#he was chewin their asses OUT

[sallymew4]

reigen picking up his kids from claw

[pedgito]

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄

summary | both the miller brothers had a thing for you and you had a thing for them. they give you an ultimatum and you don't like that. so, instead of one, you choose both. [9k]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader x tommy miller

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, au/no outbreak, age gap (sort of, it's not specificed by tommy & joel are late 40s/early 50s and reader is labebled as younger) bar owner!joel, bartender!tommy, 3somes, flirting, soft!joel (in the beginning), tommy is a little bit of an asshole, oral ( f & m receiving) unprotected piv, aftercare, joel is selfish

author’s note | joel and tommy have no interaction together in this, at least to that extent. so heed the tags and don't read if you don't like, xo.

“Actin’ like you ain’t never gripped a damn bottle in your life,” Tommy grumbles over your shoulder, fingers wrapping around your own until you have a secure hold on the neck, “tight–alright?”

Your lips pull together tensely, forcing down the urge to roll your eyes as he guides your hand through the motions as you fancily flip the bottle upside down to pour out the liquid into the glasses on the counter in quick, careful precision as you filled each one to a certain amount before moving onto the next, but somehow keeping up the swift pace Tommy was asking for.

Or, really, demanding.

He nods quietly behind you, staring back to admire his handiwork, knowing most of that was his own doing and his ability to perfect his showmanship over the past several years of heading the bar under his brother Joel, who owned the bar. 

Your relationship with Tommy was…tricky, but Joel—that was an entirely different mess.

He passes the shot off to a few waiting customers enjoying the show, and you have half the mind to think that Tommy is getting off on the fact that you’re openly embarrassing yourself in front of the patrons, but really, he’s just an asshole.

Though, you’ve come to understand that was how Tommy showed his fondness and if he was being overly nice than you’d know something was up—hell would freeze over, pigs would fucking fly, and you might actually accept his advances for once. Not today. Not with him breathing down your neck as he motioned for you to repeat the process on your own.

You take a deep breath, lining up the shot glasses uniformly and turn your wrist to grip the neck of the bottle, finding Tommy in your peripheral as he nods, “Tighter,” He mumbles, “don’t need that thing slippin’ out of your hand mid-rush and Joel chewin’ my ass out over a wasted bottle of bourbon.”

“I dunno,” You tease playfully—

Tommy surges forward and tightens your grip around the bottle.

“Think you’d know a thing or two about a good grip but goddamn.”

“If you keep this up I’m talking to Joel,” You threaten lightly, an airiness to your voice that shouldn’t feel as menacing as it does, but Tommy backs off slightly, grumbling something under his breath, “—good boy.”

Tommy rolls his eyes in annoyance, rolling his shoulder backwards as he rests his hands against his hips. You continue, swinging the bottle around less clumsily than before and pouring out the shots in quick succession—no mess, no spill. It was perfect.

Tommy scratches at his jaw, slightly dejected now as you turn back to look at him.

“What’s next?” You ask with a flashy smile, shoving the bottle square into the middle of his chest.

-

Joel catches you near the end of that day, shoving a few things away in your assigned locker, thick fingers curling around the open door, subtle smiles gracing his features as he greets you with a nod.

“It’s been a few months,” Joel reminds you, thinking back briefly on how much has changed for you in such a short time—you had friends, a solid job, a place to live, and two boys who you couldn’t help but fawn over—it was natural luck you ended up in this position, “how you holdin’ up?”

And while Joel wasn’t as forward as Tommy in his attraction, you sense it in the way he looks and speaks to you in private, no watchful eyes to spy on you. Besides, Joel seemed private and reserved, so it wasn’t that odd that he felt comfortable approaching you in private.

“Okay, I think.” You answer truthfully, playing with the curled paper of the calendar taped to the inside of your locker, your own fingers curling underneath Joel’s own, pointer fingers touching but unmoving, you glance at him hesitantly before averting your eyes to somewhere beyond him, following the eyeline of the bar as you watched Tommy wipe down the front of the bar.

“Tommy ain’t givin’ you anymore trouble?” He asks, “I know he’s technically your boss and all—”

“And you aren’t?” You chide playfully, eyebrow raised slightly as you pocket your phone and grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “And yeah, but…no more than usual. I can handle Tommy just fine, you know?”

“I know, I know,” He laughs softly, hand moving away from the locker to pat at your shoulder, squeezing gently at your bicep—touches were so familiar with Joel. A hand on your back, a subtle touch of his fingers in the dip of your neck. He had respected your space in the beginning, even with how witfully you charmed him with ease. You enjoyed touch, viewed it as a language of love and didn’t mind when Tommy initiated it either. Often finding your own subconscious movements to cling to and touch the people you conversed with or felt comfortable around—he doesn’t mean much by it, you think, “but, he does still have to listen to me. I am his boss.”

“I pulled that card on him today, actually,” You admit, hand rising to rub at his elbow comfortingly, “he simmered down pretty quick.”

Joel sees the hold you have over his brother, both with your personality and general attraction Tommy felt with—well, most of the people Joel hired to work under him. But, Tommy is teasing with you, testy, and he’s not like that with the others. He’s comfortable enough that he can come off like an asshole knowing you won’t take it personally.

Joel chuckles, glancing back over his shoulder at Tommy before turning back toward you and rubbing a comforting finger under your chin, “Good girl.” He comments sweetly, it has your stomach doing flips no matter the context. It was a normal sort of endearment from Joel, but given the context, it feels like a praise rather than an outright compliment.

You smile shyly and shove his hand away.

“You know, we’re cooking out this weekend if you wanna swing by,” Joel offers, “it’s, uh—for Sarah.”

Sarah. You didn’t know much about her aside from the fact that she died young, around thirteen—it’s been close to twenty years now, but Joel still celebrates her birthday.

You nod half-heartedly, “Yeah I’ll—I’ll try to swing by.”

Joel smiles warmly, before pointing an accusatory finger at his brother across the bar, “Keep his ass in check, alright?”

You smirk, an underlying feeling of…something, feeling dizzy from how openly Joel adored you when it was just the two of you, “Always.”

-

Austin heat is sticky and humid, clinging to the bare skin of your legs exposed by the short summer dress you wore, strappy and flowy and—while it wasn’t an unusual sight to the Miller boys, they didn’t see it as often as they liked. So, of course, they gawk.

You shove the case of beers into Joel’s waiting grip, a subtle wink as he acknowledges your presence. Quickly crowding in by Tommy who’s already a few beers in, just by his loose nature as he slings an arm over your shoulder, squeezing gently. He sips generously on the last bit of his beer before allowing the rim to hang slack between his fingers.

“Tommy,” You acknowledge graciously—there was always a slight tinge of annoyance with him, not the type that made you angry or upset, but frustrated. Whether just plain frustration or sexual, you couldn’t put your finger on, “already starting the party without me?”

“Come on now,” Tommy teases, “you know it wouldn’t be a real party ‘til you got here.”

“Is anyone else showing up?” You ask curiously, leaning subconsciously into Tommy as your eyes spot Joel several feet away in the kitchen, unpacking the beers. “Tess? Bill?”

The bar was closed today. Always was. It didn’t matter what day Sarah’s birthday landed on. 

They had food, drinks, a cake—it was a real party, only missing its esteemed guest.

You’ve only seen Sarah through pictures and heard through stories told by word of mouth, but Joel has never cared about anything more in his life, not until the bar and long after Sarah’s death. He’d named the bar in her honor, a simple but beautiful nod to someone so special in his life. The Monarch.

She loved butterflies. And know, whenever you see them—it’s a little reminder of her presence.

“They can’t make it,” Joel speaks from the kitchen, his mouth downtrodden in its usual scowl, his natural resting face, “so—looks like it’s just us.”

“Can you handle that?” Tommy whispers teasingly in your ear and you elbow him gently in his side, “Hey—she’s already hittin’ me, Joel.”

“Stop pissin’ her off then,” Joel offers, “mind helping me, sweetheart?”

He nods toward that back and you nod quickly in response, but not before pressing a quick hand into Tommy’s side as you pinch him playfully and earn a pitiful shout, giant grin growing on your face as you depart and follow his older brother, giving Tommy an eyeful of your swaying hips, dress barely dipping past the bottom of your ass.

She’s a friend dammit. That was it.

But, it didn’t stop Tommy from crushing on you. Hard. Even at his grown age.

You follow Joel outside with a spark in your step, meeting him at the grill situated on his back deck as he flipped some of the cooking meat, an open beer in his left hand. 

“What did you need?” You ask curiously, noticing that he wasn’t speaking now.

“Nothin’,” He admits, “just like having you around.”

You smile softly, wrapping your arms around his bicep, feeling the muscle flex under your touch instinctively, his head turning to glance at you. He huffs out a soft laugh through his nose before returning his attention to the open grill, meticulously flipping the meat.

“Think if I kiss up enough to the boss he’ll give me the day off tomorrow?” You ask curiously, a hint of mischief gracing your tone as you train your eyes where he was looking, even if his gaze flicks toward you for a brief moment.

“Depends.” Joel responds gruffly, setting down the utensil to close the lid of the grill.

You huff a laugh at his ease to respond to your subtle attempts at flirting, completely harmless, but the unspoken tension lingered like a constant. 

“On?”

“If you’re being’ literal or not,” Joel offers and it sends a tingle down the base of your spine, his knuckles brushing against your hip from where you’re hanging off of his arm, “cause that can be arranged.”

There’s a brief moment where you think he’s being serious—and in Joel’s mind, he is. But, the slight widening of your eyes as the words leave his mouth have him worried, like maybe he read into this wrong.

He smirks, “I’m kiddin, sweetheart. Long as you can find someone to cover your shift—“

You interrupt him abruptly, calling out to his brother.

“Tommy!“ You half-shout over Joel’s shoulder, causing him to wince and chuckle at the suddenness of it.

Tommy’s trying to pretend like he hasn’t been staring this entire time from across the kitchen, eyes locked on your figure as you draped yourself over his brother, face lighting as you talked and the subtle touches that should be him—at least, he wished it was him.

He clears his throat and heads toward the back door, head popping out before the rest of his body, “Y’all need somethin?”

“Can you cover my shift tomorrow?” You ask, a saccharine smile and a look that Tommy fell for every time, finding you hard parted from Joel now, he notices how your hands smooth out the dress that barely covers your thighs. “Please?”

“Is this what you two are doing now?” Tommy asks, now fully in view as he closes the sliding glass door behind him, “Plottin’ against me—you can’t give her special treatment, you know—“

He points an accusatory finger your way that you swat away, both of your eyes locked on Joel who seems less than interested as he sips on his beer.

“She’s gotta find someone to cover her shift,” Joel explains, “same as everyone else.”

Tommy calls bullshit, knowing Joel would figure it out himself or cover for you—it wasn’t like you did this often, but Tommy was more than aware of all the times he came to your rescue, almost like you were using it against him. A ploy. A devious plan to get under his skin.

He knew Joel liked you—but dammit, he did too.

And even in his steadfast attempt to deny you, you reach out and grab his hand, uncurling yourself from Joel as you approach him—sad eyes and a fake pout.

“Stop that—“ Tommy warns, his voice soft and anything but demanding, but you only lean in closer, and as strong of the man Tommy thinks he is, he breaks, “—god, Fine. I’ll cover your shift.”

You smile wide, right on the edge of celebrating before Tommy is snuffing the joy out.

“On one condition—“ Tommy holds up a finger, and you have to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes, knowing there was always some sort of but coming with anything Tommy agreed to, “remember that date you flaked out on?”

It was one time—within the first week of you working at a bar. Tommy didn’t waste any time and given your eagerness to try new things, you didn’t shut him down.

But, you psych yourself out and cancel.

Tommy’s always remained slightly jaded by the ordeal and part of that has contributed to your hot and cold relationship and willingness to tease each other but still have no restraints in your frustration toward one another.

“Hey—that’s not,” Fair dies on your tongue, his shoulders shrugged in a firm response, “—fine, yes. I do.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows in obvious question.

Date?

You scrunch your nose in annoyance but quickly relent, “Okay—but I’m picking the place this time. No fucking bars, Tommy.”

Joel listens to the conversation with a scowl, completely unassuming since it was his usual state of emotion.

Tommy holds his hands up in defeat, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Glad y’all got that settled,” Joel interjects with a tone that pulls your attention back to him, “if you’re done flirtin’ with each other I need some help.”

You and Tommy appease Joel quickly, helping him with the food and when you’re finally through dinner, spending a quiet moment around the cake. You don’t sing or anything—Joel hates it. But, he does light a candle and blows it out, signifying another year of her absence.

There’s a quiet moment with Joel toward the end of the night—Tommy is off somewhere in the backyard, presumably cleaning up the grill for he and Joel’s shared space. They were both unmarried and found that living together and splitting the pay was easier than anything else.

“Hey, don’t worry about that,” Joel tells you, slipping the dirty dishes from your hands as he discards them in the sink, “we’ll handle it.”

“You sure?” It felt like the least you could do.

Joel nods, shrugging as he sets his half-drank beer bottle on the counter—he’d lost track of which one it was. Enough that he feels a faint buzz in his system as he thoughts run and he admires your curious face as you tilt your head, wondering why he seemed so…lost.

But, really—it was just that kind of day. It was never good for him, as much as he tried to act like it was. Yet somehow, with you here, he feels more at ease.

“What?” You ask curiously, a playfulness to your tone. “Keep starin’ and I might just have to give you those kisses, Joel.”

And really, it didn’t sound like a bad idea.

Joel gradually moves closer, looking back briefly over his shoulder at Tommy.

He smirks slightly as he turns back to you, catching that soft, familiar smile on your face.

“Don’t think he’d be too happy about that.” Joel tells you, playing with a bracelet clasped around your wrist, his front nearly pressed against your own, so close you could reach out and slip your hands under his flannel, touch the bare skin and finally find out what those older women at the bar were talking about—Joel didn’t get around, but he wasn’t a stranger to a casual hook-up.

“Maybe I want to,” Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “what does Tommy have to do with that?”

“Sweetheart,” Joel breathes and you can’t resist, slipping a few trailing fingers under his shirt, which he quickly grabs with his own hand, tightening around your wrist, “I’m your boss, I can’t.”

The buzz of alcohol impedes you both, smart decision making out the window now.

“Like you don’t already give me special treatment,” You reply flippantly, teasing his obvious weakness, “....Joel.”

You.

Joel kisses you suddenly—you’re only half-expecting it as his large hand rises to cup your face, the other locked firmly around your wrist and he presses his lips firmly against your own.

He tastes like beer and the sweetness of frosting as you lick into his mouth, the hand not held tight in his grip finding its way into the front of his shirt, bunched into the fabric as you sigh into his mouth, the kiss quickly divulging into a battle of who could hold purchase on more of one another, hands exploring as Joel hands find their way over the back of your dress, the tips of his fingers grazing bareskin as he grabs and squeezes your ass, your teeth grazing against his bottom lip as you pull away suddenly, but not by your own doing.

It was Joel, his face flush from the alcohol in his system but also the intensity of the situation. There’s so much unspoken there and both of you want to speak and Joel nearly does before Tommy is shattering the moment, announcing his re-arrival into the house. You chew at your bottom lip thoughtfully as you glance between the two brothers, feelings and thoughts battling in your head.

