#and Mickey doesn’t have enough either

[sometimes-i-write-good]

What if I heal my soul and continue writing top gun maverick fanfics

[ididdedurmom]

More evil head cannons

I have silly ideas about the gang after the event of the story, everyone lives, except Bob

PONY:

Has a thousand yard stare when he zones out

Has the loudest, most disgusting, mucus filled cough ever

Actually really good at drawing

Has drawn every member of the gang at least twice

Loves physical touch, he leans on his friends when their sitting next to him.

Actually screams during horror movies, like loud genuine screams

Loves play fighting with Darry, like full on wrestling

Steve taught him how to drive

He either walks like a ghost or stomps, there is no in between

He can play one song on the guitar, and that’s it

His legs are super strong, so his kicks hurt really bad

He would be better at track, but his smoking habits hold him back

He feels jealous of Soda and Darry because they had more time with their parents

He and Darry have matching reading glasses

SODA:

He says “I’m just a girl” anytime he gets in trouble

He has used his pretty privilege to get out of being arrested multiple times

Despite how handsome he knows he is, he still feels super insecure about his looks

He steals from the DX station constantly

He and Steve spend hours gossiping about their customers once both of their shifts are over

A dog bit him when he was a kid, now he’s deathly afraid of them

He loves physical affection, hugging him is the best way to cheer him up

Absolute candy addict

Candy is the #1 item he steals from the DX

He broke his dominant hand once, and now his handwriting is permanently ruined

He reads insanely slow and monotone when he reads out loud

He either sleeps like a rock, or wakes up from the slightest sound, there is no in between

He lives in his flannel, that thing hasn’t been washed in literal years

He suffers from middle child syndrome, he knows his brothers love him, but they don’t pay enough attention to him

DARRY:

He hates his jobs, he knows he has to go but he can’t stand them

All of his coworkers are old and they treat him like a child (which he’s kind of okay with in a way)

He loves watching cartoons but he feels like he’d be wasting his time

He sneezes like a dad

He wakes up at 4 am and works out immediately

Loves compliments and words of affection

Doing favors is his love language

He has the whitest legs ever, he’s all tan on the top and snow white on the bottom

His tan ends where his pants start

Small bits of his hair are grey, he doesn’t know

He has a fear of abandonment

He is insanely flexible for a man of his size, like he can touch the floor standing up with ease

He hit a dog with his car once and cried for 2 hours straight

He loves cuddling on the couch with his brothers, it helps him relax

He despises Curly Shepard, he’s civil with Tim, but he HATES Curly

When he comes home from his ski trips with his old friends, he actually looks his age

A woman once assumed he was Pony’s father, and it made him die inside a little

He can’t stand Mother and Fathers Day

He was mad at Steve when he found out he taught Pony how to drive

TWO-BIT:

He and Dally bond by harassing women

He has a box full of things he’s stolen

His slight alcoholism stems from his father

He let’s his sister paint his nails, and he shows them off proudly

He gets his nails painted before rumbles

He watches soap operas with his mother every night

He can play the trumpet

He has never purchased a pack of cigarettes, only stolen

He listens to metal

When he passes Johnny’s house, he has to actively stop himself from walking in and beating Johnny’s parents half to death, especially his father

Its not that he doesn’t want a job, I mean he doesn’t, it’s that he thinks he’d only mess up whenever they had him do

He constantly forgets to brush his teeth

Pop and beer are the only things he drinks, he doesn’t touch water

He religiously wears Mickey Mouse merch, you will never catch him in a plain shirt

Baby Pony and him got along really well, he was kinda like Pony’s goofy cousin

Two-Bit and Darry have been friends since they were little kids

Two has no plans for his future, and it weighs on him

He broke both of his elbows once

His teachers have kinda given up on him, they just treat him like a bother instead of a student

STEVE:

He messes up Pony’s hair every chance he gets

He uses the most hair grease out of everyone

He has had the same comb for 3 years

He constantly smells like oil

The underside of his nails are always black, no matter how much he washes his hands

He and Soda have matching scars from a shared failed attempt to climb a barb wired fence

He is terrified of the police

He and Soda make your mom jokes at each other, despite neither of them having mothers

His voice is scarily deep when he wakes up

He and Two-Bit have an inside joke no one in the gang understands

He, Soda, and Two-Bit all have matching stick and poke tattoos

He hates his father, and by extension the fathers of Johnny and Two-Bit

He and Dally don’t hang out much, but when they do they are absolute menaces

Dally and him steal cars and hub caps together

He is genuinely upset by the size of his nose

JOHNNY:

He’s dyslexic

His handwriting is atrocious

His best subject is math

He and the gang all picked out stickers to put on his crutches

He loves sleeping around his friends

His hands are rough

He can’t stand the smell of beer, unless it’s one of the gang

He and Curly hate each other for literally no reason

Pony has slowly been teaching him to read better

No matter how much grease he puts in his hair, it won’t stay back

He hates going out in public because people always look at him funny

He hates looking at his burn scars

He, Dally, and Ponyboy watch sunsets together

He either sleeps at the Cutis’s house, Two-Bit’s house, Steve’s (very rarely), or Dallas’s place.

He’s not allowed to sleep in the lot anymore

He has tons of freckles, you just can’t see them against his skin

He loves sleeping outside when he wants to

He never wants children, he’s to scared he’ll become his father

His pain tolerance is so high that sometimes he won’t even notice when he gets injured

He likes how defensive Dallas is of him, makes him feel confident

He smokes marijuana with Dally sometimes, he’s super anxious when they do though because he doesn’t want to get arrested

DALLY:

He will not talk about his feelings

The cops forced him to go to therapy, it didn’t fix anything

He is amazing at lying

The police know him by name

He hasn’t told the gang much about the past other than where he came from and that he doesn’t talk to his folks

Darry nicknamed him “Rat”

He actually feels bad when Darry yells at him

He gets sun burns very quickly

He has his own personal stench

He doesn’t want Johnny to end up like him

He cried for 3 hours straight when he found out Johnny was still alive, it is his most embarrassing moment

He chugs drinks insanely fast

He can’t read very well

He needs glasses but he thinks he’d look like a wimp if he had any

Even though he knows he could have an asthma attack from coughing to hard, he still doesn’t carry his inhaler

He was happy when he thought he was going to die

Then he woke up and had an epiphany about life, it didn’t do to much, but now he knows death isn’t the only option

He proudly shows off the burn marks on his arm

He loves pushing Johnny around in his wheelchair

He listens to outlaw music and Frank Sinatra

He loves horror movies

He toned down his bad behavior once he got out of the hospital, he’s still a dick though

That’s it or whatever. I hope you like them, I’m sorry if some of them don’t make sense. I’m just so silly. I apologize for my horrible grammar lol. Feel free to tell me some of your head cannons!! :D

[twinklyylights]

The trailer for a new romance movie is what sparks the thought in Mickey. He nudges Ian’s elbow with his own and looks over to him. He finds his husband to be lost in thought, intensely focused on the screen of his cell phone rather than the television screen in front of them. 

“Hey, where’s the DVD of our wedding video?” He asks.

Ian doesn’t bother to look up from the article he’s reading. Too many of the symptoms in front of him feel familiar.

“In the safe,” he mumbles, distracted. Silently panicked.

Mickey nods. Ian doesn’t sound like he’s in the mood to reminisce, so he doesn’t bother trying to push the conversation any further. 

Ian reads for a few more minutes without a word, but he eventually becomes overwhelmed by what he knows is coming for him. He locks his phone with a sigh, and sets it down on the coffee table, screen side down.

Mickey watches his movements carefully. He does his best to keep his face neutral, but he can’t help but grin when Ian moves to lay across his lap. 

Mickey gladly accepts the gesture. His palm is warm when it goes to rest against Ian’s cheek.

“Hi, handsome,” he murmurs.

Ian closes his eyes. He bathes in the comfort that he only can find in Mickey.

“Hi,” he supplies back through a yawn.

“Tired?”

Ian hums.

“Something like that.”

And he swears he can feel Mickey’s body go stiff.

“You feeling okay?”

Ian waits to answer that. The answer isn’t one he has to think on, but sharing it out loud makes it real.  

“No,” he admits after a beat.

He doesn’t explain it in any more words than that, but Mickey doesn’t need him to.

“Anything I can do?”

Ian opens his eyes then. His solemn ones meet Mickey’s worried two.

“Don’t think so.”

Mickey nods. He forces himself to give Ian a soft smile.

“I’m here,” he promises. “You’ll make it to the other side.”

Ian latches on to that sentiment for the next few days.

Laid on Mickey’s side of the bed, his husband’s words repeat on a loop. And even though he can’t quite see the other side, he trusts Mickey’s assurance that it’s waiting for him, simply because the words have come from Mickey’s lips.

Those same lips spend the week between Mickey’s teeth. Chapped and gnawed at despite Mickey’s best efforts to maintain some sense of normalcy in his day.

This isn’t new for either of them. But, it weighs heavier on his heart than usual.

Ian’s sadness feels like his own.

He barely finishes his bowl of cereal before abandoning it to the sink.

Breakfast together is usually a morning must have. The meal without Ian feels pointless.

He tries to keep himself busy in the living room of the apartment. He goes back and forth between the coach, the balcony and back to the couch again. Without ever accomplishing anything after he reaches his destination.

Laid across the couch he pulls out his phone and unlocks it with a sad smile.

The selfie that’s set as his lockscreen is from one of their first nights married.

It’s a mirror selfie, taken in the upstairs bathroom of the Gallagher house.

Ian has one arm wrapped around Mickey’s waist, pulling him close. His left hand is raised high to flash his ring in the mirror.

Mickey had laughed at him at first, but had quickly matched his move and thrown his left hand up at the mirror, too.

His phone covered his wide smile as he took the picture, but Ian’s smile was bright enough for the both of them.

His next few minutes are spent replying to missed texts. His replies are vague, but he figures they should suffice.

After a while, he dozes off on the couch. It’s a light sleep, but Ian still nestles himself into Mickey unconscious.

He wakes up with an ache in chest that only Ian’s presence can soothe.

Quietly, he tip toes his way to their shared bedroom.

The door is cracked, so he can see that Ian’s on his side of the bed. He’s curled up, bundled in their comforter.

Even though Ian’s eyes are closed, Mickey still whispers to him from the door frame.

“You sleeping?”

Ian opens his eyes immediately.

“No.”

A silence falls between them then. Mickey kinda stares off for a moment, taking in the room around Ian, and then letting his eyes fall back on his husband.

“Need anything?”

“You.”

And well, Mickey wasn’t expecting him to say that.

He comes over to Ian’s side of the bed then and lays down. His movements are awkward and he’s a bit stiff as he lays on his back, but he figures Ian can’t see him to question why he feels so weird in his own bed.

They’re both silent for a beat. Mickey’s the one to bring words back into the room.

“I hate seeing you like this,” He says quietly.

And maybe it’s not the perfect thing to say, but it’s the truth.

Because, it sucks seeing Ian suffer like this. It sucks knowing that Ian will have to deal with this forever.

There’s a helplessness that comes with it all, that, even after all these years, Mickey still doesn’t know how to manage.

How is it that his husband can be going through so much, yet he can’t do anything about it?

Ian makes a noise then. It sounds suspiciously close to a laugh.

Mickey side eyes him.

“You wanna trade brains with me?” Ian deadpans.

Mickey shrugs.

“Sure, why not?”

Ian smiles into the pillow even though Mickey can’t see it.

‘If I had yours, I’d probably bring us both something to eat,” He suggests.

Mickey snorts.

“Oh yeah? What would you bring?”

“Oreos.”

Mickey nods. Okay. Oreos. Oreos are easy. He can do Oreos.

He gets off the bed then and makes his way to the kitchen. He grabs the half-eaten pack of double stuffed cookies and then comes back to the bedroom.

His cheeks lift into a smile when he sees that Ian’s flipped over and is sitting upright in the bed.

His shoulders relax as he comes more into the room.

“My side really that comfy?”

Ian nods, he reaches his arms out to gesture toward the package of cookies. Mickey picks up his pace. He kisses Ian’s forehead as he passes over the snack.

“You don’t even know how much.”

He offers a cookie to Mickey then, and Mickey accepts it.

He didn’t even realize he was hungry.

They eat their cookies in a comfortable silence after that. Once the package is empty, Mickey throws it toward the trashcan.

“Anything else you’d do if you had my brain?”

“Yeah. I’d get out our wedding video.”

He gives Mickey a look.

“I heard you. I think we both could use it right now.”

And with that they both find themselves under the comforter with their laptop between them.

It’s the first time in a while that Ian’s felt like being this close. He kisses Mickey’s cheek before pressing play on the video they’ve both rewatched dozens of times.   

“We did good,” Ian murmurs as the camera pans over the reception hall. “You did good.”

“I used to dream about that shit, man.”

Ian eyes cut over to him then.

“Yeah?”

Mickey’s eyes say it all.

“Yeah,” He promises.

The video cuts after a few more minutes. Anyone else would think it was over, but they both know what’s coming.

Mickey huffs out a breathy laugh. He can already feel himself getting emotional.

Debbie had given them the idea that they should leave video notes for each other before the wedding.

“A last conversation as fiancées!” she had explained it as.

They both didn’t need much convincing.

The next clip is of Ian sitting on the bed in his wedding suit. Off camera, Lip gives him a signal, and he begins to speak after a pause.

“Hey Mick,” he starts, “It’s me, Ian.” He visibly cringes. “You already knew that. Anyway, my watch says its 4:05, so we’re about 2 hours away from being husbands.” On camera he blows out a shaky breath.

“You were so fucking nervous,” Mickey says with a shake of his head.

Ian doesn’t have the energy to acknowledge the comment. He lets it hang in the air as they watch Ian’s confessional.

And even though Mickeys lives in Ian’s love every day, it still brings a tear to his eye as he listens to the man speak so certainly about it.

“…I’m sure about us. I’m sure about, you, Mick,” Ian continues on the screen, “Is it selfish to think you were made to my husband?

Ian turns his head at the sound of a sniffle. His face falls when he sees that Mickey is teary.

“Mick?”

“You still feel like that? Like I was made for this?”.

Ian pauses the video. He closes his laptop and turns so that he’s on his side and facing Mickey.

“’Course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

He reaches up then, and wipes a tear from Mickey’s cheek. Mickey rolls his eyes.

“Whatever. Don’t know why I’m fucking crying about it.” He tries to dismiss.

Ian shakes his head. His hand starts to rub against Mickey’s stomach as he finds the words he knows Mickey needs to hear.

“You know, nobody else would be able to magically make me feel better if you weren’t here. No one in the entire world.”

And sure, the larger, more logical part of Mickey’s brain knew that. But a smaller, more nagging side, needed the reminder.  

“I know that. Fucking sucks that I can’t, though.”

Ian leans over and wipes a fallen tear from Mickey’s cheek.

“What would the meds be for then?” he jokes, before kissing the side of Mickey’s face. He lays himself on Mickey’s shoulder.

“If somebody else could, I wouldn’t even want them, Mick. I want you. I need you.”

“I can’t be that fucking great.”

Ian shakes his head. He’s never heard something so untrue.

“You are. And you’re made just. for. me.”

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; "the one where Clark is trans and Kon is not". tw: internalized not-technically-transphobia-but-it-kinda-reads-that-way. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

The team’s meeting up this weekend and Kon didn’t have anything else to do before said meet-up, so she’s at Mount Justice earlier than everybody else and trying to be, like–trying to be a boy about it. Like, just–however she’s supposed to do that. 

However he’s supposed to–supposed to– 

She goes to the training room and punches the reinforced heavy bag ‘til it splits. 

That’s what a boy would do, right? If a real guy were upset, or frustrated, or–whatever, he’d go take it out on a punching bag or something like that. 

Except a real guy wouldn’t be upset about this, because this wouldn’t be happening to a real guy. 

Part of Kon thinks she’d probably do that kind of shit anyway–punching out her problems and whatever instead of talking to somebody about ‘em or anthing like that–but would she? Like, for real? Would she really do that, if everyone didn’t think–if everyone hadn’t always thought– 

Everyone calls her a boy. Everyone’s always called her that. Cadmus was trying to make a man when they programmed all her mental uploads and education and Serling talked about cooking up hybrid-effective hormones for her and Mickey told her they could work out the surgeries for her when she was old enough–even if she wasn’t still working there, even–and–and– 

Kon’s not a boy. She’s not. 

But she’s not Supergirl either. 

And she’s never gonna get to be. 

Kon leaves the split-open and wrecked heavy bag hanging there leaking ball bearings and sand and leaves the training room without bothering with hitting the locker room, wishing she could just strip off the binder she isn’t supposed to wear when she works out anyway and ditch the packer and the Superboy suit and–and she doesn’t know, exactly. Maybe grow out her hair, or just cut it different. Get a fucking pixie cut, for all she cares. Try out–try some things. Paint her nails, or buy some eyeliner or lipstick, or just . . . whatever. Wear something different. 

She could pierce her other ear, maybe. She could get a different costume. She could . . . she could just . . . 

She couldn’t do any of that. She can’t do any of that. Kara gets to wear a skirt and have long pretty hair and be–and Match just could if he wanted to, because it wouldn’t matter because why the fuck would anyone at the Agenda care as long as he kept being an asshole for them when they told him to, but she–she– 

How even would she, when– 

Kon crashes on the couch and turns on the TV and puts on Wendy the Werewolf Stalker for all of four seconds before Wendy pops up on-screen in a cute little crop top and ruffled skirt like Kon could never, ever wear and it takes literally all of her self-control to not dissemble the remote. Or the TV. 

Or the base. 

She turns off the TV, buries the remote in the couch, and storms off to the kitchen to, like–get a fucking snack or something, she doesn’t know. The others are gonna be here soon, it’s gotta look like–like a boy was here. So like–breaking the heavy bag and leaving a mess and vegging out in front of the TV and raiding the pantry and–and shit like that. That’s what a boy would do, right? Take over the space, take up space, be–be–

Just be one, Kon guesses. 

But she’s not, so she just has to do what she thinks other people would expect her to and hope she’s getting it right. 

She digs through the pantry and gets out, like–the greasy, salty snacks, and leaves the sweet ones behind. Doesn’t go for any of the chocolate or the candy or–just, just what a boy would eat, would like, would– 

This is so stupid. She’s so stupid. She–she knows it’s not just–just stupid shit like if she eats fucking chocolate instead of chips or pretzels. She knows it’s not just if she flirts up other girls or takes up space or makes a mess or if she’s loud enough. 

If she was actually a boy, she’d just be a boy, no matter what. 

But she’s not. 

Kon rips open a bag of pork rinds, eats exactly two, and then just spits them out in the trash and leaves the whole messy pile of snacks on the counter and stalks off again, her hands jammed down hard in her jacket pockets and shoulders hunched up and glasses shoved up tight on her face. She just–she just wants to go. She wants to leave. 

She wants to be like she’s supposed to be.

