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multifandomimagin3s · 1 year

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Pornstar Dancing [Soap MacTavish x Reader]

Summary: Taskforce 141 are assigned an undercover mission - (R/N) has to use 'equipment' which the military didn't give her. Her friend, Johnny, likes what he sees...

A/N: I was sitting listening to 'Pornstar Dancing' - My Darkest Days, and an idea came into my head. Ngl, this is basically p*rn without a plot but hwg~ *Also peep the Supernatural reference hehe*

mature themes, smut, minors dni. reader is AFAB

This was without a doubt one of the craziest things you've ever had to do for a mission - and that was saying something. 'Crazy' comes with the job, being part of 141 was never going to be a walk in the park and you never expected any less.

When Laswell had given you your file for the mission, you let out a laugh, thinking that she was joking. Spoiler alert - she wasn't. Your role was to go undercover to spy on the target - a Kingpin, no less - at a club, distracting him and his cronies to buy the rest of the team enough time to disable the security, get into position, and capture him. Now you may be thinking, "that doesn't sound too bad." "Oh, what type of club?" you may ask. A Strip club. Yep, tonight, you had agreed to be a stripper. On stage. In front of hundreds of people. In front of a Kingpin. And, in front of your team-mates. And it was safe to say that you were absolutely shitting yourself at the prospect of it.

So here you were - clad in a royal blue bra, panties and garter belt littered with sparkly diamantes. To match, Laswell had given you a set of clear Pleasers, with blue glitter throughout the heels and platforms of the shoes. It had to be said, the outfit did look good on you, which gave you a bit more confidence. But felt naked - in the literal sense, and given the fact you couldn't carry weapons on you that weren't pocket-sized. Can't hide a glock in your bra.

As you fluffed up your hair, one of the managers came over to say that you were up next. You gave her a tight-lipped smile and a nod, as she ushered you over to the side of the stage, just hidden behind the curtains. As if she were psychic, she brought over a tray with a shot glass and a bottle of tequila perched on it," Here you go - calms the nerves."

You thanked her, throwing the shot back, cringing slightly at the cool, burning sensation. The DJ picked up his mic, voice thick with exaggerated enthusiasm as he gave your queue, "Alright everyone, please welcome to the stage 'Bella Donna.'!"

"Belladonna? Like, the pornstar?" Soap questioned, curious as to why, out of all the names that you could have picked out, you went for that one.

Ghost rolled his eyes," The poison - Deadly Nightshade is also called Belladonna." His tone was clipped. He was used to Johnny's antics by now, they'd been working together long enough. But it didn't mean that it didn't get on his nerves any less.

"Hm, clever," Soap nodded - your codename whilst on the battlefield was in fact 'Nightshade' - you were given that mantle before your transfer to the 141 taskforce, given your skills on the battlefield; deadly. The song began, booming through the speakers. Johnny's gaze shot over to the stage, his jaw dropped as you sashayed down the runway towards the pole," Steamin' bloody Jesus..."

Johnny's eyes raked over your form as you swung gracefully around the pole in time with the music - the song was actually one of his favourites. Speaking of favourites, the underwear set you had on was in his favourite colour; the longer he looked the more he could feel his cock twitch in his trousers, and if he didn't look away soon he'd end up with a problem. But he couldn't look away.

He struggled to suppress a groan as you hung upside down on the pole, clutching it between your thighs. When and where you learned how to pole dance, he had no idea - but holy shit, you were good. He had to bite down on the knuckles of his clenched fist, trying to wish his growing hard-on back down.

"Focus, Sergeant," Price spoke concisely through his ear piece - with a subtle hint of amusement behind his words. Everyone in the task force knew that Johnny had a thing for you - he was hardly subtle about it either but had yet to make a move. He was your friend - he thought you wouldn't see him any other way, and didn't want to ruin your friendship if you didn't return his feelings.

Johnny cleared his throat, trying to make his words not sound s as strained as he felt, " Sorry, Sir."

Ghost chuckled slightly, so quiet that the music completely drowned it out. Oh, he was absolutely going to take the piss out of him later.

The Kingpin stood from his seat as the song was coming to an end, coming to stand at the end of the stage. Playing along with the facade, you pressed your back against the cool metal of the pole, spreading your legs slightly as you dropped down into a sort-of squat. You inwardly cringed at his appearance - a sweaty, greasy-looking creep.

He placed a large stack of money at your feet, giving you a salacious wink," Give me a private dance, Sweetheart."

I'd rather dance on your head, you prick. "Of course," You gave him a smile, picking up the wad of cash before standing to full height, towering over him. As the target turned to his cronies, you looked to the back of the room, seeing Ghost give you a nod - good to go. Your eyes met Soap's as he fixed you with an expression that you hadn't seen before.

"Lead the way, hot stuff," The voice of the slimy kingpin cut through your daze, as he held out his hand to help you down the steps at the side of the stage. Oh, what a gentleman, you thought sarcastically, taking his hand. His cronies stayed behind, dispersing into the crowd to go and do as they pleased while their boss was 'occupied.' Perfect.

The situation escalated rapidly after that. As soon as you got the Kingpin into one of the private rooms, Ghost was already there, hiding in the dark corner. He pounced, quickly punched the target out before he could let out any sound of alarm, tying his arms behind his back and a cloth gag over his mouth," Good work, Sergeant."

You nodded, letting out a breath that you didn't know you were holding.

"Bravo 0-7 to Bravo 6 - target has been neutralised, over."

"This is Bravo 6 - good work, bring him out."

With apparent ease, Ghost lifted the unconscious male up, checking the coast was clear outside the room before dragging him to the fire escape. Pushing the door open revealed Gaz and Price, ready and waiting, as the target was hauled into the truck. The cool night air hit your exposed skin, your arms folding over your chest.

"Here you go, Darlin'," You jumped slightly, turning to see Johnny behind you, holding a bundle of your clothes out to you," As nice as you look, it's baltic oot there, you'll be freezin'."

You smiled slightly," Thank you, Soap -"

"Call me Johnny," He smiled slightly - his eyes wandered down to your chest briefly before quickly flicking back up to meet your eyes. There was a beat of silence, as that unreadable expression fell over his face once again, before he cleared his throat," Get yourself changed - I'll wait out here for you."

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

The mission was a complete success which meant the team was allowed to head back to base. Thank god, you thought. A hot shower, takeout and a decent night's sleep were definitely in order and they were going to the first order of business as soon as you got back. Or, well, that was the plan.

It was as if Johnny had read your mind, as he showed up at your door not even half an hour after having gotten through the front door, a plastic bag containing Chinese food in his hand. He smiled," Got the goods."

Shower forgotten, you let him into your room. You had actually just been unpacking your duffel bag when he knocked, random items scattered across your bed; Johnny clicked his tongue," Question?"

"Shoot."

"How the fuck did you walk in these?!" Johnny asked incredulously, turning to face you, your heels suspended on the end of his finger.

You laughed at his reaction, he always had a bit of a flare for the dramatics. "A bit of liquid courage helped - and no, they weren't comfortable."

"Ohh, drinking on the job? Bad girl." He winked with a smile, his pearl white teeth practically sparkling. Bad girl. His words caused a pool of heat to build in your lower stomach, a slight blush dusting your cheeks. There was no denying that he was an attractive guy, and he had a great personality - and maybe you did have a bit of a crush on him. A big crush. But you were friends, surely he wouldn't feel the same way?

"Okay - it was one shot of tequila," You rolled your eyes, trying to will the blood to dissipate from your rosy cheeks," The Manager must have noticed that I was nervous, she gave me it before I went on-stage."

Johnny's brows knitted together, as he placed the heels back onto the bed, coming to stand no more than two feet away from you," Nervous? You were amazing on that stage, didn't know you could move like that - that wasn't the tequila that did that, that was all you, Darlin'."

Darlin'. You looked to the floor, feeling your cheeks heat up at his praise. Johnny tilted your chin up with two fingers under your jaw," Hey, I mean it - you looked really good, hell you probably made a fortune into the bargain, putting the pros to shame."

His light-hearted tone always managed to make you laugh; you met his soft gaze as he smiled, letting out a chuckle. His pale blue eyes stared into yours, falling to your lips and back up again. The tension was rising, he shuffled closer. You bit your bottom lip, his thumb pressing on it gently to release it from your teeth. He swallowed - now who's the nervous one?

"I - I'm just going to come out and say this," Johnny looked into your eyes, gaze unwavering even with his hesitance," I like you...as more than just a friend - I've fancied you for ages, but I was too scared to tell you in case you didn't feel the same."

You were gobsmacked, which must have been evident on your face as he quickly continued without missing a beat. "I think you're beautiful and well, tonight... I couldn't take my eyes off of you, I wanted to be the only one to see you like that... and I know that makes me sound like a selfish prick but -"

You cut him off, connecting your lips in a soft kiss. He went rigid for a second, as if processing that this was actually happening, arms wrapping around your waist as he reciprocated the kiss. He pulled away slightly, nose touching yours; his eyes were closed, a smile slowly making its way onto his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly with joy, as he pulled you into a deeper kiss. And another. And another.

Johnny unzipped your hoodie, you shrugged the material off your shoulders to the floor, arms wrapping around his neck. He groaned lowly as he noticed that you were still wearing the lingerie from before," You look so fucking sexy - in my favourite colour too, you're going to drive me crazy." His favourite colour is blue? Noted.

His large hands slid up your ribcage, firmly cupping your breasts through the cups of your bra. He hummed lowly, leaning down to press hot open-mouthed kisses across the expanse of your chest. You let out a soft gasp, as his kisses trailed up the side of your neck to your jaw, sucking lightly," The whole time you were on-stage, all I could think about was how much I wanted to fuck you."

You moaned lightly, as his hand wandered down to slip underneath the waistband of your sweatpants, rubbing over the front of your panties. Your knees buckled slightly, leaning further into him for support. He smirked, pressing his fingers directly onto your clit, your breath hitching at the contact. You cupped his bulge through his trousers causing him to grunt," Two can play at that game, Sergeant."

You dropped to your knees, unbuckling his belt, tugging his jeans and boxers down his legs; he stepped out of them, kicking them off to the side. He let out a hiss as your hand wrapped around his semi-hard length, stroking slowly from base to tip. You bit your lip to hide your smile, licking a bold stripe along the underside of his cock.

"You're really good at this." Johnny gathered your hair into a ponytail with one hand, the other cupping your cheek. You sucked the tip into your mouth, tongue circling the sensitive head, before taking his entire length down your throat. He groaned, eyes fluttering shut briefly. You repeated the action, before pulling away, pumping his length, laving your tongue over his balls," Fuck."

He gently tugged you off him, pulling you up into a sloppy kiss that was all tongues and teeth. He dipped down, briskly pulling you up into his arms, hands firmly grasping onto your ass. He walked you both backwards, turning to place on the edge of your bed; you quickly pushed all the items littered across your bedspread to the floor, you'd deal with the mess later. Johnny draped himself over you, pulling your sweatpants down your legs and over your feet, tossing them to the floor - revealing the matching panties and garter belt. He groaned lowly. "Fuckin' hell."

Johnny leaned down, pressing kisses down the column of your throat, between your breasts, down your navel to the band of your panties. You moved to peel them off, but his hand gently grabbed your wrist," Keep them on - want to fuck you in them." He grinned, ripping his shirt over his head, throwing it away to the corner of the room. Johnny dipped down, hands rubbing over the insides of your thighs; he had spent so many nights dreaming of being in this exact position, fucking into his clenched fist, imagining it was your pussy. He pulled the cloth of your thong to the side, humming as he blew cold air across your wet folds.

"Stop teasing me, Johnny," You whined, nails scratching across his scalp. The sound of his name - not his call-sign - coming from your lips in such a sinful way made his cock twitch. He placed his hot mouth over your clit, closing his eyes as his tongue swirled in small circles around the bundle of nerves.

You let out a moan, throwing your head back against the sheets. You bit your bottom lip as his hands secured over the front of your thighs, pulling you closer to his face. He pulled away slightly, fingers rubbing over your folds before he sank his index finger into your pussy. His middle finger joined soon after as he kitten licked your clit, fingers curling to hit your g-spot.

"Johnny," You cried out, writhing in pleasure, making his free arm fold around your hips as he held you in place. He groaned, turning his head to suck a hickey into the soft skin of your inner thigh." Feels so good - want you to fuck me so hard," You cooed as this thumb rubbed circles over your sensitive clit.

He pulled away, hands spreading your thighs," Such a pretty pussy." crawling over you body to kiss you hard, teasing your folds with his hard cock.

You let out a gasp as he slowly sank himself inside you, inch by inch. "Wanted to do this for so long." He kissed you deeply, groaning as you took his bottom lip between your teeth and pulled lightly. Your mouth fell open, crying out as he began with slow, deep thrusts.

Your brows knitted together as his length pressed into your g-spot. "Right there, yeah?" He asked in a slightly teasing tone, hand coming to wrap around the front of your throat, grasping gently. He thrusted into the same spot again, humming when you let out a squeal at the stimulation. He gave a heavier thrust, swallowing your moans with a kiss.

" Harder - fuck me harder," You stared into his eyes, challenging him. He quirked a brow, pulling your legs up to rest over his shoulders, palms pressing your knees down towards your chest. The change of angle allowed him to reach deeper than before, as he rammed into you, groaning as your walls squeezed tightly around him. Your hand covered your mouth in an attempt to suppress your moans, mindful that you two weren't the only ones on base.

Johnny peeled your hand away, linking your fingers together with a grin," Let them hear, Gorgeous - fuck - let them hear how good I'm making you feel." Your eyes rolled back as you felt yourself nearing your climax, reaching between your legs with your free hand to rub your clit in time with his thrusts.

"Fuckin' hell," Johnny slowed his thrusts as he felt your walls clenched around him as you came, arms wrapping around the back of his neck. He groaned into the crook of your neck; you thought he was about to cum but he didn't. He gave you a languid kiss, before slowly pulling out of you," Want you to ride me."

His hands came to rest on your hips, pulling you up with him as he laid on his back. You blushed slightly as you swung a leg over his waist, reaching down to guide his tip through your folds, sinking down on him slowly. Johnny grinned up at you as you swivelled your hips, his cock digging into your g-spot. "Shit," You cried, placing your palms on his chest as you began to thrust down onto him. He bit his lip with a smirk, hands smoothing down to grasp your ass as he watched your tits bounce. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his in a heated kiss; he thrusted up into you, smiling as you moaned into his mouth.

"Cum for me, gorgeous," Johnny's length twitched inside of you as you tried to meet his thrusts," Come on, make me cum." He cooed, groaning as he felt your walls tighten around him, your hips stalling against his. His arms wound around you tightly as he came, hugging you to his chest.

You lifted your hips off him, rolling to lay beside him as you both panted, trying to catch your breath. You turned your head, meeting his adoring gaze with a smile, turning to cuddle into his side. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, arm wrapping around your form, holding you to him.

"So...I take it you fancy me too then, Darlin'?"

#soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #call of duty #cod #multifandomimagin3s

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aestheticsarereal · 2 years

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The Pleasure Principle - e.m.

a/n: Lord have mercy. This is just straight porn. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing! As always requests are always open!

Summary: Eddie finds himself at a strip club one night and sees a familiar face on stage. How could he not request a dance?

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Graphic description, rough sex, Dom!Eddie,choking, swearing, being a stripper? Alcohol consumption, pet names: kitten, doll, etc. sexual tension, creampie, unprotected sex, Wrap it before you tap!

Pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader stripper

Wc: 4.3k

Photo credit: N/A

Do not post my work anywhere!

Friday nights were always the busiest of your week. It was payday and everyone wanted a stress reliever for a hard week’s work. You had claimed your residency at the club a little over 7 months ago. It was pretty hard to miss the neon signs that illuminated the front of the building. A giant yellow and pink flashing neon sign etched ‘PANTHER PLAYGROUND’ with a bright pink cat that switched to a girl arching her back. On the front of the building were other neon signs in hues of blues, purples and pinks ‘Girls Girls Girls’, ‘All Nude’, ‘Live Girls’. The strip club had been located 15 minutes south of Hawkins, where you and most of the girls lived.

Plenty of graduated seniors and business men made their way there every week it seemed. Most of your shifts, much like this one, started at 10 p.m. and ended near 2 a.m. You had 5 half hour floor sets and the rest of the time was spent in the private rooms where regulars, out of towners or newbies wanted a one on one dance. While you might have been fairly new to the playground, you were the hottest ticket in town.

You had graduated over a year ago and had been the youngest girl there at a whooping nineteen. That drove everyone up the wall. It earned you the nickname ‘Babydoll’. You played on this by wearing bright and playful colors. Your signature was pink. Baby pink lipgloss, lingerie, heels, makeup, and pink glitter. The more innocent you looked the more bills you collected at the end of the night. Frills, lace, shimmer, you name it.

It had already been 12:15 a.m. and it was time for your third set of the night, except now you were on the main stage. The reflective tiles littered across were in the shape of a giant ‘T’. It seemed like a catwalk with the pole right in the middle of the stage’s junction. That was your favorite place to dance. You could easily get lost as the spotlight followed you down the aisle. Your friends often asked if you still had stage fright but it was quite the opposite. You couldn’t wait to strut out onto the stage and captivate the lively bodies in the room.

The club’s walls were bouncing from the bass and reverberation of each of the songs that played one after another. Each girl had a mix that played when they were on the main stage. Through all of the glitter and innocence, your mix consisted of rock and metal. The juxtaposition alone made the room go wild. Scanning the crowd, you knew tonight was going to be a good one. Weekends in the summer always were. “Next up, you know her, you love her. She's the Panther's girl next door. Give it up for…Babydoll!” The DJ’s voice mixed with the cheers and whistles that echoed in your ears.

You pranced up the stairs and smiled and waved at some of the familiar faces you spotted in the crowd. Twirling to get some of the tables more loud and playing with your hair that was curled and teased up. Before you planted yourself on the pole, you turned to a random table of guys you're recognized from a few years ago at Hawkins High. It was your way to start a set by blowing a glossed kiss at a new table every night.

You raised your right hand above your head and gripped the pole tight. Squeezing your thighs and arching your back so your ass was clearly pushed against the cold steel. That’s when ‘Girls Girls Girls’ by Motley Crue blasted throughout the club. Mixtures of 1’s. 5’s, and 20’s were starting to get thrown at you. Intricately swinging and grinding on the pole. Running your hands up and down your body. Bending over and arching to place yourself in positions that leave little to the imagination.

Right as you worked your way to the chorus you decided to pay the folks at the end of the catwalk some attention. Crawling on all fours, sensually, you heard praises and clapping from either side of you. But that was drowned out. Everything was drowned out as you looked up right at the front doors. The doors had opened to reveal someone who would have never expected to waltz right in.

Back in your senior year, you had shared a few classes with him. He failed almost all of them. Not because he wasn’t smart but because he struggled but no one gave a shit. Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. The reason you two got along was maybe for your love of metal and rock or the fact that you actually helped him in class or the few times you bought a quarter off of him occasionally. He always called you a freak but you liked it. Liked that if you two shared things in common then you would gladly wear the name on your sleeves.

The odd thing was you had never seen him in here before, so now you were intrigued as to why he had been here. But as Vince Neil’s voice reverberated off of the walls, his eyes seemed to catch yours and a wave of shock ran through his eyes but a prominent smirk was etched on his face. This translated into a newfound confidence for you. This dance isn't for everyone anymore. It hadn’t even been for yourself, it was for him. Your eyes followed him as you picked a table not too far from the stage. Just the perfect view to catch you prancing around like a doe.

Song after song played as he still cradled his amber colored drink. Watching you dance. His eyes raking over your body, every crevice and curve. Watching the way your body moved sensually. It was now 12:45 a.m. by the time you had walked off of the main stage. Collecting any and all bills that belonged to you and stuffing them in your pink fluffy duffle bag that you use strictly for your money. Once you knew your money had been safely put away, you headed out to the floor in search of the man of the hour.

