#you opened my eyes to bearded neil...

[lovebillyhargrove]

Billy opens his eyes in September 1985, in Hawkins hospital, and he's not happy to be alive. If you asked him, he would've preferred to stay dead or — unfortunately he never was dead — in a coma. Lying in bed like a withering away vegetable, blissfully unaware of his own existence or non-existence.

Gods have not been that merciful. Hargrove wakes up and doesn't even know his own body anymore. He needs to learn everything anew, starting with walking, or eating usual food — like an 18-year-old baby, for fuck's sake.

He's also bitter at everyone — yeah, for not fucking telling him !!

Except for Neil. Neil gets another kind of bitterness — quieter, darker, drowned in neverending pain.

Max gets a

"Fuck off, Maxine and shut the damn door." Said to the wall.

The gang of monster-hunters aren't even allowed to take a peek at her angry (and "that dude is so badass") brother.

Owens gets a

"Just leave me alone, Doc. I'm clean, and don't give a fuck about conquering the world anymore. Wasn't able to take a piss without a catheter until recently. I've got problems of a different level to deal with now."

When Steve opens the door to Billy's room, he actually gets talked to.

"Billy? .. Can I come in? .. Hey .. Hi."

Hargrove doesn't look like himself. He's too skinny, un-tanned, has some kind of a scanty beard, even longer hair, and looks like Jesus Christ.

Steve still can't believe it's happening. To come back to life after what Billy's been through? Impossible.

Maybe they put a dummy in the hospital bed.

The dummy opens its eyes, reluctantly turns its head towards Harrington, who is still hovering over the threshold, and doesn't say a word.

"How ..?" Steve's clearing his throat, cause sounds suddenly get stuck in it. "How are you .. feeling?"

The mannequin, who is probably Billy after all, blinks sadly and curls his lips

"Awesome, amigo."

Whew, damn, he's talking.

"Does .. does anything hurt?"

The guy looks at him like he's the dumbest idiot

"My ass hurts. I've been lying here for so long, I don't even know anymore if I have one or not."

Harrington wants to giggle, but that would sound extremely impolite.

He bites his lower lip.

"You look good."

Billy grins maliciously, and Steve is still shifting from foot to foot

"You're.." What's wrong with him?

"Listen, you're.."

"Get out."

"Uhm .. what?"

"You think you're so .. nice? Paying a visit to a poor sick guy? Why? To be a good fucking person? Get the fuck out of here."

"A good .. what?!" Steve tries to move closer to the bed but .. that's definitely stupid. He just feels like a ridiculous scarecrow in the field, with his ears burning

"That's not .. Hargrove. I actually .."

"Fuck you. I don't need you to come here."

"Okay, just .."

"Get lost!" Billy raises his voice

"Can I .."

"NURSE !!"

God.

"Alright! Get better!"

Asshole. Steve slams the door.

***

Three days later, he again tries to visit the boy who is definitely a nobody to him, and Billy again refuses to see him.

You know what, this is just too much ..! Silly games in the sandbox.

As if they weren't two reasonable adults. As if Steve hadn't watched Hargrove die horrifically, and as if he hadn't accompanied him to the hospital in the ambulance that night. Well, he himself was pretty beaten up, and needed a ride to the hospital, so it was kinda .. on the way, but still.

He sort of cared.

Was worried sick, to be honest.

And, listen, Steve generally doesn't take rejection well when he cares about something. Someone.

He's also sure of one thing — water wears the stone away.

So Steve shows up at the hospital again. Just to remind Billy of his existence, hang around the hallway, and when the door opens, give him a deliberately friendly smile and a wave of his hand.

Maybe he's here not to see Hargrove at all, he's got other stuff to do. Maybe he was just passing room number eight by accident.

Harrington is amused at Billy's face every time the guy catches a glimpse of Steve in his vicinity.

The patient either switches on complete indifference and sits there with a pompous ass face, as if they don't even know each other, or hisses like a pissed off cat.

Or he conspiratorially whispers something to the nurse when Harrington peers through the half-closed door — most likely asking her not to let Steve into the room under any circumstances.

But the former king didn't fall off the banana truck either. He has his own ways of influencing others — and begs nurse Miller, who seems to him more compassionate than nurse Fieldstone, to pass Hargrove a note

Dude, talk to me.

Steve turns to Max with a request — to collect some tapes from her brother's room, Metallica, Scorpions, Ratt, Mötley Crüe and his other favorite bands,

And asks Mrs. Miller to give them to the moody patient along with an expensive new Sony cassette player, which Harrington bought yesterday on Main Street.

The next day the player is waiting for Steve at the reception — Billy refused to accept the gift, but Harrington does not give in.

"Could you please put it in the drawer of the bedside table, preferably when he is asleep?"

The plan seems to have worked, at least the player is no longer returned. The guy must be climbing walls from hospital boredom.

One day Harrington gets lucky — he's going up to the second floor and bumps into Hargrove, who is being wheeled somewhere in a chair

"Oh, hi! Hello, Mrs. Miller!"

The nurse nods to him. Billy will not make a scene in front of all people, so he reluctantly grits out through his teeth

"Hi."

"How are you?"

"Great."

Steve notices Billy's cheeks turning pink, and the boy is hiding his eyes — he's obviously not very happy that they met like that, when he is in such a helpless state, for Hargrove has always been the machiest macho, hated any manifestation of weakness. And here he is — in a wheelchair.

"Where are you going?"

The guy's patience snaps loose

"Fuck off, will you?"

Well, let's not tempt the fate too hard.

"Have a nice day, Billy!" Steve is impeccably polite, unlike the frowning patient. However, was that not a whole conversation?

Harrington definitely calls it progress.

..

One wonderful autumn day, Steve decides to take an ultimate risk. He is in great mood, and he wants to share it.

Harrington swerves through the streets, listening to the radio while driving, a soft smile playing on his lips. On the way to the hospital, he stops at the "Hawkins Bloom" flower shop and buys a bouquet. Whether it's chrysanthemums or dahlias, he doesn't know.

"What kind of flowers does your girlfriend prefer? Here's a beautiful autumn combination .."

"That's not for a girlfriend. It's uh .. for a friend .. he's in hospital? Something more modest, perhaps? But tasteful. Not cheap."

He feels like he's making excuses

Why the hell ..?

Jesus.

Billy definitely won't like this idea, but Steve's gonna do it anyways.

Cause he feels like it. That's valid enough.

So Steve buys the flowers and brings them to the room. He enters brazenly, without asking permission, puts them on the nightstand and moves it away from the bed — so that Billy cannot reach the bouquet and throw it at the visitor.

Oh, and let Hargrove puff, huff and even chuckle stupidly a couple of times as much as he wants — nothing escapes Steve's attentive eyes — blushing and demanding

"Take away these ugly fucking twigs! Are you out of your fucking mind, Harrington?"

Also, threatening him with physical violence

"I would so whip your ass with it, honestly."

Now that's an interesting offer, now we're talking

Harrington only winks at him, smiles

"Get well, okay?"

And rushes out of the room.

..

Like hardest ice under the persistent heat of the bright spring sun, Hargrove has no choice but to start thawing off, little by little.

One day, Steve arrives at the hospital during reception hours, pokes his head into room number eight

"So how are you? Maybe we should talk?"

Hargrove defiantly rolls his eyes and sighs as though he's so hopelessly tired

"You're such a fucking pain in the ass."

Steve shrugs.

"We are broken up anyway, even though we weren't even together for real, Harrington. Never. For the record. So don't get too carried away."

Billy keeps on grumbling

"You think you brought flowers, gifts, notes, so what? I'm not your chick, for fuck's sake!"

"Well, can we be friends?"

"Nah."

That's fine. He'll come around.

Oh, and did Steve forget to mention they did hook up before all the Mindflayer business went down? Must've slipped his mind in all the commotion.

[lagncx]

Lord HEISEINBERG head canon

Neil newbon bless him and the amazing work he’s done. Says he leaves his characters open for us to make head canons well here’s mine!

——-

So like the little simp I am I go and get karls bonus figure and I also get the mutated one cause I think it’s cool. I’m over here like mmmm he’s so sexy “oh he’s so hawt” he listens to asmr with people hitting frequency metal bowls >///<

But nothing could take me from the reality that his mutation form (I would still impregnate him idc) is huge and hideous (nuh uh) and he literally has a dislocated jaw and a wire mustache that’s a crazy rebellion weapon but anyways! Rip to the metal army btw when we run from strum and fall in that trash chute I feel in my heart and my belly! He sleeps there In mutated form and if you were his significant other he’d probably be like “I uh- made this room for you” and for weeks you’d wake up with him gone late at night but you were just cuddling so you go looking and strum the lil guy just kinda stomps towards the chute and waves his little nubs down there cause you ordered to know where your iron giant was and there he was in…all…ALL his glory snoring and you weren’t sure if this was moldy metal or a being but then you saw the face and the mustache/beard(?) gave it away and you kissed strum’s engine hopping down and falling on luckily a flat board making him shake and the sound of metal groaning as he got up and his head snaked it’s way over to look at you your face was looking at him like

So he thought you were disgusted and I know he can use his words but imma say he can’t and can only groan so he kinda just hides away cause in my mind he can’t change back so quickly but poor baby was showing his true self this monster he didn’t even CHOOSE TO BE!!! FUCKING MIRANDA HURTING MH FUCKING BABY HIM AND SALVATORE AND ALCINA AND DONNA FUCKING DONNA THAT BITCH! AND ETHAN! (Sorry.) so you kinda just climb over this hazard space cutting yourself a few times but you’re no bitch and your right next to his face (I’m literally looking at his form as we speak on my tv) and you hesitantly give it a small kiss and for you it’s like a weird gooey taste but for Karl he tastes love! Woo! You’re not afraid of him !!! And for him that meant so much he knew he’d marry you, give you kids. HAVE YOUR KIDS anything! Open a jar of pickles…have you open the jar of pickles. Both of you not being able to so you both decide to just break it and eat pickles picking off any small shards of glass and kiss after with hot pickle breath. But this damn hazard place was freezing so you kinda looked around shaking and your face was like

So Karl kinda has this fuckass engine that heats him up so you kinda scoot closer that nasty ass goo (if you look closely at the figure the cadou…cado…fuck it. It’s moving. So after like an hour of silence and many questions you stick your hand in his separated jaw and for some fucking reason there’s a fuck ass spinning blades thing like a blender and you scream cause you get knicked but he kinda shakes in a way that he’s laughing. And you roll your eyes. Did you sleep down there? HE HE HELL NAH! But you didn’t like sleeping alone so you did cause you brought the mattress down (by yourself! Ducking soldats only got up for threats they kinda just watch you struggle.) and you laid on that wack mattress with a tiny blanket and you forgot the fucking pillow but it ok cause Karl kept breathing on you so that engine output had to come out somewhere SO YEA HES A HEATER TOO! erm…this is so silly and stupid. Karl when you like his form (you never said you liked it but hey you don’t hate it):

A song that fits this….hm. Oh yea swv use your heart

-Use your heart, and not your EYES- you gotta use your heart to love this man I mean his human form looks a little dirty but he is truly beautiful. In mutation and out

[pod-together]

Pod-Together Day 4 Reveals 2023

something like a prayer [text, audio] (The Magnus Archives (Podcast)) written by Lua, performed by semperfiona Summary: It’s a never-ending prayer: his heart belongs to her. . . . It’s a never-ending prayer: his heart belongs to him.

A Lesson in Binary (Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types) written by cac0daemonia, performed by Flowerparrish

Angelic Rage Generates Humdingers (ARGH) (Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)) written by Sodium_Azide, performed by Djapchan and Sodium_Azide Summary: Their bosses have less than no idea about the best way to actually get things done, so this cooperation with The Enemy is important in a couple of ways. Face-to-face conversations are easy, but few and far between. The humans have invented plenty of ways to communicate long distance-it will probably be fine. In which Crowley's handwriting is the true enemy, and Aziraphale somehow invents the Twitter thread via actual birds.

