#and when they're in the car and johnny is thinking about turning himself in

[boysborntodie]

Thinking about Jally, as one does. And especially thinking about Dally.

Dally who knows his feelings for Johnny, has actually even fooled around with boys before, but none of them have ever been Johnny, never could be Johnny. Johnny who's sweet and kind and good at listening. Johnny who understands him in a way that would be scary, is scary, makes him want to lash out or run away, but because it's Johnny, his Johnny who trusts and loves, he allows it.

But Johnny's soft and sensitive and good and everything Dally is not. What does a hood like him even know about loving someone? He's hardened himself of all vulnerabilities, becoming cold and harsh. He can't taint Johnny with his love, Johnny deserves better than it.

And yet Johnny constantly seeks him out with a look in his eyes that Dally's can't quite identify, and fuck that scares him so fucking much. And a part of Dally wants to shake him, shout at him, tell him to go away, that Dallas Winston has only ever brought those around him trouble and pain and hurt.

But a selfish part of him wants Johnny to stay with him, to keep looking at him like that. And that part is greater so it wins everytime even though Dally hates himself for it.

If I can't be good enough to stay away from Johnny, I'll be better for him, Dally tells himself, even if I do always end up hurting everyone around me, I won't hurt him. Never him.

Dally knows he'll never be good enough to deserve Johnny's love, but at least he can make sure his love doesn't hurt Johnny.

[audisive]

♪ BROOKLYN BABY. (💌) – previous part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: the 141 believes the scot now.

tags: fluff, romance, soft!simon, you're basically their mom atp lol, bickering, there's a bet between gaz n soap, gaz secretly wants you shh, ooc characters, not proofread, price being the gentleman he is, he's seriously just watching everything unfold

       It's not always that Ghost is willing to let the 141 stay at his house for their traditions – which is just drinking beer and watching sports, really. In fact, he's always said something about his place being empty, so they always settled on someone else's. They stop asking after a year, and in turn, he stops having reasons.

It's not until Soap pops the question again when everyone else's houses are unavailable for a variety of reasons, his being that he left his faucet on and now his shitty apartment is flooded. You can only imagine the suspicion and shock when Ghost agrees (or, rather, simply grunts).

The drive is long, nothing short of 5 hours, and Soap spends the better half of it bickering with either Gaz or Ghost. He falls asleep by the next half, and when he awakes, he gawks at the lovely looking house before their car. There's two stories to it, a balcony, a front porch, and there's no doubt that there's a backyard.

Contrary to popular belief, no, it is not all black or plain at all. It's all equally surprising to them. The Brit isn't the type to care about the appearance and state of a house, usually. They do envision him in a mostly empty apartment with only a bed and a bathroom, though.

There's a delicate touch to where a rough man lives; the smell is almost heavenly when they enter the house. It's homely, the scent of newly washed sheets and lingering smell of food; there's a cat perched on the living room table that Ghost scratches the head of lovingly in a way that's so casual and natural. It's like they're at the gates of–

"Simon!" Heaven's bells ring in their ears, luring them into the doorway of the living room, and the sound of feet padding against the cold floor. There comes a soft-looking thing running into Ghost's arms, completely engulfing you.

You only notice the three familiar faces of your boyfriend's team members – though you know he considers them family if anything – when you pull away. An angel clad in only a cami top, shorts, and Simon's hand around your waist, you turn to look at the group with a surprised look on your pretty – Soap thinks that God, you're so pretty – face. "Oh, hi," you smile sweetly, obviously awkward at the silence and the staring.

"It's been a while," Ever the gentleman, the gruff voice is the first to speak up with your name uttered, the only who's actually met you – John Price. Soap is too enamored with the way you hold yourself and the fact that, holy fuck, even your name's pretty. Gaz raises a brow at the captain's greeting.

You smile once more – a genuine one now. "Nice to see you again, John."

"'S rude to stare, Johnny." Simon speaks out, a smirk under the mask. "Please excuse him, miss," Gaz adds, this beautiful man, and offers a charming smile.

"You must be Gaz," you hold your hand out, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," Kyle forgets that a hand could be this soft and gentle, "and please, call me Kyle." He barely stops himself from turning your hand in his to kiss the back of it like one should to a lady so fair; his lieutenant has good taste in women, he'll give him that. And when you're out of the area, Soap is sure to rub it in Gaz's face. I told ye so! LT wis hidin' somethin' from us. A pretty something, that is. You don't miss the way he slips a twenty-dollar bill into the Scottish man's hand.

"Glad tae meet ye," Soap finally says, winking. "Understand why he wis hidin' a bonnie lass like ye from us." There's a mischievous glint in his eye, almost naturally so.

"A'm hurt, LT, but whit can I do? After all, we're just a couple o' brutes, arenae we?"

Simon watches in amusement, "you'll live." Soap is quick to move to your side as you lead the small group of hulking men through your shared home after that.

Simon is visibly more relaxed with you around. He's comfortable, that much is a given, with the way he's taking up most of the thankfully large couch with his manspreading. So is the 141. They're pampered like spoiled children (or pets, really) through the whole day.

Instead of just beer and faucet water, they're offered a variety of drinks in the kitchen that's enough to be considered a private bar. Instead of an empty belly unhealthily stuffed with beer and a mix of mediocre takeout, they're met with warm homecooked meals. They lose track of time quickly; the night falls by the time they've tired themselves out, and they've had not one, but two meals thanks to you.

(They're sure to commend your cooking skills and think of how lucky this tall brute of a man is blessed with a woman so soft and pliant and wonderful and– while Price is the one to be the most grateful, Soap compliments you the most. "A can practically taste the love." You laugh in turn.)

Gaz is the first to speak after a meal so lovely, they could simply just sleep on the floor comfortably and wake to the same smell of home. "It's a bit late, love, we should probably go."

"Thank you for having us," Price smiles down at you kindly.

"Ye've been lovely, bonnie." He wants to stay some more.

"Wait," you stop them, looking up at Simon for further approval. He's already looking at you with a reassuring brush of his thumb on the side of your hip and a nod. You turn your eyes back at them. "It's already late, you three should stay the night. We have enough room for everyone."

There comes, "we don't wanna intrude," then, "we can take care of ourselves, it's alright."

"Please, I insist." Your smile brightens, "I'll even cook breakfast before you leave."

The mohawk moves with a sigh, "now tha's just no' fair, lass. How are we gonna say no tae that?" You giggle. Only then do they find themselves tucked away in the guest room, and boy, you were right when you said it could fit them all if not more.

On the way to the bathroom in the late hours of the night, Soap catches a glimpse of light through the crack of your bedroom door to see his oh-so strong lieutenant, vulnerable in your arms. There's something natural about the way you cradle the large man and kiss his hair like it's part of your DNA, like you're programmed to do that 'cause Soap thinks you're simply unreal.

He's proud of his lieutenant, this lucky bastard. He turns another blind eye once more, but he's paid in full with another fulfilling meal by the morning.

[cherie-doll]

Hello, I really like your work, I think I've read everything so far, but it's very addictive 🫶

I recently saw a video where a boy was running towards his father to escape from a school bully who wanted to hit him. I would like to know if you could place an order with the Call of Duty guys reacting to this situation. thank you.

I'm your fan. ♥️

really sorry i've been so slow with requests lately sometimes i don't feel well, thank you for submitting this <3

ᡴ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

COD Men's Reactions To Their Kids Being Bullied

༄ Price would be swooping his kid up in his arms before the little booger got close to him. He's trying to make sense of what's happening and demanding to hear it. He'll want to hear the WHOLE thing through.

༄ Simon had heard his child softly sniffling in your arms before when you were able to coax the story out from your son. Now you're scared about what Simon is up to when he stands there wearing his skull mask which is surely enough to terrify anyone to death.

༄ Johnny has some of the worst ways to deal with a problem and this is one of them. In the moment, he's confused but picking up his kid and afterwards when he finds out what happened he's down in the basement showing him ways to knock a kid out, like??

༄ Kyle makes sure his kid is safe, no injuries or marks when he picks him up. Then he's turning to the bully and telling them to stop, pulling whatever object they were thinking of using to hit his kid. Would probably sit down on a bench and have a talk to the bully or something.

༄ Roach is picking up his kid and booking it out of there. That bully looks a lot older and bigger that it makes him question if he even goes to that same school. Frankly, he's a little scared too and is trying to pick up the pace on the way to the car.

༄ Alejandro would be running after the bully telling him to put that down. Afterwards, he's giving a good talking to (after making sure his kid is alright first, of course). He doesn't care if the bully's parents pull up upset that their kid was scolded by a stranger but HIS kid was almost injured.

༄ Rudy was primarily concerned for the wellbeing of his kid when he realized what was going on. He's wanting to know the entire situation and even then he'll want to talk to the kid's parents, the teachers and whoever else could have overlooked this issue. He's making sure it doesn't happen again in the future not to his own child nor to other kids.

༄ Phillip would have convinced to NOT go directly to the principal's office demanding the kid be expelled. And if the school isn't willing to respond? God have mercy....

༄ Makarov would have to be held back. Not that his kid can't defend himself, no he taught them better than that. But the idea that someone thought they could look down on one of HIS kids is enough reason for him to want to declare war.

༄ Keegan brings a "man up" resolve to a situation that neither you nor your kid is too keen on. He's defending his kid this time, especially when he sees what the bully's intentions are. But next time he prefers to teach his kid how to prevent it from happening again.

༄ König was bullied as a kid, right? There would probably be flashbacks of his times of enduring the relentless bullying of other kids going through his mind right now. Kid's can be cruel. Would take a minute for him to snap out of it before he's springing into action.

༄ Horangi would probably think they're just playing rough before seeing his daughter running to him with tears streaming down the sides of her face. He's already calling a lawyer and investigating who the bully's parents are, where they work and how they'd settle this.

༄ Nikto's sleeve would be getting tugged desperately by his kid for him to notice that it was something urgent and not just the kids playing. Would calmly pick his kid up and ask the other child where his parents were and that they needed to be disciplined a little more.

[anjelicawrites]

Scrapes at the borders of your life

“The giraffe has its heart far away from its thoughts. It has fallen in love yesterday and doesn’t know it yet.”

― Stefano Benni, Ballate

Paring: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x trauma surgeon!reader

Synopsis: Simon has fallen for the trauma surgeon attached to the 141 and believes he has no chances with them, resigning himself in the role of friend and guarding devil, until the truth comes out.

Warnings: angst, stalking (Simon doesn't mean to), medical talk, surgery talk, reference to depression meds, reference to weapons, reference to Simon’s abuse as a child, reference to violence, talk of scars, insecurity, someone gets slapped (reader but not from Simon), someone gets headbutted (not reader, not Simon), Johnny tries to be a wingman, Simon simps a lot, Simon’s fear of not managing a full intercourse, Simon's hit and miss libido, premature ejaculation, kissing, oral (f receiving), fail sex, good sex, P in V sex (protected and unprotected), fingering, overstimulation, cuddling.

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns used when needed. They're referred as "ma'am" a couple of times.

Word count: 10.293

You check your phone, you’re not late but you need to be out of the locker room in ten minutes, if you want to arrive on time for your date, the one you don’t really want to go to.

You’re still rummaging through your bag as you exit the lockers, when you hear Soap’s Scottish accent and Ghost’s quiet hum of answer: those two are like black and white, yet are joined at the hip like twins.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

The locker room of the male military personnel has recently been moved next to the one used by the civilians working on base, something that most of the men had made crude jokes about; thankfully the task force you’re attached to, the 141, abstained from any remarks. You didn’t know that Simon had rained his irritation on the men who had the gall to repeat the jokes to his face, in the form of exhausting training and fatigue duties, during the next few days, it was something he kept for himself, the same way he did all his thoughts about you.

“So, Johnny, what do you think?

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, doc! Aren’t they not, Lt.?”

The behemoth of a man glances at you, without saying a word.

“If the guy doesn’t beg for a second date, he’s an idiot, doc!”

“That’s not what I need to happen.” You pout. “Mother is hellbent in finding me a partner, I have told her this is the last time I’m going out with someone. I need this date to go bad, so she will stop pestering me when I tell her that I’d rather die alone with forty cats, than with someone I’m not truly interested in.”

“Do you have everything with you?”

You stare at Simon’s masked face, his brown eyes unreadable.

“Simon, really…”

“Do you have it?”

He’s not standing in front of you, blocking your path, but he’s trying to pin you with his stare.

“You’re insufferable!” You rummage in your bag. “See? Pepper spray, teaser and the knife!”

“That’s enough stuff to make any bloke run for his life.” Soap says, eyeing the array of weapons.

“I hope so! This chap is the son of someone mum knows. I have to make sure he runs for the hills the next time he hears my name!”

You walk towards the door, blind to Soap’s grinning, and to the way Simon’s hands have curled into fists.

“See you next week, boys!”

“What?”

You turn around and look at the Scot.

“I’m on annual leave. Try not to go save the word when I am not here to patch you four up, OK?”

The door closes behind you, cutting Soap’s laughter.

“What do you say, Lt.?” He asks, showing him the pictures of what appears to be a Tuscan villa. “You, the doc, and a spring wedding?”

“Fuck you, Johnny.”

Simon keeps telling himself he isn’t truly stalking you. He doesn’t have a tracking device installed in your car, or your phone, because that would be creepy, but he’s well aware of the statistics, how high the numbers are for assaults or, worse, rape and murder, or how those figures sky rocket when it comes to dating.

Simon knows you’re bright, brighter than most, but that doesn’t protect you if one asshole decides he doesn’t like your smart mouth, and bleeding Nora you have opinions and you’re not afraid to voice them! He still remembers the first time he’s met you.

You had emerged from the OR after a five hours long emergency surgery on Gaz. You were still wearing your scrubs and one of the colorful caps you use when you’re operating (it was the pink one with the dogs, Simon would gift you one with skulls and bones after the first routine checkup you did on him).

None of them had ever seen you, you had started at the base while the 141 was deployed; when the pararescue had entrusted Gaz to Dr. Rutherford, you were just one of the medics running to the OR, you were but a scrub, a body among many others, listening to the quick handover and shouting orders as the gurney was speeding down the pale green walls of the military hospital.

“What?”

You had looked at the three of them with weary eyes and furrowed brows, surprised that the soldiers had encircled you and were staring expectantly.

The man you’ll learn to know as Captain Price had asked you about Gaz’s prognosis, the other men crowding around you.

“Hasn’t Dr. Rutherford talked to you?”

“No, ma’am.”

He had sounded tired, he looked like he had been through hell and back. Those three men hadn’t probably hit the showers yet, too worried for their friend.

“Oh bleeding hell!” You had burst out, the peak of adrenaline that had carried you through out the surgery having abated, leaving you sluggish. “OK, gather around children, mother goose is gonna tell you everything.”

You had marched to the closest row of chairs and climbed on top of one: those men were so tall and buff you felt like you couldn’t breathe, nor be heard with them standing around you.

“We’re positive he’s going to be fine.” You had smiled at the collective sigh of relief. “He’s in the recovery room, the nurses there are checking on his vitals, before he gets transferred to the ICU. He’s going to be intubated and sedated for a couple of days, to help his body deal with the pain. His wounds were pretty gnarly, and his appendix was ready to burst. Did he tell any of you if he felt abdominal pain, or nauseous?”

There was a collective shake of heads and surprised stares, even the eyes of the one with the skull mask had widened.

“All things considered, it would have been worse if the appendix had actually burst while you were out. That would have been another bag of cats to handle.”

You had elected not to say anything about the way the small organ had almost exploded as soon as you had gently poked it, or that the sergeant would have had high risks of dying of peritonitis out in the field.

“I’ll tell the nurses to give you all a shout when the sergeant is transferred. You can sit with him outside his room, if you want.”

You had expected them to visit their friend, not to find them sitting on the uncomfortably plastic chairs, still wearing their whole gear, when you had popped by the ICU.

“Doc?”

It was the one you’ll learn to know as Soap that had stared at you, one eye swollen and in dire need of ice: another battle for another day, you had mused.

“I’m not in the habit of abandoning my patients after surgery.”

You had marched to the two chairs right in front of the window into Gaz’s room, and kicked Ghost’s foot out of the way, he was manspreading so much he was occupying two seats (honest to God! Why men need to always do that?). At the time you weren’t aware of his reputation, and even if you were, you wouldn’t have cared, too tired and angry.

“You junk wouldn’t scare death away, soldier.” You had sat next to him. “And we’re not going to open another cycle on my watch tonight.”