However, to your disappointment he had disappeared along with his amber colored drink. Just as you headed towards the bar in hopes if the bartender had seen him anywhere, one of the managers turned you around. “Hey babydoll, there is a private dance waiting in room 1. He also paid for extra time.” “Oh okay, how long did they want?” “Guy said he wanted an hour. Paid upfront in cash too.” The disbelief that took over your face. “Phil, you know I can’t do that.” “Sorry sweetheart, but he already paid. Plus he’s new.”

The sour taste this new guy put in your mouth could just about ruin your night. You practically have to dance for this guy until you close. Of course Phil would allow you to miss your two other stage sets for this fucking dance. You couldn’t help but be a little put off by this guy that you never even met. Who can pay for a full hour dance in cash upfront? As you approached the first door to the private rooms, you took a deep breath in to prepare yourself for the long hour you were about to endure.

There had been a switch next to the handle. It lets dancers know which room is in use and it allows the customer inside to know that you are about to come in. It works because it is too loud to hear any knocking. Your perfect manicured finger flipped the switch on and you put on your most innocent face. Slowly opening the door and slipping inside you made sure to close the door firmly to make sure the new guy could see and hear that you were ready.

You had your back to the guy, mainly so you could give yourself as much time to mentally prepare yourself. But as soon as you turned around, the most audible gasp escaped your lips. It was Eddie. He was standing there in all of his glory. Except now he had ditched the Hellfire shirt for a plain navy blue button up. Still adorning those white Reeboks. His hair was still curly and long and tamed this time. His tattoos are more prominent than ever. Especially his chest. However, his rings caught your attention. They still looked heavy on his hand as it draped over his thigh that was spreading wide open. He looked like sex on that chair.

Your mouth was wide open but no words dared to come out. This made his lips turn up into a giant smile and chuckle at your current state. “Hi babydoll, or can I call you Y/N?” You must have looked stupid. Standing there in 7 inch holographic heels. A pink metallic string bikini adorned your tits and barely covered your ass. Your mouth hangs open like a fish out of water. All you could mutter was a quiet, “Eddie.” “That’s my name sweetheart.”

Then it dawned on you, he wanted an hour’s worth of a dance. “Why are you here?” He mockingly put a hand over his heart like it had genuinely hurt his feelings. “I can’t come in and see the best dancer in all of Hawkins?” You shook your head and rephrased your question. “No I mean why are you getting a dance from me?” “Again Y/N, I wanted to see the best dancer in Hawkins.” This time he stood from the chair and you were practically at his height. No mistake, he towered over you without your heels.

“Are you sure that’s the real reason why you’re here?” He dryly laughed at your question. “I had known for a while that you worked down here. So what I saved a bit to come and get some one on one time with the “Panther’s very own girl next door, Babydoll.”’ This confession made something stir in your lower stomach. “Don’t play with me Munson.” “But that would be nice to do.” That smirk never left his face. “You always did intrigue me Y/N.” He had now been circling you, like a hungry shark. “You were a ‘freak’ like me. Quite the opposite of being a ‘girl next door’. But I can see why they like your little innocent act you put on.” You could feel his stare even when he stopped behind you.

His voice was sending you into a trance. “I always appreciated you for helping me out in class. That reflected when you would come buy from me. But you and I know both why I let you walk away with more than what you were buying.” You shook your head in fear your voice would give you away. Slowly brushing past you, he finally made his way in front of you. “Tsk, tsk sweetheart. I know you’re smarter than that.”

“What if I’m not?” This intrigued him to continue. “Then come show me how dumb you are. Maybe I can teach you a few lessons.” He finally went to sit back down in the black cushioned chair that was set up in the middle of the room. It was a very spacious chair with plenty of room to fit two people in it. His finger lightly petted his thigh, practically making your mouth water. You stood still in the place you found yourself about two minutes ago. “I guess I should get started on your dance then, wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

It was almost in sync, the way you dropped to your knees and through the small enclosed room, Panama by Van Halen eased its way into both of your ears. You could see Eddie shift in his seat. The sight of you on your knees, crawling toward him like some puppy. Your ass was sticking out in the air, practically swaying back and forth as you worked your way to the chair. You internally thanked him for always manspreading because it gave you more access.

Your hands slowly slid up his legs and firmly grasped onto his thighs. Your hands were on top of his. You used this as leverage to stand up but to bend over in his face. His eyes darted from yours, to your lips, then finally to your tits that were spilling out of your sparkly pink bikini top. It didn’t help that your nipples were hard and he wished he could just reach out and suck them into his mouth. He could see your lips were moving but he didn’t hear the words that came out. “What’s the matter Eddie,” you pouted, “cat got your tongue?” You giggled and turned around switching hands to balance yourself on the arms of the chair.

You bent forward, folding in half. Your arms graced down your legs holding onto the back of your calves. He had the perfect view of your ass that was barely covered by the sorry excuse you called ‘bottoms’. He knew he could reach out and just grope you to his heart’s content, but where was the fun in that? You couldn’t believe that Eddie wanted you. Well at the very least, wanted a dance from you.

You spread your legs and grazed your thighs with your fingers and pulled at them. You could hear a low groan come from the older guy from behind you. You couldn’t help the smile that etched itself on your face. The thing about big heels was being able to work more on the balls of your feet. You spun around to face his front and could see the strained erection that had been growing by the second in his tight black jeans.

His eyes followed your every body roll and arch. Teasing was the purpose of your job and teasing was what you would do to this man. Pushing yourself back and onto the floor, you found yourself in the position you first started in. You put your left hand behind you to support yourself, while you sucked on your right thumb. A ‘pop’ rang through the room as it flowed through Eddie’s ears like music. You drug your fingertips down your neck and in between the valley of your breasts. His stare lingered lower to your navel and your clothed cunt.

Your hair flipped as you rolled away and farther from him to play with yourself. You gripped your tits as your back arched from the black tiles. His groans and growls were enough to convince you to give him some attention. He was clearly aching and you wanted to help him. You climbed into his lap and made yourself right at home on his lap. There was a change in his eyes. It was dark. It was lust. His hands gripped your hips tight as you ground your hips down at an agonizingly slow pace.

“So what does a man like you do to have enough cash for an hour dance with Hawkins babydoll?” Your fake lashes bat at him and you stuck your bottom lip out in a pout that showed the small golden flakes in your pink lip gloss. His hands were rough and you could feel the calluses on each of his fingers. “Well, I played guitar for a while, but those calluses you feel are from all the cars I work on sweetheart.” Your eyes went wide and all you could was grind down harder at this new information.

“You like sweetheart? Like that I work a real man’s job. That I earn money so I can come here and see your pretty body dance for me?” This man knew exactly how to make you feel like putty in his hands. You could feel his erection as you were grinding over him and it took everything in you to not whimper at the friction that you were feeling on your clit. But he wasn’t wrong and that was what made you wet. He could read you easily.

Your hands made their purchase in your hair as you swivel your hips on him and bounce. His hands were working their way from your hips to right under your breasts. He couldn’t take it anymore. You were in his lap, practically naked, just begging.

He worked his way to your back where the strings of your top were resting. In one fell motion, your top had fallen down. “Eddie!” “I’m sorry doll, I couldn’t help myself. You’re fucking grinding that cunt on my cock and you look fuckin’ incredible.” “You could have asked,” was all you could reply with. “Don’t tell me that.” His hand reached up to your left tit and squeezed hard. Finally you made your first sound of the night. “That’s it baby, mewl for me. Pur for me like a good kitten.” Out of nowhere you felt his harsh smack to your other tit. A whine filled his ears and this only caused him to do it again.

“You dirty girl, you like it when I slap those tits of yours.” All you could do was nod and gasp as his hot breath caused your nipple to harden even more. His teeth grazed the sensitive bud as you arched your back into him. Your body was begging him for more. He obliged and engulfed your nipple into his mouth. He sucked and pulled it his teeth causing you to moan and buck your hips into his. “Eddie–please.” Nothing was said except that slap that was given to your ass. “You’ll take what I give you, right baby? Because you’re good and good girls wait.”

You nodded and sighed as he switched to the other nipple and rolled the left one in between his fingers. Your hands shakily lowered as you undid the sides of your bottoms and threw them across the room. Here you were in Eddie Munson’s lap, naked and grinding down on his cock like a cat in heat. “Look at you all needy and ready for me, yea?” “Yes Eddie!” His hand wrapped your throat as he sat back to watch you. “Look at you, come one show me how bad you want it.”

You pouted at him but picked up the pace as you rocked back and forth in his lap. The direct contact of the denim and your bare clit made you gasp and whine.

Hisses came from his throat the more your soaking cunt swept over his hard cock. “Just like that Y/N, feel good on me.” “Fuck me Eddie. Please, I need you.” He shushed you and his left hand made its way to your hips to stop you. “Get up,” he commanded. You did as you were told and rubbed your thighs together to generate some sort of friction. He was making work on his jeans. Your eyes were glued on his hands as they slid his zipper down and you couldn’t help but note the mess you made on the dark denim. “Would you look at that? You made quite the mess on my jeans.”

He slid them down along with his boxers. They sat at the mid of his thigh. Your lips parted in sight of his throbbing cock. It bobbed up and hit his stomach. The tip was an angry red and a prominent vein that traveled down all the way to where his balls hung heavy. Little balck curls adorned his base. Well trimmed but still enough to turn you on. There were a few times in the past you caught sight of his happy trail but nothing like this.

His head was already leaking precum and what you wouldn’t give to taste him. But right here and now in this moment you were too needy. You need his cock in you and to fuck you like you were his. You wasted no time in slotting yourself back onto his lap. You took your right hand and ran your fingers through your slick folds, collecting your arousal on your fingers. Pumping his cock in your hand, you made sure to get him nice and wet to take all of you.

“Jesus H. Christ Y/N.” His eyes remained on your hand pumping his cock that was covered in your slick. You leaned in close to his ear, raising your hips right above his tip. “Is this okay with you,” you asked as you licked his earlobe and sank down on him at the same time. A loud ‘yes’ was your answer as you took all of him. You felt so full and so fucking good. The way his cock felt in you, felt like it could have been in your stomach.

“Feel that Eddie? Feel you so deep in me, feel so fucking good.” Your words were coming out in slurs as you slowly raised your hips and brought them back down, feeling every vein and curve. It was as if you were made to take him, all of him. The way his hard cock rubbed against your spongy walls and he was able to hit that spot deep within you. You continued to fuck him slowly as your clit rubbed against the base of his shaft.

He had both of his hands on the side of your torso to guide you up and down on him with ease. The pain of his fingers translated into pleasure as you kept going. Taking a break from riding him you rocked back and forth in his lap. Grinding like before but this time he felt every move of your hips. “Yea baby, work those fuckin’ hips just like the little slut you are.” “M’not a slut,” you huffed out. “No? If you’re not a slut, then why are you fucking me like one? Fucking one of your customers?” You shook your head and continued to grind on his cock. “Hey look at me when I’m talking to you,” he grabbed your face, causing your lips to form into a pout. “I said I'm not a slut.”

He wasn’t having any of it and his hands immediately went down to your ass. You took your hips and raised them as he started fucking up into you. The force and the angle at which he was fucking up caused you to scream out. His balls were slapping up into your ass causing the sound of skin slapping to mix in with the music and your moans. “You’re not a slut huh, guess I need to fuck you like one then.” He was driving up into your cunt, repeatedly hitting that spot that made your legs go weak.

Your hands made purchase on his shoulders as you tried to meet his thrusts. “See you say your not a slut, yet try to fuck me back.” Whines and moans were escaping your lips as you bounced up and down on his shaft. “Feels s’good Eddie.” “I know it does.” Your right hand slipped in between the both of you and started to rub tight circles on your clit.

He noticed and started fucking up into you harder to get you there. “C’mon baby, I want you to cum. Cum all over this cock.” His voice, smooth as velvet. His hands were rough. His cock was fucking you so good. It was all becoming too much and you couldn’t hang on anymore. “I know you can do it Y/N, give me your cum.” His voice pleading you sent you over the edge as your orgasm came crashing over you. “Fuck Eddie!” Hot tears spilled down your face and mixed with your glitter.

You could tell he was close in the way his pace was starting to become erratic. He took you and slammed you down onto his cock as his cum shot up into you. “That’s it, take my cum like the good girl I know you are.” Causing you to gasp at how much he was coming. He kept you there tight until his load was completely emptied in you.

Neither of you dared to move from your position as the both of you panted and tried to catch your breaths. “I think that was an hour’s worth of a private dance.” You looked up and searched his eyes. It was the same old Eddie that had to make you laugh. You chuckled and leaned your forehead against his. “You’re kinda sweaty.” “So are you,” he retorted. He checked his watch and it had already been 1:12 a.m.

“Why do you get dressed, go do whatever you need to do to clock out and you can come back to my place and smoke. You know for old time’s sake?” You smiled and nodded at the idea he proposed. “Wait!” Before he could ask you what was wrong, his lips were enclosed in yours. ‘Mmm’. You captured his top lip in your bottom lip as you leaned into him. Pulling back you looked him in the eyes, “I couldn’t help myself, I’ve been wanting to do that since senior year.” He just smiled and gave you pecks all over your face.

You tried your hardest to get off of his lap without making a complete mess of him or yourself. While he situated himself back in his jeans, you tied your suit back together as neatly as possible. Trying to make it look like you didn’t just get your brains fucked out by the town freak. “Alrighty, I’m going to be right back. Collect my things, pay out the club and I’ll be out front!” He smiled at your cuteness and petted your cheek. “Sounds good Y/N, I’ll be at the bar waiting.” You turned to head out at the door and you could feel his stare on your ass, “I’ll be the short one in pink.”

All Eddie could think was that some things never change.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie the freak munson #joseph quinn smut #stranger things smut #stranger things x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you

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retro-rezz-the-est · 2 years

Text

Heart Strings

Pairing: Damian Priest x female!Reader

Word Count: 7,073 (talk about a comeback lmao)

so @kalliravenne challenged me to write an incubus!D. Priest fic with hints of darkness and dream fuckery....and i think/hope i achieved that.....

this is also the first thing that i've written in the past year and a half so it's bound to be a bit more than rusty but regardless, i hope you enjoy it!!! much love <3

(also this was supposed to be short but managed to be long as shit with hella filler. so read as you will lmao XD)

For as long as you could remember, the club you worked at was always packed, booked, and busy on Halloween nights. How could it not be? A decent enough drink at a less-than-decent establishment with a pretty bad good chance of going home with someone you’ll forget in the next twenty-four hours? What could be better this time of year?

The line already started to curve around the block, with girlfriends dragging along their boyfriends, girl friends having a fun night out with their girl friends, and lonely twenty-somethings just wanting to get their rocks off. You rolled your eyes at the sight as you slipped through the “employee’s only” entrance and dropped your bag inside your locker in the backroom lounge.

The place was damp, the neon lights were shitty, the bar was sticky with gum and drinks you couldn’t quite scrub out, and the walls were covered in graffiti and scrawled-on phone numbers and who knows what else…but you couldn’t help but smile as you filed in behind your coworkers because it was home, your home for the past few years.

“Hey!” one of your coworkers yelled from across the room, calling your name and rushing towards you in a cloud of gold and glitter. “Where’s your costume? Kevin wanted all of us to get into the holiday spirit tonight.”

You dropped your bag into your locker before reaching inside and pulling out a plastic bag. As much as you loved your boss for tolerating you all these years and keeping you hired, he always had a flare for dramatics that was incredibly extra. He had texted every one of your coworkers that you were required to dress up for tonight’s holiday festivities and then proceeded to - at least, to your knowledge - doused the insides of the club with so many cheap Halloween decorations that you’re sure he ran the local party store fresh out of their stock for the next year.

“I know, Cynthia,” you told her, pulling out a small wire halo and angel wings covered in white and silver feathers. “Can’t you tell what I’m gonna be?” You plastered on a smile and gestured down to your all-white party dress and heels.

“You never wear all white, though…” She gasped. “Are you an angel?”

“Exactly, and you are…?”

“Cleopatra, silly!” she smiled, giving you a twirl, the glitter adorning her bodice and skin spreading everywhere. “I’m gonna be by the door handing out flyers and stuff for the dance competition later, so I gotta look cute and eye-catching somehow.”

Cynth gave you a wink before rushing back off to finish her makeup, her beaded headpiece clacking away and making you smile softly before you slipped on your own accessories over your “costume”. The heels you wore were just for show, after all, just for showing Kevin that you actually tried to put some effort in for tonight.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered, forcing a smile onto your face as you stumbled your way past your coworkers and through the back of the club, finally pulling back the curtain that lead into the main dancefloor.

The swirling neon spotlights damn near blinded you when you emerged, the DJ already setting up hisetlist for the night as mini pumpkin, ghost and other Halloween confettis absolutely littered the floor. There was orange and black confetti coming down from the ceiling, giant bat stickers on the walls, orange and green glowsticks linen the floors….there were even Halloween themed condoms in a cup by the bathrooms in case there were any rowdy couples who can’t keep it in their pants.

Kev really went all out this year, huh, but guess who has to clean all of this up later tonight, you thought to yourself, silently cursing your boss before taking your place behind the bar and pulling out the foam slides you always hid below the glasses, immediately slipping off your heels and sliding them on with a sigh of relief.

You always leave your space tidy and well-kept despite how crappy it may look at first glance; you always kept your glasses cleaned, your multiple bar towels ready for the multiple accidents that always seem to happen on the other side, your tumblers are always together and you always restock your various liquors weekly. It’s your home away from home, your place to control and dictate.

You were cleaning off some glasses nearby with one of your bar towels, trying to shoulder one side of your angel wings back onto place when the music really started to kick up, the bass hitting you all the way in the back just as the front doors opened and the flood of people started filling the space.

In a matter of minutes, both the main dancefloor and the smaller second floor were full of eager partygoers looking for a good time, the air around the bar already feeling hot and stuffy from the bodies packed against each other.

Speaking of, the bar was packed with people looking forward to their first drink out of many of the night, each person and group shouting off what drinks, cocktails and mocktails they wanted off the Halloween menu Kev had you create and memorize the week prior.

But you’ve always loved a challenge, and tonight proved no different.

You never knew what kind of people you were going to get as you threw your bar towel over your shoulder and began taking orders, jotting them down with the person’s description on the small notepad you kept in the side cabinet. Some nights it was mainly loners, drifters who couldn’t quite find their crowd, sometimes it was scared twenty-one year-olds getting dragged along with their older friends as they threw literally every high-alcohol content drink that you had down their throats, and other times it was creeps who couldn’t quite keep their eyes in their heads and their hands to themselves.

But something deep within your mind told you otherwise; it told you that tonight would be…different. Something told you that tonight would finally make you feel something.

Yeah, right, you scoffed, reaching for your glasses and getting ready for the long night ahead. Like that’ll ever happen.

He’s eyeing you again, you could tell.

Even with your back to him as you reached for the top-shelf bourbon, you could tell.

The same shiver is rolling up your spine just like it had the previous three times beforehand since he entered the club. Your pulse thrummed loudly in your veins, mostly because of the cheesy dubstep flowing from the Dj’s speakers but partly because of….him.

You had dubbed him Mister Tall, Dark, and…Tall. One, due to the very clear foot he had over you in height - you could tell even from all the way across the room and through a sea of people - and two, because of his costume…or lack thereof, to be precise.

He was dressed in all black from what you could see, save for the plastic red devil horns one of your coworkers was giving out to people who were looking “a little less than festive”, in their words. The various rings and chains that adorned his fingers, his jacket, the chain that dipped down below his clavicle, all the way down those long legs to his boots glinted as the club lights danced over him.

His hair was long, slicked back into a low ponytail with the sides shaved and from what you could see from your position, your eyes trailed up his chest and neck at the various tattoos that lied there.

You don’t remember him coming down to the bar for a drink but he was nursing one anyway, one leg hitched up on the wall behind him as he leaned back and took a sip, that blank expression of his never changing throughout the whole night.

There was always someone at his side trying to chat him up, though. Some lonely guy or girl saddling up next to him, lightly dragging their finger over his slightly exposed chest and leaning against his arm before whispering something in his ear - probably about how they should just get out of here and rock his world in the alley behind the club.

And every single time, they would leave disappointed with their tail tucked between their legs and pouted lips, the dark sunglasses he wore never shifting from his face as he waved them off his shoulder.

