#machine gun kelly fanfi

[cockpunchlore]

ⓒⓞⓜⓟⓛⓘⓒⓐⓣⓔⓓ

ps.  loosely based off the lyrics to my ♥ ex's best friend ♥ a little out of context [ᴏʙᴠɪᴏᴜsʟʏ]

Synopsis:

The silence was deafening inside Matthew’s car as it sped through the neon blaze of the New York starscape.

He had agreed to drive Colson back from the studio. Well, he had offered, because Colson’s license was suspended, and he knew that. aside from that, what else was there to do at 2 am. He hadn’t slept in days and he doubted that tonight it would go any differently but he knew that just about anything would’ve been better than having to go back home.

Matthew’s eyes stayed fixed on the steady streams of red and yellow traffic. Though as he drove he became acutely aware of Colson’s presence in the passenger side of his black range rover, ears tuned in at the slightest sounds from the man next to him. The low rustlings of leather on fabric as Colson readjusted in his seat, the clink of metal when he ran ringed fingers through his hair, and the faintest sigh he made whenever he exhaled his clouds of smoke.

He wondered if Colson knew that he did that. if he also felt the shift in the air as it grew hot with rising tension.

Most of all he wondered whether he was aware of the effect he still had on the younger man but just never spoke of it.

As he flicked out the last of his cigarette Colson’s eyes stayed glued to the side window. More particularly the reflection it showed of the boy that sat across him. The night distorting Matthew into a thousand pieces and then back together again as the lights changed all shades of neon.

He looked so tempting with those dented eyes. They never left their gaze from the windshield but he wondered what he was really thinking about.

If he was thinking about him.

Did he still mean the words he said two summers ago. Did he still want nothing to do with Colson. Did their past still revolve around him the same way it haunted him. he wondered if he had become invisible to Matthews's eyes.

If too much time had passed.

Sure, they had hung out a few odd instances within those times but never alone. Even tonight, in the studio, there was always someone else around. 

one thing is for certain, that going home was the last thing on his mind.

He wanted to say sorry. To apologise for the way he let things end and explain to him the real reason everything felt so complicated back then. To tell him he still felt the same way he did back then and wanted nothing more than to reach over the stirring wheel and taste him right there.

These words were much harder to say out loud than to Matthew’s reflection, mouthed unheard.

They had got off the highway when Matthew briefly broke the silence. He had mumbled something about needing to put on google maps after fiddling for his phone before finally letting his eyes drift down from the road.

They were minutes away from Colson’s hotel and Matthew had its address memorised.

But he typed it in.

The quiet was excruciating but he would still rather that than nothing at all.

He wished he could play pretend just a little while longer, pretend the damage hadn’t already been done and we didn’t go our separate ways. He wished he had said nothing at all back then. Which was what surprised even himself once he uttered his next words.

“is it wrong if I come up with you?”

They cut right through the quiet, interrupting Colson’s unheard apologies.

He hadn’t noticed till now that the car had come to a stop and stood parked across the road from the hotel he was staying at. The sound of tires against the road was replaced with the soft hum of the breeze hitting leaves that bought in the cold night air through his window, still left open.

Matthew let his eyes meet Colson’s.

“yes” he had said “please come”

[idhrenniel]

why are you here.

➴ Summary: based on mgk’s song “why are you here”, he and the reader end up in the same club after lying to one another, and choose to let the coke speak for themselves.

➴ Pairing: Colson Baker / fem!reader (3rd POV).

➴ Warnings: Angst, 18+: sex and drug use (and abuse).

➴ Wordcount: 2K

➴ Tagged: @angelaiswriting

➴ Author Note: Angie and I dared each other to write a fic based on this song. I like how it came out! Hope you enjoy it.

Colson is used to this pace, this world. It’s where he belongs. For her, she needs an extra help. A bit of stardust to let go and not feel out of place when she feels the blast of music running through her veins and she sits in the laps of men she doesn’t even know for the night. Waiting until morning, when shame creeps up through her spine and shakes her like an infant a doll. It is no use to make up excuses if she can’t even remember what she’s excusing to begin with.