You had pulled out your headphones and started blasting music to keep yourself awake, ignoring the surprised stares of the men.

Next to you Ghost was staring at you, wondering if you had a death wish, or if you believed that looking at the little numbers on Gaz’s monitor, as if they owed you money, was the right way to fight death. You were listening to your music with a volume so high he could hear it himself: pop songs from the early 2000s: would that be enough to scare death away, he had wondered.

None of you knew how much time had passed, the minutes bleeding into hours, weariness setting in your bones, the music not helping fight the siren’s song of sleep: you were so tired, the azure number of Gaz’s oxygen saturation, and the constant curves on the monitor were truly hypnotizing you, your eyes were growing heavy and unfocused.

You head had snapped to the right side as soon as you had seen Dr. Rutherford walking down the corridor.

“I’ll be back in a moment.”

You had popped your pink headphones on the uncomfortable chair, the men around you not clocking on the clacking sound of plastic on plastic, but the angry way you were marching towards your colleague, your hands closed in twin fists.

The conversation was carried out in hushed tones, Dr. Rutherford was standing still, his mouth a thin, white line of anger, and you were constantly in his space, a snarl on your face as you growled your words at him.

It was well known that Dr. Rutherford wasn’t liked and that he had the reputation of someone who would pull his rank to cover up his bullying, and his mistakes. He was feared, having managed to ruin other physicians’ careers over the years.

In retrospect Simon had realized this was the moment when he had started to notice you: when he was wondering about your lack of self preservation. To tell the truth, it was what you did seconds after that stole his heart, unbeknownst to him, when Dr. Rutherford had slapped you in the face.

Time could have stopped, for all you knew. You couldn’t hear the surprised shouts of the nurses, nor the scuffing of the men’s boots hitting the ground, only the roar of blood in your ears and the knot of rage exploding in your belly. Seconds, only seconds had passed when your body had decided to act on its own, your forehead crashing on the older man’s nose, Captain John Price’s burly body between yours and Rutherford’s a moment too late.

“Oh crap! I think I have broken my nose. Oh shit!”

You were too busy tenderly touching your face to mind the chaos around you.

“I’ll have you in front of the court martial!” Rutherford had screamed at you.

“I’m a civilian, you buffoon! Your loser grades mean nothing to me!”

Through the pain you had felt a bulky arm curl around your middle to stop you from attacking the other surgeon.

“That’s enough, doc.” The low thunder of Ghost’s voice had rumbled against your back. “Stand down.”

Your vision was blurry, the soldiers tasked with security were tackling Dr. Rutherford, with the help of Soap: the older man was still trying to get to you, he was hurling insults, his voice booming in the crowded corridor.

“I’m not done with you! Did you hear me well? You’ll be fired! You’ll never work in this country ever again!”

“The one who’s never going to work in this country for the rest of his life is you, Rutherford.”

Amidst the chaos, Price was calm, furious but calm, his voice was cutting through Rutherford’s threats and the security men’s shouts.

“I am a major, captain! I can have you transferred in an hour!”

“You can try, major. Hitting a civilian, in front of witnesses?”

“Leaving the OR mid surgery to do God knows what, since I had to talk to these gentlemen about their friend.” You had snarled, the arm around your middle had tensed again. “You manage to fire me? I’ll go back working with Doctors without Borders, but I’ll make sure you’ll lose your license, Rutherford.”

When Ghost’s arm had released you, you had let yourself slide against the wall, after Rutherford had been carried away, your legs having finally given up supporting you. You had needed a minute before letting the nurses do a check up.

“Are you OK over there, doc?”

It had been Soap asking.

“I have been through worse. Jesus Christ what way to present myself!” The men had looked at you puzzled. “I’m the new trauma surgeon attached to the 141. Hi! Usually I am not this violent, or chaotic, I’m sorry you had to see all of that.”

You didn’t fault the men for not knowing: they had been out in the field for months, your predecessor had decided to step down after some serious family issues right after they have left base.

“You should all go home, I’m on call, I’m going to stay with the sergeant. And I’m going to see one lieutenant Riley on Monday? For the routine check up?”

The man with the over the top mask had sighed: lieutenant Riley found!

“If anything comes up, I will contact you all, it’s a promise.”

Simon hates when he has to tail you so close to the city center, there are too many people around and his baklava would stir up too much curiosity, the surgical mask on his face, his baseball cap under the black hood of his hoodie don’t offer enough cover for his face, he feels exposed, even though he’s hiding in the shadows of an alley where he can keep an eye on you.

Your date has picked a table at the window; Simon hates that the prick thinks he can put you on display like that. If he were a different man, he’d bring you to somewhere cozier, smaller, and he wouldn’t show you around like a prize he’s won.

He knows you’re hating every minute you have to spend with the anonymous man who’s boring you with whatever topic he’s prattling about, Simon sees it in the way you are looking outside, or in how many times you grab your phone; from this distance he can’t see your eyes, yet he knows they hold that distant look he’s seen too many times when you have to deal with paperwork. He wonders how long before one of your friends will call you to save you from this dreadful date, or if you’ll suffer through it to make your mother happy; if his circumstances had been different, he wouldn’t bore you to death, you wouldn’t have to use help to finish this date earlier. But Simon knows you’re way out of his league, too much of everything he has never had the chance to be, to ever hope to be. He can only be your patient and, something akin to a friend.

He had knocked at the door of your office on the dot, hating that he had to go through this bullshit check up, but preferring to be done with it as fast as possible.

He had expected the usual flurry of nurses coming and going, making the experience ten times more unpleasant; you were alone, instead. Your cheek was still swollen from the slap and you were sporting a bump on your forehead, right where you had headbutted that prick Rutherford; he half expected you to wear a colorful T-shirt, like the one you wore after Gaz’s surgery: obnoxious pink, the Barbie inspired font composing the phrase ‘Bitch, please’, which should have told him already everything he needed to know about you.

He was almost disappointed by the white button down shirt and black trousers.

He knew he was trying to distract himself from the knot of anxiety churning his stomach: how he hated to be here!

“Lieutenant.” You had looked up at him with the more open expression you could muster. “I will need you to remove your baklava. I have to examine your face.”

“Negative, ma’am.”

He couldn’t let you look at himself and, based on his records, you understood why.

You had tried to transmit him calmness by relaxing your body as much as possible: face open to his scrutiny and slightly pulled to the side to show your neck, your hands palms up.

“Lieutenant. I know this is unpleasant and that I am a stranger to you, but I can’t sign off the paperwork, if you don’t allow me to do my job. I can’t let you out in the field.”

You knew he was observing you, those brown eyes scanning you like he would an enemy, and you let him, you were in no hurry and this man deserved to make up his mind.

The way you had addressed him, the respect you had shown him, had convinced him to unmask himself: you weren’t doing this with ill intent, the matter of fact way you had used, as if you were telling him a known fact ‘Water is wet’, ‘ The sky is blue’, ‘If I can’t do my job, you wouldn’t be able to do yours’ had convinced him: you were one of the few people who weren’t curious about his face. He has encountered too many people who wouldn’t take a no for an answer, who didn’t care about why he wished the mask was his face, instead of seeing his father’s face staring back at him in every mirror, they just wanted to solve the mystery. You were doing your job, with all the sharps edges that it entailed, just like he did his, and that was something he had to respect.

You had been as fast and clinical as possible, the scars didn’t horrify you; based on his paperwork, you could list off all of his injuries as you saw them on his face and, later, his body. What you couldn’t find in his file, it had been easy to infer based on all the x-rays and MRIs, some old injuries impossible for a child to have without some external causes.

“You can put your baklava back on, lieutenant.”

Simon would never be able to put into words how grateful he was that you had kept your examination of his naked face as fast as possible, and that you didn’t force him through the hell that was small talk for the whole ordeal. If you had noticed the way he was staring at you, you didn’t say a single thing, something he was also grateful for, it had helped him bearing with the whole process, than anything else ever did.

On Friday a small packet and a steaming mug of tea were waiting for you on your desk. Carefully folded in the bright paper, an OR cap, black with neon skulls and bones design. On a whim you had told the nurse working with you to hold the fort for a minute, you had forgotten you had to run a little errand.

Said errand was standing in the field, covered in head to toe in black, busy overseeing what you believed was some sort of drill with the younger recruits.

“Thank you for the cap, you didn’t have to, lieutenant.” You couldn’t hide the smile in your voice, you didn’t want to. “How did you manage to discover how I love to take my tea?”

Simon was standing next to you, massive arms crossed on his solid chest, his face slightly turned towards you.

“If I were to tell you, doc, then I would have to kill you.”

Someone else would have been petrified by his words and the deadpan expression in his eyes, you had simply chuckled and had taken a sip from the mug, your personal mug, the one you had brought to use in the kitchen for the medical staff.

“We can’t have that, can we? Now I have to discover how you prefer your tea.”

“Do you like challenges, doc?”

He had turned to look at you and you had fancied you could see amusement in the rich brown of his eyes.

“I live for those, lieutenant.” You had taken a couple of steps towards the medical buildings. “Have a nice day!”

You were already halfway through, when Soap had approached Simon.

“Spring wedding, Lt.?”

“I need a sparring partner, and you just volunteered.”

You were always catching his attention without doing so. You were always at the corner of his eyes, busy working, or chatting with the civilian personnel at the base. He’d be running drills with the new recruits and he’d know you were walking somewhere nearby, he’d be at the canteen and you’d be either leaving the premises, or entering them. You’d pop by the military rec room because “You boys get the better tasting tea!” and he’d be snickering to himself in the shadows.

Unconsciously, he had started using the route passing by your office, to go to his (that he had to enter the medical building and then exiting it was something he actively didn’t want to think about), his eyes taking quick peaks at you through the window, whenever you kept the blinds open; you’d be slaving by your desk, elbow deep in paperwork, brows furrowed in concentration, or typing away at your PC. He’s seen you, during night shift, either working or reading with your legs propped up the desk, munching on something sweet, trying to keep yourself awake, or asleep on your couch, curled under a thick blanket; he had felt something warm unfurl in his chest, you looked so small and defenseless he felt the strange urge to stop and keep guarding your door until you’d wake up.

It had been you who had watched over him after a gnarly injury. He had woken up in a hospital bed, oxygen mask on his face, drips in his arm and too many surgical drains poking him. He was still high on the anesthetic and pain killers, his eyes barely focusing on your face that he had thought he was hallucinating you.

“How are you feeling, lieutenant?”

He had needed a moment to speak, his mouth felt like cement.

“Thirsty.” He had managed to say, ashamed that you were seeing him so weak.

“We’re giving you fluids but you’re not clear for food or water, yet. Squeeze my hand if you understand.”

Your small fingers had wounded around his coarse palm, their dainty touch had grounded him: you were real.

“I managed to remove the bullets from your gut. You have a lovely spleen and gall-bladder.”

Even high as a kite, in that precise moment, Simon’s brain had catch up with his heart and had realized he was in love with you, irrevocably, and that he had zero chances with you.

It wasn’t because you were a genius and he was an idiot, Simon knew well that he had the brains to match his ruthlessness, the issue laid in the fact that you two had less to nothing in common. He had seen you read thick tomes he has never heard of and talk with Gaz about movies he didn’t know ever existed; when he had checked any of the titles out he had realized how wildly your tastes forked: what he liked, you would hate, what you loved, made him fall asleep in ten minutes, like that subtitled movie he had tried to watch during leave, he had conked out five minutes in, and awoke when the end credits were rolling.

In his head he could see how a movie date would end up: he asleep and you wondering why he had asked you to come with him to the movie theater. What did he have to say to you that would interest you in his ugly mug? He was a highly trained killer whose hands were dripping blood, he came with a baggage that would put you in danger, what good could he add to your life? Yet, he was attracted to you like a moth to a flame. Even if he wanted, he wouldn’t be able to stop looking for you at the base, or shadow you when you went home.

It wasn’t a matter of stalking you, Simon fully knew where he stood, and that the only thing he could do for you, was keeping you safe; he would hide in the shadows and follow you home, leaving only when he had seen you safe in the quiet of your apartment. He had gifted you weapons, his heart beating a tad too fast when you didn’t run for the hills when he had given you the knife for your birthday, then the pepper spray and then the teaser. He had scared away a persistent date, a guy who simply didn’t want to understand that you weren’t interested: being your guardian devil was all he could offer you.

Soap didn’t help. He kept trying to push him towards you, trying to make sure his lieutenant was alone with you. One night shift he had gone as far as buying takeout, gave it to Simon when you were passing by with a cheeky “You must be famished doc!” and left Simon standing like a log with too many bags in his hands (he was going to use Johnny for target practice, if he ever survived this ordeal). You had stared at him with a smile, so lovely on your face, that he had wanted to bolt, food and all: you scared him in a way no promise of violence ever could. “You shouldn’t have, Simon!” and he had found himself sitting awkwardly on the too small couch in your office, all the plastic dishes neatly organized on the short table in front of him; you had removed your shoes and were sitting on the armrest, a container and a fork in your hand. Of course you were wearing ridiculous eraser yellow socks with tiny bunnies sketched on the cotton.

“Are you hungry, Simon?”

The way you pronounced his name! The way your voice modulated each and every syllable sent a shiver down his spine.

“Yes.” He had lied, his stomach was a knot.

He had been through hell, he knew you could tell by the scars littering his body. He has had too many close brushes with death than what he cared to count, yet he was petrified by your vicinity, by the fact that he had never been ‘Ghost’ to you, you had progressed from ‘Lieutenant’ to ‘Simon’ effortlessly, that you seemed to be able to read him in ways no one ever could. Were you be able to tell that the silence clothing you two was too deafening to him, the man who was the Reaper for his enemies?

What was he supposed to talk about with you? Why couldn’t he find some inane topic that would make you smile? Even the youngest recruit would be able to simply chat with you, why couldn’t he?

“What’s a cycle?” He had blurted out

“What?” You had started at him, quizzically, mouth around a forkful of food.

Yes, his mind provided, way to pass off as an idiot. He couldn’t possible stay silent, he had to press on even though he could only taste bile, not the food he was trying to chew.

“With Gaz. You said you didn’t want to open another cycle.”

“Oh, that!” You had put the fork in the empty container and stared at him. “It’s one of our superstitions.”

You had gently put the container on the table and grabbed your Coke.

“We actually have many, us who work in hospital, that is. It’s all nonsensical, no actual basis but the mind’s strife to put order in the chaos of life.” You had giggled, staring at him. “Don’t make that face!”

Simon was positive he wasn’t making any face whatsoever, it was well known he was a stone and what could you see? He had lifted his mask over his nose to eat, you couldn’t observe a single thing!

“You have very expressive eyes. And I’m going to tell you, after the shift is over, I’m as superstitious as they come!”

You did tell him, when the sun was grazing the horizon and he was having a smoke, dreading that he had to go home, if his sparse apartment could have been called that.

You were standing next to him, your own cigarette between your fingers, a colorful T-shirt half hidden under your hoodie and leather jacket. He had come to realize you only wore your more professional clothes during the day; when you had to work nights, you preferred more casual stuff, that made you look younger than your years. He hated that he could notice that, and that this information made his black heart swell a little.

“There are a handful of superstitions any hospital worker will tell you are true. The first one, the golden rule, is that you never say that a shift is quiet, not while you’re working, or literal hell will break loose. Second one is the cycle: death comes in clusters of three in a ward. It makes no sense and it’s truly pareidolia at its best, but it’s true: ask anyone working at the hospital on base and they’ll tell you that three people will die in a row, perhaps in a span of a few days, but it will happen, all in the same ward.”

You had puffed a cloud of smoke, staring at the sky.

“The others?” He had heard himself ask.

“Oh, the new moon.” You had smiled at him. “Pregnant people tend to give birth more during that time span. It’s utter and complete crap, on a scientific level, but it’s all true. Also, when you’re walking a deserted ward at night and you hear your name being called? No you don’t. You keep walking and ignore the ghosts.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It is, but we believe in it religiously or the most of us do.”

You two had finished your cigarettes in silence, then you had bid him a good day of sleep; he had wondered if he should follow you home just to see you in your apartment, drinking your tea before trying to get some shut eye.

He had done this countless times, after particularly grueling missions, after you had gave all of them a clean bill of health, scolded Gaz (“Fallen off a chopper again? Is this the Darwin Awards sergeant?”) and Soap (“I swear to God MacTavish, you have fun at getting hit in the head!”) for their bumps and scrapes and asked him if he was sure he didn’t need anything to help him sleep.

