#*loud tweeting and grabby hands*

[dilf-docs]

Darlin', Can I Be Your Favorite?

dbf!boxer pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: it should be simple. helping your dad's best friend to train for his upcoming match in his hometown, chile. but turns out, world-renowned boxer the viper isn't just a menace in the ring.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (girthy), smut, p. in v., oral (m. receiving), rough sex, public sex, praise kink, humilliation kink, daddy kink (she's got daddy issues; idc if this is mischaracterizing you, you'll live), dom!pedro, use of pet names (doll/baby), some angst because that's my staple, idk shit about boxing my bad (i'm more of a ufc girlie kinda) so let's focus on the filth!!

word count: 5,874 words

side note: this very different albeit genius request got me a small hit tweet. song of choice for this piece i sped up because of my ovulation is favorite, by isabel larosa. there are several paragraphs in this that could be used against me and are proof i'm loosing my mind during this midterm/fertile week had to use a clint gif because freaky tales clint is so sexy might watch the movie on theatres with my legs open

You weren't new to this.

The small walls, dim light, the sweat, the blood... you were shoved into it. By your father, since you were a baby. Long before you could even walk, grabby hands trying to reach for a ring that seemed so far, the violence and the rage contained inside the quadrilateral.

So you grew up wanting it. The desire. The ichor. Rough and brutal.

You'd never step in, but always stood by your father's side. Until the age of boys, over-coated glossy lips and blooming girlhood arrived. Long gone where the days were you'd be next to your dad inside the dim-light place, now filled with car rides and girly laughter about all and nothing. You changed the sweat scent of the place for vainilla, and the oversized t-shirts for skirts that showed your laced panties if you bent.

The fights started then, but the ring became your home. Slut, he'd call you, saying this wasn't the girl he raised. Your mother would cry, tired of trying to stop the fighting that extended sometimes until late at dawn, when you'd show up on the doorstep, skirt torn apart and panties wet despite the dry summer.

The beast laid dormant inside you. That primal raw hunger; it never ceased to exist.

Now it was on your roaring voice, refusing to shut up and take the harsh language spoken by your own blood. It was on the defiance, cutting your clothes even smaller, pushing the wearable limit. On the way your makeup and manners got more scandalous, and how you'd throw your door louder each time another confrontation took place, the once lively home now a wrestle between two forces refusing to back down. But when you weren't with a bottle in your mouth or a guy in between your legs, you'd think of his hands grabbing yours as he showed you the gym around, introducing you to regulars. My little girl, he'd said proudly, and you would smile like he did. You'd grab the broken frame you once threw against the wall in a fit of rage, crimson imprinted over the photograph below the broken shards you tried to miserably put together again. Fucking failure. But it's impossible to piece what's already broken back together.

But you were still a believer, despite it all: the same girl who saw the magic in the beasts trapped within the cage, thunderous brutality in the place you once called your second home.

Maybe that's why you agreed to help your dad on this. To see a bit of that smile that had faded in time like the colors of the rust painted lockers. To hear a good girl praise. Not slut. To see a glimpse of the man who said he'd pass this place to you, useless now on his mouth as the gym crumbled just like your relationship. In the end, you were his daughter, begging to be seen.

And you were seen. Not by him. But by him.

The Viper. Pronounced in a whisper, because out loud sounded like a curse, bound to risk too much.

He had been a casual before, remembering his days when no facial hair adorned his face and he'd talk with your dad while laughing in a boasting sound, like he knew he'd break out in the scene. He did. And then he stopped coming, because he was too busy winning and living life than to return to a place that was falling apart.

But then your dad came rushing home, like he was to bear bad news. And boy, wasn't he? The leather, the greys now starting to take over his hair like the bad choices in the form of women and alcohol, ones that had once carried a bad boy charm which now had ripen into a sour taste, a lifestyle that belonged to the golden years left in a past long left behind. He didn't belong anymore, but refused to quit. The violence was a vice, and despite loosing everything, he had never lost a match.

"He wants to train" your dad panted out to your worried mother, who thought worst. "For a match, in Chile, his hometown. He talks about coming back"

Your dad may have been the first to know such, but not the last. No, because what started with a call late at night on your dad's old office (He had said Remember me, old friend? oscilating between nostalgia and teasing, and when your dad called his name, a soft incredulous Pedro? he had let out one of his victorious golden laughs, like coins falling down, as to let him know it was still him, despite it all), ended up on the news.

He's coming. He's coming. He's coming. Like a warning before the big bad wolf struck again.

In a way, you think, as he stands before you, he is one: the sharp eyes and bearing teeth. A fighter never backs down, and he seemed to be always in guard.

Hadn't recognized you at first, blinking a few times before a lazy and easy sleazy smile appeared on his face.

"This the same girl that asked me to carry her on my shoulders?" and a chuckle. "I think I still could"

A low, dangerous rich rumble. A dare. Challenging. Pedro didn't know you too had changed in many ways, and he certainly didn't know either you had touched yourself at night to the sound of his velvety voice, wrapping you up like the sweat that set your skin ablaze, a fist in your mouth to stop his name from slithering past your lips, image set on the way his eyes roamed over your woman body like an all too well trap he always falls in like a vice, trying to think if it was real or just another one of the troubles you loved to cause yourself.

