crying out as her climax crashed through her, trembling and shaking with each wave of pleasure, one after another, a pure, all encompassing release. 

When she’d had enough, Billy shifted slowly, wiping his forearm across his mouth and pushing himself up from the bed. 

He glanced up at Addison, flush and still trying to catch her breath, but she could see the hint of uncertainty in his eyes so she reached for him. “C’mere…” He lifted his hand and she grabbed it, tugging, her eyes still alight with want. 

“Hang about,” he murmured gruffly, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes, then pulling himself over her on the bed. 

“Wait,” she breathed out, pressing her palm to his chest and holding him back. “Have you been sleeping around?”

“Oi, I wouldn’t say around,” he answered indignantly, making a face. “It were a mistake -“

Addison reached over to the table next to the bed, yanking the drawer open and pulling out a condom. “I don’t want to know, just -“ She pushed the small package into his palm. 

“Where were this two months ago?” he asked, holding the foil package up between his fingers.

“Fuck you,” she rolled her eyes, but her need overrode any irritation. “And hurry up.”

He grinned and sat back on his heels, tearing the package open and rolled the latex down over his thick cock while she watched. The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip and he smirked at her, dimple and all. 

“Shut up,” she muttered but she reached for him, pulling him close again, until their mouths met in a searing kiss. 

But when he pulled back again, his eyes were serious. “Are ya sure this is what you want, Addi?”

“Yesssss,” she groaned, nodding, and he moved without another seconds hesitation, nestling his hips between her thighs. She could sense him going slower as his belly pressed to hers. How long would it be before her belly curved up, how long before…

…but they both let it pass. 

"So fuckin’ gorgeous," he murmured low and smoky as he reached down and dragged his tip over her still throbbing clit.

Addison lifted her hips impatiently and it made him slide in an inch, groaning as he did. “More,” she whimpered. He caught his breath and pressed the rest of the way inside of her, filling her completely, deeply with one slow thrust.

She squeezed her body around his length and watched as his eyes went even darker. 

“Fuck ya feel good, princess.”

“Don’t - oh!” she whimpered as he pulled back and pushed inside of her again. “… call me that….”

He didn’t reply but he didn’t call her that again either. He started a rhythm, each thrust slow and measured and making her squirm beneath his weight.

Addison whimpered and moaned, sliding her palms over his muscled back, letting her short fingernails bite into his hot skin. He let out a deep groan, but continued his thrusts, precise and steady. 

Her entire body shuddered when he hit that perfect spot inside of her and her hips bucked up, taking him deeper. She bit her lip, but already she was teetering on the edge and desperate for him to take her over. 

“Please, yes, please…” she cried, wrapping her legs around his hips. 

“Does my girl wanna come for me again?” he husked, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. 

“Yes…” she gasped. 

He slid his hand between them, circling his thumb against her clit and she shifted to make more room. “That’s my good girl,” he rumbled. “Come nice and hard for me.”

She cried out and gasped again, beyond words now and after a few more smooth thrusts and slippery circles of his thumb she was climaxing, whimpering helplessly, throbbing around his cock and clenching hard. He followed just after with a gruff, deep moan and the sound sent her soaring again, a new sob of pleasure escaping her lips. 

He pressed his face to the curve of her neck, his arms pulling her to him as they rode out the waves together and Addison gave a long purr of sated joy, all of her body releasing the tension of the last few weeks at once. 

The two of them stayed that way for what felt like hours, him wrapped around her so tight it was almost difficult to breathe but she didn’t care. It felt like heaven. 

Eventually he moved and lifted his head from where it was buried against her neck, a few strands of her hair sticking to his damp skin. 

“Ya alright?” he asked, voice gruff.

“Mmmmm,” she hummed, and nodded. 

He moved, slow to let go of her, lingering just a little, but sitting up all the same. 

“I’d hate to be accused of bein’ unromantic but I’m on a bit of a schedule, sunshine.”

Addison nodded sleepily and Butcher stood, carefully removing the condom and tying it off before getting rid of it. Addison sat up at the edge of the bed, trying to work up the strength to get up but before she could, Billy swung her up in his arms again, and carried her to the bathroom.  

When she was done, he carried her back to the bed and she laughed softly as he tucked her in, pulling the thick comforter up to her chin as she snuggled into the blankets.

He lifted the towel he’d brought out to wipe at her blood that was dried on his neck but she made a soft sound and he turned to look at her, pausing. 

“Don’t,” she said in a quiet voice with a mischievous smile. “Leave it. Cuz you’re mine.”

“You’re stark ravin.’”

“You like it.”

He shook his head, but his expression was soft as he started to gather his clothes. 

“Billy,” she murmured as he tugged his pants back on, buckling his belt.  

It was the first time she’d used his first name since he’d been there.

“Do you really think you have a chance of taking out Homelander.”

“Aye. I have to try. For Ryan.”

“I know. And Becca. And the baby.”

He took a step back toward her. “And you.”

She nodded minutely. “I’m with you then.”

He was quiet for a moment before he looked away. “I best go.”

“Get my laptop.”

She tapped at the keys, and felt him watching her as her eyes scanned the results. “Vermont,” she said, turning the laptop to show him the address. 

He reached for a pen off her nightstand and scrawled the address on a scrap of paper before stuffing it into his pocket. “Thanks, Addi,” he murmured.

She nodded, but she was already drifting off again, turning to snuggle her face into the pillow next to her when she remembered she had been making dinner. “Will you bring me the chips from the cupboard before you go though…” she mumbled. 

“Thought you were making a salad?"

“Mmmm. D’nt want that… And a can of seltzer. And the gummy bears.”

Billy gave a low chuckle. “Oi, anything for you, sunshine."

His voice was soft, and it was honestly the most relaxed she’d felt in weeks. Maybe everything would be okay. 

Addison fell sound asleep, hugging a pillow to her chest, before he came back to leave her snacks on the bedside table.

~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think! One word, a few words, many words, an emoji, all comments are good! Let me know what you want to see, anything!

Chapter 36

[half-oz-eddie]

One More Night Before I Turn Myself In

18+, Graphic Depictions of violence, mentions of abuse, fetishizing

Steve Harrington has had it up to his ears with Hawkins. He lost Nancy, his parents divorced and all anyone ever cared about was dumping their kids on Steve, with the big house and all the free time—no, fuck that. He needed to be somebody that could enjoy life somehow. 

In the middle of the night, he got in his car with every intention of quietly disappearing from Hawkins for good. Not like anyone would miss him anyway—

He screamed when a dark figure slammed down on the hood of his car. He trembled as it made its way to the passenger’s side. 

Oh. He sighed in relief. It’s just Hargrove. 

Hargrove?!

Steve rolled down the window. “Whaddya want, Hargrove? I’m not in the mood for a fight.”

“Not here to fight, Harrington. Where ya headed?” He asked, leaning into the open window. 

“Dunno. But I’m getting outta here.”

Billy pulled the door handle. “Open up.”

“Why?”

“C’mon just—“ he struggled with the door handle until Steve unlocked it and allowed him in. “Take me wherever you’re going.”

“What? No—“

“C’mon! Please? I need to get outta here for awhile.”

Since when was Billy the type of guy to say please? 

“Ugh, fine.” He groaned. “But I don’t wanna hear any complaints.”

“I’m not gonna say shit.”

Steve took off in the silent night, driving past the Now Leaving Hawkins sign before Billy glanced over at him in the dim moonlight.

“No radio?”

“I thought you weren’t gonna say anything.” Steve snapped.

“Touchy.” Billy tusked. “Just saying. It’s too damn quiet. It’s creepy.”

“Fine.”

Steve turned on the radio, just as a breaking news story was broadcasting.

“—was shot and killed in his home—“

Billy reached over and changed the station, letting Hungry Like The Wolf play.

“You like this song, right?”

“Yeah, it’s…one of my favorites.”

“Cool.” Billy muttered. 

They drove in silence for another 10 miles before Billy asked Steve to pull over so he could “take a piss in the woods.”

“Can’t you wait til we reach a gas station?”

“I can’t hold it.” Billy insisted.

“Fine. Go.” Steve pulled over and Billy jumped out. 

He went behind the closest tree and Steve turned up the radio slightly, none the wiser to the sounds of Billy discarding something in the woods. 

He returned to Steve’s car and the drive continued on. 

Eventually Billy had fallen asleep, slowly waking up before sunrise.

“Where are we?” He asked in a groggy voice.

“Pittsburg, Pennsylvania.”

Billy stretched and sat up. “Why here?”

“It’s far from home and I saw an ad for a job here. I’m checking into a motel. What do you plan on doing?”

Billy shrugged. “Whatever you’re doing.”

“Hey, I said I’d drive you. I’m not carrying you along and taking care of you—“

“I didn’t ask you to take care of me. I can take care of myself. I have money for my own fuckin’ room.” Billy said matter-of-factly. 

“Whatever, fine.”

They walked into the motel together and Steve requested two separate rooms. 

“It’s cheaper if you double up.” The desk agent suggested. 

They looked at each other then shrugged, agreeing to split the fees for a double room. 

They each received keys to room 206 and stepped inside. Neither of them had any luggage on them so there was no need to settle in. 

Billy claimed the bed closest to the bathroom, tossing his jacket on the chair and lying down on the bed. He turned on the TV and found an old movie to watch.

“It might be cheaper if we split for breakfast too.” Steve presented the idea.

Billy passed Steve a $5. “Get me a six pack.”

“You’ve gotta eat—“

“No. I don’t know how long I’m gonna be out here, or what I’m gonna do next, so I gotta save my money.”

Steve sighed, leaving the motel room without another word.

Billy fell asleep once more, springing up when Steve returned.

“I got your six pack, but I also got you some food.” Steve passed Billy a sandwich. 

“…Thanks.” He reluctantly accepted. 

They ate in awkward silence. They didn’t exactly like each other, or know what to talk to each other about. Deep down, they were both scared because of how foolish and impulsive they were being, but they didn’t want to discuss it at the moment.

“I’m gonna go and, uh…try to find a job. Want me to drive you anywhere?”

“No, I’ll just hang out here.”

“Suit yourself.”

Once Steve was gone, Billy decided to take a shower and go for a walk to clear his head.

But his head would never be clear after what happened. It still felt like a hazy nightmare. A nightmare that would never end. 

He was so in his head, he didn’t realize that he’d been walking around aimlessly for hours. 

When he returned to the motel, Steve was already there, this time, with lunch. 

“Stopped at a KFC. Want some chicken?”

“Just a little.”

Steve passed Billy some chicken and a biscuit. They enjoyed it with some beers. 

“So, uh…where’d you go?” Steve asked. “Sightseeing?”

“Something like that.” Billy answered vaguely.

“I um…I got a job. It’s at a uh…bowling alley nearby.”

“Congratulations, Harrington.”

“Thanks…”

The awkward silence returned. Steve felt like he had to tread carefully with Billy. He still didn’t understand why they were playing survivor in a motel room, or why they both decided to run away the same night—or why he agreed they’d do it together. Was Steve this desperate to not be alone? 

Maybe so.

“Hey, do you like—wanna go to a club tonight or something? Get drunk, meet some hot girls, I dunno.” Steve laughed.

Billy glared at him before his expression softened with a snicker. “Whatever, sure.”

“Yeah?”

Billy shrugged. “You’re cooler than I thought, Harrington.”

“Sucks we got off on the wrong foot, right? But it’s not too late to start over.”

Unbeknownst to Steve, it was far too late for that. But just for tonight, Billy wanted to enjoy it.

Steve took Billy to a thrift store and they bought something affordable to wear for their night out, then found a nightclub. 

They opened a tab, got some drinks in their systems and mingled with some girls, but oddly enough, felt more comfortable clinging to each other instead. 

“You two look kinda cute together.” One of the women they met mentioned. 

Steve emphatically shook his head and Billy waved it off. “O-oh we’re not—“

“We’ll pay you a hundred bucks if you let us watch you dance together.” The second woman proposed. 

Was this like…some sort of fetish to them? Do they get off on seeing guys dance together?

“I mean, for a hundred bucks…”

Steve snapped his head in Billy’s direction. “What the hell? You serious?”

“What’s the problem? It’s just a dance. You scared?”

“I—no—whatever, c’mon.” He acquiesced, taking another shot before allowing Billy to drag him onto the dance floor. 

They glanced over at the women who watched them, expecting a good show.

Billy pulled Steve close by his belt loops. “Just close your eyes and pretend I’m somebody else.”

“I don’t mind dancing with you.” Steve admitted. “It’s not like you’re—ugly—or something.”

Billy smirked and leaned into Steve’s ear. “Hey, Harrington…”

“Yeah?”

“Are you fuckin’ flirting with me?”

Steve pulled back to get a read on Billy’s expression, relieved to see a smile on his face. Maybe he’s just joking.

Steve began to shake his head, before smiling and shrugging.

Maybe Steve’s just joking too, Billy considered.

They let themselves relax and enjoy each other’s company, invading each other’s personal space, swaying and gyrating to the music, half hard cocks obviously felt against each other’s.

There was electricity coursing through them, and they found themselves liking this far too much. It had to be the alcohol, they both believed. 

Billy leaned into Steve’s ear again as Steve’s hand made its way onto Billy’s ass. 

“I’m horny.” Billy confessed. 

“What do you want me to do about it?” Steve asked.

“Do you wanna do something about it?”

“Kinda, yeah. Is that weird?”

“No. You wanna go back to the motel?”

Steve’s cock was throbbing at this point. Of course he wanted to go back to the fucking motel.

Billy pulled Steve in the direction of the women, hand out for the payment. 

“We’ll double it if you kiss.”

“Oh, that’s no problem.” Billy grabbed Steve, leading him in a sensual tongue kiss. Steve couldn’t resist the urge to grab Billy’s cock while Billy grabbed the back of his neck.

Fuck. He didn’t know what was in the air, or those drinks but Jesus Christ did he want to bring Billy back to the motel and fuck his brains out. 

The women paid them their $200 and they took a taxi back to the motel. 

They didn’t think, they didn’t discuss, they didn’t reconsider. Clothes were simply flying off at the door before they landed on Steve’s bed, Billy’s hand wrapped around both of their cocks as they kissed. 

The night felt like a fever dream but the feeling of their cocks touching and the sensation of their tongues darting against each other’s reminded them both that this was real—for whatever reason it was happening. It was fucking happening. 

“Have you ever done this before?” Billy asked, lips still pressed to Steve’s.

“Had sex? Mhm. Of course.”

“With a guy, Harrington.”

“No, but a hole’s a hole, right?”

Billy tusked. “You make me sound like a cheap whore.”

“Not cheap.” Steve corrected. “You’re definitely worth $200.”

They laughed against each other’s lips before their kissing resumed. 

Billy continued to jerk their cocks until they were painfully hard. He loosened his fist and spat into his hand, rubbing it all over Steve’s cock. 

“Fuck me.” He exhaled. “Don’t be a pussy.”

Steve positioned himself between Billy’s legs and slowly slid his cock inside. 

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight.” Steve moaned, thrusting in and out and in and out. Faster, harder, rougher. 

Billy had done this before, and didn’t mind that Steve was being so rough, but shit…his cock was massive, and he could feel every inch as he thrusted. 

Steve didn’t understand anything except the feeling of his cock drooling inside a man’s tight asshole. And the man happened to be Billy Hargrove, who was as pretty as ever writhing beneath him. 

He slowed down his thrusts, savoring their kisses, relishing in how incredible sex felt.

“I’m gonna cum.” Billy moaned out.

“Me too, holy shit. You feel so good.”

“Cum in me, if you like it that much.”

Billy’s invitation was just enough to send a rippling feeling down Steve’s spine as he came inside Billy, emptying himself inside his hole.

Billy soon followed, spilling out all over himself.