[lenafromthenordiccoven]

Call Out Our Names - Bob x f!reader x Phoenix

(moodboard made by me, Top Gun Maverick screencaps by hd-screencaps, rest free-pik.com)

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x afab!reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace

Requested? yes

Rating: M – MDNI 18+

Word count: 3244

Warnings: why choose, threesome (FFM), oral (f!receiving), bi!reader, soft dom!Bob, definitely pleasure dom!Phoenix, Bob Floyd fucks, and so does Phoenix, fingering, unprotected PinV (be smart and wrap it, folks)

Summary: When your best friend, Mickey, invites you to come stay with him in San Diego for a bit, you didn’t expect that to lead you to meet two new people who would catch your eye immediately. Only problem is: you don’t think, they’re the sharing type. But maybe – just maybe – you’re wrong?

Read on ao3

Taglist: @high-speed-r

A/N: Thank you for sending in that lovely request, anon! Hope, you’ll enjoy what my brain cooked up. (Cause those two definitely have me in a constant state of bi panic) And I’m so sorry for the long wait 😭 Please accept my first humble offering to @attapullman’s International Bob Floyd Fucks month.

You didn’t quite know what to expect when Mickey had told you, you’d both be going to a BBQ at his former instructor’s home. In fact, you had no idea what to expect of your time in San Diego at all. Mickey, your best friend since kindergarten and WSO for the Navy, was now stationed permanently in San Diego for the foreseeable future and, thus, had invited you out to stay with him for a bit. “You can meet the squad and you can relax. Most importantly, relax. I know, you’ve probably been working yourself to the bone again,” he’d said.

And, though you would never admit it, he wasn’t wrong. Running an animal accessory boutique in Northern Cali, as well as volunteering at your local animal shelter and running the shelter’s social media accounts were more than enough to have you falling into your bed face first at the end of the day. But you’d also recently started remote classes for a degree in psychology and social services, trying to establish a program in your town that would bring together veterans and pets that needed foster homes or new, permanent homes. To say you were exhausted would be an understatement. You didn’t think, you’d ever get rid of the tiredness in your bones. So, while you felt guilty for going away at all, your boss at the shelter had urged you to take some time off. And then Mickey had offered his guest room.

And now you were standing in Captain Mitchell’s backyard, who’d introduced himself as Pete. “Although Maverick or Mav are both fine, too,” he’d joked given that most of the squad called him Mav now. Mickey had introduced you to everybody and while Hangman and Coyote had both flirted with you (after Mickey had made it clear that you were just friends), you couldn’t keep your eyes from wandering to Bob and Phoenix, both standing next to Rooster and Mav and helping with the BBQ.

You know, you’d caught their eyes wandering back to you multiple times by now. Especially since Bob was now sporting a blush that surely had little to do with the heat from the grill. But you had yet to exchange more than polite hellos with either of them – and you wanted to, badly.

“You can talk to them, you know,” Mickey said, nudging you with his elbow in your side when he caught your thousand-yard-stare.

You jumped slightly, brought back to reality by your best friend’s teasing hint. “I-I…? What?” you sputtered before opting to just keep your mouth shut entirely. He was right. You could go over there and introduce yourself. You wanted to, after all. But you were taken aback by the ferocity of your own desire.

“They don’t bite. Well, Nat might. But Bob usually doesn’t.”

You tear your gaze away from their backs – you were 99,9% sure, they should’ve felt your stare burning into their flesh anyway – and turn to look at your best friend. “You think? But—”

“No buts. Just go over there, talk to them and, most importantly, relax and have fun.” He gave you a little shove with his hand on the small of your back in the direction of the grill.

Phoenix saw you first, nodding at you before lightly tapping on Bob’s shoulder, so you’d have his attention as well. He turned around, the light blue eyes behind his gold-wire-rimmed glasses immediately locked onto yours and you could feel the heat creep up your own neck and into your cheeks.

“Y/N, right?” Phoenix asked and you nodded. “What’s up? Need us to save you from Bagman?”

You chuckled at the variation of Hangman’s callsign. Mickey hadn’t been able to tell you much from his last deployment, but he had told you why people called Hangman Hangman, or sometimes Bagman in Phoenix’s case. “Uh, no. Came over here to talk to the two of you, actually.” You nervously put a strand of hair back behind your right ear.

“You-you did?” Bob asked, his eyes now wide with surprise before he exchanged a quick look with Phoenix, who was now smiling at you like she knew how to read your thoughts and knew exactly what you had on your mind.

“Yeah, I did. I do.”

***

You still had no idea how you’d gone from talking and laughing with Phoenix and Bob in Mav’s backyard to now having Phoenix steal the breath from your lungs with a searing kiss as Bob tried to open his front door. You couldn’t help the whimper rising in your throat when you felt Phoenix’s thigh wedge itself between your legs and bump against your core.

You heard Bob groan next to you as the door finally gave way and the three of you tumbled inside. It didn’t take long for him to retake his spot behind you, the heat radiating off his body making you shiver. His hands drifted down your sides and to your hips as Phoenix’s came up to massage your breasts over your bra and shirt. You openly moaned against her mouth, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“Somebody’s sensitive,” Bob murmured against your ear. “You know,” he continued, gently taking your earlobe between his teeth and quickly tugging, “I’m not usually one for sharing. But I’ll make an exception this time. If you let me take the lead, Nat.”

Phoenix pulled back from the kiss, chuckling as you chased after her lips, having grown addicted to her taste after just a few minutes. “Can’t promise that, but I’ll try.”

“Fine by me. Now, let’s get ourselves to the bedroom, shall we?” Bob grumbled against your neck and you nodded furiously. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your core throbbed in time with your heartbeat. All you could think was desire, all you could feel was how their touches and kisses set your body ablaze even through your clothes. Fuck, this was definitely not what you’d envisioned when you’d accepted Mickey’s invitation. But it was so much better than what your brain could have ever come up with.

Somehow, the three of you had made it into Bob’s bedroom without falling, your bodies fused together and limbs tangled. It was a miracle, you thought, that you’d managed to take off your clothes at all. Leaving the three of you in just your underwear.

You licked your lips as your eyes raked over their forms, drawing a chuckle from Bob. “You like what you see, darlin’?” His eyes had darkened as his pupils had blown out with lust; Phoenix looked equally as hungry as you felt.

You nodded, your hands moving to cup him through his boxers. He groaned, snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you to him to press his lips against yours. You sighed against his lips, easily allowing him to slip his tongue inside your mouth. Then you felt Phoenix press her front against your back and nibble on your shoulder, her hands gripping your hips and guiding your movement as you rubbed against Bob’s thigh and crotch.

“Are you going to be a good girl for us, Y/N?” Phoenix whispered and you broke the kiss with Bob as you nodded.

“Yes, anything. I’ll do anything you want.” You’re pretty sure, your brain has actually stopped working as the only thing you cared about was the feeling of their bodies against yours, their touches, their kisses—the noises they made. So, you’re surprised, you can get any words out at all, let alone a full sentence.

“Eager, are we?” Bob mumbles, you blink up at him and barely catch the slightly smug smirk on his lips. The brief glimpse you got sent you reeling regardless, never having thought it possible for this softspoken, shy-looking man to be so dominant in the bedroom. Oh, you’d been wrong. So wrong. And you loved it. You’d forgotten what it was like to have somebody else make the decisions for you, to be able to just let yourself fall, relax and enjoy pleasure.

“Maybe just a little bit?” you replied in equally hushed tones. Your voice drifted off into a sigh when Phoenix’s fingers brushed your core over your soaked panties. Your head falls back against her shoulder.

She clicked her tongue at you. “You’ve ruined your panties, pretty girl. Soaked through them cause you want us so badly, hm?” You whimpered in response, her touch growing firmer, rubbing circles over your pubic mound, but the pressure wasn’t enough against your clit.

“What, can’t even answer us anymore? We’ve barely touched you, darlin’.” You squeezed your eyes shut and your thighs together, essentially trapping Phoenix’s hand between them at Bob’s words. Condescension and lust were dripping off his voice like honey—or drops of oil, only adding fuel to the flames of desire raging through your veins. You reached out your hands for the hem of his boxers, you managed to begin dragging them down over his hips. You slipped out of Phoenix’s grasp on your own hips and were about halfway to your knees in front of them before Bob stopped you by grabbing your wrists.

He shook his head at you, you blinked at him in response, wide-eyed. Had you done something wrong? The question must have been clearly written on your face because he shook his head again, gently cupped your jaw with one of his hands. His thumb stroked over the skin of your cheek and you leaned into the touch, your eyes fluttering closed at the touch. Bob cleared his throat and brought your gaze back to his face.

“Not that I’m not dyin’ to find out what your mouth feels like around my cock, we can do that another time.” Another time. You almost lost your mind at the implication of doing this again. And your mind was already tirelessly spinning out of control in the haze of lust and promised touches. Bob continued, “Why don’t you get on your knees on that bed, ass in the air and show Nat just how badly you wanna please us?”

You heard her groan above you at the implication and you nodded. At this point, you couldn’t give a single fuck anymore about how needy you’d come off to them. You needed them, wanted them, practically burned with the need to please them and have them take care of you in return. Your body should have turned to ashes by now with how hot you felt. However, despite the desire making your every motion feel hazy and inefficient, you managed to climb onto the bed. You hadn’t noticed Phoenix getting comfortable with her back propped up against the headboard. She reached out one of her hands for you and you took it, scooting up until you were almost kneeling in her lap.

“Come here,” she whispered and drew you in by your hand. The other landed on your neck and jaw. She pulled you ever closer, until your breasts brushed hers just as her lips captured yours in a honey-sweet kiss that did nothing to hide the hunger burning underneath her skin, too. You kissed her back, desperate now that you’d gotten a taste, and tried to deepen the kiss. But then you felt Bob’s hands come to rest on your hips, his thumbs drawing soothing circles onto your skin when you’d jumped at the unexpected contact.

Just as Bob pulled your hips and ass backwards and up towards him, Phoenix pushed you down with a hand on your shoulder until your upper body rested on the mattress between her legs. Your face was now eye-level with her bare pussy. When had she taken the time to take off her own panties? You barely had time to wonder, let alone voice the question, when Bob’s lips on your lower back drew a sigh and a shudder from you.

His lips briefly brushed the shell of your ear as he let almost the whole, delicious weight of his body rest on top of yours, and whispered: “Go on, don’t be shy. Show us what that pretty mouth of yours can do, darlin’.” You almost whined when he withdrew from your back again and the cool air of the bedroom hit your heated skin. He hooked his

“What are you going to do, Bob?” Phoenix asked, the gaze from her half-closed eyes was glued to yours. You could see no hesitation in them and decided to just try and see what her reaction would be. You leaned forward and gave her pussy a tentative kiss, your eyes never leaving her face. When you saw her eyelids flutter, you grew bolder, licked a stripe from her entrance to her clit and then closed your lips around the bud.

“Fuck, Y/N. Knew your mouth would feel good,” Phoenix breathed and slipped one of her hands into your hair on the back of your head. “Keep going, pretty girl. Treating me so well. Use your fingers.” You did as asked, kitten-licking her again. You were about to suck on her clit and slip your index finger into her entrance, when Bob gripped your ass with both his hands and pulled you back against his face. Your mouth fell open and you couldn’t hold back the moan bubbling up your throat as he mirrored your actions. With the difference that the two fingers he was slipping inside of you felt deliciously thicker than your own, now pumping in and out Phoenix at a slow, cautious rhythm while you were figuring out what she liked.

Phoenix’s hand tightened in your hair, her fingertips digging into your skin as you kept going, moaning against her own slick core. You could feel her walls clench down on your fingers as you hooked them and brushed against the sweet spot. She let her head sink back against the headboard and a moan tumbled from her lips; the sound made your heart soar and your chest swell with pride.

“Fuck. You’re seriously missing out, Bobby,” Phoenix said, her voice breathless. And you saw her chest heave with every breath. You could hear Bob chuckle behind you.

“I believe you, Nat. But I’ve got a gorgeous little pussy over here, beggin’ for my attention.” He pressed another kiss to one of your ass cheeks, then he brushed his thumb over your clit, practically strumming the bundle of nerves as if he was trying out the feel and sound of a new guitar. You moaned against Phoenix again, letting your head fall away from her core.

You whimpered, felt your own release approach quickly while Phoenix’s walls pulsed around your fingers. “Please, Bob. I need you. Need to feel you.”

Bob didn’t stop his ministrations; instead, he put his free hand on your back, right in the middle of your shoulder blades and pushed you back down towards Phoenix. “I know, baby. We’ve got you, I promise. Just need you to come on my fingers first, can you do that for us, hm?” His weight was back against your back and you felt him press a kiss against the spot where your neck joined your shoulder.

You nodded, his weight on top of you and Phoenix’s hand that had now slipped from the back of your head to cup your cheek felt like the only things still anchoring you to this world. Otherwise, you were sure, you would fully lost yourself to the stream of pleasure. Phoenix whispering your praises and Bob encouraging you to keep eating her out and pumping your fingers in and out of her, had you clenching around his in your core. The tingling started in your toes and you hadn’t realized, you were curling them up until pleasure shot up your legs and spine to flare out through the rest of your body. Just as Phoenix sighed your name with a satisfied smile on her lips and her thighs clamped down over your ears, muffling any other sounds.

You came up, gasping for air, just as you could feel Bob nudge the head of his thick cock against your entrance. Phoenix drew you up and towards her to press her lips against yours in a kiss of gratitude. You gasped against her as Bob slowly pushed inside of you. One of his big hands was gently rubbing circles on your back, Phoenix reached down to your breasts. She grinned against your lips, you’d almost call it a smirk if you weren’t so lost in the way Bob’s cock was stretching you. Then, Phoenix took one of your lips between her fingers, only rolling it gently at first, before she gave it a quick, sharp twist. Something between a gasp and a moan escaped your mouth and you felt her chuckle more than you heard her. Your own heartbeat was too loud in your ears.

Bob quickly set a delicious pace of quick thrusts, never fully pulling out of your pussy or lifting his chest off your back. You faintly heard him groan against your ear, felt his breath leave his mouth in short pants against your skin. “Fuck, Y/N. You feel fucking heavenly. Takin’ me so well.”

“Faster, please. N-need you to go faster.” You had no idea how you’d managed to get the words out, let alone string together two whole sentences in the same instance. Your heart was pounding in your chest, hammering so hard against your ribcage, you thought, it was either going to burst or break through your ribs. Bob complied, moaning loudly as he felt your walls clench in response.

“I know, you’re close, darlin’. Come on. Be a good girl and come on my cock.” You maned at his words. But when you felt Phoenix shift slightly underneath you, then her fingers rubbing tight circles against your clit, you couldn’t hold back the scream any longer. Pleasure erupted inside you, the coil that had tightened in your belly finally snapping. You faintly heard Bob ask, if he could come inside you and you don’t know how you’d responded with a “Yes” loud enough for him to hear. He groaned, before mouthing at your neck and shoulder as his perfect rhythm faltered and his lips ultimately stilled inside you.

The two of you practically collapsed on top of Phoenix, your legs and arms no longer able to support both your weight as you desperately sucked air into your lungs. You heard her giggle underneath you and felt your lips stretch into a tired, fucked-out smile.

“That was…incredible.”

“Agreed. Now, let’s get ourselves cleaned up and cozy, shall we?” Phoenix asked. Bob only mumbled something you couldn’t quite understand beyond the ringing in your ears finally, slowly, subsiding.

You felt him pull out and whined at the sudden feeling of emptiness, your own limbs too heavy with exhaustion and the afterglow of pleasure to keep him on top of you. You had no idea how you formed the words leaving your lips next. “Can we…do this again, sometime?”

And you barely caught their affirmative responses as you tried your hardest not to drift off to sleep already. Damn it, Mickey had been right. This had been fun. And you never would have guessed, his invitation to stay with him for a couple days ever leading to anything like this. But you also weren’t about to complain. No, never that. Meeting Bob and Phoenix had been a godsent and you hoped, you could hold onto them in the future.

[idk6123]

The Perfect Student & The Delinquent (Mickey Milkovich X Male Reader)

Mickey never have been one for doing homework, or just doing anything school related at all. Some people call him stupid because of that, but he just doesn’t care. He knows how to make money and that is enough for him. He’s done with school, but school isn’t done with him. And this is school we’re talking about; they’re going to bother him about it by shoving the responsibility to someone else.

That’s when Y/N appears, one of the best students in the school. Mickey knew him. He’s a quiet kid. He didn’t find him annoying enough to beat him up, or rich enough to steal from. Thus, they never interact. However, that all starts one day, when the school hold Y/N responsible for getting Mickey’s grade up. Feeling screwed, he’s going to help Mickey without having much motivation.

“How the fuck should I suppose to know how algebra works!?”

“Maybe you know when you come to fucking class!”

“Maybe if you cut some class, you realize that’s the best way to not get your ass kicked!”

That’s when Y/N hold Mickey in a position that the punk can’t counterattack. Feeling his face against the floor, he looks at the side of eyes and look up to see Y/N, sitting on his body.

“You look like you want to fuck me.”

“Yeah, fuck you over if you don’t shut the fuck up and do your homework.”

To be honest, Mickey is quite surprised that Y/N isn’t the quiet kid he expected him to be. He thought the top student was some shy, timid guy that only wants to do homework, not a martial artist that has no time for bullshit.

“So, you want to lie down while I’m on top off you, or do you want to do something useful?”

Mickey scoffs. “Fine. Get your fat ass off me.”

“At least I got a nice ass.”

They sit down again at the couch and recontinue Mickey’s homework. As Y/N guides him, he notices how much Mickey is struggling with math, causing some frustration. Even after math, Mickey is struggling with almost every subject. English, chemistry, biology, you name it. Y/N bets the only class he can do is PE.

As Mickey continues to struggle on the task, Y/N can tell he’s going to burst out in anger anytime soon. “Let’s take a break.” Mickey looks back, staying quiet. “Got somethin’ to drink?”

“Beer is in the fridge.” Mickey answers. Y/N stands up and heads to the kitchen. “Grab one for me.”

Y/N does that, bringing back two beers. He hands one over to Mickey. After they pop off the caps, they both take a sip at the same time.

“Are you some masochist for doing this shit?”

“Nope. Just someone who hopes for a big job and get rich.” Y/N responds. “Get in a good college first though. You?”

“I just steal the money. We should stay in contact, just in case you get rich.”

Y/N chuckles. “Any chance you get any money from me if you’re either my husband or my sugar baby.”

“That’s a hard pass.”

For the rest of the day, after having their break, Y/N helped Mickey, tutoring him in about every subject. That being said, it doesn’t look bright.

-

It’s another day where Y/N helps Mickey. The straight A student made sure to reflect why Mickey isn’t doing well, not wanting to write it off with him just being dumb. Thus, after changing the homework just a bit, he manages to do something that may help Mickey.