Tommy was wild and unpredictable and you craved that.

Joel was practical and determined and that’s what you needed.

And selfishly, you wanted them both.

-

The conversation that happens later that night between Tommy and Joel is anything but civil.

“She agreed, Joel—it’s not like I’m forcin’ her,'' Tommy argues, “She could’ve said no and I wouldn’t care. She knows I like her, ain’t my fault she seems to like me back.”

“You’re still her boss.”

 As if he had any leverage, it pops Tommy out of his chair and toward Joel with an accusatory finger.

“And you? You’re my fuckin’ boss so how is that any better? ” Tommy asks and Joel looks away briefly in annoyance, fists curling at his side, “Think I didn’t catch you two earlier? Cut the shit, Joel.”

“This ain’t high school, Tommy,” Joel retorts, “We aren’t fighting over her.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty fuckin’ clear when you decide to make a move on her in the kitchen and then you’re standing here tellin’ me I can’t have her—how about you treat her like a normal person and let her choose, Joel.” Tommy retorts, “Or is that too damn hard for you? Not getting what you want?”

It sparks a deep fire inside Joel. Tommy too. And you really have no choice but to give them an ultimatum—besides, you wanted both. You were getting both.

-

It isn’t like they planned it, but somehow they manage to coincide and corner you at the same moment—Joel coming out of his office and Tommy rounding the door into the backroom, your frame bent over a box of bar snacks. When you look back, your eyes widen slightly.

“Shit—am I—are you firing me?” You ask, deeply concerned. You weren’t the best bartender, but you tried.

Tommy and Joel share an equally confused look.

“No—no why would you think that?” Joel asks.

You wave your hand vaguely between them both, a serious and concerned look on both of their faces. It wasn’t out of the norm for Joel, but for Tommy, it was unsettling. 

“Then, what?” You ask, only slightly annoyed. “We’re not exactly slow on customers right now—”

Another shared look, this time tense. Which one speaks first—it feels like race.

“Look, I already told Joel—” Tommy begins.

“Sweetheart, you need to know somethin’—” Joel interjects.

And it clicks quickly. Very quickly.

The shared look of frustration as they both purse their lips in a tight line, identical hands resting against their hips. This was ridiculous—the fighting, the silent arguing without actually sharing words.

“I’m not choosing.” You tell them forthright and their reaction is less than ideal, like two sad puppies who’ve just been scolded for bad behavior, but they both stay quiet and hang on your words, seeing that you weren’t finished. “If that’s what you’re expecting me to do.”

“No, that’s not—” Joel tries to argue, his voice fairly level for how distraught he seemed.

“I want you both,” You shrug, rising with the box in your grip, “so, if I can’t have that—then no.”

And you leave them with that, stewing in their own thoughts. Their gazes follow you as you walk, shoving past them gently.

“I’m not givin’ up.” Joel tells Tommy instantly, a look of defiance from his younger brother is thrown his way–Tommy was just as stubborn as Joel, if not more.

“Yeah, neither am I.”

-

Of course, you already knew how you wanted this to go.

You spoke to them both separately, promising a proper date at a specified place on a specific day and time—they wanted you and you wanted them. But, you were doing things your way.

And that is how you end up at the Miller’s brothers home again, a few weeks later, both of the men dumbfounded at how you mastered this plan. They were both wholly faithful to you, agreeing to go along with your plan to lie to the other brother so they wouldn’t get suspicious or upset, but really, you just wanted them both chasing their own tails.

They didn’t realize what was going on until they found themselves both getting ready at the same time that day, something lingering in the air that they couldn’t put their finger on until you were knocking at the door, a wide smile on your face. Joel answers, but Tommy isn’t far behind.

It’s how you end up on the couch later that night, squeezed together and eyes droning into the movie playing on the television screen, lingering touches like burns against your skin. Joel and Tommy are trying to avoid each other, but sometimes they’ll bump fingers and shoot a scowl at each other, but then you’re adjusting yourself to find another comfortable position and their attention is quickly drawn back.

Some of it is spent against Tommy, head resting against his solid chest but Joel’s hands never stray too far, a warm and comforting presence against your shoulder or thigh, a tender rub of his thumb into your sore muscles. Tommy likes to run his fingers along the shell of your ear, his chest shaking with a laugh at the movie every so often—there was little conversation happening and you blamed that on the obvious tension in the air.

When you trade Tommy’s touch for Joel, he’s ready for you.

You tend to like wrapping yourself around him, arms snug around his own like you’ve done a million times before, but you find your fingers dragging along the length of his forearm and he’s more shifty than usual, socked feet crossing and uncrossing as your touch grows, all the while Tommy’s hand firmly on your thigh, squeezing when you squirm a little too much, feet hiked up and resting in his lap. His thumb circles your ankle and rubs, a gentle massage to your bare feet as you sigh and that—that is what catches their attention.

“That feel good?” Tommy asks casually, a genuine question.

You weren’t one to complain about sore, achy feet and muscles from long shifts at the bar, but you weren’t going to turn down a nice massage or welcoming touch. You nod and Tommy smiles, allowing his deft and strong fingers to dig into the muscles of your foot, pulling another sated sigh from your lips. Joel hears the soft release of a breath from your lips and turns his head toward you, a subtle smile pulling at your lips as he stares at you more unabashed and open than usual. It’s the same look he gave you before kissing you the night of the party and you feel it, see it before it happens.

And somehow within the shared exchange, Tommy’s hand has climbed higher along your calf as he massages tenderly until he’s nearly at your apex, supple muscle pliant other his skin as he squeezes. Joel whispers something to you as he leans in, feeling the shift in the environment.

“This alright with you?” Joel asks quietly as you look over at Tommy, who despite himself looks just as eager if not more, like they weren’t completely turned off by the idea that you wanted both of them

Possibly at the same time.

“I think I should be asking you two that…” Your voice trails as Joel’s free hand slips to cup the back of your head, fingers molding with the shape of you as he tilts your head back, allowing him the lead willingly—and Tommy is there, right there at the apex of your thighs and you want is so fucking bad it pains you, physically and mentally.

“Oh, darlin’—there’s a few stories I could tell you,” Tommy offers, fingers lingering over the button of your jeans until you nod, quickly popping the thread apart and allowing his fingers to curl around the waistband of your jeans, tugging gingerly, “but that’s not important.”

Joel mouths at the line of your jaw instead of capturing your lips immediately, dragging out your suffering longer as you assist Tommy in his tug at your jeans, kicking the denim of your ankles as his large hand settles of your clothed pussy, panties damp at the center despite how hard you’ve tried to ignore the instant pleasure they’re touch gave you.

“No, no tell me.” You nod furiously, feeling Joel grins against the side of your face.

“It was a long, long time ago, sweetheart.” Joel defends, “Back in high school and college when Tommy just couldn’t go off and have his own things, always wanting everything his brother had.”

Tommy scoffs, scooting closer to you as he drapes a leg over his lap, spreading you wider for him, his hand following a slow path back and forth—all the way down to the apex of your knee before gradually back up to your pussy, throbbing underneath his touch as his fingers press into the sticky, wet fabric.

“That’s a stretch,” Tommy scoffs, “Anyways, darlin’—we used to, uh—”

Tommy doesn’t know why he feels ashamed to admit. So, Joel does it for him.

“We like to share, sometimes.” Joel explains. “I mean, I’m not in favor of sharin’ you but if that’s what you want…”

You nod furiously, the press of Tommy’s fingers grow stronger as he slips them past the side of your panties, touching the bare seam of your pussy, covered in the copious amount of sweet slick that had accumulated between your thighs.

“Oh, that’s what she wants,” Tommy surmises, a small chuckle hidden within his speech as his mouth hangs open slightly, watching yours grow wider as you gasp, his bare touch like a spark, “isn’t that right?”

You nod again, but that isn’t what he’s looking for.

“Need you to say it, sweetheart.” Joel demands, his hand squeezing at the thigh that wasn’t stretched out over Tommy’s lap, the other resting against your neck now, squeezing the muscle gently under his grip, his lips only a few millimeters from your own now. “Say you want this.”

“I do—fuck, I do,” You whimper, a single digit slipping past your entrance and into you, the stretch not quite what you’re looking for but the touch alone—from Tommy, is enough to drive you mad, “I w—want it. Both of you.”

“I think we can make that happen.” Joel agrees easily, capturing your lips in a searing kiss—heated in a way that has your stomach doing flips and your free hand gripping his grown out hair, peppered with grays but so fucking soft between your fingers.

Tommy slips in a conspicuous second finger in the midst of the heated kiss and it surprises you how good it feels, just graced by the thickness of his fingers but you need more. Want more.

There’s a subtle snarl to the way Tommy admires you so openly, his eyes dragging along the slow rise and fall of your chest and the way you cunt sucks his fingers in with greed and nothing else. He wants to taste you. 

There’s a brief look he offers as you break apart from Joel, breathless as you turn your head toward him, Joel’s following as his eyes trail toward the point where Tommy’s fingers are buried inside of you.

“Use those words,” Joel whispers against your cheek, a smirk growing on his face, “don’t be afraid.”

“Whaddya need, darlin’?” Tommy asks enticingly, removing his fingers in an anxious anticipation, wet fingers dragging along your thigh. “Gonna let me taste you?”

“Please, god—please.” You whine pathetically, watching as Tommy dicends without question, removing your panties with a swiftness that deafens the task at hand. It takes a moment as you untangle yourself from Joel to settle more central on the couch, squealing softly as Tommy manhandles your thighs over his shoulder, settled on his knees and his palms pressing flat over the tops of your thighs.

Joel settles solidly behind you after some maneuvering, a sturdiness to his chest that takes the brunt of your weight as you relax against him, his hands quickly finding their way under your shirt and pulling it up until the fabric is bunched under your skin, bare breasts on full display as he runs a gentle, testing touch over them with his palm, eyes closing at the overwhelming sensation of both of them surrounding you. You don’t even have the guise to feel shy that this was the first time they were seeing you like this–it felt normal, like this is what was supposed to happen.

Tommy floats a hot breath against your skin, kissing a line up the inside of your thigh before he speaks, “I got you, darlin’,” He assures you, “—tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You nod shakily, looking up hesitantly at Joel over your shoulder and he can only offer a grin, though his eyes harbor something much darker. “Tell ‘em, baby.” He urges, “You want him to eat your pussy, right?”

You nod obediently and Joel grabs ahold of your chin gently, guiding your gaze back toward Tommy, feeling the heat of his gaze burn into you.

“Need your mouth, Tommy,” You beg, earning a gentle squeeze of acknowledgement from Joel against your chin, who leans in with a gentle whisper of tell him where as you exhale an even shakier breath than before, “on my pussy—please—”

Tommy snickers softly before he obliges, a slow, languid lick of his tongue through your folds as he starts, ripping a quiet gasp from your chest as your hand instantly finds his hair, overgrown like Joel’s but stark black and gelled back like usual, never a hair out of place.

That wasn’t going to be the case much longer, fingers fisting into his hair and using it as leverage, the slow licks between your lips quickly exploring inside of you, teasing dips into your hole as he chuckles a soft breath which each and every squirm you offered, all while under the intense gaze of Joel, who was clearly holding out—he wouldn’t kiss you as hard as you tried, trained on your face as you challenged his eye contact, not daring to let it go unless he physically forced you to look away. His hand still lingered against your chin but occasionally fled for a comforting touch when things got intense too quickly and you were almost teetering over the edge, but he quickly brought you back down.

And within that, you’re so blinded by pleasure to not realize that he’s instructing Tommy the entire time, only catching onto the last few commands as Tommy devours, making his own selfish noises as he groaned when you pulled a little too tight on his hair, mumbling praises of depravity and a ‘so fuckin’ sweet—always knew you were, darlin’ and the occasional, breathier ‘come on baby—use my face, fuckin’ take it.’.

Joel speaks to Tommy directly, despite keeping his eyes on you.

“Oh, you’re right there, huh?” Joel asks you goadingly, “Need more?”

You nod eagerly, despite how good Tommy’s mouth feels, he was lacking in one important aspect—you couldn’t blame him, he was a little overwhelmed with everything, as were you. But, Joel, he seemed the most-level headed and you were so fucking thankful for it.

“Want him to play with your clit, sweetheart?” He asks, “S’that what you need?”

“Ye—Yes.” You stutter, the gentle squeeze of your breast under Joel’s grip causing you to clench around Tommy’s tongue and he flicks his eyes up toward you both and there was no telling how pathetic you looked, but Tommy seemed just as equal on that playing field.

“You heard ‘er, Tommy.” Joel tells him, “give our girl what she wants.”

Our girl.

It doesn’t take long when his tongue presses against your clit, circling maddeningly until you have no other choice but to grip onto the couch and moan, the tightening, agonizing feeling in your stomach bursting at the seams as you come against his tongue. Joel captures your mouth to swallow the moan, not trying to give Tommy the satisfaction just yet while his brother greedily licked away at your pussy, cleaning up the mess you’d made, a gentle smile on your face as you finally came back down, allowing Joel to lick greedily into your mouth before you chanced a glance at Tommy, his pupils blown out in pleasure.

“Think we should move this to the bedroom?” Joel asks preemptively, a soft laughing bubbling from your chest.

“Yeah—yes, please.” You agree, but your legs feel weak, unable to bear your weight.

“I got you, baby.” Tommy assures, helping you to your feet gently, a comforting hand on your waist as he led you toward what you could assume was Joel’s room–considering he had the bigger of the two, Joel following closely behind. 

The deafening click on the door is both a promise and a warning.

This was a secret held within these walls and whatever took place could not be reversed.

You were willing to take that risk though, selfishly.

And you were sure the Miller brothers shared the same sentiment.

-

And for some reason, you didn’t think it was that important you come again. Not after the first, seeing as how they had proved their point in wanting you, nearly brought you to tears with your first orgasm and maybe—maybe you could just blow them both and it would be fine, even the playing fields and leave it at that. 

But, no. That’s not what they wanted. Or planned for.

Joel eats your pussy for fun, he doesn’t even try to make you come. You manage to convince Tommy out of his jeans early, using the fist you have wrapped in his shirt as leverage as you hover on your hands and knees, gripping his thick cock in your free hand and giving it a few slow tugs, knowing that if he was this big, there was no telling what Joel had to offer. 

He’s uncut and girthy, thick veins lining his cock as you lapped teasingly at the head, pulling the foreskin back as you took him into your mouth, a moan reverberating over his cock as Joel ate you out from behind, ass high in the air as he settled on his knees. It wasn’t an ideal position, but Joel wasn’t complaining and neither were you.

Joel had always stripped at some point, still clad in his boxers but devoid of everything else. He’s much wider than Tommy but not nearly as firm—where Tommy has a more chiseled chest and stomach, Joel carries a softness that still beckons with strength. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” Tommy sighs, “got a goddamn mouth on you, you know that?”

To some extent, you did. He knew you liked to argue at every possible opportunity, throw back witty remarks that sometimes he didn’t even have a response to but this—this is more than he could imagine. Wet, hot heat surrounded his cock in a way that could have him coming within a few strokes, but he was determined.

You nod with your mouth latched around his cock, taking him to the base until he nudges that back of your throat, trying desperately to ignore how it makes your eyes water, hearing Tommy groan deeply with the feeling of you swallowing around him.