In another life, maybe you would be one of them; eager to get a taste, only to be rejected and come to the bar to drown your sorrows in booze…but not tonight.

Despite his eyes being covered, you could feel the weight of his stare drawing over your figure; over your shoulders, your chests, your waist and stomach, over the curve of your ass and your thighs whenever you would turn around to get something on the shelves behind you.

And what’s worse, Mister Tall, Dark, and Tall over there had an aura, a vibe around him that made you feel.

And you haven’t felt for anyone in who-knows-how-long.

Feeling for people doesn’t last with you, not after the last time….

You looked down and began wiping away the various spills and forgotten napkins people had left on the bar, feeling his gaze grow stronger and stronger by the second. You felt exposed in a way, almost as though he was sizing you up for some reason.

It was only for a second but you had reached under the bar to grab a fresh towel, and as soon as you reemerged…he was there, leaning against your bar with one hand around his glass and the other reaching into his jacket pocket for something.

And, to be frank, it scared the shit out of you.

“Jesus, fuck!” you yelled, damn near smashing your foot against the leg of the stool you have behind the bar when you jumped back, causing him to slowly turn around to face you. “You damn near gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“My bad,” he apologized, placing his now empty glass on the bar in front of him. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” You were right; he was tall as hell, towering a foot or so above you with an aura strong enough to nearly plant you on your ass again.

And, holy fuck, his voice. Erotic audios don’t have shit on the deep timber this guy’s voice has, the brief words he spoke to you rolling over your body like the world’s best weighted blanket and keeping you rooted to him as such.

You placed your hand over your chest, willing your heartbeat to go down as you threw the fresh bar towel over your shoulder, letting out a breath. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that, you know.”

He shrugs. “That’s just how I am, angel. Gotta keep the mystery up somehow.”

“Angel?”

He gestured to your now crooked halo and the fluffy wings at your back, a smirk gracing his lips. “A fitting nickname for a woman cute enough to be one in the flesh.”

“Smooth,” you replied, reaching over to pull his glass closer to you, turning around to face the wall of liquor behind you. “What’s your poison, then? How can this angel bless you tonight?”

You couldn’t tell, but a darkness glazed over his eyes when you said that, making him bite his lip and eye you up and down. “Two fingers of wihskey for me, please. Fireball, if you have it.”

Now, that surprised you. “Fireball? Straight? You drink that stuff?” You shuddered. You and the fiery cinnamon whisky were never truly friends, and you never really pulled it off the shelf unless another brave soul wandered up to you looking for a challenge.

“Deep within the pain of the burn lies the pleasure hidden underneath,” he responded, watching as you grab the bottle and pour him what he asked for.

You scoffed. “Okay, Romeo.”

A moment of silence passed between you two after he thanked you for his drink, lifting the glass to his lips until his other hand found what he was looking for. “You know we don’t allow those things in here, right?” you shouted at him over the music, reaching over the bar to tap his shoulder and pointing at the two items he had pulled out of his jacket: a small pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

He smiled at you, putting his drink down and proceeding to light it anyway, the small flame reflecting in his shades and seeming to almost challenge you to do something about it. “What’s life without a little danger, angel?”

“What’s danger without a little caution to go with it?”

“Why believe in caution when you could just throw it to the wind?”

You paused, your gaze trapped in his as he cleverly blew smoke from his mouth, holding your gaze and smiling again before placing the cigarette back between his lips. “Touché, mysterious man at my bar. You got a point there.” Another second passed before you spoke again. “Tell me, o’ great purveyor of danger and mystery, what’s your name?”

He turned his head off to the side to look through one of the club’s circular windows, the moon glinting in his sunglasses as he pondered your question before turning back to you with a smile. “Damian,” he told you, the depth in his voice rumbling the base of your spine as he spoke. His hand reached for yours, taking it within his larger one as he plucked the cigarette from his lips and leaned down to kiss the back of your hand.

And his lips….fucking hell, were they supposed to be that soft? He tilted his head up in your direction, smirking with that beautiful face of his before standing back up. “At your service, angel. And what might your name be?”

You breathlessly gave it to him, the place where he had laid his lips upon your hand tingling with…something you couldn’t quite name. Was it fear? Anticipation? Something more? You couldn’t quite tell.

What you could tell, however, was that this guy - Damian - was…interesting. He gave off a vibe that you couldn’t really describe as he continued to smoke his cigarette, cleverly blowing smoke from his nose once he caught you staring at him again. And the spot on your hand where he kissed you seemed to pulse and beat with a life of its own, him looking on curiously when you ran your fingertips over it.

You poured yourself a drink as well in the meantime - your favorite: tequila with ice and a slice of lime - and nursed the small shot glass in your hands, Damian taking note and raising his own.

“Hmm? What for?”

“For whatever,” he chuckled, his voice suddenly seeming to drown out the energy surrounding you both. “Whatever you wish tonight to be, and for however long you wish to spend it with me.”

It took everything within you not to roll your eyes but you clinked glasses with him anyway, downing your shot and already reaching for another.

“This should be interesting…”

You don’t know how exactly how long it’s been but the two of you spent the rest of the night together as you worked, talking and casually drinking and chatting as though you had known him for years before this very moment.

A small pile of Damian’s cigarettes laid on a bar napkin in front of you as the conversation between you flowed easier than you had thought it would, with him asking you questions about your life with you, in turn, asking him to regale you with the tales of his many travels.

“So, you’re telling me that a dude that small did that much damage to your nose?” you asked, chuckling along with him as you poured him another round.

He laughed, the smell of cinnamon whiskey flowing from his mouth and to your nose. “Absolutely. Damn near turned my nose into powdered sugar with the force of that kick. Luckily, it didn’t do as much damage as I thought it would. At least, I hope it didn’t.”

“Yeah, your face looks absolutely horrendous right now. The Wicked Witch of the West called, she said she wants her nose back.”

“Ouch, that’s cold of you, angel,” he laughed with a smile, raising his glass to you and downing his drink in one go once again. “But I must say, I would make a beautiful witch.”

“That you would, Damian, that you fucking would.” Your cheeks hurt from all the smiling, the entire club and its atmosphere seeming to fade out into the background as he started to continue his story. And as he spoke, you felt that same feeling flood your veins, the hairs on your arms standing straight and your posture beginning to relax a lot more.

You can’t remember the last time you felt like…like this before, let alone working one of the busiest nights of the year. You felt content, almost. Better than you have in years being this close to someone of the opposite sex.

You felt happy.

You were jotting down another order when you felt his hand on your wrist, large and warm and surprisingly soft. When you looked up, there he was just a few inches away from you, your own startled expression being reflected back at you through his shades.

“I have an idea…” he started, his gaze seeming to ignite something within you as your heart began to race. “Let’s…get out of here. I wanna show you something.” The way he spoke to you felt…different. You knew he was trying to get into your metaphorical pants - that much was obvious - but his tone sounded…darker. More lustful dangerous than creepy dangerous.

You could practically see the mischief in his eyes, the mix of cinnamon and whiskey combined with the leftover cigarette smoke and his overall presence practically making you drunk off that alone. He was pulling you in again, the world spinning to a halt and fading away again for what felt like an eternity. In this moment, there was no music, no bright and annoying neon club lights, no drunk partygoers sloshing their way up to you and asking for another round, no coworkers hounding you to be more enthusiastic….there was none of that.

All there was around you, over you, covering you was Damian.

His voice in your ears, his scent in your nose, his eyes on you, the feeling of his hand on your skin as he gently caressed it and traced shapes over the inside of your wrist. His voice dripped over you like fresh honey, equal parts sticky sweet and just as addicting. You didn’t even notice yourself begin to lean forward into his touch, your lips just barely brushing his….

They were just as soft as you thought they were, a voice in the back of your mind said quietly before you felt like you were yanked into an ice cold lake, your eyes shooting open as you jumped back and yanked your arm from his grasp.

Your actions startled Damian as well, the taller man slowly pulling his hand back with raised brows, looking just as shocked as you were. But he quickly gained control, leaning one arm on the bar before asking, “You alright there, angel? Did I scare you or something?”

“I…” you started, unsure of exactly what just happened. “No, no you didn’t. And as for your question…”

You reached behind you to grab a clean pint glass to fill it before handing the beer to the guy sitting next to him, taking his payment before tapping Damian’s nose with the tip of your finger. “You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than getting me liquor-ed up and loose lipped to get me into your bed.”

“Oh, playing hard to get, I see?”

“I just wanna see what I’m working with here. Who knows, you might really be a demon in disguise,” you teased, matching his smirk before refilling your own drink. “But, as a great man once told me, what’s life without a little danger?”

His smile grew wide and he laughed as you raised your glass to his, the two of you cheering and taking a drink together.

The night seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye after that, you willingly choosing to ignore the waring feelings that still lingered within you as you talked. One moment, you were being drawn into Damian, into his words and his stories and the heated gaze you felt beneath those shades that hid his eyes too well and the next, you were being rapidly yanked back into reality, fumbling with the glass and bar towel in your hand as you rushed to cater to your bar patrons.

It was almost like a game to him, seeing you this frazzled and off your game as you shifted between relaxing while talking to him and whipping up cocktails and a show for the various clubbers who were willing to stitch around and watch. You wish you could tell what he was thinking when you looked back over at him, finishing your mini-show to a small round of applause before finally sitting down to take a break.

The night was finally beginning to slow down now as the clock tolled midnight, the seas of clubbers drunkenly and exhaustingly making themselves scarce as they began to file out the front door and your coworkers started to clean up the mess of decorations, cups, drinks, food and whatever else that littered the floors.

“Hey, Damian,” you said all of a sudden, cleaning off the last glass of the night before sitting back on your stool, “tonight was fun, really fun, but I gotta start heading home soon. It’s getting late and duty calls for the extra morning shift.”

His shoulder seemed to sag when you told him that, facing you and leaning his hands on the bar. He watched you in silence as you slipped of your foam slides and put your heels back on, shimmying your way out from behind the bar and almost falling flat on your face in the process.

“Whoa, there, angel! Relax, the night’s not going anywhere.”

Where you had expected to feel hardwood meeting your nose and smashing it to bits like in Damian’s story, you instead felt…nothing? All except a warm feeling around your waist as he lifted you from your potential fall and stabilized your footing. His hands felt…nice on your body, almost like they were meant to be there…

“And besides, you are in no shape to go all the way home like this, especially in those.” He gestured down to your shoes, your near-fall proving his point exactly correct.

“So, why don’t I walk you home tonight? I can play savior in case you trip and try to hurt yourself again.”

You playfully slap his shoulder before moving out of his hold, the area where his hands were now feeling ice cold without his warmth. “I thought I was the angel here.”

“Just this once is all I ask, as a thank you for the constant flow of alcohol into my system and the wonderful conversation. Then, the title is all yours.”

You can tell that he winked at you through his shade and it made you smile, telling him to wait outside by the entrance so you can go get your things real quick.

A quick trip to the backroom lounge later and Damian was still by the front door, your angel wings being held by their straps in one of your hands and the other holding your bag, hands in his packers as he gazed up at the night sky. “You ready to go, angel?”

You nodded, shifting your bag onto your shoulder as he pushes himself off the wall and makes his way over to you. “Well, then, lead the way.”

With a light smile on your face, the two of you start off in the direction of your apartment, your heart beginning to beat wildly in your chest for some reason as the club began to grow smaller and smaller in size behind you.

You both walked in a relative - albeit comfortable - silence,

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot, angel.”

“You haven’t taken off your sunglasses the whole night,” you start, standing in front of him with your arms crossed as your feathered wings dangled in the wind. “Why? Are you, like, missing an eye or something? Are they tattooed? Are you a vampire, perhaps?”

Damian smiled. “No, hell no, and I wish I was, angel. I’m just not a fan of the bright neon club scene. The light of it all kinda hurts my eyes. But, if you’re asking to see them, well…”

He moved his hands towards his shades, slid them off his face and…

…holy fuck, his eyes were gorgeous. Warm pools of deep brown stared back at you with just the lightest flecks of gold sprinkled into them. You could see why people couldn’t get their hands away from him before he came to the bar because damn. Those eyes mixed with that voice and that face….your heart and your core began to beat in unison, your thighs clenching together slightly before you paused.

“Well, then…”

“Cat got your tongue, angel? The night’s just getting started,” he said, folding them away and putting them in the pocket of his jacket.

“For you, maybe,” you mumbled, crossing your arms before smiling at him. “Unlike you, I’m not a sexy drifter with a deep voice and nice tattoos looking for another new adventure.”

Damian gasped playfully. “You think I’m sexy?”

“That’s not the point you’re supposed to be focusing on here.”

He laughed - god, his laugh was like molasses, flowing through and over you all deep and dark and all things rich - and your heart sung a merry tune, the corners of his eyes crinkling and making you want to stick your fingers in the small dimples that made themselves known in his cheeks.

“It’s such a shame, really,” you told him, trying your best to keep in step with his long strides, “that more people don’t get the chance to see those lovely eyes of yours. If you weren’t the drifter you are, you’d make a killing as a model.”

“What kind of model?” he questioned, raising his brows and wiggling them at you.

“Ha-ha, Damian.” You tried your best not to get flustered by him and his voice again but with how he’s looking at you, his hand slowly snaking around your waist and pulling you close to his warmer frame just as the wind passed by you…how could you not be?

He even slowed down his walk for you, keeping you as close to himself as possibly to avoid you tripping over anything in your heels.

“What if I step on your feet?” you asked, your entire body practically fitting perfectly underneath his arm.

“So you do care about me, angel.” You rolled your eyes in response. “But, you don’t have to worry about me like that. I’ve dealt with a lot worse than getting stepped on with some heels.”

You don’t know why, but that made you laugh. You’ve laughed a lot tonight, a lot more than you have before…and it’s all because of him. You should feel weird about that - and a part of you does - but the others just don’t, for some reason.

“Good night, angel. Sleep well for me, okay?”

“Yes, dad,” you groaned playfully, not noticing the spark you lit dancing in his eyes. The way he watched you as you moved up the steps of your building and towards the front entrance made you shiver like back at the club, almost as if he was undressing you with his eyes.

“Good night, Damian. I guess I’ll see you arounf, then?”

He nodded, taking a hand out of his pants pocket and waving to just as you did him before turning on his heel and striding away in the opposite direction you both came from.

As soon as you made it inside, you briefly checked your phone, pulling it out to send him a “thank you” text for the interesting night when…

You don’t have his number, do you?

Shit.

“Hold on, Damian! Wait! I forgot to give you my-”

But he was long gone by the time you ran back to the door, seeming to vanish into thin air in a matter of mere moments.

“Damn it,” you cursed, mentally slapping yourself over forgetting something like that. But that same voice from earlier, the one inside you tells you that you’ll meet him again, you’ll meet him soon.

I hope so, you thought, grateful that your apartment was on the first floor of your building before unlocking your door and slipping your feet out of those godforsaken heels. Locking the front door, you tossed your bag onto the sofa and quickly rushed to your room, ridding yourself of your tight dress and “costume” accessories in a trail behind you.

You dug around your closet before throwing on a light shirt and shorts for bed, yawning loudly once you finally got comfortable enough to flop face first onto your bed.

And with that, your night was over, Damian’s velvet voice faintly carrying you to sleep with a tired smile on your face.

You opened your eyes to a room of black and deep grey with deep violet, almost black lace curtains adorning the large poster bed you were currently laying on and draping towards the floor. You tried to move your arms but felt resistance, looking up to see your wrists shackled to the head of the bed in white fluffy handcuffs.

The cheap halo and wings you had worn the night before were still on you, and a quick look down at the rest of you proved that those were the only things that you were wearing.

But for some reason, you felt…fine…with that. More than content with that, even. In fact, you liked it, the space between your thighs growing hotter by the second as the curtains at the foot ofthe bed parted to reveal…Damian?

“There you are, angel,” he murmurs, the tone of his voice going straight to your core and making you whimper. “I was worried you were lost there for a second.”

He pushed his hair back with one hand - wait, when did he let his hair down?! - and straddled your trembling body, running his hands over your your thighs and up to your waist. He was shirtless, those tattoos you only got a small glimpse of the night before on full display now for your eyes, which were just as hungry and wanting as his.

Yours trailed up his arms and over his shoulders, down his collarbone and over his chest, down and down until your gaze rested on the tent in his pants as he round his cock against your aching folds.

You rattled the cuffs at your wrists as his hands began to roam, moaning when you felt his lips press against your ear. “I’m feeling a bit…hungry, right now. May I indulge in you?”

He didn’t even have to say much; he’s only asking you a fucking question and yet….

And yet…here you were, your entire body vibrating fast enough to generate its own heat shield as his lips trailed over your ear, across your jaw and up your face until they just barely grazed your lips. It wasn’t you that responded to him but it was you, in a sense, your own lips parting to answer his question.

“Yes, yes please-”

His chuckle made you feel warm all over, his velvet tone running fron the top of your head to the tip of your toes. “Thank you, my angel.” His voice was as soft as the sheets you laid upon, lis lips parting ways from yours and beginning their descent downwards.

Your neck felt the light touch of his lips before you gasped, your back arching whe you felt his teeth sink into the soft flesh. Damian’s hands gripped you waist and held you tight, marking every patch of skin his bite could reach. You could already see them now; the bruises and bites and marks this man has left on your flesh, detailing every single time he took you and make you his and his alone…

Your neck burned from the markings he left on you, the man pulling back slightly to access his work with a dark smile. But he wanted more of you, the deep hunger rolling within his soul craving every last drop of desire he could possibly wring from you.

From your neck he continued his journey downwards, leaving similar bite marks around your collarbone and the tops of your breasts. Damian cupped them in his hands, rolling your nipples and twisting them with his thumb and pointer finger until you let out a groan.

Your cries fed him more than you would ever know, your moans and whines the sweetest of symphonies to his eager ears.

His mouth left a heated trail over your breasts, taking your left nipple into his mouth to work on while he teased the other with his left hand. His free hand, however, began to finish the trail his mouth had started, tracing shapes all the way down until his hand reached your folds.

“You’re so wet, angel,” he groaned, his thumb gently swirling around your clit as hos other hand moved to part your thighs more. “Is this all for me?”

You nodded helplessly at his question, your hips bucking up into his hand as he rubbed your folds. His eyes….his eyes began to shift as his smirk grew, bleeding from their warm brown to a darker brown until finally, nothing more than a deep black the shade of midnight covered both his eyes.

It took you by surprise, the drastic shift in his gaze, latching you to him as he slipped two of his fingers into you. A smaller gasp left your lips when he began to slowly pump them inside of you, curling them briefly before pulling them away from you and licking away the mess you made on his hand.

“You’re so sweet for sweet, angel,” he moaned, the taste of you hot and heavy on his tongue. The darker force inside of him growled happily as he cleaned off the digits and slid them right back inside of you, his teeth seeming to sharpen to little points as his grin began to widen.

“That’s it, relax your body for me. Let me handle all of it,” you heard, your leg being folded against your chest much farther than you’d ever tried to move it yourself. Your thighs began to shake, your core quivering when Damian curled his fingers and his fingertips grazed that sensitive spot that lined your walls.

You hear him mutter, “There we go, there it is,” before plunging the digits deeper within your core, playing you like the finest tuned instrument and pulling noises from you that none of your previous partners ever had.

You didn’t even worry about where you were or who could possibly hear you, nor did you care about the potential logistics of sleeping with someone that you had just met. All that mattered to you in this moment was the exponentially rising crest in your core, that tightly wound spring that was winding itself even tighter.

Your cuffs rattled as you shook in his grip, your heartbeat pulsing and pulling towards Damian as though it was leashed to him, jumping and stopping and moving to his every command and movement. Your eyes began to roll into your skull, pleasure coursing through your veins.

And throughout all of it, Damian and his eyes just watched. They watched and smiled and egged your release on as he drove you closer and closer to that edge.

“Let go for me, my sweet angel”, he whispered in your ear, nails digging into the meat of your thigh as his onyx eyes held you captive. You were his prisoner now, his to toy with and use and wreck until your legs shook and your eyes rolled back into your skull and your mind was nothing more than mush for him to reshape into his perfect, submissive little angel.