They stared into each other’s eyes, still in disbelief that they acted on their sudden attraction to one another. 

— 

They got cleaned up and slightly sobered up, then sat at the table, eating some chips. 

“So…uh…I wasn’t sure—“

“Wanna hear something crazy, Billy?”

“I guess.”

“I think…” Steve chuckled. “Maybe this was meant to be. It just—all of it felt so right, didn’t it? I’m not saying we have to jump right into anything, but—“

“I can’t, Steve.” Billy deflated. “I can’t…we can’t.”

“O-oh I—“ He nervously laughed. “I wasn’t trying to be weird but—“

“It’s not that. Tonight was…great, but…I can’t because…I need to…turn myself in.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Turn yourself in…for what?” He warily asked.

“I got so fucking sick of…him…beating me and treating me like shit so…I went in his room…I got his gun, and while he sat at table reading the paper and waiting for dinner, I raised his gun to his face, and...”  Billy pointed a finger gun at Steve “blam.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Y-you…killed your father?!”

“And tossed the gun in the woods when we made that pit stop.”

Billy didn’t seem remorseful at all, but if he was indeed a victim, well, then Steve was willing to defend him.

“Hey, you’re a victim in this.” Steve comforted, holding Billy’s hand across the table. “I’m sure they’ll understand—“

“I shot him right in front of Susan.” Billy replied emotionlessly. “She would never speak up for me.”

“What about Max?”

“She’s just a stupid kid. It doesn’t matter what she says.”

“I don’t want—I don’t want you to go and spend the rest of your life in prison over someone who abused you.” 

“Doesn’t matter. I can’t be on the run for the rest of my life.” He frowned. 

“Let’s go to sleep and sort it out together tomorrow, yeah?”

Billy noticed how desperate Steve was for him to stay. Why, though? It didn’t make sense. It’s not like they were in love or anything. Sure, he liked the guy and felt this insane connection to him. And maybe Steve felt like Billy was the only familiar piece of Hawkins he had with him. 

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

Billy couldn’t stay. 

But for the night, he humored Steve. They talked, they cuddled in bed, and Billy let Steve fuck him one last time.

But this time, he was gentler, slower, and it felt like, maybe, Steve knew he’d leave in the morning, whether he wanted him to or not. 

Which was true.

When Steve woke up the next morning, Billy was long gone. All he left behind was his watch and a note.

“Put some money on my books, pretty boy.”

[brighttears]

Bask

Joel xreader

No physical description, gender natural, no use of y/n

Summary: You teach Joel how to enjoy the rain. When Ellie joins you, it’s picture perfect.

Word count: 914

Warnings: non just sickeningly wholesome

A/n: keeping my streak of posting every day because i am insane

—

It hadn’t rained in a while. To Joel, the rain was an annoyance, a pain in the ass, and Ellie hated it, dripping from the ceiling seemingly wherever she happened to be. You, on the other hand, were thrilled. It was dusk when the rains started dropping and it took awhile to figure out what you could do to keep warm, dry, and safe in the decaying house you had decided to spend the night in. And while yes, it was decaying, you’re lucky you had decided to walk the couple extra miles instead of staying outside that night. You rushed through helping Ellie and Joel secure the house from the storm, the minute you were all satisfied, walking straight through the living room—where your sleeping bags were set out, Ellie laying on her back reading her book of puns, and Joel cleaning his rifle—into the kitchen to the back door.

Joel caught you. “Where're you goin’?”

“Outside.”

“Outside, why?”

“To run around in the rain.”

“To run around in the rain?”

“Yes, to run around in the rain. Wanna join me?”

Joel’s face was twisted in utter bewilderment. “No.”

“Okay.” you shrug, smiling, and turn back to head outside.

“You shouldn’t go out there.” Joel cautioned.

“Why not?”

“You’ll catch a cold.”

“Well if I do, I won’t complain about it and I’ll let you say ‘I told ya so.’ Also, it’s the middle of summer, Joel.”

“Well, still, it’s gett’n dark out.”

“I won’t be out for long, I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Well I’m gonna fuckin’ worry. You shouldn’t be there alone, in the dark, in pourin’ fuckin’ rain."

“Then come with me.”

“No, I—“

“Fuck, Joel, I haven’t been able to do this in so long. I’ll be out there for ten minutes. I will be fine.” Before Joel can say another word you’re out into the backyard, the screened backdoor banging twice behind you.

This is summer rain, warm with thick air. You breathe it in as soon as it hits your lungs and a smile runs out of you. You have to stop yourself from squealing in delight as you begin to bounce and dance through the tall, weedy backyard grass being showered in rain.

It’s wildly rejuvenating. You appreciate every second, taking in every drop on your skin, the feeling of mud and drowning grass in between your toes, the sound of raindrops on the leaves of the trees above you.

After a while you hear the backdoor slam twice. You figured it must be Ellie, but it’s Joel who’s standing awkwardly just outside the door. The idea of sharing this with Joel makes you almost giddy. You bound over and reach your hands out for his, he lifts them up with little enthusiasm but follows you as you pull him out. He can’t help a smile when he sees you beaming.

In the music of the rainstorm you guide Joel along to dance and jump with you. He’s acting like you pulled him out there, pride ruining his own fun, but if you keep it up for long enough, he’ll break. It doesn't take him that long to give in and start moving to your tempo. As you go, Joel pulls out some real dance moves, pushing and pulling you to his left and right, raising his hand up to twirl you. You’re giggling and he’s smiling wider than you’ve ever seen.

The sun has set but there's still enough light out to be able to see, everything shaded gray and blue.

The only sound from you both is laughing, but he catches the ‘told you so’ in your eyes.

You spin and spin in each other’s arms.

Joel feels the rain melting away the dirt and grime and blood that covers him, washing away his coarseness, smoothing his skin, the slick rain on your hands polish each other’s. He’s barely aware of where he is, relying on your direction, so all he has to focus on is you, how he can feel your laugh when he bumps you into him, how the water spins off your hair as you do.

These moments in the dusk, washed clean and pure, never letting go of you, it overwhelms him. As the heavens part, you’re in front of him, and you’ve never been more beautiful than you are now, soaking wet, smiling like it's 2003, your hands never leaving his. And so it overtakes him, and he slips an arm around your waist to pull you in and kiss you. It’s wet and warm and pure.

You’ve slowed to stillness and brought your hands up to his neck and face to steady yourself and kiss him deeper. With your eyes closed, all there is the rush of the rain in your ears, his lips, and your bodies, summer warm, pressed against each other. You don’t know how long you stay like this, but eventually, he pulls away, hands holding your face, and you open your eyes to each other.

The backdoor bangs twice and here comes Ellie, beaming like she does as she bounds over. You throw your hands up in excitement and take her hand in yours and the other in Joels and you three spin together in the drowning grass, heavy rain and thick air.

And you’re getting away with it, the blind joy, with having fun, being alive, living, being a family, dancing in your backyard in a warm summer rainstorm.

[miltonbarbie]

Could you do the "Girlboss Y/n" AU where the sleepover happens but could u add these:

The girls playing truth or dare and Wendy + Y/n have to kiss (Wendy x reader moment)

The guys secretly toilet paper the house before leaving while the girls are sleeping, and y/n catches them

Thank you !! :)

OMFG OF COURSE I WAS HOPING YOU'D ASK ABOUT THE SLEEPOVER !! (Also Wendy is my favourite character in south park so im really happy about this request </33)

!! REMINDER; All the characters in this AU are aged up: about 14-15

" Crash and bash ":

You were at Bebe's house, having a sleepover with your new friends that you made on just your first day of school. You were listening to music and dancing like crazy while stuffing your face with Godiva chocolates.

You heard the doorbell ring, and you went to open the door with permission. You peeked outside to see who it was, and opened it. The door was slammed open, almost hitting your head in the process. A bunch of boys from your school just barged into the house. Stan's friendgroup, Craig's, and a few other boys you've never heard of before.

Everyone was arguing with eachother on how the weekend was supposed to be for "girls only", but in shock, Bebe's mom allowed them to stay?! Seriously ..?

You were in the middle of playing with an ouija board and summoning the spirit of an victoria supermodel, but I guess that'll have to wait >:/ The boys got instantly bored and shoved the ouija board into one of the drawers nearby. They all gathered into a circle and started whining about how there were going to complain to Bebe's parents if they didnt play truth or dare with them. After what had happened with you and Eric, he wanted to get revenge by making you tell him your biggest secret to everybody in the sleepover, so he could blackmail her. It'd be his greatest plan yet.

The girls groaned in irritation. But you were already in the circle, excited to play truth or dare with your friends. Everyone gathered around and Kyle went first.

"So, Uh.. Y/n, truth or dare?" | "Oh! Dare pleasee!" | Alright, I dare you to-"

Eric instantly screamed out something at the top of his lungs. Without thinking, having the idea that it'd be funny as hell. But after he said it, he realized how fucked up his dare was.

"KISS WENDY!"

You and Wendy slowly turned your heads towards Eric, and wendy's face turned a blush pink. Your eyes fixated on Wendy, and there was a bit of romantic tension, and Stan definently noticed.

"Hey! I'm the one supposed to be making the dare, not you Cartman!" | "I- oh, I- SHUT UP KYLE IT DOESN'T EVEN MATTER, just do the fuckin' dare you two!" | Eric tried brushing it off, but he was internally panicking. This wasn't his plan, why did he have to say that? What the heck was going on in his head when he said that?!

Wendy hesitated for a second, but she had to admit. You were gorgeous as hell. She looked away, and started playing with her fingers. You smiled a bit before leaning closer, and without hesitation, Wendy moved forward instantly. Your first kiss being taken away by your best friend.

Wendy was definitely feeling some bisexual thoughts 🤭

After you both let go of the kiss, You were gasping for air because Wendy wouldn't let go of you that easily. Stan was literally about to faint so Kyle had to hold him in place. And Cartman was having very mixed feelings about this. Should he be proud? Or disgusted?

"What the hell."

You smiled at Eric, then turned to Wendy to wink at her, her eyes widened in shock. She grinned back at you as a reply. OOO sew rewmenticc

The rest of the night having the boys over was hell for you and the girls. They wouldn't stop screaming and throwing pillows at you. You got really sick n' tired until you got off of Bebe's bed, and flung a HUGE pillow at Eric. HE FELL DOWN HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Before he got up, Clyde yelled "PILLOW FIGHT!" and pillows/blankets were being thrown everywhere 2 seconds after he announced that. Im not even joking, Craig counted.

Since boys aren't allowed in a "girls only" sleepover (obvi), they had to leave so you could get some rest with your bestays. Before the guys left, you saw something peeking through their sleeping bags. Bebe closed the blinds and locked the doors, but you kept an eye on outside. You could see Butters pull something out of the sleeping bag.

Toilet paper, really?

You slammed the door open, and gave the immature teenagers a death glare, Eric was too busy toilet-papering Bebe's tree until 2 minutes later he finally noticed. He instantly told everybody to; "flee the scene".

"HAHAH! Guys, guys! look, I rubbed my butt on the toilet paper and threw it on the tree! did you see that?! Did y-" ...

"Oh ... RUNNNNNNNN!"

[14muffinz]

@terrapin-might gift for your first prompt!

no need for a date, I have a dumbass

ao3

@tmnt-write-fight

i'll clean this post up later, I'm in the middle of class rn and I am def out of time

Raph is not a fan of suits.

He isn’t a fan of a lot of types of clothes, because he swears that they’re all manufactured to be tearable and itchy, but there’s a special type of hell that comes from being forced around to lug a jacket along with him everywhere when he’s in a cramped gymnasium with music slamming into his brain.

In all honesty, he doesn’t even know why he came.

At some point, Raph had lost the rest of his family in the crowd. Under normal circumstances, they’d usually be easier to pick out, but everything’s too crowded, everything’s too loud, and with the weird lighting he can’t pick out the specific shades of green he’s searching for.

Really, he just wants to leave already.

Raph manoeuvres his way over to the snack table, and shoves some food in his pocket because he knows it's a bad idea, but this entire night feels like a bad idea and goddammit, he’s hungry.

He finds his way out of the gym, and luckily the halls are a little less crowded. He can’t get very far through them, because the majority of the school is blocked off for security reasons, but getting away from all of the loud sounds and bright lights make him feel a lot better.

It’s by chance, when looking for an actually empty place to chill, that he gets found by Casey.

“Not your scene?” He asks without preamble, and there’s something annoying in his tone that leaves the impression that he already knew this wasn’t the best situation for Raph.

Raph shrugs. “Yeah, but it feels just like yours.”

“Ehn,” Casey looks off to the side, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Everyone else who I’d chill with came with dates, and I just sorta came for the experience. It’s depressing as hell to be alone at one of these things, I can sorta see why not bringing a date is a taboo.”

“I thought that was just one of those human things I’m never meant to get,” Raph admits.

“Nobody gets social things, that’s the fuckin’ point,” Casey dissmisses. He starts walking the other direction, and Raph follows. Raph reaches into his pocket and slowly pulls out a snack, trying to eat silently. He fails, and Casey twists around to make insistent grabby hands. “Cough it up, Red, I haven’t gone into that shithole in like, an hour, I’m hungry as hell.”

Raph rolls his eyes. “Y’know the snack table is right by the door, right? Nobody would’ve known that you came alone.”

“Yeah, but it’s the principle of the thing,” Casey explains. “Who the fuck only comes to prom for the snacks?”

“Me,” Raph says. He realises that Casey’s definitely leading him to the exit, and can’t really find it in himself to care, even though he knows he’ll be receiving a million worried text messages the moment the tracker on his phone leaves school grounds.

Casey rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but your family is, like, smart. You don’t got a reason to care that you’re weird, and the fuck are people supposed to say? If they blame it on being mutants, that makes them into a piece of shit, even though if you weren’t born as a turtle, you’d probably have a real different life.”

They shove open the doors and walk out into the night air. It’s pleasant, warm but windy, and it makes Raph’s skin itch to go up. Since getting actual legal papers, he hasn’t gotten a chance to parkour, and he’s missing it.

“So, Red, what d’you want to do now?”

Raph shrugs. “It feels sorta dumb to go home, at this point, but partying doesn’t sound too appealing.”

“Maybe we could find an arcade or something,” Casey suggests. “I know where some afterparties are gonna be hosted later, and those’ll probably be pretty chill if we show up early, even if that’s weird as hell, but not gonna lie, I sort of just want to goof off for a bit?”

“Same.”

“Or maybe we could break into the rink,” Casey says thoughtfully. He rubs thoughtfully at his chin, as though he has a goatee to stroke, but in reality Raph is pretty sure the guy doesn’t even shave, not that Raph’s the one who can really make that point. “They never mind, and I still gotta teach you how to skate.”

“That’s going to be a shitshow,” Raph says, but with good humour. He knows himself and he knows that he’s going to trip and fall the moment he gets on the ice, then Casey will laugh at him, and that’s why he’s been avoiding it as much as possible.

Casey claps him on the shell then starts walking with more purpose, and Raph can only assume that he’s headed in the direction of the rink. Raph doesn’t know how to get to it from the school, but he’s been there enough that he could easily recognise it if he saw it. “Aw, c’mon, have some more faith in yourself. You’ll do great.”

“If you knock out one of my teeth, I’m going to stab you,” Raph threatens half-heartedly.

“And I’m sure I’ll extend you the same courtesy when you finally start teaching me ninja shit.”

“Never gonna happen.”

“Oh, just you wait, Raph. Just you fuckin’ wait.”

Raph snorts. “Stop trying to be ominous, Case, you’re shit at it.”

“I’m in hockey, not drama.”

“You’re built for both, though.”

Casey punches him.

⠀

⠀

Is not as much ‘breaking into’ the rink as it is Casey coming up to the back door with a key and then just striding in through the unlocked door. Which is good, because Raph knows that Casey would be a menace if he got to watch Raph’s ninja skills in action again.