He was well aware you had clearance to read his medical files, the list of prescriptions he was under, even the stuff the psychiatrist on base had given him to help him navigate his life; he didn’t want any of that, he only needed to see you safe home, to find the strength to go back to his own, so barren compared to yours.

He hadn’t gone to his hole immediately. He had followed you and hid to watch you brew your morning tea and eat a couple of biscuits. The sky had become overcast, yet to him you were still bathed in sunlight, your cozy apartment filled him with a longing he wasn’t capable to bear: would you let him sleep on your small couch? He wouldn’t do anything else but curl there under one of your quaint blankets (he had a preference for the crochet one, but he would have taken anything, really, a rescued dog would accept any scrap of love it was given), lulled to sleep by your presence.

What a loser, right?

It’s raining by the time your date ends.

Simon can’t hear what the douchebag is telling you, but he can’t help the satisfied smile on his face when he sees the guy leave with his tail between his legs: whatever that is, it didn’t work with you and never will.

He tails you from afar, your obnoxious umbrella dotted with pink hearts is the beacon that helps him spot you amidst all the people running from the rain; he doesn’t care that he’s drenched, he’s been through worse.

He stops and ducks in the alleyway he uses to keep an eye on your apartment, waiting for the right moment to hop on to the small balcony where all your plants live.

He doesn’t usually lets himself get so close to you, tonight he can’t help himself: he’s going to listen to you get ready for bed and then go, he’s become hungrier and hungrier for your presence, looking from afar it’s not cutting it anymore. And he’s not going to see you for a whole week, he needs in his bones to absorb whatever little scrapes of your life he possibly can, until you’re back to the base.

He listens as you walk around the apartment barefoot, your clothes hitting the bathroom floor, the whisper of the clothes you wear at home, when you unfold it from its place on the dresser (once he had almost ogled you when you were changing clothes; he had managed to turn around before he could have seen more than he should have, yet the image of your bare back had hunted him for days), some inane documentary on the telly keeping you company as you remove your makeup. It’s all so familiar, so homely, a routine he knows by heart and that is never going to be his, and that relaxes him: if he were yours he would brush his teeth side by side with you, maybe poke at you with his elbow just to make you laugh, he’d carry you to bed bridal style and keep watch until you fall asleep all curled up in his arms. If he were yours, but he’s never going to belong to you.

“Simon?” Your voice comes from the French doors.

His training doesn’t make him jump in surprise, on the inside his heart is hammering like crazy against his ribs.

He stands still, he doesn’t move a single muscle as he hears you exit the warmth of your apartment to join him where the storm is raging.

You stand next to where he is, the two of you sheltered by the worse of the water by the balcony over yours. With the corner of your eyes you see how drenched he is and you have to fight the instinct to scold him from courting pneumonia.

“I have to admit it has taken me a little to notice what you were doing. I thought I was going mad but then I stumbled upon that guy who didn’t understand I wasn’t interested in him: he was petrified and had begged me not to tell ‘my big friend with the skull mask’ that I had met him by chance while queuing at Costa.”

You stare at his hood, still stubbornly covering his face.

You don’t try to uncover his head, you understand that he needs his space and this silence, broken by the rumbling of a thunder.

You’re not mad at him, puzzled yes, but not angry.

“Is it always going to be like this, Simon? You hiding where the borders of my life begin? What if I meet the right person, what then?”

Your words break the spell that keeps him rooted where he is, he scoffs and turns his head to stare at you; you see something dangle from his face, one of the straps of the surgical mask has broken and now he’s naked in front of you, the darkness of the night his only cover.

You’re so close to him he can make out the soft angles of your face, the warm light in your eyes: you should be screaming at him, call the cops on him, yet you’re staring not precisely at the mangled thing he calls his face. He’s the one who has been hiding in the shadows, yet you’re still giving him his space.

“Would you keep on doing this?” You ask.

You’re so close, closer than he’s ever let most of the people be, so close that he can smell your perfume and your face cream.

“What would you do if I told you to stop?”

“I would.”

Those words cut him like knives: it would kill him to stop hunting for the scraps you had, unintentionally, given him, but he would, for your happiness.

“What if I tell you to come inside?”

“You can’t ask me that.”

His voice trembles and he’s a child again, defenseless in the snares of his father.

“Why?”

You’re fully in his space now, you can feel his warmth and he yours. The cotton of your tracksuit drenched with the raindrops falling from his leather jacket.

“Answer me, Simon.”

Your eyes are still avoiding his face, you’re still granting him this sliver of respect when you shouldn’t.

“Talk to me Simon, please.”

You’re on your tip toes now and he can smell the mint of your toothpaste.

He can’t speak, he can’t breathe.

His hands shoot out to grab your arms, his lips find yours in a kiss that’s almost a bite.

When your taste hits him, it’s like a floodgate is being ripped open by the violence of a flood.

Under his your lips part and your tongue seeks his, snuffing out his groans of pleasure, your arms escape his hold and grab his hair under his drenched hood and cap, your body pulls him forward, guiding him inside the sanctuary of your home.

You almost fall and his hands grab your hips to steady you, his tongue shyly plays with yours, as if he’s still insecure of what you’d do, he submits to you when you pull at his hair so that you have free access to his lax mouth: cigarettes and tea, that’s what you taste, his moans rumble against your chest, until you let go, desperate for air.

The darkness of your apartment is broken by the small light by the sofa, not bright enough to show you completely his face.

“Look at me.”

His gravelly voice makes you shiver, yet your eyes stubbornly land somewhere on his chest.

“Look at me.” He repeats, your name like a prayer on his lips.

You lift your gaze and he moves the two of you where you can see him: all of his scars barren to you, his eyes blazing with his own need.

You can feel his hands tremble on your arms, his teeth chatter and it’s not the cold from his drenched clothes.

“We don’t have to do anything, Simon, you know that.”

And by God you’re not lying. You’d be happy to lay on the couch and talk for the rest of the night, you don’t want him to give you something if he’s not ready.

One of his gloved hands finds your soft cheek and cups your face, his expression has softened, he’s so unguarded and scared now.

“I know.”

He’s not sure his body is up for the task, not with the medication he needs to take daily killing his libido most of the times, but that doesn’t really matter in his book, he doesn’t care if he can’t take pleasure from you, as long as he’s making you feel good.

He feels something warm in his guts stirring awake, but he’s not sure he’s going to manage to go on with it fully. Would you hate him for that?

“Simon?”

Your hand is so soft against the scarred skin of his cheek; he knows you use loads of hand cream to fight against the normal dryness that comes with having surgical gloves on every day, the soft scent hits his nostrils and his desire becomes more solid, it slithers from his belly to his cock, stirring it alive.

“Let me take care of you.”

He’ll live his life for you simply following those words: he’d shelter you from any storm, he’d kill for you, if only you asked. He’d go to hell for you, if that meant that you’d be safe and sound.

You see something shift in his eyes; there’s still insecurity there, but it’s fighting against another emotion, desire maybe?

Under another circumstances you’d tell him that you want to look after him as well, that this thing isn’t only about you, but you think that he needs this, to show you his devotion, if you hope to give him a safe space. Despite the blood on his hands, this man is a nurturer, who doesn’t know how to express himself.

“Yes.”

You’re not surprised that he knows the layout of your apartment, that he doesn’t need to turn on the lights to guide you where your bed is.

You kiss him again when you feel his fingers tremble as they hook the hem of your hoodie to lift it up your body, you murmur soft praises as he divests you and you’re standing naked in front of him.

“May I take your clothes off?”

You wouldn’t mind being the only one naked here, if that helped him feel safer; you two can discuss and explore his hard limits later, now you need to tread carefully.

“Keep the lights off?”

“Anything you need, Simon.”

Outside the storm rages, inside you keep asking him if he’s all right as you slowly peel his clothes off, until he’s barren his scarred body to your touch.

You know how he looks on the inside, what those scars left behind under layers of muscle and bones, you can probably recite all of his wounds alphabetically as you kiss them; he’s so beautiful to you, hard planes of muscles you want to caress and explore, dirty blond hairs on his chest you hope you’ll rub your face against, that thick happy trail guiding your eyes to his half hard cock; you want to caress all of him, make him feel good.

He stops you before you can follow the newest scar on his pectoral with the tip of your finger: you have stitched this one close, managed to pull together the mangled sides of the wound nicely.

“Go lay on the bed.” He tells you, his voice more secure.

He helps you with the ridiculous amount of pillows scattered on the bedding. Lovingly he chooses the ones he thinks will be the best to lift your hips up and to rest your head: he wants you comfortable, and happy with the way he’s treating you.

His eyes drink your lax body open for him. There’s a little light coming from the sky outside, enough for him to make out the soft curves of your body and the patch of hairs at your center. He likes a good bush, when he was younger and his libido not so skewed, he would get it going just because his partner wasn’t completely barren and now he feels his cock stir a little more.

“Like what you see?” You ask, arching your back to entice him.

“Yes.” His head goes up and down dumbly.

“Kiss me?”

He lays on you, his body solid on yours, his weight stealing your breath from you, his rough skin heaven against yours.

You let him take control of the kiss, his tongue less shy as it plays with yours, his moans fuller against your mouth: you have no idea how much he loves your taste.

He maps your body with his lips, in his head he takes notice of the way you keen and arch when he nibbles on your throat or sucks on your nipples. His tongue follows the fat drops of perspiration on your skin, his mouth leaves bruising kisses on your tummy when your hands wind up in his hair to push him to go faster: he’s going to savor you, commit you to his memory.

“Simon please!” You beg, but he’s not deterred. “Need… ah!”

He nibbles your trembling tights, his stubble will leave a rushes on the soft skin and a twisted part of him is proud that you will carry his mark around. His hips kick when your nails scratch his nape: please, yes, brand him as yours, even if you don’t want to keep him, leave the proof of you needing him, even if it is for one time.

You’re already wet when his fingers open your lower lips to his eyes, you’re not drenched yet and he hopes his ministration will get you there so that he can drown in your scent.

The first kiss on your clit is fleeting, shy almost, your body responds by kicking your hips up, needy for more contact and he can’t believe this is happening: he must be dead and landed in heaven, somehow.

“Need you, Simon.” You whimper under his scrutiny.

“I’m here, love.”

His voice is lower, gruff against your folds and you keen, the vibrations torture against your nerves.

Reverent he hoists your legs up his shoulders to open you up properly, his big hands splay on your tummy, your fingers finding his to anchor yourself.

He’s shy at first, exploring your folds with his tongue, playing with your clit slowly, mapping out your response and thank God he’s holding you down because you hips kick up immediately, as soon as his lips wound around your nub to suck softly, your legs clamping around his head and if he’s not dead he wishes you’d snap his neck while he’s eating you out: there’s no better death in his book.

You’re trashing under him, your body arching, feet trying to find purchase on the slick skin of his back, to move away, to gain advantage, you don’t know, your brain is fried, your body a knot of overstimulated nerves, and it’s not because you haven’t had sex in so long. It’s Simon’s mouth on your cunt, it’s his tongue playing with you until you come all over his face, again. It’s his moans of pleasure when your honey hits his taste buds, his wicked fingers exploring your depths, bullying that hidden part of yourself that makes you see stars. It’s his hushed words of praise, his grunts when his cock slaps against his belly with every instinctual kick of his hips against nothing.

You’ve lost your words a couple of orgasms ago, your lungs are too busy trying to pull air in and out to be of any use, your eyes can barely focus on his, dark with hunger, when he looks at you from between your legs.

He needs you ready, wet and loose for him, if his body can keep it up for him to have a full intercourse with you and, if he can’t, he wants you satisfied with what he can give you.

He groans against you when your fingers manage to find purchase on his short hair. He lets you pull his body up to yours, until he’s laying fully on you, your lips seeking his in a hungry kiss that has you keen when you taste yourself on him.

You hiccup his name, cunt rubbing against his erection hastily when his engorged tip slides against your clit.

“Wait!” He chokes out, lifting himself from your body.

Even full of endorphins are you are, alarm bells start ringing in your head at the preoccupation in his tone: did you do something wrong?

In his head Simon is trying to list off the entire armory back at the base, desperate to reel his orgasm in: it has been too bloody long and he feels like he’s sixteen again, popping his cherry with the cashier girl at the news stand at the end of his street.

He’s not sure his body can manage a second round, he doesn’t want to lose this one opportunity to sink inside of you.

“Simon?”

You try to keep the agitation from your voice. If, for whatever reason, he needs to stop, you need to make sure he’s not feeling like he’s leaving you unsatisfied.

Over you, Simon fists the sheets and closes his eyes, head bent so that you can’t see his labored expression. He bullies himself into breathing slowly and steadily, focusing his attention of what his senses tell him: the soft cotton of your bed sheets, your rugged breathing and the sounds of the city spilling in your shared sanctuary.

He needs to control the reactions of his body, center himself on every muscle, every nerve, the same way he does when he’s ready to snipe out an enemy.

“Love.” He groans.

“Do you need to stop?”

His head snaps up, the concern and the affection he sees on your face break him: he shouldn’t make you feel so anxious for him.

“No.” He groans, his body still trying to fight his iron will.

“Simon.” You touch his cheek. “I’m happy if you’re OK, you know that, right?”

Oh Christ he’s going to come untouched if you keep being so gentle with him: he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve you!

“Tell me you have condoms.”

His need for you is a knot of pain sitting in his lower belly, his body is reluctantly following his orders, but his cock aches for you, every breathe he takes is a stab in his gut.

“The lower drawer.”

He stops you from moving. Gritting his teeth he reaches for the knob of the bedside table and fishes in the odds and ends, a light of hope burning wild when he touches the plastic wrapper and grabs it hastily.

He gently moves your hands away when you try to help him roll the condom on his aching erection: he will come if you touch him.

You help him maneuver your legs around his hips, your hamstrings protesting at the angle he has to position you, your cunt flutters when he, slowly, rubs himself against your wetness: he’s prepared you well to take him, you’re drenching him, the wet sounds like music.

He blacks out as soon as he bottoms out, when your cunt clenches around him, stealing his pleasure from him.

The cold wakes you up. Outside the storm is still raging and the bedside lamp is out of commission, it forces you to feel around until you find Simon’s T-shirt, still discarded where you have thrown it. On trembling legs you stand up and wear it, before you paddle to the living room; you’re pleasantly sore, the kind of sweet pain you cherish because it means you’ve been loved well.

“Simon?”

The sound of a glass being deposited on the table makes you turn towards the kitchen: he’s there, his massive form blacker than the night itself.

“You’re out of power.” He rumbles.

He’s dressed back in his jeans and hoodie, the hood back up over his head.

“It’s the power grid of the entire block. Weather like this plunges us back to the Middle Ages.” You try to defuse the tension in the air with your lame joke. “Come back to bed? It’s awfully cold without you.”

You stand in front of him, his body ramrod straight in front of yours.

“You want me there?”

You hate his tone, so clipped and collected. He breaks your heart.

“Why wouldn’t I want you there?”

The way his head turns makes sure you can’t look at his expression, and you can’t have that.

The anxious way he had stared at you after his peak had made all your alarm bells ring in your head. You had hugged him, making sure his face was hidden in the curve of your neck, you had caressed his tensed back until he had relaxed in your embrace, your voice warm with praise for the way he had made you come, repeatedly, on his face.

“I didn’t…” You don’t make him finish.

Boldly you enter his space again, one hand sneaking under his hoodie to find his warm skin; you need to risk it all, if you want to keep whatever link you have with him.

“You didn’t hear me complain, let me finish. You have no idea how hot it was to see you lose control like that, for little old me. You managed what no partner hell! Even my own vibrator ever could, Simon. I lost count of how many times you made me come for you, my maximum is two times in a row, and I needed a moment in between those. It’s not what happened with you.”

His hand snatches yours in a lax hold, you know full well he could break all your bones if only he wanted.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You don’t let the low growl deter you. Slowly, you move your trapped hand, and his, up to your face; you know he’s letting you maneuver him, man his size you wouldn’t be able to otherwise. You’re not sure how much he can see, yet you telegraph your movements anyway, your teeth biting the tip of his gloved middle finger to pull the garment away: if he wants, he can stop you any time.

You let it fall on the floor and guide his scarred hand between your legs.

“Can you feel how wet I still am for you, Simon?” He hiccups on a breathe. “Answer me.”

You can feel his full body shudder at your command, and God isn’t it the hottest thing ever?

“I do.”

His fingers start to explore your folds and you have to steel yourself or you’ll lose your thread.

“Am I lying to you? Is my cunt lying to you?”