“’In a week, your crew makes these many drug deals: 7, 5, 8, 6, 9, 4, 10. What's the median number of deals?’” This is the first question Mickey read, only thinking what happened to his homework. “What the hell is this?”

“I’m helping you. Now you can use math in your future business.” Y/N responds. “Now, try to figure it out.”

Mickey then looks back at the paper. For whatever reason, he appears he knows what he’s actually doing. He doesn’t look confused, instead he looks focused. “7 deals.”

“Right!” Y/N is happy Mickey finally got something right. “Now to the next.”

“’You got two weapons suppliers. One brings you 2x units and the other brings 3x units. If x is 5, how many total units you got?’” Mickey looks back at his tutor. “25 units.”

“Holy-” Y/N is surprised how well things are going. “Write down the solution.” Without any fuss, Mickey writes down the solution. Afterwards, he gives the paper back at Y/N. “Correct.”

Mickey smirks, grabbing the paper back. “And here people thought I was some dumbass.”

“Well, you proved them wrong.”

-

Now that every question is changed into a language into something Mickey comprehends, the speed of doing his homework changed from an entire day into 2 hours, with most of the time the questions correctly answered.

“’If you take a hit and your arm’s bleeding, which system in your body rushes to patch up the hole?’ The circulatory system.”

“’You got a new batch of goods, and you see the demand go up. If you usually move 50 units at $20 each, but now you can push 70 units at the same price, what’s the total revenue now?’ $1400.”

“If you're 'running' from the police, how do you say, 'we run' in Spanish?”

"Nosotros corremos"

Times passes quickly as Mickey completes his homework. After doing so, Y/N is wondering what kind of grade he gets. And it turns out he managed to get a…

“B+!”

Mickey looks surprised. “In total?”

“Yeah.” Y/N looks happy for his classmate. “You did great. Now you have to rely on regular questions, or you have to use your fantasy to turn it in something fun.”

“Do the second one.” Mickey answers. “To be honest, I’m surprised school can help me in my future.”

“The future full of crime.”

“Yep, and I give all the credit to you, not those assholes.” Mickey refers to the teachers without shame.

Y/N smirks. “They really are assholes. They black mailed me to tutor you, y’know?”

“They did?” Mickey is surprised, thinking it’s ridiculous. “Fucking bastards…” He then thought of something. “We should get revenge.”

“Whaddaya mean? You talking about a school shootin’ or somethin’?”

“No, just destroying the principal’s office. And for good sake, his car.”

Y/N thought about it, not declining the idea at first, causing Mickey to smile with glee. Feeling like he wants to bite back, the usually good student caves in. “Only after you ace your tests.”

Mickey offers a fist-Bumb, which Y/N accepts. “Deal.”

-

Y/N awaits outside of the classroom, wanting to see Mickey after finishing his last test. As Y/N daydream off, his eyes suddenly went wide awake when Mickey gets out of the classroom with a smirk on his face.

“And?”

“Not a problem.”

“Nice.” Y/N offers a high-five, which Mickey accepts.

“Now it’s for me to help your ass.” Mickey gestures his friend to follow him. They get to his locker, where Y/N sees multiple tools of destructions in the locker. “You’re backing down?”

Y/N grabs a hammer, checking it out. “Nah, they need to learn to not mess with me.”

Mickey looks proud. “Glad you’re not a pussy.”

After gathering their equipment, they get to the principal office. They see it’s empty, though locked. Using his lock-picks, Mickey opens the door, causing them to get access in the office. They look around, with Mickey looking back at his new delinquent friend.

“Want to do the first honour?”

Y/N holds the hammer tighter, with his eyes locking on the pc. With a heavy slam, the computer receives a massive hole, following up with another slam and another one. That’s when Y/N grabs what remained and throws it aside to stomp on it.

“There you go!” Mickey looks excited. He then gets to the desk, where he takes out all of the drawers to throw it away. “Let’s go wild!”

Chaos enfolds the entire room, as the two delinquents destroy the entire office. The shelves broken on the floor. All the files ruined and ripped apart. The chair being thorn into two. They even tagged the wall with a penis.

“You have a talent for making very gorgeous dicks.”

Mickey chuckles. “Naturally born talent.” He looks back at his friend. “And now we have made our territory.”

“Like a dog?”

“Yep.” Mickey hands move to his pants to unbuckle. He notices Y/N just standing. “You’re not joining?”

“I just think we should aim higher.”

“Like a shit?”

“No.” Y/N looks back at the desk. “Think anyone ever cummed on the desk?”

Mickey stops what he’s doing and looks back. “You want to fuck on the desk?”

“I don’t mean together.” Y/N clarifies himself, thinking Mickey is straight. “We could have turns jerking off.”

Mickey then just smirks. “Not the best time wise. It’s better we do it at once.”

“Huh?”

That’s when Mickey gets to Y/N to ambush him with a kiss, though surprised for a second, he quickly kisses back. The two guys quickly move to the table, where both guys begin undressing each other to take the ultimate insult.

-

“I think we’ve done enough orgies.”

“When is enough enough?” Mickey responds back.

They just stole the principle’s car and park it somewhere isolated, where Y/N and Mickey send another message from inside the car, multiple times.

Both guys are sitting in the front seat, where they chat as they’re covered in each other’s clothing.

“Well, I’m tired.”

“Of sex?”

“Yeah, l like it more dispersed.” Y/N grabs his boxers and put them on. “You’re one freaky shit to be able to have sex so many rounds.”

“Thanks.” Mickey merely responds. “There is more where that came from.”

Y/N hums. He grabs his t-shirt to put it on. As he does, he looks back at the guy next to him. “You’re staying naked?”

“I’m still up for one more round.”

“You really are a degenerate.” Y/N chuckles. “Well, the longer we stay here, the quicker the principle notices his car gone missing and the cops to find us.”

Mickey hums and think about it. “Right, I can’t really afford that.” That’s when he starts dressing up too.

“We can always do it another time.”

Mickey looks back to see a smirking man, giving him a smirk back. “I like the sound of that.”

-

“Got a B for math.” Mickey announces when Y/N walked in his house.

“Nice going.” Y/N looks proud. “And nice for me for being such a good and perfect teacher.”

“I wanna make a remark but consider the rest of my grades are all great, I let it pass.” Mickey goes to the fridge to grab a beer for him and Y/N. “Did you hear about principle shitface?”

Y/N smirks. “What about him?”

Mickey goes back to Y/N to hand over a beer. “Wasn’t too fond to discover cum on his desk, as well in his car.”

“Nice.” Y/N laughs. He put up his beer. “Fuck the principle!”

“Fuck the principle!”

Mickey and Y/N both cheer, celebrating their victorious, whether it’s from Mickey getting good grades, or Y/N standing up for himself, or their new find friendship that will turn into something more.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"The Best Gift He Can Give." Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Reader.

Okay, so the amazing and fantastic @mrsaltieri-real had a birthday a while ago, and I wrote this as a gift. I edited it to make it reader insert friendly and now I am sharing it with all of you! I hope you all enjoy it.

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 5.4K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Your Boyfriend David Fucking Sucks. Your Boyfriend Cheats On You. Apologies To Dudes Named David Who Don't Suck. Stalking. Breaking And Entering. Murder. Blood. Gore. Violence. Making Out. Grinding. Vaginal Fingering. Eating Out. Eating Ass. Hair Pulling. Spanking. Praise. Degredation. Rimming. Vaginal Sex. Cream Pie. Confessions Of Feelings.

---

There are people in this world who do not deserve anything. They don’t deserve kindness, or understanding, they don’t deserve friends, they don’t even deserve to breathe. One such asshole was your boyfriend, David. You don’t even know why he is your boyfriend, honestly you’ve had friends ask, and you are never sure much what to say. He treats you terribly, he is mean to you, rude, constantly picks fights, and it isn’t like you can say, “Well at least the sex is good-”

Because it is very much not. You’d been together for four years, and it had never been good.

Mickey didn’t know about that, though. All he knew to start is that you were cute, and he liked how you looked, the rest started to become revealed to him through watching you over time. He remembers the first afternoon he started to pick up on that very clearly. He was in the library, one table over, trying to do some actual work, sure he wasn’t paying for his degree, but he couldn’t exactly flunk out either, and he overheard an interaction, “Do you have to turn your pages so loud?”

Your head snaps up, looking over to him, Mickey’s own eyes flick up, but his head doesn’t raise, brows furrow in question mirroring yours as you ask, “Excuse me?”

“You are turning the pages of your book really loudly-” He drew out your name, focused on it, and that made your expression turn from somewhat annoyed confusion to outright disgust, a roll of your eyes. “Fuck off David.” 

His tone made Mickey’s skin crawl, “Sooo mature, this is a library, can’t you keep it down and show some class?” 

Mickey had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping, who the fuck was this guy, and why was he so comfortable talking to you like that? He thought boyfriends were supposed to be fucking nice to their girlfriends, and here he was treating you like he hated you, as if you were shit on the bottom of his shoe.

That was not the only time he saw you being treated so shamefully by David, either. Seems whenever he overheard, walked by, you were being talked down to by him or already mid-fight. 

Worse still he would complain about what you wore deriding any skin you wanted to show, and what you were into, he’d overheard him belittling your love of movies too. “How the fuck can you do that shit?”

“Do what shit, David?” You sighed, and he asked, “What the same fucking movies over and over, don’t you ever get bored?”

Your reply comes out almost bored, edging on annoyed, “Those same movies over and over are definitely more interesting than talking to you so-” 

“Woooow, is that any way to talk to me?” He’d ask, and Mickey would think to himself that you should treat him a Hell of a lot worse for how he acts.

You and Mickey had been friends in secret for a while, it had been a very quiet affair, mostly because David would be threatened and jealous, something that bugged Mickey, but he was just glad for the time spent with you and to get to know you. Small moments carved out whenever that prick wasn’t around became absurdly meaningful. 

One day he found you alone on a park bench on campus and seemingly very upset, he couldn’t leave you like that, your boyfriend isn’t around and so he comes forward until he is close enough to ask, “Hey uh, you good?”

Head raises, and you sniff, hands rushing to wipe at your nose and mouth, you nod shakily, mouth dry as you say, “Yeah, totally, so, so good.” 

He lets himself smile this kind of sad smile as he sits down beside you, humming out, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Leave it alone.” You sigh, and he presses, “No way, there has to be a reason you’re this upset and I wanna know.” 

You slump back further into the bench, averting your gaze as you confess, “You caught me, M’ not good at all. I just found out that my boyfriend fucking cheated on me.” 

Immediate anger flares as does genuine concern for you, both emotions taking hold makes his eyebrows raise and his hand reach out to touch your elbow, your attention snaps back to him. Your eyes meet, and he says, “You can talk to me.”

“What is there to talk about?” It’s said very quietly, and his grip on you tightens by a fraction as he encourages, “Plenty. It isn’t healthy to keep this shit bottled up, what he did was fucked, talk to me about it.” 

You haven’t opened up in such a long time but right now, something in his eyes beckons you and the urge overtakes, you feel safe and think, maybe you should open up. Your stomach is churning, and you think, what harm could it do? You start to tell him, a verbal torrent that once it began it was impossible to stop, as you vent about David and the series of horrible things he had put you through in your relationship. He listens, and only when you stop for breath does he say, “You don’t deserve to be treated like this, you could do so much better than an asshole like him.”

A small shrug as you brush him off, “It’s easier to stay in this relationship because it’s all I’ve ever known. Even if I broke things off with him, he’d never really let me go.”

“What do you mean he wouldn’t let you go?” His question isn’t entirely unexpected, but you still struggle for a moment to respond, “I dunno, I just…I know he would put up a massive fight, and I couldn’t ever just make a clean break. He wouldn’t let that happen.” 

He licks his lips tentatively, an almost nervous action, “He…He doesn’t own you. Hon, you know that, right?”

You looked over at Mickey and said quietly, unconvincingly, “I know that.” 

He wasn’t sold. He hated the look in your eyes right now. Not only that, but he tried to break the tension and asked, “Is the sex that good or-?”

You laughed, head tipping back, genuine smile crossing your face, you shake your head as you catch your breath and tell him, “God no, it’s terrible! So vanilla, nothing but missionary, he never even eats me out.” You exhale and expound further, “He expects me to blow him too.” 

“Fuck off no way.” His reaction pulled another laugh out of you, and he insists, “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.” You sighed. He speaks with conviction, anger but not at you, never at you, more frustration at your situation and how you seemingly have just accepted it. “Why the fuck do you put up with this asshole? Seems like you are doing all the giving with no take.” 

A shrug as you tell him, refusing to look at him any longer, “I’ve grown used to it, it’s been just so long of the same thing, you know?” 

That was fucking bullshit. Sunk cost fallacy much? Clearly you were never going to get out from under this jerk’s thumb on your own, so he was going to do something about this. It would take some work, but you were more than worth it. He started to stalk him, determined to get real dirt on him, he learns his routine and becomes far too acquainted with even the most basic and mundane things about your boyfriend. 

It doesn’t take him long, around a month in is when Mickey catches David in the act of cheating, he was fucking some girl from his film class. 

It was infuriating! Here he has you, a total fucking catch, and he doesn’t appreciate you, mistreats you, and cheats on you on top of all that. What a complete piece of fucking trash. 

He has every intention of telling you when he has the adequate proof-

Wait.

What if he tells you and you still stay? You seemed so downtrodden, what if not even this is enough to convince you to leave? Fuck, that would be terrible, but he couldn’t let that hold him back. 

He just needed to stay on task, stay focused, and this could work out. He clung closer, tried to be around you more and provide more support, but that, as it turns out, only made it harder. Having to be confronted so frequently with the damage he was doing to you, how sad you were, it made him hurt in kind. He really fucking cared about you.

On top of all of this, his presence is apparently putting more pressure on your relationship. He comes across you and David having a loud and public altercation a few days later, as he gets closer he realizes it is about him. 

“You can’t tell me what to do!” You insist, and David bites back, “Oh, can’t I?”

“No! You can’t! What is the problem anyway?” You try to implore, and he isn’t having it, “I don’t like him! No, scratch that, I fucking hate him. You shouldn’t be talking to any guy, I don’t want you to even look in his direction-”

“You are so ridiculous-” 

He can’t stay. He can’t listen to this. Furthermore, he can’t stand idly by any longer. He is going to do something about this. 

Breaking into David’s place was easy, taking his time is what was difficult. He eases into his bedroom, costume on, knife already in his hand, and comes up to the bed. You were back at your own place, far away and hopefully peacefully sleeping, blissfully unaware of just what he was about to do for you, of the devotion he has and was about to display. 

He wanted to spit in the fucker’s face for what he did to you, more than that he wanted to main and mutilate him, wanted to inflict as much physical pain onto him as he inflicted mental pain onto you. He reached down, he ripped the blanket back, and with one smooth motion he stabbed the sharp blade into David’s stomach. 

The reaction was immediate, his eyes snapping open, mouth open in a soundless scream as it seems all the air leaves him, hands flying to his stomach trying to clutch at the blade but stopping short, afraid to touch the intrusion. He ripped the knife out and then stabbed it back in, immediately. He twists, David inhaled as much as he could but then breathed out, hiccuping on the air, it becomes a complete bloodbath. Mickey cuts, he stabs, he hurts him as he can’t hold back, and David chokes out, “Why?”

Mickey laughs, this cold and calculating kind of laugh before he takes the mask off, and then he starts to talk, “You are a pathetic excuse for a man, a worthless piece of trash-” 

The knife is ripped out and brought back down harder than before, the steel scrapes bone, and he sobs, “-you don’t deserve someone like her, you know that, right? You’ve been mistreating her for way too long.”

The metal wrenched free and then drove deeply inward again, the next sound of pain is a short gasp, Mickey tells him further, “That is why I am doing this, I am going to step in and take over.” 

David looked so pitiful, tears down his cheek, bloodstained and movements slowing, weakening. Mickey leaned down and told him lowly,“I’m going to make her feel so, SO much better than you ever did.” 

He is unrecognizable. Organs are laying all around him, cuts on his face making it, so his identity is basically gone, partially skinned in places. He wished he could have taken the time to skin him alive, fillet him like a fucking fish, but even that would be too good for him. He is sure that he has drained him of about half of his blood, the mattress is soaked, heavy and thick, there is a squelching sound when Mickey gets off the bed. The blood has soaked through the robe, it is staining his shirt and jeans he is positive of it, the handle of the knife is slick, he can feel coagulated blood that has gathered between his fingers, the clots are slippery and almost black.

There is one place he wants to be and it’s with you.

He goes to your place. 

It is obscenely late when you open the door, you are in your pyjamas, you look fucking gorgeous to him. 

“Mickey?” You rub over your eyes, suppressing a yawn, you ask, “What are you doing here?”

He pushes past you, comes inside as he starts to talk, “I had to come see you, I just did something amazing tonight-”

You close the door, he is talking quickly, a mile a minute, excited, manic. “I was thinking about what told me about David and I just got so fucking inspired, you know? So I decided I just had to do it, so I did but, darling, you need to tell me, what else didn’t he do for you?”

“What he didn’t do?” You repeat, softer, confused, and he nods, brows raised and eyes alight, mischievous, “Yes, tell me all the things he doesn’t do for you.”

It is then that you take him in awake enough to register, and notice what he is wearing. A black robe, almost plastered to his body, your eyes flit downwards, and you see that it’s shiny in a particular way that tattles on it being wet, but wet with what? Eyes catch red droplets on the ground coming off of the frayed edged of the black fabric, your gaze shoots back up. You smell the iron, and you see the small flecks of red on his face, and so the question tumbles out, “What is with the robe and is that fucking blood?”

This half smile on his face and a cock of his head as he tells you as if it couldn’t be more obvious, “I just killed David. For you sweetheart.”

You don’t feel angry or upset, to your complete surprise, you feel an insane and immense sense of relief that David is gone. You no longer have to put up with him. 

A sharp inhale as the feeling sinks in, you let it wash over you, not fighting it, letting it soak into your bones. Another question spills out as you ask, “What did you do to him?”

His grin is so wide you worry it hurts his face. 

“I snuck into his apartment, broke in with no issue, I crept into his bedroom and I stabbed a knife-” He brought one foot up, boot rested on the chair at your desk, hauling up the robe, careful not to get blood on more than he had already his hand grasps the hand of the knife. He unsheathes it from the holster that was strapped to his leg, his foot comes back down, he is holding the knife up, you can see the dried blood all over the blade and his hand, he continues to expound, “-this knife, into his stomach.”

He mimics the motion, smile still pulling his features tight, “He gasped and struggled, it was pathetic. I ran him through over and over, the sound was wet, the blood gushed.” 

A sigh crosses his lips, he is looking down at the blade, turning it over in his hands. You, too, are fixated on the glinting metal as it moves from one hand to the next. He keeps talking. “You’d think sound would be a concern. That he’d be screaming his fucking head off, right?”