Casey grabs two sets of skates off of the shelf behind the desk and brings them over to the benches, then silently starts putting them on. Raph allows himself a moment to be grossed out by the skates, because he doubts that they’re cleaned at all between uses by different people, then he reminds himself that he lives in a literal sewer, sucks it up, and starts lacing up his own skates.

The first challenge is trying to walk over to the rink. Raph’s got good balance, but that doesn’t make him automatically adjust to being held up only by two metal blades. Embarrassingly, Casey has to help him over to the rink, but at least he’s a good sport about it.

“Okay, so,” Casey starts as he steps onto the rink. Raph is leaning on the door and hoping that he doesn’t fall over. Casey spins around to face Raph and starts moving slowly backwards while holding eye contact. “It’s a lot easier than it looks, I swear. And if you want to grab one of the supports, I promise I won’t tell you how much you look like a grandma.”

He just poked the fucking bear.

Raph decides that he’s going to prove that no, he does not need to look like a granny, and steps onto the ice. His first angry step immediately sets him off balance, and then he tumbles onto the ice. Casey starts to cackle.

“I’m going to ruin this suit, aren’t I,” Raph sighs, already resigned.

“I think you should have called that a lost cause already,” Casey teases. He has a point, but like hell is Raph ever going to tell Casey Jones that he’s right about something. “C’mon, I’ll get you doing laps in no time.”

‘No time’ does not come to pass.

Raph hovers one hand by the wall as he slowly skates around the rink, and whenever he can get a proper support from the wall he’ll chuck some pocket crumbs at Casey, who is not as good of a teacher as he seems to think he is.

Eventually, though, he trusts Raph enough on the ice to head into the locker room, and returns a few minutes later returns with two hockey sticks and the familiar temptation violence in his eyes. Raph pretends that he’d made a full circle around the rink while he’d been alone, and Casey laughs at him like an asshole.

It’s a bit easier to balance with the stick. Casey clearly knows that Raph’s putting some of his weight onto it, but luckily he doesn’t comment.

“So hockey is just lacrosse but with more safety gear, right?

Casey starts pouting, which may or may not have been Raph’s intention. “C’mon, Red, after all the games I’ve made you sit through, you seriously don’t know the rules? Do you even know the rules of lacrosse?”

He huffs, then lifts up his stick. “Nope.” Then he shoots, overbalances, and falls onto his shell.

Coming here was absolutely a mistake.

Maybe the ads about prom were right, Raph’s going to treasure this day forever.

“Oh yeah, Red, you’d definitely be my first pick in a scrimish,” Casey taunts. “You’d be a real boss in a real game.”

If asked by Splinter or Leo, he would claim that he absolutely does not try to stab Casey with his skate. If he were asked by one of his other brothers, though, he’d complain that he missed the mark.

“How about you grab a bō, I grab my sai, and we see what fuckin’ happens, punk.”

“I can kick your ass with a stick,” Casey declares.

Raph gets a great idea.

He starts to stand back up, grabs the hockey stick, and sweeps Casey’s feet. It’s a lot easier when his opponent is balanced only on a metal blade.

“So can I,” Raph says proudly. He focuses all his energy on not wobbling so that this looks as badass as he wants it to.

“Point taken,” Casey allows. Him getting back up to his feet is unfortunately more fluid than Raph, and it probably helps that he’s not shivering in the faint cold. “A truce to kicking ass?” He requests, extending a hand.

Even while he takes Casey’s hand, Raph asks, “What does that even mean?”

“Fuck if I know, man, I’m failing English.”

⠀

⠀

They go at it for another two hours, until Raph is shivering too hard to keep going. Casey doesn’t make any jokes about it being because Raph’s a turtle, but Raph’s not entirely sure how he’d take one of those yet, so it’s fair. The amount of jokes Casey makes at his expense would be far past pushing it for anyone else.

When they grab their phones, April has updated them on Leo’s whereabouts via a picture of him flopped over on her bedroom floor (which Raph is definitely going to taunt him about tomorrow holy shit what was he thinking) and Donnie and Mikey confess that they both got dragged into the afterparty and will be back to the lair later in the morning.

Raph wraps an arm over Casey’s shoulder and they pose for a selfie, and they’re definitely on the same wavelength because both of their smiles are a touch devious, and they start laughing when they see the picture before they send it.

“Do you think that there’s any ice cream places open at 11pm?” Casey asks.

Concerned, Raph demands, “Wait, we just spent the last two hours ice skating, and now you want more ice? At midnight!?”

Trying and failing to play it off, Casey raises his chin and declares, “You don’t no my life.”

“Yes, I do,” Raph sighs, then yanks Casey forward by his arm. “C’mon, let’s walk through a drive through and piss off the nightshift worker.”

“I like the way you think, Red.”

“Is that supposed to be news?”

They walk through the drive through, because they’re little shits, vigilantes, delinquents, and definitely not pussies. Though, the expression the woman is wearing when they make it to the window makes Raph feel like they’re not the first teenagers to have had this idea, though considering that the afterparties are now in session, they might be the first ones so far that haven’t been drunk.

Their school is huge, so that’s just Raph’s assumption. He was raised on shitty movies, though, so maybe he’s a little off base with his guesses, even still.

On that thought, as Raph and Casey continue down the dark streets of New York, munching on burgers while precariously balancing their boxes of fries, he admits, “Y’know, we used to think that highschool would be like the Disney movies.”

Casey chokes on his burger and his laugh rumbles through his disgusting mouth full of food. “Dude, no fucking way.”

“Yes way,” Raph argues, grinning. “We saw this outdoor movie night of Highschool musical and were like, well, if the humans are watching it, then it must be pretty accurate.”

Casey’s cackle probably echoes for blocks, and since Raph is Raph and not Leo, he doesn’t bother to silence him, and even goes as far as to grin when he sees a few windows get lit from the inside.

“Thank god we wound up being normal before it was too late,” Raph tacks on, and Casey’s laugh picks up for a few more seconds.

Eventually, Casey manages, “Dude, you’re joking about the being normal thing right?”

Raph elbows him and does not feel bad when a few of Casey’s fries fall out of the box. “No shit, sherlock. I’m a fuckin’ weirdo and I’m proud about it.”

Casey wraps an arm around Raph and whoops.

Raph can’t imagine a life where he’s still trapped underground, going stir crazy and feeling closer and closer every day to snapping.

(Well, he can, but it’s depressing as hell so he tries not to.)

He can imagine his life now, though, in crystal clear quality. He’ll keep showing up to Casey’s hockey games and be a real ass about it, and eventually they’ll both go off to college and Raph will be intentionally be more dramatic about missing his best friend than any of his brothers, and then he’ll get bullied into a group hug like he always pretends to be.

Later, he and his friends and family will have an even better prom night down in the lair, while listening to rap music that’s more than just mid at best, and then eventually they’ll settle down to watch a romcom movie that Dad insists is good, and they’ll all get to throw popcorn at the projector screen.

Walking down the street, arm in arm with his asshole of a best friend, still feels like just the start.

[waklman]

Something bout u series

Here me out

Babybear was out shopping or whatever and sees a sundress and decides to wear it to see what Bradley would think or she just decides to spruce up her wardrobe for some reason (maybe for a special occasion or something)

Now his reaction can be entirely up to you either he is confused why she changed what she wears and wants her to go back to what she normally wears or he is absolutely in love with it especially since it’s easy access

hearing you out...(but low quality version as i have just lost half my brain on a final paper 😔)

The store offered a ten percent discount if you just spent twenty more dollars, and seeing that it was closing within a few minutes, you threw a random article of clothing on the counter without checking.

That night, you brought the new purchases over to Bradley's place. As usual, this meant a try-on show, with you strutting out of his closet with the funny t-shirts you found. But as soon as you reached the last item, you were faced with that folded article of clothing you half-mindedly grabbed. Shockingly enough, it's yellow sundress, it wasn't anything extravagant but it was pretty, no doubt. And it also happened to be Bradley's favorite color.

As he was waiting on you to continue your re-enactment of a victoria secret show, Bradley's instead met with a streaky blur of bright yellow running out of his closet doors--tackling him into the bed with a high pitched shriek.

After getting the wind knocked out of him, Bradley brought you both back up, with you in his lap, regaining his original position. He swore you were wearing some football jersey, hence the quarterback tackle. But once Bradley finally got a good look at you, it was like he got body slammed again--but times two, times three, times four even. You were blinking rapidly in his lap, legs thrown over his hips, thighs sprawled over his own.

"I didn't...I didn't mean to buy this," you clarify, unsure what to make of his reaction. Instead of giving you an answer, Bradley gives the soft flesh of your thighs a quick squeeze, finger tips just barely touching the scrunched up hem of the dress.

Bradley hums, eyes still trained on the way his hands dig into your skin. "Think you need help, gettin' this silly thing off, honey."

The rasp of his voice goes straight to your core, the worry about the dress is no longer a thought. If anything, your mind is a big blur as you join Bradley in watching the way his veiny hands are splayed over the top of your thighs, thumbs just inches away where you want them.

"Yeah. Think I need your help," you breathlessly confirm.

It's as simple as that, really. Bradley dealt with it, just as you asked him to. The cotton had been ripped off around your middle, Bradley gave you a new yellow top.

With your bottom half exposed to him, giving him more access, his hands were quick to pull your panties to the side.

It's been a blur from there. Now, the pad of Bradley's thumb is drawing tight circles to your clit and he's pounding you from underneath, unrelenting in the merciless pace he's set. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, hands fisting the back of his white tee. "So fuckin' pretty." he groans against the column of your throat, nipping and leaving open mouthed kisses to the hot skin there. The best response you can give him is a strangled moan, which is quickly interrupted by a sharp breath once the arm he has wrapped around your waist tightens--slamming you down against him while he fucks into you with a sudden stamina boost, hips leaving the mattress to meet you.

You're going lightheaded, unable to draw a single breath. It's like he's pushed all the air from your lungs. Feeling the delicious drag his cock against your walls, your head falls forward into his sweaty neck. "Takin' me so well. Always do. Good girl," he pants, before biting down on your shoulder. It's all too much--his thumb expertly playing with your bundle of nerves, hips rutting into you, his deep grunts against your bitten shoulder, your stomach full of him. Bradley then shifts the angle he's slamming into you, dick almost completely pulling out just to fill you back in again, repeatedly hitting at the spot he knew sends you over the edge. In a matter of seconds, your orgasm washes over you, vision going white as your legs viciously shake. Eyes dropping down to where he's connected to you--Bradley's breath catches in his throat and he finally joins you, filling you in one a sloppy trust.

You two dedicate the next few minutes towards catching your breath. Once you've come down from your high, Bradley sweetly kisses your face as he carrys you to the bathroom, taking his time to clean you off. With Bradley in a fresh set of sweats, and you in one of his old tees, he's starting to lull you to sleep, large palm trailing up and down your spine while you rest on his chest. "Thank you...new shirt," you mumble against him, eyes fluttering shut. Under you, Bradley blinks to himself--he'd completely forgotten about that. "Oh um," he clears his throat, "Right, got you a new shirt. You're welcome babybear."

[timaeusterrored]

(Eurodyne Pride collection 2/?)

Samurai was still a pretty lowkey band, but was raising in fame from word of mouth and the countless bars they’ve played at. And this year they were invited to play at a Pride Parade in the middle of town.

The band wasn’t exactly quiet, most of the rumors were about them all sleeping together. They weren’t wrong, and Kerry definitely wasn’t quiet about his sexuality. He wore it loud and proud with patches and pins, bandanas, and now a bisexual flag painted on his face by Denny, who also had a bi flag on her face.

The band was ready to go for the most part, Kerry sporting his bi flag, Denny with her pan flag, Henry with a bi flag, and Nancy and Johnny no where to be seen.

Kerry banged his fist on the bathroom door again, rubbing his forehead. “We’re gonna be late, assholes let’s go!” He called. He knew Johnny did not care that much about his appearance, unless they were fucking and had to get ready.

Nancy came out of the bathroom and shoved Kerry against the back of the couch, the door shutting behind her.

“When he comes out, not a word. You don’t know how much time it took to get him to this level, k?” She asked, making everyone agree.

That’s when Johnny came out of the bathroom with a bisexual flag on his cheek, and his hands in his back pockets. Kerry felt a smile begin to form when Nancy nudged him.

“Holy fuck were gonna be late-“ Nancy finally checked her watch and started shoving everyone out of the apartment, Johnny barely having time to grab his keys before the door slammed behind them.

The show was great, probably one of their best. The energy was fantastic, the crowd feeling it, the band feeling themselves. Kerry and Henry were in sync and energetic with Johnny, Kerry unable to stay away from him. But that’s how it normally was.

By the end of the show, Kerry was ready to party. He was vibrating with excitement and ready to go. When Johnny pulled him in by his guitar strap and kissed him on stage. The crowd went fucking wild, screaming and cheering. The band joined in as the kiss ran on for a bit longer than necessary.

Johnny grinned when he pulled back and told the crowd goodnight, they’d join the party later. Kerry was still dazed from the kiss as they walked off stage, letting the rest of the entertainers for that night come up. They went back to their tiny shared trailer to get ready.

“Fuck that was amazing!” Denny exclaimed as she freshened up, making sure her make up was good and changed into something better to party and walk around in.

Johnny was quiet, already drinking a beer and lighting a cigarette. The rest of the band took the hint and left the two alone.

It was rumored that Johnny and Kerry were sleeping together, they weren’t wrong but also weren’t ready to explain whatever weird situation they had going on. But never in a million years did Kerry think he’d be kissed on stage by Johnny.

“You wanna-“

“No.”

“J-“

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” Johnny went to leave but Kerry stopped him, holding his wrist. Johnny glared at him, cigarette hanging between his lips and beer in his other hand.

“C’mon man… it’s me! You know I don’t judge-“

“Stop it. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“You have a bi flag on your face, and kissed me on stage. There’s a few things to talk about.”

“There’s not. Nance didn’t make a big deal out of it, why are you? I was copying you.”

Kerry knew that wasn’t true, but also knew Johnny wasn’t comfortable in his sexuality like he was. He knew Johnny battled with his sexuality and masculinity on a daily basis, especially with his band being so shameless about who the slept with. Not that Johnny had any shame when it came to women.

“Fuckin- Fine! You wanna talk, you won’t let this go until we do. Let’s talk.”

Johnny shoved passed him so he wasn’t cornered into the door. Kerry was worried he had crossed the line so far he couldn’t see the line anymore.

But he persisted, as he always does and took a deep breath.

“I just… J you know there’s nothing to be ashamed of right? Especially with us. We won’t judge you for liking dudes. We’ve shared a bed since we were sixteen for Christs sake! Look, I get it-“

“No you don’t get it!”

“Shut up and let me talk.” Kerry’s voice was low, but Johnny lit another cigarette and sat back in his chair.

“I do get it. My dad treated me like fucking trash after he found out I liked men. Called me names, isolated me- Why do you think I ran away to live with Thea?” Johnny was looking down, unable to look at Kerry, who was so unapologetic about what he had been through. But he was here now, and he was so fucking proud of himself for making it here.

Kerry squatted next to him. “Hey? You don’t even need a label okay? As long as you don’t hate yourself for liking dudes. There’s nothing wrong with it. And we sure as hell won’t judge, okay?” Kerry asked, squeezing his knee before standing.

“Now, I’m gonna go find the gayest drink I can find. When you’re ready, you can come find me okay?” Kerry knew he needed space. He wasn’t going to deprive him of that.

Kerry was at the bar with Nancy when he felt a warm chest bump against his back and heard Johnny order a drink. He turned saw the bi flag was still on his face, and he made eye contact with Kerry. Kerry smiled.

“You gonna dance with me?” Kerry asked, making Nancy laugh.

“Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice. But no.” Johnny snorted and nodded his head.

“Fine. But Nancy has to come with. I’m not embarrassing myself alone.” Kerry twisted his nipple and huffed.

The rest of the night was perfect, the band danced until they dropped, having to call Rogue to come get them because they were too wasted to stand up. Kerry remembers how Johnny stayed close that night, danced with him, laughed with the others. That was before he truly lost Johnny.

But this isn’t about that. Kerry has always fought for the things he believed in, he was proud of his sexuality, he always had been. He had been made to love as his mother said when she picked him up after a particularly bad night with his father.

Johnny had never cared how people saw him, but he could accept the fact that he was bisexual so easy. But he knew one thing, when he was on that stage with Kerry that day, kissing him in front of everyone, the pictures made headlines and blogs, and everyone saw the pride flag on Johnny’s face.

Kissing Kerry felt like the only right thing to do to finish off the show.

[sarahblueskyyyy]

Drippin'

MDNI! Ghost x Soap, romance, drama, smut, vaginal sex, trans male character, boy pussy, healthy relationship, creampie, mask kink, cunnilingus, etc.

Original idea by JAYK (@18ksae) on Twitter! Beautiful, beautiful brain of yours, I love you. Enjoy, all of you!

[“Uh … we probably need to talk to Price, huh?” “Oh.” Ghost yawned, resting his eyes for a little bit. “He knows.” “He—what? Wait. Does this mean—wait, does he know we are fucking right now?”]

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish didn’t remember what ignited the fire. As soon as he realized, it was already fucking burning, casted out his sanity and capability of thinking straight. Or maybe, he already knew the reason, but he simply turned away his face.

Because, for the love of any God that might have been existed—the feeling washed over him like a tsunami, drown him in this cliché, corny thing called love. He looks at Simon “Ghost” Riley and all he could think about is how the Lieutenant becomes the reason every time his heartbeats increasing so hard as if it’s ready to jump out of his ribs.

Ghost confronted him one day, asking about his obvious weird behaviours, “Johnny, you okay?”

Soap just smiled that day, nodding. The unspoken issues were a pandora box—better left untouched or just throw it away once and for all, let it sink somewhere in the middle of the ocean.

Because—loving your superior and makes him the object of your desire, whispering his name when the dark engulfs the world, and each day more often than not; your fingers wrapped around your cock, thinking about him … are not a wise choice at all.

Soap gave Ghost the reassurance he wanted, “‘m fine, L.t. Did my job well, didn’t I?”

“Well, you did,” Ghost responded. “But your eyes have been wondering like it doesn’t fuckin’ know where its own socket eyes.”

Soap laughed lightly. He loves the way Ghost voiced his concern through a pinch of a humour—just like always.

That’s because I didn’t know where to look, Soap thought to himself. All I want to do is lookin’ at you.

“I’m fine, really!” Soap gave the brown-eyed man a pat in the shoulder. “Don’t worry, L.t.”

The conversation ended just like that.

But, Soap knew, Ghost knew—rather sooner than later, they might need to address this.

Although, Soap doesn’t allow himself to be questioned—he does things perfectly, flawlessly, in every way, not leaving room for any defect. He does his job extremely well—a demolition expert, they say. Sweeping an area, reaches every corner, a lethal shot for every enemy.

And that’s where the problem started. The more precise he is with his work, the less reason for Ghost to talk to him. To hold him off a little bit longer when debrief. To give advices and suggestions and any other of that bullshits that he actually, admittedly (albeit hesitantly), likes to give.

So, on a random night, under a clear dark sky, filled with the scattered pieces of shiny stars—Ghost confronted the sky-coloured eyed man. He grabbed Soap’s wrist, dragging him across the hall—hell if people were staring. They knew better than fucking spreading rumors or trash talk about a man whose callsign is Ghost.

“Fuck, Ghost—what’s wrong with you?” Soap asked, raising his voice a little. The confusion, the uneasy, were loud and clear, eating away his collectedness in mere seconds.

Ghost slammed the door behind him, locked it. He took a deep breath, then let it go, before finally his gruff, low voice, dominated the quiet room, “Okay, fuckin’ spit it out, Soap.”

“Spit what out?!” Soap was desperately trying to calm himself and within a short moment, he delivered his answer with dripping exasperation, “Ghost, you draggin’ me here straight after the debrief. People see us, Price sees us. He’s gonna demand for a fuckin’ explanation and I don’t even owe him one.”

“Just—,” Ghost let out a ragged breath. “Johnny, I swear—I realize you’re avoiding me. I know you are. My only question is; why? At least give me some arguments, some pointers—so the next time you run away at the sight of me, I’d understand.”

Soap stammered. His fist was formed, he pressed his own forehead with it. He’s a fucking idiot, isn’t he?

“It’s not your fault. It’s—fuck, I have no intention of running away at the sight of you.”

It’s the other way around. It’s the fucking—opposite of it.

“Yeah, of course,” Ghost retorted. “Because you avertin’ your eyes every time you see me is a nice fuckin’ gesture, right?”

“Fuck, Simon,” Soap called. “I—I can’t, I don’t know how to explain it to you!”

“Literally, just say the words.”

“It’s not that easy!”

“I’m not asking to make it easier!” This time, the man with the skull mask snapped back. His voice cracked, a manifestation of how every little emotion enveloped his very being. All the anger, the silent affection, the worriedness—everything. “I’m asking to understand. I’m asking because I want to know, because it’s fuckin’ you. I don’t even understand why that thick head of yours is so hesitating.”

Soap didn’t realize his mouth was agape. His lips dry and his tongue was sour. However, the undeniable fast heartbeats were slowly crawling in.

“I like you, Simon.”

Ghost blinked. “I like you too?”

“Jesus fuckin’—I love you.” Soap’s footsteps were bringing him closer to Ghost. In every step, his resolution, his sense of responsibility, his calmness—were crumbling, left him with nothing but one absolute, pure feeling he has been experiencing. “I love you the way a man to his woman. I—fuck, I fell for you so hard my eyes follow you everywhere. Notice your every move, the way you absorbed in your work, using that authority, leadership quality of yours—I love it all. I fuckin’ fantasize about you, masturbate at the thought of you, my head is in a fuckin’ gutter and I’m not proud of it but I can’t help it because I love you! That’s the kind of like I am talking about.”

Ghost looked at him quietly, calmly, like a tranquil surface of a water in a glass. “Johnny.” The name ringing tenderly on the end of his tongue. “When I said I like you, that’s what I fuckin’ mean.”

This time, it’s Soap’s turn to blinked like a damn frog on top of a waterlilies.

Ghost sighed. He tilting his head a little. “Should’ve been talking about this long time ago.”

Soap, the lad’s poor brain—was still processing things. When he finally wrapped his head around it, fully acquiring the information and let it soaked in his mind, he let out a low, breathy, “Oh.”

“Mh-hmnn …,” Ghost hummed. He extended his hand, his thumb caressed Soap’s jaw, before lifting it slowly. Blue and brown orbs reflected each other. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it. But your fuckin’ attitude pisses me off, so emotion got the best of me. ‘M sorry.”

“Fuck, no! I’m sorry. God, Jesus Christ—I’m a fuckin’ daft, aren’t I?”

“Well, not denying that.”

Soap chuckled. “Fuck off.”

Ghost smiled. No one would be able to see it behind the mask he was wearing—but he knew Soap could.

“What do we do now, Sergeant?”

“Oh, no, don’t fuckin’ call me that …,” Soap groaned.

“Okay, love.”

“Simon, you are fuckin’ insufferable!”

Another light-hearted laugh. Ghost waited for a few seconds. There was an ambivalence in his mind. A scale with two choices, indirectly mocking his decision-making ability. However, his heart was swelling—in a good way. His chest felt light and as if every dilemma had been extinguished, now he selfishly wanting more; craving for more.

Even though his logic knew better—his heart yearning for him.

“Johnny.” Ghost looked at the man in his eyes. “If you—if I’m still the object of your desires ….”

He purposely stopping his sentence in the air. Soap widened his eyes. If that wasn’t an invitation, if that wasn’t a genuine plead—then he doesn’t truly know what does a plead means.

“Fuck, yes, Simon,” Soap answered.

Ghost scoffed at the eagerness. He knew—both of them were hanging on a fucking spider thread; ready to fall anytime, to a deep, dark, gorge of impulses. Of arousal and passion to claim each other, mutual feeling of possessiveness.

“C’mere.” Ghost pulled away his mask a little—lifting it up to his nose, exposing his mouth.

He cupped the sergeant’s jaw, bringing it closer, pulling him into a kiss. He was tilting his head, searching for a better angle, making sure both lips fit perfectly into each other, melting together.

Soap groaned, struggling to be softer as he intended to do. He put his palm on Ghost’s nape, pressing it. His tongue licking every spot inside the Lieutenant’s mouth. The kiss was wet, a little bit rough—a clicking, wet sounds, echoing around the walls.

He thought to himself—how he just realized how starving he was for this man. How every inch of him longing to be with him, to touch him, to melt him under his touch.

“Simon, fuck,” Soap whimpered. He could feel the arousal threatening him, blood rushes to his cock, making his pants tighter in every second that passed. “I want to taste you. Let me taste you.”

“Mh-hmnn.” Ghost nodded. His whole body trembled at the thought of that. His lower stomach already full of tingling sensation, spreading out to the tips of his fingers. “Lie down on the bed.”

Soap did as he told. His instinct to comply was working faster than any other sense. He lied down on his back, as he watched Ghost taking off his remaining gear. The strap, the unnecessary pouch, the belt, until eventually he unzipped his pants, shoving them down to his ankles together with his boxer and all, left him bare.

Soap almost choked on air when his eyes drafting below, to the hips area, a little lower, seeing a trail of pubic hair was created from the navel until the top of Ghost’s cunt.

“Fucking—Simon, fuck, you fucker, bastard. You never told me about this.”

“Right, not really a lunch topic. Enthusiastic?”

“Yes, fuckin’—yes. Just—fuckin’ come here. Please.”

Ghost carved a smirk on his lips. Fully satisfied by the reactions of his sergeant—and part of him was so turned on. He got on the top of Soap, widening his thighs, rested his knees on each side of Soap’s shoulders.

Soap gulped, latched his palms on Ghost’s arses. His head spinning in a way it needs an immediate endorphin, oxytocin release—or whatever that chemistry shit.

“Fuck, okay—can I … can I touch it?”

“Whatever you want, Johnny.”

Fuck. Ghost knew to well of to stir him up, leave him a mess. Johnny groaned, using his thumbs to softly rub the vulva. Already wet—drenched in glistening, clear liquid. The clit was erect, sheepishly showing itself between the outer lips of the entrance.

“So fuckin’ soaked ….”

He pushed a finger up to his cunt, elicit a stifled moan from Ghost.

“Simon …,” Soap whined. He didn’t even bother to hide the excitement, the built-up pressure on his sex.

His fingers probing the inside of that clenching muscles, and in every stretching move he made, Ghost twitched. The Lieutenant’s breath getting more huskier, lower.

“Sit on me,” Soap said. He pulled out his fingers. Still, his eyes directed at the puffy sex, unable to look away. “I need you. Please.”

“Fuckin’—greedy man.” Ghost obeyed the request. Soap was asking nicely after all. He lowered his hips, pressing half of his height on that face. His core was heated up when he felt Soap’s breath caressed his sex. He silently watched how his own cunt met Soap’s lips. The way Soap’s drew out his tongue, slipped between the labia, taste the slope of his entrance.

And wave of pleasure hit Ghost—like a storm that is brewing so suddenly, like a typhoon whirling for a while and now ready to make a foray on everything it touches.

“Fuck!” Ghost arched his back, his inner wall was pulsating, hard, intense. Clenching on air as Soap lapping on his quim like a dog with his fresh meat, enthralled by the smell, gnawing on the soft, silky textures. Soap was grabbing Ghost’s thighs, deterred him from closing those.

“Ahh—Johnny!” Ghost groaned. He whined, he was fucking whimpering—and Johnny never heard that before. Every sound that filled his ear drums making his dick harder it was almost painful. The pants suffocated it and God—he could do this all night, assault on the needy, swollen clit, biting softly, sucking on his sex.

Ghost’s knees were too weak to hold his body. His core was throbbing when Soap flicked his nub with the tongue, enforcing something urgent, something burning inside him. The tongue swiped across his pussy, from the back near anal, up until the sensitive nub, as Ghost instinctively rolling his hips, created more frictions and stimulation.

“Fuck—you smell so fuckin’ good, Simon,” Soap growled out. He gave Ghost a little bite this and there, still eating him out like there was no tomorrow—nipped it with a gruff voice.  

“You—nrghh—like my scent, Johnny?”

Johnny confirmed it through a hum. The vibrations on his throat travelled to the tip of his tongue, still swirling around.

And like a light bulb went off in his head, Ghost raised himself from his sitting. It caused Soap to knitted his eyebrows in agitation. Like a kid whose candy was being snatched suddenly, leaving him empty with just a little to none remaining sweetness in his sense of taste.

Ghost took off his mask fully, presented his face.

Soap blinked. He has seen Ghost’s face before, but, on God—he could never comprehend how a man could be so beautiful. Despite all the scars, or the crooked nose. His eyes were glued to Ghost’s brown orbs, covered in obvious affection.

“You like my smell?” He repeated.

Soap answered fast, “Yes.”

“Good.”

In one move, Ghost made Soap wear his mask, enveloped him with the piece of the black clothing.

Soap jerked. His olfactory was overflowed with a familiar, natural odour of Ghost. He took a deep breath, let out a shaky, wavering voice, “Fuck.”

“You like that?” Ghost wasn’t really waiting for an answer. Because then he shifted his position a little, now caressing the prominent outline on Soap’s pants, evoked a groaning from the Scot. His fingers caressed the bulge, before unzipped Soap’s pants, withdraw his erect cock.

“Simon!”

The owner of that name didn’t respond to the whiny beg. All he did was gripped slowly the thick, long shaft, put his thumb on the reddened, swollen tip. The carved veins on that dick were bulging, and the head already leaking with milky-like substance. He gave Soap an excruciating slow stroke from the hilt to the top.

Soap groaned. His legs jerked once more; his stomach was tightened painfully.

“Do you think you can cum like this, Johnny? Eating me out with that mask on your fuckin’ face?”

Soap whined. “Fuck,” he replied, low. “Yes. Come here.”

Ghost went back to his initial position. The difference is, this time, when he dropped his hips, he could feel the combination of rough skull texture and soft balaclava on his weeping cunt. Starting slow once more, he rolled his hips, grinding himself there.

Soap thought giving the man cunnilingus was already a paradise of itself. However, this … his entire smelling capacity filled with Ghost’s, along with every each of fluttering stroke on top of his face—it felt more than any nirvana, or euphoria he has tasted before.

This is pure bliss. He could feel his cock shivering, ready to be ambushed by his own orgasm.

Ghost starting to feel the rushing flare on his lower stomach. He grumbled, swallowing down a spit. His all senses were tightened and his thighs are quivering. The heat creeping deeper, louder, faster, it made him couldn’t contain his wails.

He knew that Soap felt the same as well. By the way his dick is keep trembling, so needy—waiting to be squeezed, but Ghost bet one touch and it’ll explode in pleasure, spurting away his thick cum.

“Fuck, Simon—I need to … argh, ‘m close, ‘m close.”

“Fuckin’ cum for me,” Simon barked. “I don’t even need to touch you, Johnny. You come off just from my fuckin’ smell and sniffin’ on my cunt?”

“Yes—yes, yes, please, fuckfuckfuck!”

Simon pressing his weight more, suffocated the man under him a little. He knew Soap likes it a little bit hurt—a challenge to push his own self, to break over the limit. To be made a moaning, crazy mess.