“Let go for me. I can feel that you want it, that you crave your release. I need it, I need you.”

He wants more of you. More of your juices, more of your arousal, more of the noises that leave your kiss swollen lips, more of everything. And he will take what he’s due.

Something in your chest tugged and pulled towards him, his thumb going into overdrive around your clit as he fucked you senseless with his fingers, almost as though you were being pulled towards him.

Being pulled deeper and deeper within his eyes, within his aura, within the endless pool of arousal he’s dragged you into…it was all becoming too much, too much for you to bear and keep resisting-

“Cum for me, angel. My angel, all mine. Give me everything you have, everything you are, now-”

You shot up out of bed in a flurry of your own sheets and pillows, limbs flailing and eyes wideshot with the bed below you drenched in as much sweat as you were despite the windows being fully open.

Your skin was hot to the touch and your core was absolutely drenched with your arousal, the mess staining your sleep shorts and your inner thighs as they quaked. Placing a hand to your chest, you felt something tug at your innermost heartstrings, making you gasp and seemingly rise further out of your bed.

Lust ran through your body like lava fresh from a volcano, images of….Damian…bedding you in the most sinful ways possible flooding through your mind. You could still hear his voice in your ear, the deep timber of it telling you to let go so he can fully taste you, consume everything you’re willing to give him and then some, so you can finally be his and him yours-

You slammed a pillow over your face and moaned, and you swore you could feel his hands lightly dragging up your body, the trail his fingertips leave feeling like a fire you never want to put out. Your core pulsed at just the mere thought of him, and you slammed your face into the pillow over and over again as you recall your words from last night.

You just fucking met him last night, what are you thinking?! He’s a stranger, you don’t know him. He could be a serial killer for all you know….

And yet, Damian acted….like a sort-of nice guy to you last night. Talked to you more than anyone of the opposite sex has in who-knows-how-long. He made you laugh, made you feel….normal, like an actual person instead of an object. He even walked you home last night because he didn’t want to see you hurt all alone…

How many drinks did I have last night, fucking Christ…

Your head pounded and you planted your fist over it, holding your other hand over your face as a sort of shield against the early morning light. You felt….drained. You usually felt like that after a long night of working and staying up so damn late to do so, but this was….different. This felt different, almost like someone stuck a straw inside you like a human juice pouch and sucked the energy right out of you.

A single question ran through your mind as you shifted towards the edge of the bed, your feet hitting the cool floor of your bedroom as your brain brought up the hottest dream you’ve had in years once more, making your heartrate shoot through the roof again and tugging at your heart once more.

What the fuck just happened?

A deep chuckle left Damian’s lips as he twirled his fingers, a thin, deep violet thread trailing from his ring finger towards his open window. The magic within it pulsed with life and a hefty desire, thrumming with the beat of your heart. His grin shined like pearls and his eyes shifted from their warm, chocolatey brown to a black as dark as midnight, pulling one deeper, deeper, deeper within….

He rose from his chair, clad in nothing but the pants he wore from the night before as he strode towards the window and leaned out of it, reaching into his inner pocket before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with just the tip of his finger.

I like her, he thought, putting the cigarette to his lips before taking a huff. Smart, resilient, tougher than I thought she would be. Hell, she even resisted my aura when I came onto her a bit.

He can still very clearly how your desire tasted, running hot and fresh through the thread he tied to you as the memory of it flooded his every vein just as it had the night before. Savory sweet with a dash of vanilla…it’s been a while since he’s been this satisfied over a single dose over one night, but now he wants more. Much, much more.

And what Damian wants, he fucking gets.

She’s good, I’ll give her that. He let out a puff of smoke, the gray ring seeming to circle him like a twisted halo until it dispersed and became one with the wind. But, she wasn’t good enough. He chuckled again, lightly tugging away at the loop he tied to your soul and letting out a laugh when he felt the magic inside the thread flicker wildly like a flame caught in the wind.

And with a wave of his hand and a whisper from his lips, the thread seemingly vanished into thin air. But he could still feel it - feel you -, full of a unexpected and deep-rooted lust and longing that would soon rear its ugly head.

Even if you didn’t know it, you were his now. His newest game, his new plaything, his new toy. His new nightly entertainment as he flooded your subconscious with a new arousing, needy dream every single night until you finally broke.

This should be interesting.

~~~~~~~~~~~

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#rezz writes some bullshit #damian priest x reader #damian priest x reader fanfiction #damian priest x reader fanfic #damian priest fanfiction #damian priest fanfic #wwe x reader #wwe x reader fanfic #wwe x reader fanfiction #wwe fanfic #wwe fic #wwe fanfiction

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musictheater · 29 days

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ok so random thoughts, nothing too big bc i'm still sorting through my braincells, but uhhhhh. yeah! a few cute little hcs, nonetheless.‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ -is slightly canon divergent in the sense that he's actually a entirely separate animatronic from moon.‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ -speaking of, his connection with moon is literally s/t in his code, and gets a little cranky if away from him for longer then a day or so. logically, so one doesn't wander far from the other, but, like. imagine knowing someone so deeply, being intertwined before you were even really 'alive'. them, half built, and holding hands.‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ -four arms !!! better to wrangle kids and give hugs with! -always covered in glitter and confetti and stickers and--‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ -i like to think sun and moon still have the ability to sing from their theatre days-- so sometimes, they put on little performances for the kids, stuff like this, or this.‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ -sun and @lunarcare's moon are friends with the dj music man. they often hang out in his Area(tm) after hours, and request silly lil songs from him, and they all bop along on the dancefloor with each other, and what not.‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ -and y'know the mini music man guys? sun and moon have‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ one. it was a gift from the big man himself--the little one helps‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ out at the daycare a lot, and is affectionally nicknamed 'dawn'.‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ -a cute, random thought i had: sun tends to use nicknames and pet-names‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ a lot w/ people, children and adults/staff. get called sweetheart, etc, idiot. /lh‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ -okay, bonus to this, he tends to call the daycare kids some form of 'flower-bud', ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎considering flowers grow with the help of the sun! do u see the vibes. thank you‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ -this image <3 ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

-as sassy and sarcastic sun can get w/ certain adults, he also has a tendency to like, 'momfriend' the staff and the guards and what not.‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ -sun vc, to a night guard: oh, you had dinner, right? you didn't oversleep and skip it again? oh, that's good! i'm glad. well, i brought you a snack anyway, just incase. we have a whole supply of cereal bars at the daycare for the little ones, soooo!--‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ -like, do u see the vision.‏‏‎ ‎ -thinkin abt a hc i for sure did not steal from a random youtube comment (i did)-- anyway. tldr, it was about sun and moon's room, and why there's broken staff bots littering it. despite what you'd think, sun was actually the one breaking them down, and taking them apart, because, well... some of them too, were infected in the virus, as we know, so. sun was taking them apart, and trying to figure out what was wrong with them--all in the hope of somehow helping moon. and just, ough.‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

#* && OOC #* && SUN / DROP .#thinkin abt my guy already. <3 asdfghjkl #also follow my gf over @lunarcare thank u!

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emptygracey · 1 year

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A Short Story (Hell Shell)

(the formatting disappeared when I copy/pasted this from google docs and i am not bothered to re-do it so deal with it) (the song playing is, of course, Hell Shell by Young Nudy)

“Welcome to hell!” Lucy said, spreading her arms out and smiling wide.

Standing in the entrance to her apartment, the door framed by a rusty-looking gate, I was significantly impressed. The hallway was lit by a dim red glow seeming to emanate from the walls. Piles of rocks were scattered all throughout and the carpet was covered in some sort of orange sparkles, giving the ground a volcanic appearance. Smoke hung in the air, accentuated by that red glow and giving the whole place an eerie vibe. Through the walls, I could hear the booming bass and sharp hi-hats of trap music. The song sounded familiar, but I couldn’t put a name to it.

“You really went hard on the theme, huh?” I said, closing the door behind me. It even made a screeching whine as it shut, though that was probably not part of the decorations. “Of course!” she said proudly, “I never half-ass a party.” I could tell.

She turned and started walking down the hall, gesturing for me to follow. From the front, it had looked like she was just wearing a bloodstained toga and a little ghostly make-up. But from behind, the true accessory of her costume shined: a pair of black wings, furled up and covering her back entirely, the tips reaching her thighs. The feathers looked as if they were all folded together, like they were expertly knitted. It was beautiful.

I looked down at my measly red jacket and ripped black trousers, a little ashamed. I’d completely forgotten about the costumes until the last minute and a much cheaper Michael Jackson in Thriller was all I could come up with.

Following Lucy down the hallway, the floor creaked and groaned under my feet. I uncomfortably held a six pack of beer in the crook of my elbow, taking a closer look at the decorations. There were what looked like goat skulls hanging on the wall and off some door knobs. As I walked past, runic writing flashed yellow all along the walls. Some sort of glowing paint, I figured.

Finally, we made it to the end: a beat-up looking oak door, with splashes of fake blood all over it. Orange light leaked from underneath. Lucy threw the door open dramatically. “Tada!” she yelled over the music, and I was truly amazed.

The living room was completely transformed into a proper cave. The walls appeared to fully be made of sheets of rock, only a few cracks giving away that there was any wall behind them. A DJ in a zombie costume bopped his head to the beat as a fountain of red and orange liquid sprayed up behind him. There were several fireplaces placed in the corners, covered with rocks and dirt. The floor was littered with stones and broken slabs of black concrete. The only lighting in the room came from a big red chandelier in the centre of the room, under which a whole lot of bodies were dancing, kicking up rocks and orange glitter. Even the kitchen area off to the side was themed, the countertop covered in skulls and ancient-looking chalices. The only part that was normal was the glass sliding door at the end of the room, leading to a perfectly regular balcony, where a handful of people were smoking.

“Well, have fun! Feel free to leave your beer in the fridge,” Lucy said, heading back into the hallway, “I’ve got something to take care of, but I’ll see you later.” I smiled and she closed the door behind her, smiling back.

I walked over to the kitchen, pulling two cans out of the pack and putting the rest into the fridge. Even the fridge light had a bit of red film over it to fit the theme. I opened my first can, tilted my head back and downed the whole thing with ease. Opening the second, I made my way out to the dance floor. A group of what looked like a witch, a satyr, a plague doctor and a devil welcomed me into their circle. Dancing and sipping beer with what had to be the oddest people I’d ever seen, it didn’t take long for me to get lost in the music.

A while later, I stumbled my way out to the balcony, cracking open a third drink. It seemed everyone had since cleared out, save for a dude in a hoodie with a skeleton head puffing on a joint and lounging on a lawn chair.

“Hey,” I said, sitting down on a stool next to him

“How’s it going?” he said, holding the joint out towards me. I waved my hand in decline and he shrugged, taking it back into his skeleton mouth.

“I’m good, man,” I said. I analysed his head as he nodded. It was an incredibly realistic headpiece. I could see through everything. Only his eyes seemed to have any sort of flesh behind them, though the caverns were too dark to see much but small white eyes.

“What’re you staring at,” he said. His jawbone moved up and down as he spoke and I could see through to the spine holding it up. It was really impressive.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but how did you do it?” I asked. He tilted his head. “Do what?”

“The costume, I mean. It’s crazy good, really.”

“Oh, this?” he said, pointing to his skull. And suddenly, he popped it clean off his body, flipping it around in his hands. “All natural, baby.” What the fuck? I looked down at my drink. I was only two in, and I definitely hadn’t taken anything before the party. This was crazy. I looked back at the skull head. The jawbone was still chattering. “What, is this your first time seeing a skeleton?” it said.

“H-holy shit,” I dropped my can on the floor, half a beer spilling on the wood planks. The skull head laughed as he re-attached himself to his torso.

Just then, Lucy burst through the glass door, shattering it completely.

“Fuck!” I yelled, glass spraying all over my back.

“Oh, good, you’re still here,” she said, appearing to be out of breath. The music inside was still blaring but everyone was scattering, heading out to different doors. The skeleton got up, putting out his joint.

“What’s up Luce? It’s not the cops, is it?” he asked.

“Worse,” she replied, “It’s my dad.”

“Ah, shit,” the skeleton said, and disappeared in a puff of red smoke. I sat there, staring with my jaw agape. Lucy pulled me to my feet with urgency, holding my under arms.

“Come on, we need to get out of here. Hold my waist.” I did as she said and just as a bright yellow light burst through the door to the lounge, she dived off the tenth-story balcony. The black wings unfurled behind her, spreading out elegantly and catching the wind, bringing us from a free-fall to a jagged glide. “Fuck, you’re heavy,” she said, gasping. The wings flapped, trying to keep us airborne. I looked down and saw a football field rapidly approaching our feet. We landed hard, collapsing in a heap on the ground. Lucy sprung up quickly, and pulled me to my feet in a hurry. “Come on!”

I could feel her hand cling onto my forearm as we ran through the field just outside the apartment complex. I was in no state to run a marathon but I desperately tried to keep pace. Halfway across I paused for a second to catch my breath, holding onto my side in pain. Stitches, probably bruises too. She stopped alongside me, clearly in much better shape, only breathing a little hard.

I almost collapsed right there, yearning for a good lie-down, but she pulled me along as we started running again. It wasn’t much further. We kept a slower pace than before, the sweeping yellow lights behind us looked to be quite far away, and my legs would’ve probably just up and left my body behind if I’d kept sprinting full speed.

As we came up on the end of the field, I could see the road under the cold streetlights, my car waiting on the other side of the empty road. Lucy practically dragged me across the tarmac. “Keys! C'mon. I’ll drive.” I tossed her my keys and she unlocked the doors. We both got in and she started the car, not even giving it a second before flooring the gas pedal, speeding down the road. Flames surrounded my beat up Corolla. We were well and truly past the speed limit. “Where- where are we going?” I managed to gasp out. My sweaty back was pressed tight to the seat and my eyes were tearing up. “We’re going to Hell,” she said, looking across to me, “but, like, actually this time.” As the suburban landscape outside seemed to melt around us, I passed out.

#short story #writing #spec fic #kinda surreal #might be mid idk

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ejunkiet · 2 years

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okay hihi again then, first kiss for davey and angel 💞

THANK YOU, it is DONE >:3

redacted asmr: davey/angel, rated teen, no content warnings.

READ ON AO3

Davey and Angel, and their first kiss. -- They haven’t kissed yet. Not that he hadn’t thought about it, that night after dinner, their green eyes glittering under the streetlamps as he’d walked them to their car. When they’d looked up at him with a lopsided smile, head tilted to the side, another quip sharp and ready on their tongue, he’d nearly kissed them to shut them up, steal the words from their mouth. But he hadn’t wanted to rush this. Not after everything.

shut up and dance with me

David hates clubs.

They’re loud, and bright, a veritable onslaught to the senses and a recipe for overstimulation that will likely culminate in a migraine. Not to mention beer-stained clothes and a night filled with drunk, sweaty people pressing into his personal space.

He doesn’t know what came over him. It has been maybe two years since he’d last let Asher drag him to a place like this, not since the summer before- before.

Still, he follows them in, watching as they navigate the crowd with an ease that he’d be hard pressed to match, until they’ve claimed a quieter corner of the bar, away from the worst of the chaos.

The grin they flash at him is lopsided and edged with mischief, and completely undeterred by the grimace he must be wearing. The flashing lights illuminate their features, highlighting the freckles, the brilliant seaglass of their eyes. They look at home here, in a way he doesn’t think he ever will. They look fucking cute.

After all, that’s the reason why he’s here.

“I’ll get the drinks. The bartender knows me.” They lean in close to be audible over the music, that same smile curling their lips as they hold his gaze. Their arm brushes his, their skin soft and warm, even with the glitter that covers it. He has no idea where that came from. “Same as before?”

He doubts they’ll have the European lager he prefers at a place like this, but he shrugs nonetheless. “Or similar.”

They nod, throwing him a wink before they turn back to the bar, leveraging their weight as they push up to lean half-over it, and shit. He goes to catch them before they fall - except they’re perfectly balanced, catching the attention of the bartender with a wave of their hand.

“André!”

It turns out this place did have a decent selection of bottled beers after all. They snort at his expression when they hand over the bottle, turning to lean against the bar, their white tank top glowing fluorescent in the black light. They've already gotten neon paint splattered down their side, but they don't seem to mind.

“The owner has taste, what can I say?” He raises a brow at their drink, some brightly coloured monstrosity that was more sugar than alcohol. “I, on the other hand, do not.”

He laughs at that, surprising himself - and their smile grows, pleased. He remembers them mentioning over coffee that they liked to hear him laugh. “I appreciate the confidence with which you say that.”

Their green eyes are amused as they meet his gaze, sparkling in the lights. “I thought you would.”

Their eyes glance over him once again and the jacket and tee combo he'd gone with tonight, and he doesn't miss the way their gaze lingers at the collar, the low cut that reveals a sliver of his collarbone and his chest beneath it.

There’s a smart comment there, he can read it in the subtle twist of their lips, the way their eyes darken before flicking back up to meet his. But all they do is offer him their hand again.

“Come on. I know a spot. Best seat in the house.”

–

Slipping through the press of people and fog generated by the machines littering the floor, they lead him to an out of the way area with a good view of the stage. Their friend’s set is just about to start, they explain, nodding towards the DJ booth in the corner - he can just about make out the outline of a person there between the flashes of the neon strobes.

“I’ll take you at your word.”

He shrugs out of his jacket, taking advantage of a free table nearby, and when he turns back around, they've somehow gotten their hands on tubes of neon paint, liberally applying it to their own face.

They glance up at him, and their smile turns sly as they raise both hands, their fingertips glowing under the black light.

“Your turn?”

“Only if hell freezes over.” They laugh at that, bright and earnest, before they clap their hands against their own shirt instead. His shirt glows under the black light, and that’s good enough, he figures, watching as they shirk their jacket, their neon tank glowing in the light.

The material is tight, clinging to their frame in such a way that he can make out every curve, every angle…

It takes him a moment to drag his gaze away, and when he meets their eyes again, he realises that they’d been watching him, that curling smile tugging up the corners of their mouth.

He holds their gaze for a long moment, and there’s a heat there, simmering, just beneath the surface. He feels it too. He doesn’t know what it is about them, but he’s drawn to them, like a moth to a flame. He thinks about them, after their dates. What their lips might taste like.

Then the set starts, and the moment is broken.

Their eyes light up as they turn towards the stage, bouncing up onto the balls of their feet.

“See, this spot is perfect.”

The music is - good. Not his usual style, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s got a rhythm to it that he appreciates. A bass line that thrums in his chest, reverberating through him. In the least, it’s a marked improvement from the standard club fare the rest of his pack preferred, the repetitive junk that populates the channels on his car’s radio.

It doesn’t take him long to finish his drink, and he’s just considering getting another when his date leans into his side, their green eyes glittering as they speak over the music.

“Dance with me?”

He looks at them for a long moment, the soft curve of their smile, the flicks of neon paint across their cheeks.

He’s an alpha. Not just any alpha, but alpha of the Shaw pack, one of the most prominent packs in Dahlia. Not even Asher had attempted to get him to dance before, leaving him at his post beside the bar, even when he was still only the pack beta.

But here… here, surrounded by strangers, unempowered and painfully human, that doesn’t matter. Here, he’s just - David.

“It’s been a while,” he murmurs, stepping forward, as their arms loop around his neck. Their smile widens.

“It’s not as if anyone else here knows how to dance, anyway.”

He can feel the heat of them, pressed close like this, as they start to move to the music. Hot and close, so close. Aside from those moments when they were playing pool at the bar last week, it’s the closest they’ve been yet, and it’s intoxicating.

He wants to kiss them.

They haven’t kissed yet. Not that he hadn’t thought about it, that night after dinner, their green eyes glittering under the streetlamps as he’d walked them to their car. They’re smart, and they’re funny, and they don’t take any shit, and when they’d looked up at him with a lopsided smile, head tilted to the side, another quip sharp and ready on their tongue, he’d nearly kissed them to shut them up, steal the words from their mouth.

But he hadn’t wanted to rush this. Not after everything.

Tonight, though. Tonight, he doesn’t think he gives a damn.

Their eyes are dark, swallowed by their pupils in the low light, leaving only a sliver of their iris. Their fingers play in his hair for a moment, holding his gaze, and he’s thinking about leaning in when they lean forward, bridging the gap themselves.

Their lips are just as soft as he thought they would be. They taste sweet and faintly of that syrup monstrosity they’d been drinking earlier, but he finds he doesn’t mind it when he’s tasting it like this. Straight from their lips… their tongue, as their lips part, inviting him in. The kiss remains soft and slow, even as it deepens, their hand finding his jaw, holding him closer.

His heart is beating at a rapid pace inside his chest when they finally pull back, their lips kiss-swollen and curling into a slow smile as they take a moment to catch their breath.

“That was-”

He kisses them again, cutting them off before the words can leave their mouth. Their hands raise, tangling in his hair as they pull him closer, and he groans, his arms winding around their waist to keep them pressed against him. When they finally break apart, they’re breathless, a flush riding high on their cheeks, and he knows he must not look much better.

“That’s one way to shut me up.” Their eyes are gleaming, but their hands on his chest roam, slipping down to the hem of his shirt, teasing at the sliver of skin visible above his jeans. “Do it again.”

–

By the time he gets home that evening, he’s covered in paint, neon streaked across his cheeks. Asher is going to give him shit for it, but honestly, he doesn’t care.

He hopes it’ll happen again.

#redacted asmr #redacted davey #redacted davey/angel #ej writes redacted #this one totally ran away from me in the best way #THANK you for the prompt!#part of the jaws that bite series #post at a normal hour? NEVER #writing

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Damsels by SisterSpooky1013

Chapter One: Prologue

Read it on AO3

Tagging @today-in-fic

The music is loud, deafeningly so. The thrum of the bass is enough to disrupt the rhythm of your heart, creating a hazy, otherworldly feeling to the room. Dim lights, dark corners and sticky surfaces lie in contrast to the bright, friendly smiles of the women who mill about adorned in little else than strappy undergarments that barely cover the flesh between their legs. Men of all stripes fill the chairs, the bachelor parties taking up real estate along the tip rail while the rocks sit in the back sipping lukewarm soda and snaking off lap dances they didn’t pay for. The whales fill the middle of the room directly center stage; the best seats for the big spenders, waiting for the best girls to find them, and they always do.

The smell of booze and sweat permeate the air, punctuated by the perfume and spray-on glitter that adorns the women’s bare chests as they flit from chair to chair. They offer a dance or some time in a private room, feigning interest and attraction, locking eyes and creating the illusion of intimacy. In their head, they run through their grocery list, mentally tallying how many more dances they need to do in order to make rent. Burly men they call bird dogs stand watch with crossed arms and sharp eyes, ready to eject anyone who breaks the rules.

Words can only be heard by placing mouth to ear, creating the feeling of a whisper with the volume of a shout. Things can be hidden here where shame pricks at people’s conscience and no one asks questions. They pretend to want and be wanted; to care and be cared about. In this place, it’s easy to blend in. Gaps in one’s history, dodged questions and vague answers are par for the course. There is a certain level of privacy here, not for your body but for your past and the life that waits for you on the other side of the door at 3 am. There is safety here for those who want to disappear, or reinvent, or escape from something more unbearable than the hands of a stranger on your naked hips. It’s a kind of safety you pay for with your dignity, but that’s a price many are more than willing to pay.

The music fades at the end of a song and the voice of the DJ rumbles from the speakers.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Ben Jammin, live on the turntable, here to welcome the beautiful Desiree to the stage. Please, show her some love.”

The opening bars of “Red Light Special” replace the DJ’s voice. The wailing, sultry notes draw the attention of the recently-distracted to the stage as a petite form slinks out from behind a curtain clad in clear plastic heels and a form-fitting strapless red mini-dress. She makes her way to the pole and begins a slow twitch and roll of her hips in time with the electric guitar. stabilizing herself with one hand on the metal, she bends her knees and drops down to tease at opening her legs, only to stand back up without revealing anything. She repeats the movement a few more times, running her hands over her breasts and down her hips, curating curiosity about what lies beneath and drawing more on-lookers to the tip rail. At the right moment in the song, and with hundreds of eyes trained on her, she flicks at a clasp under her arm and the dress drops away, revealing a black thong with four straps stretched across the flesh of her pale hips on each side and a black mesh bra.

The hoots and wails drown out the music as more bills litter the floor. She rolls around on them, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Crawling close to the edge of the stage, she allows a man to tuck a twenty into the strap of her thong before turning her back to him so that he may have the honors of unclasping her bra. She holds the bra to her chest as she steps back, gripping the pole with one hand and pushing off with her foot against the floor before she wraps a knee around it and lets her bra fall away as she spins, smiling to herself at the response she gets. She returns to the tip rail, undulating and grazing her hands over her breasts, making her nipples hard for their enjoyment. She pushes her ass out for them to tuck more bills into the thin straps as the bird dog watches on, ensuring that no one touches her any further than a finger grazing her hip as they insert their money. She finishes the song on the pole by folding her knees up above her head, hanging upside down and spinning as a flutter of green paper litters her periphery. Collecting her dress, she exits to the roar of applause and whooping.

“Great job, Desi, you killed it out there!” A petite Asian woman says to her as she passes by.

“Thanks, Angel, Good luck on your set,” Desi replies as she makes her way to the dressing room.

At her station, she looks at herself in the mirror. Her face is flushed from exertion and her auburn hair mussed from hanging upside down. She cleans up the charcoal eyeliner rimming her icy blue eyes and combs her hair down to pass the time before she’ll hit the floor in a few minutes. Pulling the damp bills from her underwear, she tucks them into a locking box and adds the rest of her earnings when a wiry young man brings them to her after sweeping the stage. She thinks about how quickly she got used to being called Desi, or Desiree, or even Diane; how easy it was for her to take up residence in this life. Peeking at the calendar on the wall, she calculates that it’s been five weeks since anyone called her “Scully,” or “Dana,” or “Agent.” She rises from her seat and pinches her nipples so that they stand at attention. Pulling her lips into a Cheshire Cat smile, she exits to the floor.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #sculder #x files #x files fanfic #case fic

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ladyideal · 3 years

Text

The Faceless Shadow: I

Word Count: 2073

Warnings: spoilers of s1 finale, mention of rape, mention of murder, Billy Butcher, language, alcohol

Summary: Five years later, you enjoy life after years of hardwork bringing NYC under one rule.

A/n: yeah... let's just yeah.

Five Years Later

$1.50

You frowned at the prices of the last stack of newspaper in front of the glass window. Billy Butcher's face smirking up at you from the front cover aggravated you. Sure it'd been some time since the Mallory incident, but you'd lost men to Lamplighter when Frenchie left his post. Begrudgingly, you threw in the needed money and snatched the old, wrinkly paper out of its casing.

Using people was what he enjoyed doing, and what he would continue doing in his quest for vengeance. Losing an associate was pitiful, but to one of your made men? There wasn't going to be a second chance. Zero wasn't happy, and you certainly were ticked off at the past still. Tucking the newspaper clip into your jacket, you headed back to the club.

Ten fronts. All ranging from clubs to restaurants. Mostly legitimate, in terms of paying taxes. New York City was divided into Staten Island, Queens, Manhattan, Bronx, and Brooklyn. Zero headed Queens, and your third took over Staten Island. Although your main headquarters was situated in Brooklyn, you enjoyed the sights and the skyscrapers of Manhattan.

Including Vought Tower.

Vought. The head of supes and all things capitalism. The main reason why you kept all business on the very down low, despite the very club that even some of The Seven visited regularly. Blackmail: A very old fashioned, but reliable form of silence.

Rounding a few corners, you slowed to a halt in front of the vip line. The DJ was in by now, and the lines outside grew by the minute as the sun dipped below the horizon. Two bouncers in black stood outside, flanking both sides of the entrance and refusing bribes for those wanting to enter early. The Vortex was a popular club, and business was booming. Noticing you, the two bouncers stepped aside. And with a polite nod, you entered the club, much to the dismay and protests from behind.

Music pulsate as lights from the dance floor shined and glittered within the dark. The DJ was in, and every body cheered. Rounded tables littered around the edges with plenty of people of all ages, drinking, grinding on one another, and flirting with the multitude of waitresses and sex workers. Smoking was prohibited within, but all was allowed on the outdoor spaces filled with recliners, a pool, and a jacuzzi.

Ignoring the cat calls thrown your way from those relaxing in the lounges, you headed deeper within the nightclub. Taking a few turns into a less populated section and nodding again at the bouncers standing guard at the bottom of the VIP stairs, you headed up. At the landing, all eyes nervously turned to you.

And rightly so.

Most knew you were high up in the family. You've made it that way for a reason. The less people knew, the better. Very few people knew who you truly were. With a quick wave, a smile, and a polite hello, you ducked onto another flight of stairs towards your office.

"Oi, dick face, what are you looking at them for?" Came from behind. Last you knew before you closed the door, was the sound of a brawl. Sighing, you plopped into your office chair and-

"Boss, I've got the year's expenses on your desk." Grace spoke from the speakerphone, effectively shattering your peace.

"Thanks Grace," You mumbled, pushing the stack of documents to the side. All you wanted was to grab a drink, keep an eye on the offshore accounts, and call it a night. Definitely didn't want a headache with the financial advisor on how to keep your fronts legit. Taxes could go fuck themselves, if you had a say in it. "I'll take a look at them later. Just log it in for next year's tax season."

"Oh and one more thing."

"Yeah?" You reached down into your mini fridge for a beer.

"Well- it's." A nervous pause. "There's someone on the line asking for you." Another pause.

"Who is it?" You asked, popping the cap off and leaning back into your chair.

"Butcher."

There was a long pause of silence as you tumbled the name on your lips. It had been years since you last saw him, much less even contacted. Ever since the Mallory incident, you immediately cut ties with the former SAS Special Force. Two of your men were burned by Lamplighter, and you haven't quite forgiven him.

"No. Tell him I'm busy. I don't want to speak with him. He can go find help elsewhere."

"He insisted."

Unfurling the newspaper from within your jacket, you laid it out on your desk, frowning down at the same man that wanted to speak with you. The small picture of Butcher himself scowled up at you on the front page, making headlines for brutally murdering Vought's VP. You sighed.

"I'm sorry, I tried. But he's a-" A nervous chuckle. "He's a weasel."

You waved the apology away. "Put him through. We'll talk about this later."

An audible gulp. "He's on line 2 whenever you're ready."

Green light above Line 2 flashed steadily on your landline. Rather reluctantly, you leaned forward and plucked the landline phone up, already regretting giving Butcher your office number. Leaning back once more, you dimmed the lights down and closed your eyes. "We agreed to never contact again."

"Hello love." A familiar voice spoke loudly against the backdrop of New York traffic.

"No. Whatever the hell you have planned, I don't want part of it. Things are finally looking up, and I'm not going to fuck up this chance. Vought's stocks are booming. I'm making money, don't have to worry constantly on anyone placing a hit on me. Zero is having the time of their life. I'm out of that mercenary life, found a different calling. "

An annoyed sigh. "How is Zero?"

"Married with their husband. Life is good," You shrugged. "If you've got nothing else to say, then I'm heading off to finish this fucking beer. Goodbye Butcher."

"Give me one fucking minute, love. I'll explain everything."

Got nothing to lose. "Forty five seconds and counting."

"Becca. I found Becca. Me wife has a son, Homelander's son. The cunt fucking raped my wife, fucking hid her away for so long. I was there. I saw her. Green lawn. White picket. I can find her with your help. You, mate, as a person of your skills." A pause. "Sitting behind a desk. Wasted."

"Look what Lamplighter did. Burned two of my men. Burned Mallory's grandchildren. Nothing to bring back home, not even their teeths," You hissed, slamming the beer onto the office table. Bubbles sloshed down the bottle, pooled, and dripped down onto the carpet. "It has always been about Becca with you. Becca this, Becca that. No, Butcher. Screwed up that one chance. I'm not doing it. You just don't care. You use your friends, then throw them to the side like fucking garbage when you're done."

"It'll be different this go. None of that "secrets and lies" bollocks. And that Mallory shit ain't gonna happen this time. I swear to God."

Drip. Drip.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, hating every syllable the man on the other line breathed out. With a shake of your head, you sighed, reigning in your anger and pulling out a cabinet for paper towels. "Alright, motherfucker. What did you do? The cameras at the club picked you up."

"We just dusted a supe." Butcher smugly spoke, confidence oozing through the line.

"Bullshit."

"Translucent."

That cheeky bastard. "How the fuck did you do it?"

"Well. Big lump of C-4, packed right up his fudger. Boom," He was excited. "Boom. Claret everywhere. Fucking diabolical."

"But…?" You cut into his amazement.

"He coughed up a solid lead. Spilled the beans in a big way. Now, we play this right, we could shake up the whole hornets' nest, bring down Seven and Vought at the same time. Y/N, you are the only one I can trust."

You raised an eyebrow at the mention of your name, dance so delicately on his tongue. It was as if the man was putting you on a pedestal. "Names are powerful, Butcher. You know this. However, since when have you ever trusted anybody?"

There was a sly pause on the other end.

Fights were less often nowadays. Since the fall of the fifth family of New York, there was no need for the heightened anxiety to be on the lookout. Nowadays with your tight grip, it was just petty gangsters that riddle the streets, pretending to be big and bad. Some killed, robbed, or graffitied, all in the name of trying to impress you. No action, no thrilling action that needed your every second of attention.

And if you were going to be honest with yourself, you missed the action, the absolute adrenaline pumping thrill of physically working towards a common goal. There was a camaraderie in that sense, where no place else could ever replicate, but neck deep in shit.

"Oh, fuck me," You mumbled in defeat.

Eats Everything: @asraime @aspiring-ginger @mournthewicked @bluesclues-1234 @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @groovyfluxie @keijibum @also-fangirlinsweden @mysoulshideaway @fandom-imagination-ss @your-sparklywinnercollection @yakuzussian-2nd @supergeekfangirl @mayday1284 @sayanythingcreations

Karl Urban: @fandomsfeelsandfamily @justa-traaash @yueci @writerdee1701 @hlabounty96 @lacychick

The Boys: @space-cowboy2227

#billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #the boys #billy butcher series #the faceless shadow #x mob boss reader #deb writes

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obxparadise · 4 years

Text

Last Friday Night

JJ Maybank x Reader

Word count: 5,548

~A fic in which JJ helps you recount the memories of your wild Friday night~

Warning: Mentions of alcohol, weed, and implied sex.

A/N: This is my longest fic yet!! It’s a combination of a story and flashbacks. Flashbacks are in italics! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Leave a comment and reblog if you liked it :) I also recommend listening to Katy Perry’s “Last Friday Night” while reading :)

*Picture was found on Google. Credit to the owner.*