“I’m gonna cum,” Tommy warns, “—go on, baby, pull off if you wanna.”

You shake your head defiantly, feeling Joel chuckle against your cunt from behind you.

“She’s greedy, brother,” Joel comments slyly, “You should know that.”

Tommy comes with a low groan, fingers wrapping around the arm still gripping his shirt, thumb rubbing against the skin to soothe himself and keep him anchored here, feeling like he might teleport to another goddamn dimension with how eagerly you swallow down his cum.

You pull off with a soft pop and look at Tommy, grinning proudly. He can’t even hide his adoration, chuckling behind a toothy grin as you pull away from Joel, turning in Tommy’s lap and pressing your back against his chest.

“You think I’m greedy?” You ask Joel teasingly.

“Look at you,” Joel comments snidely, though there’s a playfulness to his tone, “couldn’t settle for one of us so you’re gettin’ both—that seems pretty damn greedy to me.”

You nod mawkishly to his words, watching as he grew closer, shifting on his knees as you leaned forward slightly, feeling the gentle press of Tommy’s palm against your back, his spent and softening dick, pressed against your bare ass. He knew it wouldn’t take long, just a few minutes and he’d be even harder than before, unable to resist you.

“And if I want more?” You ask curiously.

“More what, sweetheart?”

“Well, for starters—I want your cum, Joel.” You tell him honestly, “Can you give me that?”

“Dunno, you think you deserve that?”

Tommy’s watching the exchange with an amused grin, feeling it was a well-deserved punishment to Joel with how often you and him argue this way. Joel was finally getting a taste of the medicine he so often mocked Tommy for complaining about.

“Come here.” You beckon, grabbing lazily at his wrist and pulling him toward you.

He seems hesitant at first, but he leans over you, sandwiching you between him and Tommy as you press your lips in a featherlight touch against his own.

“Kiss me.” You demand.

“What?” He asks curiously, like his brother hadn’t just come in your mouth.

And that’s exactly why–it doesn’t make your skin crawl, in fact, it only turns you on more.

“Please, Joel,” You pout, “just a little peck and then I’ll let you fuck me while Tommy has to watch–that’s what you want right? Wanna pull some claim over me while your brother can’t do anything about it, am I wrong?”

Joel kisses you so intensely it forces you back against Tommy, a small mmph leaving your mouth as Joel quickly gained the upper hand and wraps his large, rough hands under your ass and scoots you further down the bed until the back of your thighs press against the top of his and you moan as he licks into your mouth, knowing that the lingering of Tommy’s headiness touches his tongue and you bite down harshly on his bottom lip as he pulls apart for a brief, lingering moment. 

Here it comes—the questioning consent, the lingering wonders.

“I’m covered, Joel.” You assure him, “We don’t need them. I trust you both are clean.”

Assuming that Tommy was going to fuck you too—which, god, you fucking hoped.

That’s all Joel needs, nodding before he grabs ahold of his shaft, dragging the tip of his cock through you wetness, gathering it in a slow teasing trail before he presses inside slowly, watching the stretch of you around his cock. You can’t help but keep your eyes locked on the same point either, because what Joel lacked in slight girth he made up for in length, feeling the numb press of him inside of you before he was even fully sheathed.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” He says, voice strained, “that’s a tight fuckin’ fit. Think you can handle it?”

You laugh brokenly, Tommy’s hands comforting over your shoulder before they trail to your breasts, teasingly rubbing a nipple between his fingers, watching it pebble underneath his touch.

“Do you want a pat on the back or something?” You retort, “Fuck me, Joel.”

“There she is,” Tommy comments in amusement, “I knew you were in there. Give it to ‘em, darlin.”

“Shut it, Tommy,” Joel snaps, “Know what, sweetheart, I got a challenge for you.”

Joel moves his hips slowly, pulling out slowly before pushing back in even more agonizingly slower. “No touchin’, how’s that sound? Think you can handle it.”

You shake your head. Honestly, Joel could respect it.

“Fine—Tommy, hold her hands.” Joel settles and part of you expects Tommy to argue.

He doesn’t. In fact, he looks just as greedy about the idea. And he knows if you were uncomfortable with it you would speak up, because secretly—it was exactly what you wanted. Render your power and your own autonomy for a brief moment and give yourself over to them equally. Tommy holds his hands out in wait, wiggling his fingers teasingly.

You hand them over with a soft sigh, feigning annoyance. He guides them to wrap around his waist behind you, arms stretched over your head as Joel has a solid grip on the underside of your thighs, hips still moving slowly throughout, so slow that you forget he’s actually seated inside you until he snaps his hips once, twice, his resistance snapping when he sees you settle.

Tommy settled on his own knees, though sat deeper into the bed, his hands a tight, mindful presence against your wrist as you squeeze and claw at his skin as Joel pistons his hips with a ferocity that seeks vengeance, or something there of. 

“Squeeze my cock, sweetheart,” Joel goads, feeling you do just that as your eyes roll back, “yeah—don’t act like this wasn’t what you planned from the beginning.”

“Our girl’s good at that,” Tommy comments, staring down at you with a mischievous smirk, “playin’ us both—kinda like it though, I’ll admit.”

“Shut up,” You groan, “Both of you.”

You pointedly pinch at Tommy’s skin and he tilts his head in both amusement and confusion.

“I think she’s gettin’ a little upset,” Tommy acknowledges, “You don’t think it’s fair, darlin?”

You almost have the courage to reply when Joel’s thumb drags over your clit, rubbing in quick and determined circles to match the intensity of his thrusts, using his spread knees to keep your thighs wide and open for him, eyes locked on your cunt as you squeeze around him repeatedly, moaning wantonly into your bicep as you turn your head to the side.

But, Joel doesn’t appreciate that. He grabs your chin quickly, and clicks his tongue in disapproval, “Nuh uh, sweetheart. You keep those eyes on Tommy. Let him see how good I make you feel, alright?”

You pout slightly, biting harshly at your bottom lip as Joel shifts his hips slightly, but it feels earth-shattering, one hand planted into the mattress to allow for him to reach something deeper inside of you, if that was possible.

“I’m right—right,” You sigh, eyes tearing up as you looked at Tommy, clawing gently at his sides, “fuck–I’m right there, Tommy.”

Despite Joel being inside you, his name slips out. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. And he wants to give you relief but really, he’s just eager to be inside of you too. He knows the quicker Joel finishes up that he can have you, so he encourages his brother. And Joel is too desperate for his own release to argue.

“Ask him, sweetheart.” Joel notices your eagerness for approval from Tommy and plays into it, feeling the familiar feeling building in his gut as he grits his teeth.

You nod furiously in understanding, eyes trained on Tommy. “I need to—can I come, please?”

“Go on, baby.” He agrees softly, rubbing a gentle hand over your chest as he feels your body shake with your orgasm as Joel swiped a thumb over your clit before everything goes white, gasping sharply at the intensity, but you don’t have much time to recover before Joel is pulling out and allowing Tommy to assist as you sit up slightly and feel the press of Joel’s cock against your lip, the blurriness in your eyes quickly clearing as he comes in long, forceful spurts over your tongue.

You lap greedily, swallowing visibly as Joel squeezes at his cock and forces out the last few bits of cum he had to offer, rubbing the tip against your tongue as you giggled softly, kissing his cock head gently.

There’s a brief second where you think they might allow you a break, a moment to collect yourself, but Joel is staring at you with his head cocked to the side, palming his softening dick as he glances over you at his brother.

“I dunno if she’s up for it,” Joel offers, “I think that might’ve taken it out of her.”

A shame, really. But, your eyebrows furrow in defiance as you quickly shove Joel, gently and not at all enough to really move him more than a few millimeters. It causes Tommy to chuckle.

“He’s just playin’ around, baby.” Tommy comforts, “You think you can handle it?”

You nod eagerly, turning on your knees as you rise to meet him with an eager kiss, something you haven’t had the chance to do all night. Tommy kisses with more eagerness, more passion—it’s less experience than what you feel with Joel. Tommy has so much he wants to match with you; the curiosity and unity in the way you touch him. You kiss like new lovers and it feels your body with warmth, both of you laughing softly against each other’s lips.

“I can handle it.”

Tommy eyes you seriously, following your playful gaze.

“Get to the edge of the bed.”

And—oh, that’s…different. Like a switch and you can barely recognize him.

Joel and Tommy switch with a trained ease as Tommy guides you to the end of the bed, the top of the mattress pressing at your waistline and giving you easy leverage to lean against and Joel is right there, in perfect view and waiting for you. He seems softer now too, more relaxed.

You think Tommy might give you a moment but he’s already hard again and eager, sliding inside of you in one go—hard and sharp as your hands press into the mattress between Joel’s thighs, gripping the sheets tightly.

=

Tommy grips tightly at the back of your neck and pulls you upwards, pressing his face into the side of yours and speaking tensely against your skin, “Why don’t you be a good girl and give my brother a taste of what your mouth can do, huh, baby?”

You nod obediently, shivering at the way Tommy mouths at your skin greedily before forcing you back down against Joel, his hands spread out beside him, cock hard against and resting against his belly.

He’s almost positive he won’t be able to come again–not this soon, but he isn’t going to deny himself the taste of your mouth, watching as you move with eagerness to please him and Tommy. The sharp snap of Tommy’s hips makes it a little difficult and Joel wants to scold his brother’s eagerness and lack of restraint, but he knows—Joel knows how good you feel and he can’t even blame him. 

He offers a guiding hand as you swallow him down, swirling your tongue around the tip a few times, repeating the process with his hand resting gently against the side of your face, thumb rubbing tenderly at the joint in your jaw, feeling him stretch you and heightening the growing ache that will linger for a while.

“Fuck, our girl’s got such a sweet pussy, don’t she?” Joel comments snarkily, eyebrows furrowing when you take him a little too deep, “Can’t get enough of it—just like this goddamn mouth.”

You moan pathetically and Joel can’t handle it, gripping your face between his palms as he presses his lips to yours forcefully, swallowing the whine that leaves your mouth as you feel Tommy’s hands roam and tightening against your body, soft expletives leaving his mouth as he fucks into you and hand gradually arriving at your shoulder and tightening around the skin, pulling him back against your harshly.

Joel rubs his thumbs against your cheeks, eyes locked on yours, “Yeah—think you can come again, sweetheart?” A third? Not a fuckin’ chance. You shake your head weakly, ‘You can, I know you can,” And there’s Joel’s soothing voice, the one you hear so often at work, “You keep your eyes on me, alright? Nowhere else.”

“Listen to ‘em, baby.” Tommy interjects after a long bout of silence, too lost in his own head as he relishes in the squeeze of you around his cock, committing it to memory. “Gonna make sure you feel us tomorrow while you’re at work.”

Joel chuckles at that, the slow trail of Tommy’s hand as it finds your clit and begins slow circles, easing into it, “Yeah, how ‘bout that,” Joel comments teasingly, “maybe we just can’t resist ourselves and we can take turns fuckin’ you in the back office. But, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

You moan sheepishly, eyes falling shut up.

Joel tsks, “Eyes on me means you keep ‘em open too, baby. Answer me.”

“Yes—yes, fuck—I would. I would.” You rush out, feeling Tommy’s pace quicken and the ache in your stomach builds and builds, tears building in your eyes as you keep them locked on Joel. 

Despite his demands his face remains gentle and you find yourself sobbing softly into his hands as Tommy snaps his hips one last time, coming inside of you with a deep, guttural groan as he tips you over the edge too. It’s too much, overly-sensitive and your muscles burning with more ache than when you started you let out another sob, falling against Joel.

“Go on, get somethin’ to clean up,” He tells Tommy over your shoulder, “I got her.”

You fall slack against him, feeling him adjust himself on the bed until you can sit properly, leaning you against his body as he hands run along your back, soft sobs wracking your body.

“Hey, you still with me?” Joel asks hesitantly. “Was it too much?”

You feel yourself start to calm under his touch, quickly shaking your head.

“Just…overwhelmed.” You admit, “Too much.”

“Too much?” Joel echoes with an endearing chuckle. 

“Yes,” You admit amusingly, “I guess I wasn’t expecting…that.”

“That’s fair,” Joel offers, gripping your hand in his own and intertwining your fingers, “this doesn’t—we don’t usually do this. We haven’t in a long time. I don’t want you to think this is something you're bound to now.”

“Like he could fire you if he wanted to,” Tommy interjects with a sly grin, somehow managing to redress amidst your talk with Joel, just a pair of dark colored briefs but it allows what just happened to settle in more deeply, “come here, darlin.”

Joel switches off, pulling his own underwear on somewhere near the other side of the bed. And you welcome the warmth of the washcloth as Tommy drags it between your legs, hissing only slightly, “I know, you’re pretty sensitive—m’sorry.” Tommy mumbles, gingerly cleaning you up, dragging the wet wash cloth along your thighs as well, tender from his and Joel’s teasing bites at your flesh. “Better?”

“Thank you.” You say softly, his free hand gripping your waist tenderly.

Joel offers up your clothes silently, eyeing his brother wearily as he bounds around the room, gathering his own clothes and re-dressing, though Joel stays in his nearly bare state of undress, briefs allowing him some modesty.

“I’m gonna check the bar,” Tommy offers, “should only take an hour or so.”

Joel nods, “Alright, just…keep me updated, I guess.”

He isn’t ushering you out either, his lingering presence by your side as you pull your underwear up your thighs, a gentle touch of reassurances as you wobble on unsteady legs. Tommy chuckles lightly at the sight, winking when he catches your disgruntled gaze, nose scrunched up in annoyance. 

“No fun without me.” Tommy jokes.

“Tommy—” Joel says steely as his brother throws his head back over his shoulder, slipping on his boots, “get the fuck out of my room.”

Tommy offers a mock salute and does just that, leaving you alone with Joel for the first time that night.

“I’m guessing the same rules apply to me?” You ask, shoving your arms through the holes in your shirt, yanking it over your head and you catch Joel shaking his head, pulling you to your feet with a hand when you finally look at him.

“I got you all to myself now,” Joel says quietly, “think I deserve to be a little selfish.”

You wince at the thought of any more sex tonight, but are thankful his hands down stray from your side when they settle there.

“Joel, I can’t—”

“Sleep here tonight,” He offers, “I’ll cook breakfast in the morning."

“I think you just want to keep to yourself all night so Tommy can’t have me, don’t you?”

Joel grins, leaning in for a gentle peck of your lips, “You’re damn right, sweetheart.”

[wroteclassicaly]

maybe I'm late to kink hour but cmon Gator has a spit kink

Oooh, he probably has so many kinks he’s never been able to try, tbh. But we’ll focus on this one for now ;)

Warnings: Spit, spit kink, & language. Kinda smutty, but no actual smut?

It starts off with normal banter and moves quicker than anticipated. You’ve been annoying Gator in the office all day, even following him outside to bitch. No one else got involved with helping him at home, not really. So you’d rode in the patrol car to his place, pissed and bitching about the cold and the snow (despite being used to it), and why he can’t get someone else who will tolerate him.

“People are busy, s’ why they aren’t around. You know that.”

“Probably one of the reasons, is because of that nasty fucking thing.” You sneer, criticizing with a gloved hand towards his gross flavored vape.