You look up, he is staring at your face, expectant, you respond to the question, a shaky nod. He continues on, a point of his knife, “Wrong. When you stab someone right, it sucks all the air out of their lungs.” The images his is giving fills your head, of David lying there, bleeding and as Mickey put it, pathetic. He is still expounding. “I was relentless, kept stabbing him, he had no chance to catch his breath. You can’t scream if you can’t breathe.”

You listen enthralled as he describes how he cut flesh from bone, how chunks fell away, digging fingers into open wounds, manually separating cartilage and skin and muscle apart just because he could. He speaks of how much blood he drained and by the end of it you were breathing much harder as was he. Almost no space between the pair of you.

He is looking in your eyes, and he speaks, “I ask again, what did he never do for you?” 

You can’t help it, inquiring, “Why do you want to know so bad?” 

“Because sweetheart-” He sets the knife down on your desk, his hand reaches out to take yours, tacky with partially dried crimson, and he says, “-baby, darling, I want to make you feel all the things you’ve missed out on the past few years.” 

You are as explicit in describing what you’d been missing as he was when describing the violence he did to David. 

“He never made me cum with his mouth, his dick, not even his fingers. I haven’t felt a hot tongue on my clit in fucking years.” You start, a deep inhale before you force it out, speak in hushed tones, “He only ever fucked me in missionary, he never put a hand on my throat and choked me, never pulled my hair, he never praised me, fuck, Mick, he never even degraded me.”

You sigh now, “Never spanked me, never ate my ass, God do I want someone to eat my ass and above all else, he never overstimulated me-”

He cut you off. His mouth crashing into yours after far too long, he kisses you deeply, and you fall into it, into him. A moan into his mouth, hands reach out, fingers tangle in the sleeves, they feel damp, you flex your fingers, you squeeze, beads of blood squeeze through your fingers. Your tongue runs over his bottom lip, and you revel in the taste of him. Christ it was never like this with David, a simple kiss with Mickey was serving to do you in, the graze of his lips against yours, of his tongue brushing yours was sending sparks throughout you. 

Feet stumble back, you pull him with you, keep him near, unwilling to break the connection you’ve made and yet you do, a quiet mumbling of, “Get this fucking robe off-”, pulling on his sleeves for further emphasis. The contact is broken for him to listen and obey, he pulls the robe off and drops it onto the floor, the blood has soaked through to his t-shirt he was wearing, and again you are confronted with what he did. He killed David for you, the evidence of his care for you, of his total devotion is splattered all over him, plastering his shirt to him, soaked into thin fabric. 

This time, you are pulling him back to you, greedy and needy as you do so. Mouths meet again as you are moving backward, the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress, and you let yourself fall, tugging him down with you. 

His leg slots between yours as his lips descend on yours again, you sink further into the mattress as he, in turn, sinks into you, melting into the contact, his leg presses closer, knee is tighter to you and that makes you inhale sharply. That sets something off in him. 

One of his hands moves, threads in your hair, and he tugs, it forcefully breaks the kiss and pulls a moan from you at the delicious rush of pain. His mouth moves, presses over your jaw, down your throat, and he makes your hips move on their own, grinding against him, desperate for more already. A squirm of your hips as you drag your clothed slit against his solid thigh, and the wash of pleasure makes you have to suppress a shudder, a whining moan held back as well as you bite your bottom lip. 

He notices immediately, pulling back from your neck, another tug of your hair, and he makes you look at him, “None of that shit, I don’t fucking care how late it is, I don’t care if every son of a bitch on this entire floor files a noise complaint, I want to hear you, no holding back.”

You are stunned, speechless, your hips shift, and you are drenched, underwear plastered to you and one of his hands locks onto your throat, he squeezes and says, “I’m not hearing you say yes.” 

You just cannot believe everything you’ve ever wanted has fallen into your lap, you choke out, “Yes, yes, please, fucking yes-”

He shuts you up with another kiss and that is how things seriously escalate, both of you rushing to undress each other. You hadn’t been wearing much to sleep, the tank top and shorts were removed, his shirt and shoes are off now, and he stops. You are looking up at him, admiring him the same way he is you, even with almost all his clothing removed there is still the mark of the crime he committed, blood left on his torso after leaking through his shirt, splatters on his arms, the small flecks on his face. He is looking at you like you are a full meal with nothing more in his way than damp lace, “Fucking Christ-”

He sighs, his fingers trace the curve of your breast before he fully takes it in his hand, he looks helpless in regard to what he wants to do, he follows the impulse, he leans down, and his mouth latches onto one of your nipples. His tongue circles and you sigh, arching up into him. 

His teeth graze as one of his hands slips between your thighs, he only gets one pass of his fingers over the wet material before he decides that isn’t good enough. Fingers hook in the thin garment, and he pulls, he hopes you didn’t give a shit about them because he cannot be bothered to remove them properly, he pulls until it rips and throws it aside. No chance of you complaining because his fingers are on you, strong digits press to you bare for the first time. 

Your eyes roll back with a soft, “Oh my fucking God-” which Mickey absolutely eats up as he starts to move, fingers trace slowly, dipping low, catching some mess and dragging it up, using it as lube to rub your clit. 

The increase in pleasure was immediate, your body slowly starts to tense as the feeling digs into your bones, you fully give in to what he is doing to you. 

“Do you know how much I’ve poured over this?” He asks, and you say quietly, “No.” 

“So many nights.” He confesses, his fingers pick up the pace, tight circles rubbed, and he tells you more, “I’d think about this, about having you under me, about doing-” Two fingers ease inside of you, and he moans like it’s his pleasure, breathing out, “-this.” 

“You feel better than I ever thought you could, so fucking wet, so soft.” He groans, and you arch closer, his palm presses nearer, he moves and works with you, fingers curling into that sweet spot and hand grinding over your clit. You listen, and you feel, minutes later, very quickly between his hushed words and expert touch you are shivering and telling him, “M’ close Mickey-” 

“Fuck yes, do it.” The firm command makes it impossible to stop, you tip over and cum. It feels phenomenal, it’s been ages since anyone has done this, showed this level of care and investment in your enjoyment. He doesn’t relent, keeps his pace steady and consistent, and draws out every bit of feeling he can from your high. 

He doesn’t let you rest, your body sinks back into the mattress, you are panting, and he slides his fingers out of you and right into his mouth. Not only that, but he tastes you for the first time and moans from the salt and tang of you coating his tongue. 

“You taste better than anything I’ve ever put in my mouth.” He slips down your body, drags of his lips lighting further fire in you until he settles between your thighs, his mouth latches onto your still very sensitive clit and your thighs clamp around his head immediately. Your hand shoots down, fingers in his stupidly attractive hair, and you moan loudly, just as he wants you to. 

He was ravenously hungry but still taking his time with this, he forces himself to slow down just a touch, he knows you haven’t had this in years thanks to that douchebag of an ex-boyfriend. He laps at your leaking slit, from hole all the way up to your throbbing clit, he swirls his tongue around the boarders once, twice, three times before passing over it again, making you gasp out his name. 

Mickey luxuriates in the act and does his best to ensure that you do as well, sucks with purpose and is quickly rocketing you to another orgasm, you can barely string together a sentence to warn him of that, but he knows, fingers twist further in his hair, and you pull with a cry of his name, in another two short minutes you are cumming again, it’s stronger than the first, you are louder than you were last time, but he continues. He doesn’t stop on your come down, he just slows, goes lighter, his licks are running up the length of you, between your lips and on top of your twitching bud, over and over, methodical, and you can’t stop shaking. 

Somehow through the haze of pleasure you manage to speak, calling out to him, “Mi-Mickey, oh my fucking God-”

He lifts his mouth, you expect him to give you a breather or to give some pithy response that will turn you on further and make you leak more, but instead his hands are on your hips, he tilts them up and his tongue dives lower. His tongue circles over your asshole, and you actually sob, shocked and broken from the sudden stab of ecstasy that hits your gut, your hand leaving his hair, instead gripping at the sheets. You can’t stop from squirming, which makes his job harder, you hear something that sounds akin to a mildly annoyed growl. 

One of his hands lifts off your hip, and he lands a firm smack on your ass as he grits out, “Stop squirming so much babe, let me make you feel good.” 

He gets back to it and your head is thrown back against the pillows, you try, you really do, but his tongue flicks just so and your body bucks. He instead flips you over onto your stomach roughly manhandling you, one hand pulling your hips up, and he dives back in tongue first. He eats your ass with passionate fervour, whenever you buck too much he reminds you to behave with another hit to your ass cheek. His hand that wasn’t on your hip slides under, and he circles your clit with fast and clever fingers. 

The sharp slaps of pain and combined with him being tongue deep in your ass and rubbing your clit makes you cum embarrassingly fast yet again and harder still, legs trembling so much you almost fall on your face, with an ample gush onto his chin while sobbing his name into the pillow.  

When you stopped shaking he came up, another smack to your ass, his chest to your back as he leans down and praises right in your ear, “Oh good fucking girl.”

You start to babble out into the damp pillowcase, “Mi-Mickey, ‘lease, fuck me, need you-”

He hums, and you hear his belt open, finally getting his pants open, he inhales sharply in relief, the pressure easing from him opening his pants. The rest of his clothes are discarded, and he pauses. His hand on your sore ass, right on the spot he kept hitting over and over, his thumb traces down, spreading your lips, over your hole, and he sighs, “I have been dying to get inside this cunt.”

He lines up, he pushes his hips forward and sinks deep inside you, in one swift and smooth motion. The moan you share is like music, beautiful, melodic, passionate collaboration. His hand goes into your hair, he fucks you like that, face down ass up, he starts a quick pace initially, rough, needy and you love it. His body is covering yours as he breathes into your ear, “You feel incredible, oh my God-” His head tips back with a loud moan, he drives into you over and over, “-fucking stunning too, you are so gorgeous.” 

It has been entirely too long since you’ve been fucked in any position other than missionary. The sensation, his weight on your back, the sound of skin on skin, his breath in your ear, it’s fucking perfection. You rock back with him, meet him in the middle, you were giving back, showing just how desperately you want him in kind makes Mickey let out this sound, caught between a groan and something more possessive, not explicitly words, but it hits you low in your gut. 

He starts to slow down, takes a little more time, and you are moaning louder and louder, you are so worked up, so sensitive, you feel alive and electric. On one level it feels like you can feel every ridge and vein of him and on another like you can’t determine up from down, completely drunk on feeling. 

You completely lose track of how many times you get off that night, the pace will switch on a whim, from hard pounding and him calling you every name in the book to more easy and sensual, a writhing joint movement instead of an aggressive pounding. 

You ride him, grind one out on top of him while he cradles your breasts, thumbs passing over your nipples as he calls you a beautiful fucked out angel. 

He fucks you spooning, hand around you and between your thighs, strumming your clit with one hand, the other locked on your throat as he is fucking in and out.

The only thing that seems to make it stop is you literally sobbing for it to. Your cheeks are wet, you are babbling his name and the word stop, you have one leg over his shoulder and the other is pinned down near your knee by him. His stamina was impressive, he’d already cum once when you were riding him, had filled you up, but instead of that stopping it, he just flipped you over, still hard, and kept fucking going, his own cum providing even more lube.

That was a while ago, you could tell that he was near again, sweat down the side of his face, movements of his hips sloppy, panting your name over and over. You know you can’t again, you are too fried, too overstimulated and finally, just as the soreness is starting to teeter on the other side of being more unpleasant and painful than pleasurable he holds deep and cums again. 

You feel totally boneless, your arms feel heavy as you wrap them around him loosely, his head dips down and rests on your shoulder, you are just trying to catch your breath.

He gets his back faster than you. 

He is still inside of you when he comes back up, fingers push some of your hair aside as he looks down into your eyes. Your chest is still rising and falling rapidly as he confesses, for what must be the third time tonight, telling you, “I fucking care about you.”

A strong belief that is nothing but the truth hits, “You deserve way better than him, I wish I could have met you sooner so you could have had those years back of someone who actually gives a shit about you instead of that asshole.” 

You want this, want him, damned what that says about you or your morals, you don’t care as you tell him, “Fuck that selfish cunt, forget about him, let’s just make up for lost time.” 

He has every intention of doing just that.

[leikeliscomet]

“But We Love Martha Jones!” - The Doctor Who Fandom’s Selective Memory of Racism

Be aware that this article contains explicit examples of anti-black racism and misogynoir.

Chapter 2 - Utopia-ish

The constant nitpicking of Martha Jones for reasons white female companions could get away with was blatant anti-black racism. Let’s get that bit clear first and foremost. As a Black person in fandom, watching Black characters get torn apart while never being given the grace of their non-Black castmates is an experience that’s too common. Microaggressions are more subtle so the easiest way to shut down any mentions of racism is to accuse Black fans of making things up or telling us “Well it’s not like REAL racism”. Luckily Doctor Who Tumblr birthed the Martha Jones affirmative action and Aunt Jemima “memes” so I can cross both covert and overt racism off the list. As mentioned in extensive detail in the previous chapter, plus the various Martha Jones articles written before me, the treatment Martha experienced was racist. I don’t care if you personally didn’t like her. I don’t care that you missed Rose. I don’t care that Ten is your smol bean. Martha’s treatment was racist. Freema Agyeman’s treatment was racist. It might not have been everyone. It might not have been you personally. But it was there. The fandom can never be a safe space for POC, specifically Black people if this elephant in the room can’t be addressed over a decade after it arrived.

On paper, you’d assume Martha’s rep was good because “at least she wasn’t a Black stereotype”. Some fans praised her for having a present father, not speaking MLE and not being from the ends. This goes into respectability politics but the fandom’s weirdness about Black Brits and class is not the point of this article. The point is the revisionist history of how Martha was really treated and to do that it helps to know what Black tropes are. The Mammy trope is a Black woman whose main purpose is to serve her white counterparts and during slavery, she mainly cared for the slave owners' children. She is usually fat, dark skin and asexual, not as a representation of those things but as a statement of how if she isn’t used for sexual exploitation like the Jezebel (the promiscuous, reckless, sexualised Black woman), she has no sexual value at all. Her value is serving the needs of others only. Martha doesn’t fit this trope in theory but in practice, she fulfils the sub-categories of this trope both in show and fandom: the disposable Black (girl)friend trope. She is used as Ten’s emotional punching bag before he’s ready for Donna and then Rose again. She had to endure edgy moody S3 Ten so no one else had to. She’s the excuse people use to deflect any critical analysis of how race was handled in RTD1. She’s the fandom’s excuse to deflect from their own racial biases. Racism? No way! Everybody loves Martha Jones! What do you mean?

Some parts of the fandom have tried to mend things by suggesting Martha be paired with other doctors or romantically shipping her with other characters a bit better than Mickey Smith. But does this hold up? As much as I’m a big fan NineMartha as a concept and as someone who honestly saw one-off characters like Riley Vashtee from 42 or Tallulah from Daleks in Manhattan having way more romantic chemistry with Martha than Mickey ever did, simply re-shipping Martha isn’t enough. Doctor Who’s racism isn't exclusive to one doctor, one series or one era and new Martha pairings suggest the issue was “right person, wrong doctor” instead of what the issue actually was: racism. Moffat and Chibnall’s eras weren’t full of golden Black representation either so I doubt the Martha issue would’ve magically disappeared under those two. From Nine’s hostility to Mickey, to Twelve’s hostility to Danny Pink to Thirteen handing a South Asian Spymaster to the Nazis and Eleven only travelling with POC in comics most fans haven’t heard of and being besties with Churchill, simply putting Martha with another Doctor isn’t the serve fans think it is. Even RoseMartha seems like putting a bandaid on a bullet hole. If it's not enough for Martha to be compared to Rose, put down in favour of Rose, told she isn’t Rose and told she's worse than Rose in fandom and in show over and over and over, she has to be shipped with Rose too. Martha’s a great character… as long as you can tie her to Rose… again. Even in my own article I have to talk about Rose because Rose is centred in what was supposed to be Martha’s story. A doctor-to-be Black girl from London with a hectic family meets a Time Lord and gets abducted by space rhino police at work in one day. Her main conflict isn’t balancing work and time traveller life, or fighting to get her family back together, or seeing what’s out there in the universe - it's that she isn’t “Rose” enough. The Mammy and her sons’ main thing in common is simple; how well they serve and centre the white characters. In attempts to mend Martha’s treatment she is still only valued in relation to white characters. She should’ve been with Eleven because he would’ve fucked a Black woman. Or maybe Dilfy Twelve. Or a sapphic romance with another female companion who she saw twice or doesn’t actually know. Or maybe Ten in an alternate universe where he supports #nubianqueens. None of this is done to explore sexuality or romance with Black women and is definitely not to centre Black lesbianism and bisexuality. It’s Mammy with a dash of Jezebel. It's adding romantic and sexual value on top of physical and emotional value like a crappy meal deal.

I’m tired of Black women being treated as extensions of white women both in media and in real life. I’m tired of our value being determined by how well we serve white people emotionally, physically, platonically and sexually. And I'm even more tired of white feminism especially in this fandom. It would be so easy to label this article as anti-Rose, anti-Ten or anti-Tenrose to invalidate my whole racial analysis because it's the easy way out. I’ll admit I like both characters individually but not the ship but this isn’t something I decided on since birth - it's my conclusion as a Black fan in a predominantly white fandom, watching a predominantly white show, watching the first companion of my race be told she isn’t good enough compared to the white characters, and that the hatred of her is justified for the greater good of its popular white ship. Black fans can never have this conversation without being told we’re “pitting women against each other” and that Martha and Rose hugged once in S4 so everything's hunky dory. Martha’s happy that Ten found Rose again so what’s the problem? It sends a clear message that Black women’s pain will never matter a much as white women’s feelings. “Rose is amazing! Martha’s amazing! Stop pitting women against women!” but who was pit against who in the first place? These faux girl power posts fail to acknowledge the overlap of race and gender which separates the treatment of Black and white women. It fails to acknowledge Martha’s hate was rooted in anti-black racism. It fails to acknowledge the anti-Rose pushback was in response to how the show and fandom convinced us Rose was the untouchable bar this Black woman failed to meet. It fails to acknowledge Freema Agyeman the actress was targeted not just her character. It fails because the female empowerment rhetoric that leaves the Black ones at the bottom of the pile only “empowers” women of a certain demographic.