John─Jake, Jordan, whatever his fucking name is─squeezes her side, smiling up at her. Snow, she observes him for a moment, taking him in: tall, even though he’s sitting their height difference is obvious, dark hair and skin so pale she is tempted to call him Dracula. J─at least she’s sure his name starts with a J─is a friend of Colson she had never met before, but hardly as interesting or entertaining as the ones she has, or Colson himself. J is a nice dude, used to a different environment, and she is almost sure it’s the first time in his life he’s done coke.

She almost feels bad for using him. Smiling, she lowers her head until her lips are pressed against his ear and she leaves a soft kiss. As she’s to speak, the words get caught in her throat. Her gaze following someone behind J, walking into the club with a redhead at his side and a blunt hanging from his lips. It’s almost comical how, as if sensing her, he turns his head in her direction. She can see the colour leaving his face, his jaw clenching as the blunt finds home between his fingers and he presses his lips together.

Colson, still grabbing the redhead's side, begins walking towards the lounge she and J are, not once breaking contact with Snow. Though she sees the colour returning to him, the fire that is now starting on his eyes, she feels no shame in her lies as he probably doesn’t on his.

She was supposed to be alone, he was supposed to be at home. Yet here both of them are, not a single soul on the club knowing what’s about to go down.

“Jordan!” Colson’s voice is heard over the music, and Jordan─see? She knew it began with a J─looks up at him, laughing. He stretches his hand, keeping his legs still to balance Snow. Colson shakes it and proceeds to sit on the couch in front of them. His date right on him, even though he isn’t even looking in her direction. Colson keeps on looking at Snow.

Jordan, still with her on his lap (and he seems in no rush to get her to move), lights up a blunt. He nods at Colson, exhaling the smoke with ease. “It’s good to see you man. What’s new?”

Snow becomes bored ten minutes into the generic conversation of two friends who haven’t seen each other in a while but have no actual interest in changing it. So she does what she does best: piss Colson off. Her hands grab Jordan’s hair and shirt and she takes her sweet time murmuring in his ear and making him chuckle. Her lips press against his skin more often than not and from the corner of her eye she can see Colson tensing up.

It’s not wrong to have a little revenge on him, is it? She’s right to be pissed. Yes, she lied as well but, what else was she supposed to do? Their relationship─if she can even call it that─is a rollercoaster of highs and lows, of fighting and laughing, their screaming sometimes mixing in the night and not even themselves can tell if it’s a fight or sex, or both. She wanted a night to herself, to be with someone she doesn’t want to murder and hold at the same time. A night of hectic peace that surrounds her in darkness.

She sighs, defeated. Colson wants the same. It’s becoming too much for them to handle. Yet, it is not in her nature to give up and, given how he follows her movements, neither it’s in his.

“You men are boring,” she speaks over the music, getting up from Jordan’s lap and offering Colson’s date her hand, “let’s dance.”

Eve (Colson’t date) is nicer than she expected her to be when she first saw her. A New Yorker having the time of her life in LA, she moves like the club it’s her natural habitat. Snow has a hard time following, her brain wanting to shut off due the alcohol she had been taking, but as Eve grabs her hips and brings her closer, her hands going down to Snow’s ass, she lets herself go again. She wraps her arms around Eve’s shoulders and follows her movements, turning them around so that she can look at Colson and Jordan, looking at them like hawkes a rabbit. A voice in the back of her mind is telling her to stop, but she can’t. She doesn’t want to. This is the life that’s left for her after all, whether she likes it or not...whether she wishes to not spend it alone or not. She better make the most out of it before it ends.

So she dances: twirls, twerks, jumps, laughs. She has the time of her life while the person she loves sits in a couch observing her, right next to her date. At some point she’s sure she and Eve have made out as well. It’s not long until she needs a refill.

She winks at Eve and, without stopping to tell either Colson or Jordan that she’s leaving, she walks over to the bathroom she knows it’s free─since she’s the only person to have a key─.

The music begins to fade, her thoughts are louder with each step she takes. She has to grab her head and pull on her hair with light force to recover; a loud ring on her right ear makes her want to scream. She sighs. It’s like this all the time: fun to be high until the drugs are wearing off and her brain wants to punish her as much as possible. She knows she deserves it, she’s not going to fight it. Just a bit more to make it through the night, that’s all she needs.

She pushes the door open, walking inside. As she’s going to close it, a hand stops her from doing so. Startled, at first, she pushes harder, until she hears his voice.