But once you're deep, you can only go deeper.

Your dad left for Chile a day earlier, to set preparations you could care less, which is why you're here.

You promised not to fuck it up, seeing a peek of that man who swore to protect you from the cruel world outside. You needed this. Wanted this. When his lips parted but closed, many words hanging on the air coated with burnt cigars and sweat (I'm sorry. I'm proud of you. Don't dissapoint me. Don't break my heart. Don't fuck this up. I love you), you decided you'd do everything in your power to get your dad back.

The task was rather easy: help The Viper train before his big match in Chile.

Easy, if said man wasn't your dad's best friend, Pedro Pascal.

You feel like a voyeuristic freak watching from a corner as he pounds into the boxing bag repeatedly. Drops of salty sweat begin to run through his back, the white cloth now near transparent with how it sticks to his tan skin.

Pedro is big. All boxers were, seeing them coming and going from your dad's gym. But he was beefy. Not the slender and compact, but the huge thick type. The one were just his hands alone looked like he could snap your neck in two if he wanted.

You're supposed to be out there, helping him, but after your dirty little session two nights ago, and yesterday's dinner at your home, you're just not capable to meet him in the eye, despite promises to your dad and the fire to get his affection back.

(He had come over for dinner. Your mom made lasagna, your favorite dish of hers, but the plate went cold as you took in his words like an oil, spreading the grave tone that coated your panties like a second skin. You pressed your legs together, a shaky breath escaping past your treacherous lips when he said how much you'd grown, blaming the sauce when he licked his lips. Your parents stood up to collect the dishes, and then he leaned down and whispered: Ain't you become a doll?)

(It was nothing. It was just a man who knew your father and no better. But you didn't, either)

Last night, to erase the spell he seemed to have cast upon you, you went to one of your old friends while he beat himself up on the gym, where you were supposed to be. But when your orgasm washed over, you said his name instead; no cold shower could scrub away the humilliation.

(And the house still smelled like him. Bitter coffee, leather and sweat. It was salty and citric, up in your nostrils with an invasion that was, if not, fitting. You were obssesed, with the champion and the legend, and he was an old man looking for a fresh doe-eyed girl who could take it)

You gawk like a man would, but, how not? Dude too appeared to be hung. What is it they say about men with big noses, big hands and big thighs? Big. Big. Big. Fucking hell, you needed to be locked up.

"I know you're in there, baby" his voice cuts through the silence. It's night, and you should be locking up already, scarce customers long gone. "Was never good at hiding"

You emerge from the shadows, sporting only a small black short and a white tank top. He chuckles. With you, nothing is a coincidence.

"Some things never change"

He snickers, "but glad some do"

You breath in, getting closer to him. Again, his scent intrudes your senses, making you dizzy like a drug. Your circuits are busy, and his high.

"You were supposed to help me 'round here" he motions the place. But you're stuck on his hands, wrapped in tape. Those hands, brief peek of his tattoo hidden between the white. "What would your dad say, huh?"

His tone is devoid of malice and full of teasing, but your stomach churns.

"He'd say what he always says" he shots up an eyebrow, as if daring you to speak. "That I'm a fucking failure"

Pedro seems taken back by the sudden change in the atmosphere, nonetheless, still charged with unspoken uncertainty.

"Your dad?" like he couldn't connect the man he knew to the one he is now.

"How would you know?" comes out harsher than you intended, a shameful bitter taste in your mouth. "A lot has changed since you left"

A quiet rage settles in his eyes, the beast caged behind the enclosure begging to be let out.

"Why you throwing it on my face? I ain't your daddy"

It shouldn't hurt. This is ridiculous. But, hell, it does; you're nobody's daughter.

"Good you aren't my fucking daddy"

The silence washes over you at the same time the embarrassment does. You realize too late the words that left your mouth, and if you're quick to try to run, he's faster, your back pressed to the material of the hanging punching bag.

"Say it" he demands, "again"

Your face grows hotter by the minute. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"First a terrible discreet and now a bad liar" his spit spurts in your face, each word with punctuation and a seethe. "Anything else?"

Yes. So much. You're drowning at this point, still not deciding if it's because of the smell his body is emanating or your heavy heart's fault. But he's the last person you'll tell all of this to.

"Not that it matters to you, anyway"

Yet, to an extent, it seems like he knows. As if he's able to see past the forced sweetness, the sarcasm and the layers of makeup and numbingly intoxicating vainilla. Pedro thinks at least he does.

So if you're on fire, he'll let you keep burning.

"I could be him, you know?" your ears start ringing at some point, and you're sure your heart stops. "I could be your daddy"

There's no going deeper than this.

"Thank God you aren't"

And it's like a slap to his face. The oh-mighty undisputed champion steps back. There is always a first, and maybe this is what loss feels like.

"Baby-"

Your ears keep on ringing as you move far from him, your heart dangerously close to leaping from your throat to the cold hard ground. Who does he think he is? He hasn't even been back for a day and has already found a way to break you from inside. To ruin you. As if he never left and has known every secret hidden between your ribs, his memory nestled since forever. But he's too picked apart your bones, in just a matter of seconds, biting down on the marrow of your deepest insecurities.