His accentuated jawline tightens, freckles bouncing with the movement of his skin as it stretches across the bone. A cloud of vapor expands into winter’s frost, polluting the air with an acidic fruit scent. You make a gagging noise, egging him on when you see how pissed he’s getting. You don’t realize, that in the midst of enjoying his unease, he loses his temper and reacts. With a quick movement of hair gel gleaming under the winter sun - his calculated movements catch when your mouth opens next to mimic him.

His lips part and he leans, spitting a wad directly into your mouth. You’re appalled at first, shocked, literally choking on - not your own saliva, but his. And it tastes exactly like the item he inhales one more hit off of, before blowing it into your face.

Are your eyes watering? Ears ringing? Blood rushing? Yes, but not because of sadness, anxiety, or anger. No, it’s a buried emotion of what you’ve gambled on since you’ve known him, and among the bodily exchange - a realization. You liked it. You feel claimed, rather than mocked.

“That taste good, babydoll? You’re lucky I wasn’t chewin’.” His boots crunch in the snow as he attempts to walk away, but you reach out and grab his leather clad arm, squeezing.

You aren’t sure what you attempted to accomplish? A half assed remark, a berating lashing? As Gator turns and receives your physical message, he raises a brow, bordering on amused, annoyed, and ready to fight. But what he sees isn’t what he’d expect in a million years. You don’t spit, you swallow - straight down, your pupils expanding rapidly, eyes darting towards his mouth, still wet with projectile.

He’s got power. All the power here in this moment, but more importantly — you accepted what he gave and then you imprinted on him, the mold of keys to open previously locked doors between the two of you. His fingers reach out and dig the class ring (similar to his own, that he keeps put away) from beneath your blouse, that’s visible through your partially zipped coat. He tugs you closer, his frame smelling of cologne, copious amounts of hair product, and that damn vape. It’s overwhelming and you can’t focus, not even to answer him.

“You really liked that, didn’t you?”

You avoid his gaze.

“Come on now, darlin’. You afraid to look at me again? Because I don’t know if you were there with me a minute ago, but you were eyein’ my mouth like it was a sugar coated carnival prize.”

Still nothing. He wants more. He needs more.

That crafted nose nuzzles its way behind your ear, hot air on your neck that travels straight to your nipples and curls your toes as they sit in your boots. His voice is a low whisper, a damned rasp.

“You know what else I could spit on?”

// Eat me paragraph //

[hazbinshusk]

blitz #8 perchance 👀

-🕰️

combined with an anon request for blitz to apologize to the reader during his ill-fated apology tour. prompt #8: a platonic kiss.

There was a whole long list of people you’d least expect to see on your doorstep… your mother, the entirety of the New York Mets, Lucifer himself…

And then, at the very bottom of that list, there was Blitzø.

You sigh, wrapping your robe tighter around yourself as you lean your shoulder against the doorframe. “What are you doing here?”

He, surprisingly, has the good grace to look uncomfortable, but he still gives you a wide – if slightly awkward – smile. There’s a sparse bouquet of wilted-looking flowers clutched in his fist, and you look over his shoulder to see a patch missing from the garden you’d planted beside the mailbox. “Heeeeeey, yooou!”

Rolling your eyes, you step back and reach for the door, intending on closing it in his face. “Goodnight, Blitz.”

“No, wait!” Blitzø catches hold of the edge of the door before it can close, pressing himself into the doorway so you can’t close it at all. Flower petals float to the floor, shaken loose by the quick movement. “Can you just… I wanna talk to ya, okay?”

“I figured that,” you say dryly. Still, despite your annoyance you turn around and make your way back into your living room, the door open. You take a seat on the couch, arms still folded over your chest and one leg crossed over the other. Your whole body feels tense, wound up now that he’s here. “Doesn’t mean I have to listen.”

“Wow.” he says, stepping almost carefully over your welcome mat and closing the door behind him. “Since when are you so…”

He seems to be struggling to find a word that won’t insult you; ‘bitchy’ and ‘cunty’ are probably high on the list. Still, the fact that he’s even thinking about the words he’s using is a hell of a change up from the Blitzø you know. Or, rather, you knew.

It’s enough to give you pause, and you put him out of his misery. Sort of.

“Since about eighteen months ago.”

Blitzø cringes, but tries another blasé smile, waving a hand dismissively. More petals land on your carpet. “Oh, c’mon, it hasn’t been that—”

“One year, nine months,” you say archly. “But who’s counting?”

“Right…” he deflates further, his tail curling around one of his ankles. “…How’ve you been?”

You raise an eyebrow and sigh. “Why are you here, Blitz?”

He swallows, shrugs a shoulder cagily. He rubs the hand not still clenched around the flowers over the back of his head.

“Look, I… I’ve been tryin’ to do this whole… amends shit all day… Tryin’ to apologize for everything I’ve… I don’t know, everything I’ve fucked up.” he explains, turning to pace back and forth across the carpet between your coffee table and TV. You straighten slightly, your arms loosening a little in front of your chest. “And it’s been a shitty fuckin’ day and I wanted to talk to you about it—”

“Oh.” you say bluntly, and Blitzø stops in his tracks, facing you again. He looks genuinely bemused and it pisses you off. “That’s why you’re here.”

Blitzø blinks, the ghost of an almost shy smile touching the edge of his lips. “Well, yeah, I—”

You heave a heavy, irritated exhale and stand again, shoving your hands in the pockets of your robe. “Look, if you’re just here to bitch about your issues then just go, Blitz. It’s late and…” you frown at your own words, shaking your head. “No, fuck that. I just don’t want to hear it, okay? I’m not your therapist.”

The imp’s expression drops, his brow furrowing in further confusion. “The fuck are you—?”

“Just don’t, okay?” you tell him, waving a hand towards the door. “Just go. I can’t do this with you, not again.”

“Do what?” he asks, the first notes of his own frustration ringing through his voice. “I just wanted… I should’a known you would make this fuckin’ difficult. I came here to apologize for whatever the ass-fuck I did for you to stop talkin’ to me and you’re chewin’ my ass out before I can even get the fuckin’ words out. I just—”

“Seriously?”

Blitzø stops mid-rant. “What?!”

Your glare softens into something more incredulous. “You seriously don’t know why we stopped talking?”

He opens his mouth, closes it. Shakes his head. The stems still hanging from his fists were almost completely bald now.

You sigh, retaking your seat. Running a hand through your hair, you meet his eye again after a long moment. His tail hangs low, the spade touching the carpet. He’s… nervous, despite his outburst.

“Blitzø, for so long, all our friendship was was you coming to me with your problems and just… dumping them on me. And that… Look, I like to help, I liked to help you, but that’s all it was.”

He swallows, hands tightening on those stems. He wilts, just as the flowers had.

“And when I needed you…” you continue, and you feel a lump in your throat despite yourself. “You were… you would blow me off with some joke or tell me you had something more important to do. And I swear, half the time it was just getting shit-faced at some bar.” you choke out a laugh, voice more unsteady than you’d realized. “And then you’d do something stupid and call me drunk off your ass to dump it all on me again.”

Your gaze moves towards the desk in the corner, where a photo of the two of you still sits framed despite your insistence that you’d moved on. In the picture he has an arm slung around your shoulders and you’re both grinning like idiots. Blitzø follows your gaze and you could almost swear a wistful look touches his face, pink blooming into his scarred cheek.

“And I just… I couldn’t do it anymore, Blitz. I liked you; I liked being your… I liked being the person you could turn to. But it just… I didn’t feel like me anymore. I felt like… a one-eight-hundred number. Someone for you to call whenever you needed just to make you feel better by justifying your… shit to you. And then when I wasn’t needed, I wasn’t… anything.”

Blitzø stares at you, then his gaze drops to the floor. You notice his lips tremble, set themselves into a hard line, his jaw ticking. Both hands wring the flower stems so hard they break, and his breath comes shudderingly, his shoulders rising and falling visibly with the effort.

“Fuck…” he breathes, then his jaw tightens further, his teeth bared. He throws his head back, the heels of his hands pressed to his forehead. “Fuck!”

You wince at his volume, mindful of your neighbours.

“Fuck, I just… I make everything fuckin’ worse, I can’t—” he groans, his tail whipping behind him. He clenches his fists by his sides. “I didn’t even… fuck, Y/N. Verosika was right.”

You almost make move to comfort him – old habits die hard – but force yourself to stop, balling your fists together on your lap. Instead, you force a shrug, feigning nonchalance. Baring your feelings that way has left a ball of nerves in the pit of your stomach that burns with unease.

You want to ask what happened tonight, with Verosika of all people… what has happened since you last saw him that has him like this, but you can’t. The words can’t make it past your lips.

Instead, you pat the couch cushion beside you awkwardly, and after a moment he moves to sit beside you. The flower stems now litter the floor, but one or two still hang from his fingers. “It’s… whatever. Seriously, Blitz. I don’t care anymore.”

A pained look sets into his features, and you swallow as you notice his eyes are shining with could be the beginning of tears. He hangs his head with a sigh, resting his face in his hands. “Fuck, that is so much worse.”

“Is it?”

“Y’know, most of this ‘apology’ shit I did today… it didn’t mean anything. I was… I was being a dick and it didn’t… I wasn’t takin’ it seriously and that’s why I didn’t… didn’t think of you before now. Because I…” he lets himself fall back against the back of the sofa, his eyes on the ceiling. “I guess I knew you wouldn’t jus’ disappear without a reason and I didn’t wanna think about it because it’d just be… be another reason to hate… myself.”

His fingers play with the flower stem he still holds, claws shredding it absently. “And I’m… fuck, I know I’m shit, I know I’m a grade-A asshole, but I…” Blitzø meets your eye. “I never meant to be that way with you.”

“Blitz…”

“I’m… sorry, Y/N. I am.” his voice is soft, earnest. “And I get why you don’t want me around.”

He huffs a self-deprecating breath of a laugh, his eyes falling back to his lap. “I don’t really want me around either.”

You watch him for a long moment, the only sound between the two of you the steady, soft ticking of the clock on the far wall. Then, you nod slowly, standing. His eyes close, and you know he’s taking the movement as judgement, as condemnation.

“I can’t… I can’t talk this through with you right now, Blitz.” you tell him gently, and his body tenses. “I can’t let myself be a sounding board for you again, not… not about this. But, um…”

You lean down, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to the mark on his brow. His gaze turns upward in surprise as you straighten again. “That’s progress, Blitz. And I don’t think you’re shit. Or an asshole. In need of therapy, maybe…”

Blitzø coughs a bitter laugh, eyes closing as you smooth your hand over one of his horns.

“But you’re not a bad person. Not really.”

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

[cosmicjoke]

Hurt

The kid’s got lice.

Well, Kenny guesses he shouldn’t be surprised. Comin’ from that fuckin’ shit-ass, rat infested hellhole Kuchel’d given herself over to, ‘course the kid had lice. Probably had a whole buncha’ other shit wrong with him too. No doubt.

For one, the little bastard hadn’t said more than two words to Kenny in the whole time they’d been together. Quietest, unfriendliest kid Kenny’d ever met, and that was sayin’ somethin’, round here in the Underground.

He looks practically dead, sittin’ over there in the corner, gnawing on a piece of stale bread.

He ain’t wearin’ more than a ragged, threadbare gown that Kenny’s guessin’ was the boy’s only real piece of clothing. He’d ransacked the room in the brothel before takin’ the kid and leaving, lookin’ for somethin’ else he might be able to wear, but there wasn’t nothin’. Only some larger gowns, similarly worn thin, which he reckoned had belonged to his sister. And since she was dead, wasn’t no point in takin’ those.

The kid’s got nothin’ on underneath his gown. No kinda’ undergarments or nothin’. He’d made the kid go out ahead of him when they’d left that room, and the hem of the gown had ridden up, exposing the boy’s backside. Kenny’d seen what looked like bedsores, angry red welts, inflamed and painful lookin’ over wrinkled and filth ridden butt cheeks, and he’d wondered just how long the kid’s been sittin’ there, starin’ at his mother’s corpse. Had to have been a fuckin’ week, at least, for that kinda’ shit to happen. It was a damned pitiful sight, is what it was.

Just like it was now, lookin’ over at the boy, sittin’ there in the corner, chewin’ his bread and barely alive.

The collar of his gown sits stretched and too big on him, slippin’ off one shoulder entirely, dippin’ past his collarbone and revealing a milk white chest, bruised and mottled in spots. The kids ribs poke grotesquely through the skin, pronounced enough that Kenny feels a little sick just lookin’ at it, same as he feels lookin’ at the kids sunken face, eyes too big and set back deep and horrible, like a damned skull with nothin’ but skin stretched too tight over it, lips cracked dry and bleeding fresh each time the boy takes a bite of his food.

He’d fuckin’ told Kuchel, he’d told her, down here wasn’t no kinda’ place to try and raise a child. Tried to tell her there wasn’t no way she’d be able to provide for the two of ‘em. And now look. She was dead, and the kid wasn’t doin’ much better. He didn’t have no shoes or socks either. His feet and hands are filthy, black with grim and soot and dirt and who the fuck knows what else, toes and fingers all cut up. He keeps reachin’ up, scratchin’ at his tangled mop of jet black hair.

Just like Kuchel’s, Kenny thinks.

Thinks, if the kid got some meat on him, he’d look awfully like his mother.

He tries not to think too hard on that, somethin’ ugly and violent shiftin’ in his chest when he does.

Kuchel wouldn’t appreciate it, Kenny don’t think, if he let the rage get him around her son. That’d be low, he guesses, even for him, beatin’ on a boy who looked one stiff breeze away from collapsin’ dead.

“Oi, brat!” Kenny snaps, and he don’t miss the way the kid flinches hard back before he freezes, his eyes goin’ impossibly wider for a moment as he looks up, starin’ scared shitless at him. Kenny sneers. Wasn’t like he’d hit the kid yet or nothin’, but here he was, actin’ like he was expectin’ it. Wouldn’t surprise him, if he were to find out some of Kuchel’s John’s took to beatin’ him. That’s how those types were. Lookin’ to hurt someone who couldn’t fight back. Made ‘em feel big and strong, hurtin’ someone who couldn’t do nothin’ about it. “Slow down there, would ya? You’re gonna’ make yourself sick if you eat too fast. I’m guessin’ you already feel stuffed, huh?”

The kid… Levi… he’d told Kenny his name was Levi, just stares at him, not movin’. Kenny can see his skeletal fingers round the bread, trembling and weak.

“Can’t you say nothin’? I know you can talk. You talked before.”

Still nothin’, and Kenny sighs.

“Well, shit, I hope you ain’t simple. I’m gonna’ have to take ya’ out back and drown ya’ if you are.”

That gets a reaction. Somehow the petrified look on the kid’s face only grows more so, and then those cracked lips of his start wobblin’, and the bread slips, sad and pathetic, from his grasp, fallin’ against the ground.

“… S-sorry. I’m sorry.” He rasps, and jeez, Kenny almost wishes he hadn’t said nothin’, his voice so dry and weak and broken, it sounds like it should belong to an old man, not a seven year old boy, or whatever. It’s fuckin’ unnerving, is what it is.

Though, if Kenny didn’t know when it was his sister got herself pregnant, he woulda’ thought Levi was 3, maybe four years old at the most. He was so fuckin’ small.