“No.”

He’s breathless and, if you’d feel for his heart, you’d hear it thumping wildly against his chest. He needs to remove his fingers from the warm cradle of your cunt, yet his brain is stubbornly refusing to send the information to his hand.

“I don’t care whether or not you rearrange my guts with your cock, Simon. Sex is great, orgasms are amazing, but all of it pales compared to all the time we spent together just talking. Tell me you understand.”

His fingers clench inside of you and you moan.

“I understand.”

“Then, explain to me like I’m stupid, why I wouldn’t want to wake up wrapped around you. Why I wouldn’t want to explore every inch of your skin until you’re too out of it to even beg. You make me come on your cock? That’s a plus. You make me laugh and chat with me during night shift? You, somehow, know how I drink my tea? That’s what I value. You make sure I am home safe? That’s the kind of dedication I have never found in anybody else.”

His free hand grabs your hip to steady you, his fingers, still deep inside of you, haven’t stopped moving, plunging into you inch by inch.

“I wouldn’t mind sitting on your face until you tap out, but I’d be as happy to lay on the sofa and watch this awful storm for the rest of the night.”

There’s another storm wrecking war inside of him, two sides pulling him in two different directions: one that’s screaming that he needs to leave, now, before he embarrasses himself even further, the other is fueling liquid fire in his guts, all his blood tumbling, again, to his cock.

“I don’t need to tap out, I can bench press your weight.”

You don’t have the time to whine at the loss of his fingers, not when he hauls you up and against the nearest wall, knocking your breath out of your lungs.

Simon is fueled by desperation, one hand under your arse to keep you where you should be, the other fishing for his zipper, knuckles knocking against yours in your dual haste: he hasn’t felt like this in ages and, this time, he’s actually in control of his own desire.

“Please!” You beg. “Now Simon!”

“Need to make sure…”

You snap your teeth near his ear, you don’t care if you’re ready or not, the drag of his cock against your folds is driving you mad.

“I swear to God if you don’t put it in immediately I will murder you in your sleep!”

He moans when he breaches you again. Despite his need, he pushes slowly in and out, helping your body accept his intrusion, his mouth overs yours, drinking your shaky breaths.

A juicy curse slips his lips once he’s bottomed out, your cunt trapping him in your depths, warm and silky around his cock.

Your forehead knocks against his, your breaths coming out in harsh puffs as you try to relax your quivering muscles around him and God you wish you could see his face.

“So… warm, ah!” He moans.

You call his name, drunk on the feeling of fullness, of being owned, on his hands grappling the cotton of the T shirt to reach your skin, shredding it to taste you on his tongue again. He’s burning up, he feels too hot and your trembling hands on the hem of his hoodie are a blessing, trying to free him, his scarred torso now crashing against yours, his lips locking with yours as he moves, desperate in and out of you, groaning when you sheath him again in your warmth.

“I can’t! I can’t!” You scream when his rough fingers find your clit again.

He needs you to come all around him the same way he needs air, he’s teetering his own end, those warm flames licking at the edge of his consciousness but he doesn’t want to be selfish, to use you again for his own pleasure.

“Need you.” He keens, broken when the high pitched scream of his name becomes a long wail and your body tries to squirm away from his hold, his fingers grabbing your hip so tightly he knows he’s going to leave bruises on the soft skin.

“Simon! Simon!”

You push with the heels of your feet against his tailbone, desperate to evade his hold, your brutalized clit firing and firing, the pleasure burning through you, his body pulling you closer, his cock pistoning wildly in your warmth, the squelching of your shared pleasure spurring him on, your nails scratching his skin careening him into his own pleasure.

You come, your cunt wounding so tightly around him that he spills with a shout that you don’t hear: you’ve already blacked out.

It’s Wednesday and you haven’t left your apartment. You’ve barely made out of bed to try and sort out the mess the storm has left on the balcony, on Monday, when he had left only to come back with a duffel filled with black, identical clothes (you’ve lost this bet with the nurses at the hospital, indeed he owns the same outfit, go figure!).

He had taken a long look at you, marched to where you were trying to save one of the potted plants smashed on the floor, had manhandled you inside your bedroom (and you were giggling the whole time like a teenager), removed your home clothes looking at them as if they personally offended him and bullied you into one of his black T shirts; only then he had looked at you and growled “That’s better”. And now you’re laying on the bed, cuddled with your head on his shoulder, while you’re browsing on your phone, in the hope to find an online store that isn’t Amazon, to find some surgical masks with sturdier straps than the one he’s currently using.

He’s black mass on the colorful bedding, dressed head to toe in his black clothes, skull baklava to protect his face. Only his hands are free of his gloves and he makes you feel like a Victorian gentleman staring at a naked ankle, your eyes wandering from your phone to his long fingers curled around an e-book reader.

It’s domestic, and all you ever wanted from life, despite being so different from what anyone you know would deem normal.

You two have talked about his whole demeanor of the past years, he’s worshiped your body until you had to beg him to stop, that it was too much; in the dark you have made good on your promise to map out his skin until he was choking on his on breathe, too far gone to even moan.

He hasn’t let you see his body during night time and that’s OK, you don’t expect him to overcome years of life in the span of a couple of days; the fact that he’s lounging with you, that he’s accepting the amount of physical contact that comes with you hugging him and using him as your personal body pillow, it’s a miracle to you. Last night, when you were trying to watch a movie, he had let you follow the paths of his sleeve tattoo, ending up falling asleep, his big body lax in your hold.

“We should go on a date.” You say, turning your head to look at his masked face.

“We have been on dates.”

“Eating take out food Soap has bullied you into buying is not a date.”

You can see his lips break out in a smile under the baklava.

“How is he still alive?”

“He’s a fast bastard.”

“You should thank him.”

“His head would grow ten times the size, you wouldn’t like that, love.”

“We should still go.”

There’s a part of him that still can’t believe this is happening, that you haven’t cussed him out in the rain, that you want to be seen around next to him, skull mask and all. That you’re so accepting of his hit and miss libido: he’s made up in Heaven, somehow, this can’t be his life.

Using your own distraction against you, he rolls you under his body: you look so right wearing his T-shirt and nothing else, it’s a travesty to dress you up in something that doesn’t smell like him.

“And where would you bring me?”

You beam up to him, your hands caressing his sides slowly over the material of his hoodie.

“Wherever you’d like.”

Even if it’s eating out on the balcony, you’d be happy, as long as he’s living his life with you, not hunting for scraps: you want to give him all.

[lisbetadair]

A Ghost Story

Ghost is worried, having once read Alias Grace, about Johnny dying halfway through the Channel Tunnel.

It's a long way from the exit, it's dark and what if he can't find his way out? He knows he's being stupid, but the idea gnaws at him, until finally, on the 21st of November, the following year, he gets in his car and boards the Le Shuttle at the right time, so that when the announcement for the minute silence comes over the tannoy, he be will deep within the bedrock beneath the water, about seventeen miles in.

There's no sound except the rushing echo of the wheels when he closes his eyes, and he feels really stupid and a bit weird, and now he thinks about it, a bit claustrophobic and just when he's about to sit up and open his eyes, he hears the car door open, the rustle of fabric, the suspension rocking on its wheels with unexpected weight and a familiar smell he'd almost forgotten.

He doesn't dare open his eyes until the train slows and pulls into the terminal at Folkstone, and when he does, they're locked on the road ahead, too afraid to glance towards the shape at the edge of his peripheral vision until he can pull over and with a trembling hand, turn off the engine.

Just at the edge of his hearing, barely more than a whisper a voice he knows says "Thanks for the lift, Lt.".

He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and turns to look in the passenger seat.

There's no one there.

[hearts4golbach]

Heyyy so i was wondering if you could do a hansumfella smut and him and reader have been friends for a while and streamed together a few times but they have a lot of sexual tension and they were at jake and johnnie’s st pattys party and after the party they uber to her place and act on the tension 😇🙏🏼 and maybe a little kinky if ur okay with that 🥰😝🤞

199 Degrees!

"You don't have to stare, come here, get with it! no one's touched me there in a damn hot minute!"

a/n:

inspired by Chappell Roans song 'HOT TO GO!' What is it with me and chappell roan inspired fics? FELLA IS TALKING TO SOMEONE??

proofread.

warnings:

smut 18+, oral sex (f receiving), penetration w/o protection (use protection, please cause i know you're not over 18), choking, hair pulling.

word count:

1.8k

"Tyler, I swear to god, if you're not here in the next 30 seconds, I'm going to kill you." You rambled on the phone. "I've never been invited to one of Jake and Johnnies' parties. We can not be late." you emphasized before putting him on speaker as you slipped your shoes on. 

"i'm driving as fast as i can without it being illegal, y/n." he laughed. you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you. "I'll be there in literally a minute."

"Good, i'll meet you outside." you responded before hanging up. you stared at yourself in the mirror as you made sure you looked perfect. you only wanted Tyler's eyes on you, but you'd never admit that aloud. 

your dress was emerald green. it met your mid thigh and had a slit. it was low-cut and revealed your cleavage perfectly. you gently nodded to yourself before heading out the front door. Tyler's car pulled up right after you. "Hey, pretty lady." he greeted as he rolled his window down. 

"Hello, handsome fella." you teased, using his stream name. a light blush spread across his face. he loved it when you used his stage name. you quickly jumped into the passenger seat. "When was the last time we went to a party together?" You pondered aloud. 

"damn, i don't even remember." Tyler reached over and felt the fabric of your dress. he gently squeezed your thigh before pulling away. "i really like how this dress looks on you."

you squeezed your thighs together. "Thank you. i love your outfit choice, too." You gestured to his outfit. 

there was tension the rest of the drive over. your eyes wandered down Tyler's body, thinking about all of the things that he could do to you in that very moment. you snapped out of your trance whenever he announced the two of you had arrived at the party. 

he opened the passenger door for you. your face began to heat up once more at the kind gesture. you wrapped your arm around his bicep, tangling your limbs together. 

"we should find Jake and Johnnie, i wanna say hi." you mentioned. it was their party, after all. 

he cleared his throat. "Yeah, let's go."

you let go of his arm as you walked forward. you stood in your tippy toes as you walked, trying to get a better view of everyone. 

"they're over here," Tyler interrupted, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you the other way. your heart was beating out of your chest. his hand stayed on your waist as you walked up to Jake and Johnnie.

"Oh, hey, y/n and tyler." Johnnie greeted as he turned around. Jake turned to face you as well.

"Hey, guys. this shit is packed." You laughed. Jakes eyes grazed over your body as you spoke. Tyler noticed and pulled your little closer to himself possessively. 

"i know, right?" jake smiled. "This shits packed."

"Okay," Tyler let out a fake laugh. "Well, we're going to go see who else is scattered around." Tyler said bye before pulling you away. 

"Hey, what's the matter?" you asked. "Did something happen?"

he shook his head. "No, sorry, i- i'll tell you about it later." he brushed it off.

the rest of the night was fun. you and Tyler decided against drinking, even though you snuck in a shot. Tyler's hands never left you the whole party. you caught him staring, but you were as well. over the coarse of the party, the heat in between your legs began to grow unbearable. 

as if Tyler could read your thoughts, he leaned down in your ear so only you could hear him. "You wanna go back to my place?" he asked suggestively. 

you hummed in response. he interlocked his fingers with yours and began to walk towards the exit. you held back your excitement the best you could as you climbed into the passenger seat. 

there was an uncomfortable silence during the drive. your leg shook gently as you anticipated Tyler's next moves. he kept glancing at you, scoping out your body as he thought about all of the dirty things he was going to do to you if you let him. 

he parked and climbed out of the car. he opened the door for you once again. you stood up and brushed your dress off. whenever you looked at Tyler, his lips met yours. you closed your eyes as you melted into the kiss. 

he pressed you against the car as he deepened the kiss. you wrapped your ames around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer. "Let's go inside." he muttered against your lips. 

you stumbled over each other giddily as you approached the front door. Tyler's shaky hands made quick work with the door. "Thank god my sister isn't here right now." he joked and lifted you up.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, sucking and kissing on his neck as he led you to his bedroom. "i've been waiting for you to make a move for so long." You emphasized between kisses. 

he placed you on his bed and crawled on top of you. "I've always thought you were so fucking perfect." he muttered against your skin. his hands roamed your body as he searched for your zipper. his lips moved against yours feverishly as he unzipped your dress, sliding it off and throwing it onto the floor. 

his lips moved to your neck, sucking and kissing as you spoke. "i wish i had made a move sooner." 

he muttered an agreement against your neck. his shirt and pants were next to go, hitting the floor with your dress. your hands traced over his bare chest, his skin was soft against your fingers. he took his time with you, his hands running across every inch of you as he kissed down your abdomen. you tangled your fingers in his curly hair gently.

he pulled at your panties before looking up at you. "this okay?"

you nodded, pulling your lip between your teeth as he slid your panties off. he kissed along your inner thigh and towards your aching cunt. he licked a stripe up your pussy, his tongue flicking your clit. you moaned quietly, your legs twitching at the contact.

his hands held your thighs as he sucked your clit. his tongue ran through your folds, collecting all of your juices. he savored the taste of you on his tongue. you tossed your head back as you moaned. his tongue danced around your aching cunt expertly.

"you taste so fucking good," he muttered, the vibrations sending chills all over your body. "i need to feel you."

he pulled your legs, dragging you to the edge of the bed. He crawled up in between your legs and began pepper ring kisses along your neck. You whimpered at the sudden loss of contact. "please, Tyler." you ran your fingers through his hair, tugging gently.

"fuck," he growled against your neck. His hands bales to his belt, ripping it off before tugging his pants down. His strong hands gripped your thigh eagerly as he positioned himself between your legs.

his tip teased your entrance as you wiggled underneath his touch. he let out a soft grunt as he slowly thrusted inside of you. you searched the bed for something to grip onto, digging your fingers into the sheets. 

his thrusts were sweet and slow, but so desperate. one hand reached up towards your cheek, rubbing it gently as he sped up his thrusts. you moaned out his name, begging him to go faster. 

he obeyed your wishes. "you feel so good, mama." his hand moved down to your throat, squeezing it gently as his thrusts grew faster

your eyes rolled into the back of your head as the tip of his cock repeatedly hit your G spot. he whispered sweet praises to you in his deep husked voice. strings of curses mixed with Tyler's name spewed out of your mouth as you lost yourself in the pleasure.

"i always knew you'd take me so fucking well," his grip on your neck grew tighter. raspy moans slipped from your lips as you felt more aroused by his comment. 

he released his grip on your neck. he pulled out and you ached from the loss of contact. your pussy clenched around nothing, which turned Tyler on further. 

"flip over, I'm not done yet baby." he ran his fingers through your messy hair before helping you get onto all fours. 

he spread your legs further before thrusting back inside of you at a punishing pace.

you moaned loud as he filled you up. he tangled his fingers in your hair while the other rested on your hip. he pulled back softly, as to not hurt you but to apply just enough pressure. 

"does that feel good, love?" he asked breathlessly, pressing all of the right buttons inside of you. 

"yes, fuck yes." you whimpered, the top half of your body collapsing onto the bed. 

"that's it, ma." he thrusted faster inside of you, his breaths staggered. 

"im so close," you muttered, your voice muffled by the comforter. "oh, shit!"

"that's it, y/n. cum around my cock." he mumbled. you could hear the smirk in his voice.

the knot in your stomach snapped as you exploded around his cock. you rested against the bed, trying to catch your breath. 

he pulled out and came on your back after helping you ride out your high. 

he leaned over you and pressed a kiss into your shoulder. "im going to go get a towel to clean you up." he mentioned. the content smile on his face made you smile aswell. 

he came back with a damp wash rag. he gently cleaned up your sore cunt and back. he plopped down onto the bed and pulled you close before pulling the covers over the two of you. 

"does that mean you're my girlfriend now?" he chuckled.

"Duh.”

[yentlnoctis]

"If people can explain Ace to me, I'd be happy to. However, I've never seen the musical, more any clips, boots, slimes, whatever. Nor any soc Saturday lives or nothing. Please, I need Soc information and Ace information 😭" @witchyleehibernates

Okay, this is a really long one, so BUCKLE UP.

In the script, she's described as a tomboy (from what I've heard), but I've also read some hcs that she actually likes presenting fem, but that's just a hc (edit: this is actually canon, the tomboy style is a defence mechanism -> reblog by @specific-dreamer :)). She's very bold and will tell anyone what she thinks. She's more likely to show them, though; in Friday at the drive-in, she pushes Bob off of the tire, in Tulsa '67, she very openly flips off the socs... I don't know if we have any info on her family??? (Edit: we do, @specific-dreamer added on in the reblog :))

Almost all the greaser boys are always doing lifts with her or carrying her or whatnot. She doesn't mind either. She's always having fun. They all respect her, too.