These Are the Words You’re Looking For [text, audio] (The Mandalorian (TV)) written by bluegeekEM, performed by blackglass Summary: The droidsmiths were onto something when they created the IG-11 mecha, so Din turns to them and Greef for help once again. (And again. And again...)

A Nightmare within a Dream (Hannibal (TV)) written by poppetawoppet, performed by NotBatman52 Summary: A Princess Bride fusion, as every fandom deserves at least one.

Illness of the Heart (The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien) created by Sivan325, PolynomialPandemic, and Juulna Summary: Gandalf could hear a very distinct coughing sound and when he stepped inside the room, there were green leaves everywhere. He stepped closer to examine the prince, and it was then that he noticed a symbol, inked over the prince's heart; a sword, a bow, and an axe. The elf prince looked paler than Gandalf had ever seen him.

The Great Globe Itself Job (Leverage) written by shadowsong26, performed by Shakespeare_stole_my_url and Wereflamingo Summary: So this is the Leverage team, going about their business--in the style of William Shakespeare.

The Art of Not Letting Go (Ted Lasso (TV)) written by rockinhamburger, performed by klb Summary:Beard takes a deep breath and gives in to the impulse he’s been restraining for weeks: “But with your permission, I'd love to run off this plane and into her arms.”

Ted’s eyes widen now, and Beard watches anxiously for hints of how he’s taking this. Ted leans back in his seat and closes his eyes for a few moments, like he’s doing some internal reflection. Then he opens his eyes again, looks at Beard, and says, soft and quiet, “No.”

No. The no hangs in suspension as Beard struggles to make sense of it, that’s how sure he was Ted would say yes. He’s too surprised to speak. He must be taking too long because Ted shifts forward, expression conflicted. “Now, obviously you got free will, Beard. I’m not about to tell you what to do. You’re free to make whatever choice you want, so if you wanna stay here… stay with her? I trust you to make good choices, and I’ll support whatever you choose.” Ted lets out a slow, emotional breath. “But if you’re asking for my permission, I--” He visibly swallows, “I’m not giving it.”

The Ones Who Need Us (The Ones We Need) [text, audio] (Good Omens (TV)) written by estelraca, performed by justaphage Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley haven't just had each other through the years. The problem is that pets (and people) just never last long enough.

Once a great love (Original Work) created by Colourofsaying, Flowerparrish, Hagar, jennisaisquoi, kittona, MsTiggy, Rambling_Company, sapphoenyx, stargateinmybasement, and bluedreaming Summary:“Once a great love cut my life in two. The first part goes on twisting at some other place like a snake cut in two.” -Yehuda Amichai Far out in the Asian Badlands, Colonel Dr. Baek needs to keep alive a psychic who just lost her supporting partner, and solve a seemingly-unrelated medical mystery.

I Am Not There (I Did Not Die) (The Locked Tomb Series | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir) written by zombified_queer, performed by CrimsonMoonn Summary: After everything that's happened, John Gaius, the Emperor Undying, takes a moment to read the letters his Saints have sent and kept secret behind his back.

[mariamakeslemons]

Spooktober 2024: Day 18 Insanity

Warning: Use of the actors names while talking about fictional characters (hopefully it's clear why, but don't do this in real life), reader is gender neutral

You avoid room 141 to 145, unnerved by the patients that reside in those particular rooms. All four men insist that they are fictional characters from some popular game, but they all look at you like prey. As just an intern nurse, you’re treated the worst of the staff, often given the really bad jobs and forced to do things you don’t want to do, including being forced to interact with 141 to 145.

Walking up, you hold the tray holding their pills steady as the first door opens.

“Hello, Love,” Barry greets you, smiling under his imperial beard.

“Good afternoon, Mister Sloane,” you reply. His smile drops and his fist clenches as he stares at you.

“I’ve told you, my name is John Price,” he intones, a warning. You simply swallow and hand him the pills. He blows a sigh out of his nose, but takes the cup, knocking all the pills back at once, making you panic, despite seeing him and the others pull this a few times. You take back the cup with a strained smile, especially when he rubs at the back of your hand, before hurrying out the door.

Next is Samuel Roukin, a mammoth of a man who just stares at you. The only reason you know he believes himself to be some character is that he answers to Ghost and follows Mister Sloane’s orders like a subordinate to their superior.

“Good afternoon, Mister Roukin,” you greet, stepping into the room. He looks up at you, completely silent as he rises and walks up to you. You swallow nervously as he purposefully towers over you, shakily handing him the cup of pills. Maintaining eye contact, he downs them all like Mister Sloane did, before silently handing the cup back. You nod and scurry out, shaken as you usually are by his silent behavior. Like he’s observing you for weakness.

Taking a moment, you regather yourself before entering Neil Ellice’s room. The man’s head snaps up as you enter the room, and a grin crosses his face.

“Bonnie nurse, back t’ heal mae soul,” he greets, his eyes focuses on you like a predator. You offer a still strained smile.

“Good afternoon, Mister Ellice,” you greet, handing over the pills. Mister Ellice pouts, but he takes the pills nonetheless. Once those are swallowed down, he leans in.

“C’mon, sweet thing,” he whispers, completely focused on you, “Ah’m Soap, nae Neil Ellice. Don’ even ken where tha’ name came from.” You tremble, taking a few shaky steps back before scrambling away, rushing out the door and closing it quickly. You turn and lean against the door, fighting back your shaking. You work through a few breathing exercises you’ve looked up, blinking back tears of fear. And you have one more to do.

Last for his pills is Elliot Knight, who’s the prettiest of the men but also gives you the chills. There’s something about how he looks at you, that screams manipulation. Swallowing again, you reluctantly enter.

“Good afternoon, Mister Kight,” you greet, freezing when he looks up and smiles at you.

“C’mon, Lovely,” he coos, “Call me Gaz.” You offer another strained smile and just hand over his pills. Mister Knight huffs, giving a playful grin before downing the pills. He hands the cup back and walks calmly back to his bed, allowing you to leave without any fuss. Taking another breath to calm down, you finally gather your things and leave the hall, shaking the whole way.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Poor thing,” Price huffs with a shake of his head, the others gathered at the table in the hospital rec room, “Doesn’t even remember t’ call me by my name.”

“They think Barry Sloane is y’r name,” Ghost points out, throwing down two cards and accepting two more from Gaz.

“Yeh think we can get t’ Kate soon, Captain?” Soap asks, pouting at his cards and exchanging one. Price huffs as Gaz continues to handle the deck for their game of 5 draw, all of them keeping a subtle eye on the guards around the room and the patients wandering around. Honestly, Price doesn’t understand how he and his boys ended up in a mental hospital, especially after just going to bed and waking up in a strange place. Sooner or later, something will make sense and his team will be released. Perhaps with the sweet thing that brings them their pills.

[ithappensoffstage]

if you ever want to write something for Protagoneil again I would love to request something where it's the Protagonist who takes care of Neil for the first time. Neil was always the one to save his ass and now it's time for John to do the same. Perhaps Neil got drugged on a mission and he's really out of it so John takes care of him while drugged Neil looks at him all lovingly.

I'm so sorry that this got buried in my ask box for 3 years, but thank you for your prompt and here's the finished fic! You can read it here or on AO3.

To Think That We Could Stay the Same

Earlier—later—in Neil’s other life, he was a little bit dramatic. A little bit cocky, a little bit of a risk-taker. But he was also careful and rational.

This later—earlier—Neil is reckless. Bold, bordering on stupid.

John blames it on Neil’s youth. Of course a fresher-faced Tenet has something to prove. He wants to be valuable, worthy of John’s praise, and first in line for promotions. John wishes he could tell him he’s already proved himself—will prove himself. That John already trusts him with everything he has.

He can’t, though. And it’s like Neil knows there’s some secret between them. Neil, before, he was so good at lying. Pretending at ignorance, feigning that he didn’t feel … whatever it was—hopefully is—that he felt, feels, for John.

Lying is standard operating procedure, and the policy is to suppress. Fine. John’s good at restraining his feelings, but not at burying or concealing them completely. It causes Neil to be desperate to be deserving of those secrets.

He recalls Neil in Mumbai. That’s not possible, he had said. But to this Neil, everything is possible. It scares the hell out of John.

They’re in Tokyo. John’s there to supervise the retrieval of a large inverted munitions shipment. Ives is there to run security. Dark suit, concealed weapons, beard shorter than it’s ever been, and hair longer than it’s ever been. John wonders when he’s going to shave it off.

Neil, of course, is bouncing between Ives’ and John’s teams. Ives has been teaching him the militaristic ropes. John has been preparing him for his inevitable leadership role. Between Ives and John, they should be able to keep track of one overly ambitious rookie.

As it turns out, they’re wrong.

“What the hell happened, huh? You were supposed to be watching him!” John shouts.

He bursts into the med room of their Tokyo base like a man possessed. It’s clean and white, bright and sterile. John hates it. He wants it to be as ugly as his mind right now. Uglier, actually—as awful as what he wants to do to the men who hurt Neil.

“He said he was on his way to you,” Ives replies calmly.

“And you believed him?”

Ives raises an eyebrow, and John knows he’s being unfair. He’s angrier than he ever has been with Ives. Even counting the time Ives let Neil invert himself and die for them.

John closes his eyes. Exhales. What’s happened, happened. Neil was going to, will always, die for him. And Neil was always going to wander off and get himself drugged by an idealistic bunch of thieves.

They’re Yakuza. And after the guns, nothing more, nothing less. Still, Ives has them all rounded up and is on his way to question them. He’s lost patience with John already, but he’s waiting, stiff and at attention, anyway.

Then there’s Neil, opposite at every angle.

The medical team told John that Neil’s been injected with a benzodiazepine cocktail, but John thinks Neil looks half-okay, considering the circumstances. He’s sitting in the corner of the room, wearing a light blue button-down, open a bit at the chest with the sleeves rolled up, and light gray pants. No shoes. One gray sock. His bare skin shines with sweat. There’s red high on his cheekbones and an uncharacteristic glassiness to his eyes. His head lolls as he tries to listen to John and Ives’ argument.

“I found them, y’know,” Neil interrupts. “Before I… Iv…” He gestures to his commanding officer. “He did. I wanna… wanted you to… know…” He trails over, looking confused. “Who put me on the floor?”

“Tell ya what, we’ll flip a coin,” Ives says. “For him or the Yakuza.”

John sighs. “That’s not really your call. I’ll take care of him. You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then, John and Neil are alone together. John feels it in his blood, like a cord tied around his veins. It tugs at his heart until he can’t breathe. He thinks of the freeport, and inhales sharply.

“There you go, hiding things again,” Neil says. With his inhibitions gone, his accent is a little less refined. Posh but kind of sloppy, like how he dresses.

“I’m not hiding anything. Don’t get up.”

Although he’s tried several times by now, Neil never made it off the floor. Instead he’s now fully on his back, hair askew, shirt completely open. The fabric hangs by his sides and his hands slide from his ribs to that soft linen.

John envies those hands. He tells Neil, “You compromised the mission.”

“I saw something suspicious,” Neil protests, sputtering through the last difficult word. “I, I saved the mission.”

“You made a move on your own because you were trying to be a hero,” John hisses. “Look at yourself, Neil.”

John walks forward. He crouches, trying to meet Neil’s eyes. It’s difficult when they’re fluttering closed every second or so, but eventually John manages.

“How did a trained agent get jumped by a bunch of gangsters? Hm?” He doesn’t want to be cruel. He can’t favor Neil, though. Telling himself any other soldier would get the same treatment, John continues, “What if Wheeler didn’t find you?” Or.” John clears his throat, bombarded with memories of Stalsk-12.

Neil is beaming. His smile is beautiful, and it blindsides John like it always has.

“You were worried about me!” Neil yells. His joy ricochets around the room in cascades of laughter. “You care!”

John looks away. “You’re not sober enough to have this conversation.”