The harassment Martha experienced was swept under the rug of “stan wars” but it was so much deeper than that. I’m not saying Martha stans are angels but there was no “Great Stan War” because the sides were never even. At the end of the day no amount of “Martha’s better than Rose” tweets will ever compare to the fact that Martha hate was rooted in misogynoir. Rose was and still is considered the greatest companion of nuwho, whilst Martha is constantly erased and undervalued. Rose’s video views and hashtags have always been bigger than Martha’s. Amy and Clara came after Martha but still surpassed her in popularity and got plenty of fan edits of “The Girl Who Waited” and “The Impossible Girl” whilst Martha was conveniently skipped in the companion lineup. The fandom’s bias still shines clearly in favour of Rose over Martha. Rose’s jealousy towards other women is justifiable and just the ups and downs of a 19-year-old whilst Martha’s is entitled bitterness. Rose’s flaws are compelling character moments and depth, Martha’s are “holding her back from being a good companion”. Hell, even Donna calling out Ten’s BS was entertaining accountability whilst Martha was just the angry Black woman. Fans will weaponise Rose’s working-class roots to imply a pro-Martha bias, failing to acknowledge the working-class to poor background of the average Black Brit, the anti-blackness middle-class Black people are not spared from, the many working-class Black characters of the show like Mickey, Bill, Rigsy and Ryan or how most fans don’t consider Martha middle class because she doesn’t fit the white British cultural stereotypes. You can't be the most loved and hated at the same time. The hard truth is Billie Piper wasn’t racially abused by Martha stans but Freema was absolutely racially abused by Rose’s and the effects of this are still around. Go into Martha Jones tags today and you’ll see snarky posts of how Ten could never love another companion like Rose. Even when Freema bravely shared her experiences of literal racism, fans were quick to yell “But I wanted Ten and Rose though” as a justification for years of misogynoir. Again, we need to address the elephant in the room instead of covering our eyes and ears to act like it’s not there. A Black character and actress was collateral damage in order for a popular white ship to rise and whilst I’m not an anti, I as a Black Doctor Who fan, I’ll never be a supporter. At the end of the day, only one of these actresses is still carrying the burden of misogynoir over 10 years since RTD1 ended. A lonely walk across the Earth yet again.

<- Chapter 1 Chapter 3 ->

[janeyseymour]

La Cosa Nostra- pt 19

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10. Part 11. Part 12. Part 13. Part 14. Part 15. Part 16. Part 17. Part 18.

cowritten w @schemmentis

Summary: Those close to you face the fact that you aren't coming back.

WC: 1.2k

It takes time for you and the rest of your family to recover enough to flee. You remain tucked away in the hospital with a rotation of agents standing watch. Just in case anyone in the Family has figured out you've survived. You doubt they have. It was rare for a contracted hit to go wrong, and the truth is, you just got lucky. Very lucky.

Cat's condition remains touch and go. Both you and Melissa take turns being in her room with her once you're well enough to move. Which exacerbates the extreme pain you still each have but neither of you care. Not when it means you get to be there for your eldest twin. You speak softly to her every time, believing despite not seeing those little eyes open she can hear you and knows you're there. 

Despite the three of you slowly recovering; you only get some precious time spent together before being relegated back to individual rooms. Except, thankfully, Rosie is allowed to stay with either you or Melissa. You may be improving but when you aren't checking on Cat or soothing Rosie; you're sleeping. The pain is certainly better than when you first woke, and the hospital staff have assured you you're healing well. Still, it seems even the smallest things take all your energy.

While the four of you are recovering in the hallowed hallways of the hospital and deep enough that no one will ever know of your survival, news breaks that the Schemmenti family has been killed. 

Your mother breaks out into ugly and abrasive sobs while your father is numb to it- he doesn’t believe it. It takes him a week to finally come to terms with the fact that you, your wife, and your little girls are never coming back. 

Melissa’s family expects it, as much as they hate to admit it. Her family was more clued into the business that the two of you ran. Still, it crushes their hearts and souls- especially when they find out that the two little rays of sunshine that used to prance around during Sunday dinners were also murdered; that just wasn’t fair for them to not have a chance at life. Luca falls to his knees. The family assumes that it’s because he was always so close with Melissa, and he adored the girls more than anything. No one suspects that he was the contracted hit man.

Melissa’s mother makes the trek up to the prison where Mickey is and spreads the word to him. Your wife’s younger brother is destroyed by the news. He was so close to getting out and being able to spend time with the four of you out in the fresh (somewhat stale) air of Philadelphia. And now that’s been ripped away from him. He clings to his mother as she holds him close and curses the day that you all got involved with the mafia.

When word hits the Howards, Barbara’s knees buckle, and she lands in a heap on the church floor. Gerald has to pick her up and escort her out. It’s the one and only time Barbara Howard can’t make it through a sermon. 

The senator can’t believe it- he knows of your family to be so pure, and yet you were the victims of a crime. He too mourns your passing- only he does his mourning in silence while he holds his hysterical wife, as he curses his faith in his head. If God was so good, why did he take away the innocent lives of you four- specifically Cat and Rosie?

Your funerals are small. They really only contain those close to you, and those who your girls were close with at school attend funerals. Four caskets are lined up within the hall of your church- all closed. Only one person there knows that there are no bodies in the coffins, and that one person is the agent who went undercover to deliver the empty holders. No one else suspects a thing, all too wrapped up in their grief and not wanting to see your lifeless bodies.

While your families are wrecks, it’s nothing compared to what Barbara Howard is feeling. She can’t quite explain it, if she’s being honest. Her heart hurts for you and Melissa- but she absolutely falls apart, deep sobs rippling through body, as the pastor speaks of your twins. Her heart breaks for them within her chest.

That night, long after the funeral processions, the Howards sit in the dark and lonely sanctuary- a place that usually provides the two with hope and light. It doesn’t this time. Instead they are haunted by the sniffles and sobs that bubble out of them as they mourn your passing. Neither Howard will say it, but they both question their faith that day- wondering how God could be so good and yet still take the four of you away.

On the step is a singular picture of the four of you. You have Rosie on your hip while your wife holds Cat. Both girls are absolutely tickled pink at whatever you and Melissa had said to make them smile and laugh the way that they are. Your eyes are full of so much love as you watch the way your wife is with your oldest. Melissa’s eyes absolutely sparkle with love for you and your little ones while her hair gently blows in the breeze. She’s glad they chose this picture of your family to display and keep up alongside the various other pictures that have already been taken down. This picture shows that you four were really just a simple family full of love and life. The joy that radiates in that picture only makes Barbara that much worse. You should be here.

Sundays will never be the same. When the service that your wife would usually slide into the pew next to Barbara comes around, the seats stay vacant. Nobody dares to sit there, lest they feel the wrath of a brokenhearted Barbara Howard. Gerald takes her to the diner where you would usually head after the sermon is over, but it isn’t the same. It’s silent between the two of them.

It's only a few weeks after they found out that Gerald learns the truth. Barbara sits him on their couch, all but stuffing the ledger she still had hidden into his hands. As he flips through it, he slowly understands exactly what he's holding. He should feel disgusted, or betrayed, at this new knowledge of your family. Instead, he tucks the ledger carefully into his work briefcase. 

He kisses his wife and promises her that with any name in that ledger, he'll do whatever he can to get the police onto them and ensure they are arrested and tried. Your family might have been involved but he can see it was on the lighter end of the crimes the mafia and mob each commit within the city. No matter what you all did, you're gone now and didn't deserve to go the way you did. So, he swears he'll see the fall of Cosa Nostra within Philadelphia as soon as possible- for the fallen Schemmentis. Barbara weeps at your names again. 

TAGS:

@thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

[mickittotheman]

Perhaps 3 (forehead kisses) for gallavich?

Most people make their most stupidass decisions when they’re drunk. Not Mickey. Mickey makes his when he’s sober, when there’s not alcohol clouding his mind and slowing his thoughts and drowning out the fucking urges he gets at the most randomass times.

Like right now.

Mickey isn’t drunk, but Ian sure as fuck is. He’d been doing some stupid fucking drinking game with Mandy. Mickey’s been listening to them giggling and shrieking like the schoolgirls they are for hours now, the music blasting from his speakers not enough to drown them out, not when he’s deliberately sitting with his back pressed up against the door of his room so he can hear them better.

He’s just keeping an ear out to make sure Ian doesn’t say anything stupid. Doesn't let anything slip about him. About them.

Ian doesn’t. Mickey isn’t sure why that pisses him off just a little bit.

He waits until a good half hour after the giggling has faded out. Creeps his way into the dimly lit hall. Pokes his head into Mandy’s doorway.

They’re both fast asleep. Mandy’s hogging all the blankets, because she’s a selfish bitch who always hogs the fucking blankets, awake or not. 

Mickey rolls his eyes. Swipes at his nose.

He snags a random quilt from the living room and heads back, careful not to step on the squeaky floorboard near the foot of Mandy’s bed. He gets her sorted first, because he’s a good fucking brother like that, no matter how vehemently his siblings and he himself would disagree if asked. 

He unclasps her necklaces so she won’t get strangled to death in her sleep. He pushes her hair out of her face so it won’t tickle her nose in that way she’s always hated. He kisses her forehead, soft, just like he has since she was nothing but a tiny little pink burrito of bundled up blankets that would scream and scream and scream her little lungs out every waking moment.

She hasn’t changed all that much since she was a baby, really. 

He deals with Ian next. Rolls him into the recovery position, because he doesn't sleep on his side like a normal fucking person, he sleeps sprawled out on his back like a fucking starfish. Ian doesn't so much as twitch as Mickey shoves and pokes and prods at him. 

He drapes the quilt over him, gets it tucked in nice and tight at the edges. Stands there for a long time after, just looking. He never gets to look, because the stupid fucker is always staring right back, and Mickey always has to either look away or risk giving away too much.

He doesn't have to look away now.

He flits his gaze over the map of spattered freckles, over ridiculously bright orange hair, over plush pink lips parted in sleep.

He tugs his own bottom lip between his teeth. Gnaws.

What the fuck ever.

He swoops in. Presses his lips to Ian's forehead. Soft, then harder. He closes his eyes. Breathes.

Ian snuffles sleepily.

Mickey jerks away like he’s been electrocuted. He’s back in his own room in a split second, door shut firmly behind him. 

He leans against it once more. Pants. Tries to catch his breath.

He rubs his fingers at his lips. Tries to scrub the phantom feeling away.

In the morning, he kicks up a fuss about the quilt being missing from the living room, blaming Mandy for stealing it when she already has half the blankets in the fucking house hoarded away. He and Ian fuck, quick and messy, while she’s busy making scrambled eggs and eggos to soak up their hangovers. He bites Ian for the first time, digs his teeth into Ian’s pec hard enough to leave little indents in the shape of his teeth.

After, he whisks the blanket and a stolen eggo back to his own room. He wraps himself up in it, in the faint remnants of Ian’s smell, and he scowls.

[callivich]

Gallavich Tropes Prompts: Mystery Communications 🧐✍️

Prompts for fics, headcanons, or discussion, art, etc. Interpret these however you like and feel free to use them as just a jumping off point, you don’t have to stick to the exact prompt! If any fics like any of these have already been written, please feel free to recommend them to me!

Dedicated to @suzy-queued because we both love these types of stories! 💖

S6. Mickey’s out of jail after a few months. It’s a surprise to him and he is hesitant to track down Ian. But he does and sees Ian at a fancy wine bar getting the number of a guy. He’s heartbroken. And pissed. Enough to steal the guy’s phone as he leaves and start texting Ian. Meanwhile, Ian didn’t think much of the guy at the bar but strangely, it’s really easy to talk to him in text messages. Over some time, Ian realises he might have feelings for this guy and he wants to meet him again. But the guy is reluctant….

S6/S7. Ian feels guilty for not visiting Mickey in prison. But it’s so hard. He keeps trying to do it but backs out at the last minute. One time he even makes it to the prison but leaves before signing in. On his way out, he notices a letter writing program for volunteers. He decides to do it, hoping that it might help him in some way. When he gets to the volunteer office to choose a letter and a prisoner to write to, he’s shocked to see one from Mickey. Should he choose it? Mickey might be angry with him, he might not reply. He decides to choose it, use a different name and type his letters. Maybe he can provide Mickey some support this way. And it goes well. Really well. But what happens when Mickey asks him to visit?

S1/S2. Just because they’re hooking up, doesn’t mean Ian gets Mickey’s phone number. No matter how much he asks. But when Mickey loses his brand new (stolen) phone, Ian finds it and keeps it - thinking it belongs to a rich person who doesn’t care about their belongings. Mickey gets a burner phone and angrily texts his old number. Ian replies and before long, they’re texting every day. Both able to be more honest with a supposed stranger than they are with each other in real life. Will either of them figure out who the other is?

Mickey gets out of jail quickly in s6 but doesn’t get back into contact with Ian. He comes up with a very lucrative money-making scam - he signs up to an escort company & poses as an escort on their app. Then when he meets up with men, he robs them and threatens to blackmail them if they report him. Somehow, Ian discovers Mickey on this app and he’s worried. He thinks Mickey is actually working as escort and he’s concerned. He creates a fake profile to try and see if Mickey’s ok and safe. But as they talk via the app, Mickey starts to like this new guy - he’s funny, good at sexting, kind - and he doesn’t know if he wants to rob this guy. What happens when they do meet up?

S9. Mickey doesn’t find out about Ian’s troubles until it’s too late and Ian’s locked up. It’s killing him knowing Ian is all alone in prison. While he plans a way to turn himself in, he decides to write to Ian using a fake name that won’t arouse suspicion, disguising his handwriting as best he can. Ian’s been receiving letters from fans/supporters but this latest one is different. The handwriting looks strangely familiar but he doesn’t recognise the name or the address in Texas. He writes back to this person and soon their back and forth letters are the best part of his week. But then they suddenly stop….

S10. Their breakup after the courthouse goes on for longer. Mickey dramatically threatens to sign up to a dating app if Ian’s so desperate for him to have other experiences. Lonely and bored, he does just that. With no picture and very little details about himself. What’s the point in making a proper profile? He could date 100 people and Ian would still be the one. Meanwhile, Ian signs up too (with fake details) - purely because he thinks Mickey’s doing it. What happens when they get matched and start talking?

Ian is a nude model, Mickey is an artist. At the final show, Ian sneaks into view the pieces and is blown away by Mickey’s. But who is this artist? Ian never meets them after class so he doesn’t know. Ian and Mickey begin an online friendship after Ian gets Mickey’s email address from the college but doesn’t tell him he is the model. However, Mickey is convinced that his new online friend who he has feelings for is secretly the rich guy who bought his painting. When Mickey emails Ian to tell him he thinks he knows who he is, Ian is devastated because he thinks Mickey would never been interested in him because he doesn’t have money. He doesn’t know what to do, it’s the start of the new term, and Ian knows Mickey will be in the class….

Ian is totally, utterly in love with someone. Problem is, he’s never met him and he doesn’t know what he looks like. When he finally asks him to meet in person, the guy turns him down. Mickey doesn’t mean to hurt the guy he’s been speaking to online. He’s fallen for him too. But he’s so deeply in the closet and he’s scared. Ian’s upset and it doesn’t help that his asshole roommate, Mickey, is being extra awful lately. He decides to move back in with his siblings. He tells Mickey and he also tells his online friend in a message saying goodbye. Mickey is shocked - it’s gotta be a coincidence, right? Or is Ian his mystery guy?

Everyone thinks Prince Mickey is an asshole, including Ian who is a servant. The Milkovich kingdom is not a place to be gay and Ian has never told anyone about his true self. He has written his thoughts and feelings in a journal which he keeps hidden in a tree trunk in the forest. When Mickey accidentally stumbles across it, he falls in love with the mysterious author who is struggling with the same feelings he has. He makes the risky decision to write in the journal and tell the person he is not alone. Ian is shocked but writes back and they begin a secret correspondence. Will they ever discover who the other one is?

Mickey’s shitty office parole job sucks and it’s made even worse by the fact his boss is very hot and has a hard-on for rules. It’s a vast company and there’s over a thousand employees. One night, while searching for the company, Mickey finds a website that is setup just for employees to vent. He immediately logs on and posts. And there’s another employee who not only agrees with everything he says, but also is funny and down to earth in a way most other people aren’t. What will happen when Mickey learns this guy is also Ian, his boss?

Ian writes an advice column under a pseudonym as a side hustle. Mickey reads it all the time, telling himself it’s only to laugh at the sad people writing in. One night he gets drunk and sends in an email. Which he regrets the next morning. But he’s had a reply. Ian usually doesn’t reply privately but it’s clear this guy is miserable. So they start to talk online. What they don’t know is that they happen to know each other - Ian’s real job is a janitor and Mickey is the new guy who he’s been tasked to train.

Ian’s a ghost who is haunting the house Mickey lives in. Mickey has no idea until Ian manages to pick up a pen and start writing on Mickey’s notepad. Mickey is freaked out at first by the invisible ghost writing to him. But soon they strike up a friendship - Mickey talks and Ian writes. For once in his life, Mickey feels able to be honest and open about himself. But what happens when Mickey accidentally summons Ian - bringing him back to life as a human?

Mickey’s fresh out of jail and not much has changed on the South Side, he quickly falls back into old habits - stealing from the Kash and Grab and pissing off the redheaded Gallagher kid who works there. Except, he’s not a kid anymore. He’s a very hot twenty-something. Ian hates his dead end job and he hates that Mickey Milkovich is back. The only thing he does like is a tumblr account his just discovered. Mickey never had much of an imagination but 5 years in prison gave him one and now he posts all the dirty stories he thought up to entertain himself with on a tumblr account. Mostly for himself but now also for the anonymous person who seems to like them…..Will they discover the person who annoys them the most in real life is also their online friend?

Gentrification is taking over the South Side. Ian joins an online forum where people complain about it. No one actually wants to do anything though, except one guy who posts pictures of the vandalism he is doing to the new builds and fancy stores. They begin talking online, growing closer and closer. It becomes the highlight of Ian’s day to talk to him. Which is great because work is busy and he made the mistake of telling his best friend Mandy he’d use his EMT skills to help her douchebag brother who seems to get into a fight every other day. It was supposed to be a one time thing but he’s spending far too much time giving Mickey Milkovich stitches while he makes fun of Ian. But when Ian shares this annoyance with his online friend….things start to get awkward and Ian can’t figure out why.

Ian’s got a flirty relationship with his weed dealer, who he’s only ever spoken to over text. Kinda wishes he could meet him but the dealer insists on never meeting - always tells Ian to leave cash in a certain place and then come back to collect the weed the dealer leaves there afterwards. So his spends his days daydreaming about this guy, all the while dealing with annoying co-workers at his job. One co-worker in particular, Mickey, really gets to him. Even worse, they’ve been assigned a project to work on together…..

Fiona is a servant to a Princess who is betrothed to Prince Mickey. One day, she tells Ian, also a servant, about the fact the Princess doesn’t want to marry Mickey. She has asked Fiona to throw away the small portrait and letter he has sent her. Curious, Ian asks to see it and falls in love with the man in the portrait. He decides to write back, pretending to be the Princess. Over time, they fall in love which Mickey struggles with because he knows he’s gay. When the Princess is asked to a ball at Prince Mickey’s kingdom, Ian is one of the servants accompanying her and he’s determined to meet Mickey….What happens when Mickey meets the disinterested Princess and finds himself instead drawn to her redheaded servant?