He shakes his head, nudging the brim of his hat up higher.

“Welp, seems like you’ve had enough for now. Let’s go.”

Kenny pushes himself to his feet, and the kid shrinks back from him as he comes round the table and toward him.

Kenny rolls his eyes, grabbin’ hold ‘a the boy’s wrist and yankin’ him up to his feet.

“Quit actin’ so jumpy, brat. I ain’t gonna hit ya ‘till you give me a good enough reason to.”

He can feel the boy stumblin’ after him as he pulls him along. It’s his problem, though, if he can’t keep up. Kenny ain’t gonna’ slow down for him, with those short ass legs ‘a his.

Kenny can feel the eyes of ‘a the tavern’s other customers on ‘em as they leave, but none of ‘em say shit, too concerned with their own skin. That suits Kenny just fine. Stinkin’ cowards though, the lot of ‘em. For all they knew, Kenny was gonna’ do somethin’ awful to the kid, but none of ‘em cared enough to even try and find out.

Well, Kenny wasn’t gonna’ do nothin’ awful, though he couldn’t promise himself he wouldn’t hurt the kid in some way. He knew himself too well for that.

“Are you gonna’ drown me now?” He hears that low, cracking rasp somewhere below him.

Kenny stops, glancin’ down.

Levi’s standin’ there, lookin’ up at him with those too big eyes in that wasted, skeletal face. Kid barely comes up to his fuckin’ knee. He looks at Kenny, stricken and resigned, and Kenny lets go of his wrist.

“No, I ain’t gonna’ drown ya! Don’t ya know when you’re bein’ fucked with?”

Levi just keeps starin’ up at him, and Kenny sneers, disgusted.

“Maybe you really are simple.” He mutters low, turnin’ away. “Well, come on. Ya can’t keep up, it ain’t my problem.”

He starts walkin’, and a moment later, he hears the kid’s bare feet slappin’ against the pavement as he tries to catch up.

Maybe this’d been a bad idea, Kenny thinks as he makes his way to the latest shithole he’d found to occupy. Keepin’ some kid around, even if it was his sister’s, was gonna’ be nothin’ but a pain in his ass. ‘Specially one as ratty and fucked up at this boy was.

Maybe he really should just drown the brat.

Ah… but he couldn’t do that. Just thinkin’ about it had Kenny feelin’ sick inside. Guts all twisted up when he imagined the poor bastard’s little face, scared outta’ his mind, cryin’ and pleadin’ not to die.

Fuck…

Kenny couldn’t do it to some poor kid.

He glances back, and sees the boy still struggling after him, his face bent toward the ground. He keeps stumbling, like his legs just can’t keep pace with what he want’s ‘em to do.

Kenny’s not surprised when the kid finally trips and goes crashin’ to his hands and knees.

He half expects the brat to start wailin’, the way he’s seen the little shits up on the surface start up when they hit the ground, screamin’ bloody murder for their mommy’s.

But Levi don’t make any kinda’ sound.

He sits there for a second, not movin’, before struggling back to his feet, and startin’ forward again.

Kenny can see his knees scrapped raw and bloody. Knows the boy’s palms are no doubt the same. It must hurt.

He frowns, shakin’ his head. ‘Least he wasn’t a whiner.

“You ever hold a knife, boy?” He asks as the kid nearly reaches him.

Levi stops, blinking up at him. As usual, he doesn’t answer.

“Tch. Here.”

Kenny pulls the blade he keeps in his hip holster, flippin’ it round and catchin’ it by its tip.

Levi’s eyes watch the motion, almost mesmerized, and Kenny smirks as he holds it out to him, handle-first.

The boy only stands there, starin’, like he don’t know what he’s supposed to do.

Kenny rolls his eyes.

“Take it, you dumb shit. I wanna’ see how you handle it.”

The kid’s hand shakes as he finally reaches out, bony fingers wrappin’ round the knife’s handle.

It looks absurdly oversized in the boy’s grasp, palm failing to come all the way round the circumference, the blade nearly big as his whole head. He stares at it like he don’t know what it is, holdin’ it up, his arm trembling with the weight.

“Well?” Kenny presses, a lick of annoyance uncurling in his chest.

Levi keeps lookin’ at the knife, liftin’ it higher, an almost fascinated look in his flat eyes.

But it’s plain as day the kid’s got no fuckin’ idea what to do with it, and finally Kenny snatches it back, Levi’s eyes goin’ wide at the suddenness of it, stumbling back, his backside hittin’ the dirt.

Kenny watches his face screw up in pain, those sores on his ass no doubt.

He huffs, turnin’ away and beginning back down the street.

He don’t know why he thought the kid would know how to handle a blade. He was too young, and Kuchel never did show the strength of the Ackerman bloodline. Skipped right over her like a stone over water. It only made sense, it would skip over her son too. Lookin’ at him, Kenny don’t know if the kid’ll even make it. If he’ll even survive past another year, another two. He’s weak and frail and pathetic. Smaller than he should be. By far smaller. He doubts he’ll ever get that strength.

It’s too bad, Kenny guesses.

Well… he could still try to learn the kid. If he ever found the strength, well then, maybe he’d survive. No skin off Kenny’s back, either way, he gathers.

The boy follows dutifully behind, somehow keepin’ sight of Kenny despite his refusal to slow, and pretty soon they’ve made it to the worn down shake Kenny’d found empty a few weeks back, deciding to take as his own.

“Alright, in ya go.” Kenny ushers the brat through the door.

He dumps his hat and coat on a worn out table he’d scrounged up someplace, before he goes about lighting the lanterns he’s got set up, washing the room in a low light.

The kid stands there in the middle of it, lookin’ lost and wide eyed as he gazes about. His tiny hands fidget nervously in the hem of his gown, unaware or unconcerned how he’s pulled it up past his hips. Kenny gets an eyeful of the boy’s penis and bloated out stomach. Malnurioushed. ‘Course he is.

Kenny shakes his head.

“Wait here. Don’t move from that spot.” He tells him, before headin’ back out. He’s got a big, wooden bucket hangin’ on a hook outside the front door, and he grabs it up before trudging off to a well about a quarter mile down the street. He fills the bucket with water and takes it back.

The kid ain’t moved, only sat down on his bottom in the same place Kenny’d left him, knees pulled up against his chest and arms round his legs. Just like how Kenny’d found him back in that brothel.

Kenny don’t say nothin’, just carries the bucket over and sets it on the ground.

The boy’s so small, he’ll fit in it, easy.

“Alright, get that fuckin’ rag off. Yer takin’ a bath.”

Levi looks up at him, bemused expression across his ugly little face, like he don’t understand what the hell Kenny’s just said.

“You’re god damned filthy.” Kenny snaps. “Go on, take that rag you got on off and get in the water.”

Kenny don’t know what the fuck it is he’s said, but suddenly the kid’s face breaks all apart, his lip trembling, eyes goin’ all wet and shit… shit… he’s cryin’all of a sudden.

“What? What the hell is it?!”

“I tried t-to keep clean. M-Mama… Mama told me it was… it was good. I tried, I cleaned every day. Every day. I tried, I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

The kid’s blubberin’ all over the place, a spew of words from his mouth that Kenny can’t make no damned sense of. All he knows is the kid’s freakin’ the fuck out, for some reason, and he’s got to get him to stop.

“Alright, alright, calm the hell down. Come on.” He tries, but the kid just keeps cryin’ and moanin’, somethin’ about Kuchel and keepin’ their room clean and Kenny’s about had it.

“HEY!” He screams, and the kid gasps, harsh and ragged, collapsing onto the floor and coverin’ his head with his arms like he’s sure Kenny’s gonna’ hit him. Well, he’d been about to, if he’s bein’ honest with himself. If the kid’d kept up that mewling, he was gonna’. But he’s gone quiet as a mouse now, sittin’ there with his face pressed to the dusty floorboards, shakin’ all over.

Kenny stares at him for a long moment, tryin’ to figure out what to do.

Damn, he ain’t used to this kinda’ shit. Normally anyone blubberin’ and carrying on like that in front of him just got a bullet to the brain, and that was that. But he couldn’t very well just off the kid. Not after he’d gone to all this trouble.

He flicks at his nose, tryin’ to think.

“Now you listen here, boy. None ‘a that sissy shit around here. You start cryin’ and hollerin’ like that again, all you’ll get for your trouble is a slap in the mouth. Ya hear?”

Levi nods frantically from where he’s still splayed on the floor.

Yeah, the kid’s taken plenty ‘a beatings, Kenny thinks.

He sighs, reachin’ down and haulin’ the boy to his feet. He don’t weigh shit.

“Come on already, get undressed and get in the bucket.”

The kid listens this time, and Kenny watches, a kind of gnawing pit formin’ in his gut as Levi strips, pullin’ the gown up over his head and revealin’ the most pitiful little body in the world.

He’s bruised all over, varying shades ranging from deep blacks and blues to mottled yellows and greens, washing over skin pale as milk. He’s sickeningly, painfully thin, arms and legs like sticks, shoulders pathetically narrow and bony. Every one of his ribs presses visible and awful against his skin, his chest a sunken, tragic nothing, little nipples hardly darker than the rest of him. His stomach stick out, round with bloating.

Kenny knows what starvation looks like.

The kid’s starvin’ to death. Another week alone in that room, and Kenny’s got no doubt he’d have been dead.

The kid looks up at him then, holdin’ the scrap ‘a cloth he’d been usin’ to cover himself in trembling fingers, wide, scared eyes uncertain.

Kenny rolls his eyes again.

“In the water, kid.”

He watches as the boy hesitates, head swiveling back and forth a moment, like he’s lookin’ for somethin’. And then he takes the rag in his hand and starts foldin’ it up, all neat like, before shufflin’ over to the table where Kenny’d dropped his coat and hat. The kid has to stand up on the tips of his toes to reach the surface, where he places his gown, before turnin’ and hobblin’ back over to the bucket.

His back’s just as bruised and hideous as the rest of him, shoulder blades juttin’ out like the peaks of mountains, every ridge of his spine a large, visible bump. He really ain’t more than skin and bones. And those bed sores Kenny’d spotted before, he’s gonna’ need to do somethin’ about those. Red, angry welts. A few of ‘em were seepin’ out puss too. Fuckin’ disgusting.

Kenny stares at him, watchin’ as he climbs in. Water sloshes over the edges as he lowers himself down.

The water comes up just beneath his chest, and he stares down at it like some kinda’ sad, kicked dog.

Kenny huffs, steppin’ forward. No use standin’ around, he guesses.

He reaches down, pullin’ a smaller blade from his boot, and sees the kid’s face lift.

For a moment, the dull, listless expression wipes away, and his eyes go wide with fear.

He recoils as Kenny takes another step closer, sloshin’ more water onto the floor, and Kenny pauses.

“What’s all that about?” He snaps, rollin’ his eyes. “I ain’t gonna’ do nothin’. That rats nest ya got on your head needs cuttin’, is all. You got lice, kid.”

That seems to get the boy to relax some, though he still watches Kenny with wary, mistrustful eyes as he closes the rest of the distance and kneels down.

“Now just hold still while I cut yer hair. Alright? You squirm around too much, and I might slip and slit yer throat.”

There’s those wide, frightened eyes again, and Kenny laughs to himself at how still the kid goes as he takes a big clump of gnarled and matted hair in a fist. Black as midnight, he thinks, just like Kuchel’s.

He shouldn’t think ‘a her now, though, Kenny reckons. Not ‘less he wants to get real mad. And Kenny knows himself. Knows when he gets mad like that, he’ll take it out on whoever’s most convenient. Right now, that’d be the kid, and Kenny ain’t too particularly wantin’ to lay his hands on the boy. Not when he’s already more skittish than a scared rabbit. Kenny hits him now, he figures, the kid’ll roll right up and never come out.

It’s hard, though, when he looks at Levi’s face, and sees Kuchel’s lookin’ right back. Even starved and wasted as the boy is, he looks just like her. Even his eyes. Those same, thin eyes, a blue so soft, they look more gray.

Shit…

A soft whimper pulls him outta’ his thoughts, and when he comes back to the present, he sees the kid tremblin’ in his grip, a sad, pitiful keen slippin’ past his dry, chapped lips.

“Whats’a matter?” Kenny grumbles. “Didn’t I tell ya to hold still?”

Levi don’t answer, his whole body shakin’ like a leaf, and Kenny realizes suddenly how hard he’s grippin’ the boy’s hair.

Well, fuck…

He loosens his hold.

“Hey, sorry ‘bout that. I got lost in my thoughts a minute. Ya know how it is, huh? I didn’t mean to hold ya so hard. Now quit that whimperin’. What are ya, a dog?”

Levi shakes his head, his face turnin’ away.

Jeez, but he’s a timid little bastard, Kenny thinks, frownin’. That kinda’ shit wouldn’t do. Not down here. Kid’d get eaten alive, if he kept on bein’ so wiltin’ like that.

“Now just hold still.” Kenny tells him again, and begins slicin’ through clumps of thick hair.

It takes a while, but Kenny eventually manages to get it trimmed down ‘till there’s nothin’ but a short fuzz coverin’ the kid’s noggin’. He even manages to stop tremblin’ so bad about halfway through, and Kenny thinks he almost feels proud ‘a the little sucker.

He rinses him off with just straight water after that, (ain’t got no soap), before pullin’ him from the makeshift tub.

“Feels better, huh?” He asks as he dries the kid off, rubbin’ him down with some old rags he had lyin’ around.

Levi nods, not sayin’ nothin’ otherwise.

Once Kenny’s through rubbin’ his head dry, the boy keeps liftin’ his hands and runnin’ his fingers through what’s left of his hair, seemin’ fascinated by the way it feels.

He looks even uglier with like this, Kenny thinks. Somehow even more skeletal.

“I ain’t got no clothes that’ll fit you ‘round here, so you’re just gonna’ have to keep yerself wrapped in this here blanket for now. Alright?”

Kenny hands him some worn out old thing he’d found stuffed in a drawer, ridden through with moth holes. He thinks it might’ve been a possession from his childhood with Kuchel. From before they were run off their land, their house engulfed in flames at their backs, gun shots peltin’ down into the earth around ‘em, loud, whizzing cracks in their ears.

He shakes his head of the memories, shakin’ the blanket when he realizes the boy still ain’t taken it.

Tiny hands finally reach back, fingers foldin’ into the offered material, and Kenny watches the kid struggle with its weight as he wraps it clumsily round his pitiful little body.

He regards the kid a moment longer.

“Alright, well, I gotta’ go out and get us some supplies. So you just stay here and I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t go runnin’ off nowhere while I’m gone. Not ‘less you wanna’ get yourself killed or picked off by some freaked out pervert. Ya hear?”

Levi nods, clutchin’ the blanket around him like his life depends on it, squattin’ there on the floor.

“If ya gotta’ take a piss or shit, there’s a bucket out through the back door there where ya can do your business. Don’t you go messin’ on the floor in here, or I’ll beat you upside your head. Got it?”

Another nod.

“Y-yes Sir.” He actually talks, voice nothin’ but a cracked whisper.

Kenny frowns.

“Don’t go callin’ me that. Kenny’s just fine.”

Again, the boy nods, and Kenny huffs.

“Alright, well… I’ll be seein’ ya.”

He turns to go.