She's friends with Dally. In the scene where they all come together after Ponyboy got jumped, she did a sort or handshake with him, so I feel like they get along fine.

She has this flirty friendship with Soda. People always wonder if they're joking or not (they are). For example, after Soda's verse in Grease Got A Hold (which was all about getting girls), he says: "Ain't that right, Ace?" and she answers with: "You wish." and shakes her ass a bit. I feel like they call each other the worst sappy pet names just to piss the other off.

Anyway, Ace and Darrel. Darrel is the most gentlemanly of the greasers. Everyone's respectful, but him especially. I think that out of everyone, Ace is the only person Darrel allows himself to be a bit more at ease with. During Hoods Turned Heroes, he lifts her up, and he's smiling. He also helps her onto the greasers' car when she could easily do it herself. A few other examples bc I love them to death: during Grease Got A Hold, she yells: "I love you, Superman!" at Darrel, at the end of Hoods Turned Heroes, she jumps on his back... I can't really explain their friendship, but I love them sm.

Two-Bit and Ace!!! In my opinion, they're kind of like Ace and Soda, except their friendship more on the physical side (dancing together, cuddling under the bench at the drive-in...). It's not really flirting. Their love language is just physical touch. (They're besties, your honour.)

We don't have that much info on musical!Steve or Ace in general, so I don't have much to say about them. I'm not saying they aren't great friends. They are. She's leaning on him during GGAH, he throws her to Two-Bit in FATDI...

With Ponyboy, she shares a couple high-fives and a little twirl in Tulsa '67. I don't really have much more. I'm sorry. She doesn't really have any moments with Johnny (I think?).

Finally, romantic interests. Tilly (Ace's actress) has told us that Ace has a big fat crush on Bev/Beverly (a soc girl they added). Bev hates Ace, though. So, yeah... My personal hc is that they were friends as kids, grew up and developed crushes on each other in like middle school, dated secretly for a while, but then Bev broke it off because, as a soc, she can't be dating greasers. So, now she hates Ace and all greasers bc she's petty like that (no bev hate). I would talk about them more, but this post is already way too fucking long, so I'll end it here.

This was my (not so) short take on Ace :).

[schlattslonghairytoes]

chapter one

real life!

talia's pov

"talia." 

who is tapping me.

"talia!"

"talia, why do you sleep like a semi truck, wake up!" a loud irritating voice sounds me awake.

"what the fuck" I say as i sit up and rub my eyes, when i finally open them im making direct eye contact with my roommate brittany.

"you asked me to wake you up four hours before the party! that's what i'm doing, it's five o'clock. get your dumbass up and get ready." brittnay remarks as she closes my door on her way out.

"love you!" i yell at her as a thank you for waking me up and for shutting my door. i hate when people forget to shut my door.

tonight was a party at the misfits house, i was invited by my friends charlie and ted who i met through streaming and youtube in general.

i've always hated partying all through out high school and college. im not quite sure why i said yes to charlie when he told me, but i never go out anymore, so why the hell not.

getting ready only took two hours, but i needed time as the party is about an hour away, but traffic will make that take way longer. i got in my car and began my drive, not before sending out a quick tweet. twitter!

talia😩 @taliatalks4ever

guys I'm driving without my hands on the wheel someone stop me.🙉

💬345  ♻️22  ❤️ 7,794

load more replies...

@da.milkman

heres a little secret the goveremnt doesnt want you knowing, if you want one million dollars, keep those hands off ur wheel AND close your eyes. the money will pour into your bank account.

@broskination

I leave you alone for one minute and you are already in immediate danger.

reply:

@taliatalks4ever 

i feel like oj when the cops were chasing him real life!

third person perspective 

talia walked into the party, the familiar scent of weed filling her nose, the scent so relevant to her high school years and the memories attached. as she threaded through people she said her hello's to familiar faces, when she ran into a mister ted nivision.

"hi theodore!" she tapped his shoulder, and he turned around with a drink in his hand.

"talia!" he exclaimed as he wrapped his free hand around her side. "you look great, how have you been?" he asked.

"thank you teddy, ive been very good, how about you, you and maddie doing well?" talia questioned,

"no complaints on my end, here lets go say hi to charlie." ted exchanges goodbyes with the people he was talking to and lead her over to charlie and some ginger man standing to his left.

"hey guys!" ted calls to charlie and he turns around at a rapid pace, "is that teddy I hear, hey man is she here.... oh shit! talia hey!" Charlie flings his arms around her shoulders in a tight hug. the boy standing next to Charlie sticks out his hand.

"hey I'm tyler, but you may know me as hansum fella, that's my twitch name." he introduces himself. "oh I know you, you sent me a video on my try not to laugh, its nice to meet you tyler" she smiles in response.

talia has always loved the thrill of entertaining and meeting new people, throughout high school her and her best friend always talked to everyone no matter who they were, everyone deserved a chance she thought, and living by that principle kept her grateful and happy in life. 

meeting and chatting with a new person was her favorite past time, so her and tyler hit it off immediately, so much so that they continued the conversation all the way out side, sat by the pool sharing laughs over past experiences.

when all of a sudden yelling and shattering brought their attention back to earth.

they both hustled inside, and through a huge mass of people, to see what the commotion was about. only to see two large guys passed out on the floor and a tall man in timberland boots helping one of them try to stand up.

the boots bringing back memories she'd rather not remember.

"johnny you're really not thinking of buying those right? they're so ugly." she pointed towards new sneakers that actually looked nice rather then the dumb timberlands he wanted to buy. "hey unlike you walking around in your big uggs, i don't care about fashion, i need convenience and comfortableness." he said back to her comment on his new shoes. "hey my uggs are very comfortable, also I know you're failing english, but comfortableness? not a word dumbass."

the memory was bittersweet, she wished she could see her best friend again, no matter the terms they left things on, she needed her other half back. her mind went back to what was happening infront of her.

the timberland wearing man had successfully lifted the passed out guy on to the couch and the other guy (the starter of the fight) was left to his own devices. then the timberland man trudged back into the kitchen along with everyone else.

"hey wanna go back outside and keep talking?" hansum approached talia with the question, and she almost answered until she noticed something. those timberlands weren't any pair of timberlands. they had the same stain on the bottom left that her best friend's did. "yeah just give me a mintue." she stepped away from tyler.

her thoughts raced, a coincidence, it must be. it is not possible that her schlatt is all the way in california when he should be home in new york, but her mind and feet didn't seem to agree on that thought.

she followed him. feet moving at a pace way to fast with how many people were present. when she caught up she thought she was going to have a stroke.

she had seen him by now, even though he looked different, it was him, it was her best friend. same stupid yankees hat, and stupid obama sweatshirt. it had been two years since they had last seen each other, and talia, who is famously good at Irish goodbyes, decided that she would keep it that way. 

[itsscromp]

Home for Christmas

I've decided to give you all a Christmas gift before I sign off for a couple of days. @callofdudes this includes you too. I cant wait to chat with you again soon. Word count:1.2K

You completely lost track on how fast the year went since Price tasked you with helping Farah and Alex. After the mission you went on, you came back to find some of the agents were packing up. "Alex, what's going on ??" You looked at him confusingly.

"It's Christmas y/n" He smiled "They're all getting ready to head back home"

You looked at your phone's calendar, yep it was December alright, now normally this would be cool. But when you contacted Price, you heard that they all made plans of their own, Johnny would Bring Simon to Scotland to meet his family. Gaz has gone back his partner and price was getting ready to head back to london too.

You didn't have any family to go back too, all you had was your empty apartment, probably covered in dust now. Before the 141 you would always go back to your dad and spend Christmas with him, But sadly he died by the time you joined them and all that was left was your mom, but you and her were not on good terms.

Alex could see the sadness in your eyes, was Christmas not the best time for you ?? He sat there thinking what he could do to cheer you up. Then it hit him, What is better then going back home for Christmas ?? Going back home to spend Christmas with your best pal.

He went to your bunk and knocked on the door. "Y/n, Got a second ??"

"Hey Alex, what's up ??" You looked up at him.

"I was wondering, you got any plans for the holidays ??" He leaned against the doorframe.

"Ummm. I was gonna go home.."

"Ba bum, Wrong, try again" He smiled softly.

You grew confused as to what he was offering. "I'll go elsewhere..??"

"So so close, I'll give you a hint" he pointed to himself.

"Go with you for Christmas ??"

"B b b bingo !!!' He smiled, ruffling your hair. "Figured I'd keep you company for the month. Come on it'll be fun"

You were taken aback by the offer, but it made you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

The two began to pack their bags for the plane and then soon they were on their way to Alex's hometown. The crisp winter air hit your senses. It was a much-needed relief, no snow though but that's not bad still. Alex then booked the car and the two got your luggage and headed on your way. You looked out the window and watched the city go by, Alex lived about a couple of hours away from the main city. "Just quieter there than being here ya' know ??" he turned to you before looking back at the road. "Yeah I get that"

Arriving at his house, you got out and got in a much-needed stretch as you then got your bag from the car, Waiting for Alex to unlock and open the door. Inviting you inside, his place wasn't too bad.

"It ain't much, but it's home" He sighed contently as he dropped his bag on the floor. "Right your room" He smiled and guided you to the neatly presented guest bedroom. "You'll have your own bathroom in here too, so make yourself at home" He smiled as he then went back to the living room, flopping down on the couch and taking his leg off, Letting his kin breathe.

You then unpacked your bag and flopped on the bed, getting a much-needed nap in. A little while later, you were awakened by an... amazing delicious smell. Investigating soon after, you found Alex in the kitchen, cooking delicious steaks for you both. Waddling to the kitchen, you gently pressed your forehead against his shoulder, humming softly.

"Hey buddy, Sleep ok ??' Alex smiled as he rubbed your back.

Nodding against his shoulder you then looked over at the steaks, oh they looked so good to eat right about now. "They'll be ready soon ok ??"

You nodded and then stood back up, helping set the table before he plated you both up. By the god it was easily the best steak you have ever eaten, no steakhouse could rival Alex. After dinner you two decided to decorate the house with Christmas decorations, Alex being the goofball he is, wrapped tinsel around you as you were decorating. "Alex !!" You laughed. "What, you make a great Christmas tree y/n" He smirked.

The rest of the night was filled with giggles before jet lag caught up to you both. You bid goodnight to him before heading to your room, changing into your pyjamas and crashing. The next morning, you woke up to find a certain bestie cuddled up to you. Laying an arm across you to keep you close, drool hitting his pillow. You could only smile and snuggle up to him, deserving a much needed sleep in.

The rest of the vacation was super fun, Alex showed you his freaking gaming room. He had a huge collection !!! You two played video games throughout. It was just an amazing time. But never forgetting, you went out and did some Christmas shopping too, gifts to send to the 141 for when they get back eventually. then a few for Alex. Now what would he like ??

You thought that until you came across a shop window that had a figurine... wait... this was the character he ranted on about, it was his favourite character as a kid. Astro boy. Without hesitating you went inside and got it. After that, you then got a few other things that he might like. Once mailing the 141's gifts to the post office, you headed back and then went to work wrapping them up. Oh, he was going to love this.

Christmas day.

You awoken once again to Alex cuddled up to you, the boy needs his Christmas cuddles !!! You snuggled up to him again and Alex woke up to the slight shifting. "Morning pal" He smiled.

"Hey, Alex... Merry Christmas" You looked up at him smiling softly. The two stayed snuggled up for a little while, you melted as he began to massage your scalp, This was nice.

Once you both fully woke up, you then went to the living room and then sat down in front of the tree, beginning to open your gifts. Alex handed you a small box, He looked really eager for you to open it. Once you opened it, Inside was a snow globe, but inside the snow globe. some figurines looked like... you and Alex. "There was this place in town that can let you get custom-made ones, thought it'd be a fun touch" He smiled as you shook the globe. You placed it down and then hugged him tightly. "I love it" You smiled brightly.

He hugged you back just as tight, It showed how much you meant to him, His best friend.

You then let go and then handed him his gift, you were nervous but also excited. His eyes went wide as he got the paper off. "NO WAY ASTRO BOY !!!" He shrieked and stood up, zooming around with it singing the theme song, making you laugh. Oh he was such a freaking goofball, This was easily the best Christmas you and Alex have ever had.

A/N: Before I sign off, I want to wish you all a Merry Christmas and a happy new year, I can't wait to get back on here and see the amazing ideas that will bring me in 2024. :D

Taglist: @callofdudes @fun-k-board

[slashhinginghasher]

No Such Thing As A Free Ride

I am going to rewrite The Hitcher with Soap and Ghost and you cannot stop me.

~

It's pissing it down out there.

Johnny can barely hear the radio over the sound of the rain, which has practically turned his windshield into a solid sheet of water. He's turned up the wipers on the rental car as fast as they can go, is half-afraid they'll go flying off, and they still can't keep up with the downpour. Isn't Texas supposed to be a desert? It sure had looked like it before the clouds rolled in, bringing night early and opening up with an unexpected fury. If he'd wanted to deal with this crap weather, he'd have stayed home in Scotland.

Well, no he wouldn't.

Life at home had been stifling as of late. Job was shite, flatmates were shite. Family on his arse to make something of himself. His girlfriend dumped him, claiming he "lacked direction", whatever the hell that meant. He turned in his nametag, cashed his last paycheck, and hopped on a plane across the pond, and fuck you all very much.

He's the only one on the road right now, at least as far as he can see. Which, granted, is hardly anything. He's tempted to pull over, wait the storm out on the side of the road, but he knows about flash floods. Drowning in the middle of the desert would just be embarrassing. Plus, he'd like to get his deposit back on the rental. He drives on at half the speed limit, white-knuckling the wheel and hoping he doesn't get mowed over by one of those fuck-off big trucks he's seen at every gas station.

He would've missed the figure entirely had he been going full speed: a sodden silhouette of a human being plodding along the side of the road. As it is, it takes a full second for the sight to process and for Johnny to slam on the brakes, nearly losing control of the car as it starts to hydroplane. Once he's come to a shaky stop, he checks the rearview mirror - that is definitely a person. Poor bastard must've run their car off the road when the storm hit.

Johnny puts the car in reverse and backs up, slowly so the stranger doesn't think he's trying to run them down. As soon as he pulls abreast of them, he throws open the passenger door so the interior light comes on.

"You need a lift, mate?" he calls, shouting nearly full volume to be heard over the rain.

The stranger is a man, fucking big bastard too, and Johnny feels a slight prickle of misgiving that he quickly shakes off. He's no stranger to the gym, and pretty scrappy in a fight if it comes down to it, so he figures he can defend himself if the guy turns out to be Ted Bundy.

He's starting to think it'll be a nonissue since the man hasn't said anything or even acknowledged Johnny, but then he ducks into the passenger seat and pulls the door shut behind him in one startlingly swift, silent movement.

The overhead light goes off with the door shut, and Johnny only has the faint glow of the dashboard to study the man he just invited into his space. He's got a dark jacket with the hood pulled up, and some kind of mask covering his face from the nose down. It must be uncomfortable, soaked through as he is, but he makes no move to take it off, even when Johnny reaches over to turn up the heat.

He seems even bigger in the confines of the car, swallowing up the space in a way that makes it harder for Johnny to breathe. He has to swallow a few times before he speaks.

"Which way you headed?" he asks.

The stranger stays silent, just staring out at the rain. Johnny's about to repeat himself when, in the space of a blink, the man turns to face him. He jumps at the sudden movement, heart in his throat for no good reason. The stranger is pale, a shock of blond hair plastered to his forehead over even blonder eyebrows. But what gets Johnny is his eyes. They're dark, so endlessly deep and dark against that light hair and the surrounding shadow of the hood, and Johnny feels like he's staring into the empty sockets of a skull.

"I'm getting your seats all wet," the stranger says.

His voice is deep, rough. A stone door grating shut over the mouth of the tomb.

And, even more surprisingly, British. Northern, from the sound of it, maybe around Manchester. Johnny tells himself the lurch in his stomach is from the excitement of meeting an unexpected neighbor this deep in the States.

"Um," he says. Clears his throat. "'S alright. It'll dry."

Brilliant conversation, John. Fantastic stuff.

"I'm Johnny, by the way." He feels immature and stupid the moment the nickname exits his mouth. "John. Mactavish."