“It’s me.”

No. She should tell him no, close the door, do her own business and go back to dancing. It’s the right thing to do, the sane thing to do. But, which one of them is sane? Neither. That might be the fucking thing about them: the craziness, the jealousy, the toxicity that threatens to kill them every day but that both of them hold onto. It’s insane and they love it, and they can’t have enough of it.

So what does she do? She opens the door, lets him in. Watches as he closes the door and turns the lock on. Last thing she sees from the outside is the digital clock in the wall: 12:05.

Colson turns to face her, takes one, two, three steps forward, forcing her backwards until she hits the sink. She feels his hands grabbing the back of her thighs. He lifts her without issue─which, considering his physique it’s surprising─and sits her on the sink. She wraps her legs around his waist, he gets closer. This moment tastes like heaven and hell on Earth and she almost swears she could get high off it alone.

She grabs his chin and he presses their foreheads together, inhaling. His lips are so close she can’t help herself and runs her thumb along them, trembling when Colson catches it on his mouth and sucks. Her womanhood pulsates, sending pleads all throughout her.

“I told him we’re old friends,” Colson whispers, kissing her earlobe.

She laughs, tilting her head to the side. She replies: “We can never be friends.”

Her next words die in her throat, with Colson sucking and biting her neck and his free hand between her legs, she has trouble forming a word, let alone a sentence. Colson understands her like no one has before: he knows where to touch her, when to touch her, if it’s too much or not enough, she never has to tell him (except if he wants her to beg). He knows her limits and she knows his, and this connection is something she needs to live. She needs it─him.

And she needs fucking coke. Right fucking now.

She grabs Colson’s hand from between her legs, “wait, let’s have some first.” And although she can see him swallowing hard, clenching his jaw and the forceful nod that he lets out and is all but convincing, she doesn’t stop.

This thing: snow, coke, Tokyo, flour, it has had so many names she can’t remember them all, it’s fucking her up, but so is this world and she isn’t going to give it up.

Colson takes the bag from his back-pocket. He doesn’t move from between her legs; as he opens it, he looks at her with a worried expression that makes her heart sink.

“It’s the last time.” He’s serious this time. “You don’t need this shit.”

She scoffs, moving to take the bag and stopping dead in her tracks when Colson puts his arm up and the bag out of reach. She looks at him, upset for a second and then...with an unreadable expression that seems to take a toll on him. “Neither do you. Yet here we are.”

“So…” he leans in until his mouth is against her, but he doesn’t kiss her, he goes on: “this is the last time we do this fucking shit, ‘right?”

Nodding, she seals a lie with a kiss. Colson, who knows this isn’t the last time the two are going to find themselves in this situation (and, knowing them, together), opens the bag and dips in, taking a small amount on his finger. He takes it first, with her caressing his hair as he does and kissing his face. He feels the rush less than a second after and her touches become more and more. He repeats his previous acts, this time placing his finger under her nose. He observes as she inhales it, watches as her pupils dilate and the rush kicks in. He closes the bag and discards it somewhere in the ground.

She’s the one to lean in this time, her kiss is harsh and desperate and he wraps his arms around her in an attempt to feel her even more. His hands find trouble getting rid of her corset and she laughs, but he manages to do it. As it falls to the ground, she moves and helps him with his shirt. Then, her jeans, and his, their underwear, and Colson finds himself between her legs: his cock touching her wetness and begging to go in. He’s kissing her neck but she keeps on grabbing his face and forcing her to look at him.

Colson gives her a quick kiss, chuckling when she follows his mouth. He takes a step back, helps her get down the sink and turn around, bending her. There’s confusion in her face for half a second, until he’s back against her and this time he does enter her pussy. She lets out a loud, long moan and grabs the sink until her knuckles turn white.

She feels his fingers tangle in her hair, a soft tug and she’s staring at him through the mirror. He thrusts into her at changing pace, but not once dares to break eye contact. When he goes slow, she wants to cry and scream at him. Yet, when he goes faster, she wants him to slow down and let them savour this moment. He leans in, kissing her neck. She’s tempted to turn her head and kiss him but that’ll anger him.

No, she tells herself, he wants to see her; her tears, her moans, and the ugly face she makes when she cums.

It’s all right for it to happen, so long as it’s the last time.