He attempts to stand, but suddenly there’s a palm pressing down on his knee. Reckless.

“Neil.”

“Wait.”

Against his better judgment, John does. He pushes Neil’s hand away, but he also sits on the floor next to Neil’s prone body. More than anything, he wants to draw Neil’s head into his lap. To brush that damp blond hair out of his face, check for a fever. To kiss it better.

John clasps his hands tightly in his lap. “Of course I care. Everyone on this team is vital to this operation.”

Neil shakes his head. After some flailing about, he manages to right himself, sitting with his legs crossed to match John. “No,” he says.

“No I don’t care? You just said I did, so make up your mind.”

“You… about me… differently,” Neil explains. “More…ly.”

“Wow.”

“S’not a word, is it?”

“No it is not. I’m not sure you’re capable of coherent sentences at the moment, actually.”

Despite the curt comment, Neil is looking at John with such adoration. Puppy love, that’s the term John’s heard. Utter devotion. As if John is Neil’s entire world. But when John insists that he’s leaving, Neil’s eyes brim with tears.

He lunges forward, wrapping his arms around John. Now he’s really putting some weight into it, holding John here. It’s John’s turn to be amused. Chuckling, he extracts himself—easily, with Neil’s drug-addled, pliable limbs and lean frame—enough to speak face-to-face.

“Let me go.”

“Okay,” Neil replies. Yet his grip doesn’t loosen.

“That’s an order, Neil.”

“Right.”

When John returns a few minutes later with food and water, Neil is slumped over on his side, asleep on the floor, an unhappy expression on his handsome face. John sets the plate and cup down on the nearest surface before walking gently over. He slides his hands underneath Neil’s knees and back, picks him up.

After putting Neil in the med room’s small bed—still on his side, facing the door like he’s always preferred to sleep—John pulls up a chair. He washes Neil’s face with a cool, damp cloth. He tends to the few cuts and scrapes Neil got fighting off his assailants. He brushes Neil’s hair, and buttons his shirt. Finally, John tucks a blanket around Neil’s shoulders.

“‘More-ly’ still isn’t a word,” John murmurs, thumb brushing Neil’s jaw, “but you’re right. I do.”

And then he leaves again, exactly the way he arrived: with a guilty conscience, carrying a love confession in his hands.

[shortstorytournament]

Pre-Tournament: Neil Gaiman Brackets

FEMININE ENDINGS (2007) (link)

You do not know me (although you have seen me, smiled at me, placed coins in the palm of my hand). I know you (although not so well as I would like. I want to be there when your eyes flutter open in the morning, and you see me, and you smile. Surely this would be paradise enough?).

THE DAUGHTER OF OWLS (1996) (link)

A newly-born girl was left one night on the steps of the Church, where the Sexton found her there the next morning, and she had hold of a curious thing, viz.: ye pellet of an Owle.

NICHOLAS WAS... (1989) (link)

Older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.

[thesinglesjukebox]

SCREAMING FEMALES - "BRASS BELL"

With John, we say goodbye to Screaming Females...

[7.19]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: This has been my song of the year since it came out. Maybe it's just the familiarity -- when a single is released in January, it has 12 months to make its way into my heart. Maybe it's that I saw Screaming Females for the first -- and last -- time in March at the EARL (East Atlanta Restaurant and Lounge), surrounded by friends I didn't have a year before. Maybe it's the rawness of Paternoster's guitar and vocals, her insistence on a rhythmic minor key riff that I just don't hear much without the layer of pretense that can surround it. There's no valorization of the '70s here, no bemoaning of what music used to be, but a reaffirmation of what the guitar always could be, of the idea that anyone, no matter how small and quiet they might seem, can close their eyes and yell and become a star, even if just in tiny rooms drenched in domestic beer and cigarette smoke. I did not know, when I submitted this song, my rediscovery of a band that I had first found doing college radio in 2012, that Screaming Females would announce their breakup a week later. I did not know that even as I wondered how I could possibly write a blurb for this, the most important song of my 2023 by any metric, would also be the swan song of an 18-year... it almost feels wrong to call the band a titan. That's never what Screaming Females was in ethos. They simply made the music they wanted to, beholden to no one but themselves. I have no means to eulogize them, but I still had to try. [10]

Nortey Dowuona: "I hope they keep going forever." -- Steve Albini [8]

Tara Hillegeist: Screaming Females may be the only grunge-indebted band to exist whose songs have only gotten better the clearer and prettier their production has become, and I've been on team "Marissa Paternoster is one of America's greatest living rock & roll singer-songwriters" since Castle Talk, without a single reason to betray my ideological loyalty in that regard in all the years up till now, either. And since "Brass Bell"'s got riffs that would make even Ratt bang their heads in appreciation, and lyrics like if Cocteau Twins wrote a Neil Young song -- in other words, it's a Screaming Females song... yeah, of course I think this is amazing. It'd take a harder sell and a colder heart than me to think anything else. [8]

Micha Cavaseno: Truly, I don't think of songs beginning with that kind of analog distortion as leading to the sort of gallop and retreating riff cycle pattern I associate with stoner rock and beard metal. I don't think in any of the times people would've mentioned this band I would've expected that I needed to make comparisons to Torche or Mastodon. And go figure: this first note is the note they're going out on. Hell of a way to go out, and just my luck really. [7]

Taylor Alatorre: Two weeks after Screaming Females released Desire Pathway, the J Mascis side project Heavy Blanket came out with Moon Is, an album of instrumental stoner-psych jams aimed squarely at those for whom "rip" is the default verb for guitar solos. There's no doubt that a similar path is open for Marissa Paternoster if she wants it; as if to confirm this, she played a show with the Dinosaur Jr. frontman just a few days after her band's break-up. "Brass Bell" is a solid showcase of the trio as a tight-knit riffing machine and not just a one-woman fireworks show, though there are a few too many concessions made for the radio airplay that never came. The flange effects feel like tacked-on regressions, and the wings of a high-flying, late-coming Paternoster solo are clipped after four terse measures. The sad reality is that the airwaves only seem to have room for one basement-band-doing-stadium-rock at a time, and if your name isn't White Reaper, you may just be out of luck. [6]

Ian Mathers: I mean, kudos to whoever made the wiki entry for this album list "punk blues" as the genre (follow your bliss!) but in every sense except the subcultural this is absolutely classic rock. The production, Marissa Paternoster's vocals and especially and gleefully so her soloing. It's great, in a way that makes me want to take up the air guitar and reach for words like "stentorian." [7]

Katherine St Asaph: I think I like this because of, not despite, the early-'00s radio rock feel. At times it almost feels like it's going to turn into Trapt (not an insult I swear). [7]

Brad Shoup: "Brass Bell" has something I always admired about Screaming Females, which is their uncanny ability to make nu-rock. They never really coded as "punk" for me: maybe stoner metal, but with a lighter guitar tone and an ability to write a hook. Because I grew up in butt rock's salad days, I guess I tend to hear it everywhere. But these riffs (the start-stop one and Phrygian-sounding one) and the way Marissa Paternoster punches into the chorus are modern-rock radio gold. Hell, the chorus even has the kind of fake-deep imagery that should get over. (Would a different alloy make living in a bell a tolerable situation?) Godspeed, Screaming Females. I'm sure all your subsequent bands will rock. [7]

Dorian Sinclair: Having spent the past three weeks on a placement where I learned, in great detail, about the history and function of carillons (bell towers, specifically those with two octaves of bells or more), I am definitively able to confirm: living in a brass bell would be really fucking loud! Central metaphor holds up! [7]

Rachel Saywitz: Sounds like a disaster on the horizon and a heroine's call to arms. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Everything starts to crumble once the actual verse arrives -- you can't feel the jaggedness of the start-stop guitar riff, and the band sounds all too eager to go straight into the chorus both the first and second time around. Unfortunately, the central metaphor there is too awkward, and is shouted with a conviction that leaves no room for it to be a proper hook. They almost convince me with the detours taken in the final third, but the radio-rock sheen is all too much: it sounds like I'm at a bar and the local band is trying way too hard to convince everyone of their energy. [3]

Alfred Soto: Marissa Paternoster's vocals are the right kind of arch and posh: when she complains, "It's too loud!" she sounds like a country club member sneering at Rodney Dangerfield. The rest of the riffage is not too loud, with interesting changes. [7]

David Moore: Every time I get really into a band a few years late they break up within the year. I take full responsibility and vow to stop listening to music. [8]

Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: Long live Screaming Females, they rocked harder and longer than a lot (A LOT!) of posers, and they have songs that showcase their gnarled hookiness better than this (download "Ornament" for clear skin etc. etc.). [8]

Aaron Bergstrom: Thirty-five seconds of "When are they gonna get to the fireworks factory?" synth build, but we're talking about one of the most dependable indie bands of the past decade-plus, so you better believe they get there. Whether it's Marissa Paternoster screaming on guitar, or Marissa Paternoster just screaming, they've always lived up to their name. She deserves the plural all to herself. RIP to an institution. [7]

Frank Falisi: Screaming Females was an underrated experiment in texture. They could shift tactility live on the ridge of a dime. The big metal monster would suck in its woofer and start to strut different, guitar puffing over tom hits, which were doing the riffs. The bass was too big to hear and the bass was mercury. Something about playing live means performing life, which means playing the changes. Texture in music is a signal. It prepares your body to sound different. "Brass Bell" begins with washing electronics, a loop. It leers and jeers, like a Mica Levi film score on your fretting fingers. The mouth of sound is broad. "Brass Bell", Desire Pathway -- these are the descendants of All At Once (2018), of Marissa's Peace Meter (2021). Once you master bass and guitar and drum and the human voice, you can unmaster it, unwind it, break a string. "Brass Bell" breaks open after the noise into perfect form, crunched production, crisp like adenoidal panic. There's a perfect breakdown in the middle of the song, a perfect bring-it-all-down with a minute left before drumming back up, before one last chorus. "It's too loud!!" How many times have I said this at the Screaming Females gig? How many times has the sound entered my ears, all my complicated receptors and sets of crevasses ringing, only to feel my own texture quake at the sound? We talk sometimes of the collective frisson of the gig, of being a body among bodies. Divine. I think something like that happens on a studio sound too. Me and all my changes, a flange forever. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[neil-gaiman]

Why do you look like an ancient Greek philosopher on Twitter and Oscar Wilde on tumblr? Has it something to do with the concentration of the gays?

I think it's mostly because I look different depending on whether or not I have a beard. The Tumblr image goes back to 2012, and I've never changed it since the beginning, because fiddling with Tumblr is always a recipe for disaster. Probably one day I will be ancient and bald and and toothless and mad of eye and have a long white beard, and this will still be my Tumblr photo.

The painting that's the Twitter image is currently a Lorna May Wadsworth portrait of me. The original is huge. (Here's me and Lorna May at a gallery opening in Sheffield, standing in front of Big Neil, as she calls it.)

Sooner or later it will change. The Twitter icons always do. I just don't have any images I feel like it would be fun to change it to yet, even though I haven't had a beard since April 2020...

[beepboopuser]

harringrove angst where steve and billy have been together for a while, but billy is closeted while steve is openly bi. people have suspected something between the two of them - the way steve’s hands tend to brush against billy’s when they’re close together, or the way billy likes to watch steve even when he’s on the other side of a crowded room: his eyes only for his boyfriend.

steve is feeling troubled because billy refuses to come out, and understands why because of his father being homophobic, but it still causes some stress in the relationship. one day, when they go to a party, even if they’re attached by the hip, a girl decides to shoot her shot with billy.

she brings him a drink, sits between him and steve, and puts on the works: pushing out her chest, petting his thigh, and fluttering her eyelids. steve is massively uncomfortable sitting beside the girl, and he keeps trying to meet billy’s eyes so he can plead for him to send this girl on her way. however billy is polite as can be, and entertains her - calling her pretty, and cute, but he just isn’t that into her.

steve leaves when the girl leans forward and is bold enough to kiss billy on the cheek, visibly upset, and makes his way to the kitchen to get drunk. it takes a while for billy to make his way to steve, and when he goes to place his hand on steve’s back, he slaps it away.