A few beads of water drip off the stranger's hood, and Johnny's starting to shiver even though he's not the one that's soaked to the bone. He puts the car in drive and pulls back out onto the road, even though he still doesn't know what direction his passenger is heading. Anything is better than being swallowed up by the unfathomable depths of that gaze.

The radio's gone to static, so Johnny shuts it off. Just the road and the rain and his pulse in his ears and the black hole presence in the seat next to him.

The man fiddles about in the center console a bit, coming up with a cigarette lighter adapter Johnny had forgotten was there. He plugs it in and produces a damp carton of cigarettes from some inside coat pocket. Instead of pulling the mask down, he rolls it up from the bottom, revealing a strong chin and a wide mouth with a scar running through it. Johnny's own mouth feels dry as he watches from the corner of his eyes while the stranger taps a smoke free from the pack and places it between his lips.

"Best not do that in here," he blurts. "It's not my car."

The man acts as though he didn't hear him.

Johnny jumps when the cigarette lighter pops out. The stranger plucks it free, studies the glowing orange circle like it's the most interesting thing in the car. Then he cuts his gaze over to Johnny and presses it to the tip of his cigarette.

There's a faint sizzle as the damp paper lights up, and Johnny feels like he's burning up with it. His ma always said he had an overactive imagination, but he could swear the man next to him is thinking about pressing that ring of fire into flesh instead of paper.

The man takes a deep drag, then cracks the passenger window and blows the smoke in its general direction.

"Name's Ghost."

Johnny exhales, long and slow through his nose. Okay. The bloke's clearly had a shit day, just needed a hit of nicotine before he could be civil. That's okay. He nods like the man hasn't given him one of the most fucked up names he could have in this situation.

"So, what brings you all the way out here to the good old U.S. of A.?" Maybe if he can keep a conversation going, he'll stop feeling like he's made a terrible mistake.

Ghost just shrugs. Christ, he's a big fucker. His shoulders must be almost twice as broad as Johnny's, and Johnny's no scrawny little shrimp. Why is he thinking about his shoulders?

The rain is starting to ease up, but they're well past sundown and it's still dark as hell out there. The headlights catch a glint of something reflective. After a bit of squinting, Johnny can make out the shape of a car nose-first in a roadside ditch.

"That yours?"

They're quite a ways down the road from where he picked up Ghost. No wonder he was in a mood.

"Nah."

Johnny sits up a bit, surprised. What are the odds of him coming across two travelers stranded in the rain along the same stretch of road? The car definitely looks to be in rough shape, though. He doesn't really have room for another person in here, what with his bags and all, but he could give them some dry clothes, a bit of first aid, offer to send help back from the next town. He starts to slow down.

Ghost's hand clamps down on Johnny's thigh and presses his foot to the accelerator. Johnny tries to lift his foot, but it's like fighting against a mountain.

"What the hell?" he shouts. "Let go of me, you big bastard!"

The numbers on the speedometer are climbing alarmingly fast. Ghost's hand is burning hot even through the fabric of his gloves and Johnny's jeans and steamin' jesus no one's hands have a right to be that big. They shoot past the other car, moving far too quickly to see if there's anyone inside, and Ghost's grip on Johnny's leg is getting tighter.

They're going almost 100 mph now, and Johnny's getting ready to throw the emergency brake in desperation when Ghost suddenly lets go. Johnny eases off the gas, hits the brake as soon as they've slowed enough that it won't send the car into a tailspin. His thigh is cold, tingling. He whips around to glare at Ghost in righteous anger and not a little fear.

"What the fuck was that about, you arsehole? We could have crashed!" He's shaking now as the adrenaline starts to drop, and rakes a frantic hand through his hair. "Someone back there could've needed help!"

Ghost stares at him, implacable.

"Keep driving, Johnny."

He'll never be able to explain - to the cops or god or anyone else - why he listens.

"We need to get to town," he rambles aloud to himself as his brings them up to a safe and reasonable speed. "Tell them there's been a wreck and they need to send help."

Ghost tosses his cigarette butt out the window.

"Don't bother. It's too late for him."

Johnny's going to give himself whiplash with the number of times he's twisted his head to stare at the other man.

"What d'you mean, 'too late'? Did you see him earlier? Why didn't you say anything?"

Ghost doesn't answer. Johnny's starting to feel really uneasy.

"What the fuck does 'too late' mean, Ghost?!"

That gets his attention. There's a heat in Ghost's eyes that wasn't there before, like the heat of his hand on Johnny's thigh, or the heat of a cherry red ember.

"Too late means dead, Johnny." There's a soft huff from behind the mask that could maybe be mistaken for a laugh. "Bled out from a hole in the head."

It's probably not safe to have his eyes off the road for this long, but Johnny can't look away. It's instinct, the prey needing to know where the predator is at all times.

"How do you know?" he croaks.

Ghost's eyes are sparkling.

"'Cause I'm the one that gave it to him."

[jackassbrainrot]

Inspo from Johnny x bam one (very good btw)

But like… feminized bam

Like turned on embarrassed fem

Anywayssss

dude looks like a girl [knoxville x bam]

desc: Bam finds out first hand that New York City is where your wildest dreams come true

a/n: based very loosely on actual events, when Bam and Knoxville woke up in bed together with makeup on. made it slash again whoops. hope you like it! also the bar is so very imaginary I do not have the slightest clue about bars in NYC. think this is the longest fanwork I've ever written

warnings: smut, dirty talk, feminization, feminine pet names for a man, bam margera's canonically small dick, facefucking, anal sex

word count: 2352

This isn't what Bam had expected when Knoxville invited him up to New York for a "fashion party". The night had started normally, though admittedly being more Knox's scene, a million new faces he had to make small talk with, slowly sipping at cocktails that would've been horribly overpriced if the sponsors hadn't taken care of that for them. He was trailing behind his costar like a lost puppy, trying to avoid mind numbing conversations by letting him do the talking, while he busied himself with his fruity little drinks and trying to understand what the fuck they were at a party sponsored by MAC cosmetics.

"Stop following me around like a lost child." Johnny gritted through his teeth, trying to keep his voice low as they walked through the crowd. "Man, I don't know anyone here, what do you expect me to do?" Bam retorted, sounding like a teenager whose parents dragged him to a family reunion he really didn't want to be at. As they were having their little argument, a familiar face emerged from the crowd.

"Finally someone I can stand." The petite woman said, embracing Knoxville before turning to Bam. "And you've brought a new victim to the cruel world of the entertainment industry." She joked, looking him up and down as if she was trying to recognize the much younger man. "Janeane, this is Bam, one of the guys I'm legally allowed to torture on set." The woman, Janeane, laughed, extending her hand to shake Bam's. "I'm Janeane Garofalo, and I'm whatever you two are." She explained her profession in such a roundabout way that the young man didn't quite understand, but he took her hand in his anyway. "I'm a skateboarder actually." He corrected Johnny's earlier statement, though it wasn't exactly wrong.

"Alright, now that we've got that out of the way, you two wanna get outta here with me?" Her question made Bam perk up instantly, which she noticed but waited expectantly for Johnny's answer. "I think I'm gonna stay for a bit longer, but you can babysit him for a while if you want." He half joked, wanting to get Bam off his back. "We'll be at Velvet on 27th!" Janeane yelled back at Knoxville as she dragged Bam toward the door. She told him the plan for the night as he lead her to his car, driving to her place so she could change before heading to Velvet.

When they arrived at her flat, she dumped her bag on the table, a myriad of makeup products fell from it. "What? It's not like they're going to miss it." She said when she saw Bam's eyes widen. "I'm not judging you, I just didn't expect it like, at all." He laughed, sitting down on his couch as she went into her room to change. "Help yourself, if you want." He heard her yell from her room, trying to resist the urge to do just that. He felt weirdly drawn to the pile, despite never really being interested in makeup aside from copying Ville Valo's eyeliner on rare occasions. Janeane walked out of her room, dressed in a less "industry party" outfit than before, sporting jeans and a tank top, her makeup reminiscent of grunge movement of the past decade.

"Wait, I've got a genius idea!" She exclaimed when she saw his gaze was locked on the makeup. "Can I do your makeup?" She asked eagerly, looking like she was going to burst out of her skin at any moment. "You sure I'm not gon' get beat up or some shit?" Bam asked, apprehensive but not fully opposed to the idea. "You'll be just fine at Velvet, I promise." She stuck out her pinky finger to him, which he mirrored, rolling his eyes but a smile crept on his lips.

Janeane got to work right away, pulling a chair out for him and collecting all the supplies she would be needing. Black eyeshadow, an eyeliner pencil, mascara, and a dark red lipstick she shoved into her pocket for later. She tightlined his waterline with the eyeliner the best she could with his whining and twitching. "I feel like you're trying to kill me." He said when he felt the pen poke his inner eye corner as she connected the top and bottom waterline at a point. "Stop being such a baby." She smiled, putting down the pencil and going for the eyeshadow to smoke it out a bit. "Blink." She said as she brought the mascara wand to his eyes, finishing the look.

As she finally moved away, Janeane admired her work. Bam looked absolutely showstopping, the dark makeup around his eyes making them look even brighter than usual, the icy blues looked like they could cool down the sun. "I think Knoxville's gonna fall straight on his ass when he sees you." She said, handing him a mirror to look at himself. He sat there for a moment, stunned, a "holy shit" leaving his lips as he moved the mirror around to look at himself from every angle. "Stop staring at yourself, let's go!" She pulled him up from his seat, dragging him out of her apartment and all the way to the bar.

Velvet was what Bam would call a haggard looking bar. The walls were lined with posters that were falling apart due to age, the leather upholstery was scratched and half of it was covered in permanent stains and the smell of smoke was burned into the walls forever. But despite all of that, he was enjoying himself, sitting in a booth with Janeane, talking on and on about anything and everything they could think of. Bam saw Janeane's face light up suddenly, waving someone, who he assumed was Johnny, over to their booth.

When he sat down next to Bam, his eyes widened under his shades as he noticed the makeup, heat going down to his crotch at seeing the skateboarder look so pretty. Janeane shot Bam a knowing glance before they all went on with their conversation. "I see you two had fun without me." Knoxville said, alluding to the sight that was making it hard for him to think straight. "You wouldn't believe it, man." Bam commented, smiling at Janeane before taking a sip of the beer in front of him. The conversation continued normally, apart from the fact that Knoxville was obviously stealing glances at the younger man behind his shades.

After a few rounds, Johnny was at the end of his rope, mind fogged with images of Bam under him, his eyeliner messed up from crying and his soft lips hanging open as moans fall from his mouth. "I think we should get going." He said, patting Bam's thigh, higher than would be considered normal, hoping he would get the hint. "Man, I can't drive home like this!" Bam whined, and the older man couldn't figure out if he was playing along or didn't catch his hint. "You can sleep in my hotel room, c'mon." He said, pulling a still whining Bam onto his feet. He hugged Janeane, saying their goodbyes, before she slipped the lipstick she'd been hiding in her pocket into his palm and winking, as she stepped away from him to hug Bam, whispering a chuckled "have fun" into his ear.

Johnny guided him to the door with a hand on his back, trying to hurry them along to the hotel. He hailed a cab, both of them sitting in the back seat, his hand resting on Bam's thigh as he whispered into his ear. "You have no idea what you're doing to me, darling." The low growl of his voice made the younger man shiver, blood rushing. "Tell me then." He kept his smug demeanor even though his breathing was uneven and he could feel blood rushing to his crotch. "I think pretty girls like you ought to be fucked real nice." Johnny let his accent slip, knowing it tends to have a positive effect when he's trying to get into someone's pants. Bam almost moaned at the words, surprising himself by being so turned on from being called such a feminine pet name. "You like it when I call you pretty, huh princess?"

Just as those words left his dirty, albeit gorgeous, mouth, the cab stopped and Bam scrambled out of the car, too embarrassed of his own reaction to let Johnny see it. The older man paid the driver and walked into the hotel as Bam trailed behind him. As they walked into the elevator, he felt himself being pushed against the side of it by the taller man. He leant down to whisper in his ear once again. "Don't think I didn't see you blushin' when I called you princess." He stood up straight as the elevator door opened, walking out of it and toward his room as if he didn't just cause all of Bam's blood to leave his brain and go to his dick.

Johnny enjoyed watching the usually coordinated pro skateboarder trip over his feet to get into his room as quickly as humanly possible. He slammed the door behind him before walking over to Bam who was awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do. "What is it, dalin', cat got your tongue?" He loomed over him, his tone mocking, moving a piece of hair from the boy's eyes before kissing him suddenly, making him whimper and melt into the kiss. Knoxville led the kiss, one of his hands in Bam's hair and the other on his hip as the other man clutched desperately at the hem of his shirt.

Pulling away from the kiss, the older man looked down at Bam with lustfilled eyes, his lips forming an evil smirk. "Do you want to be good for me, Bam Bam?" He watched him nod frantically, his usual cockiness gone. "Then be a good girl and get on your knees for me" Johnny sat down on the bed, watching Bam fall to his knees in front of him, eyes never leaving his. He pulled the lipstick Janeane gave him out of his pocket, uncapping it and admiring the color, a deep burgundy. He took Bam's chin in his hand, tilting it up so he could get the perfect angle, the younger man opening his mouth slightly to make the application easier. "Don't you look absolutely delicious." He swiped a finger over the kneeling man's bottom lip before putting the lipstick away.

"Would be a shame to ruin such pretty makeup, wouldn't it?" Bam only nodded in response, eyes glazed over with lust, not registering that the question was rhetorical. Knoxville loved watching him nod brainlessly to his words, knowing that he could get him to agree to anything his heart desired at this point. He unbuckled his belt, those beautiful blue eyes following his every move as he pulled his dick out. "So you gotta be really careful not to make a mess, princess."

Bam opened his mouth more, letting the older man push his dick into his mouth, leaving a burgundy stain over the entire length of it. Without warning, he started to thrust, hard and fast, making the younger man choke and try to push himself off but Knoxville's hand kept his head down, so he opted for digging his short black nails into his thighs. When he was sufficiently satisfied with the smudged lipstick and the stains that resembled ink covering Bam's face, he pulled him off by his hair, finally letting him breathe again. "My pretty girl." He mumbled as he pulled Bam onto the bed with him.

He pulled the skateboarder into another kiss, this time grabbing his dick through his pants, making him gasp and giving Johnny full access to his mouth. "You really are a girl, huh?" Bam blushed a color that almost matched his lipstick at the older man's cruel words, though he knew he was right. "Let me take care of you, princess." Bam moaned into his mouth, unbuttoning his own jeans and pushing them down to give Knoxville more access. He pushed his hand into his pants, collecting the precum on his fingers. "You're so wet for me." His voice rumbled against Bam's earlobe as the older man's hand traveled lower, circling his entrance before pushing a finger in, the precum being enough to slip it in easily.

Bam's moans filled the room as Knoxville fucked him with his fingers, slowly picking up the pace and filling him up more, until he felt he was ready. He flipped them so the younger man was under him, one leg thrown over his shoulder as he lined himself up, slowly sinking into his costar, moaning in unison. "So tight for me, feel so good, princess." They both lost themselves in the feeling, Bam's nails raking over Knoxville's back, as the older man thrust into him at an unforgiving pace.

The drag of Johnny's dick inside him made the younger man feel like he was on fire, his dick feeling like it was going to burst as soon as someone touches it. Johnny seemed to sense his thoughts, his hand coming down to his dick. He jerked him off with two fingers, furthering his humiliation as he came in seconds, making the older man laugh down at him as he continued to chase his high. "Yeah, that's my good girl, feels so fucking good" He kept rambling as he got closer to his climax, pulling out of Bam to cum on his face and chest.

They both collapsed on the bed, falling asleep in a mess of their fluids instantly, tangled together and half naked, with makeup on. If anyone had found them in the morning like that, it would've been all over the tabloids, but like this, it was only in Big Brother, because Knoxville couldn't resist calling Tremaine in the morning to tell him what state he had woken up in. Bam woke up, demanding that Johnny help him clean himself up and call room service.

"You really are a princess."

[porkcutletbowl44]

Hello again!!! Makes almost one month since the last time I read anything related to Far From Perfect (college is draining all my sanity and time) but I finally read the latest chapters and I've to say they're delightful.