You hate him. You hate Pedro. You hope he looses, and you accept you've already lost your dad.

But then, as you realize your sat at the end of the gym, the worn out lockers on display, you have an idea.

With you, it was always about revenge, wasn't it?

The beast is awake, howling upon you. Ichor. Rage. This rotten girlhood that started with Malibu dreams and has ended on beds that reek of cheap whiskey and a quick fix in the name of forgetting.

"Pedro"

His head almost snaps looking in your direction. Not like he wanted to search for you to ask for your forgiveness. A match to mark his comeback and change his life will happen in just a couple of hours; he's got bigger problems than a girl who can't see things the way they are. He isn't an apostle of acceptance, but his wicked selfish nature finds pleasure in punishing you for his same sins.

But to play a game, you need two.

"In here" he answers, as if he hasn't moved since your little altercation.

"You need to shower" he catches in time the towel you throw at him. He chuckles dryly at your childish behavior. "You stink"

"You sure? 'Cause just a minute ago, it seemed you were into it" he's quick to quip, matching your energy.

That cocky motherfucker. So full of himself. You hate the sleazy smile of a winner. Does he think you're going down as easy as that?

Of course, you aren't blind. He's attractive, but is this worth it? You see his damp shirt and sweat drenched thighs. No. You look away, flustered.

"I think you need a break, old man. You're not who you used to be" you turn your back to him, so he doesn't see your red hot face, "seeing things that aren't real"

You start to walk to the changing room, and even if not spoken, there's an implication to follow you. So Pedro does, because it's night and Friday and he's got nowhere else to go.

He follows you into the locker room, but this isn't you.

Not the little girl who looked up to him like he could beat the whole world, hand in hand. Not the broken woman, who tried so hard to keep up a mask he could easily see through, maybe because it was akin to his own.

No. This is a fucking temptress. A siren call to drown.

"Sit"

He decided to be a boxer the day he knew he wasn't meant to be bent. The day he realized he hated being weak and wanted to always lead his own path. If it was through violence and punches, so be it.

But he's obeying your command, like a lap dog. If the change isn't noticeable enough, your wicked grin gives it away. He takes his place on the bench, sitting down with aching joints.

"What were you thinking?" you whisper.

A vein on his neck pops out aggressively at the remark.

"I can still handle it"

The way his voice drops to a lower octave, the scowl on his face prominent, like he's both offended and peaked in interest by your remark.

"Is that a challenge?" you tease, playfully. "I'm not your opponent, Pascal. Save it for tomorrow night"

Your fingers itch, and before you think about it twice, they're digging across the soft flesh of his broad back.

"What-"

You hush him almost instantly. "Let me"

You trace patters across the expanse of his hard planes, arousal pooling at the rough of his edges, the dry and scarred of his skin. It's also the sturdy built, what makes it harder to not... appreciate. You happen to be into appreciating the small things, that's all.

(But small, he definitely isn't)

"You're tired" you trace his worn muscles, lost in the way he seems to equally tense and relax under your fluttering touch. "Let me help you"

"What's this?" equally soft. A tattoo. But not the one's you've seen; you wonder if it is for your bad memory or because it's new. "Vae victis"

"Woe to the defeated" he's quick to answer. Taking your silence as a signal to continue, he adds. "It's a way to remember the ones I fight are people, not numbers"

If his voice carries a tinge of vulnerability, you must've imagined it.

"Never took you as the empath type" and your fingers leave his skin, as if it burns.

He lets out a soft humorless laugh.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, baby"

You don't let him have the last word, and to punctuate your final blow, you press a short kiss to the tattoo. He didn't see it coming-- your mint breath ghosting over his shoulder onto his face. Pedro forgets how to breath.

"I've always loved a good mystery"

Knockout.

He looks up from the bench, breathing still panting as he sees your retreating figure, until all that's left in the room is him and his worn-out body. Then, the soft pit-pat of the water hitting the tiles jolts him awake.

"It's ready" your voice says, but you're still there, and not back to the lockers.

Why were you preparing him a shower? It's not like he couldn't turn on the switch.

Pedro removes the towel from his neck and walks over to the showers, only to find you still there, white blouse as damp as his.

"What-"

"Get in"

He's about to repeat it, this time harsher and louder (Have you gone insane, woman?), but then your sweet persistent voice digs on his mulish character like a knife to a wound, and his reasoning has flown out of the window.

"You're gonna wet yourself" is all Pedro can manage to say.

The (possible) double meaning makes his belly rumble.

"I know" you repeat, answering for both. And then get inside.

The water starts to make your clothes hug your body, and he's lost in the curves of your ass and tits. Your muscles, while albeit not worked out, are both soft and strong, plush skin inviting for a bite. You've got both the firm and the soft that comes with age and womanhood, and his cock is itching to have his invite to your warm walls.

"What are you waiting for? Are you going to bath with clothes on?"

He rolls his eyes. "Look who's talking"

The cold water hits him when you too have taken off your clothes.

Couldn't get challenged because your too stubborn ass fell right into the bait.