[sunlightmurdock]

Blow by Blow | 0.9 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big. Boxing au.

warnings: unspecified age gap, violence, probs boxing inaccuracies somewhere along the line, blood and injuries throughout the fic but will be specified in the warnings of the chapter. Smut and other 18+ content, minors dni. Alcohol, sexual content whilst somewhat intoxicated (not drunk but worth mentioning). Fingering, oral (f receiving). Pls pee after sexual activity, this is just fiction, like 5.4k words omg

…

“You have to come out, we’re celebrating!” Jake decides, trademark grin toying on his lips as you duck under his arms and step outside. The evening chill brushes your biceps and instinctively makes you cross your arms over your chest.

“Mm, I can’t,” You answer back, turning to face him and starting to walk backwards to keep up with your friends whilst keeping your eyes on Jake. He lets the door swings shut behind him and carries himself forwards after you. His busted up cheek doesn’t look like much cause for celebration, but the ten thousand dollars that tonight raised for charity certainly is. “I need to go and feed Tank.”

“I can let him out and feed him. Have to drop some papers off at the gym anyway, wouldn’t be a big deal.” Shrugging his jacket closer to his body, Maverick offers from just a few steps behind you. Jake quirks an eyebrow.

“Really, Mav?” Spinning back around so that you’re facing the right way, Bradley glances back and watches the brightness in the way you’re smiling at his uncle. “You would?”

“Of course! — It’s the least I could do for my favourite employee, right?” Maverick grins at you. You throw your head back and laugh at the various gasps and vocal complaints that come from Maverick’s other employees that surround you.

“Bro, why are you saying ‘hey’, you don’t even work with us.” Mickey points out, frowning slightly as he lifts his chin to look up at Rueben. Digging his hands deep into his pockets so that he can flex his aching fists without drawing attention to himself, Rueben shrugs his shoulders.

“I dunno, that was cold, Mav.” Rueben points out playfully.

“She’s the only one who does what I pay her to do, so she’s my favourite. Anyway, I’ve got a dog to go feed. You kids have fun.” Maverick waves them off as he nears the parking lot. Jake catches your shoulders and bumps into your back, squeezing your bare shoulders playfully.

“So you’re in, right, kid?” He checks, leaning over your shoulder to check your face. Protected from the cold finally, you don’t even realize that you’re leaning into his touch until he’s letting go. Something in Rooster’s shoulders tighten, the kind of tension he usually gets seconds before he steps into the ring.

Replacing Jake’s warm hands with your own, you brush your palms up and down your biceps, craning your neck to watch Maverick reach his car safely. Rooster’s bronco is parked right next to it. You shoot a quick look towards him and find him already looking at you, waiting for your answer.

“Okay.” You nod softly, eyes unwavering from the taller man up ahead of you. He looks away first, frowning slightly as Phoenix smacks him for not listening to what she’s saying. “Where are we going?”

A club not far from the downtown strip. Phoenix calls it walking distance but she hikes for fun, and you’re wearing heels that weren’t meant for the San Diego streets. Looping your arm through Mickey’s, you end up walking a little slower than the rest of the group. Rooster periodically checks back. You look happy enough.

He’s sure that it’s not going to be your scene and that you’re going to want to leave fairly quickly. But then, you’re under purple neon lights and being talked into celebratory shots with the winners. Jake and Phoenix can pound tequila like it’s water. They make it a competition every time. You’re no match for either of them.

Jake’s a winner this evening and Phoenix remains undefeated in her weight class; Payback’s only ever lost once. There’s a lot to celebrate and it’s your first time playing this game. Rooster watches you like a ball on a roulette wheel, slamming back whatever liquid Jake hands you. He knows that there are two ways for this to end.

Still, four shots in and a vodka lemonade in your hand, you’re still laughing your head off as you make your way through the bodies to the dance floor. He loses you in the mass of dancing people for a moment. When he sets his sights on you again, you’re laughing so hard that you’re clutching your stomach as Mickey and Bob weave around each other.

The music’s loud enough that he can’t really hear himself think, but he swears he can hear your infectious laugh over it.

“It’s alright that she’s not into you, you know.” It’s a packed nightclub on a weekend and yet, Bradley still flinches when Phoenix appears at his side. He rolls his eyes as she rests her hand on his shoulder and nudges a shot glass filled with clear liquid across the bar to him.

“How would you know that she’s not into me? — You didn’t ask her.”

“Roo, she has barely looked at you all night,” Phoenix points out as she runs her fingers through her hair, scalp still sore from the tight bun that she always has Javy scrape it back into. “The bartender, though, she is into you.”

Bradley takes the shot and knocks it back, dismayed to find that it’s vodka. It makes him shiver, shaking his head as he turns his back on the glass. “Think I’m gonna take my chances with your BFF.”

“Is that… jealousy I hear?” Phoenix taunts, leaning into him so that he’ll be able to hear her over the music.

“We’ve barely hung out since you brought her around — you know that you haven’t been to my place in over a month?” Rooster replies. Phoenix points to the shot glass and holds up two fingers. The gym’s closed tomorrow and she is planning on making the most of her time off.

Leaning her head against his thick shoulder, she smiles softly. She has known Bradley since he was thirteen, and the two of them have been on a course of fucked up adventures together ever since. He gets her, she gets him. Instant best friends.

She has seen the worst of him frequently, and the best of him fleetingly. Adoration is a strong word for a man that she considers assaulting multiple times a week, but Bradley really is the brother that she always wanted. Which is why she is so blunt with him, he can take it, and sometimes it’s the only way to get information through that thick skull of his.

Pounding music and sweaty bodies filling the room, Rooster almost feels alone with Natasha at the bar. Just the two of them and their conversation.

“I’m sorry, I’ll make time,” Phoenix promises, squeezing his shoulder. She grins as two more shots are placed in front of her. “Now stop being so moody and get drunk with me.”

Phoenix is a difficult type of drunk, because there is absolutely nothing ‘gradual’ about the way alcohol hits her. She’s fine, and then she’s not. Years of knowing her and Bradley still sometimes misses her tell.

She’s fine when his attention falters. His gaze finding you in the crowd. Bathed in a neon glow, your grin stretched wide as you dance with your friends. Swaying your hips, trailing your hands up along your body and over your head, eyes closed. Jake catches your waist and spins you to face him.

The rational part of Bradley’s brain reminds him that this is just what Jake does. Even Phoenix dances with him, he’s just that kind of guy. But his arms draped around your waist and that slinky black dress has the larger majority of Bradley’s brain plotting otherwise.

Then, Phoenix stumbles and spills forwards, arms flying out for leverage. Rooster steps forwards and catches her, lifting her off of the ground and setting her back on her feet.

“You alright?” He asks.

“I’m — yeah — completely.” She slurs back as she resigns into his arms, letting her head lull back and her eyes blink heavily. Rooster sighs softly, giving her a small shake before she turns into completely dead weight in his arms.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep right now.” Bradley warns her. He lifts his head and looks towards his friends, trying to make eye contact with any of them. Already looking in that direction, you notice him balancing Phoenix in his arms first. Your friends are quick to corral.

Huddling outside, Bradley has Phoenix tucked in against his chest with Bob’s coat draped around her, rubbing his hand up and down her back. Waiting for five different Ubers to turn up, chilled to the bone and suddenly sobered by the way Bradley isn’t looking at you.

Not in a malicious way. Just like there’s nothing on his mind than keeping Phoenix awake and warm until her car is here. She keeps his head on straight, he keeps her out of danger. It’s not always an equal alliance, but it’s one that’s cherished nonetheless.

You’re considering the platonic nature of their relationship, inspecting the way her arms are wrapped around his waist, holding herself close. You brush your hands up and down along your biceps.

“Hey, kid, I forgot to tell you,” Jake rounds on you, talking so quickly that your intoxicated brain struggles to keep up. You blink a few times and he switches from soft fuzz to defined lines and thick muscles. “I found you a fight. I can manage you, if you’re interested.”

Ears perking up at the conversation, Rooster doesn’t turn his head, but he glances across at the way your face lights up.

“Car’s here. Wake up, Nix.” Mickey nudges Natasha with his elbow as he steps to the edge of the curve to signal the driver. Phoenix groans defeatedly against Bradley’s chest. Something about her little competition with Jake not being over.

“Alright, watch her head.” Bradley passes her off into the capable hands of Bob and Mickey, knowing that they’re content enough to crash at her place because of how close it is to the beach. He swings the car door shut and tugs a hand through his stubborn curls.

The option is there to just call himself a car and go back to his place, but it’s a wordless agreement that he’s coming back with you. Safety and all that. The proximity of his apartment to yours. Whatever. Your car is next, slipping wordlessly into the backseat with Rooster sliding in next to you.

You hate when people stare at you for too long. It makes you squirm and shift under their gaze. And yet, you just can’t help doing it to Bradley. Studying him silently for the drive, thinking of what you just saw, of what you heard earlier.

It’s too complex for your tequila fuelled brain at this moment, to understand how the same man who broke through someone’s eye socket and almost blinded them, could stand on a curb with his best friend being so gentle and tender. How does someone go from one to the other.

You never understood that with Jett. With him, the lines were quick to blur and it was easy to lose sight of where the violence ended and the affection began. With Bradley, it’s like those are two different people, much less two different sides of him.

“Give me the keys, Bambi. I don’t have all night.” Rooster insists, walking around the back of the car as you swing the door on your side shut and stumble towards the door.

“Why? — Got somewhere to be?” You tease playfully, your strides long and confident as you head for the stairs. He’s hot on your tail.

“Well, yeah, I’d kind of like to go to bed at some point tonight.” He replies, keeping up with the quick work you make of the stairs.

“I’m literally not even drunk.” You tell him with a small frown. He watches the three times that you try to slot your key into the lock and miss before he decides to intervene. Pressing his chest into your back, he takes your hand and guides it forwards, fitting the key into the lock and twisting.

It complies instantly and you stumble forwards as it opens. Rooster catches your hips and follows after you, steadying you with his weight and swinging the door shut.

Tank barks and leaps up, pressing his paws into your middle, tail wagging excitedly. You drop to your knees and begin greeting him. Rooster stands in your entryway, listening to the excited baby talk from you and happy whines from Tank.

“Rooster, say hi.” You catch hold of his jeans and tug softly. Your chin turns towards him and he’s floored by the way you look smiling up at him like this. You tug again, “Come on, say hi.”

He sighs softly and kneels to the ground. He smooths his fingers over Tank’s fur, both of them seemingly uninterested in each other and each looking at you instead. You kiss the top of Tank’s head and pull back laughing as he tries to lick your face.

Then, you turn, pushing yourself up onto your knees and kissing Rooster’s cheek. Pressing closer to him, you kiss the corner of his mouth. He almost lets you kiss his lips, then leans back. “Bambi, c’mon. Not tonight.”

“Why not tonight?”

Every other night, he’s more than happy to come in and try to get in your pants. You remain on your knees as he pushes himself to his feet. Tank presses into your side, reminding you to pet him more.

“I should get going, now that you’re home, and stuff.”

“Don’t have to.” You reply quietly, looking up at his through your lashes. You press a gentle kiss to Tank’s ear, smiling softly as he leans into your touch.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not!” You insist. Truthfully, the car ride looking at his pretty face and his shoulders straining against that shirt, and his thighs in those jeans — and knowing what’s in his pants. It was all pretty sobering.

“I’m not going to argue with you, baby. Get some sleep.” Rooster leans down and kisses the top of your head. You catch hold of his wrist and tug yourself to your feet.

“Come on, what do you want me to do? — Say my alphabet backwards? - Walk in a straight line?”

“Actually, I would like to see you try to walk in a straight line right now, yeah.” He rests his hands against the kitchen countertop and calls your bluff. It’s refreshing for him to be in this room when it isn’t spinning. Looking around at the framed pictures, the hanging lights and the cute throw pillows, he likes the way you decorated this place. He likes that it’s not just gathering dust now.

Squinting at him defiantly, you stick your arms out at your sides and turn away from him.

“Don’t try to fool me, kid. I want to see a solid six paces, at least.”

Six paces it is. You count the soft taps of your heels crossing the hardwood floor, arms stretched out at your sides. Rather impressively, you make it to the door and spin on your heel to face him.

Extending one leg forwards, the journey back towards him has a rockier start as you miss the pointed heel and wobble, almost twisting your ankle.

“Alright,” Rooster chuckles as he starts towards you, shaking his head. His hands are on you immediately, holding you in place. “Bedtime, Bambi.”

“I haven’t taken my makeup off yet.” You frown at him, catching hold of his broad shoulders to steady yourself as he crouches in front of you. You look down and watch, eyes widening as he lifts your foot and turns his attention to the strap around your ankle.

Large fingers and a teeny-tiny little buckle. Ridiculous manufacturing. Cute, delicate heels — he likes them, but there’s a split second where he really considers just breaking it. You wouldn’t like that. Phoenix’s voice rings in his head reminding him to be respectful of other people’s belongings. He rolls his eyes and squints.

It only works if he moves tentatively slowly, brows knitted together in concentration as he threads the strap out of the loop and free from the buckle. He frees you from the shoes and straightens up, holding onto your waist as you step down from them.

“That was sweet of you,” You comment, now having to tilt your chin slightly to look up at him. “I’m gonna wash my face and brush my teeth.”

“Alright. I’ll leave once you’re in bed.” Rooster decides as you walk by him. He drops down onto your couch and rubs tiredly at his eyes. The rhythmic thrumming of that bass track in the club still pulses in his ears. He’s getting too old for this shit.

Even with that, you make sure that he hears your sound of discontentment from the bathroom. Taking his hand away from the bridge of his nose and resting it against his denim clad thigh, Rooster sighs, “What? You need me to do something else?”

Tank has stolen his spot on the couch already, so that’s not an option. Tank adores fleecy blankets and you just so happened to leave one out earlier. He’s already on his back with his paws stretched out above him, tangled in lilac and white fleece.

“No.” Rooster’s brows knit together once again at your answer. Well, it isn’t the answer that’s the issue. Your tone is. It’s a grumpy little statement, almost like you’re sulking. Pushing himself up from the couch, he walks over the bathroom door and stares at you.

“So why can’t I go?”

“Mm,” Swaying slightly, on the right side of buzzed as you swipe the cotton round over your cheeks, you look up at him dwarfing the bathroom door frame. “You could stay over.”

The micellar water cools the heat from your cheeks, cold porcelain under your other palm. Rooster watches you silently, waiting for further information. He’s not going to say no to another night on your couch, but he’s got a feeling that’s not where you’re going with this. Rather hedonistically, he wants to hear you say it.

“We could cuddle.” You look back up at him with those big doe eyes, bracing yourself against the powder blue sink. His lips quirk softly.

He stretches his arms over his head and rests his hands on the top of the doorframe, his shirt raising up slightly to reveal the sandy hair on his abdomen. “Is that what you want? — You want me to stay?”

Smiling softly at the thought that just popped into your head, Bradley watches as you giggle to yourself and pick up another bottle of something. Squeezing the pipette, leaving two equal drops on each of your cheeks, you smooth the serum into your skin without looking at him. “Like we’re having a sleepover.”

He doesn’t need more information than that. He lets you get ready for bed while he makes sure Tank pees before locking the place up for the night. Then, he takes his clothes off. Laying on your side, facing the closet, your back is to him on purpose.

The metal bed frame creaks slightly, the mattress dipping the tiniest bit as he slips into bed. It’s soft, and your sheets make a real difference. Every time he has slept in this bed before has been a mess of old springs and that uncomfy headboard. He’s glad that you switched out the mattress.

Your leg brushes up against his first. The bottom of your foot presses into his shin as you pull the covers up to your face. “How do you like to cuddle?”

“Just c’mere.” It’s an invitation, but there’s really no need to respond. He’s already looping his arms around your midsection before you’ve even registered the word. He pulls you back against him, your bodies meeting in the middle of the bed. He’s surprised by how warm you are already.

His body heat is still a welcome addition.

“Is this good?” His open palm rests against your stomach, tucked halfway under your t-shirt, his thumb smoothing over the spot just below your bellybutton. His lips press gently your neck.

“Could you, like… squeeze me a little tighter?”

Rooster tightens his hold on you, pushing his leg forwards and slotting it between your thighs. Wrapped in his thick arms, his face tucked into the curve of your neck, you should be feeling lighter already, settling off into unconsciousness. There’s just too much happening for that.

His heart beating steadily against your back, his thumb tucked into your shirt just the tiniest bit, stroking at your stomach, and his meaty thigh slotted between your legs. His lips are pressed right up against the skin of your neck, not doing anything, just resting there.

Rooster feels you shift a little and gives you the room to find the comfort that you need. Then, he feels your hand searching for his through the darkness. Finding the hand that’s on your stomach, your fingers curl between his.

Taking his hand, you slide it upwards, venturing further under the fabric of your oversized sleep shirt. Rooster peeks one eye open as you guide his palm up and over your breast. Catching the hint, Rooster squeezes his palm softly over the supple skin. Brushing the pad of his thumb over your soft nipple, pinching it between his thumb and index, your thighs squeeze together around his.

He closes his eyes once more, settling down like he’s going to sleep, still gently caressing your breast under his warm hand. It’s nice, feeling him touch you, feeling his weight pressing into your back and into the mattress. It’s just not enough.

His thumb swipes over your nipple again, feeling it harden against his digit this time. He traces the pebbled texture of the sensitive skin without opening his eyes. Figuring that it’ll probably be bothering you too much for you to sleep, he settles for just holding your breast in his hand as he tries to direct himself towards unconsciousness. There’s not a chance.

He’s just going to have to wait for you to fall asleep so that he can turn his mind to something other than how bad he wants you.

Swallowing softly, your fingers curl between his once again. Rooster lets you guide his hand away, thinking that he must have been bothering you, quickly realizing that that was not the case.

He slips his hand out of your hold and grabs your hip, tugging you onto your back swiftly. Your breath catches in your throat at how close he is, leaning over you, eyes searching over your face.

“I feel like I never know what’s going through your head.” He admits gently, the swell of his warm palm resting on your stomach, having brushed your sleep shirt up slightly.

Glancing down, you smooth your fingers over the top of his hand, examining the difference in size between the two of you. Rooster swears he almost feels the breath get knocked out of him when you finally look at him again.

“You want to know?” Your voice is so quiet that he wouldn’t be able to hear you if there was any other sound in the apartment right now. He nods back at you, curling his fingers around your waist. You lift your head just a little, your lips are soft and taste of peppermint when you kiss him.

Turning so that he can cover your body with his, Bradley presses his weight into you. His heavy palm cups your jaw as he takes control of the kiss. The way your mouth moves, the pace, he’s keeping it all in check.

“Are you wet right now?” Bradley murmurs against your lips, thumb stroking over the bone at the curve of your jaw. Your skin flushes as he pulls back and waits for his answer. Jett never asked this. Luke Hodge from second period English lit had never asked this.

“Mhm.”

Bradley’s lips quirk upwards. It’s torn between him smirking at you and a real smile. The languid amusement coats his features, but there’s something in those deep brown eyes that tells you he’s happy with your shy, little response.