The start of chapter 19 surprised me a lot since I didn't expect Kyle to be the one to help Simon while he's drowing himself in alcohol. I expected to see Johnny in this situation, but it's a pleasing surprise to see Kyle instead since I think he's a really nice character. It was also so cute and heartbreaking to see mama taking care of Simon in the hospital. It's obvious that she cares deeply about his happiness and well-being and yet he's insufferable most of the time (actually impressed that he wasn't in this chapter). Being honest I actually laughed so much while mama was helping him to undress😭 I couldn't believe it and honestly I'd laugh too if i was in her shoes because the situation is awkward to even think of.

Reading the wedding scene in chapter 20 made my eyes a bit teary (was waiting for it since you mentioned once), I really love the way you make me feel nostalgic and melancholic about mama and Simon's old dinamic before he fucked up with it. They were such a lovely couple that it makes me furious, sad and so many other things I don't know how to name that it was all throw away because he was insecure and refused to communicate before taking drastic decisions about their relationship. Now talking about my lovely man Keegan, he's the most perfect man I've ever seen😞❤. I find myself smilling at my cellphone while reading about him and Fawn interacting because they have a wonderful relation. She's a bubbly and sweet kid and he's just so carrying towards her, when he takes her to a bike ride the whole situation about Simon falls on the background and the whole thing gains a calm and light-hearted, it's just so perfect💞. I think i talk too much about my love to this man, but he's one of my favorites and it's way too hard to find good content of him in the fandom.

About the notes on chapter 21's start, I just want to say that your work makes me really happy. I'm sorry that you received hate your content and I hope you've gained motivation again to continue this wonderful series❤❤❤. Now about the chapter itself, seeing Fawn worrying about her father is one of the cutest thing in it (also them watching Fosters Home for Imaginary Friends bring me some good memories, that show was amazing). This whole chapter was sweet and sad at the same time, but mostly sweet. Fawn's game was a wonderful scene too, definely one of my favorites. It's just so good to see Keegan growing even more fond towards mama and her daughter even when he isn't even part of the family (hopefully this will change soon🙏) . Although sometimes I fell bad for him, I mean imagine falling in love with someone who still loves and misses their ex and that has recently passed through a divorce? That's tough, and I'm impressed on how well he hides his jealousy and how patient he's with mama. And when Fawn calls him "daddy" my jaw fell to the floor. Wasn't expecting that, either wass him, mama or anybody I'm really sure of that. Honestly I think that it was really just a slip up this time, but considering that Simon almost doesn't spend time witb Fawn as he used to and that Keegan is way more present now, I wouldn't be surprised if it turns into a common thing for her.

Now Ghost went back into being a completely idiot on chapter 22 damn. It was taking too long but he started saying things without thinking again, and reading this was a real rollercoaster of emotions. First of all, how dare him to suddenly show up on mama' workplace with their daughter and refer to her as his wife like he didn't absolutely destroyed her mental health with the divorce? Sorry but i'd be livid if I was in this situation (not related but her boss is actually so chill, like wdym she can take an early day off just because her family is there? I loved it). The car ride was just so overwhelming😭 first they're calmly chatting and suddenly the air is tense because of him, he definitely doesn't know how to properly formulate phrases without sounding like an ass. He's so misarable and it's delicious to see him dealing with the consequences (even tho he doesn't know how). Now Colleen, Jesus Christ she also makes me livid💔. Honestly it impresses me that even after she made his daughter scared about her mother's safety and happiness he still allowed her to be near Fawn, it's almost like he forgot with who he's living with. The most responsible adult there was mama, especially when she punched Colleen (like shshshould've done earlier). I just can't with her and Simon, they're both inresponsible and selfish in their own ways and its insufferable.

Now finally talking about everything, I really hope mama doesn't allow her daughter near that woman ever again. It's surprising that even when Simon claims to care about her and Fawn more than anything in the world he' still able to do idiot things related to them. Deeply wondering when he's going to dump that bitch because she literaly slapped his daughter, what kind of sane person does that??? Read a comment on Ao3 about everyone in this fanfiction needing therapy and they're so real about it. If i remember good mama already goes to therapy, but I highly doubt Simon does because he doesn't know how to deal with his emotions and with the variety of scenarios he can pass through, and if he really wants to get things back to what they were before the divorce, he needs to get his feelings on check. Also noticed that Fawn is more talktive in this last chapters (?) but idk, I think I might be imagining things here, althought if I'm not, I need to say that I found it wonderful. And I'm deeply hoping that mama doesn't accept any advances of Simon's part because he doesn't deserve a second chance. He's horrible for her mental health and I'm praying that she'll choose Keegan instead and finally get over her ex because she deserves better that how he treated/is treating her.

Anyways, I'm really sorry for the gigant ask but I needed to talk about this fanfiction so bad💔. Missed a lot reading your wonderful righting and seeing the lead this whole thing is getting. I wish you a wonderful week and that you keep continuing with this lovely work💞💞💞.

Oh the smile on my face reading this while eating sushi 🤭🥰🥰🥰

I'm so glad to see you in my ask box!!! And I'm so sorry to hear that college life is draining :( I'm cheering for you until it gets better!!! 🫶🏻

Everything certainly is messy! I will say right off the bat Simon is 100% done with Colleen's bullshit, he obviously cares way more for his kiddo than her so she will be letting the door hit her on the way out (for a reason I will not disclose just yet 🫥)

Simon has been doing so much reflecting and trying to navigate what the hell is going on, feeling new things for the first time is a broken rollercoaster sheesh 😬

I'm honestly debating on enabling comment moderation because there's simply too much judging based on the first few chapters when things are meant to go slow, and it's a little bit irritating because I can tell when someone reads and gets a full understanding rather than skimming and forming an incorrect assumption without going through the whole series. (Also debating on posting a very indepth Simon analysis on how his character is in the fic)

And yes! Mama does self therapy with her little journal and whatnot, and that seems to be helping (I think I'm gonna leave the poor lady alone now, depression is NOT fun :(

But now that I have everyone (at least mostly everyone) hating Simon, time to pull a little switcheroo 🤭😈

As always, I love rants, and my ask box is always open to those who want to talk about Far From Perfect 🫶🏻

[vro0m]

vro0m's rewatch - 173/332

2016 Monaco GP

(Buckle up there’s a lot of gifs in this one)

Well now that Spain made me lose my mind it's only fair for the follow-up to be the dullest race on the calendar. Oh wait actually maybe not? 

It's wet. They're talking of changeable conditions. Also weirdly, it's Ricciardo on pole. Huh. I can only hope this race surprises me. Interestingly, Max crashed in Q1 so he's starting for the pitlane while Daniel is starting from pole. I'm gonna be interested in that dynamic. 

The Mercs have fuel pressure issues if I understand right? Of course we're gonna have a segment on them after what happened in the last race. We see images from Monaco 2014, the controversial quali mistake from Nico. "We're not friends." Lewis leaning on his shoulder and Nico getting away from him. The Belgium 2014 crash. Merc's 2014 title win. Lewis' 2014 title win. China 2015, when Nico thought Lewis backed him into Seb during the race. Monaco 2015, when the team lost Lewis' the race. Merc's 2015 title win. Lewis' 2015 title win. The cap throw. And of course their last crash. 

Johnny interviews Lewis on the truck. He claims Lewis has been grumpy in the past few days. Lewis is surprised, or he feigns to be. He asks how he's been grumpy. Johnny says there's been people saying he doesn't look happy. Johnny hypothesises that it might be frustration because he wanted to be on the front row and it didn't work out. "Okay," Lewis says, half amused. Johnny says that's him still being grumpy with him. Which is insane. Lewis interrupts him. He says he's in a great mood, he's in Monaco, where he lives, and he gets to drive. As he waves to the crowd he points to children from the starlight foundation for hospitalised children. He says to Johnny not to listen to all the noise, "that's the problem with people, they just listen to what other people say." Johnny says in 2008 Lewis won from starting 3rd on the grid, where he's starting that day. Lewis says he got lucky that one time but he'll do what he can and get points.

The journalists are talking team orders now. Apparently Lewis hinted that they might have to rely on that if Nico and himself came together again. Brundle says of course if it turns out the Ferraris or the RedBulls become a threat for the title the team is gonna have to make decisions. 

On the truck Seb says he thinks they have a good car but we also hear him say it got worse and swearing during quali so. Yeah. Not too sure about that. 

Mmh and there's a problem with Max's car. They are hammering something on or off the car. Not good. 

I'm gonna skip Brundle's grid walk because it's never as annoying as in Monaco. 

The grid : Ricciardo, Nico, Lewis, Seb, Hulkenberg, Sainz, Perez, Kvyat, Alonso and Valtteri. 

And it's a safety car start!

It's just that wet. They're all on full wets then of course. Kvyat says his Toro Rosso is stuck on constant speed. He drops down the field even under safety car. He's back in the pits and a lap down. But he goes again. But then he says it still doesn't work. Over radio, Magnussen claims it's time they go racing, the track is ready. Lewis is also calling it. Okay! Safety car in at the end of lap 7. Kvyat is not allowed to unlap himself though which is stupid. 

Here we go! Ricciardo gets away and Lewis is close to Nico. Magnussen pits for inters! Crazy! Meanwhile Lewis almost put it in the wall in the hairpin AND A CAR HAS CRASHED?! Wait, is it on the other side of the wall…? I'm confused. It's Palmer. VSC. What happened? He's out and OK btw. The car is already hooked to the crane and lifted up, the two front wheels hanging pathetically under the car like a warm ball sack. Ohhh okay. Weird. So on the restart we see him coming down the hill with the two wheels already broken. He's just sliding down like it's on skis until it gets into the run off area and bumps against the barriers. Yeah he hit other barriers earlier. A lot of the midfield cars are getting on the inters. 

On lap 10, they go again, AGAIN. And still Ricciardo is ahead while Lewis is sticking to Nico's back. He's looking to overtake for sure. But well. It's Monaco. Jenson sets the fastest lap on inters! Yellow flags… It's Grosjean and Raikkonen into the barriers with minimal to no damage it seems. Ah nevermind Raikkonen just lost his front wing, it's stuck under his car. He's trying to get back to the pit anyway but at the exit of the tunnel it seems impossible and he retires in a run-off area. On the replay we see Raikkonen crashed by himself, then as he went again Massa ran into his back and as he went off into the barriers, Grosjean found himself stuck behind him. Seb pits for inters. More and more of them on inters. What is Merc doing. OH AND WE DIDN'T SEE IT HAPPEN BUT LEWIS IS AHEAD! He has 13 seconds to make up for to catch Daniel though. Oh ho it seems to have been team orders… I mean he immediately put 4 seconds between him and Nico so it's clearly the right call but it’s icky. Seb got ahead of Massa by cutting the chicane unintentionally so he gives the place back. Shortly after Hulkenberg almost collides with his rear in the hairpin. Lewis sets the fastest lap of the race. Still 13 seconds to Ricciardo but Nico lost 2 more seconds on him. 

On lap 20, Lewis is 12.7 seconds behind, then it's Nico, Sainz getting close to him, Perez not far behind, a big gap to Massa, followed by Seb, Hulkenberg, Alonso and Gutierrez still further down. The Merc mechanics are ready with inter tyres. But Lewis doesn't come in, so it'll be Nico. Yep. Out in P5. Massa pits as well. And that's two cars into the barriers! Kvyat and Magnussen, who almost backed away into another car. And Verstappen sets the fastest lap on inters now. Lewis needs to pit. Him and Daniel are the last ones on wets… And Ricciardo pits! And Lewis hasn't pitted?! WHY?! It's stupid af. Now Ricciardo is gaining so fast on him, setting fastest lap after fastest lap, while Ted reports the track is "bone dry". Daniel is less than 0.2 behind him… They think he's trying to go straight to the slicks. 

It's lap 30. Lewis, Daniel +0.7, Nico 26 seconds further down, Perez, Seb, Hulkenberg, Sainz, Alonso, Gutierrez, and Max, who started from the pitlane, is in the points. And Ericsson is the first one to get on the slicks. Perez follows. Then Jenson, Magnussen… Lewis is struggling. HE PITS. Ultrasofts! Do they think he can go to the end on these?! It's 46 laps!!! Everyone is pitting. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. NO FUCKING WAY. Ricciardo came in for the slicks but they weren't ready! The tyres weren't out! What a mistake! He's sitting there… It's a 13.6 stop! Unbelievable! Just as he gets in the pit exit, Lewis flies by at full speed! They are wheel to wheel after the chicane but Lewis gets away fast and he keeps the lead! Is he finally, FINALLY, gonna win his second Monaco GP?! Well there's still half a race to go, and Daniel isn't giving up! He's catching on Lewis! He attacks out of the tunnel, but Lewis defends. It's close, damn. I'm gonna be so stressed out. And he's caught in backmarkers… Seb sets the fastest lap. OH AND MAX IS IN THE BARRIERS! Virtual safety car. Meanwhile Nico is in P6. He's been held up during his pitstop to avoid an unsafe release and he lost a place to Seb. They go again and Daniel tries a move before the tunnel but almost loses it. Then he tries in the tunnel. Lewis cut the chicane! They're wheel to wheel! But again, it's Monaco. On his on-board we see him waving his hands furiously. It's true Lewis defended aggressively. Especially given he'd just made a mistake. Radio : "wtf was that?" Daniel asks. 

Lap 40. Lewis, Daniel +1.380. Perez, Seb, Alonso, Rosberg, Hulkenberg, Sainz, Jenson, Gutierrez. The incident between Lewis and Daniel is under investigation. Ricciardo is losing time slightly. Interestingly, the commentators point out, Perez and Seb are on the softs, not the ultrasofts like Lewis, not the supersofts like Ricciardo. It's pretty clear they can go to the end on these when we're unsure about the ultrasofts. Lewis sets the fastest lap. Ricciardo is gaining again. He's under a second away again. But Lewis responds. No further action for their previous scuffle. Lewis sets the fastest lap again. But Daniel responds! But behind them drivers are picking up the pace as well… Specifically Perez in P3 is faster than them both at this point. 

It's lap 50. Perez sets the fastest lap. Lewis, Ricciardo +0.8, Perez +8.9, Seb +2.3, then Alonso is 30 seconds down, followed by Nico, Hulkenberg, Sainz, Jenson and Massa. And the two Saubers, that we just heard fighting over the radio about team orders, collided! They go again. VSC. One of them pits. VSC ending. Ricciardo is so close… Nasr's Sauber is back in the pits. Ricciardo attacks out of the tunnel again! But Lewis defends again! A few corners later, Daniel locks up. He loses time a bit. We breathe. Lewis sets the fastest lap. Nasr is out of the race. There's a train behind Alonso btw. Nico is still stuck half a second behind Alonso and must be getting as frustrated as Ricciardo. Ericsson, the second Sauber, also retires. Seb sets the fastest lap. 20 laps to go. Even when it's somewhat interesting this race is too long. Daniel picks up the pace but locks up again. 

Lap 60. Lewis, Ricciardo +0.9, Perez +9.1, Seb +2.7, Alonso, Nico, Hulkenberg, Sainz, Jenson, Massa. Ohhh on a replay we see Nico overtook Alonso but then cut the chicane so he gave the place back. There may or may not be rain right at the end of the race… Seb sets the fastest lap again. Ohhh he made a mistake… He lost 2 seconds to Perez because of a lock up. 10 laps to go. Ted says he asked the pirelli guy if Lewis can go to the end on these tyres and the man answered idk I didn't expect them to make it this far so. Yeah. Reassuring. VSC : something has flown on the track apparently from one of the balconies above. It's over really quickly.

Lap 70. Daniel is 2 seconds behind and Perez and Vettel lost out with the VSC, they've fallen back a bit. Alonso, Nico, Hulkenberg, Sainz, Jenson, Massa. Of course it hasn't changed. Alonso reports some raindrops on his visor. Lewis is starting to lap the top 10! He's not under pressure from Daniel either. He's really gonna win Monaco again. 5 laps to go. Holding my breath. He's gonna be so happy about this. Seb is just one second away from the podium… That would be nice… Come on baby. 4 laps to go. Seb is 0.7 seconds away. 3 laps to go. Seb lost a bit of time. 2 laps to go. It's starting to rain, Sainz says. It's too late for it to make a difference, surely. Final lap! 

It's the end of the race! 

LEWIS WINS IN MONACO! And that's his first win in 2016 as well, damn. Somehow Hulkenberg ultimately finished ahead of Nico. He takes his time around the track, Lewis. Crowd pleaser. 

He is so happy he's basically crowd surfing his crew. He receives congratulations from Justin Bieber and it's extremely cringe. He sets down his stuff, puts the cap on and then hugs his crew AGAIN. Goes back to chat with Bieber. Shakes Perez’ hand. Daniel is unhappy. Understandably. Face closed, shaking his head. Lewis gets his trophy. Throws it HIGH!