~~~

There’s a stranger in my bed

There’s a pounding in my head

Glitter all over the room

Pink flamingos in the pool

I smell like a mini bar

DJ’s passed out in the yard

Barbie’s on the barbeque

This a hickey or a bruise?

Sunlight shines through the window curtains, brightening up what was once a dim room. Tired eyes squint against the light as you attempt to roll on your back, groaning as an unimaginable wave of discomfort shoots across your skull. Hands find their way to your head, kneading your temples to try and ease the pain of a growing headache. The heavy weight of your hangover keeps you from moving, although you desperately need a water and aspirin. Maybe something greasy too.

As your eyes flutter open slowly, they readjust to the light in the room. Heavy breaths leave your mouth, tongue darting out to wet your awfully dry lips. The rancid taste of liquor is still on your breath, and you decide the first thing you need before medicine is a toothbrush.

Movement beside you urges you to freeze in bed, heart beating quickly. Turning slowly to the side, your eyes meet with a pair of tired, baby blue eyes and a mop of messy blonde hair, sticking up in every which way. The image of the boy doesn’t register quickly enough in your head as you shriek, heaving him off the side of the bed, cringing when he lands on the hardwood floor with a thud. Whoops.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

Crawling to the other side, your heart stops when you realize who had been your bed mate. “JJ? What the fuck?”

Out of all the boys who could have been lying beside you, JJ Maybank was the very last one on the list of people you would have expected. Luckily for you, JJ was no stranger. Sure, he was more of your sister Sarah’s friend, as Sarah’s boyfriend John B was JJ’s best friend, so you didn’t mind him, but over the last week or so, you’d grown closer to the group, JJ especially. He was chill, funny, unpredictable. Extremely handsome, too.

“What the fuck me?” He asks incredulously, rubbing his now sore elbow. A tiny laugh escapes as you watch his brows furrow in confusion. “What the fuck you! Why did you push me?”

“JJ, what the hell were you doing in my bed?”

He stretches, bare, tanned abdomen exposed for your viewing pleasure. Well, you definitely could’ve been stuck with someone a lot worse. No complaints, though.

“Well, I was sleeping peacefully,” he grumbles, grabbing onto the end of the bed to pull himself up. Pink sparkles litter his body, and you watch in amusement as he vigorously attempts to brush them off. Eyes scanning the room, they land on a confetti cannon. And if you had to guess, Sarah replaced the confetti with glitter. Great. “Oh, and by the way, you steal all the blankets in your sleep. I was freezing my balls off trying to wrestle them from you last night.”

Running a hand through your hair, which is somewhat damp and undoubtedly tangled thanks to alcohol, you try to connect the dots as JJ glances at you, lips curved, delight on his face. “What happened last night?”

How much did you have to drink that you couldn’t remember a single detail? To be completely hungover and forgetful the next morning is extremely unlike you, and if you were being honest with yourself, you were truly embarrassed.

“Only the best fucking night ever,” JJ grins, happily slapping your leg, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll tell ya, you and Sarah sure know how to throw a party. Best Friday night I’ve had in weeks.”

And that’s when it hits you. Your parents are out of town, your brother Rafe is away at a three-day golf tournament, and little sister Wheezie had spent the night with a friend.

Jumping out of bed, you run to the window and peel back the curtains. Your mouth drops in horror as you absorb the sight of your nearly destroyed backyard. Flamingo pool floats are crowding the pool, some full of air, and well, some had seen better days. Pong tables and plastic lawn chairs are flipped and broken. Red solo cups litter the patio, many still filled, others crushed and empty. Rubbing your temples, you cannot imagine how it could get any worse, but a dark figure between the bushes has you pressing your face against the screen, squinting to get a clearer look. For the love of God, the DJ is passed out in the grass. Is he dead? Shit.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

JJ appears beside you, looking over your shoulder. His eyes widen as he takes in the catastrophe that is your backyard. “Whew,” he whistles. “What a night.”

You elbow his ribs before stepping back, sucking in a breath as you realize how much cleaning you’ll have to do. Peeling off your clothes, you quickly change into a fresh pair of sweats and a cropped half tee shirt, making sure to throw on a few layers of deodorant after JJ’s teasing comment.

You catch him staring as you fix yourself in the mirror, smirking at a spot on your abdomen. Glancing back to the mirror, your mouth drops as your fingers brush over a deep red mark. “What is this? Where did this bruise come from?”

You jump at JJ’s cool touch against your warm skin, and he smirks before pulling back. “That’s a hickey, Y/N.”

“A what?” Open palms slap against your forehead in disbelief. “From who?!”

The only thing JJ offers is narrowed eyes and a slight close-lipped smile.

“It was you!” The realization hits you like a freight train. “Oh my god. We fucking slept together didn’t we?”

JJ’s body shakes with laughter as you frantically search your body for more marks, exasperated sighs leaving your lips as you find a few more dotting your neck. Thank God you had just bought a new concealer because you were going to need it. “We spent the entire night together, Y/N. Do you really not remember anything?” He’s pouting, and his voice comes out almost…offended.

“Okay, you know what?” Throwing your hands in the air, you turn back to JJ, whose hands are clasped together in front of him. “I need to remember what happened last night. No more surprises.”

JJ cocks his head to the side. He considers you for a moment before hopping back into bed, patting the place next to him. Hesitantly, you join him in bed, unsure if you’re ready to recount one of the craziest nights of your life. “Where do you want to start?”

Pictures of last night

Ended up online

I’m screwed

Oh well

“Kiara Carrera!”