“i didn’t do anything, steve, she just—“

steve gulped down a swing of the beer he was drinking, rolling his eyes. “didn’t do anything—didn’t call her pretty, or cute, or let her touch you—“

billy sighed, shoulders slumping. “steve, i can’t just say no, people would think i’m—“

“gay?” steve giggles, eyes welling with tears. “gay!? billy, you’re dating me.”

billy swallowed, looking side to side to make sure nobody was listening. “steve, keep your voice down. people can’t know.”

steve frowns, face flushed. “is it me? am i just some…dirty little secret? am i not worth the great billy hargrove’s love?”

“steve, you know i love you—“

“then show it,” steve challenges. “hold my hand, tell girls no when they hit on you, be mine.”

billy looks down at the floor, overwhelmed.

“you won’t,” steve brokenly whispers. “you never will, will you?”

the silence is violent as billy rubs his face with both hands, unable to get any words out.

“i guess there’s nothing left for us, then,” steve takes another long sip out of his red solo cup, before flinging it in the sink behind his (now ex) boyfriend. “i hope you’re able to love yourself one day, billy. but i can’t be with someone that wants to hide me. for now, i’m sure there’s plenty of girls that’d be happy to play beard for you.”

when steve walks off, billy feels a hole open up in his chest. he wants to run after steve, say he’s sorry, that he won’t do it again, that’ll he’ll be better — but he knows that isn’t possible. not with neil around, and steve deserves better than that.

[chuckbass-love]

hii! I have a request for prompt 71 with Andy or ransom ☺️

Hey lovely, thank you so much for waiting this long for me to post this and i really hope you enjoy reading it just as much as i enjoyed writing it.

Prompt #71: "I'm gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, i want you to see how pretty you look when you're spreading your legs for me"

Disclaimer: My work is not to be translated or to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Warning: Swearing, unprotected sex, rough sex, ass spanking, vagina spanking, oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, daddy kink, breeding kink and angst.

Word Count: 3,486

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @sergeantbuckybarnes go check them out💜

In The Mirror

Standing in the middle of the master bedroom, you start to fold the freshly washed clothes before putting them away neatly in the closet. You start off by putting shirts away, Andy’s and then yours before moving on to jeans. Sometimes you wonder how he even has the room for his own clothes since you take up the majority of the space. But you just put that down to shopping trips he's so insistent on treating you to.

As you’re just finishing up, you hear the front door open before it slams shut so hard that the anger fuelling the slam of it can be felt even upstairs where you are.

Looks like Andy is finally home...

You decide to finish up with what you’re currently doing, taking your time before approaching your husband with caution. It was probably another run in with Neil, something you’ve grown accustom to dealing with ever since you met him. Doesn’t mean you don’t run out of ways to handle it occasionally though, your best option is to just allow him to vent before you distract him. Usually distracting him requires an old movie and takeout but other times it requires rough and needy sex.

“Andy” you call out as you pad down the stairs and into the kitchen, only to find him practically chugging a beer way to quickly. It must be bad if he couldn’t even wait until dinner to drink alcohol.

“You know sometimes i think why do i even bother going to work. I mean, Lynn sure seems to enjoy screwing me over for that fucking prick Neil and i’ve had just about enough of it”

Okay, now he’s really angry. You have no idea what to do or even what to say to him, you’re rendered speechless by his cursing and boiling temper.

“I was just about to make dinner, uh, lasagne perhaps. Or maybe we could order takeout again and rent that movie you were telling me about. It’s up to y-“

“Did you not listen to a goddam word i said? I don’t give a shit about dinner, do whatever. I’m going to take a shower” his decibels rise, his tone scolding as he storms past you and up the stairs taking two at a time until he reaches the top. You hear his heavy footsteps stomping to the bedroom and then suddenly it all turns quiet until the shower water starts to run.

Rather than leaving him to cool off, you decide to head up to check on him.

In a way, he was right. You practically ignored his annoyed state and changed the subject, in fact you couldn’t have changed it fast enough. But that’s only because you didn’t know what to say. When he gets like that, there’s not a lot you can say.

“Andy, i’m sorry” you squeak, stepping into the master bedroom to find him stood with his back to you as he removes his dress shirt and tie. His back muscles tense as he stands still for a second before turning around and tossing his clothes to the floor before starting on his belt.

“Andy” you mumble, desperate for him to acknowledge you.

“What?” he snaps, slipping out of all clothes until he’s in nothing but his birthday suit, his impressive size dangling between his legs.

“I’m sor-“

“I heard you”

You gently step closer to him, examining his face for any tell tale signs of discomfort before you rest your hand on his right forearm, “please, just talk to me. What happened today?”

“Like you care, all you seemed to give a shit about was dinner, so how about you go focus on that like a good little house wife and leave me to deal with the tough shit... does that sound like a deal?”

“That’s not fair, Andy. I didn’t know what to say to you, that’s all. You’ve had that many run ins with Neil lately that i lose sight of how to help you. But i’m here now, just talk to me. Tell me what i can do to make it better”

Silence.

His hand pulls from your touch, but before you can even understand what’s going on you’re back is already touching his toned tatted chest. His arms rest on your shoulders, keeping you pressed against him.

“Well, there is one thing...” he starts, moving your hair to the other side of your neck, freeing up some skin for him to feast on. His mouth nears closer, his hot breath fanning you torturously as his nose nudges at you. That’s when you feel his hands fiddle with the hem of your shirt teasingly, slowly lifting it up your torso with ease. You lift your arms in the air, allowing him to remove it before he discards it behind him without a care.

“Such a beautiful body, honey. Be a shame to waste it fretting away about dinner in that kitchen” you gulp in response, feeling his lips barely grazing the nape of your neck, the action causes a shiver to dance down your spine as his beard scratches you.

“Andy” your voice is nothing but a breathless whimper as you turn to face him, his hands instantly rest on your waist at the band of your booty shorts. Of course when he tugs at them, you know what he’s after now and you also know that no matter what you do or say, he’ll take it regardless.

He drops down to his knees, surrendering to your body and dragging your shorts down your legs as he sinks to the floor. You step out of them for him, even going as far as to kick them to one side before he pushes you back to the wall.

The palm of his hand gives your calf a soft squeeze as the other lifts your leg up to drape over his shoulder, your aching sex on show for his lustful orbs to focus on. The insatiable hunger is starting to drown out his mind, body and soul, he’s incapable of thinking of anything else but you, craving anything else but you.

He’s starving, desperate to taste you.

A couple more minutes pass with him peppering kisses along your ankle at first before moving up to your calf and then your thigh. You try to push him away due to the sensitivity there but he only forces you off him, he’s so much stronger than you could ever be and you know now that you’ve lost.

He presses another chaste kiss to your bundle of nerves before pausing and feeling your body react to his touch. Your shaking body begs to be worshipped and devoured whilst he begs to drink and breathe you in like you’re his only lifeline.

“Smell so good” he coos, poking his tongue out to give your clit a kitten lick as his nose nudges at your mound, the action causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head. Whatever you did to deserve this agonising torture, you will make sure to never do it again. This is teasing at its peak.

“Please, Andy. I need you”

“Oh you’ll have me, alright” his response is quick yet snappy as he dives into you. His mouth latches onto your sex aggressively, sucking, slurping and biting. His beard scratching your inner thighs and it's sure to leave a burn there.

The tip of his tongue points all the more as he winds it around your clit rapidly and even with one hand gripping your hips roughly whilst the other strokes your leg up and down before settling on your ass, you still feel unsteady as if the smallest wave of pleasure could knock you to the floor.

His mouth right where you want him comes and goes as he takes breaks in between to come up for air, but right when you feel yourself getting lost in the feeling, it comes to a complete halt.

You glance down at him, eyelids heavy, chest rising and falling, only to find him rising to his feet.

“What the hell, Andy?” you ask, your entire body heating up.

“You sound angry” he cocks his head to the side as he grazes his hand across your hardened nipple.

“I am”

“Now, that’s exactly how i felt when i came home. Yet instead of comforting me like a good little wife should do, you made me feel worse. So therefore, you don’t deserve to cum”

What the hell is wrong with him tonight?

He shoots you a wink before padding into the bathroom, the shower water still running and steaming up all of the mirrors in your eye-line until he closes the door, locking it to prevent you from entering and leaving you standing there perplexed at his actions.

He did all of that on purpose. He built you up to the edge of ecstasy before leaving you to come crashing down all alone, all in the name of proving a point.

You reach for your robe off the hook on the bedroom door before storming out, brimming with frustration as you make a start on the dinner. Lasagne will do for tonight.

You prep it as fast as you can whilst the oven preheats to the correct temperature before putting it in and setting the timer. Now you can relax.

As soon as you throw yourself down onto the couch and flick the tv on, you hear the bathroom door open. You’re almost certain that he expected you to wait for him like a lost puppy dog but you refuse to play into his petty games of revenge. All because you didn’t comfort him. It was silly and unnecessary.

So for now, you’ll indulge in some reality television whilst you wait for dinner to cook and if there’s one thing that’s for certain, it’s that you are most definitely not putting out for him tonight. No matter what he says or how much he sweet talks you. It’s not good enough for him to treat you like that.

Whatever Neil did or said, that’s a work problem.

Andy can’t believe his eyes when he comes back into the bedroom only to find it empty. He wraps his white towel around his waist, covering up his modesty before heading out into the hallway and down the stairs. As he reaches the bottom of them, he spots you watching tv in the lounge, giggling away at whatever The Kardashian family are doing now, but whatever it is, he doesn’t care.

Instead of leaving you be, he stomps over “what do you think you’re doing?” he inquires, voice bellowing more than he intended “i’m waiting for the lasagne to cook, it’s in the oven. Enjoy your shower, honey?” you probe sarcastically, a rhetorical question. However your sarcasm infuriates him further as he picks you up with ease.

“Andy, put me down. NOW” you shout, kicking your legs and slapping his upper back as he drapes you over like you weigh nothing.

“Dinner is in the oven” you remind him, desperate to avoid burning it. But that’s when he puts you down before walking over to the kitchen and turning the oven off.

Your eyes widen as he approaches you once again, picking you up and carrying you up the stairs, taking them two at a time as he always does.

“Andy” you groan until he places you back onto your own two feet, his hands practically rip your robe off to expose your naked body before he does the same to the towel covering his manhood up.

“I’ll tell you what’s about to happen, honey and you’re going to listen” he informs you, stepping closer and moving you to stand in front of the mirror. You correct your abysmal posture as you look back at him in the mirror. A sinister glint in his eyes becomes crystal clear as a wicked grin graces his handsome face. His beard full, his hair still wet from the shower as droplets of water drip down his chest.

“I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, i want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me” the pure filth has you holding your breath in shock before exhaling dramatically.

He’s always been kinky but sometimes he still manages to leave you shocked. Although it’s times like these that you love him the most, the whines and whimpers he draws from you so effortlessly, the way he causes your body to tremble raggedly and most of all the way your entire world stops turning as he brings you to that cliff edge, pushing you off of it with his two large menacing hands.

He kicks your legs apart further before pulling your arms to the back of you. He hooks his arm inside of them to prevent you from moving away from him whilst his other hand massages your puffy petal like folds before circling your dripping entrance.

Once his tip is resting directly at the tight hole, he proceeds to move forward, the skin around your entrance catching onto him as your walls welcome him inside.

“Oh, fuckkk” he draws out the word, groaning and gasping for air as he drives home, the feeling overwhelming you to the limit.

How can one man have such a firm and tight grip on you like this?

How did you end up here, unable to utter out a single word as his pace picks up before he’s fucking into you so violently, snapping his hips with no signs of slowing down.

“Keep your eyes on yourself, honey, do as i say” he warns, and the moment you look up at him, you see the darkness and it causes you to look away, focusing back on yourself just like he instructed you to do.