“You fuckin’ whore ….” Simon arching his back. His quim was pulsating so hard, need a release of his own.

He maintained his rhythm, bucking his hips unrelenting, even if there is a thin cloth—a restriction between his sopping pussy and Soap’s lips.

His fingers were sneakily drawing a pressured circle on his own clit. He was close as well. “Cum, make a fuckin’ mess.”

Soap cursed. God’s names were chanted from his filthy, almost drooling lips. He felt so good, fuck—he’s so high, he needed to get this. He needed to, more, more, a little bit more, send him to the edge, and—

“Ah—ah! Fuck!” He spasming uncontrollably when both of them reached his climax. He squirted a milky, high-concentrated liquid, and the beads dripping on his own stomach. On the contrary, Ghost releasing a waterier substance, soaking Soap’s face with it.

The concoction of smells—sex, his, Ghost’s—filled his nostrils.

“Good man.” Simon freed him from the balaclava. When that mask finally hiding nothing from his visual, Ghost scoffed softly.

Soap was still trying to calm down his ragged breath. He was drooling—alright, looked so pussy drunk. Deep shade of red covered his whole face, ear to ear, even to his nape.

Ghost standing up a little, let Soap sitting up, cupped his face, bringing their lips together for a slow, soft, kiss. Mouths clashing each other gently, noses pressing against cheeks.

“I wanna—,” Soap took a sharp breath. Pulled himself from the kiss, as his lungs were screaming for air. “Fuck, I wanna get inside you. Wanna fill you up, Simon. I wanna—”

“Yes, Christ.” Simon gave him a kiss on his temple. “I never intended to say no.” His kisses were soft, pressing on Soap’s skin, sweet and light. He kissed him on his nape, tracing his jugular, to his jaw, to his upper lip, to his nose, and the fluttering closed eyes.

Soap sighed, relaxing his body. Taking a short break from the previous powerful activity. And perhaps—Ghost was right; of course, he always is. Because Soap loved him too much, his heart warmed instantly like it was flowers in the middle of spring under the glaring sun.

And when Ghost teasing him with a soft flick on the tip of his cock, Soap whined. It hardened up already. The blonde-haired man couldn’t hold his curved smile. His fingers reached the base of Soap’s length, fondling the balls like a fucking water balloon they were.

“Mhh—fuck, Si ….”

“You want fuck me?”

“Yes. God—nrgh, yes.”

“Okay.” Ghost retracted his hand. He lied on his back, spread away his thighs, wide—letting Soap having a privilege to see all of him. He deliberately uplifted his hips, using his fingers to pried open his drizzling pussy. “Come in, then.”

You’ll be the death of me. Soap’s inner voice was yelping. However—he thought, maybe that’s not a bad way to die. Strangled in a heavenly sensation, between the grip of someone you love, let his existence creeping further deep down to your soul.

“Go on,” Ghost cooed. “Suddenly gettin’ cold feet?”

Soap holding his own erect, caressing the girth. He growled, aligning himself with the slicked hole in front of him. He gave it quick taps before he thrusting into him—fast, deep, sinking fully, and both men grunting loudly.

Soap could feel the warmth that blanketed his cock, so velvety, squeezing so strongly, yet delicately.

This was not his first-time having sex. The first time it felt out of this world—though. Soap panted, set his fingers on each side of Ghost’s hips; searching for something to hold on.

“Fuck, fuck—Simon, you feel so good … so fuckin’ beautiful.”

Ghost groaned. The size—the fucking size of it was tearing him up, splitting him, striking so deep that it was probably nudging his cervix. He let himself to adjust for the enormous dick. It hurts—in a good way, in a way that he wouldn’t have it beside this one.

“You alright?” Soap asked. A hint of worriedness seeping through his soothing tone. His cock was twitching—itching to move, to scrape the spongy walls that were surrounding him. But he wouldn’t move an inch if there wasn’t a clear affirmation.

“‘M fine,” Ghost bite back. His patience was eroding—if there was any in the first place. “Move, Johnny.”

“Okay, fuck.” Soap starting off slow, gliding in and out deep. The tip of his cock reached and slamming into the right spot every time, it made Ghost wail in a messy tempo.

“Ah, ah—fuckin’—mh!” Took a sharp, short breath, holding it for a moment, before let it go together with the moan. Ghost’s growls came from the chest and every cut-off whines encouraged Soap to go faster. “Johnny, fuck—more.”

“More?” Soap thrusting harshly, slapping on Ghost’s hips. Balls swung and hit his crack. Every grinding evoked a wet, dirty, lewd voices that reverberating across the room. “Fuckin’—you are clenching so much, Si. Takin’ me so fuckin well … fuck, my handsome, prettiest L.t.”

“Fuckin’ hell—God, shut up.” He didn’t hate it. Ghost simply wasn’t accustomed to these kinds of appreciation, in the bedroom nevertheless. He didn’t know what to do, because when those mellifluous praises showered him, he could feel himself tighten, squirming, clenching on the inside. He could feel himself leaking more than he has ever before.  

Soap’s thrusts are rocked a little bit more roughly now. His voice was cracking, gruff and covered in lust. “‘M not—‘m not gonna last, Si. Nrghh, fuck—are you close?”

“Yes.” The overstimulated cunt clearly started taking an effect on him. He knew the up-coming climax will rip him more merciless than it did before—but he would be fucking love that. “Yes, fuck, Johnny!”

“Okay, cum for me, yeah? Cum with me—let me fill you up.” Soap chasing their highs ruthlessly, rubbing Ghost’s sensitive, perked nub. He pinched the poor bundle of nerves, making Ghost convulsed by the additional stimulant. His knees are trembling, the muscles all tensed up.

“Fuck—you fucker, Johnny! FUCK!”

Johnny laughed. His laughs were rich and shattered up in the air. Oh—how ecstatic his feeling was, how blessed he was. He was fucking into him harshly, but oh how every lunge filled with beautiful sentiment. “A fuckin’—good man, Si. Fuck, fuck, I love you, I love you so much.”

“I love—ngh!” A broken sob, a whiny groan. More of those guttural whimpers when Soap massaging his clit. 

Ghost’s toes were curled up, back arched. Something accumulating once again inside his stomach, unfurled the hidden thrill, the peak of humans’ primate needs.

Soap’s movement were starting to stutter. He looked down and he could see how clearly Ghost was swallowing him whole. How that reddened cunt formed an oval-like outline between his shaft, enfolded his flesh—a very attractive and pornographic view.

With one last thrust, their orgasms were crashing hard.

Ghost felt the nerve on his neck was tensed up, in tandem with whiteness that splattering on his field of view.

Soap was cumming inside him, smearing Ghost’s inner walls with his cum. His mouth was wide open, taking as much air as he needs, lost in his own high. Ghost’s cunt was also working effectively, efficiently, milking out every drop of his sperm.

Soap pulled out, observing his handiwork. He smiled seeing the gaping hole, streaming with his cum, dripping to the butthole. The sky-coloured eyed man hummed, then using his thumb to pushed back the semen.

Ghost flinched softly. He lost his energy to fight back or protest—not that he would.

“You happy, Johnny?”

Johnny grinning widely. As if he hadn't been just ramming into Ghost brutally, abusing his puffy genitals.

“Yes, yes I am. C’mon, Si—let’s clean up.”

“Mh-hmnn.”

Soap took a deep breath, and gave Ghost a quick peck on his lips. “Uh … we probably need to talk to Price, huh?”

“Oh.” Ghost yawned, resting his eyes for a little bit. “He knows.”

“He—what?”

“I talked to him about … my feeling before. He said he doesn’t mind as long as it doesn’t affect our jobs.”

“Oh.” Soap’s jaw fell. “Wait. Does this mean—wait, does he know we are fucking right now?”

Ghost lifted up his eyelids. A small smile formed on his lips—a transparent showing-case of his emotion. “I wonder ….”

“Fuck, Simon?”

Ghost got up from the bed, walking toward the bathroom. He snorted once again when Johnny called for him in a sheer panic and embarrassment.

“Steamin’ Jesus—Simon!!”

[star-quill]

in an angsty mood......

rockstar!peter and his band at a label party. you're on the same label so you're there too, but you're also his ex. he avoids you the whole night, until he spots you flirting with one of the editors at the label, then he gets pissed. he shouldn't even be jealous, you're not together anymore.

but he thinks about you all the time, he misses you so bad. and he wants you back, the timing was just wrong with you getting together with him. you both had world tours and none of the cities clashed on your tours, so you would never see each other. you both decided to just end things amicably.

that is, until he's seething with rage, seeing you flirt and touch this guy's arm fondly. he's not even thinking straight, just finds one of the interns, starts talking to her and she's quite flustered. he notices you look over out of the corner of his eyes and he just grabs her face and kisses her. he's not even enjoying it, but she's kissing back and he should like it, but it's not you. he pulls away after a while and he jumps, noticing you standing beside him.

"can i borrow him for a minute?"

you turn to the girl he just kissed and she just shrugs her shoulders, walking off and rolling her eyes.

"can we go outside?"

peter just nods, following you out the back door and into the little private quadrant in the middle of the building.

"so.. how've you been since tour finished?"

"yeah.. good.. good.."

"why did you kiss her?"

"i.. honestly don't know.."

"pete.. we're not together anymore, you can't make me jealous.."

"but you're back from tour now, and so am i.. we can start dating again.."

"pete.. it's just.. it won't work out.."

"are you seeing someone?"

you just looked at him, almost apologetically.

"i don't know.. i went on one date and.. he was nice, but.."

peter knew what you were going to say. that it wasn't him. he just sighed and stepped over to the nearby table, sitting down on the attached bench. you followed suit and sat next to him.

"we can be friends, if you want?"

"yeah.. i don't know.."

"is it because i went on a date?"

"no, no.. i just.. i haven't stopped thinking about you.."

"pete.. i.."

"i'm sorry, ok? i just.. fuck.. you were the best thing to ever happen to me.."

"i just.. don't think it'll work out, ok?"

"we both come to this building for work.. and recording.. we can't just, ignore each other.."

"pete, don't.."

and then he was up, walking back inside and slamming the door behind him. he made his way through the crowd and found the rest of the band, informing them he was heading home. they questioned him but he was already leaving, calling a cab and getting in. he was acting calm, maybe overacting the tiredness but he wanted to just be out of there and home as quick as possible. once he was in, he went straight to the kitchen, grabbing a beer, before he sank down onto the couch, taking sips of his drink. not five minutes had passed before he was already finished. he sat in silence for what felt like ages, but he checked his phone and it had only been half an hour. he groaned and went to stand up, but just as he got to the kitchen, his front door went.

he was thinking it was going to be one of his bandmates, checking in on him.

"look, i said i was fuckin' fin—"

"hi.."

"don't piss me off by coming here.. you said you didn't want to see me.."

"pete.. please.."

"fine.."

he stepped aside, letting you in and you immediately took your shoes off, before sitting on the couch and curling your legs up under yourself. he just sighed, watching you as you made yourself at home, just like you used to do in the two weeks before your tours started.

he walked over and sat next to you, looking at you for some sort of explanation as to why you're here.

"maybe i was.. too rash.."

"with?"

"saying we shouldn't see each other.."

this perked him up, his eyes widening as he turned to look at you.

"just.. i thought about it all.. and i guess the reason why i went on that date, i just.. thought i could get over you but.. i can't.."

"you wanted to get over me?"

"well, we broke up.."

"yeah.. because of the tours.."

"i know, i know.. just.. my mind was in a different place.. and seeing you tonight.. god, i wanted you back so badly.. but i thought you didn't.. and then you kissed that girl.. and then you said you did want me back.. and i freaked out.."

"hey, hey.. slow down.. just, answer me this one thing?"

you nodded.

"can i kiss you?"

"please?"

[heygerald]

HEART MECHANICS - PART 6/9

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x oc

People come and go, but as Matty sits through the funeral of her godfather, she starts to realize that sometimes change isn’t bad. Some people don’t belong in her life, but some certainly do. 

When she starts to realize that there’s a particular pilot that she wouldn’t mind sticking around longer than normal, she has to ask herself how much she’s willing to change for the better. 

Read the story here: part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / ... / part 7 / part 8 / part 9

The funeral came and went in the blink of an eye. 

Matty had spent the last couple of days in, admittedly, a sort of haze that made it difficult to keep track of how much time was passing. It was made worse from the fact that she took a few days off of work; though, she supposed if she hadn’t, the rest of the crew would have forced her out the front door anyways. They may have loved her, but she was no help to anyone when she couldn’t focus on a simple task at hand, and her current emotional state was so utterly fucked that she truly wasn’t sure if she would rather burst out into tears or beat the shit out of whichever ugly face she had to see next.

So, all in all, it was best that she didn’t go on base until things evened out. 

The only thing that kept her feeling normal was the parade of friends she had stopping by for shared meals, coffee, and movies. Bradley had even stayed far into the night—to the point that he only left because she forced him out the door upon seeing the bright red blinking numbers on her clock that proved their little share fest had unintentionally spilled well into the AM—and though he was busy with Top Gun, he had still managed to stop by two more times since to see how she was doing.

Which...

Matty didn’t even want to think about how that made her feel.

She hadn’t cried in front of him; that was something positive at the very least, but, she had shared more with him that night out on her back porch than she had done in a very long time. Most of the things she said were unknown to everyone but the very people involved, Frank, and Gottfried (the potted ficus she talked to when she was bored, and, well, he was pretty much dead considering she always forgot to water him, so Matty wasn’t all that worried about him spilling her secrets). 

Really, though, it had felt good to talk to someone about her childhood, about the things that shaped her into the firecracker she was today. Even more, it felt good to have someone that understood just what she was saying. 

And Bradley Bradshaw? Well, he understood things that no one else ever had. 

But he also had a starry-eyed smile that made her want to get to know him better, an easy going personality that made it pretty fucking difficult to dislike him, and, for some reason, he seemed intent on getting to know her too. 

All warning signs. 

All reasons to abort, abort, abort. 

Maybe that’s why she hadn’t responded to any of his texts since he had stopped by in the middle of the day to bring her coffee and bagels from the local bakery, inquiring how she was doing? and do you need anything from me? That had nearly sent Matty into a spiral to the point that she snagged the coffee with nothing more than an abrupt thanks before she slammed the door in his face. 

He hadn’t minded. Well, maybe he had a little bit because apparently he stopped by the motorpool after class that night to ask Frank about how Matty was doing.

“Is this gonna be a thing now or somethin’?” he asked her when he strode through her front door with dinner in hand. “Because I’m not a fuckin’ dog, Matts. If he keeps pesterin’ me I’m gonna have to put his head through a wall.”  

“He’s just being nice,” Matty had assured him.

“Nice,” Frank deadpanned. “And since when exactly did you have anythin’ to do with anybody that was fuckin’ nice?”

She had no answer, and the night moved on when Matty simply shot him a fearsome look. They spent the rest of the evening in relative silence. Frank asked nothing else about it, either, when he picked her up to drive her to the funeral. 

The funeral. 

Just another reason why Matty didn’t have the time or energy to worry about why she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the pilot. Of course, that relief was momentary when the Top Gun cadets showed up in their dress whites to show their respect. Bradley’s head had whipped across the grass to her the moment she stepped out of Frank’s truck as if he had been waiting for her. Thankfully though he didn’t approach her; faltering when he witnessed the rest of her family gather around Matty’s back in a darkly dressed blob. Still, when he caught her eye, his gaze was concerned as he offered an encouraging smile. 

Matty had done nothing in return. Just settled beside her father at the graveside while they prepared for the three volley salute to begin.

“That was a nice ceremony,” her sister said after it was all finished. She was dressed to the nine’s in a sleek, velvet dress, hair professionally curled, makeup so heavy that the sisters couldn’t have looked more dissimilar if they tried. “What’s the point of the shooting, though?”