Squeezing your way through the various partygoers, a relieved sigh leaves your chest as you spot the feisty brunette sitting by the pool, legs dangling in the water as she listens to Pope ramble on about the season finale of The Walking Dead while simultaneously spinning in a pool float.

“What’s up?” Kie says, grinning as you bend down to hug her around the neck.

“Any chance I could borrow your Polaroid?” Right away, you see the hesitation in her brown eyes. She’s not stupid. Giving a drunk girl a camera probably wouldn’t be the best idea, but you’ve been known to be quite persuasive. “Aw, please Kie? I’ll take really good care of it, I promise.”

Sarah may have had problems with Kiara in the past, but there was never any bad blood between the two of you. Frankly, you’d been pissed when Sarah pushed Kie away. Her insecurities ruined a great friendship. Kiara had always been a good friend to your sister. It was nice to see them finally getting along again, now that Sarah and John B were officially together. I guess they really didn’t have a choice, but you knew them. Time would pass, and they would be thick as thieves again.

Kiara reaches into her bag and pulls out a light blue Polaroid camera, holding it out for you. Squealing, you eagerly take the camera, excited to document a night of memories. “Be careful with that thing. It’s brand new.”

Kiara rolls her eyes as you cradle the camera to your chest, rocking it like a child. The alcohol is finally settling in your system, so you squeeze the camera tight to your chest, saluting her before holding the camera to your eyes. “Pope, come in closer.”

He rests his arms on Kiara’s thighs, and they both flash a smile your way. Collecting the picture, you wait for it to appear on the printed film, smiling at the two happy faces. Hm. They’d make a pretty cute couple.

“Alright, I’ll be back!”

Kie and Pope send you off with a final wave as you begin snapping photos of people dancing, people drinking, people swimming. Sometimes memories fade, but with pictures, you could relive them, bring yourself back to that very moment.

Teenager years are the most important. It’s a time filled with adventure, embarrassment, growth, love, friendships. After high school, everyone goes their separate ways. It’s a part of life. Not everyone stays together. But the pictures would remind you of simpler times. Times when you were happy and carefree without a worry in the world. Times where you were surrounded by old friends. Times that would only be relived through photos.

The pictures are spread in front of you on the kitchen counter. Chin resting in your palm, you smile down at the photos, fingers delicately tracing the outline of the film as your body drunkenly sways to whatever song the DJ is playing in the yard. In one picture, Kiara is throwing up the peace sign while Sarah leans her elbow on Kie’s shoulder. Another shows Pope and John B, both curled in a cannon ball as they launch themselves into the pool. JJ and John B throw up the middle fingers in a third picture, and Sarah and Pope laugh at a drenched Kiara, who had alcohol spilled on her moments prior.

“Well these are pretty cool,” a voice slurs beside you. A ringed hand reaches out to touch the pictures, and you recognize the rough, bruised knuckles right away. “But there’s something missing.”

Hand on your waist, you stare up at JJ, brows raised. He leans his hip against the counter, hazy eyes trained on you as he lifts a beer to his lips, tongue slightly darting out to collect the excess. You don’t even want to know how much he’s already had to drink. “And what’s that?”

“You’re not in any of them,” He notes, motioning to the pictures. You follow his fingers as they point to each photo, and sure enough, you’re nowhere in sight.

“Huh. I guess I was so busy taking pictures of everyone else I forgot to include myself. Well then,” Grabbing the Polaroid from the counter, you hold it out in front of you. JJ watches you curiously until you nod your head toward the camera. “What are you waiting for? Get in the picture.”

He leans in close to you, his cheek centimeters from yours, hand resting gently on your hip. You smile brightly while JJ opts for a half smirk, his trademark.

“Do something silly,” You tell him, plucking the first photo from the camera. “Make me laugh.”

You joke with JJ the most out of all of Sarah’s friends. JJ’s sense of humor is unmatched, even when he’s not trying. He thinks for a moment, only briefly, before you feel his tongue flat against your cheek. It startles you but you laugh, a real, genuine laugh, just as your finger presses the shutter button.

The picture is perfect as you lie it alongside the others, gazing down at what would soon become mere memories. Head tilting to the side, you examine the photos as does JJ, and he speaks up, “We should date them.”

It’s as if he read your mind. Rummaging through the cabinets in your kitchen, you locate a black sharpie, pulling the cap off with your mouth before scribbling the date in the bottom left corner of each photo.

You smile triumphantly until JJ plucks the marker from your fingers, scrawling more words on the pictures of you and him. Grabbing the photo of JJ licking your cheek, which oddly enough was super attractive, you roll your eyes as you read the hashtag. “TGIF? Really, JJ? How old are you?”

“Thank god it’s Friday,” his smile is lazy and all you can do is shake your head and return the grin. “Come on,” JJ offers you his hand and you take it as he leads you through a swarm of people before you eventually find yourselves back in your yard. “Let’s get someone to take a group picture.”

You nod in agreement, clutching the camera to your chest, scanning the yard for the remainder of your friends. You spot them on the other side of the pool, Sarah and Kiara cheering loudly for John B and Pope, who are engaged in an intense game of one-on-one flip cup.

“Hold up, J, let me get a picture of this.” Glancing through the viewfinder, you shake your head as you find yourself to be too far away. Keeping the camera to your eye, you pace forward a few steps, oblivious to the circular pool float just inches from your feet.

“Y/N, watch out!” But Kie’s voice falls on deaf ears as you trip over the float, toppling into the water with her pristine Polaroid.

Resurfacing with a deep gasp, you rub the water from your eyes, blushing a deep red as laughter bubbles around you, but the only one with a sour expression on her face who is indeed not laughing, is Kiara.

Chuckling nervously, you hold up the drenched camera before shrugging. “Oops?”

“Oops?” You stare at JJ in astonishment, almost as if you don’t believe a word he’s saying. “I said oops?!”

You groan as JJ nods, burying your face in your palms. Kiara’s brand new, one-hundred-dollar camera and you just had to fall into the pool.

“God, how mad was she?”

JJ shrugs. “Eh, she was pissed for about ten minutes. But hey, she got her payback, though.” He wiggles his brows and you shrink back into the bed. “Do I even want to know how?”

“You didn’t see the Instagram pictures? Kie took them on her phone since you know, you killed her camera.” Heart hammering in your chest, you snatch JJ’s phone from his hand, mouth falling open as you scroll through and find Kiara’s Instagram, her latest post an assortment of pictures from the night before.

“Oh. My. God.”

Each picture of yourself made you squirm more than the previous as you scroll through, cringing in embarrassment. There were pictures of you with your tongue out, looking drunk and ridiculous. Pictures of you and JJ dancing on tables, flailing your arms dramatically, also made the post. Pictures of you puking in the grass and slumped over the toilet made the cut as well. And when you read the caption of the pictures, the bile rose to your throat.

“Thanks for ruining my Polaroid. #Revenge.”

Scrolling through the comments wasn’t the brightest idea either, as your eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets at the first two comments.

@rafecam19: So, this is what my sister does when no one’s home.

@wheeziebee: Wait, Sarah and Y/N had a party without me? Well, I know where these pictures are going. #momanddadsnewfavoritechild

“I am so screwed,” Your head hangs in shame, already picturing in your brain the tongue lashing from your parents when they find out. Grabbing JJ’s phone once more, you scroll to the picture of you two on top of the dining room table. Your back is pressed against his chest while his crotch is dangerously close to your ass, palm gripping your hip. Cheeks heating, you turn the phone around, holding it out for JJ to see. “Okay, what the hell are we doing here?”

Last Friday Night

Yeah we danced on tabletops

And we took too many shots

Think we kissed but I forgot

“Y/N, you’re going to fall! Get down!” Sarah yells over the music, a beer in one hand while her other hand is firmly planted on her hip. Sarah, Pope, and JJ watch from below as you expertly climb onto the dining room table, careful not to spill the two shots in your hand.

Flashing your paranoid sister a smile, your body begins to sway to the music. Cheers are aimed your way, egging you on even more. “Oh, lighten up, Sar. Come up here and join me.”

“You’re insane,” Pope says, flashing Sarah a nervous look. “And very drunk, might I add.”

“Not drunk enough,” You answer, throwing back one of the shots. As soon as the liquid hits your tongue, you’re filled with a rush of energy.

“JJ, do something,” Sarah urges, shaking his shoulder to pull his attention from your body. You’d changed out of your wet clothes after the pool incident, and your body was now clad in tight jean shorts and a black off the shoulder shirt. The more he stared, the more he didn’t want to tear his eyes away. “Talk some sense into her.”

He watches you with a playful smirk before peering back at your sister. “I have a better idea.” Much to Sarah’s dismay, JJ gathers three more shots in his hands before heaving himself up onto the table, placing one of the shots in your hand. “For you, beautiful.” JJ winks and you gladly accept the shot, toning out your sister’s pleas. The shot glasses clink together before you and JJ down the liquid. JJ finishes the last two before chucking them to Pope, who has difficulty catching them, as he’s not the most coordinated of the bunch. Too much time on the math team does that to a man.

The music changes from rap to throwbacks, and the crowd of teenagers flooding your house erupt into loud cheers as they recognize some of the songs from their childhood. “Last Friday Night” blasts through the DJ’s speakers, and even Sarah, originally annoyed with your shenanigans, eases up and pulls Kiara and Pope away to dance.

You’re left alone with JJ who is trying his damn hardest to dance smoothly and not make a fool of himself. You laugh heartily at his amateur dance moves before moving closer to him, gripping his wrists to steady yourself. You turn yourself in his arms, jumping slightly as his hands grip your hips, lightly squeezing. He’s gentle with you now as your bodies tangle together, his lips calmly brushing your neck, and it’s a different side of him. While most of the time he’s calm, you haven’t been around JJ enough to see him let loose. The alcohol definitely helps.

His lips brush against your ear, sending a slight quiver through your body. “Is this okay?”

The feel of his front side against your backside, his hands on your body, rubbing, squeezing, and his lips dusting against your neck, jaw, ears, it’s exquisite. Blood rushes throughout your body, down your legs, up your arms, through your cheeks, in your head, and the sound of it pumping blocks out the surrounding noise. You’re the only two people in the room. At least, it feels that way.

Before your brain has time to process your body’s actions, you face JJ in his arms, hands on either side of his neck. His lips are parted slightly, breathing even, and his eyes are calculated, focused, scanning your face.

“You’re not seeing anyone, right?”

The air around you is thick, almost restricting your breaths, but JJ remains collected, eyes steady on your face. One hand situates on your hip while the other rests easily on your back. “Fuck no,” he breathes. “I only see you, baby.”

“Thank God.”

You lean in the same time JJ pushes forward, lips finally connecting in a soft but urgent kiss. Does time stop? It feels like it. And there’s no way this is your imagination, either. Weak knees, fluttering heartbeat, small gasps for air, rosy cheeks. All products of a real, sensual kiss.

JJ controls the kiss. He captivates you, and you go along with the feel of his lips, letting him guide you. The light strokes of his fingers on your back are a reassurance. Reassurance that the kiss is genuine. Reassurance that you’re safe with him. Reassurance that he wants this just as much as you do.

The adrenaline pulses within your veins.

His tongue brushes against yours.

Your head spins.

It feels like you’re floating.

You want it to last forever.

A low whistle breaks the kiss and you’re reluctant to pull away. “Shit, bro,” The voice belongs to John B who stands below you, staring with upstretched eyebrows. You’re still perched in JJ’s arms, steadying your breathing, coming down from the high. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Get out of here, man,” JJ bends down, hand slapping the backside of JB’s head. John B flinches, careful not to spill the two solo cups in his hands, before sending a wink your way. “Get a room.”

You blink rapidly, almost as if you can’t believe the story JJ is telling you. He watches your puzzled expression, waving his hand in front of your face. “Earth to Y/N. You okay?”

“I’m…yeah,” you breathe out quickly, fidgeting with your fingers. Your eyes scan JJ’s face, eventually falling on his mouth, and your own lips tingle. You can almost feel his lips on yours.

“So that’s how we ended up having sex,” You finally begin to connect the pieces of the puzzle, blushing deeply when JJ howls with laughter. “No, not exactly. Well, I mean, we did fuck, but not until later. Twice, might I add.”

“Twice?!” It comes out as a screech. Dragging a hand through your hair, your eyes dart to the floor, unable to look JJ in the eye. “When was the first time?”

Last Friday Night

We went streaking in the park

Skinny dipping in the dark

“Aw, not this fucking game,” JJ whines, pulling up a chair beside Pope, blunt hanging from the corner of his mouth. The party has settled down a bit, but many drunk teens are still going, laughing, dancing, and chatting up a storm. Off to the side in the lawn, your friends are gathered in chairs, each with a unique smile on their faces. After three hours, they’re all either drunk, high, or both.

You grab a chair for yourself, but JJ’s voice catches you off guard, halting your movements. “Uh uh, princess,” When he rubs his thighs, John B hollers with laughter. “You can sit right here.”

His tone is raspy, almost as if he’s challenging you, waiting to see how you react. The electricity between you is crackling strong, and it pulls you toward him until you’re comfortably settled in his lap.

Kiara clears her throat. “Okay so I don’t know what that is,” her finger points in your direction and your body tenses up from the feeling of numerous sets of eyes on you and JJ, “But don’t let it distract you from the fact that Pope still hasn’t told us when his first kiss was.”

You silently thank Kie for bringing the attention back to the game. Pope whines childishly, taking another sip of beer for courage. “Fine, fine, if I must.” He glances around the circle sheepishly, sighing, “My first kiss was the end of sophomore year.”

“No way.”

“Shut up!

“That late?”

“Pfft. Prude.”

“Alright, alright, relax,” Pope’s hands fly up in defense. “John B, truth or dare.”

“Easy. Dare.”

Pope thinks hard for a moment, and then the lightbulb goes off. “I dare you to go streaking around the yard.”

You stifle your laugh as John B’s face scrunches together. “Aw, come on man! Have some respect, my girlfriend’s here. I don’t want anyone else seeing my balls.”

“Hold ‘em,” JJ pipes up. “They’re small anyway, wouldn’t be covering much.”

John B flips off JJ before quietly cursing Pope to hell. Placing his beer on the ground, JB sheds his clothes, cheeks reddening as he shields himself from wandering eyes.

Your yard is big, spacious, and it takes JB a full two minutes to run around the backyard, weaving in and out of trees and bushes. Some are recording, like JJ and Kiara, while others like you, Pope and Sarah, try (and fail) to contain your laughter.

John B’s cheeks are flushed red as he stumbles back over to your group, and you desperately try to hide your laughter as JJ replays the video.

“Think that was funny, Y/N?” John B asks, pulling his clothes back on. He settles back into his chair and takes a long swig of beer. “No worries. I have one for you. Truth or dare?”

Normally you’d opt for truth, but tonight is different. You’re feeling bold. “Dare.”

He doesn’t even need to think. “You still have that hot tub on the deck, right?”

You nod, curious as to where he’s going with this.

“I dare you to go skinny dipping in the hot tub.”

“That’s it?” You ask, shocked your dare wasn’t anything raunchy. “I mean, that’s a pretty easy dar-“

“With JJ.”

You freeze.

And suddenly, you feel sober, although your BAC levels suggest otherwise.

“Damn you got her good,” Sarah mutters, supplying her boyfriend with a high five. “She won’t do it, though.”

“Oh, no shot,” Kie agrees with a nod.

JJ shifts underneath you, hand brushing your hair from your ears as he leans in to whisper, “What do you say, baby girl?”

That fuels you. Determined, you stand in front of the group, fingers going to the hem of your top, pulling it over your head, and tossing it to the ground.

Left in only your bra and the tiny shorts that barely cover your ass, you direct your eyes to JJ, smirking at the shit eating grin plastered on his face. “You coming?”

You danced with him. No problem.

You drank with him. No problem.

You kissed him. No problem.

Getting naked with him? Problem.

The lights on the deck are dim, hiding the bright color on your cheeks. The jets in the hot tub whirl beside you, taunting you, screaming at you to complete the dare.

Opposite you on the other side of the hot tub, JJ stands coolly, eyes drooping, lazy smile, taking long drags of his blunt. You watch as his lips form an ‘o’, blowing the smoke into the air. He’s calm, and you want that same tranquility.

He smirks as you pluck the blunt from his fingers, taking a long drag yourself. You feel dizzy, lightheaded, and cough out a puff of smoke.

“Easy, princess,” He cocks a brow, studying you. “Nervous?”

It’s amazing how quickly alcohol fucks with your emotions. One minute, you’re having the time of your life, dancing and kissing a boy way out of your league. And then a minute later, you can barely look at him. “Little bit.”

JJ takes another pull. “Tell you what. You turn around and I’ll change first. Then when I’m in the tub, I’ll turn around so you can change.”

You agree and turn your back to him, providing him with privacy although your head is screaming at you to sneak a peek. A splash in the tub has you turning around, swallowing as JJ rests his arms on the outside, blunt hanging from his smile. He’s effortlessly sexy, and you’ll make sure to thank JB later for the dare.

He winks before turning around slightly, awarding you with the same privacy you supplied him. Your shorts go first, then your thong, followed by your bra. Breathing deeply, you cross your arms over your breasts, thankful that JJ couldn’t see.

But unbeknownst to you, JJ had turned back around. “Sweet ass.”

Yelping, you struggle to cover yourself as JJ chuckles, holding up his arms to block the water as you tumble your way into the hot tub, letting the water shield your body. “Shit, JJ. You weren’t supposed to turn around!”

“And you thought I’d listen, why?”

Rolling your eyes, you settle deeper into the steaming water, moaning slightly as the jets massage your back. Across from you, JJ observes you with a smile. “You don’t need to be shy around me, you know. We’re friends, after all.”

“I’m not shy.”

JJ snickers. “Please. You don’t think I notice how your body tenses up whenever I’m close to you? You think I don’t see when your cheeks get that little pink color when I look at you?” His head hangs, tilted to the side, blunt held between his thumb and forefinger., lowering his voice. “You think I don’t know how much you wanted to kiss me tonight?”

There’s no way he can read you that easily, so you play it off. “Alcohol changes a person.”

His grin irritates you. He doesn’t believe you. Why doesn’t he believe you?

Drawing in a breath, you decide to go for it. You swim over to him, watching as his eyes widen, now alert, and climb into his lap, palms flat against his tanned chest. One hand goes to your hip, holding you in place. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not shy,” you repeat, brushing your lips over his. JJ’s chest rises and falls with harsh breaths, and for a second, you believe you misread the signals. He takes a quick pull of the blunt and you cover his mouth with your own, dragging the smoke back into your mouth, titling your head back, releasing it into the air.

“Fuck, that was hot.”

The blunt, now finished, falls from JJ’s fingers as his hand slides around to the back of your neck, pulling you in, kissing you hard. Your mouths mesh together, igniting a fire in your bones. Fingertips dig into his flesh, marking him. JJ’s hand on your waist pushes you further against him, impossibly close to his skin.

The sound of your heart is loud in your ears as you try to focus on moving your lips in sync. JJ’s hands roam your body, squeezing your hips, the curve of your ass. His fingers dance over your neck, your throat, and down the center of your breasts.

The tip of his dick rubs against the inside of your thigh, causing your mouth to open slightly. JJ takes advantage of the opportunity, slipping his tongue in your mouth, exploring, claiming.

You find yourself not wanting to stop. All of the nerves leave your body with each kiss JJ presses to your swollen lips. He’s hungry for more and so are you, but for something different.

He freezes when your hand disappears beneath the water, gripping his length in your palm. His wrist flies to your hand, stopping you, as his other hand runs through his hair, considering. “Listen, princess, as much as I really want to do this, I don’t think--.”

A finger to his mouth cuts him off, a sly smile playing on your lips as you shake his hand from yours. You reposition yourself over him, breasts peeking out from the water, as you slowly sink yourself down onto him.

With every groan that leaves his lips, and with each new swirl of your hips, you feel waves of confidence wash over your body. You’re drunk, he’s high, and you both feel alive.

This Friday night

Do it all again

The ceiling in your room distracts you from JJ’s face, which, if you know anything about him, has a wide grin on it. Heat bubbles in your chest as you replay the story in your head, ignoring JJ’s teasing comments about the color rising in your cheeks.