His breath gets caught in his throat as your soapy hands explore his body. His adam's apple bobs as he gulps, enthralled by your firm yet gentle scrubbing, washing away remnants of sweat and dirt. All words are lost at the devotion, worship and reverance that seems to pour from your digits as you sweep his body.

"How?" your voice drowns out with the drops of water.

"Bad move" he whispers, seeing it across his arm. It's runs across almost all of his inner bicep, big. It didn't heal as good as he'd liked, but chicks seemed to dig it. "Had to go to the hospital"

You, however, seem more into the... understanding side of it. Not on the thrill and the danger, but on the damage that's healed in time but never left. More on the pain, and not the punch.

"And this?"

"Gloves"

"What?"

"Gloves" he repeats, still not that loud, as if he's ashamed. "They can create cuts when the skin is pulled during a strike"

"I don't get it"

And instead of mocking you, Pedro finds himself trying to explain it.

"It's because of the friction of the gloves against the skin" he sighs. "Was too dumb and too full of myself to understand it. Then it happened and I got this"

"What has changed?" you tease him, but it's as tender as a lingering touch. "Don't worry, Pedro. Everyone makes mistakes, even the greats"

It's a rather sweet moment, only broken by your teeth sinking into the scarred tissue, yet you're quick to soothe it with a wet kiss.

He groans, head falling back as your greedy little hands now slide through the hard of his chest, his nipples perked under the cold of the water and the warm of your touch; body electric.

"Fuck, baby. You're going to be the death of me" he groans, shivering at your insistence on making him break. "Keep tryin', but you won't make me beg, muñeca" (doll)

Still hellbent on denying you of himself, the hotheaded stubborn prideful bastard. Not even with your tits in the air, bare cunt aching.

"No?" you feign innocence, batting those wet eyelashes of yours. Then your lips find his scars, licking and pressing sweet warm kisses across the expanse of his chest and body, ending on the one across his face. For a moment, he falters at the intensity of your gaze, almost slipping on the tiles. "Still no?"

You fucking minx. "Fighters don't beg" he says, but every contact of your lips and tongue against his wet body send bolts of electricity to his aching semi-hard cock.

"But real men do"

Without further ado, you descend until your knees hit the tiles, water running through your legs like a river. You don't wait for an answer, all you need to know in his parted lips and his deep stare at you through dark hooded eyes.

A low, guttural moan tears from Pedro's throat as your tongue flicks a quick lick at his sensitive head. He's grabbing your hair with rough hands, tangling into your damp curls, his hips jerking involuntarily as your lips wrap around the tip, tongue swirling and teasing the most sensitive parts.

"Fuck" he groans, "aren't you trouble, doll? Really gonna make me beg for that release, ain't you? With that tongue of yours"

You give another proud lick at his throbbing angry red flesh, head already leaking with precum.

"What'd your daddy think about his daughter sucking his best friend's cock in the showers?"

You ignore him, too busy lost in the way his cock throbs and pulses in your mouth, his balls tightening with a pressure that built more each passing second.

"Not a talker, huh? Were that loud mouth of yours go?" he teases, his grip not faltering on your hair. "That's what y'r daddy said. Or maybe he was talking of another daughter. Not this little obedient slut who devours my cock like she's starved" his voice is strained. "Such a good girl, though, taking care of an old man like this. You like how it tastes?"

You pull out, making him groan.

"Why'd stop?" his voice is strained, rough with desire. His pupils are blown wide, circling with desbelief and something more primal. But he'll never say that, will he?

Too bad for him, you don't know when to shut up. Or quit.

"I want to hear you say it"

He chuckles darkly, his grip on your hair tighter now. "What'd say?"

"Me? Nothing" your lips part, words slurring before you think better. "You is I wanna hear"

"Fucking cunt" his eyes darken, "think you can tease me and get away with it? No, you'll be a good little cocksleeve and take it all"

You moan at his lewd words, thighs clasping together in search for some relief for the pressure building on your bare cunt.

"That's right, you dirty cocksucker. Look at you, thinking you can bend a fucking champion like me"

He knew his power over you. Frankly, he had to thank your old man for fucking you up so bad. Pedro loved how all your resolute seemed to vanish in the air, looking so eager and willing, desperate to please him. Be it for praise or for how much you wanted this like him, but it is this what makes him feel like a true winner.

"Don't you wanna suck this dick so bad?" his thumb tugs down your lip, "Be a good girl and I might give it to you"

Just like that, you're done.

"Please, I want to be a good girl. Use me, fuck me with your mouth"

He lets out a growl, voice low and rough. "Oh, t's alright, muñeca. I'll use this dirty little mouth of yours, all right" he fists your hair again, pulling you closer. "Gonna fuck you so good, you'll be feeling me all week: every time you taste, swallow and speak. Fill your dirty mouth so good with so much cum, you'll be tasting it for hours, for days, 'n for the rest of your fucking life"

Pedro thrusts his hips forward, pushing more and more of his thick, hard cock past your lips. He sets a steady pace, eyes locked on your face as he fucks your mouth with deep strokes.