The feeling of his cock dragging along your walls so fast is enough to cause the knot in your stomach to tighten painfully. The pleasure is almost too intense to bare, too much for your fragile body to handle. Yet you continue to take it, allowing him to fuck away his anger, channeling it into this moment.

His arm and hand tightens around your arms, holding you in place as he keeps his sights on you, watching as your mouth hangs open in the perfect O shape. Fuck, you look perfect like this with him bending you to his will, using you for the sole purpose of his pleasure and his pleasure only.

How did he get so lucky to be graced with you’re beauty?

The harder he snaps his hips into you, the more the coil tightens and the all too familiar feeling builds all the more inside of you. An ongoing reminder of your impending orgasm.

“Andy, i-i’m gonna c-cum” you tell him, begging for him to allow you the privilege of releasing, the privilege of creaming all over his rock hard cock.

A dark chuckle erupts from his throat, mocking your pleas for a release before tutting at you, the torment continuing.

“Please” you beg once again, only to be reprimanded with the harsh sting of his hand landing on your ass cheek “keep your eyes on the mirror, honey. You’ll come when i tell you to, quit being a brat”

The need to release is almost unbearable, tears of pleasure welling in your eyes and drowning out your vision before you blink, allowing them to stream down your innocent looking face for him to see. It only spurs him on more as he moves his free hand in from of you, kicking your legs further apart before smacking down on your sex brutally. Your body jerks in response before somewhat relaxing at the feel of him rubbing briskly at your pulsating clit.

“That’s it, honey. Taking that cock so fucking well”

“I need to c-cum, A-Andy” your voice trembles frantically in hopes of him taking pity upon you.

“Shhh, baby. Just let daddy fuck the frustration away, gotta fuck it all away” his words are pure filth but his tone is gentle and needy. He just wants to take his anger out on your body, channel it into something.

You can imagine that with the field of work he’s in that he finds it hard to keep his cool with Neil every day. Which is a shame because they used to be close.

Granted that was back when Neil first started and Andy mentored him, whipped him into shape and taught him everything he knows. And Neil is a better lawyer because of it. However, it also means that he’s just rude, obnoxious and cocky towards Andy, pushing him to the edge and taunting him a little more every day.

“Hold yourself back for daddy, you’ll cum when i give you permission to. Is that clear, honey?”

“Yes” you mumble, barely audible.

“What was that?”

“I mean, yes daddy” you correct, watching his eyes intently, searching for any sign of him letting up his tight hold and hard thrusts.

“Good girl, being so perfect for daddy and taking this fucking like a pro, huh?”

“Yes daddy”

Your eyes glaze over as you struggle to keep yourself in tact, the hold you have on your orgasm is slipping from your control slowly but surely and you know that if he doesn’t give you the go ahead soon then you’ll end up breaking the rules.

Something that will surely earn you a painful punishment.

“God, fuck. I’m gonna cum, you gonna cum with me, honey?” he asks, gasping. You throw your head back onto his chest, arching your back into him further. You nod your head as quickly as you can as you feel your knees turning weak.

“Count down with me”

“10’ you say in unison, his fingers rubbing furiously at your sex.

“9” the sound of your skin slapping together bounces off of the walls.

“8” the feel of his mouth latching onto the sweet spot on your neck, pearly white teeth sinking in to mark you up.

“7” the moans he’s eliciting are now flowing out of your mouth uncontrollably.

“6” deep grunts escape him as he pushes you against the mirror, causing your cheek to push up against it.

“5” the feel of him fucking into you tightens the coil for the final time, the feeling agonising.

“4” you scrunch your eyes closed, seeing stars as you arrive at the cliff edge.

“3” you say in unison as his thrusts turn from fast and rough to slow and hard.

“2” his cock twitches inside of you, your walls flutter around him over and over.

“1”

“That’s it, baby, cream all over that cock for me”

You let go, body shuttering as you stand up onto your tip toes. His grip on your arms lets up, causing you to fall forward, hands resting on the wall either side of the mirror.

“Oh god” he growls, hands splaying across the soft globes of your ass before he fills you with hot ropes of cum, breeding you unofficially.

He remains seated deep inside of you for a minute or two whilst the two of you struggle to regain control of your breathing, both of your hearts beating so fast that it feels as though they are on the cusp of exploding out of your chest.

“How are you feeling now?” you ask as he pulls out, turning to face him.

“Hungry for Chinese takeout and a night filled with fucking that tight cunt”

“Was that not enough?”

“I’ll never get my fill of you” he says, pulling your naked body flush against his “i want you all of the time and besides, that was just to channel my anger into something. The next time will be to make a baby”

“W-what?” your voice shaky as you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You heard me, i’m gonna spend all night breeding you, honey. Gonna make you all nice and round with my child. Gives me a chance to take my mind of that cunt Neil”

You nod your head, humming your agreement before pressing your lips to his.

Sure, you’ve had chats about kids before but this is the first time he’s openly suggested trying and even after his outburst, your love for him remains.

You can’t wait to spend the night tangled up in the crisp white sheets of your bed, filled with his cum.

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[jadegrey711]

Trouble

Soft dark!Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hello everyone! So recently I’ve become absolutely obsessed with both @navybrat817​ and @stargazingfangirl18​ who both write absolutely amazing stuff and I want to be them when I grow up. So when I found out Siri was doing a 5k writing challenge i figured i’d throw my hat in the ring and maybe get out of this depression writing slump. 

So I decided to make a vey very very! Soft!Dark Andy Barber x Fem!Reader. Seriously it’s like Dark Light lol. But I hope you all like it! I hope to do another one before the month is over but let’s see shall we? 

*NOT MY GIF. Credit in the TAGS*

Word Count:1484

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting​​ to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711) 

This story is for 18+ ONLY. It contains sexual themes that are not suited for younger audiences so if you’re under 18 my blog and this story is not for you. Please make sure to read at your own discretion and remember that you are solely responsible for your content intake. 

WARNINGS: Sexual Situations (18+ ONLY), Overstimulation, possessive Andy, deeply jealous Andy, Oral sex (F Receiving), Vaginal sex. 

Other warnings include very mediocre writing. 

He watched you from a distance as he continued talking with his fellow associates, making sure to keep a watchful eye on you as you chatted with the wives. He smirked to himself knowing you must be bored out of your mind, but you did it for him and he loved you for it. 

Suddenly though, Andy watched as Neil Logiudice approached you from behind, putting a hand on your arm. You seemed startled for a minute and then smiled, putting your hand on top of his and Andy saw red. 

He barely registered what the others in his group were talking about. Because his gaze was focused solely on you and Neil and how cozy you were in each other’s company. How you and the other women laughed at some joke he made and about how in the three minutes he had been standing there he hadn’t been able to keep his fucking hands off of you. He felt like breaking each one of those fingers, making sure he let Neil know that he was never to touch you again. He could feel his whole body vibrate with violence as he continued watching, knowing you were none the wiser. 

Neil was nice enough and he was an associate of Andy’s so when he put his hand on your arm to get your attention you let it slide, putting your hand on top of his and gave it a friendly pat fighting the urge to swat it away immediately. You were at a party full of Andy’s work friends and associates so making a scene over something small would not be a good impression on either your part or Andy’s; so you let it slide and you let the other four times he touched you slide as well. Even as you were mentally flinching each time he did it. After the fourth time you looked around the room for Andy, looking for an escape of some kind and immediately found him; across the room and boring holes into the back of Neil’s head with that dark gaze. 

You took that as your cue to quickly excuse yourself, saying that it was getting rather late and you should go and find Andy. Everyone waved you off as you departed from the group and over to where Andy was. 

“Hi honey.” You smiled, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers with his and while everyone else in the group was still talking you heard Andy sigh and grip your fingers back; turning his face towards your he gave you a small smile. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” He whispered in your ear.

“Definitely!” You whispered back. Before you plastered a smile on your face as Andy said goodbye to everyone and then put his hand on the small of your back and guided you out the exit. 

**

Later that night after you both had gotten home, gotten into bed and as Andy had your leg over his strong shoulder while he devoured your soul between your legs did he bring up Neil. 

You writhed on the bed, your fingers tangled in Andy’s hair as you felt your orgasm coming on fast with the pace he was eating you out at. When suddenly Andy surprised you. 

“You good friends with Neil now?” he asked nonchalantly against your folds, before he sucked harshly on your clit. Making you groan. 

“What?” you asked confused at what he was possibly asking you right now as he was sucking all rational thought out through your pussy. 

“Are you good friends with Neil?” He asked again, giving your clit another harsh suck. And you felt your legs convulse. 

“What the fuck Andy?” You asked but the sound of his name was more of a moan as he added two of his fingers and pumped your sweet pussy. 

Andy didn’t give for a minute as he continued to suck and lick at your folds until you finally came, but instead of gently working you through your orgrasm, his fingers kept their harsh pace as he looked up at you. 

“You seemed like real good friends when you let him put his fucking hands on you.” He growled as he placed an open mouth kiss on your pussy. His other hand pulling the hood of your clit back before placing another one of those kisses there and sucking it again. 

“Fuck! Andy! I’m gonna come again.” you cried out, feeling that the pleasure was starting to be too much for you. But the way that you started to pull on Andy’s hair to pull him off or the way your hips turned away from him his touches didn’t deter him one bit as he continued with his interrogation. 

He leaned up from you and watched his fingers stroke in and out of you before he added a third one, earning a low whine from you as you felt yourself building up to another orgasm.

“You didn’t answer my question sweetheart. Why did that fuck think he could put his hands on what is mine?” 

“Andy.” you moaned, trying to get away from his touch but he wasn’t having any of that as he placed his heavy bicep over your stomach, keeping you there at his mercy. 

You felt that sinful tongue run through your folds again, his thick beard scratching your thighs adding whatever sensations you were feeling to new heights. Then he pulled out his fingers so he could fuck you with his tongue now. Your third orgasm coming like a runaway freight train. You felt your toes curl as your third orgasm washed over you making you lift from the bed like Andy was performing an exorcism on you. 

You felt tears in your eyes as you tried again to pull away from Andy’s touches feeling your thighs tremble uncontrollably now but Andy wasn’t stopping not until he got what he wanted from you; not until he got an answer for why Neil thought he could put his hands on what didn’t belong to him. 

“Fuck Andy! Stop!” you sobbed. “He just came up to me. I didn’t want to make a scene about some guy putting his hand on my arm so I didn’t do anything  about it. I knew you were right there if I felt uncomfortable and I did; so I left.” you cried out, feeling the tears roll down your cheeks. “Please honey stop.” you sobbed. 

You watched in relief as Andy pulled his plump lips away from your aching pussy, and felt your pussy clench at the sight of his beard absolutely drenched in your juices. But your relief was short lived, as you saw the look in Andy’s eyes, the feral look they held in them. 

“He made you uncomfortable?” 

“Yes, but I came straight to you. Please Andy I can’t take it anymore baby please.” you whined. 

“I should break everyone of his fingers for laying a fucking hand on what’s mine.” He said softly, placing chaste kisses on your inner thighs and you let out a small cry. You watched in relief as he climbed up the length of your body, and ladened you with soft hungry kisses, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“I love you.” he said softly, giving you another soft kiss. “I’m so glad that you felt that you could just come to me when you were feeling uncomfortable. I never want you to feel that way again so next time, you’ll just stay with me the whole time okay?” 

You quickly nodded and kissed Andy back. You both just stayed there like that for a minute, him hovering and stretched over your body, ladening you with soft kisses before he pulled away from you and gave you a wicked smile. 

“But I think you have one more in you baby.” he said and before you could even react. Andy grabbed the back of each of your legs, bringing you closer to him, before he swiftly impaled you with his achingly hard cock.

Andy set a brutal pace obviously trying to get you off one more time before he loses all control. You let out a high keen, and grabbed onto Andy, your nails raking down his back; a small revenge for him absolutely wrecking you tonight all because of some asshole touching you. 