“Mhm? — That’s all I get?” Rooster’s palm smooths over your stomach and curls around your hip, squeezing the joint softly in his calloused hand. More warmth. Your gaze flitters up and you consider cracking the window behind your bed.

Swallowing softly, it’s unintentional but you’re giving him that deer in headlights look again. Rooster closes the gap between the two of you and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, a soft chuckle slips his lips and he rests his forehead against your shoulder.

Immediate recoil. He feels you tense up under him. The embarrassment floods you like a chill and you move to pull back.

“Baby, baby, no,” Wrapping both of his thick arms around your waist and pulling you into him, you couldn’t leave if you tried. Rooster kisses the corner of your mouth softly. “I’m not laughing at you.”

He slots his thigh between yours and guides you onto your back with little resistance, leaning over you. “I just… Don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” You ask quietly.

“You suck dick like it’s your day job and then, when it’s your turn, you turn into a little church mouse. — What’s with that?” His hand wanders as he speaks, fingers splayed so that he can touch as much of you at once. Trailing your abdomen, your waist, grazing over the soft tissue at the side of your breast without daring to touch is as boldly as you had allowed him to earlier.

It’s never really been your turn. There’s no out loud exchange, but the look on your face tells Bradley what he needs to know. He feels your hips shift, your core grazing his thigh softly as you squirm under his gaze.

“You want me to get you off?” His grip tightens on your hip and he rocks his hips forwards just slightly. Just to let you feel exactly how hard he is at the thought. Glancing down between your body and his, your decision is made whilst the rational side of your brain is still pleading its case.

“Mhm.”

Bradley smirks amusedly. He kisses you softly, hand trailing under your shirt to knead over your breast. Pushing the fabric of your loose fitted t-shirt up and out of his way, his lips attach to your skin. Languid kisses, open-mouthed and tender as his strong palms brace at your hips, keeping you in place for him. His mouth works along your abdomen, nipping softly at the underside of your breath and feeling you careen into him.

“Sit up.” You obey him blindly, sitting up long enough for him to quickly discard your too-big, faded shirt and leave you in a much more vulnerable state. “God, Bambi.”

His hands roam your torso like he can’t possibly touch enough of you at once, walking the line of having a firm touch and a gentle hand. Letting you know his strength and reminding you that you’re at the mercy of it, all while dusting a featherlight touch over the most sensitive parts of your upper body.

As with his hands, his mouth needs to be everywhere at once and it half feels like he has mastered the ability to make that possible. Eyes screwed closed, you deny yourself the sight of him, knowing that it’ll just make your nerves surge, and there’s no way you want to let yourself ruin this.

Four senses remaining. Your hands smooth over the flexing muscles in his shoulders as his tongue trails a circle around your nipple before he commits to taking it into his mouth. Warm, so warm, a flush of adrenaline running through him. The feeling of that under your fingertips.

The peppermint on your tongue, reminding you that you should just be platonically sleeping beside him right now. Your bedtime ritual pales in comparison to this.

The soft groan he makes as his hand paws at your other breast, reverberating in your ears and carrying shockwaves along your synapses. Excitement pooling between your legs at how deep and gravelly he sounds when he moans.

The cologne from before the bar. Inhaling it in the car as you traced the veins on his arm. Intoxicated by it when you had settled between his thighs the other day.

You lift your hips from the mattress and push them down against his thigh. His muscled appendage provides little relief, but you’re still chasing what it gives you. Your underwear presses into your core with each rock, soaked and catching on your excitement.

“All I got was an ‘mhm’,” Bradley muses softly, trailing his nose along the middle of your torso, pressing his lips softly to your navel. His hand slips between your legs without warning and cups your over your underwear. “This fucking soaked, and all I got was a little ‘mhm’.”

Nudging your underwear swiftly to the side, he dips his middle and index finger between your folds and gathers your excitement on the digits. Another deep groan as he looks down at the coating on his fingers.

He palms a hand over the tent in his boxers, kissing your hip bruisingly. “You’re gonna let me taste you, right, baby?”

“Okay.” You breathe out, needing your vision back. Heart pounding as you stare at the ceiling.

“Okay? — Is that all I get?”

“Please.” You whimper softly. Anything to settle the throbbing between your legs, anything to make you feel less restless. Bradley hooks your thigh over his shoulder and presses his mouth hungrily to your thigh. You careen into his kiss as it bruises the sensitive skin, pressing the heel of your foot into his shoulder for leverage.

Grabbing your hips, Bradley manhandles you into place, pressing you into the mattress and keeping you there. He grabs your underwear and tugs it down your legs, pulling back just to get it off your ankles and then settling back into back.

At first, he’s not where you need him at all. Tongue teasing between your folds, pressing tender chaste kisses to your pelvic bone. Ignoring the dripping mess between your legs until he’s satisfied with how your hips buck in desperation for him.

He lifts his gaze, brown eyes on you as he delves his tongue into your soaking core. His fingers press tighter into your hips, keeping you down on the mattress as he licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, gathering your juices on his tongue. He spreads it upwards and lubricates your clit with a mixture of his spit and your own juices.

“O-Oh, fuck.”

Before this second in time, you were so sure that Jett had made you cum. Orgasms with other people just weren’t as intense because there were so many other things happening. Bradley’s tongue could be tracing some foreign alphabet on the most sensitive part of your body for all you know. All that you do know for certain, is that you can’t let him stop.

Luckily, he has no intention of that. He’s been thinking about this since the day you gave him head and then denied his reciprocation.

Sucking, licking, alternating between pressure and gentle flicks of his tongue, he has your back arching away from the pretty flowers on your sheets. Your fingers slide into his hair without thought, tangling into his curls, keeping his head exactly where you need it the most.

Rooster sinks his middle finger into you first, groaning as he rocks his hips into the mattress in search of relief. Your walls squeeze his finger as he curls it into that spongy part that has you yelping in surprise.

Worked up enough that you can take his index finger with little resistance, Rooster’s brain damn near short circuits at how well you hug the digits. Even with the diminished capacity, his mission never once falters. His deep groans send shocks through your core and each curl his fingers has you rocking your hips against his tongue for more.

“Fuck, stop - Rooster — stop,” You pant out, voice strained, clawing at the sheets for purchase as your other hand tugs at his hair. “Feels… weird.”

“Just cum, it’s alright,” He mouths desperately along your thighs, stopping when you ask him to but not really wanting to pause long enough for your high to ebb away. “Trust me. Just let it happen, relax.”

You try to exhale slowly and do what he says, but then his mouth is on you again and you squeak at the feeling. You tug harshly at his roots and feel him moan, the vibrations and the tickle of his dampened moustache on your clit and his fingers fucking into you, it’s all too much.

The tightness in your stomach winds until it feels like a rubber band about to snap. And then, it does snap. You jolt against him, lips parted, brows furrowed, the sound caught in your throat. His mouth slows, but remains on the same pattern, sending aftershocks through your already trembling system.

“Fuck,” That image is never going to leave his head. He pulls his fingers from you and kisses tenderly across your hip. “How was that?”

Searching for words, any kind of intelligent conversation that you might be able to string together, it’s a lost cause. Panting, a soft sound of whimpered contentment slips your lips. “Mhm.”

He wipes his mouth and lays down against the pillows. “Gonna cuddle you how I like it normally. Alright?”

“Oh - b-but, wait.” You realise, hand trying to find which way is sound in your hazy mind, stumbling across the waistband of his boxers just by chance.

Rooster grabs your hand and pulls you closer, he manhandles you across the mattress so that you’re laying half on his chest. “This is so comfy.”

You hum in agreement, his arms tucked around your naked form, your cheek smushed up against his thick pectoral muscle.

“Should let me do that more often.” He muses quietly. You nod against his chest.

…

[applesontheground]

Please please please write something for Mickey Altieri

my pleasure!

@bisexual-horror-fan had also asked about me writing mickey some time again, and god what a good idea for this month especially. just had to find a good spot to fit him in, and when i saw two of my favorite kinks for this prompt...i put two and two together pretty quick. this was going to be another fucking saw fic if i didn't decide to mix it up.

forgive the day late disease all over this one yet again (that's just gonna be a thing depending on how bad work beats my ass as we get through the last stretch of kinktober), but know i'm still in it.

help you face the nightmare 📞

KINKTOBER 2024 | DAY TWENTY FOUR - GLOVES & SOMNOPHILIA

NSFW | Word Count: 1,174 | Mickey Altieri x AFAB Reader (GN pronouns) contains dubious consent/read the goddamn sign if you expect the reader to be awake for a majority of this, fingering, sensory play/gloves, grinding 🎼: x, x (been on a nyasty apc kick these last few days)

[Y/C/M] = Your College Major

It was sort of like a sleepover that had refused to end.

Mickey and you were the last two standing of a four roommate setup that started when you headed off to college, and halfway through both of your degrees, there came interruptions that left you and him with the rent to yourselves – along with the townhouse with far too much space for just a film major who couldn’t hold down a girlfriend to save his life and a [Y/C/M] major who just…wasn’t interested. Hitting a few sour branches when falling from the tree of college relationships, you were satisfied with yourself – and obviously with Mickey.

Although it was only temporary, the two of you needed to either move out or find the missing pieces to fill your old roommates’ spots, but it was manageable for the time since both of you found odd jobs between classes. Not to mention Mickey pulled in significant funds with his “night shift”.

“What?” You laughed, “You don’t date because you go whore out in the evening, or what?”

“It’s complicated.” He shrugged off, “And our bills are paid, so it’s none of your business either.”

“No hate!” You laughed, “Just impressed you make holding it down look easy.” He smiled at that, eyes a little too bright and voice a little too eager at the notion. “Thank you, [Y/N].”

You hadn’t asked after that, but part of you did enjoy pushing on it just to see him nearly fall over himself to not tell you what his night job was. Messing with him in general was fun, especially with no other partners – or other housemates – to notice the two of you also liked to be physical when being silly. Pinning each other on the couch, slugging each other on the arm, grabbing any unattended wrist or shoulder, and making comments about how there wasn’t a single crumb of cock or cunt between the two of you in a surprisingly warm fashion.

“We need to stop. People are going to start thinking something’s up.” Mickey mentioned one day, walking you to class despite him not having anything close in proximity on campus to be at himself.

“What?” You sniffed, “The guy following me to my 3PM and who doesn’t seem to take any other advance thrown his way seriously might wanna bone me?”

“Shut up,” He retorted, “Like [he/she doesn’t / they don’t] even play with that idea. Throw the guy a bone, and see what happens.” You glanced at him from the side, but didn’t answer. When you made it to the building, you commented, “See you at home, alright? Unless you want to stand out here for three hours.”

Smiling at him, he shrugged you off in acceptance, walking backwards with a hand up as he replied, “See you.”

And see you at home he didn’t. You had considered the refusal to humor him was taken too seriously; to humor the idea that if you put yourself out there with him, it would catch fire and be hook, line, sinker. You didn’t need that, enjoying his company enough after a few years of knowing each other, but making him a boyfriend?

Not yet, you assured yourself. There was nothing wrong with not yet.

Shrugging his absence off, you headed to bed after a few hours of homework, and the minute your head hit the pillow and thoughts grew heavy, far more rich with detail with closed eyes – you saw the mask.

The ghostfaced killer was long dead, the members being two high school boys that had messed with the wrong girl. Sidney Prescott actually went to college with you and Mickey, one of his friends she had made since their classes in videography and drama were in the same arts building.

She didn’t talk about it, but unfortunately she didn’t have to. You saw that mask more than enough with the popularity of the movie based of the encounter – kindly named Stab. The fall weather growing closer now, you sure saw the ghastly face enough at various parties.

The mask hovered over you, and your name slid from underneath the plastic. “Hi, [Y/N]. Did you miss me?”

“I’m sorry,” You spoke in your sleep, unaware it was crossing over to the real world, spoken into your pillow. “Have we met?”

“More than you think,” A heat, rubbing of nitrile material and with enough care to consider you were having a weird doctor-oriented dream on top of a serial killer one – caught your chest. Going under the shirt, you whimpered, but was immediately assured. “Easy, I’m not going too roughly with you, am I? You’re still asleep, after all."

You didn't answer, merely humming at that and trying to relax, slipping into comfort from the touching by gloved hands. It ran laps over your hips, squeezing before coming back up to your chest, your neck as your shirt was pulled up.

“Like that?” He ran his hands up your thighs now, sliding your underwear half down, a bit of a tussle but careful enough to keep you wanting your eyes closed, the heavy blankets around you getting confused with the cloak the ghostface often wore. You tugged experimentally, but it wasn't until a finger touched your pussy that you stirred for real.

When you snapped your eyes open, he wasn’t wearing the mask like you had seen in your dreams. Voice changer, a little white box, up to his mouth, eyes wide and hungry in the dark.

“Well, look who’s awake. Hi, [babygirl/babycakes].” He smiled behind the box, putting it down just in case you didn’t believe it was him, seeing his full face now. “Oh, don’t mind me." He shook his head as you tensed, accidentally grinding into his palm. "You’ve been doing most of the work anyways. Fucking knew it.”

The hand graced your entrance again, pushing through once more, and tired muscles pushed down on them without a second thought. You let out a sleepy murmur, trying to ask a question but smooth nitrile on your lips stopping you. “Hold it, don’t talk now.” Mickey hushed, “We can talk about this later, all you and I need to focus on right now is how great you feel around my fingers.”

Looking up at him, shivering around his intrusion despite having dreamt the whole thing – or at least, dreamt through most of it – you complied with your head falling backwards.

“Finally.” He sounded like he was getting off himself, pitching a tent against your leg as he moved his hand, dragging his jean-clad erection against your slick entrance. You grabbed the back of his head, fingers curling into buzz-short hair he kept in the back, longer as you trailed up but needing as close to his skin as you could manage, clawing at the bristles and making him roll his eyes, clench his jaw slightly.

Still, he couldn’t stop that mouth of his from running, laughing from behind a glint of his teeth

 “Look at how good this feels when we stop lying about it.”

[em-harlsnow]

the scene where ian leaves mickey to cross the border alone will always hurt so fucking badly.

because mickey has no one. he’s all alone, he ditched damon a long time ago and any family he had is either long gone or not people he would want to associate with. all he has is ian, and ian doesn’t want to follow him.

i think ian left him for a million different reasons. ian must have known on some level that the life mickey would lead in mexico would be far from a legal one - aside from the escaped convict part. ian has only ever known mickey to be a drug dealer, or a pimp, or a scammer. so he assumes mickey will be doing the same thing in mexico, which he does (maybe it would be different if ian had gone with, but who knows) as he joins a cartel.

ian can’t do that illegal life anymore, it’s not enough for him. he needs stability, he needs a purpose and he had only JUST found it in the EMT work. he had his family, who he would miss so much and maybe end up resenting mickey for losing them.

ian can’t put his disorder on mickey alone, it would be too much. ian doesn’t know how he’ll get meds in mexico, doesn’t know if they’ll be the exact same and he can’t do it to mickey and hurt him again, in a foreign country without his family to support him.

but ian wants mickey to know he loves him, but he just CANT. and mickey knows that, knows he can’t, gets that. i think mickey u derstood from the beginning that ian wouldn’t go. i dont think mickey expected ian to come at all, but when he did mickey believed him, which is the saddest part, because he was let down.

i don’t know if ian ever intended to cross the border. no idea. he could have expected to cross and realised at the last moment he couldn’t, or knew it all along.

i don’t think mickey believes ian loves him as much as he does. i think mickey thinks ian loves him like ian loves everyone, because ian is a loving person. ian does love him, though, but he can’t go with him.

it sucks, but it’s true.

and it clearly hurt ian badly. the deleted scene of ian and lip shows that, and the acting my cameron in that scene is AMAZING. you can see every thought that crosses his face.

anyway, this is my rant about shameless season 7 episode 11 because i didn’t have a chance to talk about it a few days ago.

[lizzy019]

𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝐸𝒶𝓉, 𝒮𝑜 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉?

Dom!Darrel Curtis x Sub!Two-Bit Mathews x Plus-size Fem!Reader

cw-> insecurities, polyamorous relationship, double penetration, booty slapping, overstimulation

Word Count -> 1.6K

I love Darbit so much :DDD Did you know that $10 back in the 60s is the equivalent to about $105 nowadays? Cool asf

The timer ticked as you three waited for the cake to finish its baking process, Darry was whipping some icing to put on top of it as a small treat.

“Should I go get beer? We have beer, right? I think I should go get beer-”

“Two-Bit, we have beer. Sitcher ass down and wait, it’s only a few more minutes.” Darry scolded lightly, annoyed by Two-Bit’s disheartening energy.

Two-Bit sighed dramatically, hobbling his way over to you and pulling you into a hug so time could pass by faster. You smelled so nice, so fresh and clean. He felt rather dirty almost instantly.

“Mmh.. my little Minnie mouse, d’ya wanna come with me to get beer?” He asked as he hugged you close, relishing in your lovely soft flesh squishing against his. It felt so heavenly and warm.

You could only smile at the nickname and chuckle at his request, your own expression becoming warm as you shrugged.

“Darry said we have beer, but if you’re so determined, I can give you money.” You smiled, giving his back a soft rub as his smile widened and his head nodded with vigor to your offer.

You pulled away to go find your wallet, taking out a simple 10 dollar bill and hurrying back to him. You knew it’d either be just enough, or maybe a little less, but it’d work out for him.

“Buy the beer we ALL like, not just the ones you like, Two.” You chided, shooing him out and laughing as he jogged out of the house.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Darry was prepping the icing in the fridge, waiting for it to cool.

“You’re one of the few who can tolerate his obnoxious behaviour. Maybe that’s why you’re so hot.” He hummed, walking to you and gently rubbing your hip with his rough palm.

“Or maybe it’s these lovely thick hips, with a pretty, big butt behind ‘em. Maybe it’s how gorgeous you look all bare and exposed to me whenever Two-Bit gets needy. I dunno, maybe it’s just you.” Darry murmured, his hand now digging gently into the soft flesh of your hip, traveling to scoop an asscheek of yours into his hand before smirking.

“Look atchu, I can’t get this from any ol’ girl. I don’t want ‘em skinny anyway, that’s not my style. I want a girl who can take a big hug, who has little belly rolls, love handles and thick thighs. Plus, the bigger, the wealthier, hm?”

Your cheeks were hot with a pink hue, hands at his waist as you fought so hard to not giggle out of appreciation. While half the things he said didn’t make much sense to you, the only thing that stuck was that he liked it and so did Two-Bit.

With a soft hum, Darry’s hands gently smoothed over under your shirt to caress the soft pudge you had, that little piece of fat in which you hated so much about yourself. It was warm, and so very cute.

“Yeah but.. don’t I look gluttonous? I look like I practically inhale food.” You murmured, watching his hands lovingly squeeze your rolls.