"Just like that" he praises, breaths sharp as he looses himself in how his girth is nestled in your mouth. "Take it all, like a good little girl. So show me, baby, show me how much you love the taste of my cock. How much you need it-- crave it"

Your moan gets lost in your constricted throat, struggling to take him deeper, breathing and swallowing almost impossible with his girth taking up all of the space inside of your mouth. If Pedro felt like a king before, now he feels like a god.

"Such a perfect little cock sleeve for me to use, to fill, to fuck" he groans, his hips picking up speed, thrusts growing harder and more urgent.

His orgasm starts building, and he knows it by the way his balls tighten and his cock pulses inside the heat of your throat. Pedro knows he's close to coming, that he's seconds away from it.

Even if he's lost completely in the act, he's foremost a gentleman, but when he's about to pull out, your hands grip tightly to this thighs, and hold him in place as he tries to move. A rush of lust washes him over the cold water, a dark desire coursing through him at your pathetic display of eagerness and desperation.

"Fuck, baby" Pedro's voice reduced to a low, guttural rumble as he gazes down at you. You swear you can see a brief glint of admiration on his eyes. "You want my cum that badly, muñeca? Do you want to swallow it all down like a good little slut?"

He's rocking his hips forward, burying himself balls-deep in your warm throat, his swollen cock pulsing and throbbing against your tonsils as his orgasm crashes over him. Pedro throws his head back as so do his eyes, body shuddering and convulsing as thick ropes of hot cum shoot from his cock.

"You're doin' great, baby" he pants, his grip on your hair tight as he grounds his hips against your face, pushing himself deep into your mouth as he physically could. "Show me what a good little cumslut you are and don't waste a fuckin' drop. Swallow it all"

Aren't you perfect? Gulping and swallowing, trying your best good girl shtick as you take everything he has to give you, his musky sweat filled scent up your nostrils, despite the soap still covering some of his body.

"Fuck, y/n" he groans, body going limp. He falls back against one of the shower's walls, chest up and down with uneven breaths. "Greedy little girl with a greedy little throat"

He slowly pulls out of your mouth, his softening cock slipping from your lips.

"Get up, baby. Your father's bill will be brutal if we don't hurry up" he hauls you up and into his arms. "But truth is, I'ont give a fuck. I'm still thinking 'bout your lips 'round my cock"

Before you say anything, he's dragging your body again like you weight nothing, but this time, it's to crush his hot desperate mouth into yours with a rough kiss. Pedro can taste himself mixed with your sweet and drool. He groans at that, the sound painfully animal.

"Hey" he gently tugs you, a mannerism you would never associate with him. "Where you think you're going?"

You blink once. Twice. Then again, slower.

"What are you talking about?"

Your back meets the wall, Pedro brutally slamming your body until the tiles dig into your skin.

"Ow- wait" you hiss, "the fuck's gotten into you?"

"Think I'll let you go after this?" he growls. Then, chuckles, darkly so. "No, baby. I gotta try first" his fingers grab the supple skin of your ass until you feel them melt into it. He then spanks it, creating a weird sound with the combined water droplets. "Need to see if the pussy is as sweet as your mouth. So be a good girl and let me handle this, alright? As I said, I still can"

And for a reason, that feels like a threat.

His calloused digits venture dangerously close to your entrance, fingers going in. He coats it with your slick, making him laugh that laugh uniquely his.

"Fuck, muñeca. You're as wet as this shower head" Pedro presses himself into you, his cock touching your stomach. "Don't ever try to lie to me again, I ain't no fool"

Traitorous body. But his seething voice, the way his dominance slithers into jolts through your slick folds. You whine, pressing your tighs together. Pedro's quick to see this, and before you get to say anything else, he parts them roughly.

"I said I ain't no fool" he grunts while rubbing the tip of his cock over your folds, applying pressure on your clit. "Bad girl"

No warning, just his cock slipping past your wet dripping folds. Your hands fly to reach his neck for support.

"S'fucking grabby" he teases, slipping his pulsating dick between your folds once more, pressing and then pushing in slowly.

He swallows your whimper in a kiss, your poor pussy stretching to accommodate his thick girth. His big hands pull your body closer to his.

"But I'm the grabby one"

He growls. "Quit talking"

With one brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, balls pressed against the flesh of your ass. You grip his hair, chocolate curls tangled between your fingers. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. The pain carries waves of pleasure laced within, despite his aggressive thrusting and quick pace. You roll your hips upwards, eliciting a faint whimper out of your lips.

"No, doll" his fingers dig in your waist, a purple soon to follow. "You do what I say, clear?"

His cock grinds forward, stretching you out.

"Fuck-!" you choke out, "Pedro!"

He growls when he hears his name on your lips, an all consuming desire to make you his washing over him.

He then grabs you by your legs, hooking them around his waist.

You mewl out his name in a cry.

"See?" Pedro blurts out. "Told ya' I still had it on me, baby"

Your hands scramble to grab him by his shoulders, the pain and pleasure making your head spin. He can feel your tits jump with each bounce provoked by his thrusts, the rosy skin pressed against his chest.

"Gonna fill you up so bad, you won't ever doubt me again"

Pedro pulls back and uses his arms to push himself up and hover over you. He began to drive his hips faster, loud clapping noises mixing with the falling water.

"I'm- I'm gonna"

"Ask, baby. Remember what I told you?"