“I’m gonna fill you up so nicely baby. No one will ever have any doubt that you are mine.” he let out a low grown. “And that I’m yours.” he growled leaning down to suck and place kisses on your neck. 

Without warning your orgasm crashed over you and you were sure that if Andy wasn’t there pressing down onto you, you would’ve snapped in half from the force of it. As Andy chased his own end, he kissed the tears that were flowing down your cheeks. 

“Nothing fucks with my baby.”

[rostovs-lover]

dalí on tuesday

charlie dalton x reader | cursing, smoking, brief mentions of sexual things, charlie (probably) has daddy issues, cameron | she/her pronouns | fluff | wc.2562

i am in love with charlie, this is now a charlie dalton centric blog, also ignore how terrible the title is please

anon : Hi!! I love your blog! can I request a charlie Dalton x reader fluff where reader is an artist and he visits them while they're painting? (maybe they end up wiping paint on his face?) I don't know, something really sweet at cute <33333

Charlie Dalton had been resigned to relish in small pleasures to keep himself sane at school, never did he think the library would be one of those. More specifically, the painter tucked into the basement of the library. 

                            ───☮︎───

     Charlie Dalton was a connoisseur of many things. Pretty girls, expensive wine, shitty poetry, and hand rolled cigarettes - to name a few. His imprisonment at Wellington made only one of those things readily available. So he settled - boxes of cheap smokes bought through upperclassmen, bottles of grocery store wine someone would sneak in from a party, and the two girls that occasionally came with Knox. The shitty poetry was always on deck, he had that at least. It was a tragedy to be resigned to such a bland life, there was absolutely no carpe diem-ing happening in a school that held adolescent boys to uniforms.

      It was miserable, truly, but Charlie scrapped by on the thought that soon enough there would be no more stuffy Catholic school and he could finally have a taste of freedom. In the meantime, he would have what little fun he could. The meets in the cave were always the highlight of the week. A place where he could talk and people would listen, and not because they had to but because they enjoyed it. They enjoyed his words and thoughts and presence. No one else had ever really seemed to enjoy Charlie’s presence. They could tolerate it, handle it, but they always had more pressing matters. A business meeting to attend, a bill to pay, a dinner to go to. Always something just a little bit more important and never quite enough time for Charlie. But the other Dead Poets, they valued him. He wasn’t just a kid, a college tuition to pay and a life to layout. He was a person, with interests and hobbies.

      It had been there, in the safe haven of the cave, that the idea for the library first came up. Meeks had already talked Pitts into coming, Neil didn’t take much convincing at all, Todd was also easy to lure, Cameron groaned about leaving school grounds but refused to be left out, and Knox agreed to go but only if Nuwanda came too. Charlie had already started to cover what there was to do at a library, read?

      Meeks dove into the technical manuals and Pitts followed tentatively, cradling their science project in his arms. Todd had followed Neil to the S authors, Cameron was trying to chat up the woman at the register, and God only knew what Knox was doing. He had been stranded with few options. He could find the geniuses and be talked over for the next hour or third wheel Neil but that guaranteed intruding on something he probably shouldn’t. The polite thing to do would be to rescue Cameron from making a complete fool of himself, throwing bad pick up lines at a clearly uninterested college student, but it was amusing to watch.

      Charlie settled on trying to find Knox, at least then he could have some company. Said company was absolutely nowhere to be found. The rows of shelves wound in a confusing maze and Charlie was lost before he could even begin to look. Weaving around he did come face-to-face with a rather large picture of Charles Dickens that made him recoil. It was perched just at eye level above a short staircase and it seemed to judge his every movement. Charlie followed the carpeted stairs down to escape Mister Dickens’ strange little beard and beady black eyes.

      The further down the steps Charlie descended the brighter it appeared. The lower level was the children’s section. Considerably more fun than science books or Shakespeare. The big oak counter was abandoned but the lights were still on. He was alone, still.

      Charlie sighed, sitting down in one of the bright red wooden chairs. He was much too big for it but it held well under his weight. A sad stuffed bear stared dully into him from the green glossy table.

      “Well hello,” He mumbled, picking it up under the arms, “And you must be?” He cleared his throat to take on a gruff baritone, “Mister... Bearington,” Charlie sighed, that was bad. He dropped the bear into his lap, “This is so stupid,”

      “Bearington?”

      Charlie shot around in the chair, tipping himself off center and stumbling to his feet, bear still clutched in his arms, “Where the hell did you come from?”

      “A few blocks over, walked here actually.” You turned back to your work. A painting. Not just a painting, Charlie realized, a mural. It stretched the length of the wall, roughly sketched in pencil and waiting to be finished.

      He blinked, “That’s good. The wall I mean,”

      “Thank you,” Your face flustered and Charlie took notice, “It’s not much of anything yet, just an outline. It’ll look better painted.”

      He took a few steps closer, sidling up to you, “What’s it supposed to be?”

      “A forest,” You pointed to a rotund blob perched on a long line, “That’s an owl, and there’s going to be a fox somewhere down in the grass,”

      Charlie grinned, “That’s an owl?”

      “That-” you tapped the blob, “Is a shape, objectively. Subjectively, it’s an owl.”

      His brow creased, “Subjectively it’s an owl? That's like saying Mister Bearington is a rabbit, subjectively,”

      You stared at him, baffled. It was almost irritating that he could so casually come down to your domain and invade your creative bubble. And it was even worse that he talked to himself as a stuffed bear but now he was challenging your judgment on what was and was not subjectively an owl. But he had a wonderful smile and it lessened the intrusion. Plus, you had never seen a teenage boy develop an attachment to a stuffed bear as quickly as he had, “What’s your name?”

      “Nuwanda,” He grinned, setting his chin atop his bear’s plush head.

      “Nuwanda?” You blinked at him, “That’s… neat. I’ve never heard that before.”

      “What can I say? The only Nuwanda this side of Vermont. What’s your name?”

      As you opened your mouth to answer several sets of footsteps thundered down the stairs. Knox spun around the corner first, closely followed by Pitts and Meeks.

      “Charlie!” Knox called, “We gotta go before Cameron proposes to the clerk.”

      You looked at the boy in front of you, “Is Charlie short for Nuwanda, or just a nickname?”

      He shrugged, “I’m Nuwanda, subjectively. It was truly a pleasure meeting you. Can’t wait to see your thing DaVinci!” He set the stuffed bear back on the table as he made his way out of the room. With Charlie’s energy gone it became much quieter and you were plunged back into the impressionistic outline of your artwork.

      The next time a library trip was suggested Charlie didn’t completely dread it. Yes, it was still numbingly boring because it was a library and he didn’t have clerks to fall in love with, people to write love letters to, anyone to kiss in the aisles, or a spaceship to build, but he did have his own personal Van Gough to torment.

      The lower level was the first place he went, not even hanging his coat on the rack inside the big double doors. He made his way past Cameron’s preoccupied receptionist and under Dickens’ hard glower. Halfway down the steps, the smell hit Charlie. Wet paint.

      You had just picked out a brush when he pulled one of the wooden chairs next to your station. He sat in it backwards, holding Mister Bearington out in front of him, “Never got your name Monet,”

      “Well, it's not that. Or Da Vinci.” You stroked the brush up the grassy outline.

      “Do you want me to guess?”

      You had yet to look at him, “Nope,”

      “Are you gonna tell me?”

      “Should I?”

      “Obviously, I told you my name.”

      You set the brush down and turned to face him, “(Name).”

      “Pretty,”

      Charlie Dalton liked many things and the musty old library uptown had never been one of them. It had ancient red carpets and gaudy gold ceilings and it was trying too hard to look regal. So it was a sheer shock when he began to leap at the suggestion of going and even more so when he chose to go by himself one afternoon. Naturally, the other poets followed him, they had to.

      Charlie didn’t dally upstairs, waving hi to the clerk and rushing down to the children’s section. A sign was posted outside the entrance warning of wet paint but he stepped around it.

      “You’re making progress Picasso!” He set his hands on his hips and took in the wall.

      You turned back to look at him, “Did you not see the caution: wet paint, do not enter sign?”

      “Oh no I saw it,” He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head, “It's bright orange, hard to miss, really,”

      “So you just chose to ignore it?”

      He nodded, making his way over to sit by you on the ground, “I choose to ignore lots of things, it really makes life easier,”

      You shook your head, “Are you just going to sit here and bother me?”

      “Yes, that's actually the whole reason I came today, believe it or not.”

      You blubbered in vague disbelief, “Please tell me you’re not serious,”

      “Dead serious,” Charlie grinned, leaning closer, “I had to see how your weird owl was going. And also make sure you hadn’t gone mad and cut your own ear off yet,”

      “You’ve already used the Van Gogh joke, Charles,”

      “Maybe I want your ear,”

      You paused, “You… what?”

      Charlie’s confidence cracked, “That was bad. Shit, that wasn’t supposed to sound that way. It was like, a bad pickup line? Because Van Gogh cut his ear off to send to his girlfriend,” He sighed, shaking his head, “Sorry,”

      “I mean if I had to pick someone to give my ear too I guess you would be my first choice?”

      Charlie looked at you, eyebrows pinched together, “Why?”

      You shrugged, “No one else has asked, first come first serve.” You dipped your brush back into the blue paint and went to work on a patch of flowers.

      “Huh, well I do appreciate it,” Charlie scooted closer, leaning over your shoulder. He was close, very close. When you took a breath you could smell his cologne and whatever it was he used in his hair and you could feel the edge of his sunglasses brush your ear. He brought an arm around to dip his finger into the soft sky colour on your palette. And then he wiped it on your nose.

      You gasped sharply at the foreign feeling, snapping your head to the side to glare at him, “Why?!”

      Charlie snickered, leaning back, “The opportunity presented itself, how could I just let that pass?”

      You reached back, squirting a touch of purple paint over the palm of your hand, “That was truly a horrible idea,”

      Charlie shot up just as you did, stumbling backwards, “I’m sorry-” He stuck his hands up in surrender, “I regret my actions and if I could take them back I would,”

      “Hmm, but you can’t” You took a step closer, “Surrender now and it doesn’t have to get any messier than this,”

      He pointed towards your paint coated hand, “Do not,”

      You grinned, “I might,”

      “I’m begging,”

      “Fine-” You offered him your other hand, “Truce?”

      Charlie mulled it over for a moment, “Fine, truce,” He grabbed your clean hand and you used it to pull him towards you.

          “Why on earth would you trust me?” You tugged him even closer as he shrieked and smeared your hand down his cheek, “There, now we’re even,”

      Getting distracted by your triumph gave Charlie the upper hand. He pulled you to him the same you had done to him and pressed his cheek flush to yours. The paint was cold against your skin and you jolted back, away from him.

      “Vile,” You hissed, “You are vile and evil. That's so cold. You will pay, I hope you know that.”

      Charlie snorted, “Oh please, what’re you gonna do?”

      “You underestimate me, you ass, I’ll figure something out,”

      “Will you?” Charlie grinned, “I will be waiting in anticipation,”

      “You better be,”

      Meeks elbowed back into Cameron’s ribs, “You’re going to knock me over,”

      Cameron craned his neck further to peek around the corner into the children’s section, “I just want to see, let me look,”

      “Nothing is happening-” Meeks snipped, “They’re just talking now and I might be able to hear if you could can it!”

      Cameron rolled his eyes, “Of course, whatever you say,”

      “Will you shut up?” Knox batted at Cameron’s shoulder, “They’ll see us, we’re not super well hidden,”

      “If you don’t stop talking they’ll realize we’re here,” Pitts mumbled, rolling his eyes. Cameron started to rebuttal, turning to look at Gerard but the motion knocked Meeks out of place and he gasped, stumbling forwards. This did indeed draw Charlie’s attention.

      “Meeks, what the hell?” Charlie snapped. He was in a state, sunglasses askew in his hair, paint smeared from his cheekbone down to the corner of his mouth, and his shirt was wrinkled away from his collarbone.