“It’s a sign of respect,” she answered. 

Tabitha clearly didn’t understand that. Then again, there were a lot of things that her younger sister didn’t understand when it came to the military. She supposed that was her dad’s fault, though. Rick had tried so desperately hard to instill a love for all things Navy into his first daughter, that her mother, Shirley, had practically made him promise to do nothing of the sort with the other Neven children. 

And what Shirley wanted... well, Shirley usually got. 

“Is that everything? Or is there something else that we need to go to?”

“What?” Matty sniped. “Can’t wait to put on a dress with a little bit more color?”

Her sister shot her a cool look in response; not a grimace, Tabitha Neven never did something as untoward as grimacing, but very nearly there. “My feet hurt. I just want to change into something more comfortable, is all.” 

Matty couldn’t even stop the scoff that fell from her lips. 

“You’re the one that decided to wear nine inch heels to a funeral,” she pointed out while crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She was getting the distinct need for a cigarette right about now, but she knew that if her mother ever caught her with one, she would be lectured about it until one of them died. 

“Oh my god, can you not start a fight right now, Matty? It was a simple question.”

Matty had a few choice words to say to that. Mostly that she wasn’t the one that started it, but she would certainly be the one to finish it if Tabitha couldn’t stop acting like a tinsel-town barbie. That would have been a kitschy thing to say at a graveyard, however. 

Options.

Not that it mattered. Frank appeared at her elbow before she could spit it out. Or just lunge at her sister.

“I think Matty has an extra pair of sneakers in the back of my truck, if you’re interested,” he grumbled. Matty never did figure out how he always managed to know when she was about to lose her temper, but right now, she didn’t bemoan his skills. 

Tabitha, on the other hand, stiffened underneath Frank’s shadow. “Oh, um, well that’s certainly nice of you to offer, Franklin, but I’d rather not.”

“Franklin?” Matty snorted. 

Tabitha narrowed her eyes, lips curling into a deep mauve sneer, and once more Frank managed to step between the quarreling siblings with ease. “I think that Shirley was lookin’ for ya; said somethin’ about flower arrangements for the family.” 

Tabitha backed down almost immediately. When she whipped her head around in search of her mother, her daisy scented perfume wafted in the air. “Oh, thanks, she wanted my help in picking out the best arrangements for the Kazansky’s to take home,” she said. Their mother had already made her way into the parking lot with a few of the other wives, and Tabitha straightened with purpose. “I’ll go help her.”

Her sister walked with impressive balance through the grass. 

Matty was just glad that she was gone. “You are such a doll, Franklin, with impeccable timing, too. Were you eavesdropping on the conversation or did Rick make you promise to keep me out of trouble?”

His mouth quirked at the side into a somber, but crooked smile. “Since when have I ever been able to keep you out of trouble, Matts? But no, I weren’t eavesdroppin’. Just came over to see if you were ready to go get some food.” 

“Ah, that makes more sense,” she clicked her tongue, toeing the ground with her boot as she watched some of the mourners move idly past towards their vehicles. The cadets still remained in a group off to the side, and opposite of them she could pick out a few gray haired old-timers in conversation. She didn’t feel a need to rush off just quite yet. “Did Mom actually even need Tab?”

Frank hesitated. 

Matty simply laughed. “You must really be hungry to step between the two of us. She can be just as mean as me, you know. Tabitha is the one that taught me to pull hair in a fight.” 

Whether he believed her or not was unimportant as he simply arched a brow at her with a dry look. “I’m hungry.” 

“You’re always hungry.”

“Aren’t you?” 

She shook her head. “Not really.” 

“Have you eaten anything at all today?” 

Matty shot him a look. “You don’t need to coddle me, Frank,” she told him, a little bit snippy, a little bit tired. He was unbothered by her tone, though, and just lifted a brow patiently. To that, she responded with a sigh. “Jesus, yes, I managed to eat a little bit for breakfast, and then I had a granola bar not too long ago. Not exactly the portions of a champion, but still something.”

He seemed pleased with that. If Frank was ever the type of person to be pleased about anything at all. “Penny is hostin’ at The Hard Deck after this, think Rick and some of the old-timers are orderin’ pizza for everyone.” 

The thought of pizza was so entirely unappetizing that Matty turned away with a grimace. “I think I’d rather just settle for a couple of drinks instead.” 

Frank said nothing in response. Just opened up his suit jacket to withdraw a battered flask out, which he promptly took a swig from before offering it out to her. Matty, both impressed and in disbelief, curled a sharp brow at her friend. 

“Seriously?”

He shrugged. “Do you want some or not?”

“I—shut up,” she growled before she did, in fact, snag it from his hands to take a long pull as well. A bad idea considering she hadn’t asked what was in it in the first place. She made a face that couldn’t have been considered attractive. “What in god’s name is that?”

Frank’s eyes twinkled as he said, “shine.” 

“You’re a horrible, horrible man, Franklin.” 

To that, he grinned. “I figured we might need something a little bit stronger than your dainty little drinks. Plus, Ice liked moonshine every once in a while. Thought it would be appreciated today. Not to mention that half of the old-timers have been sippin’ on flasks since this mornin’. At least I’m a little subtle ‘bout it.” 

Matty rolled her eyes... but then took another sip for good measure.

She still made a disgusted face at the burn, but Frank was right, Ice did enjoy a shot of moonshine every now and then. He could be a pristine and well mannered Commander when he wanted to, but that had come with years of experience in the military and a nice salary. Tom Kazansky had been born into a lower class family in the hills of West Virginia. There was only so much pretending he could do before he would call on the old habits of his childhood.

Frank had bonded well with him over that, bringing a bottle of moonshine every time he was invited to a barbeque at the Kazansky residence. 

Sarah gave the boys a pointed look in turn, to which Ice would promise that they would be on their best behavior. Even when they weren’t, though, Mrs. Kazansky would turn a blind eye to their rowdiness with a fond smile peeling at the corners of her mouth.

“Thanks,” she muttered while handing the flask back with a begrudged smile. 

Frank dipped his head in understanding of where her thoughts had drifted to. His dark gaze swept her over from head to toe and back again. It made Matty’s skin crawl to have anyone watch her in the way that he did, with concern or pity or sadness, but it had been a long day on top of a long week.

Sometimes, having a friend to care wasn’t the end of the world.

“And... thanks for coming with me,” she said, lip pulled between her teeth. 

“Course,” he muttered. Dipped his head to the side with a little bit of consideration, before adding, “Ice was a good man.” 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “He was.” 

Frank nudged her with the crook of his elbow, and this time, when he ducked his head into her line of sight, the concerned look had been replaced with something she dared to call amusement. “I’m always gonna be here for ya, Matts. We’ve been through too much shit for me to jump ship at this point. It would just be a damn waste of the last decade of my life.” 

“We’ve known each other for four and a half years, Frank.” 

“Yeah, well, time is relative and all that shit, ya know?” he said, pondering, and she would have been surprised by his poeticism if he hadn’t opened his mouth to say something else. “An hour feels a lot more like a minute when I’m with you. Especially when you don’t shut the fuck up. You’re the reason for all by fuckin’ gray hairs.” 

She shoved him away from her with an eyeroll.

Frank just laughed boyishly while Matty tried not to curse him out in front of the few groups of people that remained. It didn’t work very well, however, and in the end her tantrum seemed to draw a couple pairs of eyes.

“You better not be messing with Frank, Matilda,” a warm voice drawled. Frank perked instantly upon hearing Rick’s cadence, and Matty—despite herself—found herself biting back a laugh at the idea that her father was, of course, coming to Frank’s rescue as if he were a child. “I don’t think anyone wants a repeat of what happened last Christmas right now.” 

Matty crossed her arms even tighter over her chest as she turned to find her father striding towards the pair with Maverick and Penny at his sides. 

Rick Neven was a good looking man for his age. 

Spry, tall, with hair that had gracefully begun graying at the edges but not enough to sour the youth that shone in his bright gaze, it was easy for Matty to imagine him as a young cadet at Top Gun. With Ice, she was sure, the pair hadn’t tried too hard to get big egos. Maverick often joked that the callsign Hollywood was more of an insult than anything else where the entire crew would badger him every time he strode by with a pair of aviators slung on his flight suit (when’s the next spray tan, Hollywood? or if you’re trying out for the next Clint Eastwood movie, the studio is that way!). But, just as Ice had, Rick had slowly grown out of his egotistical persona, and over the years his smile had become a little less practiced and a little more earnest. Now, when he smiled, Matty swore she felt sunshine.

“You two wouldn’t be friends if it wasn’t for me,” Matty told her father snootily as he clapped a hand onto Frank’s shoulder. “And, for the record, usually if a girl is having to fight off a guy twice her size people would be worried. Not accusatory.” 

Rick laughed as Frank snorted. Neither were convinced with that sort of logic. 

“Sure, kid,” he said before ruffling her hair with his free hand. Matty swatted him away as best she could with as fearsome of a glower as she could manage, but he remained unfazed. “Then again, I know you pretty well. If you got into a fight with a wolverine, I think I might feel bad for the wolverine.” 

Matty flattened her hair with a disbelieving scoff. 

Frank just shrugged, swigging from his flask, before offering it to Rick. Unlike Matty, her father didn’t even hesitate to take a long, deep gulp. When he came back up for air, he cast the flask an appreciative smile. “I knew there was a reason that I liked you, Skelton.” 

“Ugh, I hate both of you.” 

“That’s not exactly the kind of talk I was expecting to hear at a funeral,” Maverick quipped in amusement as he caught up to Rick’s longer strides. Penny seemed less amused and a little more somber despite the light-hearted joking, and Matty didn’t even mind when the older woman pulled her into a one armed hug. His eyes brightened when he saw what was going on. “Are you two seriously drinking out of a flask—?”

“Thank you!”

“—without offering to share?”

Matty threw her hands up into the air with a groan. Maverick, only having caught the tail end of the conversation, paused with the flask raised halfway to his mouth. His gaze darted between it, to her, and then back again. Hesitantly, he extended the silver container in her direction. “Did you... want some?”

She returned the question with a sharply arched brow.

“I’d just leave that alone, Mav,” Frank snorted. The pilot did as told. Swallowing some of the moonshine, he wiped the back of his mouth, and handed it back to Frank. The container was nearly empty now much to the mechanic’s dismay. “Good thing I didn’t bring the expensive stuff.” 

“Do you even have expensive stuff?” Matty snarked. 

“I think we have a bottle or two of moonshine at the bar that you can drink after this,” Penny inserted with an amused look between everyone. Years ago, when she had first started dating Maverick, he had tried to explain his relationship with Goose’s and Hollywood’s kids. She hadn’t quite understood it—after all, Maverick could barely make a commitment to her, let alone someone else’s children—but the more she got to see the way his shoulders seemed to lighten whenever Matty was around, the more she was starting to grasp how he needed them more than they might have needed him. 

“I am not drinking moonshine,” Matty said abruptly.

“Why?” Frank groused with a gleam in his eyes. “Afraid that you might end up sleeping with a—?”

“Frank Skelton, don’t you fucking say it!” she shrieked, voice echoing louder than she had meant. Then again, there was no one around to mind all that much, and those that were around knew Matty well enough to know that this was nothing more than usual behavior. 

Still, the crew of cadets all glanced her direction. If she had been paying attention to them she might have caught the confused looks as people wondered why exactly the bad mouthed blonde from the motor pool was in conversation with Maverick and Hollywood of the golden days. As it were, however, Matty was too busy glowering at everyone to notice anything else. 

“And there goes my eardrum,” Rick joked. “Jesus, kid, I think you should consider laying off of the caffeine for a bit.” 

“Oh my god, Dad—”

“Come on,” he abandoned Frank to now throw an arm over his daughter’s shoulders carelessly. Matty was a tall girl, but Rick still had a good couple of inches on her, and she had to tilt her head back to glare properly at the man. “We can all get along, can’t we?”

“He’s a menace.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Frank grumbled. Mav let out a loud laugh at how sharply Matty turned to snap at him, but when Penny nudged him sharply in the ribs, he tried to cover it up with a cough. 

“Alright kids, c’mon, let’s pack it up. We can always fight it out when we get to the bar,” Rick interrupted their glares to tug Matty harder into his side. 

“I’d really rather they didn’t fight it out at my bar,” Penny added from the back of the group. 

“Aw, come one, Benjamin, it’s The Hard Deck. Back in the day, there was always someone throwing hands over one thing or another.”

“Yeah, sure. Usually you and Ice against whatever idiots tried to knock your egos down a peg,” she retorted. Maverick laughed at the zinger before Penny narrowed her eyes at him. “You too, Mav. Don’t think I missed the stories of all the girls that shot you down when you got one too many drinks in you.” 

“I’d... like to think that I’m done chasing girls,” Mav hedged. 

Matty rolled her eyes at the ill attempt at appeasing Penny. “Smooth.” 

“Smoother than he used to be,” Rick muttered into her ear. She didn’t doubt that fact for a moment, and the idea of a younger Maverick fumbling with the ladies was enough to lift her spirits as they made it to the parking lot. “So, drinks? What do you say, kid?”

Matty mirrored the look that her father was giving her. 

Penny, not having been around the pair ever before, was startled to find that Matty’s patented mischievous smirk was something that she had inherited from her father. Suddenly, she had a migraine forming between her temples when she realized just how much trouble this group was going to bring with them tonight. 

“Well, old man, are you driving or am I?”

---

“You seem quiet,” Rick said later that night, having found Matty slumped halfway onto one of the back booths. She perked a bit when her father slid in to the seat across from her, before withering when she caught the concerned look in his eye.

Matty quirked a brow challengingly. “Would you be less worried about me if I was standing up on the bar singing It’s Raining Men?” 

“I think I’d be more concerned, actually. That’s a horrible song. And a bit of bad taste given the circumstances, kid.” 

“Hilarious,” she deadpanned before returning to her straw. Penny had offered Matty her top shelf tequila earlier, but for once in her life, she hadn’t been all that interested in getting wasted. A peculiar thing, mind you, and though Matty was just as disgusted with herself as Frank was, Penny had simply made her a mixed cocktail with an understanding look. 

Frank had been right about one thing; it was a dainty looking drink.

But it tasted good, and Penny had even stuck a cute little umbrella into it.

“You doing okay?” Rick asked, eyes trailing the very drink in question. 

It wasn’t that Matty was an alcoholic. She wasn’t. If anything, she had a minor nicotine addiction and a major caffeine addiction. There was no need for alcohol in that mix. But her friends and family knew that Matty liked to relax when out at the local bars; seeing her sit in the back corner of her favorite bar with a drink the color of her sister’s favorite lipstick was slightly concerning. 

“Fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“That’s lame, Dad,” she deadpanned, unimpressed, and borderline annoyed. “Even for you.” 

Rick let the insult wash over his shoulders with nothing but an exaggerated groan as he stretched his legs out beneath the table, arm thrown over the back of the vinyl booth with a half-hearted glance around at his life long friends. There was something forlorn there, but something satisfied as well. “Yeah, I know. I think I’m finally starting to get old, Matts. Seeing all the new cadets out here is making my back hurt.” 

To that, she snorted into her drink. “Have you met any of them yet? I think they’ll make your brain hurt too once you get talking.” 

“Met a few,” he hemmed. Then added, almost conspiratorially, “they’re not all that bad. Although, there is one, a blonde fella, that’s a bit of a...”

“Prick?”

“I was gonna say ass,” he remarked offhandedly. “But that works too.”

Matty laughed under her breath with a quick glance towards the other side of the bar. She could spot Seresin across the distance easily; he had been hanging around the pool table since the moment everyone stepped inside The Hard Deck. Merlin and Wolfman were currently in a game against him and Payback. The competition seemed a bit heated, though, and she wondered if the old-timers were going to call him out for his attitude. 