“Yeah. You eat, so what? Doesn’t every person need food to live heathily? You’re worrying, I don’t like it.” Darry groaned out in disbelief.

With some effort but with a big smile, he lifted you up without a second thought to carry you and sit you atop the table. Luckily today, Steve and Soda were at work and Ponyboy was at school, Johnny and Dally were together who knows where, so it was just you and Darry now.

And Two-Bit soon enough.

Soft, slow kisses were pressed along the muscle of your neck, your hands clutching his triceps as little sighs of pleasure coursed through your every vein.

It was only once Darry began to get too touchy did Two-Bit burst through the door with beer and a bright smile.

“I’m baaack! Where are you tw- oh..” Two-Bit interrupted himself when he saw the situation.

A wide smile cracked on the Mickey fan’s face, and instantly the beer was forgotten and placed to the side as he chucked his leather jacket off to hurry over to the two of you.

“You started without me? No fair!” Two-Bit cried, gently tugging Darry and you to Darry’s bedroom.

“Come on, come on! Let’s go!” His genuine excitement for this had both you and Darry smiling, and without reticence, you both followed.

Soon, you all were huddled together in Darry’s bed, naked and bare to each other as Two-Bit smiled softly at your wettened panties.

“You kept her last pair, can I keep this pair? Please, Darry?” Two-Bit asked so politely, how could Darry say no?

The undergarment of yours was exchanged as if it were simple money, something to use for personal gain whether it be for dirty pleasure or lust-filled admiration. Whatever it was, Two-Bit certainly wanted it.

Once they were in his hand, he whiffed it happily and your face scrunched up in disgust, a light chuckle resonating from your throat.

“Ew, you weirdo.” You teased, chucking the fabric away and laying down on your side to face Two-Bit.

Darry set himself up behind you, offering you a condom as a yes-no type question. If Darry was going anal, why did the condom matter? Ohh, for Two-Bit! You shook your head and smiled, you’d taken the pill early in the morning.

So with a nod, the condom was put aside and he gently applied some lube to your pretty puckered hole. Your pussy didn’t need it from how much it was freely spewing out.

“Alright Darry, same time, yeah?” Two-Bit asked with a soft smile.

Darry nodded, lining himself up properly and waiting for Two-Bit to start up as well. Soon enough, the two men’s dicks were ramming into your holes like relentless drills to concrete. Pounding away until there was nothing.

“Oh baby! Oh, my little Minnie mouse, you got me feelin’ it! Fuck!” Two-Bit cried out in pleasure, hands seizing your pretty protruding stomach and squeezing it lovingly.

The sounds were bouncing off the walls, the sounds of wet slapping, moaning, bed creaking, all of it mixed into one harmonious sound that you all didn’t wish to forget. The moment was forming a bond stronger than before now that its base was solidified with love.

Being Two-Bit’s “little Minnie mouse” and Darry’s “sweetie”, the whole moment was enough to have you going cross-eyed in pleasure, but not just lustful pleasure either.

Darry’s hand came to slap your rear in a light motion, to get you to clench on the both of them. You moaned out, arm lazily draped over Two-Bit’s body while he hid away in your half hug.

“Yeah sweetie, tighten real good for us. Look at Two-Bit, he’s seein’ stars. I’ma make you see stars too, sweetie. Just wait for it, be a good girl.” Darry commanded with less force than he could give, too enraptured in the pleasure to even be coherent enough to speak his thoughts.

“Ohh baby, you got us feelin’ so good. How does it feel bein’ worshiped by us two? Havin’ us tell ya how pretty you are?” Two-Bit sighed out in ecstasy, relishing in your pussy’s tight walls.

“Fu-uck! Feels so good! I love it.. I love you! Both of you!” You whined out into the room’s already obscene mess of sounds.

Once everyone found a rhythm that suited all their needs, you three were climbing up the stairs of pure passionate pleasure. It was smooth and effortless, the only occasional slip-up was, literally, Two-Bit accidentally slipping out.

Fingers clawing at Two-Bit’s fabric shirt, you could only begin to get louder with your sounds as you approached a finale. A climax with the two of them penetrating you, it excited you like no other.

“Close! Fuck, so close! Faster, faster.. fuck!” You moaned out into the room, finding yourself being swooped away by your climax to cloud nine.

You swore you couldn’t see anything for a good minute before everything settled back down, but the sensitivity of your walls and their constant thrusting was getting you a bit too overstimulated.

“S-stop, stop! ‘M sensitive!” You whimpered, hot tears spilling from your cheeks at the lack of mercy they provided.

Yet luckily enough, Two-Bit tapped out to let his load ooze into your welcoming womb, and shortly after, Darry had let his release flow too as his cum filled your arse.

With huffs and puffs, desperate attempts to clutch back air, you all were now happily adjusting to get some quality cuddles in. Until a voice boomed from the front door, alerting you all.

“That’s swell! Who bought more beer?” The voice called, sounding like Steve was back.

Now everyone was huddled together into the living room, talking amongst themselves and eating the chocolate cake previously made while you and Two-Bit watched some Mickey Mouse.

You two shared the same beer bottle, and he’d give an expression of disgust whenever he took a sip.

“How ever you all like this type of beer is nasty. ‘S too dry.” He hummed out, watching with saddened eyes as the show he loved so dearly cut to commercials.

You could only laugh, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before standing upright to go fetch another slice of cake.

[redfurrycat]

🤠🍑👨🐓Daddy Klnk Fic Recs🐓👨🍑🤠

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: Acetonitril, Coconutcordiale, Danslasherrr, Davidbyrne, Dracculaura, Earthangel_44, Emseebeans, Ginnydear, Grimjobs, Honestlydarkprincess, Lightwoodsisabelle, Lovelybattle, Mackwinnon, Miiichaaan, Nixie_DeAngel, Perishablealex, Pizzz_10, Reanimated, Renai_chan, SaintClaire, Sam_Haine, Seresins, Shadowdancing, SissySpargo, Theinsouciantknitter, WaffleToaster, Welcome_to_the_Badlands, WhisperingNights, Xo_em.

I'm a babygirl in a daddy's world > Sugar Daddy

If You Cling Too Tightly Verse by Earthangel_44 {E}

Hold on loosely

There is nothing Jake "Hangman" Seresin can't handle after he shot down the plane to save the day except for maybe one certain pilot with a taste for Hawaiian shirts.

You Might Lose Control

Three months later.

Have a Drink On Me Verse by Welcome_to_the_Badlands {E}

Have a Drink On Me

“Hey,” Mickey slurred slightly. They all look at him, and Reuben switches out his Malibu Sunset for water. “Someone should do body shots,” he said, very unsubtly glancing at Jake.

Hotter Than Hell

Or, the one with the heatwave and the popsicles.

Take My Hand and Hold On Forever by Earthangel_44 {E}

It happens again like clockwork. Every new achievement or award that Jake gets pinned to his chest. Every time he went to Afghanistan or flew with the F-151, Jake calls Bradley. Every COMM he receives or shiny new ribbon that is placed on his chest, Jake called Bradley. Or: Jake gets a lot of awards and Bradley rewards him for his good flying.

Poems About Lovers by xo_em {E}

He’s waiting for his favorite sounds of every day: the click and scrape of the front door opening then closing, a few heavy footsteps, the abrupt thud of a bag hitting the hardwood floor. Two boots following. Bradley.

Daddy Rooster Series by Renai_chan {E}

I Want To Hear You Say It Again by perishablealex {E}

The first time Jake calls Bradley daddy.

can you see me glowing by dracculaura {E}

“You know, you’re awfully moody tonight,” Jake taunts as he looks up into Bradley’s eyes. “Think you’d be in a better mood after cheating — I mean, winning earlier.” “Shut,” Bradley says, voice dipping low and husky, as he moves in even closer to Jake, hands now on the wall on either side of Jake’s face, “your fucking mouth.” “Make me.” (or, jake is a brat who craves bradley's attention)

so baby lock that door by dracculaura {E}

Maybe if Bob wasn’t so exhausted, he’d have remembered that Hangman wasn’t at the bar and it was very likely that he’d be in their room. Maybe if he hadn’t had his music up so loud, he would’ve heard the moaning, the slapping, the banging of a headboard hitting a wall. But he is exhausted, does have his music up too loud. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t even notice them until the door is closed behind him and his music is paused, and when he does, he stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Because Hangman is getting absolutely fucking railed by Rooster.

Sub Bradley by lovelybattle {E}

Slow

Bradley knelt in front of him, eyes lidded and mouth parted as he stared at where Jake’s fingers moved. His hands were on his thighs, cock poking up prettily, leaking and hard like it has been for the last twenty minutes. He let out a small whimper, blinking slowly, “daddy…”

Patience

Jake hummed, shifting his hips back just enough for his ass to rub against Bradley’s hard dick, earning himself a whimper as he pulled away again and Bradley tried to chase him with his hips. “Ah,” Jake said, laying his hand flat over Bradley’s chest, the other man immediately falling still against the bed sheets again. “Good boy.”

Give it to me daddy by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley survives the mission only to find one way to thank his savior.

touch you like I do by ginnydear {E}

Dress up, Princess by miiichaaan {E}

Jake looked at himself in their bathroom mirror, at the way the pink lace of the lingerie set he’d ordered some weeks ago, hugged his pecks, his ass, his cock so perfectly. Fascinated he ran a hand over his torso, feeling the texture, following it down to his crotch, palming himself through the fabric. He quietly smiled to himself when he thought about Bradley.

Love me one time, could not speak by miiichaaan {E}

“Jake,” Bradley breathed and moved again, ghosting his lips along the line of his ear, pushing his dick just this much deeper inside in return, “Say it again.”

As You Need Me To by perishablealex {E}

It begins with three words. No, not I love you. Who's your daddy?

Unwrap Me by Welcome_to_the_Badlands {E}

“Candy cane? Really,” he asked, chuckling. Jake cracked a smile “You know I love a good theme,” he said, winking.

I'll Treat You Sweet by Sam_Haine {E}

He imagines himself in the woman's position, on his knees in some dirty back alley, mouth wide open and taking someone's fat cock down his throat. No. He alters the scenario so that it's Rooster he's on his knees for.

Jealous Bone by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley gets jealous over an old squad member of Jake’s.

Be Good For Me by WhisperingNights {E}

If Rooster didn’t want him. Fine. He’d show Rooster what he could have had. The banging sounded again “I’m coming, damn!” Jake slung the door open glaring at Javy. Javy’s mouth was hanging open as he took Jake in. “How the hell did you get in those?” Jake grinned at Javy’s statement. Good. He’d put a lot of work into this.

Take it to the limit one more time by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley takes care of Jake for the first time.

But Only If It's With You by theinsouciantknitter {E}

The best way to celebrate surviving the unsurvivable? Sex on a bar pool table, of course.

The Only Hope for Me is You by mackwinnon {E}

“Jake,” Bradley’s voice was gentle, so unlike any other way he’d ever spoken to him, and Jake hated it. He didn’t need Rooster’s fucking pity. He didn’t need anything from anyone, least of all Rooster. Rooster, his rival. Rooster, who thought he was better than Jake. Rooster, who… Who… Rooster, who’d come looking for Jake when no one else had. Fuck. Or: After the mission, Jake disappears. Bradley goes looking for him.

it's not in the way that you hold me from old men in love Series by davidbyrne {E}

jake and bradley discover new things together in middle age

Maybe This Time Is Forever by theinsouciantknitter {E}

Jake hasn’t slept in days. Three days, to be exact. Everytime he closes his eyes he sees an outdated F-14 going down in flames into the ocean.

Say The Word by perishablealex {E}

Bradley leaves instructions for Jake. Jake follows them. - The praise begins to trickle in. “Well done, you’re so beautiful like this.” Preening at the words, Jake squirms, clenching his fingers against the sheets and inhaling shakily. Bradley’s voice is low. Jake can almost feel the brush of his voice against his ear, the ghost of the mustache tickling his lobe. “You know I can’t let you touch yourself yet, baby.”

there's money for the taking (and the happiness we all deserve) by davidbyrne {E}

“So, what, one of the richest dudes in New York wants to be your sugar daddy?” “Kinda?” Jake sits back up, straightening up and turning his body towards Javy. “He doesn’t want like sex or anything. He just needs someone to pretend to date so his uncle and PR team get off his back about his reputation.” Or a sugar daddy au in which jake is a struggling law student, bradley's a billionaire, and they weave a tangled web

Heat of the Moment by theinsouciantknitter {E}

It’s a hundred degrees in Texas, and Bradley finds that he hates it, hates the oppressive air pressing down on him, the humidity making him feel like he’s swimming with every breath he takes. He finds himself wondering, not for the first time, why he decided to come back to the homestead with Jake for their leave. They’re barely even friends, let alone the kind of people who spend their time off together.

What's my worth? by WaffleToaster {E}

Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight… These were the only thoughts that rang through his head. Twenty-nine, thirty. Two breaths. One and two. They weren't friends, they didn't even like each other and whatever they had going between them meant nothing. And then the mission happened.   Or how Bradley and Jake went from hating each other to caring a little too much.

Rivalry On A Learning Curve by SaintClaire {E}

A couple of simple definitions: Rivalry: Competition for the same objective or for superiority in the same field Archnemesis: One who is hostile to or opposes the purposes or interests of another Jake thinks about how best to define whatever the fuck it is he's got going on with Bradley. Yep. Definitely the above.

The Only Exception by mackwinnon {E}

Organized crime AU. Escort Jake meets Bradley in a club while he's with another client. Bradley's instantly intrigued and makes Jake an offer he can't refuse. It's just business. Until it isn't.

Darkness on the Edge by theinsouciantknitter {E}

There's always room for firsts in a relationship, and this one's full of them.

Priest 'verse by theinsouciantknitter {E}

One Look From You (And I Would Fall From Grace)

Jake didn’t expect this when he moved in with his grandmother. He expected to be roped into attending church with her, that’s all fine and dandy. He didn’t expect that the priest would look like that, though. He didn’t expect that he would be funny, and quick-witted. He didn’t expect him to be that young. He didn’t expect to fall in love with him.

Like a Little Prayer

Bradley has a difficult decision

Before This River Becomes an Ocean

Conversations must be had, and this is one Jake wants to avoid.

It Goes Like This (the Fourth, the Fifth)

Jake just has to get through the planning of the wedding, and then they're home free.

the Minor Fall, the Major Lift

A steadfast resolution

if you're looking for absolution (well get on your knees) by seresins {E}

Jake comes home to Texas for the summer, where he meets his church's new priest. Tempting him feels like the best kind of bad idea.

take you like a drug by coconutcordiale {E}

Murder. Jake is ready to commit murder. It’s fine. He’s a lawyer, he can represent himself in court. Because he just fell asleep. Yet here Jake is, staring at the atrocious popcorn ceiling in his bedroom, jerked awake mere minutes ago by the shrill moans of some undoubtedly gorgeous brunette and the repetitive banging of his neighbor’s headboard against the wall that he shares with Jake. * aka the neighbors au

Fucked up and pretty by pizzz_10 {E}

There’s a reason why jake is always getting under bradley’s skin, he just wants some attention.

chat with you, baby (flirt a little maybe) by acetonitril {E}

"Come on, give me a little more to work with here. How are you doing? What are you doing? Who are you doing?" The last thing, he says in a teasing tone and Bradley reacts without a second thought. “I don’t want to talk about my sex life with you, Hangman.” “And yet that’s the one thing you chose to comment on." Bradley, Jake, and accidental phone sex.

 unglued (thanks to you) by emseebeans {E}

The first time Jake says it, it’s an accident. It’s Bradley’s fault, really. It’d always been a secret Jake held onto so tight, but Bradley brings it bubbling to the surface. He pulls Jake into his orbit. He’s smooth. He’s overly sure of himself. He’ll appear to be completely uninterested one minute, to looking like he wants to devour Jake the next. And he has soft edges. He’ll say the filthiest shit in bed, and then call Jake his baby, his sweetheart. It’s no wonder the word slips out.

hits like ecstasy (comes up and bangs the sense out of me) by davidbyrne {E}

It’s a plug. Slenderer than the few they have in their collection, and a deep green. Jake opens his mouth to say something, but Bradley holds up a finger. Jake shuts his mouth. The plug starts vibrating in his palm, slow, steady pulses that build. Jake sucks in a breath.

all in by honestlydarkprincess {E}

If you had told Rooster a week ago that he would be stumbling into his base housing with Hangman, making out against every surface Rooster could push him into, he would have called you a liar. As it was, he still couldn’t quite believe this was happening, even though Hangman’s tongue was currently in his mouth. Or, the one where Hangman and Rooster hook up and Hangman slips up, admitting his daddy kink. Rooster goes all in.

G.U.Y. by reanimated {E}

Bradley finally slips. Jake is cautiously intrigued. Until they both throw caution to the wind.

just a touch of your love by lightwoodsisabelle {E}

“Just one of those days where nothing went right,” Bradley half-shrugged, the stress of the day feeling further away with each passing minute. “I’ve had worse.” Jake let out a coo as he stood, a noise that was half sarcastic, half sympathetic. He placed his hands on his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him in closer to whisper, “well, why don’t you let me take care of you?” “Just one of those days where nothing went right,” Bradley half-shrugged, the stress of the day feeling further away with each passing minute. “I’ve had worse.” Jake let out a coo as he stood, a noise that was half sarcastic, half sympathetic. He placed his hands on his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him in closer to whisper, “well, why don’t you let me take care of you?”

Show Me by danslasherrr {E}

"You danced on that man like a bitch in heat but you were looking at me the whole time. You wanted me to watch you and why's that, Jake?", he ran a hand down Jake's cheek softly. Or: Jake makes Bradley jealous and then apologises by giving him head

viewing pleasure by SissySpargo {E}

jakes a porn star. bradleys the director. they're also married.

Your Body Is My Alter by Nixie_DeAngel {E}

Sometimes Jake just needs to wring every ounce of pleasure from his husband as he can.

all you're giving me is friction by grimjobs {E}

Come on, daddy long legs, move your feet so I can sit down,” Hangman said, it was innocuous enough, but Bradley felt his blood heat all the same; he was grateful for the sun beating down on his skin, hoping that it hid the flush he could feel blooming across his neck and chest. or, 5 times Jake called Bradley 'daddy', and one time, he called Bradley 'daddy'.

that's my good girl by shadowdancing {E}

Jake Seresin is known for being an observant man. He sees the hand prints on Bradley's waist and the hickeys on his throat. He sees the way his eyes light up when he's praised. And based on the frustration in his body, Jake knows he isn't getting fucked like he wants...like he deserves. Bradley Bradshaw is known for being an intelligent man. For years, he's been letting sexual encounters mark him up, just so he can get Jake's eyes on him. He knows Jake sees them, determining that under Bradley's bluster, he's desperate for Jake to fuck him, to give him what he needs in a way no one else can. This is the story of two men pushing and pulling at their desires, figuring out their feelings, and satisfying each other in the way they've been desperate for since they met.