Sitting up abruptly, you turn to face him. He’s leaned back on your pillows, arms behind his head. “After that, we fucked right here,” JJ pats the bed proudly. “And that, baby girl, was your Friday night.”

Well, it could have gone much worse.

“Sounds like I embarrassed the ever-loving fuck out of myself.”

JJ laughs, holding out his arms. You send him a look before complying, hooking your leg over his waist, resting your head against his bare chest. His one arm lazily wraps around you, the free hand skimming over the skin on your thigh.

“I am never having another party ever again.”

JJ cringes. “Yeah, about that…you might want to check your phone.”

You snatch it from the night stand, crossing an arm over your chest as you read messages from a very large group chat. “JJ…why’s everyone talking about a party?”

But he doesn’t get the chance to answer as you scroll to the very top, phone falling between your legs as you read the message you drunkenly sent before you passed out at three in the morning.

Party at our house this Friday night! Let’s do it again, bitches.

You stare at JJ, palms flat against your head as he falls off the bed in laughter.

Fuck.

251 notes · View notes

ineverlookavvay · 4 years

Text

bisexual-aliens-in-arms

Isobel drags Michael to Planet 7 for pride night. It goes far better than expected.

Bi Visibility Day - Day 7 of Michael Guerin Week 2020

cw: alcohol, referenced child abuse, internalized homophobia

Read it on Ao3

“No, “ Michael said, aiming for firm. “I don’t have time, Iz.”

Isobel scoffed. “What, are you going to be working on cars all night long?”

There was actually a fairly big backlog of cars to work on, and Michael found he needed the distraction more often than not recently. Life was complicated, increasingly so, and cars were simple, designed to be a certain way and logically never stray from that. People sucked a lot more than cars, objectively.

“Maybe I am.”

“Michael.” Isobel leaned down onto the hood of the car he was trying to work on, annoyingly in his way. She was giving him her ‘cut the bullshit’ look, which he was historically not very good at escaping. “It’s one night, and it’s important to me. Please come out?”

“I don’t do theme nights.”

Isobel scoffed again, rolling her eyes and trodding directly onto his ego. “Come on, Michael. This is my first pride month and you’re supposed to be my bisexual-alien-in-arms.” She changed tactic abruptly, making the most irritating pouty face he’d ever seen. “You’re not really going to make me go alone, are you?”

Michael sighed, wiping grease off his hands onto his jeans. Fucking hell. “Fine, but you gotta leave me alone for at least a few hours, okay?” Isobel clapped gleefully. “You know, some of us work.”

“Let me know if any of those people want a job,” Sanders cut in, ducking in on his way out, looking at Michael’s progress skeptically and ignoring Michael’s scowl. “Do some damn work.”

“Hell does it look like I’m doing?” Michael called out as Sanders left, still scowling. Michael fixed a tight smile on Isobel. “Later, okay?”

She shrugged. “Fine, but be ready to go at eight. And try not to look so…” she waved her hand at his general appearance, “mechanic-y.”

Michael wanted to protest that he always looked ‘mechanic-y’ on account of he was a damn mechanic, and besides, the grungy blue-collar cowboy look was still popular as far as he could tell; but seeing as he’d already caved, he would certainly end up losing this argument, too. So instead, he turned his attention back to the cars. Michael liked working with his hands, he liked fixing things. Sure, he might fuck up every relationship he’d ever had, he might break the things in his life constantly, but he could take a broken car and make it a working car, and that was something.

He was not so secretly dreading the evening, though. He let himself drift far enough into his work that he wasn’t actively panicking about going to a damn pride night at the local gay bar, which he’d never actually been to, no matter how many times Isobel tried to convince him how great it was. It’s not that Michael was ashamed, he really wasn’t—but he’d experienced enough bigots and assholes in his life to know that he didn’t need to paint an extra target on his back, either.

Who he fucked was his own business, and that was how he preferred to keep it. Isobel was reveling in her newfound sexuality, and he wasn’t about to ruin that for her, but he also knew that a rich white woman was a lot less of a target than a trailer trash cowboy. He also had an existential dread of any place that resulted in Isobel leaving at the end of the night dripping in glitter.

Michael didn’t do glitter, and he didn’t do pride month—or at least he hadn’t—and he’d much rather just spend a night with Isobel at the Wild Pony celebrating themselves quietly with a drink that didn’t have anything in it besides the liquor. Hell, they could go there and celebrate themselves raucously, as long as no one had to know the reason for the celebrating.

His attempt to distract himself resulted in successfully losing track of time, which meant Isobel was already standing in the junkyard tapping her foot when he went inside to shower and change.

“You don’t have anything cuter than that?” she asked skeptically when he emerged, clean and dressed in a black button-down. Isobel was wearing a purplish iridescent crop top that probably came out of her closet circa 2010 and incredibly tight dark blue jeans, with multiple strings of shiny necklaces around her neck.

“Sorry, I don’t own anything that shiny.”

That got him a smile at least. “Listen, Michael, the whole point of pride is to look hot,” he was pretty sure that wasn’t true, “get laid,” he was sure that one was wrong, “and be out and proud while doing it.” She looked so proud of herself right then that Michael didn’t have the heart to argue. “Plus, the bi flag has really nice colors.”

Michael smiled in spite of himself. “Iz, you got me to go with you, you really want to jeopardize that by shit talking my clothing?”

Frowning slightly, she shrugged. “Fine, but this is why no one thinks you’re the fun alien.”

“Hey! I am definitely the fun one,” he argued, striding towards her car and settling in for an inane but companionable argument.

Michael liked bars, in general. He liked the dark corners and the dirty floors and the smell of alcohol and the down home music and the bluster of it all. He liked sitting at a bar nursing a drink and feeling like a part of something just by virtue of drinking beside other people. But Michael hated Planet 7.

First of all, the whole damn place was trying too hard. It had far too many lights, all of them overly complicated and flashing stupid colors. It had a DJ instead of a jukebox, which Isobel implied was something special, that he should be pleased to be experiencing, much to his chagrin. It had more glitter and confetti littering the floor and on the bar and on the tables than Michael had ever hoped to see in one place. All the drinks were obscured by ridiculous garnishes. There was someone sitting at the end of the bar stenciling with face paint on people’s faces, another thing Isobel assured him was a fun and exciting theme night thing. But most of all, it didn’t make Michael feel safe, or comfortable, or known; this wasn’t his place.

Isobel looked like she’d just walked into her surprise birthday party, though, grinning and strutting in like she owned the place. “Come on, I’ve been dreaming about their drinks,” she said, beaming, and Michael reluctantly followed her over to the bar. Michael realized quickly that she hadn’t been dreaming about the drink so much as the bartender. Which, fair enough.

Michael let her talk and flirt and took the time to look around again, hoping to find something to be complimentary about so Isobel wouldn’t feel she had to prove how great it all was to him. It was his own fault then, when he accidentally saw Alex across the room, leaning against a wall, deep in conversation with someone that looked suspiciously like Kyle. Michael’s stomach did a flip and he turned quickly away, back to Isobel and the bar, half hoping Alex hadn’t seen him. Michael knew that Alex was single again, or at least that was the last he’d heard, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be caught staring outright.

“Here,” Isobel thrust a drink into his hand that had a little light-up rainbow color-changing cube masquerading as an ice cube at the bottom of it. Michael rolled his eyes. “So what are you feeling? Wanna dance? Or I think they’re painting pride flags on people’s faces?” She sounded giddy, her cheeks flushed and her hair already covered in a ridiculous amount of glitter.

Michael didn’t have the heart to let her down by telling her he’d rather eat sand than dance or get his face painted without at least a few drinks in his system. “Whatever you want.”

Isobel beamed at him. “See, I knew this would be fun.”

“Yep,” Michael said, plastering a smile on his fast as she led him over to the person doing the face paint, “cause I’m the fun one.”

By the time he was sitting on a bar stool with someone striping color across his face, Michael was on his second drink, and Isobel's face was already a melty palette of pink, blue, and purple.

“Isn’t this great?” Isobel said, standing over him and dancing to some unbearable pop song, shaking glitter out of her own hair all over Michael’s head and shoulders. He could feel it falling onto him like tiny raindrops, securing itself to his shirt and hair and skin with some invisible, terrible glitter power. He wondered idly how many showers it was going to take until he could walk around without constantly catching the glint of it out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, standing up as the face painter proclaimed he was done. His cheek felt strange, stiff and cold, and he couldn’t get the last of the alcohol out of his glass around the giant fake ice cube.

“Hey, we have to take a picture,” Isobel said, grinning wider and pulling out her phone while she dragged their faces close enough together to fit into the selfie frame. She pulled back to look at the picture, nodding with happy satisfaction. “We are hot,” she proclaimed, “and proud. Two badass bisexuals.”

Michael nodded distractedly. He needed another drink, or maybe just some fresh air, or for the DJ to turn down the goddamned bass, or something. He hated the feeling of the face paint, and he hated the selfie, he hated how unlike himself he looked, glittery and colorful and trying to smile in a crowd. Michael stumbled backwards, turning around to face the bar in what he hoped was a mostly intentional-looking maneuver. He needed another drink.

The bartender nodded at him and Isobel, bringing over two more glasses of whatever they were drinking. “Lookin’ good,” she said, and Michael’s chest felt tight.

It was too loud, and too warm, and Isobel was talking but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He drank almost frantically, trying to get enough alcohol into his system that he stopped caring about any of this shit. Michael glanced around the bar, at all of the people laughing and smiling and looking like they fit in perfectly, and Michael had never felt more like an alien. He needed to get out, just for a moment, just to catch his breath.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna find the bathroom,” he said, coherently enough, and pushed past Isobel towards the back hallway.

The bathroom was thankfully empty, and quiet as the door swung shut behind him, the music that was so pervasive in the bar just a tinny echo. Michael braced himself on one of the sinks, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the scratched mirror. It was just all so much, and it should have been easy, and the fact that it wasn’t was creating a cacophony of different feelings in his mind, all of it blending together into something like panic. Michael opened his eyes, willing himself to stay in control.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and he hated the frantic look in his eyes, hated the smear of color across his cheek like a brand, hated that he could be so comfortable with himself and yet so shaken. He could feel the urge to push it all away, violently, to shove and shake and break—the only way he had now to make the noise in his head stop. Michael gripped the sink and thought about tearing the room apart. He could see it, sinks and toilets tearing out of the wall, tiles slamming against one another into dust, the mirrors cracking and shattering. The vision of destruction filled his mind, and he was in the middle of it, silent in the eye of the storm, caught in the tornado of his own making—

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Alex stepped through it, looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

The vision dropped away from Michael’s eyes, leaving him with only himself, standing in a public bathroom feeling terrified and self-destructive. He watched in the mirror as Alex twisted the lock on the door and took another cautious step forward.

“Are you okay?” Alex repeated. “Because you looked not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Michael said, even though his voice sounded thin and shaken. Alex stepped towards him again and Michael pressed himself forward, closer to the sink, like he could climb into the mirror and avoid this interaction. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Alex, because he did, badly, but he didn’t want Alex to see him in a moment where he felt weak. “You didn’t have to follow me.”

Alex shrugged, the cracks in the mirror keeping Michael from seeing the nuances of his expression. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

It was meant kindly, but somehow it made Michael feel worse. Michael stopped watching Alex and focused on his own face, frowning when he saw the painted colors again, loosening his grip on the sink to press uneasily on the skin of his cheek. He swallowed and dropped his hand quickly, lowering his eyes to the stained white porcelain of the sink. “I think this paint might be toxic,” he said wryly. He could tell from Alex’s silence that he saw through the remark.

“It looks good,” Alex said quietly. “You look good.”

Michael looked up sharply at Alex’s reflection again. Alex had his own face painted, a rainbow of stripes adorning his cheek. “You do, too,” Michael said, meaning it. Alex did look good—happy and proud and like he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder. It made Michael feel boundlessly happy and endlessly sad, knowing that they’d spent their time together hiding, that they could both be here on this stupid pride night—with Alex looking secure and hot and comfortable—and yet not be together. Usually Michael would fight or fuck those maudlin feelings away, but that wasn’t really an option tonight. He sighed. “But I just don’t…maybe this isn’t my scene.”

Alex was close enough to put a hand on Michael’s shoulder, and he did so cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if Michael would let him. Michael hoped that someday Alex would be able to touch him without worrying. He let Alex turn him away from the mirror.

“Maybe,” Alex said, carefully. “Or maybe you grew up with assholes telling you this part of you was wrong, that it should be shuttered if you can’t destroy it.”

Michael’s instinct was to argue that he was fine, and none of his shitty foster parents had gotten to him like that, but he wasn’t sure it was entirely true, and he wasn’t sure that Alex wasn’t saying it for his own benefit as much as for Michael’s. Alex’s hand was still resting on Michael’s shoulder, and it felt grounding; Michael felt stable under Alex’s hand, under Alex’s unwavering gaze. He took a deep breath, and as he let it out, Alex seemed to visibly relax, too.

“You can wash it off, if you want,” Alex said, “and it wouldn’t mean anything.”

Michael shook his head slowly. “Isobel—” he started.

“We didn’t get the same ‘strong woman, love yourself’ stuff that Isobel did,” Alex interrupted, reaching around Michael to snag a paper towel from the wall dispenser. “It’s okay.”

“Isobel would be disappointed,” Michael said numbly, his chest tight with unspoken gratitude, but he didn’t take the paper towel. Then more quietly: “Everyone’s always disappointed.”

Alex looked at Michael for a moment, and then shrugged and smiled, like he didn’t know what Michael was talking about, like he wasn’t one of the people Michael kept disappointing. “This whole thing is supposed to be about celebrating yourself the way you want to, so fuck ‘em.”

Michael smiled back weakly, his hand tracing lightly over the stiff lines of the face paint on his cheek. He so badly wanted to want to leave it there.

“It looks better on you,” Michael said, impulsively, reaching out as if to touch Alex’s cheek, and then drawing his hand back at the last moment. He held his breath as Alex met his eyes and stepped carefully forward, bringing his cheek to Michael’s hand, leaning into his touch far too easily. “You’ve always looked good with stuff like this.” He was thinking of Alex as a teenager, with liner painted across his eyelids, and it made Michael ache with nostalgia. He wanted this—he wanted to be able to tell Alex how the only good memories from that summer were of Alex, to be able to say all the stupid, romantic things he had never gotten the chance to say, to be able to dance with Alex at pride night and have neither of them care who saw.

“I wish I’d been able to be this with you,” Alex said, his voice raw and quiet.

Michael let out a breath that was almost a laugh, running his fingertips lightly across Alex’s rainbow cheek. “You’re here now,” he said without thinking about it. Now was enough. Michael thought that if he leaned forward and kissed Alex, Alex might let him, that it would be okay if it only existed here, in this moment. But they owed each other more than that—more than a secret kiss in a bathroom, more than rushing in without talking, without taking enough care that neither of them got hurt, this time. God, but Michael wanted there to be a ‘this time.’

“So are you,” Alex said pointedly, licking his lips absently in a way that sent Michael’s entire internal equilibrium shifting, like his body was trying to tip him towards Alex.

The door clattered as someone tried to get into the bathroom, and both of them laughed awkwardly, aware again of their surroundings. It steadied Michael, kept him from crashing towards Alex the way he desperately wanted to. Waiting would be smarter; dropping his hand, pulling away and swallowing everything he was feeling, putting on a smile and walking out of the bathroom would be smarter, but he hesitated.

Alex met Michael’s eyes and slowly lifted his own hand and pressed his fingers lightly to the paint on Michael’s cheek, almost exploratory, a gentle caress. Michael felt his breath coming far too quickly, his earlier discomfort nearly forgotten under the soft way Alex was touching him.

“You really do look good, Guerin.” Alex said quietly. “And this place? This bar? It’s not my favorite either. And it—it isn’t home, but it’s safe. You know?”

“Where’s home?” Michael asked, somewhat facetiously, his fingertips still barely brushing Alex’s cheek, leaning his cheek into Alex’s touch, unable to stop himself. Michael knew both of them had been facing the same thing recently—the growing sense that all of the places that had felt comfortable or familiar didn’t feel that way any more, the fear of what it would take to find the places that would feel that way in the future.

Alex met Michael’s eyes, meaningfully, like he was trying to get Michael to understand something without saying it. “I think I’ve almost got that figured out,” Alex said finally, and Michael was hit by the realization that Alex wasn’t talking about the bars or the city or the buildings they lived in, but something entirely different. He thought back to every time he’d ever heard Alex say the word home, with something like longing and questions laid into it, and wondered if maybe he’d been talking about them the whole time.

Michael was trying to form a response that wouldn’t feel like a deflection, that would convince Alex to actually say what he was saying, when someone banged loudly on the door and Alex pulled away abruptly, leaving Michael’s fingers caressing only air. Alex smiled apologetically and dropped his hand away from Michael’s cheek. “You shouldn’t spend the whole night in the bathroom,” Alex said, starting to move towards the door. “I’ll save you a dance.”

“Didn’t see you dancing before,” Michael said, to take focus from the fact that the image of Alex dancing, and happy, was enough to make every bit of him openly ache with wanting.

“I wasn’t.” Alex said, raising an eyebrow. “But I will with you.”

Michael exhaled heavily, his voice stolen by the casual way Alex said it, like they’d already decided. Then again, what was there even to decide?

Alex licked his lips, hesitating between Michael and the door, then abruptly turned back and crossed to where Michael was standing. Alex pressed himself into Michael’s space, his hands cradling Michael’s cheeks as he brought their lips together in a quick but searing kiss. Michael let out a sound halfway between surprise and a moan and kissed Alex back fiercely. He’d barely gotten his bearings before Alex was pulling away.

Smiling with satisfaction, Alex unlocked the door and slipped through into the noise of the bar. Michael side-stepped out of the way as someone rushed past him to one of the stalls, watching the door like Alex might come back.

When he didn’t, Michael turned back to the mirror, staring at himself skeptically for a few minutes, trying to see himself the same way he saw Alex, like someone who was strong enough not to feel foolish, but proud. He shook his head at his reflection—it was too much, too much to ask of himself at that moment, but he realized that he still didn’t want to leave the bar. Not when Isobel wanted him there, not when Alex wanted him there.

It was Alex’s voice, Alex’s smile, in Michael’s head as he decided not to wash the face paint off. As he decided not to listen to the words in the back of his mind that he tried to pretend he’d forgotten, to brush off with bravado, the ones that came from the screaming foster parents who carried bibles and belts, the ones who told him he was nothing before he was old enough to know anything about himself. Alex didn’t see Michael that way, any more than Michael saw Alex as any of the things his asshole father had thought of him. Alex wanted to dance with Michael, wanted to kiss him, and that was reason enough to stop thinking about the colors on his face and leave the bathroom.

This bar was never going to be Michael’s place, it was never going to be less annoyingly loud and glittery, and it was never going to serve drinks that didn’t make him roll his eyes. But it could be the first place he’d let Isobel drag him to a pride event, it could be the first place he’d kissed Alex, that Alex had kissed him, since they’d tried to ignore how they would always feel. It could be that, and that could be enough, even if he hated the damn face paint.

Taking a breath, Michael left the bathroom with his breathing almost back to normal. He found Isobel quickly, dancing on the edge of a throng of people, and she brightened as soon as he appeared, beckoning him over.

“Thought you might have left,” she said close to his ear when he reached her, almost yelling to be heard above the music.

“Almost did,” Michael replied distractedly. He scanned the room, which had gotten significantly more crowded in the short time he’d been gone, until he found Alex, leaning against a wall, clearly watching Michael, too. He tilted his head, gesturing Alex over, and saw him nod and push slowly away from the wall,

“What did you say?” Isobel yelled, and Michael flipped his attention back to her, grinning. She looked happy, and tipsy, and like she actually wanted him there, and all at once Michael felt lighter.

“I said fuck you,” he said stridently, louder and closer to her ear. “Bisexuals-in-arms, right?”

Isobel’s answering smile was brilliant, and Michael realized he hadn’t made a mistake by coming here just for her, because she’d asked him, intentionally, to be there. And there wasn’t anything wrong with staying for Alex, because neither of them would usually be caught dead in a place like this, and there was something about just showing up that mattered.