“The prick is named Hangman,” she told her father. “And, yeah, pretty much everything thinks that he’s a prick too. I was wondering if it’s a blonde sort of thing.” 

Rick arched a brow at his daughter. “You’re a blonde.” 

“And so are you,” she furthered her point. “Like I said.” 

She was sure that he wanted to be offended—after all, his daughter just called him a prick to his face—but they didn’t have the usual sort of father-daughter relationship. Though he had always wanted her to follow in his footsteps, had been undeniably disappointed when she hadn’t, Rick Neven had never wanted anything for his daughter but the best. He was the sort of dad that beamed with pride when she hit the neighborhood bully; laughed when she said something undeniably inappropriate, but also undeniably funny. 

“He reminds me of Ice.” 

Matty’s amusement faded. “Don’t say that,” she groaned, umbrella falling away from her hands as she let her head thump against the booth. Hair, straightened for once, trailed in every which direction. “I can’t stand Seresin. I like to think that Ice wasn’t that bad back in the day.” 

He laughed under his breath. “Maybe he wasn’t that bad, no, but you know how egos between pilots can get. I’m ashamed to say that we weren’t all that different back then. Maybe better looking, but...” 

“Humble, too.” 

“At least I’m self aware.”

“I’m sure that’s what wooed mom in the first place.” 

Rick scoffed at the mention of his wife, though, as always, there was a fond smile stuck in place when he glanced around the room to find her. When he caught sight of her on the back patio with Sarah and Tabitha, there was something nearly wistful in his expression that had Matty turning away. 

“Your mom was the only lady out there that couldn’t have given two shits about my skills as a pilot. Pretty sure she would have preferred if I was something boring, actually. It took me three months just to convince her to go on a date.”

“A questionable choice.”

“Hey now,” he kicked her with his boot. “You’re the result of that questionable choice, kid. You might want to lose a bit of the ‘tude.” 

She wouldn’t. He knew that. Neither really cared.

“Ice was proud of who you turned out to be, Matts. You know that don’t you?”

Her cheeks flushed a bright red at the sudden comment. It wasn’t the first that she had gotten that day; Sarah had said much the same earlier when Matty had been helping clean everything up at the church. Mrs. Kazansky had always been soft on the blonde mechanic seeing as how Matty had been born before the Kazansky’s own children had. It was nice to hear then, a bit of a tearjerker, but nice.

Now, however, as she sat in a room steadfastly determined to enjoy the good memories rather than wallow in the bad feelings, she almost sort of hated her father. 

“Dad,” she snapped. 

Rick was quick to throw his hands up in a sort of surrender. It didn’t feel like a victory, though, and Matty turned back to her drink with a glower. “I know, I know. I’m not trying to upset you or anything. I just wanted to make sure that you knew that. Ice never stopped bragging about you or asking about you when you stopped telling him how things at work were going.” 

“I get that, that’s nice, it’s nice to hear and whatever,” she argued a bit too hotly for their little corner of peace while waving her hands around in a vague gesture of something. “But, seriously, can we just... not?”

His eyes surveyed her face for a long, hard moment. Looking. Searching.

Hurting.

But eventually he backed down and plastered that family smirk back onto his face. She liked that even less. Especially when his gaze caught on something over the crest of her shoulder. “Alright, fine. Would you rather talk about the kid?”

Matty’s face scrunched in confusion. “The kid?”

“Yeah, you know, the one that’s been staring at you with puppy dog eyes for the last two hours. Pilot. About six foot. Nice hair, actually. Muscular, too.” 

“Oh my god, shut up!” she hissed with bright red cheeks.

Rick laughed so loud she was worried someone might come over to check on them. “Oh, so you know who I’m talking about? That’s good to know.”

“No, no it’s not. Because—because there’s nothing to know, so.”

“Nothing to know.”

“Right.”

“He’s just some pilot.”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, that’s good then,” Rick said, straightening in his seat as he took a sip of his beer. From behind the bottle, he then added with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders, “real good considering the fact that he’s on his way over here right now.” 

“What?!” 

Her father was a liar, Matty was sure, but as she whipped her head in every which direction she did notice a very familiar suit of white approaching from the other side of the bar. Bradley hadn’t seemed to hear to screech, thankfully. Frank had, though, and his gaze was firmly stuck on her to the point that she knew he was never gonna let her forget anything about this situation. He nodded at a few of the other cadets before coming to a stand next to their table.

Only then did he notice the blush shrouding her features. 

“Uh,” he hesitated. “Hi. Is this a bad time or...?”

“Not at all,” Rick said before Matty could tell him that yes, this was a very bad time, go away and take me with you. He was nothing but suave, however, as he gave Bradley a boyish grin. “Matts was just filling me in on all the new cadets.” 

Bradley brow arched high. Curiously, he asked, “oh?”

“Not about you,” she told him a little bit too quickly for comfort. He didn’t seem to know how to take that, but her dad did. Rick’s grin inched wider behind his beer. She kicked him as hard as she could in the shins in turn. The bastard didn’t even flinch. “He was telling me about which cadets he thoughts were pricks. Naturally, I pointed out Hangman to him.” 

“Oh,” Bradley relaxed. Then chuckled. “Yeah, the two of them don’t get along all that well.”

“Matts doesn’t get along with any pilot all that well. At least, not usually.” 

She kicked him again. The table rattled. His beer, however, was in hand and completely unaffected. His eyes brightened beneath her withering glare when she had to catch her drink before it could fall over. 

“Is everything...?”

“Fine,” she shut Bradley up. “Totally fine.” 

Then, as if knowing that this disaster would not end any time soon, she decided to bite the bullet before this could get any more awkward. Slowly, though. There was always the chance a meteor could come hurtling through the roof to end her misery.

It didn’t. 

Bitch. 

“Uh, Bradley, this is my father. Rick.” The men sized each other up for a moment. “Dad, this is Bradley Bradshaw.” 

Realization lit up his eyes like a lightbulb. 

“Goose’s kid,” he commented. Lightly, but with respect. 

Bradley nodded before offering his hand. “Hollywood,” he commented in return. 

“Not so much anymore, unfortunately,” he japed. Bradley relaxed a bit more when they dropped hands, and without even thinking about it, Matty scooted over in the booth to make room. Only because she knew her dad wouldn’t. Only because this was awkward. Only because, well, what the fuck ever. He slid in next to her with a relieved smile. “Maverick said that he was teaching Goose’s kid. Didn’t think that you would be a spitting image of your dad, though.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Got his snark too,” Rick noted with a small laugh. It seemed to loosen the tension even further, but Matty could tell that the entire conversation was making Bradley a bit uncomfortable. Welcome to the Neven’s, she thought while sipping her drink with a grimace, the family of snark and inappropriate humor. “What’s your callsign?”

“Rooster.” 

He hummed, pleased. “I don’t think I’m even gonna ask how one gets that sort of name. Christ know that Hollywood wasn’t exactly a badge of honor, either.” 

Bradley shrugged with a laugh. “It’s still better than Bob.” 

Rick didn’t get the joke at first. Then, when he did, he bent forward onto the table with an incredulous look. “There’s a son of a bitch here with the callsign Bob?”

Matty snorted into her umbrella. When her father’s gaze darted her way she made a show of pointing out the kid from across the room. “The spectacled kid. Not sure what it stands for, but it’s not bottom of the barrel, so don’t make that mistake.” 

“Baby on board?” he suggested. 

Matty’s mouth crooked sideways. “Bent over backwards, maybe?”

“He’s small,” Rick commented. Then quipped, “brains over brawns?”

Matty laughed along with her dad. In between them both, Bradley shook his head, trying but failing to feel bad for his friend. “Jesus Christ, there’s two of you,” he muttered to himself. They both heard, though, which only prompted the pair to laugh harder. “The stories that Mav used to tell me makes sense now.” 

Rick seemed utterly pleased with that. “He was just jealous.” 

“Sure, dad, sure,” Matty snarked. 

Their laughter died down as the jukebox was shifted from ACDC to Bon Jovi. A group at the bar lined up for shots and, having noticed him sitting in the back, Maverick waved him over. Rick didn’t decline. Just pretended to be upset as he slowly stood onto his feet. 

“Don’t cause too much trouble, kid,” he told his daughter pointedly.

“Says the guy about to do shots.” 

He acted as if he couldn’t hear her. Honestly, at this point in his life, maybe he had just developed an evolutionary adaption to tune out smack talk. Rick paused only a moment to clap Bradley on the shoulder. “It was good to meet you son.” 

“You too, sir.”

“I know it’s not my place, but I want you to know, that I think your dad would be pretty upset if he knew that you were canoodling in a booth with a Neven. Especially that one,” he joked, pointing at his daughter. She blew a raspberry and Bradley, not having expected such a light hearted comment in comparison to all of the other pitiful stories he got, couldn’t help but chuckle. “Seriously. I give you my blessing to delete her phone number. It’s probably for the best.” 

“Don’t you have somewhere else to throw out your back, old man?” she shot up at him. This he heard. Head swiveling on an axis as if he had forgotten that he had somewhere to be, he didn’t even hesitate to head over towards the bar where there was a shot of tequila with his name. 

“So, that’s your dad, huh?”

Matty narrowed her eyes at Bradley shrewdly. “Shut up.” 

“No, no, I like him. He’s got... spunk.” 

“Spunk?”

“Charisma.” 

“I will literally pay you to stop this,” she cried, throwing her head back once more onto the vinyl booth. He was much too amused to stop, though, and she closed her eyes with a dramatic groan. “Can’t you just pretend that was some random homeless guy with head trauma and not my dad?”

“You know my dad.” 

“I never met him,” she argued. 

He considered that for a moment. Then decided it didn’t really matter. Sipping on his beer, Bradley arched a brow, and instead said, “he’s more normal that I was expecting.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know,” he hummed. Obviously she didn’t know and he continued when she huffed. “You’re just so...” 

“So?”

“Aggressive? No. Vulgar. I guess I was expecting him to be a little bit more like that and less like Maverick.” 

Matty gave him the driest look that she could manage. Hard with the overhead lighting that made everything seem more intimate this far back in the bar, but she had years of practice. It came out well enough. Arguably not as well as she intended, however, because he just laughed again upon seeing it. 

“Firstly, I am not vulgar. Frank is. He’s just always hanging around so I’m sure you get him confused with me. Secondly, I—I don’t even know, but I hated everything about that little interaction, so, just don’t ever expect to meet him again.” 

He curled a brow up his forehead with a sly grin. “You planning on introducing me to your family or something, Matts? That almost sounds like boyfriend material.” 

She would have whacked him across the face for that comment alone if they weren’t pressed shoulder to shoulder against one another. In fact, Matty took a moment to wiggle as far out of his space as she could manage, and once her back was to the wall so that she was facing him, she did elbow him sharply in the side. “Isn’t it almost your bed time? I’m pretty sure you should be leaving right about now.” 

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he said. 

“I—I am not embarrassed!” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” he laughed as she made a half-assed attempt to kick him in the shins. It didn’t work, though, and she was left feeling like an idiot stuck between a rock and a hard place. Literally. “I like it. I feel like I’m starting to see a whole new side of you. Was that the plan all along? Wait until after you’ve introduced me to your parents to start getting violent?”

“You wish,” she sniped. 

“That you’re abusive or that I get to meet your parents?”

“That—I—ugh!” Matty threw her hands up in total exasperation. It, once again, seemed to amuse Bradley further, and by the time she got her mind together she was sure that her face was flushed a bright pink all over. Of course, now that he had pointed it out, she couldn’t stop thinking about it, which only made it worse. The cycle was horrifying. “Jesus Christ just move already so that I can get out of the booth! What did I do to deserve this?” 

“If I move, you’ll leave.”

“Duh!” 

Bradley gave her a boyish grin and settled further into his seat, legs spread as far as he could manage, liking all too much the fact that she was flustered. Somehow, at some point in time, Matty had let him start thinking of her as cute and adorable rather than irate and feral. It made it difficult to force him out with threats, and certainly wasn’t a mistake that she would ever make again. 

“Bradley,” she moaned, drawing out the syllables, nearly exhausted. “Move.” 

He considered the plea for a moment. His eyes sparkled as he sipped his beer, before he was throwing her completely off by asking, “have you eaten yet?”

“What?” Her face scrunched up. “No. Why?”

“There’s a pretty good food truck just down the beach from here. It sells the best tacos in this area.”

“O...kay,” she said. 

He arched a brow at her in amusement. That boyish smile on his face didn’t seem to fade as he watched her. If anything, it was only getting bigger. “Do you want to go get some?” 

“With you?”

“No, alone,” he deadpanned. 

Matty, flustered, red faced, and not drunk enough to be handling this, floundered in the face of his invitation. “I—there’s still some pizza here.” 

“Yeah, but...”

“But what?”

He shrugged. When she caught his gaze this time, there was something heavier settled in it; settled on his shoulders. It amazed her how quickly his expressions could change. More than that, though, it amazed Matty how adept she had become at reading them in such a short time. “It just feels a little crowded right now with everyone. I was actually about to leave before I came over. The stares are getting a little old.” 

The stares? she wanted to ask, but she didn’t need to. She knew. 

The stares directed at him were a lot like the stares directed at her. Pitying. Sad. And downright uncomfortable to be stuck under for so long. It didn’t even make sense. Sarah was the one that lost her husband, their kids a father. But everyone gave her the same look because they knew her, because she was young, because Navy family was as close knit as any family could be. 

“Okay,” she said. More sure than the last time, but she still frowned at how quickly the word had fallen from her lips. Blushing, Matty brushed some hair behind her ear. “Sure. I could go for some tacos.” 

His gaze lightened in seconds. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. Shrugged. Then said, “but you’re paying.” 

“Well, Neven, that almost sounds like a date,” he snarked, obviously pleased with himself for being quick enough to make a stupid comment like that. She hated it.

But, at the same time... she kind of liked it too.

“Just—shut up,” she huffed while shoving him on the shoulder. When he laughed she shoved him a little bit harder. When he stood, she stood too, and tried to look more like the fearsome Matty Neven and less like the embarrassed school girl going on a date. “Well? What are you waiting for? I’m fucking starving.” 

Bradley sniggered at her with the shake of his head. “That’s more like it.” 

The stares followed as the pair strode through the bar, followed until the doors shut behind them. This time though, Matty knew, it was a different sort of stare from her father and his friends.

---

“So, your sister,” Bradley drawled next, a long question in the list of seemingly random things that they had been quizzing each other about over the last hour. The food truck hadn’t been that far of a walk from the bar, but upon Bradley’s suggestion, they found themselves a quiet piece of beach to settle onto for their impromptu dinner. Between them was a grease stained bag with half a dozen different types of tacos in it for them to choose from, as well as two bottles of coke, her discarded boots, and more napkins than they could ever actually need. “I have to know. What is up with that?”

“You really don’t want to know,” she warned around a mouthful of food.

“Come on,” he argued with a poorly hidden chuckle. It did nothing to win her over, however, and Bradley pretty quickly figured that he was too interested not to ask. “All I was gonna say is that she seems very... nice.”

She blew a raspberry with a dry look. “Nice. Okay, well, sure, Bradshaw, she is plenty nice.”

“And pretty.”

“And pretty.”

“And very, very, very different from you,” he finished up. It earned him a dry, scathing sort of glare that only Matty seemed capable of producing. Granted, the heat was taken out of it when she managed to drop half of a tomato into her lap. 

“Oh, shut up,” she tossed it at him. He managed to catch it with one hand. An impressive feat made even more impressive when she realized that he was still wearing his pearly white dress shirt. His jacket had been discarded, however, and now loosely hung over the back of her shoulders. 

She had been cold, he had offered, and she wasn’t stupid enough to turn down warmth just for vanity. That was it. 