      Meeks stared, “Hi Charlie. Are there any textbooks down here, uh… the science ones?”

      Knox groaned, stepping out from behind the wall as well, “We wanted to see why you came here on a Tuesday afternoon by yourself,”

      Charlie blubbered, “Did you all come? Is Keating there too?”

      “He could be,” Meeks shrugged.

      Charlie rolled his eyes, “Will you leave, I’ll be upstairs in a second,” The other poets nodded, scampering up the steps to the first level.

      “Assholes, should have known they’d come,” Charlie sighed, adjusting the sunglasses atop his head, “I need to go before they decide to intrude again. I’ll see you soon though, anxiously anticipating payback,”

      He was almost out the door when you bucked up the courage to call out to him, “Charlie, wait.” You let him turn back to you before continuing, “Could I have your phone number?”

      He clicked his teeth, “Don’t have one, private school. But I’ll find the library number in the books and try to shoot you a call sometime,” He winked and started back up to his friends.

      Knox was waiting at the landing with a handful of tissues, which he shoved into Charlie’s hands, “So you’re gonna read your stupid poem about tits at a Dead Poets meet and then not tell us you’ve got a girlfriend?”

      Charlie grabbed the tissues, “Not my girlfriend, I meet her like two weeks ago,”

      “Didn’t stop Knox,” Neil elbowed him.

      Charlie wiped at his face, “Well I’m not Knox. I like her painting, she's good.”

      “It looks like she was painting you,” Cameron slapped at Charlie’s chest and he threw the tissues at him in retaliation.

      “Shut up, at least my library worker actually talks to me,”

      Cameron fumbled with the dirty material, batting it away from his chest, “You dick!”

      Charlie grinned, pulling his glasses down and starting towards the door. Something about it was thrilling, having this to himself. A little secret that he and you shared. His personal Salvador Dalí, something to look forwards to besides bad tobacco and Keating’s eccentric lectures. It was bright and exciting and he felt seen. He felt important. The blue paint he had stolen from your tray was still on the tip of his pointer finger and he wondered how long it would be until he could see you again.

 ( @interwebseriesfan24 )

[donutloverxo]

Kissing under the misletoe w/ Andy

*gif is not mine*

Comments and reblogs are really appreciated❤Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warnings - dom/sub undertones, boss/employee relationship, implied age gap, jealous Andy.

Word count - 1.3k

7 days of ficmas

“Mr Barber,” you called out, knocking on the door that was slightly open, before entering, he looked up at your from the paperwork giving you a small smile, “We’re all wrapping up for the Christmas party, you’re coming, right?”

You blinked at him, subtly jutting your bottom lip out to give him your signature princess eyes, because you knew what his answer was going to be.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can make it. I think I’ll just go home and work on some of these cases,” he replied, gesturing to the heaps of files on his messy desk.

He often picked up the slack during the holidays because he didn’t really like to celebrate much, or so you’d heard, you had only been here for about half a year.

You expected him to tell you no. You didn’t know how someone so effortlessly charming can be so anti-social. If he ever did come for drinks after work or at an office party, he’d just hover and not speak unless spoken to.

Since he was the DA and everyone’s boss, they were more conscious around him. Except you of course. You didn’t think he was meek, it didn’t really make sense for a lawyer to be so shy...

“Please?” you blinked, “I’ll be so bored without you...” dropping your voice just a little to get the message across. Jutting your titts out by pressing them together with your forearms, hoping to entice him some more.

You weren’t one to chase a man. Nope. They chase after you. But if Andy really was shy then you’d have to do something to get the gears going unless you wanted to die an old maid.

He cleared his throat, running a hand through his brunette hair, “I’m sorry, Y/N, you’ll have to go without me. Maybe I’ll be at the next one?”

You only huffed, stomping your foot and then storming out over to your desk. You had been Andy’s secretary, or assistant or whatever, for over six months. You thought he was as into you as you were with him. He often got you coffee or your favorite sweets, you had caught him staring at you more times than you could count.

Then there were those lingering touches, or how he’d remember everything you ever tell him about yourself, or how he’d laugh just a little bit too much to any stupid joke you cracked.

Surely, you weren’t imagining all of it. Maybe he felt that you were too young for him, or that he couldn’t be with someone he works with.

“And then I got his wife to testify against him,” Neil said, cracking a crooked smile that made you shiver, “I haven’t lost a single case this year.”

Lie. He most definitely had, Andy loved to rant about his incompetence to you.

He had been acting like a creepy old man since you started working here, he wasn’t your type, he annoyed the fuck out of you.

But... nothing would piss Andy off more than you being with his bff.

Besides, you didn’t want to be alone on the holidays and he was the only one who seemed to show any sort of interest in you...

“Hm.” You hummed as you tuned him out once he started talking about where he gets his suits.

“So, what are you doing for the holidays?”

“Not much really, I don’t want to go home this year, my family can be a bit too much.” You answered.

He held onto your elbow, whispering into the ear over the festive music, “You wanna get out of here?”

You nodded. Collecting your coat you followed him out but he still wouldn’t stop fucking talking as you both waited for the elevator.

If only to just shut him up, and because you hadn’t felt any sort of intimacy, not even so much as a hug in the past year.

You pulled away when you heard someone clear their throat, your heart hammering in your chest as you feared of being branded the office slut.

“Oh,” you let out when you saw Andy come out of the elevator, giving you a look before staring Neil down. “Hey...” You're not supposed to be here.

“Neil,” he said, his hands on his hips.

“Hey, man, have fun at the party, we were just taking off,” Neil looked at you, probably hoping to get out of there.

“She’s not coming with you.”

Which made you huff. Putting you in an awkward position because yeah you’re obviously not going home with him now but who the fuck did Andy think he was to tell you what to do.

“What?” Neil scoffed before looking at you for an answer.

“Yeah, I um... have to help Mr Barber with something,” you told him before apologising and following Andy to his office. If Neil was upset, he didn’t really show it, telling you that it was okay and you’ll both get together some other time.

“Close the door behind you,” Andy instructed.

“Did you forget something? I didn’t know you were coming... or I wouldn’t have...”

“Wouldn’t have what? Made out with the first man you laid eyes on?” he quirked a brow at you.

“It was hardly making out,” you rolled your eyes, “I have a friend who’s from Europe and she kisses me on my lips all the time!”

“What constitutes as ‘real' kissing to you then?”

You hummed in thought before pulling him over to the window, where you had hung up some mistletoe while you were decorating his office, you pointed up at it

“It’s more festive this way,” and then crashed your mouth over his, he tasted like coffee and peppermint from the candy cane cookies you baked and gave him as a Christmas present.

You released all your pent up tension and feelings into that one kiss, massaging his tongue with yours, caressing his cheeks over his beard, not pulling away until you literally couldn’t breathe.

“See,” you wiped some of your lipgloss off of his mouth with your thumb, “this is real making out.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he spat, his mind still a bit dizzy, “From now on, you’re not going to be kissing anyone.”

“What? You don’t get to tell me what to do! Not after work hours, and let’s see,” you looked at your wrist, “it’s after six!”

Taking a hold of your forearm, digging his nails into your skin, “Stop playing games,” he sneered

“You’re the one who’s been playing hard to get since the beginning,” you mumbled.

“Fine then. No more games from now on, you’re mine.”

“Just like that? I don’t get a say in it?” Not that you would ever even consider rejecting such a tempting offer...

“No, you don’t, since you decided to go and be a bad girl. What am I going to do with you,” he shook his head. Before stealing another kiss from you, he was already addicted to the taste of you.

He thought he could stay away from you, trying to deny his growing feelings for you, he didn’t want anyone questioning your accomplishments or how you get them. So he returned home with a heavy heart but he missed you and your festive spirit too much, so he came back, to maybe tell you how he felt, only to see you in another’s arms...

“Um... maybe you could let me off with a spanking?” you cheekily suggested.

“You’re definitely on the naughty list this year,” he said and then gasped, a bit taken aback, when he felt you squeeze his ass.

“Ha! I knew it! I knew it’d be the most perfect piece of ass ever.” You laughed like a maniac, grabbing two handfuls of his buttcheeks and then pressing your face into his chest, his body heat warming you up in the nicest way as he wrapped his hands around you to hug you.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said, patting your hair, “because we’re going back to my place. And I’m going to teach you a lesson or two on apprprite office etiquette.”

“Mm... okay.” You usually hated lessons and lectures but this one sounded promising.

[yikesharringrove]

billy and steve would both be such dilfs. i feel like when billy starts putting on weight, he gets really insecure about it, is afraid steve won’t think he’s sexy anymore. but steve will practically throw himself at billy the second he gets back from dropping their kids off at baseball practice. and now that billy didn’t work out as much (other than a morning jog) they got to spend more time together.

and steve would be really insecure about getting wrinkles and just getting old in general because he grew up listening to his mom complaining about her wrinkles and how they made her ugly. but billy would love them because they showed how much he made steve smile and laugh. he’d press kisses all over steve’s face. and billy would just be so happy that he’s going to grow old with the love of his life, which is something he never thought he deserved.

“Okay, what about a little-” Steve placed a finger on either temple and cheekbone, lightly pulling “just a tiny lift.”

Billy was standing behind Steve, watching as he nitpicked over himself in the mirror.

He was prodding at the wrinkles around his eyes, mussing up his hair.

It was still long and thick, his barber told him a month ago that’s Steve’s the only client that asks to have his hair thinned out. But he was going greyer everyday. It began around his temples, the moved up. He used to plug the sliver hairs, until suddenly there was more salt and pepper than brown and he threw in the towel.

Billy loved the grey hairs, called Steve my silver fox of a husband. Steve threatened to dye it all back to brown at least once a week.

“Baby, leave your face alone. I like it.” Steve pouted at him in the mirror.

“Just look so damn old. Don’t know how you can even stand to look at me.”

Billy moved forward, pressing against Steve’s back, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“You’re still hot as all fuck.” Billy reached up to brush his fingers over the lines on Steve’s face. He thumbed the hairline valleys around Steve’s eyes, dropping to dust feather-light fingertips around his mouth. “See these? All from laughing.”

“My mom warned me about laugh lines.”

“Nothin’ to be ashamed off. Means you’ve been happy.” And that, that’s why Billy loves them so much. They show that he’s made Steve happy, that their life together has made him happy. Billy could fuckin’ cry at the thought.

Steve turned around in his arms, draping his arms loosely over Billy’s shoulders. He had that soft little smirk on his face. And Billy fucking knows that look.

“We got two hours ‘til I gotta pick up Chloe.”

Steve’s eyes only got brighter.

“Then what are we doing with clothes on?”

Billy barked a laugh at that. Steve swooped in to plant a kiss on Billy’s cheek, flouncing past him, turning around halfway through the bedroom to face Billy, flopping backwards onto the bed.

He reached up, making grabby hands in Billy’s general direction.

Billy rolled his eyes.

How many years and Steve is still a fucking brat.

He wouldn’t have it any other way though.

Billy approached him, kneeling between Steve’s spread legs, leaning over to plant his forearms on either side of Steve’s head.

Steve was already yanking at the buttons on his flannel shirt, opening it up and pushing it as best as he could off Billy’s shoulders.

Steve liked to call Billy’s current look lumberjack dad chic.

There were a lot of flannels involved. His beard had some grey streaks running through it.

He had decided to lean into the whole vibe a few years ago.

Billy started putting on weight in his late twenties.

He wasn’t working out as viciously as he used to. Coupled with the fact that Steve is a really good cook and his metabolism slowing down, chubbiness was inevitable.

It used to get under his skin, every time he’d have to buy new pants, go up a size or two on the waist band.

But something interesting happened when his gut began to settle in.

Steve couldn’t keep his damn hands to himself.

He was insatiable. Their sex life had never been so good.

So Billy felt pretty okay about it.