“… Th… thank you.” He hears behind him, that weak, rasping voice.

He stops, lookin’ back over his shoulder, and sees Levi lookin’ up at him. His eyes too big for his face, overbright.

“Don’t go thankin’ me yet, boy. I ain’t gonna’ be soft on ya, if that’s what yer thinkin’.”

The kid’s head shakes no, and he falls back onto his bottom, curlin’ away.

Kenny sniffs, flickin’ at his nose.

“Good. Stay put and I’ll be back.”

He strides from the hovel he’s been shakin’ out in, slammin’ the door shut behind him, back out onto the streets.

Somethin’ ugly twists in his guts, then. An awful, sinking mire in his brain. The boy’s face in his eyes, wasted and tragic.

He thinks he wants to put his hands round the pathetic animal’s neck. Squeeze and squeeze and squeeze ‘till those sad eyes ‘a his pop right outta’ his skull.

Thinks what a rotten bastard he is, and somethin’ pained lances in his heart, a hideous weight.

The boy’s hurt seared into his mind.

[k-marzolf]

Unmannerly.

Mechanic!Billy, secretary/assisstant, country girl!reader, kissing, fem!reader.

Tagging; @terry2227 @kayhi808 @e-dubbc11 @bookloverfilmoholic @littleblackcatinwonderland @aoi-targaryen @firequeensposts @oops89 @thejanecampaign @snowkestrel @zz-kennedy @firexfate @rosaleenablack @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

&&&&&&&

Billy remembered you coming to work on the first day in pumps, and a pair of jeans, falling face first into an engine when you missed a cord running through the shop. You had stood up, fluffing your hair. “Hey, handsome.”

His lips had curved up, “Hi, sweetness.” He had teased you, sliding out from the car, wiping his hands.

You had grinned, “Well now, aren’t you charming?”

“Most people think I’m an asshole.” He laughed.

But he kept you around because you were sweet, kind, and smart despite his initial impression of you. And as you handed him a wrench, you popped your gum. He looked at you, stopping his work. “Sweetheart..” You looked over at him, popping a large bubble, and then chewing loudly.

“Huh?” You asked.

“You pop that gum one more time, Imma have to bend you over the hood of this car.”

Your eyes widened, and then you popped another bubble, almost getting it stuck to your face. “Just a bit a gum. Want some Mister Russo?” You asked, digging in your pockets for some.

He grabbed the neck of your neck, pressing his mouth to yours, tasting the cinnamon chewing gum, pulling back and spitting out the gum in the trash.

You poked him, “That was unmannerly.” You said, hitting him on the head with your wallet.

He laughed, “Sorry, sunshine. I had to confiscate it. Your chewin’ was lackin’ manners.” He ruffled your hair, and you squealed.

“You’ll get oil in it, you ass!” You smacked him with his car manual.

He smirked, going back to working under the hood.

[eldritch-spouse]

Since Morell doesn’t like the concept of being eaten how would he react to a piglet who tries to chomp on his massive man tiddies?

Humans are usually pretty short. Morell knows this, he's seen and handled countless ones before. His Piglet is no different, you have to lean back to meet his eyes most of the time, it's kind of cute to him.

But by the lord, are you determined...

You'll take any opportunity to touch his chest you can, not just that- As soon as he hunches for something, you bite his tits. Morell isn't sure what kind of rabid human behavior this is, and he'd find it amusing, if not for the danger you're unwittingly putting yourself in.

" Are we doin' this again? " He rolls his eyes, looming over the several pots on the stove. " 'S kinda hard ta work with ya chewin' 'round. " Not to mention it makes him feel weird how fixated you are on his chest.

Your response is to slip his left nipple in your mouth. Serves him right, the chef supposes, he doesn't really cover them. Then again, he never had to. " If ya bite that, I'm crackin' this spoon on yer back. " He warns, waving a wooden kitchen utensil menacingly.

Fortunately, you release the sensitive bit of anatomy. Unfortunately, you take vengeance by chomping on the side of it exceptionally hard. Not only does Morell grunt, he instinctively grabs you hard, measuring his strength before he sits your ass down on the counter beside him. The sides of your face are grabbed and the shroom forces you to stare him in the eyes, as if you have a sharp attention deficit.

" What did I say 'bout bitin'? " He asks, with the same energy of a tired single parent.

" You're poisonous. "

" Yeah. " The chef grabs a napkin and starts wiping the saliva off his tit. " If yer little teef ever make me bleed, yer gonna kick tha bucket. Ya hear me? "

Although you nod, there's a distinct vacant look to your eyes, like everything he said went in one ear and came out the other twice as fast.

" Now get off mah chest. " He grumbles, fetching a piece of bread from one of the cabinets and pushing it into your mouth. " Yer jus' hungry. "

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE CHARACTER SONG Vol.7 Seiron Syndrome by Mukami Yuma Mini Drama ”A Sweet Lesson”

Original title: 甘美な教え

Source: Diabolik Lovers CHARACTER SONG Vol. 7 Mini Drama

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Tatsuhisa Suzuki

Translator’s note: As a teacher who also taught at middle school for one year, I totally sympathize with the MC in having to try and teach someone who clearly does not care about learning at all lol. Although I guess in Yuma’s case, it’s a little more justified since these guys have been alive for a long time and they can perfectly survive without getting their degree so it must be pretty annoying to have to keep up with high school. :p Especially someone like Yuma who clearly wants to work with his hands and not with his brains. 

Yuma bursts into your room. 

“ーー Oi, Sow!! Teach me this school shit! ...If I don’t pass the upcomin’ midterms, Ruki will have my head on the choppin’ block for real.”

He walks up to you.

“Ah, god...What’s the big deal ‘bout gettin’ a couple of bad grades? Vampires don’t even need school for anythin’...! Come on, make some space for me at yer desk!”

*Rustle*

Yuma takes a seat.

“I brought the textbook and my notes with me, but I honestly have no fuckin’ clue what any of this shit means. ...I want ya to help me remember everythin’! Then if I still fail regardless, I can at least put the blame on ya instead...Right?”

“Ah, fuck off...! All ya need to do is do a proper job, right!? Get started already!”

You start teaching him.

*Scribble scribble*

“...I’ve never even heard of a grammar rule like that.” 

You frown.

“I can’t help it...! God, shut up! I just gotta get it inside my head, right!? Argh, damnit!”

*Crunch*

“...Ah? Ya want me to stop chewin’ sugar? Don’t ya know!? The brain needs carbs to remember all this crap!”

*Crunch*

*Flip*

“Ah! T-The doodles on that page areーー It’s nothin’ important!”

You chuckle.

“Hey, don’t laugh! Fuck...”

*Scribble scribble*

“...Why do we need midterms anyway? Damnit, I can’t be bothered with this shit...”

*Thud*

You flinch.

“God...Stop gettin’ scared over every lil’ thing. ...Whatever. I’ll just tell Ruki that it’s yer fault that I failed my exams. See ya!”

Yuma tries to leave but you stop him.

*Rustle*

“...!? Che...Don’t tug onto my clothes...”

You try to reason with him.

“...Hah? Ya can bet yer ass that I’m tellin’ him it’s yer fault! I don’t give a damn ‘bout how ya feel ‘bout it!”

You pout.

“Ahー Fuck! I wanna just go and water my plants already! So what if I’ve been failin’ my tests!? I’m goin’ to school at least so isn’t that the most important thing!?”

You tell him that he could always repeat his year.

“Ya really think I’m gonna stoop to the same level as that fuckin’ Sakamaki NEET and be held back a year!? God...! I just gotta do this shit, right!? ...But I’m only doin’ this one page today! ...’Kay, shoot me some questions. I gotta explain what these words mean, right?”

You pose question one.

“Haah...? I’ve never even heard of that word before...! I bet yer pronunciation just sucks! Read it one more time.

You repeat the word.

“Haha...Hahaha...Nah, got no clue. ...Ahー This isn’t gettin’ anywhere...I think I’ll go tell Ruki that yer a lousy tutor after all. ...Ah...This pisses me off...I’ll have some Sugar-chaーー”

*Cling*

“Ah!? Che...The jar’s empty...”

*Rustle*

“Hey, gimme yer blood. ...My irritation level has reached its peak now that I’ve run out of sugar on top of bein’ forced to study.”

He pins you down.

*Thud*

“I think I might feel a lil’ better if I have a sip of yer blood...Come on, where do ya want me to bite ya? Tell me.”

You protest.

“Haah!? ‘Let me go’!? God...That wasn’t the question...Guess I gotta punish that mouth of yers for spoutin’ bullcrap...”

*Rustle rustle*

“Ugh...”

 Yuma bites you.

*Sluuuurp*

“Nnh...Hah...Does it hurt, huh? Don’t talk back...It’d be a shame if yer blood were to drip down from the side of yer lips and go to waste...Nnh...”

*Sluuuurp*

“It’s kinda sweet...I bet you’ve been snackin’ on my Sugar-chan behind my back, haven’t ya?”

You shake your head.

“Don’t lie. Nnh...”

*Sluuuurp*

*Rustle rustle*

“Hahn...Nnh...Both yer lips and yer blood are kinda sweet for some reason...Anyway, guess I’ll suck from here next...Nnh...”

*Sluuuurp*

“Mm...Mmh...”

*Sluuuurp*

“...Hah. What? You’re tremblin’...Are ya expectin’ more perhaps? Hehe...Ya really are a Sow at heart. I can’t believe you’re gettin’ a kick outta havin’ yer blood sucked...”

*Sluuuurp*

“Hah...No more studyin’, huh? Hehe. Guess we’re partners in crime now.”

*Rustle*

“It’s all yer fault...So ya better don’t think ya can get out of this...Hahn...”

*Sluuuurp*

“I’ll savor ya thoroughly...Mmh...”

*Sluuuurp*

ーー THE END ーー

[kimberly40]

Southernisms:

Dumb as a bag full of hammers.

Meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes.

I won't say it's far, but I had to grease the wagon twice before I hit the main road.

If a trip around the world cost a dollar, I couldn't get to the state line.

He looks like he was inside the outhouse when lightening struck.

She looks like she was born down wind from the outhouse.

Never kick a fresh turd on a hot day.

Never smack a man who's chewin' tobacco.

The quickest way to double your money is to fold it over and put it back in your pocket.

Scared as a sinner in a cyclone.

Scared as a cat at the dog pound.

She's so ugly she'd make a freight train take a dirt road.

He's so ugly his cooties have to close their eyes.

So ugly his mama takes him everywhere she goes so she doesn't have to kiss him goodbye.

She looks like she fell face-down in the sticker patch and cows ran over her.

He looks like the dogs have been keepin' him under the porch.

He's about as sharp as a mashed potato.

So dusty the rabbits are digging holes six feet in the air.

It'll last about as long as a fart in a whirlwind.

He's rough as a corn cob.

He's got enough money to burn a wet mule.

He's about as sharp as a bag full of wet mice.

It's as dry as the dust in a mummy's pocket.

It's about as scarce as bird crap in a cuckoo clock.

He's as tight as the pages in a book.

This race is as tight as the rusted lug nuts on a '55 Ford.

It’s hot enough to peel house paint.

Running like a squirrel in a cage.

Safe as a tick on a dog with a stiff neck.

He couldn't pour rain out of a boot with a hole in the toe and directions on the heel.

If dumb was dirt, he'd cover about half an acre.

So windy we're using a log chain instead of a wind sock.

Tighter than bark on a tree.

As welcome as an outhouse breeze.

Her hair looks like a cats been suckin' on it.

We were so poor my brother and me had to ride double on our stick horse.

As bad-off as a rubber-nosed woodpecker in a petrified forest.

As confused as a cow on astroturf.

It was so hot you could pull a baked potato right out of the ground.

It's so dry the trees are whistling for the dogs.

Busier than a cat covering crap on a marble floor.

If things get any better around here, I may have to hire someone to help me enjoy it.

Well knock me down and steal muh teeth!

Cute as a box full of puppies.

You can't get rid of 'em. He's like a booger you can't thump off.

It's about as hard as trying to steer a herd of cats.

The wheels still turning, but the hamster's dead.

He's so confused he doesn't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his ass.

She was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

So crooked you can't tell from his tracks if he's coming or going.

I wouldn't trust him any farther than I can throw him.

He's got more guts than you could hang on a fence.

So dry the catfish are carrying canteens.

So dry I'm spitting cotton.

So hot the hens are laying hard-boiled eggs.

Cold as a frosted frog.

Cold as an ex-wife's heart.

Cold as a cast iron commode.

Cold as a banker's heart.

She's about as useful as buttons on a dishrag.

He's tougher than a two-dollar steak.

Happy as a puppy with two tails.

She’s got enough wrinkles to hold an eight-day rain.

That’s about as useful as a trap door on a canoe!

He’s busier than a one-legged man at a butt-kickin contest!

He’s so dumb he couldn’t piss his name in the snow.

That politician’s so crooked he could hide behind a cork screw!

That baby was so ugly the Doctor spanked the Momma!

She’s so ugly she’s got ten-foot pole marks all over her.

It’s rainin’ so hard it sounds like a cow pissing on a flat rock.

He’s so bad off, his eyes looked like two piss-holes in a snowbank.

Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit!

Her hair looks like it caught on fire and somebody put it out with a brick.

He couldn’t find his rear with his hands in his back pockets.

It’s raining so hard the animals are starting to pair up.

His pants were so tight that if he farted, he’d blow his boots off.

Raising kids is like being pecked to death by a chicken.

He’s so skinny, his pants had only one back pocket.

He was mean enough to hunt bears with a hickory switch.

He was ugly as a burnt boot.

Tougher than the back end of a shootin' gallery.

...Thank You, Dear Lord, for blessing me with being a Southerner.

•Photo taken near Spruce Pine, North Carolina

[the-trinket-witch]

DING DONG ramshacklerumble here 💖

i’m tennis-balling your ask back to you! eugenio with the first year crew! ♥️♠️ 🐺🍎🤖⚔️

(ASK MEME HERE)

♥️ACE: The two go back and forth with banter, once they realized that was just Ace's sense of humor. They appreciate that Ace can flag when they're in a bad mood and ask what's up. The tell? The back and forth jabs start going for the throat. Only thing Ace knows NOT to do around Eu: make fun of Deuce's intelligence.

♠️ DEUCE: They commend him for wanting to be better for his mom. They offer to be a non-judgemental ear to let him get out some of those old stories of his delinquent days. Eu is gonna be both shoulder angel and devil-they're gonna say to not immediately throw hands (Wait for the other fucker to swing first, then it's self-defense ;D )

🐺JACK: Eu has to watch where they throw la chancla-if it's too close to Jack, whatever convo he was having has to screech to a halt for him to watch it. He at least has the restraint to not go fetch.

🍎EPEL: The two are decent at PE, and they sorta are the gossip pair. Epel has his own problems and highlights, and Eu can relate enough to 'What I look like doesn't accurately encompass Who I am'. Epel is also Eu's supply guy for diff makeup or beauty treatments.

🤖ORTHO: Eu was the one to introduce Laz to calling Ortho 'Arturito' (A pun en Español of R2D2, I mean, c'mon!). Isn't gonna decline an invite to game with him or Idia, but then, Idia's not a Party Game kinda guy.