"Yes. Sorry, daddy" you whimper. "Please, let me-"

"Let you what?" Pedro chuckles.

"Cum. Let me cum. Please, daddy, please" the words slurred as you feel yourself on edge.

"Very well" grinning satisfied, "but don't you dare keep any of those pretty noises just for yourself"

A high-pitched wails falls past your lips as you throw your head and eyes back, your legs shaking.

"Pedro-!"

He grunts at the sensation of your juices on his cock, coating it. In the way your walls flutter around his length, pussy tight making him groan against your neck, where he has now buried his face.

"Stay there, baby. It's my turn" his hips snap and his thrusts turn sloppy. "Gonna paint all of your tight folds with my cum"

His grip tightens as he fucks himself silly into you, chasing his high.

"S'fucking tight" he groans loudly. "Such a good girl for me"

He comes undone, salty hot ropes of thick white cum spurting inside of you, his cock deeply nestled inside of your welcoming warm walls.

"Fuck. Need to fill you up, doll. Until you're so stuffed you can't move without making a mess"

The water keeps falling, as you whimper softly, burying your face in his neck. Pedro keeps rocking into you while riding his orgasm out, soft breathless groans leaving him. He places you down, some of his cum on your thighs. He uses his finger to push it all inside.

"We have been to wasteful to keep on being, right?" Pedro jokes before closing the valve.

"Be honest. You don't give a damn about the planet"

He lets out a hearty laugh.

"Guilty as charged"

There's some silence before he's helping you get back on your shorts.

(He smacks your ass, saying you did it on purpose. You agree. After all, he's quick to know when you lie)

"Good girl" he praises with a small kiss. "Did so well for me"

You kiss him back, fiercely, your mouth practically sucking his lips.

"For good luck, daddy"

Pedro chuckles at your antics. "You fucking minx"

He leaves you after that, going for his stuff. But you stand still in the middle, lost like a little deer. Your ragged breaths fill the room, and he feels a little guilty about having fucked his best friend's daughter on his gym before leaving first thing in the morning to his home country.

"C'mere" you turn your head. "What? C'mon, don't leave me hanging"

You carefully make way to where he is, back in the same bench.

"Sit" he orders.

Oh, the irony of it all.

Once you take place next to him, he makes sure to remove a strand of wet hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"When I win, which I will" you chuckle at his ego, "I'll be sure to remember you, doll"

So when your dad sends you a video of Pedro's match in Chile a day later and The Viper winks to the camera as the referee raises his fist in the air, you like to think it's for you.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

[skeletonb0nes]

sometimes a family is a plague doctor and the tiny grubby bastard child he found wandering during a containment breach.

Note: This is a Fictionkin post. This is not a post for selfshippers or people with OCs. No hate but this is specifically a post for me and Fictionkin.

[paradisobound]

Starstruck

Summary: Phil attends all of Dan Howell’s concerts. In fact, he makes it a rule to even record every one he goes to. You could say he was in love with Dan Howell and in fact, that wouldn’t be a lie because he’s actually Dan’s fiancé. Too bad Dan’s fans see him as the creepy guy at Dan’s concerts. 

Warnings: A brief mention of sex but not explicit. 

Word Count: 3.6k 

Genre: Famous singer!Dan and present!phil 

A/N: I thought of this fic after finding out Sophie Turner attends a lot of the Jonas Brother’s Concerts because of Joe and I thought it would be cute to write a fic with a slightly different side! Happy reading :) 

**Read on Ao3**

“Dan Howell we love you!” 

“Dan! Dan! Dan!” 

Phil groaned as looked through the screen of his phone at the video recording of his fiancé up on stage. That was one thing Dan did make Phil promise to do if Phil was going to be attending every concert on his tour: record each show. 

So, Phil, being the best fiancé he could be, made a bunch of storage onto an old iPhone he found laying around their flat and proceeded to record and attend each show on Dan’s United States Tour. Tonight, they were in some place called Buffalo and Phil couldn’t really make out what was even going on here besides the fact that Canada and Niagara Falls was literally on the other side of the city. 

It was night 13 and although Phil knew Dan would never admit it, Dan was tired. Phil could tell on the screen as his body lagged a bit more than it did in rehearsals and his singing was a bit off key. Not like any of the screaming girls and boys could tell the difference but Phil had been to enough rehearsals and shows to tell with Dan was struggling a bit with his energy. 

But, it was the last song before the encore. Phil’s phone battery was struggling to hold on and his arm was getting a bit tired holding it as steady as he could for Dan’s big ‘project’ that he wants the footage for. 

“Remember that the footage has to be usable, Phil. That means I don’t want your shaky arm trying to focus on me.” 

Phil laughed in his head as he replayed Dan’s words to him the night Phil told him he was attending each show and Dan told him about his master plans—which were also a secret…to Phil anyway. Phil hadn’t pushed the matter when Dan had made it clear he didn’t want to tell anyone his plan so Phil had just went along with it. Although he does in a way wish he could know why he’s getting an arm ache every night. 

The music to Dan’s final song cuts out and everyone starts cheering. Dan’s smiling, Phil’s smiling back, knowing Dan can’t see him but he can feel it, and everything has gone perfectly once again for another night. 