Plus he’s like, a dad now. He doesn’t have to be the most fuckable guy in town anymore. (But Steve says he’ll always be the most fuckable guy in town. Billy appreciates it.)

And something about being fat and happy makes him a little misty. Spending lazy mornings in bed with his husband instead of going to the gym. Eating the rich foods presented to him with a kiss and a smile.

It’s like Steve’s laugh lines.

Marks of growing old together.

Because Billy never thought he’d see thirty.

Thought Neil would get to him before then. Or maybe his own rage.

And Steve thought he’d never find anyone that loved in the same way he did, as all-consuming and enormous. He thought he’d be divorced and depressed by now.

But they’ve got family together, and furniture they share, and a goddamn house, and children.

And Billy’s lived past thirty. He’s closing in on fifty now, which is scary in a totally different way.

And Steve’s got someone that would go to the ends of the Earth for him, who loves him as much as he loves.

And they’ve got this shared history, these matching scars and tattoos and wrinkles.

And they’ve watched each other grow old, when neither of them thought that was going to be in the cards for them.

And Steve’s got lines on his face and grey in his hair, and Billy’s got soft fat covering all his bulky muscles and his kids tell him he gives the world’s best hugs, and it feels like they did the impossible. Grew up together. Grew happy together.

And Steve comes with Billy to pick up their daughter, and they hold hands the entire drive there.

Just because they can.

[ssadumba55]

Santa’s Not Real (Bernard X Miller!Reader)

A/n: This one was not requested by anyone in particular, but is my own personal contribution to the Bernard catalogue. This was really just an excuse to write the Millers, because Neil is my second favourite character in the series. I’ve been writing for Bernard for three years and just when I thought I’d explored every possibility with him, we all come up with more ideas to keep the love for him alive. I want to thank you all for allowing me to write for such special and sacred movies to us all. I hope I do Bernard even a sliver of justice. Merry Christmas, you guys! Hope we see more Bernard content next year!  Enjoy, you deserve this!

Being the child of Neil Miller wasn’t exactly what you’d call “fun” or “exciting”. He was always trying to get into your mind and figure out how you were feeling. Of course, sometimes it was nice to have your father be so understanding of your emotional needs, other times you wished he’d leave you alone.

At first, when he married Laura, you were worried about the usual kid stuff. Would your dad stop being as attentive to you? Would you and Laura get along? Would you and Charlie get along?

Laura had a son named Charlie. At first, you two were always butting heads. He was a firm believer in Santa Claus, which had never made much sense to you, what teenager still believed in Santa Claus? It was cute and charming when you were both kids, but now it was starting to get a little creepy.

You wondered if your dad was as worried as you. This had to stunt his mental growth or whatever.

“(Y/n). Pass me the glue stick,” Your little sister, Lucy, reached across the table to grab at the sticky tube. You swiped it up and handed it to her.

The two of you were sat at the table, Lucy was doing arts and crafts. You were supposed to be supervising. Laura, Charlie and your father were in the next room having a discussion. You didn’t even need to ask what it was about. Charlie’s father.

You had never met Scott Calvin yourself; you had always refused to participate in family outings involving him, feigning sick or making up other excuses for why you couldn’t go. It wasn’t that you hated the guy, you really had no opinion on him. You just found it weird to hang around with Charlie’s dad, after all Scott and Laura had divorced for a reason, right?

“Uncle Scott is Santa Claus, you know,” Lucy said matter of factly as she glued two pieces of paper together. She said this to you a lot and every time, it annoyed you just a tad bit more. There was no way Charlie’s dad was “Santa Claus”.

“Just because he’s fat and has a beard, does not make him Santa Claus, Luce. Grow up. Santa Claus isn’t even real, it’s just some lie dad and mom made up to get you to go to sleep on time on Christmas Eve, so you won’t see them putting the presents down,” you looked down at the book you were reading. Lucy glared at you from across the table, slamming her glue stick down.

“I’m serious!” She cried out.

“Lucy, (Y/n), Scott will be here soon. Come on out here.”

You rolled your eyes as your little sister hurried out of the kitchen, excitedly yelling about “Uncle Scott”. This was the first time, no matter how many excuses you came up with, your father refused to let you skimp on meeting Scott. His words echoed in your head.

“You’re as much a part of this family as Charlie and Lucy. Scott is an important part of this family, it’s time we finally share that with you.”

Whatever that means.

You followed your sister into the living room, where you could already hear a loud boisterous voice chatting with your family members. You hesitated in the hallway, trying to hear what they were talking about.

“(Y/n)?” Your dad called once more.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you hurried the rest of the way into the living room, pausing as you reached the doorway.

Lucy was already all over her “Uncle Scott”, sitting in his lap and telling him an exciting story. Charlie was leaning forward in his seat, clearly very happy to see his father after not seeing him for so long. Laura and your dad had their arms around each other, sitting on the couch, watching the whole scene with affection.

Then there was somebody else standing beside Scott in his chair. You quietly walked across the room to sit next to Charlie without disturbing the guests. Before you could even get halfway into the room however;

“Who’s this?”

You froze, turning to look at Scott. Of course he would be curious why he’d never seen you around before.

“This is (Y/n), my eldest. They’re Charlie’s age.” Neil explained for you. You wished for a brief moment he wouldn’t do that stuff, you were almost an adult, you could answer simple questions for yourself.

“(Y/n) Miller,” you held your hand out to shake. He shook it and as he did so, you couldn’t help but think about what Lucy had said earlier. Maybe he wasn’t Santa, but he sure did look the part. You looked up to the guy standing beside him.

“Scott Calvin. My right-hand man, Bernard,” he introduced himself and the guy in one fell swoop. He looked a little young to be someone’s right-hand man. He almost looked like he was your age.

“Lucy says you’re Santa Claus. But I don’t believe that. Santa Claus is just a made-up character, there’s no such thing,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. The easy calm that was in the air previously dissipated somewhat as you said that. Scott was the only one who seemed completely unphased by what you said.

“You know what, I don’t blame you, (Y/n), one man delivering presents to all the children in the world,” he shook his head. “Sounds impossible.”

You nodded along with him, clearly, he was a very logical man. You wondered where Charlie got his obsession with Santa from. Clearly not Laura, she was very practical as well.

“But I seem to recall you wanted a dog for your 5th Christmas. And the year after your parents divorced, you wrote to me asking for your mother to come back. Unfortunately there are some things that even Santa can’t fix, though I would’ve loved it if I could,” he explained sympathetically. There was silence in the room.

You had never told anyone what you wrote to Santa that year. Not even your father. How could you tell him to his face that all you wanted was your mother back, after she’d abandoned the both of you? How, then, did Scott Calvin know your biggest childhood wish?

“I…”

“(Y/n)?” Your dad’s voice called from a distance, but you were already climbing the stairs, two at a time. You had to get away from him. He just reminded you of all the pain you’d been through after that divorce. That was the last year you wrote to Santa. That was the year you stopped believing in Santa. Not even Charlie Calvin could convince you after that.

There was a knock on your bedroom door.

You hesitated, opening the door slowly. You were expecting it to be your dad. But it was Bernard, you were pretty sure that’s what Scott had said his name was.

“I offered to come check on you, it’s a lot at first to find out Santa is real. I’m the best at answering questions on this topic,” he offered.

You scoffed loudly. “And what are you, then? An elf?”

“I’m really sorry about your parents, (Y/n), but you seem really happy here. With Neil and Laura. And Charlie and Lucy,” he walked over to your bed, sitting cross legged on top, as if you’d invited him in for a quick friendly chat.

You felt yourself deflate slightly. There was no denying you did miss your mom, even though you saw her occasionally. It wasn’t enough. But at the same time, your father had tried really hard to rebuild a family for you. What more could you ask for?

“Bernard, if you and Scott are really who you say you are, then how does that work?” You asked, uncertainly.

He laughed slightly, standing and patting you on the back. “It’s nice to know we didn’t completely lose you.”

“I’m not saying I believe in Santa-!”

“Too late you already did!”

This guy was going to get on your last nerve, you could already tell but you found yourself laughing as he walked out ahead of you.

Scott really was Santa, Lucy was right. You’d never doubt her again.

[pixie88]

Santa Baby

A/N | @palmaviolet I did it and thanks for the idea! I didn't make it smutty, but I just wasn't in the mood to write smutt so I'm sorry! I hope you still like it and thanks for the idea! 😘

Pairings | Adam x Ellie.

Warnings | Mild NSFW 🔞

Word count | 727

"You look a bit too slim! Grab a pillow and shove it up your jacket." She reaches for a pillow from their bed, "Isn't a pillow to soft? The kids will know, plus Father Christmas isn't Scottish! Maybe Neil would make a better one?" he grumbles.

"Oh come on! Santa can be Scottish, he can do all different accents. He is magical after all!" She winks at him "and besides, I can't sit on Neil's knee that will just be weird!" she teases him. "You gonna tell Father Christmas what you want?"

She chuckles, "Only if he promises I can have it early!" She kisses his cheek before pulling up his beard, "I think we should have painted your beard white, it's poking through!" he groans, "No, I will do anything for those rugrats, but I'm not walking round with my own white beard!"

She tuts "but it's only face paint!" pulling down his fake beard again "Ell's no! That stuff doesn't come off! Charlie still has a green face from Halloween six weeks ago!" he cracks a joke. "Oh come on, it's just a bit of face paint! What are you a man or a mouse!" She teases him. "Mouse!" He says before bolting away from her and out of their bedroom.

She chases him down the stairs "Adam, go on! It's only face paint!" she calls after him as they get to the bottom of the stairs. He rushes through to the living room with her following close behind, he stops and turns toward her. She collides into his padded chest "oh!"

"Fine, I'll let you paint it, but only you if to sit on Father Christmas's lap before the kids come back!" he has a mischievous glint in his eye, "Sorry, Santa! I'm married!" she giggles. "Oh, I'm sure he won't mind!" he smirks, "Still, I won't risk my marriage for a bunk up with Santa!" she winks biting her lip.

He removes his fake white beard "Lucky for me, Father Christmas is gone!" he pulls her over to the sofa and makes her sit across his lap. "So.. beautiful, what would you like for Christmas?" she taps her chin pretending to think as his lips press against her pulse line electrifying every nerve ending. He nips at her neck "you know you are making it hard to think!" he chuckles against her "come on you must have something in mind?"

He peppers kisses along her jaw line until he reaches her lips, she pulls away "I got it! You under the tree in nothing, but a bow!" she teases him and he chuckles "I'll have to see what I can do and you'll just have to stay off the naughty list!" she grins, "that's pretty hard when I have a husband like mine!" she baits him.

He picks her up and presses her against the sofa cushions claiming her lips when they hear the front door open "Mummy? Daddy? We're home!"

"I think they have a surprise for you." they heard Mel tell them, "Cock blockers!" Adam mutters under his breath as he pulls away from Ellie and puts his fake white beard back on. Ellie giggles "time to put on your best performance!" she nudges her, "Oh, I was about to!" he winks with that grin she loves.

Christmas day...

Nina and Al had invited them all up to Edinburgh for a few days over Christmas, Nina had gone all out, the house was decorated beautifully. She even put a tree in their room that Adam asked for, so they could put the stocking filler present under as their tradition was they opened them in their parents' bed on Christmas morning.

After a busy day Ellie finally got the kids down for the night, "Ellie!?" she heard Adam call out from their bedroom. She wanders across the hall and opened their door to find Adam underneath the tree he had asked to be put in their room wearing nothing, but a bow "Adam! What are you doing?!" she closed the door behind her. "This is what you asked for, right?"

She blushes red "but your mum and dad are just downstairs!" he gets up off the floor making his way over to her "both sound asleep, so beautiful! Why don't you find out if you've been naughty or nice this year!"

@lem-20 @aussieez @secretaryunpaid @irisofpurple @rookiemartin @gloriousalmondvoiddreamer @palmaviolet @khoicesbyk @wombatsxkookaburras @beautifuluknownvoid