⚔️SEBEK: THE ONE Eu butts heads the most with. They ain't afraid to tell him to tone down, daring him to zap them. (It's a trap-They've figured out Tsunotaru=Malleus. Eu's willing to get zapped if it means setting Sebek up for an ass-chewin'.) When Sebek isn't being loud, they try spotting each other when lifting weights. Sebek mostly just whines about how weak they are, but they give him a mandated eye in exchange for tips on form.

[serpentmessmer]

happy dadfucker friday rae! how do you think dean and john cope after a hunt gone wrong or how does it impact their relationship (for example when it was really really bad and it was dean's fault)?

TY FOR THIS MAE!!!! IT'S BEEN A WEEK BUT IT IS DFF AGAIN SO:

i've actually written some hunt gone wrong and so you are coming to someone who has done many a thunk after this concept and i think a lot of it depends on how bad the bad is and what's the fuckup.

mild injury fuckup? that's some primo time for john to be deans savior and to remind dean how much he's got to learn still, but they're spending the evening relaxing together and working out the hunt endorphins

dean fucked up and got himself really hurt? i think john's a lot more worried about him than he would be frustrated or angry because that's his firstborn baby and his life and wellbeing comes before john being right/chastizing him about his mistakes

dean fucked up bad but neither is hurt (creature got away/other people died)? i think john's coping by spending some time away from dean, going for drives, leaving him at the motel to run to the bar for the evening without a word, possibly even being like "i think you need to hunt something on your own, you're relying on me to save your ass too much" and sending dean off on some lead of his own

much to ponder here, im chewin on this

[marshmallowsqoosh]

[MWII | In That Instant]

Fandom: Modern Warfare II Title (AO3 link): In That Instant Rating: Teen (may go up to mature) CW: None yet; will eventually have canon-typical graphic violence Lesser Warnings: learning voices, retelling of canon, embellished canon, very brief Graves/Soap, kind of some Price/Gaz if you squint, eventual Ghost/Soap Summary: Ghost is used to working alone. He's going to learn—one way or another—that he needs to move past that ♥ Interpretation of Ghost and Soap's missions in MWII with behind the scene moments. Building up to Ghost/Soap as a couple. Still learning the voices for all the boyosInspiration taken from this tweet that initially encouraged me to learn how to write these boys ♥Don't have a beta so if you spot any odd spots/typos don't hesitate to let me know!

Extras: Status: [1 / ?] Word Count: 3.382

♥

[i. (mis)conduct]

It's a concentrated effort, for Price, not to slam the debriefing folders down on his desk any harder than he does.

He reckons, for Ghost, it's an equal effort not to throw his gear against the wall. It doesn't stop him from pacing, a few feet away, tense and still hostile, like a wounded animal, waiting for the opportunity to get its claws and teeth into its opposition for a final stand. Out the corner of his eye, he can see Gaz trying to pull Soap out of the room; but, the Scot simply looks between the three of them, clearly confused by what's gone wrong.

Which, by all technicalities… nothing. Nothing was wrong, nothing had gone wrong.

But, that certainly didn't mean things had gone right, either.

Price releases a long, slow breath through his nose, gesturing, "At ease. All of you. Pull up a seat—"

"All due respect, sir," The bite in the title tells Price exactly how this is going to go, Ghost's eyes narrowing on him as he refuses to comply. In fairness, Gaz and Soap stay standing, too. "Perfectly fine standin'. This won't take long."

"Unfortunately for both of us, I don't decide how long it takes and, frankly, neither do you. Now sit your ass down, Ghost."

Ghost very begrudgingly finally throws himself down in one of the chairs. It screeches, like nails down a chalk board, as the feet drag across the tile floor with the force. He kind of hears Gaz muttering an aside to Soap to sit down, too. They're much quieter and Price releases another slow breath through his nose to try calming down even a little bit.

"Let me first say that I'm grateful you're all in one piece. With that out of the way… Ghost, what the fuck were you thinking?" He points towards the other pair without looking at them, when he hears Soap start to protest, "Not your turn to talk, Sergeant."

"All due respect, I'm not sure what yer even chewin' us out fer!" Soap doesn't buckle under the glare that gets thrown his way. In any other situation, Price would be impressed. "Said so yerself! We all made it back in one piece—the entire team did! We're the only two in yer office, though. So it's somethin' one'a us did, and I can't right wrap me head 'round it bein' somethin' the Lieutenant did, so that should make it my turn to talk, shouldn't it?"

"I've got an entire separate arse chewing for you, Soap, don't you worry about that. But right now, Ghost has some explaining to do before I tear his spine out his damn arse!"

"I did what I had to, to finish this job, clean as possible!" Ghost doesn't miss a beat when he snaps back, on his feet again before Gaz can think to stop him; he doesn't give Price a chance to tell him to sit back down. "No casualties—ours or civilian. Heap o' hostiles, two targets for interrogation, as ordered!"

"I gave you very specific instructions—keep your team together and accounted for. Every single one of you is a well of intel for hostile forces. Just one of you getting taken is grounds for an entire can of fuckery being opened! So I ask again… what were you thinking?"

"You knew damn well how I operate when you decided to assign me to this task force." Ghost's voice levels out—cold, calculating, and absolute. "I could have—and should have—said no. I work best alone, not babysitting a bunch of fresh pick recruits."

He'd hoped that this was a good thing. Ghost finally choosing to socialise with a teammate that wasn't Price or Gaz and wasn't just for orders or details. He hoped maybe Soap would rub off on Ghost, even a little bit. Right now, even as he curses himself for being stupid enough to think Ghost—of all people, Ghost—would change so easily, he realises that Soap knows exactly why they were pulled from the team for a talking to.

"... Permission fer my side o'the story, Captain?" Soap's a bit calmer when he stands—calmer in demeanor, but clearly waiting for his turn to get snapped at from either of his commanding officers. He straightens up, arms folded behind his back. "I fell off on me own bad judgement. I decided not to wait fer evac with the others. I chose to push through and catch up. And, if I may, I made that last shot and takedown." He goes quiet for a stretch, takes a breath to steady himself and raises his head again, pointedly avoiding looking towards Ghost. "The lieutenant made the right call, tellin' us to hang back. I'm positive he could have handled the situation solo. … I chose to disagree and regardless of any expectation of conduct, the fact remains everyone on this escort was aware of their own value of information. And all of us are ready to take it to our graves, as necessary. There was already risk, just making sure all injured personnel were out of immediate danger, but Ghost finished the mission, regardless. … I stand by his choice and understand my fault in this."

He at least expects some kind of recognition from Ghost. Soap clearly doesn't, as his attention stays pointedly fixed on Price—well, a spot just past his shoulder—but Price expected at least some kind of acknowledgement. When it doesn't come, outside of the usual narrowed look, Price finally points back towards the door, "Gaz, take Soap in the hall, while I finish with Ghost."

"Sir."

Soap doesn't protest this time; just echoes the affirmative and follows at Gaz's heel. Price waits until the door's closed to pull a slow breath.

"Simon—"

"Don't say a damn word, John." He raises his eyes, just to find Ghost looking away. Frustrated. Pacing again. Looking for an outlet. "Fuckin' Hell, where did you find that one?"

"How long are you going to hug a crumbling cliff, Simon? How many times am I going to have to tell you that this is a team effort? That you do not need to keep doing this shit alone? I brought you on because I know how solid you are. I know I can trust you. But if I can't trust you with the rest of your team—"

"And what happens when I fuck up, John?" He almost wishes Ghost would raise his voice. The level tone, even as his shoulders and chest heave with forced deep, controlled breathing, he keeps his voice down and as level as he can to keep from being overheard in the hall. "What happens when they finally figure out how to trap a ghost? I have seen… too many people drop their guard. I've dropped my guard, convinced the person next to me had my back. I will do my absolute damnedest to keep them alive, Price, you know that. But I need to know they can fend for themselves. I need to know that if—one day, for whatever reason—I'm not there to check their six… they aren't going to end up six feet under."

"And pushin' away the one person in this entire building that can stand your arse is the answer?"

Ghost holds eye contact this time.

"If that's what it takes to finish the mission? Yes."

To that, all Price can do is shake his head. He already knows he's going to need to keep them separated… and part of him just wonders how long it's going to take Ghost to realise he's already developed a routine, just by letting Soap talk to him when others wouldn't.

  In the hall, Soap finally lets out the breath he'd been holding when he hears the office door click shut behind him and rolls his shoulders to try relieving even a little bit of the tension, "Christ in a bloody handbasket… walked right into that 'un, dinnit I?"

"We all could've handled it better," Gaz admits, rubbing at his eyes with an annoyed sigh. "Gonna need to learn quick—when Ghost is involved? You get out of the way. His or Price's, don't matter, that is a warzone you do not want any part in."

"Hm? Oh, nae, I know what I did wrong; Ghost was right, I… need to be better." Soap runs a hand back through his hair, disrupting the styling so the mohawk starts to fall out of it's holding and lay flat. "He's trustin' us to have his back. We can't keep up, why shouldn't he do things his way? Got the job done, dinnit? Tried and true. This team ain't there, yet. … But I can be. And I will be."

Gaz doesn't get a chance to nip the painstakingly toxic logic in the bud; the second he opens his mouth to do so, the office door opens. He and Soap both correct themselves to standing at attention—barely a moment before Price relieves both of them.

The most disturbing part is that neither Soap, nor Ghost, makes an effort to communicate. Ghost brushes by all of them, either already dismissed or not caring if he hasn't been, and Soap keeps his attention fixed on Price, clearly waiting for his turn to be torn into.

That moment is quickly topped, as Price shakes his head, slowly and dismisses Soap, as well. Gaz hangs back, watching after the retreating pair. "You need to address this, Price. B'fore it's more than just a pick up."

"I don't think there's anything I can do. … What did Soap say?"

"You're going to have two Ghosts running around if you don't figure out something. Don't know if that's a puppy lookin' fer approval or affection, but you best damn hope Ghost doesn't rub off on him worse than he already is." Price raises a brow and all Gaz can do is shake his head. "Soap… thinks he's not good enough to watch Ghost's back. Fix it, John. Or, God as my witness, you are going to have two Simon Rileys on your hands and not a strong enough chain to keep both in tow."

   [ii. confidence]

Soap was… concerned, to say the absolute least, when Price told him he'd be shadowing Graves. Shadowing Shadow Team, the Commander had laughed and Soap maybe got a little bit of a chuckle out of it, too. Nervous energy. Still on his toes, realising his own commanding officer saw him as a liability.

But, not Graves.

It's after the mission, passing drinks around, when Soap nearly inhales his own—down both pipes and nearly his nose—when the Commander gives him a solid thump on the back and laughs, "Y'know. I had my reservations about you."

Soap coughs a few more times, desperate to clear his airway and get his nasal cavity to stop burning. But he does hear the words and manages to find his voice, "Aye? Enough to try drownin' me, Commander?"

"Nah, if I wanted you dead, I wouldn't waste time drowning you. Unless you had something interesting to tell me, of course." Graves leans on the bar next to him, tilting his glass towards Soap's in lieu of a full toast, "When I heard they weren't sendin' Ghost, I was worried. But, Price says good things about you. Just about everyone does and I can see why."

Just about.

Soap looks down at his glass, still trying to muffle a few coughs as his body recovers from the unexpected liquid in places it didn't belong. "Reckon Ghost wasn't on that list o'compliments, was he?"

"Don't take it too personally. Closest I've heard to a compliment from that sonuvabitch was a half-assed gratitude for droppin' a building." Graves knocks his drink back in one go, slamming the glass down with a bit more force than necessary, before he's drumming his fingers on the bar top in a slow, precise manner, lips quirked upwards in one corner in a smirk that makes Soap's skin crawl and feel flush at the same time.

"Could definitely pick a worse role model. Ain't healthy, brother. Vyin' after attention from some'ne like that."

"... Like that, sir?" Soap raises a brow. He doesn't bother trying to deny the first part. He's pretty sure everyone knows he wants Ghost's approval more than anyone else's. At the very least, he wants the man to trust his judgement… or even just have confidence that Soap does know what he's doing.

"When word got 'round about 141… don't think anyone was really surprised—task groups pop up and they come and go like the latest trends. Useful until you ain't… but Ghost… he was a kicker for anyone that knew." Soap must look confused because Graves just pushes up from the bar, stretching his arms high above his head before he rolls his neck and shoulders a few times. "You know, you know. I gave up on that bastard years ago… but you… you could have a future with the Shadows."

If anyone comments on the flush on his face, when Graves tilts his head up for a closer look, he's going to blame it on the alcohol. "Good head on your shoulder, helluva shot and a quick learner. Just the right amount of bite against authority, when you need it. You ever get tired of having Price having you on a short leash or Ghost being… well, himself… I think we could find you a place with the Shadows, MacTavish." He doesn't have the mind to be offended when Graves musses his hair as he's walking away, "Send Price my regards and gratitude, Sergeant! Tell him we'd be more'n happy to have you on board again!"

Soap… does pass the word along. A bit sheepishly when he admits he'd been drinking during the exchange; but, mostly, he uses it as plausible deniability when asked if he had taken the offer seriously. Deniability to laugh it off and assure Price he's positive Graves wasn't being serious. Maybe because he can feel Ghost watching his back from the corner of the room; but, also because he does want to expand his arsenal. Training with Shadow Company seemed like a good way to do so… and, sure enough, by assuring Price he's not interested in transferring, it does let him train with the company every few months.

… And, unfortunately, also gives him an awful intoxication for letting Graves talk him into compromising positions that would get both of them in a world of trouble. Or… would get Soap in trouble, at least. He makes mention of it, one night, in the ungodly hours of the morning when he can't quite sleep and Graves just laughs next to him before dropping a pillow on his face.

"You worry too much, MacTavish. People don’t ask, so long as you get the job done, yeah? Important part is making sure mission ain't compromised."

Soap throws the pillow back at him, a little bit harder, and offers a cheeky grin at the indignant swear it earns him. They don't talk about it again; but, Soap still turns it over in his head. Same mindset as Ghost… just a different approach. Or, maybe it was more accurate to just call Graves approachable.

Still, it does leave a weird taste in the back of his mouth when he has to assure the man—again, just like every single time they've worked together—he isn't interested in officially transferring out of the 141.

   [iii. reunion]

When Soap heard he would be working with Ghost—for the first time since Price dragged the pair into his office—he's… a lot of things.

Anxious, excited, nauseated… and maybe a touch blindly optimistic.

"Let's get ourselves a win, yeah, Lt.?" His attention is quickly drawn to the rest of the team and he hurries to catch up with them, "Save ya a seat, sir…"

He knows it's nervous energy. He pretends not to hear Ghost continuing communications with Shepherd in that moment…

 It's a concentrated effort for Ghost not to groan the second he realises who The Sergeant is. The second before Shepherd confirms the name.

"Soap MacTavish."

Ghost grinds his teeth, tries to ignore the jolt on contact when Soap gives him a friendly bump on the chest as he's running off.

"Fucking Hell…"

He knew it was only a matter of time. He knew Price was keeping them separated—precaution as much as punishment, even if it was only Ghost viewing it as a punishment—and knew it would end eventually.

This was not where he wanted it to end—

"Ghost—you copy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any issues?"