Alex came up beside them, putting a hand gently on Michael’s elbow, just enough to let Michael know he was there. It felt like a lot more than that, though.

“Alex!” Isobel was clearly at the drunk stage where she was friends with everyone. “Look, we match!” She gestured happily between her face and Michael’s, and Michael hated that it made him feel even a tiny bit better about the stupid face paint.

Alex grinned. “It’s great,” he said and Isobel beamed. The song changed fluidly to something new, and Alex slid his hand down Michael’s arm until their fingers were clasped together. Michael couldn’t think of a time he and Alex had held hands in public, not ever. It felt nice.

Isobel danced next to them with abandon and Michael let himself sway awkwardly with Alex, trying to actually loosen his grip on his control instead of just slipping into the comfortable persona of someone who didn’t care. He did care. He cared that Isobel wanted them to have this connection—something that she and Max didn’t have—even if her way of celebrating it wasn’t entirely in line with his ideal evening. He cared that Alex wanted to dance with him, that he was holding Michael’s hand in public, even if it was under the guise of dancing, that he cared enough to follow him into the bathroom and knew him well enough to lock the door.

Isobel paused her dancing to give Michael a very obvious and unsubtle thumbs-up, and Michael didn’t even resent it when Alex laughed. Michael grinned up at her sparkling, painted face, his hand tightly knit with Alex’s, and let himself enjoy being part of something loudly, even if it was just for the night. Maybe, Michael reflected, this was what Alex meant by home.

#mgweek20 #guerinweek20 #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #isobel evans #my writing #happy bi visibility day!!!#this is so sappy but here it is #getting together #just a little bit of hurt mostly comfort

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awkwardplant · 3 years

Text

Sci-fi/Misc Short Story: Diorama

Weary travellers entered a building to escape from the zombies that had been chasing them. Night-time drew closer and only a little bit of sunlight filtered through the large dusty windows at either side of the room. Despite the dust, everything here looked pristine, unsurprising as it didn't seem the materials here were much use to survivalists.

"Is that an easel?" Johnny the Veterinarian wandered over to the contraption, lifting away a greyed cloth covering it, revealing a canvas with a few marks of brown oil pastels.

A younger member of the team who refered to himself as the Tailor (everyone else called him Ed, or the Cosplay Guy, or That Teenager) dove into some drawers and boxes. "Please tell me there's a non electrical sewing machine, or fabrics, ooh I'll even take sequins at this point! Anything I don't have to make from scratch."

"Don't think this type of place will have those kinda things, Ed. Looks like a kindergarten's arts and crafts room." said Johnny. "Might have glitter though."

Paul the Farmer rolled his eyes at his group. "No point lookin round 'ere, let's settle down, find somethin soft, and kip for the night." He shrugged off his backpack which carried the all the bare essentials it could hold, and popped his spine with a groan. "Food chain these days is all outta whack I tell ye."

At the entrance, Melissa the Engineer boarded up the door with some convenient planks of wood, nails, and a hammer she carried everywhere. "Oughta keep them out. Phew. Bit cold in here isn't it?"

Melissa's daughter, Isla the six year old, stood in the middle of the art studio, eyes filled with wonder at all the creations. Clay sculptures of graceful torsos, pencil drawings of still lifes that looked more or less exactly like the sketches, completed oil paintings of landscapes hung on the wall next to colorful, abstract ones.

Isla spied a light still on behind a door to another room left slightly ajar. "I see a light, do you think someone lives here?"

All the adults tensed and raised their weapons, eyes peering in the direction Isla curiously tiptoed towards. Paul hissed at her to slow down, firmly grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back behind him as he stared ahead. The air was silent aside from the floorboard's weak groans that sounded like a sigh of relief at the return of humans gracing its surface.

Johnny tapped lightly on the door which opened without any creaks or spooky noises, and revealed a warm orange glow of a desk lamp. The desk was cluttered with tiny objects you would expect to see at much bigger sizes such as doors and furniture. Several drawers of multiple sizes surrounded and sat on the desk filled to the brim with paints, glue, craft knives and other materials. A single mug rested on a green cutting board with some stale coffee inside.

Isla squeaked in delight as she darted across the room. "Mommy! There's dollhouses here!"

Melissa strode towards her daughter, blinking in surprise when seeing there was in fact what appeared to be multiple dollhouses meticulously displayed in glass cases on many shelves.

"Some strange looking dollhouses," Ed said. "Why would a kid want to play with a dollhouse that looks like a swamp?" He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the minature shack on stilts that sat atop fake greenery and resin water.

Paul chuckled. "And this ane's even got tiny critters from my farm! Now tell me that isnae just the spittin image of my wee goat." He tapped the glass of a mini farm with toy animals placed in the field.

"I think, uh..." Johnny clicked his fingers, brow furrowing. "I swear I remember... Ah well, I don't know the proper name of them but I've seen train sets that have these kind of things, do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah!" Melissa chirped. "This is how they used to make movie sets isn't it? Because back then they didn't have CGI to make places they couldn't afford to go to when filming."

"And humanity has reverted back to that time period." sighed Ed, who greatly missed his Friday night Star Wars rewatches with his friends. "Maybe even further back than that. Losing the internet was like losing the Library of Alexandria."

All of them wandered around the shelves to look at all the miniature sets. Mountains formed purely by plastic foam, a landscape of a picnic inside an open altoid tin, a greenhouse cluttered with plants no bigger than a pinkie finger. Some miniatures sat on the floor, the ones that were massive compared to the other sets yet still very tiny versions of medieval castles and gothic architecture.

Melissa stopped in front of a small library room that had holes in the ceiling with trees growing beneath them, books and furniture meticulously littered everywhere. Flashbacks to her days studying in her hometown's library filled her mind.

"This is what they thought the apocalypse would look like." she said, with tears welling up in her eyes. "They thought- they- they made art of stuff like this because they imagined it would look beautiful. How could they romanticise such disaster?"

Johnny walked up next to her, crouching down to see inside the library. "Hauntingly beautiful, maybe. I do remember certain types of people were fascinated with the idea of nature reclaiming the lands that humans built on."

"And that idea was dumb," said Paul. "Because now the deer are overpopulated and they destroyed the forests, and who knows what other animals are causing chaos without conservationists."

"There are pros and cons to everything that happens." Johnny replied. "But yes, it doesn't help that the handful of humans that are left don't know how to handle this... resurgence of nature."

Isla looked around, peering back through the door to the main room of the art studio. "This library dollhouse looks just like real life doesn't it? It's like we're little dolls too."

Melissa smiled sadly, stroking her daughter's hair. "It does put things in perspective." She hoped things would settle down enough for her to be able to teach Isla things she had learned in school at her age.

"The Earth is the size of a pinprick compared to the sun and we're all just ants in the grand scheme of things." Ed said, and one could guess he was trying to imagine how small he was compared to the Starkiller base.

Paul snorted. "But bigger than regular old ants and smart enough to put together nicknacks that make ladies cry." He nudged Melissa teasingly.

Eventually, the group finally realized that the lamp was connected to a solar powered generator with a back up of energy reserved and they attempted to recharge their walkie talkies. After a few near-electrocutions, they finally connected to a radio station broadcasting a rather laid back distress signal.

"This is DJ Smooth calling out to anyone, God, just anyone out there, from the abandoned military base in Alconbury. Been out here for uh, 3 months now, there's not been any zombie sightings for a while and I have been sooo bored. Come find me and we can hang out, maybe fight over my remaining supplies so I can remember how to feel something that isn't dissociation. Stay tuned after this music break for the co-ordinates to my location, and my heart. See ya soon cuties. Over."

Later that night everyone created some makeshift beds out of the cloths that had covered some artworks and easels, which Ed would repurpose at some point during their travels to make some new socks. They all lay on their backs in the dark, close to each other to conserve warmth. If there were any zombies outside they didn't hear them, only the rush of wind and rain pattering on the windows.

"Mommy," Isla whispered. "I liked the song that the man on the radio played."

"Yeah sweetie, I liked it too. It was... something from the 90's? I think? Probably not age appropriate but you didn't understand it so it's fine, I guess. Something funny to look back on one day."

Isla rolled over onto her stomach to look at her mom. "When we go back to Paul's farm I want to play the guitar we found."

"We can't go... Tell you what Isla, we'll go see the music man from the radio, and he'll help us cure the zombies, and then we can get everyone an instrument and all make music together."

"Yes! That's a good idea!"

"And we can do plays in theatres and make movies again." Ed added shyly.

"Movies that don't involve zombies and will make us forget this shitshow ever happened." Johnny sighed, unable to close his eyes and dreading the nightmares.

Paul growled and hushed the others, but then he said "Doesnae matter if zombies are out for us and we've got no artsy stuff, we can still sing."

They all sang Country Roads quietly (Isla could only sing the chorus yet sang with such sincerity), with gentle echoes of their melody bouncing off the walls of the art studio until they fell asleep.

The next day they left to find the military base and made up new songs along the way, with renewed and desperate hope that they might find a cure for the zombies someday soon.

The end.

#zombie apocalypse #writing #vignette #original fiction #short story #drabble #science fiction #slice of life

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vino-and-doggos · 4 years

Text

Cheers to the New Year

Read on AO3 | Written for @lilbreadbun

Rated: G

Words: 2201

Summary: Just returned from active duty, Roy Mustang is bartending his Aunt Chris's karaoke holiday party at the bar. A beautiful blonde takes the stage and her voice puts Roy under a spell. If only it weren't too good to be true.

Happy holidays, @lilbreadbun, from your Secret Santa!! This is something that I’ve wanted to write for a very long time, so thank you for giving me the opportunity to write it! I hope you enjoy <3

Bah humbug, Roy thought to himself. Half his mind was joking, but the other half was dead serious.

It wasn’t that he hated Christmas — he used to love the holiday, in fact. It was more that he couldn’t enjoy the holiday anymore. Fake trees and pre-packaged holiday sweets reminded him too much of Maes, a man for whom even Ebenezer Scrooge would have emptied his coffers in pursuit of the perfect Christmas present. He sighed and put down another dry glass on the rubber mat behind the bar.

Roy looked at the dark wooden interior surrounding him and had to stop himself just short of rolling his eyes at the tacky — yet festive, his sisters assured him — decorations that littered the bar. Tinsel trees shoved into corners and ornaments hung from the ceiling left remnants of glitter on every flat surface. Lights were strung everywhere, casting the bar in an odd, multicolored glow.

Because of course, a bar called Christmas Cheers had to go out for the holiday of its namesake, right?

The biggest problem was, in Roy’s opinion, that it attracted the now-college age people that he went to high school with who were home on winter break. It was cute and kitschy and Instagrammable or Snapchattable. Life was not designed to be lived through the screen of a smartphone or viewed through filters. And those that desired to do so did nothing but grate on Roy’s last nerve.

There was a reason Roy lost contact with his friends from high school when he joined the military, and frankly, he had no interest in trying to reconnect. He would take the group chat with the friends he made while deployed over the flesh and blood frenemies who dropped him for enlisting any day.

Glancing at the clock, he let out a groan. Only half an hour until they opened.

“I don’t wanna hear that, Roy-Boy,” he heard a gravelly voice say from around the corner.

Roy really did roll his eyes this time, but now it was a gesture in quasi prayer to Someone-he-wasn’t-even-sure-existed to grant him patience. Because if he was given strength, he surely was going to hurt someone before the night was over.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Chris. I’m just really not looking forward to this. I can usually handle normal nights, but karaoke? It’s going to bring in every screeching college girl in the tri-county area. You’re lucky that you’re friends with the DA and that the cops don’t police this place for underage drinking, because this stunt is going to -”

“Cut it out, Roy,” Chris said exasperatedly. “Your melodrama isn’t going to help you get through the night. Yes, there will most likely be underage college kids here trying to drink tonight. Luckily, though, I have a really good bartender,” she emphasized while motioning to him, “who knows how to properly check IDs.”

He grumbled, “That doesn’t stop their of-age friends from buying drinks for them.”

“Seriously. If you’re going to be like this all night, go and wallow in your room, Roy. I understand you’re grieving, and you’re working through your tour overseas. I want to support you the best I can, but this is also my business. If you’re not going to be full of Christmas Cheer tonight -” Roy rolled his eyes again - “then I’ll ask one of your sisters to bartend.”

“No,” he replied, a tone of longing edging into his voice, almost as though he wanted her to do just that. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He turned back to the bar and began prepping lemons, limes, and oranges, but he couldn’t help but smile when he heard his aunt mumble, “Who knows. Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight.”

Roy had to admire her optimism, if nothing else.

“Hey man, can I get two beers?” a kid with jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail shouted over the music. Behind him stood a short blond with long hair who had a smug grin on his face.

“Just need to see some ID first,” Roy said back over the dulcet tones of a curvy brunette with pouty red lips murdering “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”

Who the hell sings this at karaoke? Roy pondered.

“Aww, come on, we’re legal,” the blond said, his voice lilting with the cadence of someone trying to convince another of what they’re saying. And failing, miserably.

“I’m sure you are,” smiled Roy, “but I’m sorry, I have to see some ID for anyone who looks younger than 40.” He hesitated for a moment. “For both of you.”

“Oh, well, Ed. We tried!” the first kid laughed.

“Ling! You just busted us!” the one apparently named Ed yelled, smacking his friend on the shoulder.

“Listen,” Roy started, “I’m feeling especially festive tonight, so I’ll let you stay and drink any non-alcoholic drink you want for free.”

The boys weighed their options by silently exchanging looks before Ling turned back to Roy.

“We’ll take two cokes — but can you put them in lowball glasses with drink stirrers?” Ling asked with an air of conspiracy.

“Sure thing, kid,” he chuckled, pulling out the soda gun.

Right before he handed the drinks over, he stuck a lime on the rim of the glass. As he handed them over, the boys nodded in solidarity and thanks. Roy just smiled in return.

He turned to the far end of the bar, the end closest to the stage, to check on the patrons seated there. A few indicated refills, so Roy pulled out new glasses and started pouring. As he was pouring the perfect mug of beer, he heard the tell-tale clicks of a song with an a capella opening.

“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame, darlin’ you give love a bad name!”

Huh. This chick wasn’t bad.

Roy walked the beer to the end of the bar, taking a moment to catch a glimpse of the small stage through the crowd. What he saw caused his jaw to drop.

A stunning blonde in a deliciously tight, yet simple, black t-shirt and a pair of jeans that looked as though they were painted on danced about the stage. Her loose hair fell just past her shoulders and swung around her rhythmically as she whirled around. She danced in a way that made it obvious that alcohol flowed through her system, but Roy didn’t remember serving her. The impressive part is that she actually was on-key and hitting the marks without staring at the screen. Bon Jovi’s melody blasted through the speakers, and the audience was eating it up.

“Ohhh, you’re a loaded gun…”

Damn. Roy shook his head and went back to refilling drinks. She was a siren, and he was not immune to her call. Over everything else, he continued hearing her voice singing the upbeat rock tune. He had to ask another patron what their order was three times before he finally understood what they were asking for.

The song ended with raucous applause and cheering. Mostly male, Roy noted, but many females sounding out their appreciation, as well. The DJ had to shout the name of the next singer repeatedly through the system before they approached the booth to grab the microphone. It was the wildest the bar had gotten all night.

However, the excitement was short-lived. The next singer (Roy thinks he heard the DJ call him Alex?) decided to sing Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven.” Why can’t this crowd — with the exception of one — pick karaoke songs that are worth a damn?

Despite the current song filling the bar, Roy couldn’t get her out of his head. Her song rattled around in his brain, her voice continuing to envelop him in strains of familiar melody. Just then, he heard a female voice from behind him.

“Hey!” it exclaimed brightly.

He knew that voice.

Roy turned on his heel to meet the amber eyes of the best Bon Jovi impersonator he’d ever seen or heard waving at him with a sweet smile on her face. Her beautiful blonde hair was now tied back in a low ponytail, bangs still draped across her forehead; it was darker than he originally thought it was, more of a honeyed blonde. He decided to play it cool and nodded his head in acknowledgment.

“What can I get for you?” he asked, trying to make sure he was heard over the music, but also making sure his voice sounded smooth and rich.

“Just a water, please,” she responded, eyes shining in the incandescent holiday lights.

Roy chuckled deeply as he reached for a glass. “Singing take it out of you?”

“It always does,” she nodded, laughing in return.

“Always?” Roy questioned, barely registering that he had even spoken it aloud. “I’m sorry,” he started, waving his left hand and placing her water glass down with his right. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Nah, thanks though,” she winked.

He followed the head of blonde hair through the sea of people and sighed.

She was so out of his league.

Hours later, the crowd was winding down. Only a few were left, and hardly anyone left was singing. The DJ announced last call for songs and the bar, wishing all a happy holiday season.

Roy had already started to clean as best he could behind the bar — bottles in their proper place, the beginnings of labels for the cooler — when he heard that voice again.

“Hey!” that same exclamation; that same intonation. He smiled as he faced her.

“I’m surprised I didn’t see you again,” he said, smirking.

“I had someone grab me water when they came up for their drinks,” she explained.

Huh. So that’s why he didn’t see her for the rest of the night. Wait a minute.

“You got up there and sang and danced like that completely sober?” he questioned.

His tone was light and teasing but with an underlying tone of awe and surprise.She laughed in response. Roy could have sworn that she made the room brighter.

“Yup. My mother used to say that I’m a natural-born performer.”

“She was right,” he affirmed. “I’m Roy, by the way.”

“Riza,” she offered, extending her hand across the bar.

He took her hand, so soft and warm in his cold, calloused palm, and shook.

“I just wanted to say thanks for the fantastic service tonight. Many lesser bartenders would have lost their cool with the number of people in here, but we never waited long for drinks.” Riza smirked as she pulled a $20 bill out of her back pocket and slid it into the fishbowl that was acting as a tip jar.

“That’s way too generous; I can’t accept that,” Roy protested weakly. “You said just had water all night -”

“Don’t worry about it,” Riza interrupted, waving him off.

“Listen…” Roy started. “We have an event here on New Year’s Eve, too… Same kind of stuff as tonight, karaoke and drinks, but there’s also going to be a buffet with food… If you’re interested?” he trailed off hopefully.

“Oh, that sounds fun! I think I’ll still be in town then, but I’ll have to double-check. Will you be working?”

This was it. Take the chance, Roy.

“I was scheduled to, but I’m thinking about taking the evening off to enjoy the party.” Do it, Roy. Shoot your shot. “Would you be interested in coming with me?”

“Oh!” Riza said, a blush dusting across the bridge of her nose. “I - well, I’m - not really - um -”

The shot missed the target completely.

It was Roy’s turn to turn red.

“Forget I said anything, I was just thinking that maybe we could... Oh my god, please, I’m sorry, just -”

“Roy, stop, it’s fine,” Riza cut off his rambling. “I just didn’t quite know how to say…” She paused and inhaled. “I’m in a relationship.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and this much was true, in more ways than one. “I didn’t know.” Roy hoped that the earth would open up and swallow him. Right then.

“How could you?” she chuckled. “We just met.”

“Babe? Are you ready to go?” a voice sounded to Roy’s right. A decidedly feminine voice.

He whipped around to see another blonde with waist-length hair the color of cornsilk. She stood by the door with a group of four or five others.

“Riza?” she prompted.

“Sorry, Liv, I’ll be right there,” Riza smiled before turning back to Roy. She extended her hand to him once more. “Friends?”

Smiling, he agreed. “Friends.”

Riza walked to the door and grabbed her coat from Liv. As she was walking out the door, she shouted over her shoulder, “See you on New Year’s Eve, Roy!”

Friends. He could do friends.

He smiled and started humming. He was almost to the chorus before he realized the tune was “Auld Lang Syne.”

He might have been shot down, but at least he wasn’t shot through the heart as Riza’s song might have suggested. There was an odd sense of hopefulness about him, though; a new year was coming. Sparing the whole “new year, new me” nonsense, Roy truly felt like the next year would bring about healing, hope, and friendship.

Bring it on.

#fma secret santa 2019 #fma secret santa #vino writes fanfiction #for lilbreadbun

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