Dan walks off the stage and the band continues to play and Phil sees a few people begin to trickle out from the corner of his eye but he just shrugs it off as people wanting to leave early or wanting to beat the crowd. He tries not to feel a little bit hurt when he sees some people leave the show early even though an irrational part of his brain wants people to stay and see what his fiancé is doing on the stage. 

Its radio silent in the stadium. Phil is still shocked that Dan managed to sell out a nearly 40,000 person stadium but he has. Just as people look defeated and ready to leave, Dan comes back out in an entirely new outfit and the whistles and cheers begin again. 

Dan’s final two songs are Phil’s favorite. But that’s honestly because they’re about him. If people didn’t know the meaning of Dan’s songs, they would think they were about a childhood love or even a teenage love that blossomed into more. They wouldn’t know that they, quite literally, told the world about his and Phil’s long-term relationship. 

As Dan belted out the lyrics about blue eyes and raven hair, Phil felt the hair on his arm prickle up a bit and goosebumps form. He always gets chills. He remembers when Dan first wrote the pieces and read the lyrics to Phil. Phil had cried so hard and just held Dan close as Dan just giggled and kissed his cheek. 

“Why are you crying?” 

“Because they’re beautiful, Dan.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re just as beautiful too.” 

It was cheesy. Of course it was. But in the words of another Dan lyric, “it was meant to be cheesy”. 

Just as Phil’s phone gives the final battery warning, Dan’s set finally ends and a shower of sparks sprays up as confetti falls all over the floor. Phil reached out and caught a few pieces himself and pocketed them in his jean jacket. He was saving those for his own special surprise. 

Dan left the stage and the lights slowly turned on and Phil waited for the mass crowd of girls around him to dissipate before he snuck around to the stage entrance and visited Dan in the dressing room. 

Dan’s security guards knew him by face so he didn’t have to say anything when he walked behind the stage and ended up by a door that he opened to a long hallway. When he got the dressing room and saw Dan’s name on the door, he knocked once and pressed it open. 

“Hey!” 

Phil shut the door behind him as he walked in to Dan sprawled out on the couch, his arms flopped down by his side. “You did amazing tonight.”

Dan turned his head and smiled at him, his face red and a bit sweaty, his make up a bit melted. “You’d say that even if I fucked up every song.” 

Phil walked over and sat down on the other end of the couch. Dan immediately sat up and scooted towards Phil before flopping into his chest and relaxing. Phil wrapped his arm around Dan’s upper body and pulled him close, bending down and kissing the top of his head. 

Just as Dan’s body relaxed a bit further and Phil felt the rest of his muscles tense, the door opened and Dan’s manager walked in, her phone in head. “We’re going to have to leave within the hour to get on the road towards Pittsburgh.” 

Dan just nodded and smiled at her as he pulled away from Phil and stretched. He was still fully in his costume—well, it was an outfit but it was pretty costume-like too in Phil’s opinion but the sparkles and glitter sequins on the black leather covering Dan’s arms. 

“You should get dressed,” Phil says turning to Dan. “Tonight is going to be a tour bus night and I don’t feel like having you complain the entire time that your jeans are too constricting.”

Dan scoffed and reached out, slapping his arm. “That was once and you had no problem helping me get the jeans off so I don’t want to hear you complain, you twat.” 

Phil just giggled and leaned over, capturing Dan’s lips in a quick kiss. He still gets butterflies in his chest when he kisses Dan and he loves that. He loves that Dan still has the same affect on him as he did when they were teenagers, meeting for the first time in a bar in Manchester. Dan was singing for a cover band and Phil was just a lonely college student looking to have a few drinks. 

It was really like fate that they actually took each other to bed that same night but then both simultaneously decided that being together only once wasn’t going to cut it and nearly ten years and one proposal later, here they were. Phil supporting Dan on tour as Phil works from his laptop for the BBC. 

“Maybe if you’re good we can celebrate in the hotel room tomorrow night,” Dan whispers before pressing another kiss to Phil’s lips. Phil just smiles into it and kisses back one more time for good measure. 

“Hm…maybe.” 

Dan shoves Phil back with a laugh as he finally stands up and makes his way over to his suitcase in the corner that was filled with all of his stuff. Phil watched as he took off his outfit and hung it on a hanger for the crew to grab later and then put on a pair of sweatpants and Phil’s baggy York University sweatshirt. 

Phil gave that to Dan when they first started dating so when Dan went back home at night, he would still have Phil with him. Now, Phil would love to have that hoodie back but Dan quite literally growls when Phil even makes that suggestion so he lets Dan have it now. 

They grab the rest of Dan’s stuff and then make their way out the back to their tour bus and get inside with minimal people around…thankfully. They take a seat on one of the couches on the side and Dan curls up onto Phil just as Phil wraps his arms around him once more. 

They’ll go to the bedroom soon where they’ll sleep but for right now, they were just going to sit and relax for the ride. 