When Daniel gets his trophy Lewis also shakes his hand, tells him a word or two. Anthem time.

They pose for the photo. 

Lewis gives the champagne to Bieber to taste then generously drowns the mechanics. Ricciardo is not taking part. Checo is hugging his guys. Lewis crouches on his step instead of coming down to talk to Brundle.

He thanks everyone and says he's at a loss for words, he prayed for a time like this and it came.

The stint length was crazy and it was close. He congratulated Daniel for how well he drove all weekend, he calls him one of the best drivers he raced against. He says he's looking forward to many more battles. He knows he's unhappy because it's always disappointing to start one pole and finish second but he should be proud of how well he drove. 

While Ricciardo's interview starts, Perez and Lewis clinks bottles behind his head. The "tink" of the glass is heard loud and clear. 

When they get back to Lewis, Brundle reminds him of the gap in the championship : 26 points. "Game on," he says. Lewis chuckles with a hollow voice.

He says he hasn't even thought about that yet. He says he forgot to congratulate Sergio, who did an amazing job to come up from where he was. He says of course they're still in the battle, there's a long long way to go. "Just when you feel it couldn't get any worse it gets better." You can't ever give up. 

Apparently Horner refuses to give an interview. Toto is beaming though. He still says he's sorry about the RBR boys mishap because you never want this to happen to anybody. I mean. Sure Toto. He says they had issues with brake temperatures on both cars that caused problems every restart but Nico suffered more from it than Lewis. He also confirms Nico letting Lewis ahead was a team order. Simon says the gap is 24, not 26. He's confident for Montréal, but the others are catching up to them for sure. 

Nico says the decision to let Lewis ahead was pretty straight forward. He doesn't make a big deal out of it. It was clear he was off the pace while Lewis still had a chance to win. From the team's point of view it's simple. 

Lewis is asked how this win ranks in his career. He chuckles. It feels like the best race ever but he's had a lot of races and can't remember all of them.

He says this one he feels in his heart he earned. It didn't feel like a stroke of luck, he did the most. He chuckles again. He used every skill he had to stay ahead of Daniel, OH RIGHT. IT'S HIS 44TH WIN. IN MONACO. Ohhh symbols, symbols. He says it feels like a long time he hasn't won. About the call to stay out when everybody was putting for inters he says the mixed conditions are generally his favourite, although he wasn't the fastest in these conditions today, Daniel was, because they had more downforce this weekend. He says he decided to stay out. (Earlier Toto said the pit wall had a whole conversation about it and it was a team decision, Lewis being part of the team.) He says he was told to box and he said no because if he did he'd have to do it again 10-15 laps later given how fast the track was drying.

He says when he came out though it was like driving on ice. He's eager to get back to them and have a drink and enjoy.

The journalist says he said earlier in the weekend the ultrasofts weren't soft enough for him but now they're probably good enough? He says he's glad… He breathes out with this look of wonder he has when he's excited.

He says he had a long way to go on these tyres. The crazy thing is you don't know how long these tyres can go but there's a number of things you can do in the car to try to make them last longer. Daniel was picking up the pace and he was trying to speed up and slow down and "just tryna keep them sweet" but you never know when they'll drop off the cliff. It felt like it went on forever. He says it's a short lap here but 47 laps is a lot. Oh my god. He crosses his hands on his heart, raises his shoulders. "I'm grateful to got them…" He shakes his fist slightly, he's a child. "So happy!" 

And then it's time for the final interview while Lewis is trying to walk through the paddock. For some reason he pushes Johnny away, "Hey get out of here man!" Johnny laughs.

"Good seeing you smile buddy," he says.

I guess Lewis was a bit grumpy after that pre race interview after all. Lewis says he doesn't know how the race looked but it felt incredible. "one of the hardest races." The rain is so tricky and Monaco is horrible in the rain. Johnny says he was under a lot of pressure fighting Ricciardo, the conditions, he must feel so relieved to finally win. He says unfortunately he doesn't feel relieved at all. He says he went out there and took what he needed to get. He doesn't feel lucky or… "No no no but it's been a long time," Johnny says. Lewis is still talking "... Or 'Thank God' , I don't feel like that. Of course it's been a long time but today – thank you man," he interrupts himself to answer a guy congratulating him on the way. "I just feel incredibly proud of the job we did, of the decision I made to stay out, not crashing, you know, with all the opportunities out there I could've for sure crashed but I just feel very proud." Eventually, prompted by Simon this time, he agrees it's been a long time. He says it's one of the hardest races to win. He's again interrupted by someone congratulating him on the way. "Merci," he says. "One of the hardest races to win," he continues. "I mean why is it so damn hard." They chuckle. "But I love it." – "You like hard," Johnny says. Which uh. 🥴 Anyway. They're doing this interview while walking up narrow metallic stairs, it's awful. He says he'll be celebrating with friends that night. He says they'll definitely party, the music is already going.

He looks at the camera. "Blessings to everyone, thanks so much for the support."

A few minutes later we see Merc taking the team photo. As Ted repeats, Nico really offered Lewis this win in a sense. And that's such an interesting thing to point out in their dynamic. 

[nakitengoku]

Hi I see u reblog posts all the time with 'vex' and 'vance', who are they?

I'm so glad you asked! Buckle up, this'll be a long one.

In Short, Vex is my cyberpunk 2077 self-insert turned oc through Character Development and Quirks that I don't possess! You can find all the posted drawings I've done of him here, here and here, but I can give you a rough summary bc I love talking about him and he makes me ill <3 I've even made him his own Spotify Playlist

First off, Vex's original concept came a while ago when I had first watched Cyberpunk: Edgerunners. (Original designs below) I named this self insert Ghost and he was supposed to operate as a shady BD dealer

I wouldn't come back to this idea for a whole year, where a friend of mine who had been posting about the game convinced me to play. I decided to revamp Ghost, including his Name Change to Vex (to fit the theme of the main characters name starting with V). Through many back and forth a between me and my friend, and through playing the game, I had eventually fleshed out Vex.

Crash course in Vex Lore, due to rough circumstances and having no other options, he signed a contract with an upstart xbd (hyper-realistic 3d experiences plugged straight into your brain. Vex's specifically was in the pleasurable kind (he's a pornstar)) producer. For Nine year, Vex worked under this Producer, slowly becoming more and more of a hit star, especially among fanatics. But he wanted to be done with it and move on with his life, and lean into his side gig of being a Merc for hire. The producer, learning that Vex was gonna quit, begged him for once last recording. During which, the Producer tried to have Vex killed by the hands of his co-actor. Vex learns this in the middle of a scene and flips it around, instead Killing his co-actor and his producer.

He then hides the body, moves and tries to make a job for himself in Atlanta, but after nearly 2 years of miss after miss, he's forced to return to Night City, thus kicking off the start of the game!

Other than his backstory, he is part of the Worlds worst polycule composed of the Canon Characters, Kerry Eurodyne, River Ward and Johnny Silverhand, and the Non Canonical (though they're both canonical in my heart) Vex and Vance.

You may now be at the point of 'Phoenix, you've only been speaking about Vex, who the hell is Vance' Well, my dear beloved Mutual, Vance is @mail-me-a-snail's V! They're more inclined to talk about him and if you're really curious, they have an entire tag about him on their blog! Just know that I love Vance so strongly that Vex has to deal with it

(They've also recently posted one of their drawings of Vance and Vex and I'm over the moon about it)

There's also our mutual Bad Ending for Vance and Vex that you'll occasionally see me mention in Tags. That's the ending where Vex never escaped his Producer, instead continuing his work and becoming extremely popular and Vance never leaving Arasaka (a huge corporation). This ending is just for the two of them to rip each other apart in mutually assured destruction done out of love, commitment and understanding <3 (of which has its own Spotify playlist)

General rule of thumb is if you see a Vex with short hair and a blue collar, that's normal Vex. If you see him with long hair and he's missing his collar, That's the Bad End Vex.

That's it for Major Plot Points! He's a pretty kind and caring guy, but Hates Johnny's guts and will only refer to him as Silverhand (for multiple reasons). He's main weapon is a katana. He'll eat random food off the street bc of ingrained habits and won't think twice about how nasty that it. His preferred mode of transport is a motorbike bc he can't drive a car for shit. He's my sopping wet cat of an oc that I shake around like a limp piece of prey between my teeth.

Hope you enjoyed this rant about him! Thank you so much for asking ! (And feel free to keep asking, I love talking about him)

[exigencism]

@cyberpawn​ said: "Hey Johnny?" Their voice is gentle, deliberate as they tried to think through their words before speaking, not caring if Johnny would know their thoughts before they were said. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like a fuckin', uh, freak in our body. I know it's not fair 'cause this isn't your fault. This life is, uh, it's our's. And I want to make it a good one. I promise I won't make you feel like that ever again, choom."

When first waking up in Vale’s body, the fact it wasn’t his hadn’t crossed his mind. The realization hadn’t hit him, not until after making some semblance of amends at the diner. V was much shorter than him, both hands unlike his own. But he had never felt like a freak; always just out of reach, suspended sensations. At first as if the body didn’t want him, rejecting him, fighting against the machinery within the relic that forced Vale to transform into an empty vessel fit to contain a long-dead rockerboy that didn’t deserve it. The apologetic nature comes through before the words do, like seeing lights through a fog before making out it’s an oncoming car on the road. Johnny keeps his gaze away from them head turned with his knee bouncing. It all betrays the notion that he isn’t really there.

“Never did. Not like it’s your fault either . . .” he manages to respond a little all too melancholic. The situation was less than preem, a bit fucked up even, that Vale was no longer ever, truly, alone. But some part of Johnny felt as if they liked the company, and so did he. It was nice to be in the head of a petty merc rather than some fucking corpo drilling him for facts. What a selfish thought, he tells himself, to force someone out of their partial autonomy just to be a little less lonely. “I kind of like the sound of that, though,” comes after contemplative thought, nodding his head and still avoiding eye contact, as if he still has trouble confronting the fact himself. “Our body. Even if it was mostly yours to begin with, really . . . Sorry about that, V. But of all the heads I could’ve ended up in, I got hardly any complaints being in this one.” 

Then does he cheer up a bit, facing Vale with a bittersweet smile. There’s a feeling in his stomach, a little pit of apology; they're starting to blur a bit too much, the line between V and Johnny. He wants to say sorry. He wants to say I ain't got the right. Because, really, when does he ever? It was never his body to begin with, and yet now as he sits across from them in their shared psyche, he's never felt more at home with it. Vale is built of proportions that he's not supposed to fit in, and yet when he wakes in the morning and feels their thoughts stir, he always thinks to himself: man, I would never choose to get stuck with anybody else.

"You don't gotta apologize. For anything." A lesser man would say it was the desperation of being stuck in Mikoshi. A lesser man would tell Vale yeah, I'm freaked out being outside of my own body. But this was one of the rarer instances where Johnny was being genuine. He took his sunglasses, staring into their metaphysical reflections. He can't even remember what it's like to be in his body anymore... but he doesn't find that he misses it all too much. Maybe he should be freaked out by that ( but even then: being stuck with V, shared body and mind, didn't sound half bad at all ). "Thanks. For letting me stay."

It wasn't like V had much of a choice. But he could feel it, deep down; if they could, they'd let him stay forever. And that sounded pretty nice.

[capitaletele]

i loveee your fics so so so much omg

If i had to ask for a prompt i just love it so much when in smut theyre not experienced (with eachother or just in general) and theyre just taking it slow and trying out things and being cute its just really nice to read and i wish there were more fics like this <33

Sooooo! Thank you for the prompt, anon! :D

I love inexperience as a trope but I had never really given it any thought before for this pairing -- that's what I love about prompts, sometimes they're unexpected and they end up making me think about something I wouldn't have come up with on my own!

I can't really see Johnny or Cristal as actually fully inexperienced unless we're talking about some kind of AU where they're both teenagers or [insert elaborate bit of worldbuilding I'm sure we could come up with given time] or something. But because it seemed a little improbable, it stuck with me, and I thought about it a bunch and this is what I came up with to make it work! [Mature content!]

________________________________

Johnny tugs Cristal's panties down and looks up from where he's kneeling, an impish look on his face.

"Feel free to give me pointers, I don't mind, okay? Haven't done this in-- a while."

And Cristal is pretty taken aback because... Well. He's Johnny Rockfort, and he looks like this, what does he mean 'a while?' Is he one of those guys who won't go down on women? She didn't thought he would be -- and indeed, he's looking at her with such enthusiasm that he's clearly enjoying himself.

There's a little fumbling, sure, some stopping to rub his jaw just as it's getting somewhere that's a little frustrating, but it's not like she minds drawing it out either.

Most of the guys she's been with were for PR -- a few times she was actually their beard. None of that was conducive to mind-blowing sex. It wasn't really an issue at the time; it was fine, whatever, she didn't have time for a real relationship anyway.

Rusty as he might be, Johnny is the best lay she's had in -- she has to think about it for real, which is getting difficult as he finally settles into a steady rhythm -- a couple of years? Is that right??

"Wow," she says out loud at the realization, and he stops again, asking "Yeah? Like that?"

"No, no," she starts, and then corrects herself at the worried look on his face. "I mean, yes, like that, you're doing great, but that's not why-- Can you forget it and just go back to exactly what you were doing? I promise I'll tell you later."

She hopes she hasn't just ruined it, that he won't make it weird, but he doesn't.

"Fine," he chuckles, biting playfully at the inside of her thigh. "Keep your secrets."

He winks before bending down again, making her giggle, which turns into a moan as he goes back to what he was doing just before she interrupted, and it does get pretty wow by the end.

There's lots more moments that seem like they could get awkward -- she can't quite remember how to cover her teeth, he keeps grabbing the ticklish spot on her thigh and making her squeal, he comes just as she's about to ask him to go harder and then as they're finally about to get her off together, she gets a bad cramp and has to take a break to stretch her calf -- but somehow it doesn't matter?

She's pretty sure that any other time, with anyone else, any one of those moments would have killed the mood completely, or made her die of embarrassment and cancel any subsequent meetings.

But something about Johnny makes it okay to say anything, do anything, ask for anything, and despite all the mishaps it's good, it's good, and she can tell it's only going to get better every time they do it again.

She can't wait to find out how much better it can get.

**

The next day, they're in the car, stealing glances at each other as he drives them seemingly aimlessly through the blocks, and she brings it up again.

"So... How long is 'a while?'"

"What?"

"You said yesterday, 'a while.' How long is that?"

"I don't know? Depends what you mean."

She thinks it's a pretty clear question, but she clarifies.

"How long since the last girl you did this with?"

"Ah," he says, and frowns like he's thinking hard. "I guess... I mean, there was Lucy back home, but we were just kids. Never went all the way, so I don't know if it counts."

Cristal is puzzled. She's seen the way Sadia looks at him; whatever is going on there seemed pretty fresh. She expected to hear 'a few weeks,' or months maybe.

Then she realizes exactly what he said.

"Wait, a kid? But--"

"Yeah, I didn't really think about it like that, but I guess it's been mostly guys since then," he shrugs.

Oh. A few things recalibrate in Cristal's mind.

"What about Sadia?" she asks.

"And Sadia, yeah, obviously."

"So--"

He cuts her off: "Sadia is just Sadia. It's complicated, she'll explain it herself."

Cristal's not so sure Sadia is going to share any private information with her anytime soon, but she can sort of guess what the deal is from context now.

"So. I was really--"

"Yep!" He winks, then waggles his eyebrows for good measure. "Congratulations on popping my cherry!"

He's still grinning but his eyes turn serious, scanning her face like he's checking her reaction.

"Wow," she says. "Wow. Well, I mean, that was pretty good for a first time. Congratulations to you, Mister Rockfort. Very promising start."

"Yeah?" He might be blushing a little, or perhaps it's just the red light they're stopped at.

"Yeah," she says with feeling, lacing their fingers together on the gearshift.

"So, hey, what was your thing?" he says once they're on their way again.

She tells him, trying not to sound too self-conscious about it now that she knows she wasn't the only one feeling a little insecure last night.

He double-takes exaggeratedly.

"What?? You mean people upstairs weren't queuing outside your door for the privilege?? Thank fuck we got you out before you wasted away, fucking hell."

He squeezes her fingers gently though, like a reassurance, as if to say, we really are in this together, then.

We are, she thinks, squeezing back. Thank fuck.