“Seriously though, Neven, what is up with that? Your dad seems a whole lot like you, but she... I don’t even know. I think she’s wearing Prada shoes.”

Matty’s mouth quirked up at the side. “Do you even know what Prada is?”

“Yes. No. Shut up, Nat said something about it.”

She snorted as he laughed, and the waves lapped a little bit closer as they sank into the sand. Matty wasn’t surprised at all by his question or drawled parallels. Tabitha was always put together and beautiful. Matty was more frequently wearing clothes from Good Will with grease stained hands. The difference between the pair was difficult not to notice. “I guess she followed in my mom’s footsteps. Pretty sure she saw what a disaster I was and wanted nothing to do with that, but my therapist said that’s an unhealthy accusation to make against myself.” 

“You have a therapist?”

“I... have a friend who took a psych class in college.” 

Bradley snorted. “That’s not the same thing.” 

Matty hardly cared. She just shrugged while finishing up her taco, before moving onto the next one. “Tomato, tomahto. She knows more than me. I gave her car an oil change and she recommended me some self-help books. Didn’t read them, of course, but whatever.” 

Her lackadaisical approach to life seemed to entertain Bradley greatly. Whereas most people were horrified by her honesty, he seemed to think that it was funny, and as he laughed Matty couldn’t help but be a little bit pleased with herself being the cause of it. 

Coming out of his laughter, he cleared his throat, and asked, “is your other sister like that too?”

An image of her younger sister floated in mind. “Nah, not really, anyways,” she told him, blowing air as she did so. He patiently sipped at his coke as she started to pick a few pieces of brown lettuce out of her food mindlessly. “Rosie is only a freshman in college. Even if she cared about appearances as much as Tab did, she wouldn’t be able to afford it. She’s a little bit more of a mix of us, I guess. Likes to play soccer, but also likes to badger me about not swearing when little children are around.”

“A habit of yours, I’m assuming.”

Matty rolled her eyes with a small smile. “She’s pretty cool though. We get along well, even if we don’t see each other that much.”

“And Tab?”

The dry look returned. “What do you think?”

It was clear what he thought about the matter. She didn’t need to hear it. In turn, they volleyed a few more questions back and forth, and by the time that she had made it to her third taco (Bradley’s sixth) they had slowly drifted into the more important things without her even realizing it. 

He was a bastard in that way. But it’s also what she liked the most about him. 

“So, what do you think you’re gonna do after this? What’s the next mission?”

“Assuming I get to go on this one.” 

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes. “Rumor is you’re a shoe-in.”

He narrowed his eyes at her challengingly. “Have you been asking people about me, Neven, or do you just like to eavesdrop on the local gossip?”

“Ha, ha. Bob told me. He’s pretty easy to talk to for him being, you know, him.” 

It was unclear if he took her answer as face value at not, but he did consider the question as he had all the others. In doing so, he crumpled up the tinfoil from his latest taco. Matty was in awe that he even had room to speak, let alone reach for another one. “I don’t know. Right now I’m just hoping to go on this mission. After it’s all over, get stationed somewhere else I guess.” 

“You really only came here for a month? Just for this one mission?”

“It’s not that unusual,” he shrugged around a sip of coke. “We get stationed for two years at a time, but since we’re pilots, that doesn’t really mean much. We could get put on a destroyer for six of those months, or be sent out for two weeks at a time.” 

“That sounds awful.”

“Isn’t that what Hollywood did?”

“Well, sure, but it still sounds awful. Although I’m pretty sure that they didn’t have any of the fancy technology we did back then, so, you know, half of his time spent in the field was just him sitting through flight prep.” 

Bradley chuckled at her cheek. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you plan on staying here forever?”

Matty shrugged with a wistful glance around. The sun had set during their walk to get food, and nearly an hour later, the pinks and oranges of the sky had shifted into a dark blue that was speckled with star light on one side and street lamps on the other. A few night surfers had appeared during that time along with some kids that clearly didn’t want to go home yet, but it was mostly a peaceful night. 

“I like it here,” she said after a moment. She was surprised to find that she meant it, too. “We moved growing up, obviously, but Dad was stationed here once that I remember. I never thought that much of it until I got stationed here too, I guess. Then again, I never thought about moving. At least, not recently. Since my motor pool is specific to Top Gun cadets, I don’t have to move with a unit as sporadically as some people do.” 

“You think you’ll stay then?”

She shrugged, finished her taco, and tossed the wad of tin foil at Bradley in a poor attempt to hit his head. She missed by a few inches though, and it hit his chest with a dull thud. “What’s it to you, Bradshaw? You finally realized I’m the best mechanic around and you don’t want to leave me behind?”

His eyes were bright as he shook his head at her. “Something like that.” 

Matty could feel that there was something under that meaning, something more, but she didn’t have the energy (or maybe even the confidence) to ask. So, simply, she didn’t.

Just snatched the last taco before he could. “It might be nice to stick around here with Mav, anyways. Supposing that he doesn’t get himself fired again from teaching.” 

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as Bradley paused in his eating. She had yet to breach that topic with him—the big whole mystery of what sort of fucked up thing did Maverick do?—and she supposed curiosity got the better of her here. 

“Could be nice, yeah,” he muttered a bit tonelessly. 

Matty swallowed her bite of taco, before asking, “is... that something you wanted to talk about? I mean, I don’t even know what happened, and I’m sure you don’t, but, you know... I’m here.” 

It was awkward. Of course it was. Matty wasn’t the most poetic sort of person, and this was clearly something he didn’t want to talk about at all, let alone with her. Yet, when she finally dared to meet his eye, he wasn’t mad. 

Just tired. “It’s not even worth going into anymore, honestly,” he said with a heavy sigh. Matty wasn’t sure she believed that though. He might have suspected that because a moment later he scrubbed a hand through his hair with a second, heavy scoff. “Maverick just did something stupid and he won’t tell me why. I know there’s a reason. He just... won’t own up to it. I don’t know if he’s an idiot or scared or whatever, but he won’t.” 

“I think we both know that he’s an idiot,” she smarted, earning a dry laugh from Bradley in response. It didn’t lighten the weight off his shoulders, though, and for the second time that night she wanted to help. “Obviously I don’t know what he did, but... if you think that there’s a reason, I’m sure there is. Mav doesn’t do things without thinking.” 

At that, he arched a brow sharply in disbelief.

“Okay, obviously he does stuff without thinking, we all know that,” she corrected almost too quickly. “But every time that he’s done something without thinking, it’s been because he was trying to protect something he loved. In most instances the thing that he loved was his ego, sure, but a lot of the time it was trying to protect his love for flying, too. His job. His family. I just...” 

She drifted off, not really sure what to say. 

And, if that wasn’t a bitch of a thing. Matty never ran out of things to say. Ever. It was one of her best (or worst) qualities that she never seemed to just shut the fuck up. It was frustrating beyond belief to come to the conclusion that she was at a loss of words when trying to do something meaningful for once in her life. 

Red cheeked and frustrated, she tossed her tin foil to the side. “I’m sure he did it for you, that’s what I’m trying to say. Even if the reasoning is stupid or not scientifically sound, I’m sure that he did what he thought was best at the time.” 

Silence. 

Matty closed her eyes with a sigh. She hated herself sometimes. 

Bradley didn’t seem to, though, and a moment later she felt something dull smack into the middle of her forehead. She opened her eyes to find a wad of tin foil siting in her lap. Across from her, Bradley was trying not to burst into laughter at the glower she shot him in return.

“Thanks,” he said with a dry cough. “I understand what you’re trying to say.” 

“Ugh, whatever.” 

“I’m being serious here, Neven. It was a nice sentiment.” 

“Oh, shut up!” she threw her hands up with a cry. 

This time, he did laugh, and despite knowing that he was laughing at her, Matty had to bite her lip to keep from doing the same. Much to her dismay, however, this only seemed to make him laugh harder. 

“I’m sorry!”

“No you’re not! You’re an ass.” 

“Well, I am a pilot, Matts, I’m not so sure what you were expecting here,” he snarked, and...

Well, it wasn’t long before Matty fell into laughter beside him. Together, the pair laughed—probably a little bit harder and a little longer than necessary—until their sides ached. She fell against his shoulder as the laughter wracked her ribs, and only when Bradley accidentally elbowed her in the tit did she finally come to her senses long enough to shove him off of her. 

When they calmed down, eyes bright with unshed tears, Matty found that she hardly minded that she was almost in his lap. 

“Damn,” she muttered, wiping at her cheeks. “I needed that.” 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Me too.” 

Hardly minded as they settled back into the sand beside each other that The Hard Deck was slowly dwindling down as her friends and family left. Hardly minded at all about the chill in the air as Bradley slowly wrapped an arm around her waist, tugged her into his side, and settled his cheek against her head. 

Hardly minded at all that he was Bradley Bradshaw, and she was Matty Neven. 

“So,” she asked next, for some reason almost afraid that if she said nothing that whatever this was would have to come to an end. “What’s your favorite movie, Bradshaw? And don’t even tell me that it’s Point Break or I swear to god I’m going to punch you.” 

It wasn’t. 

Funnily enough, Matty found that she wouldn’t have cared if it was. 

*** taglist (thanks for asking!) @callsignbarb @coyotesamachado   @shanimallina87  @luckyladycreator2 ​ @olivethenerd16  @the-winter-marvel33 @hiddleless @momc95 @alanadetigy​ ​@obsessedasusual   

This story has two chapters left to go! I’m excited to be winding down to the end. I love Matty so much, she’s probably my favorite oc to date, but I find that writing her takes me longer than it has with some other characters. I’m really trying to keep to a writing schedule, I promise, and hope to finish heart mechanics before too long. Thanks for reading! 

[mykilljoyhq]

So I kinda wrote a small little thing after listening to Vampire Money about five times.

Vampire Money

It was just another normal night. The Killjoys had departed to their rooms for bed and Sparrow was in her room, writing in her journal about the day's events. Nothing special, just hanging out in the Diner Jet and Kobra. Everything was quiet. They liked that. She was just in the middle of doodling on the side of the journal when she was startled by the sudden sound of rock’n roll drums, pounding throughout the abandoned diner. Sparrow looked startledly around her room. Where is that beat coming from? Unconsciousnessly, Sparrow jerked their head and snapped. It was something that always happened when loud sudden noises jumped up at her.

Well, are you ready, Ray? (Yeah)

How about you, Frank? (Oh, I'm there, baby)

How about you, Mikey? (Fuckin' ready)

Well, I think I'm alright

One, two, three, four!

Sparrow sighed at the realization of where the sudden loud rock sound was coming from. Of course, they are..right now.

Three, two, one, we came to fuck

Everybody party 'til the gasman comes

Sparkle like Bowie in the mornin'sun

And get a parkin' violation on La Brea 'til it's done

Hair back, collar up, jet black, so cool

Sing it like the kids that are mean to you

(Come on) when you wanna be a movie star

(Come on) play the game and take the band real far

(Come on) play it right and drive a Volvo car

(Come on) pick a fight at an airport bar

The kids don't care if you're alright, honey

Pills don't help, but it sure is funny

Give me, give me some of that vampire money

Come on

Sparrowed slammed her door shut and dove into her rickety bed. Don’t get her wrong. They liked the sound and thought it was pretty good. But not in the middle of the night. She groaned and buried her head under their only pillow they had.

Oh, you look like somebody I used to love

Well, three, two, one, we got the bomb

Everybody hurry 'til the taxman comes

Glimmer like Bolan in the mornin' sun

And get your finger on the trigger, tap the barrel of the gun

Hair back, motherfucker!

Jet black, so cool

Sing it like the kids that are mean to you(Come on)

when you wanna be a movie star(Come on)

play the game and take the band real far(Come on)

play it right and drive a Volvo car(Come on)

pick a fight at an airport bar

The kids don't care if you're alright, honey

Pills don't help, but it sure is funny

Give me, give me some of that vampire money

Come on

The pillow barricade did little to help as the loud wail of the guitar and Party’s extreme vocals pierced through the diner and through Sparrow’s ears. Angry at the fact that it didn’t help, they threw the pillow across the room. As the second verse continued, Sparrow groaned and dug her fingers into her choppy, dark brown hair, tugging at it slightly. They continued to jerk their head suddenly, not knowing why they did.

Ah, fuck yeah

That's right

One, two, three, four!

“Insert a spectacular guitar solo by Jet, like unbelievably amazing holy shit.”

Sparrow started to rock herself back and forth in an attempt to calm herself and not start screaming. As their mind started to clear up and run more smoothly, they were able to take deep breaths and calm themselves for the most part.

Well, three, two, one, we came to fuck

Everybody party 'til the gasman comes

Sparkle like Bowie in the mornin' sun

And get a parkin' violation on La Brea 'til it's done

Hair back, collar up, jet black, so cool

Sing it like the kids that are mean to you

(Come on) when you wanna be a movie star

(Come on) play the game and take the band real far

(Come on) play it right and drive a Volvo car

(Come on) pick a fight at an airport bar

The kids don't care if you're alright, honey

Pills don't help, but it sure is funny

Give me, give me some of that vampire money

Come on

The song had steadied down and so did Sparrow. She finished taking her deep breaths and flopped down on their bed. Not tonight. But what was she going to do? If she screamed at them to stop or worse, unplugged their amps, Party or Fun Ghoul would probably rip her to pieces. Ok maybe not rip her pieces, but they sure wouldn’t be happy. She had to get them to turn it down though. They began to walk out of the room and into the front of the diner.

She stayed close to the door and looked into the front where the sound was the loudest. The Killjoys had assembled to be a sort of a band. Jet and Ghoul were shredding away on their guitars on separate sides of Kobra, who was plucking away at a bass guitar. Party Poison however was on the desktop of the Diner, strutting like a peacock and yelling the words into a (possibly) broken microphone.(Don’t ask where the drums came from)

Well, I sure like the way (come on)

Sure like the way you're looking at me (come on)

Well, I sure like the way you're looking at me right there (come on)

Well, I sure like the way you're looking at me (come on)

There (on), there (on), there (on)

Party jumped down and motioned to an imaginary crowd. Sparrow inferred that they were rehearsing for a zone concert. She walked up towards the side of the set, being careful not to be spotted. However, Party caught them in the corner of their eye. They turned to them with an excited look on their face, that quickly faded when they saw the state Sparrow was in. Her hair was messed up and looked like someone had pulled on it viscously. Her arms were by her side and her hands were curled up and shaking, giving her the impression of a nervous T-rex. Sparrow tried to mutter out the words on her head, but nothing came out. Party quickly realized their mistake.

“Oh wait…oh I’m such an idiot.” They facepalmed and trotted in front of the other Killjoys on their instruments.

“Everything is way too loud, you’re gonna have to tone it down a little.”

Party motioned for the volume to be turned down with their hands. No one listened, they were too into the music.

“I’m sorry.” Party called out to Sparrow. Sparrow gave them an awkward smile and a thumbs up like saying “it’s okay” and “great song” As the song ended, Sparrow walked back to their room and shut the door behind them right when the song ended. She slid her back on the door as she took a breath of relief, knowing that the song was over and soon, they would get some quiet relief. “I TOLD YOU TO TURN IT DOWN FIVE SECONDS AGO!” Party screamed out once again startling Sparrow. “AY I WAS INTO THE MUSIC, YOU WANT THIS SONG TO SOUND GOOD OR SOUND LIKE SHIT?”

As the two Killjoys yelled at each other, Sparrow climbed back into her bed and began writing once again in their journal. “Was interrupted by the boys band tonight, really good song but also really loud for like 12:00am. Party tried to get them to turn it down. They’re currently yelling at Ghoul.”

(I used the lyrics I hear when I listen to Vampire Money. They might be a little off considering what you hear. You can correct me on the lyrics if you want to, I won’t listen but you can correct me)