So many. So many fucking issues. He knows Price is still waiting for him to buckle and admit he did miss having someone to socialise with. That he had made an unfortunate routine of talking to Soap twice a day, at the very least—more times was nice, but usually not an easy feat. Conflicting schedules, last minute briefings… things that made it difficult to catch too many moments together, without arranging for outside contact.

Contact Ghost hadn't been willing to commit to and isn't about to commit to. Price will probably separate them again after this; he just needs to shake it off and focus.

"Negative, sir. Out here."

They just need to get through this. And then things go back to normal.

When Razor and Alfa go down, Ghost would swear there's some higher power mocking him. Especially when the first words out of Soap's mouth are to secure the crash site.

Ghost nearly snaps at him in that moment. That he hasn't learned a damn thing since their last mission together—the mission needed to come first… and, this time, at least, he can redirect that energy.

"First, we clear for Hassan—that takes the heat off Alfa. Then we clear the crash site? Clear?"

He half expects an argument. His tone might be a little more aggressive than intended to try ensuring there isn't an argument. The relief is almost confusing when Soap doesn't so much as miss a beat; just adjusts his grip on his gun and confirms the order.

With each house cleared, Ghost can feel the tension clawing its way up his spine, even as he forces himself to stay calm and focused. They shouldn't stop for the crash. The should just push straight for the third house. The crash has to be a distraction—

But, the crash is also between them and the last building. If they pass it over, he knows he won't have Soap's cooperation—or, at the very least, they're going to end up in a far worse situation. It isn't ideal and, frankly, it's a waste of supplies. More dead AQ and all he can do is hope that isn't the only reward they get from this.

He spots the uniform over the back of the chair a mere second before Soap comments on it.

"Hassan's uniform… so he was here."

"Lost him when we secured the crash site." Ghost doesn't mean to say that. He hates the look he gets. The furrowed brow and the thin line his lips set in, disappointment barely concealing the hostility building in the stare.

"Are you sayin' we shouldn't have helped…?"

Still too green.

"Choices have consequences…" Choices Ghost made. Choices Ghost should have made better.

It's naïve to hope Hassan had simply fled to the warehouse. Perhaps to an armoured vehicle to attempt escaping in. Perhaps to make a final grand stand.

Oh so blissfully naïve.

Ghost only half notices Soap run up to the crates around the missile. Part of him wants to snap at the Scot to be careful; but his attention is quickly on Laswell's voice. Or… it should be—

"Tell me you have Hassan…"

He barely hears her. Soap calling his name—aggression diminished, disappointment creeping back into his tone— from the crates he's climbed up, pulls Ghost's attention upward.

"Take a look at this…"

The stamp is damning. Ghost feels something plummet in his gut.

"Ghost, do you have Hassan?"

Choices have consequences. He should have chosen better.

"Negative. We found a weapons cache. Hassan's got missiles… they're American."

They need to fix this. Fast.

[evangelic4l]

Cell Block Tango - Obey Me

“Pop,

Six,

Squish,

Uh Uh,

Cicero,

Satan,

And now, the six merry murderesses of the Devildom Jail, In their rendition of the Cell Block Tango.

Pop,

Six,

Squish,

Uh Uh,

Cicero,

Satan.

Pop, six, squish, uh-uh, Cicero, Satan

Pop, six, squish, uh-uh, Cicero, Satan

Pop, six, squish, uh-uh, Cicero, Satan.

He had it comin'

He had it comin'

He only had himself to blame

If you'd have been there

If you'd have seen it

I betcha you would have done the same!

Pop, six, squish, uh-uh, Cicero, Satan

Pop, six, squish, uh-uh, Cicero, Satan

You know how people have these little habits that get you down?

Like, Beel

Beel, he liked to chew gum

No, not chew, pop

So I came home this one day

And I'm really irritated

And I'm looking for a little bit o' sympathy

And there's Beel, lyin' on the couch, drinkin' a bottle of demonus and chewin'

No, not chewin'

Poppin'

So, I said to him, I said "You pop that gum one more time"

And he did

So I took the shotgun off the wall

And I fired two warning shots

Into his head

He had it comin'

He had it comin'

He only had himself to blame

If you'd have been there

If you'd have heard it

I betcha you would have done the same

I met Mammon from Devildom about two years ago

And he told me he was single

And we hit it off right away

So, we started living together

He'd go to work, he'd come home

I'd fix him a drink, we'd have dinner

And then I found out

"Single" he told me

Single, my ass

Not only was he married

Oh no, he had six wives

One of those Greedbags, you know?

So that night when he came home from work

I fixed him his drink as usual

You know, some guys just can't hold their arsenic

He had it comin' (pop, six, squish, uh-uh, Cicero, Satan)

He had it comin'

He took a flower (pop, six, squish, uh-uh, Cicero, Satan)

In its prime

And then he used it (pop)

And he abused it (six)

It was a murder (squish)

But not a crime

(Uh-uh, Cicero, Satan)

Carving up a chicken for dinner (uh-uh)

Minding my own business (Cicero)

In storms my husband Levi in a jealous rage (Satan)

"You been screwin' the milkman, " he says (pop)

He was crazy (six)

And he kept on screamin' (uh-uh)

"You been screwin' the milkman"

And then he ran into my knife

He ran into my knife ten times

If you'd have been there

If you'd have seen it

I betcha you would have done the same!

Mit kersek, en itt?

Azt mondjok, hogy a hires lakóm lefogta a ferjemet

En meg Lecsaptam a fejet

De nem igaz

En artatlan vagyok

Nem tudom

Mert mondja Uncle Solomon hogy en tettem

Probaltam

A rendorsegen megmayarazni de nem ertettek meg

Yeah, but did you do it?

Uh-uh, not guilty!

My sister, Veronica and I had this double act

And my husband, Asmo traveled round with us (he only had himself to blame)

Now, for the last number in our act (if you'd have been there)

We did these twenty acrobatic tricks in a row

One, two, three, four, five, splits, spread eagles (if you'd have been there)

Back flips, flip flops

One right after the other (if you'd have seen it)

So this one night before the show, we're down at the Hotel Cicero (I betcha)

The three of us, boozin' (you would have done the same)

Havin' a few laughs

And we ran out of ice

So I go out to get some (he had it comin')

I come back, open the door

And there's Veronica and Asmo (he had it comin')

Doing number seventeen (he took a flower)

The spread eagle

Well, I was in such a state of shock

I completely blacked out, I can't remember a thing

It wasn't until later

When I was washing the blood off my hands

I even knew they were dead

They had it comin' (they had it comin')

They had it comin' (they had it comin')

They had it comin' all along (they had it comin' all along)

I didn't do it (she didn't do it)

But if I'd done it (but if she'd done it)

How could you tell me that I was wrong?

They had it comin' (they had it comin')

They had it comin' (they had it comin')

They had it comin' all along (they took a flower in its prime)

I didn't do it (and then they used it)

But if I'd done it

How could you tell me that I was wrong?

I loved my Satan

More than I can possibly say (he had it comin')

He was a real artistic guy

Sensitive, a painter

But he was always trying to find himself (he only had himself to blame)

He'd go out every night looking for himself

And on the way

He found Ruth (if you'd have been there)

Gladys

Rosemary and Irving (if you'd have seen it)

I guess you could say we broke up

Because of artistic differences (I betcha you would have done the same)

He saw himself as alive

And I saw him dead

The dirty bum, bum, bum, bum, bum

The dirty bum, bum, bum, bum, bum

They had it comin' (they had it comin')

They had it comin' (they had it comin')

They had it comin' all along (they had it comin' all along)

'Cause if they used us ('cause if they used us)

And they abused us (and they abused us)

How could you tell us that we were wrong?

He had it comin' (he had it comin')

He had it comin' (he had it comin')

He only had himself to blame (he only had himself to blame)

If you'd have been there (if you'd have been there)

If you'd have seen it (if you'd have seen it)

I betcha you would have done the same

You pop that gum one more time!

Single my ass

Ten times!

Miert csukott Uncle Solomon bortonbe

Number seventeen, the spread eagle

Artistic differences

Pop

Six

Squish

Uh-uh

Cicero

Satan.”

[x-heesy]

Gif mood board 🏄‍♀️

Uh, Terror Reid 🤌🏾

Hey yo

Stare into my fucking eyes and you will see

How your life could be before you met me

Don't wait, G, I meant you, and your little sister too

I broke in your house and blew chunks in the room

Now look at that, I'm chillin' in your mama's bubble bath

Relaxin', chewin' on a shitty used napkin

I must've mistook it for your grandma's tits

She's into zippers and whips, I'm talkin' freaky deaky shit, bitch

Tourture you with gutter tubes and throw you out like rubbish

Tie up all your limbs and then control you like a puppet

The bitches love it, putting cocaine in a bucket

Serve it to the pigs and watch 'em cause a bunch of ruckus

(Oh, it's like that?)

Well kiss my mother fucking ass crack, bitch

And tell your dad I want my Adderall back, bitch

I'll play you like monopoly, destroy your property

I got a pocket full of pills, so please prepare properly

Because I am the one who is next up

Hit you with the uppercut, slam dunkin' in ya chick's guts

T, E double R, O to the R

Speedin' down ya block in a stolen cop car

Because I am the one who is next up

Hit you with the BMX X-Up

You better pucker up and kiss my gluteus

I'm not that new to this

Terror taking over, coming straight out the mothafuckin' looney bin

I got the spastic tactics and unique techniques

I'm Godzilla in the streets, and King Kong in the sheets

Take a week just to recover

I slice the booty cheeks like butter, then I nut under ya covers

I used to fuck the pussy during math class

Now I fuck the pussy or the tushy while I'm driving real fast

R-E-I-D, he got the rare disease

And grabbin' a gun that shoots mothafuckin' laser beams

You know, anything is possible with these secret unlockables

Unstoppable, gettin' head from Kim Possible

And Ron's in the back, with his naked mole rat

Give him a hit of acid, and a DVD of Rugrats

What's the stich?

Are ya hearin' this shit?

That I'm spillin' out my lips as I'm pullin' on some Whippets

Just sit back, relax, and pay attention

The masked maniac is back

And stole ya grandfather's whole pension

Because I am the one who is next up

Hit you with the uppercut, slam dunkin' in ya chick's guts

T, E double R, O to the R

Speedin' down ya block in a stolen cop car

Because I am the one who is next up

Hit you with the BMX X-Up

You better pucker up and kiss my gluteus

I'm not that new to this

Terror taking over, coming straight out the mothafuckin' looney bin

It's Terror Reid, mothafucker

(R-E-I-D)

Comin' out the rubble

(The illist)

He causin' trouble

Someone grab a fuckin' muzzle

(Vodka bitch)

(You don't know shit)

[loftylockjaw]

[pm] [ user feels simultaneously proud and confused ] I'm not [...] apologizing. Am I? I just don't think I should [......] alienate myself more than I already have by eating my friend's friends. [.......] Yeah. Kinda. I got his ass out of a tight spot, but he caught me chewin' on aforementioned girl and got shitty about it. She had it comin'.

[pm] So? Sounds pretty tame considering what you are, what you could do. I can't imagine spending every day being apologetic for being better than what I am. Oh, you have a special hunter fan? [user wonders about mentioning Vishal, decides against it for now]

[k-marzolf]

—blackberry;

content warnings; slightly old school reader who doesn’t use social media, and therefore isn’t hip or understanding slang. Bffs, card sharp reader, piercing, references to DD/LG (but not actually practiced by anyone, just a question in passing), fluff, alcohol consumption, jealousy, booty call text but reader doesn’t realize it.

pairings; Frank Castle/Karen Page, Billy Russo/ Fem Reader.

word count; 658.

tagging; @terry2227 @kayhi808 @e-dubbc11 @bookloverfilmoholic @cant-help-simping @milea @thejanecampaign @aoi-targaryen @tortilla-chips-and-allioli @oops89 @firequeensposts @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @firexfate @rosaleenablack @idaofinfinity @danzer8705 @snowkestrel @vaguekayla @zz-kennedy @fictional-hooman

“What’s your body count?” giggled Karen looking at you while she slurped her wine, as you looked at your cards, your glasses slipping down your nose, your braids falling over your shoulders in the glow of the dining room.

You pulled your piercing between your teeth, rolling it, “I play a lotta Call of Duty so about a hundred or more.” You laid your cards down, seriously.

The room went silent as your leg jostled Billy’s, and his hand came down, calming it and looking amused.

You looked up, “What? Well, if you want an exact number, maybe three hundred.”

Frank had a funny smile on his face, as they all looked down at your cards you’d laid out as you pulled out your blackberry texting on it.

Billy’s eyes slid over, heart clenching. Who the fuck were you texting? A feeling heavy like lead or a stone sat in his gut as he focused on your hand.

“Jesus,” Billy laughed, “She shot the goddamn moon.” He watched you play with your lip piercing, and his long fingers reached over, pulling your piercing, your lip soft and warm. “It’s gonna fall off if you keep chewin’, Call of Duty girl.” He husked.

You smiled. “I’ll just sew it back on, like Sally the Ragdoll.” You said wiggling your leg again, bumping his knee playfully, a smile tugged at your lips, eyelashes fanning across your cheekbones.

It had Billy’s heart fluttering, at your overbite, patches of psoriasis on your arms that you kept scratching, thinning hair to the point your braids were very small. An uneven smile, and frumpy clothes that hide your body.

Things he used to see as flaws, he now saw as beautiful reminders of you.

Frank scoffed, “Alright you two, if you’re done flirtin’, I’m ready for some cheesecake.” He said, setting his cards down and standing up as you wrote the scores down. You were winning.

Karen smirked, “You and Billy and your sweet tooth.” She said, smacking his ass, making him scoff. “Want some Billy?” She asked.

“Nah, maybe later.” He was watching you intently, as he sipped his beer.

Frank laughed, “Bill’s got somethin’ sweet already.”

You asked, obliviously; “What does DD/LG mean?” You looked confused, looking up from a text on your phone. Karen almost cut her finger off getting a slice of cheesecake.

Billy pulled on your ear like you were being reprimanded. “Who’s texting you that, huh?” He said, voice rough and warm. It made you feel like a fly stuck in the honey, warmth pooling in your gut that had you breathless.

“A guy from the library. He wanted to meet at a dungeon. Odd, mister medieval.” You said wide eyed, leaning closer to Billy instinctively, the smell of musk soothing you. He smelled better than David. Billy smelled like home.

Billy drank his beer silently as he dropped your ear, souring in his stomach as he looked away from you.

You typed away before setting your pink blackberry down. A phone he teased you for using. It was like a stone tablet. “You’re stuck in ancient times. Might as well write in hieroglyphics.” His lips had brushed your hairline, and you forgot about David.

“What did you tell him?” Karen asked as her and Frank dug into cheesecake, and you nibbled on yours.

“That I only want someone that I can beat at Mario Kart. Like Billy.” You said casually, digging into your cheesecake.

Billy huffed, swiping a piece off your plate. “I’m up for a rematch anytime, Princess Peach.” He smirked, putting his fingers in his mouth, butterflies swarming in his stomach.

You pushed your glasses up, smiling.

Frank and Karen shared a look as you bonked him on the head with the notebook used to keep score, and he retaliated by pulling your braid.

“You’re incorrigible, Brooklyn.” You said, shoving more cheesecake in your mouth.

He stole another piece, dodging the notebook, and laughing.