***

Something surprising happens when Phil wakes up the next morning, a bit disoriented as he realizes he’s on the moving bus. He checks his phone and goes on Twitter and sees that ‘Daniel Howell Live’ is still trending on Twitter. He curiously checks the hashtag because hey, if he can find some good video and good photos for PR, he’ll have Dan’s manager ask the people for permission to use them. So he scrolls a bit and he scrolls a bit more and suddenly there is a photo of him, stood at his seat, recording the show. 

Has anyone else noticed this guy is at every show??? What does a middle aged man go to all of Dan’s shows?? That’s creepy. 

After that tweet, there was a thread and apparently there was a photo of him taken at every show and he legit didn’t know about it. He, in fact, had zero idea anyone was taking his photo and he genuinely was a bit freaked out by it. 

He read a few more tweets. 

He’s been at every show I’ve gone to! I’ve noticed him! Maybe he’s a stalker of Dan…how gross. Dan’s not gay. 

Phil had to scoff at that, loud enough that Dan turned over in his sleep and settled his weight into Phil’s chest, knocking his phone slightly out of the way so his head could rest there. “What are you laughing at?” Dan asked, his sleepy voice so slurred Phil could hardly understand what he was talking about. 

“Just some tweet I read saying you weren’t gay.” 

Dan snorted and reached up, making grabby hands for Phil’s phone so Phil handed it over and Dan sat up a bit and looked at the tweets. “These are actually kind of laughable.” 

“I know.” 

“They think you’re my stalker.” Dan laughed. “Who even pays attention to whether or not someone is at a show every night?” 

Phil shrugged because he genuinely didn’t know either. 

Phil knew that fans speculated about Dan’s sexuality though. Really, it’s been a source of talk ever since Dan’s first big break a few years back when he opened up for Taylor Swift on her European Tour. But Phil also knows that Dan has made it completely clear that he wants to keep his sexuality and his relationship with Phil only for private. And Phil completely gets that. 

They’ve been out since they started dating to close friends and family. Phil’s been out to everyone he’s known since university. But Dan has always had a bit more trouble accepting his sexuality and for that, Phil understands Dan’s hesitation when he says he’s not ready to share that side of his life yet. 

But Phil loves Dan more than anything else. He loves his smile, his dimples, his laugh, and the way he insults him when they’re being silly. But he also loves the side of Dan no one sees. The side where sex and love and intimacy is involved. He even let a selfish part of himself think about that while they were in bed together the other night. A part of him that when he fucked into Dan, he thought about how no one else knew this side of Dan: this was the side that only Phil got to see. 

“Hm…” Dan says, breaking Phil’s thoughts. “It’s quite amusing to me that so many fans are so adamant to say I’m straight. Like, I think it’s actually quite obvious that I’m gay in the same way that I know it’s obvious I like dick but…” 

Phil squeaked and pushed a hand over Dan’s mouth to get him to stop that thought right there and Dan just opened his lips and licked a fat stripe over Phil’s palm that had Phil cringing and pulling his hand away. 

“You’re easy to break, ya know.” Dan says, laying his head on Phil’s chest so he can look up him. His big brown doe eyes were like pools that Phil could get lost in. 

“It’s because I love you too much.” 

Dan kisses Phil’s chest. “Mm…love you too.” 

They get off from the bus not long after to check into their hotel and put their suitcases in their room. Afterwards, it was straight to the venue to prepare and do the soundcheck and Phil was going to walk around and explore Pittsburgh a bit more, seeing as he’s never been before. 

That night, he ends up in the same floor pit that he was in the night before, like he always is, with his phone fully charged and ready to go. He sends Dan a quick ‘good luck, i love you so much’ message before he puts his phone away and takes out the one to record. 

The show goes smoothly and everyone is happy and the night ends the same way with Phil retreating back and visiting Dan just as Dan is getting out of his costume. He leaves with Dan to go to the hotel and when they get back into the room, he goes on Twitter again and happens to see the same thread but with new photos of him. 

The man was at Pittsburgh too!! Does @danielhowell know he has a stalker?? Should we contact the police? 

Phil rolled his eyes and showed Dan the tweets to which Dan replied with an eye roll and a “for fucks sake!” before he flopped onto the bed and rolled towards Phil to snuggle. 

���Gonna have to get security after me apparently,” Phil playfully jokes. 

Dan swings his leg over Phil’s hip and sits flush on his hips as he leans down and kisses Phil soundly on the mouth. “Maybe so.” He whispers with a smirk, placing his hand on Phil’s jaw. “Maybe I’ll have to tell security that a hot guy has been chasing after me since my uni days and he follows me to all of my concerts and he also happens to be my fiancé who is fucking great in bed and…yeah, I’d really like to continue the great in bed part right about now.” 

So after a quick round of sex that left them both breathless, Phil fell asleep with the thoughts in his mind about what they were supposed to do. Dan had a two day break before his show in Albany so he hopes by then maybe everyone will forget about him. 

But somehow, he fears they won’t. 

***

Dan flubs up on accident in Albany. 

Phil doesn’t realize what he’s done until the young girl sitting next to him on the floor is pointing out the silver band on Dan’s ring finger. 

It’s his engagement ring and as soon as Phil sees it, his heart stops a bit in his chest because he knows Dan is gonna have to answer for this. He’s going to have to answer for why he suddenly is wearing a ring on that finger when he never did before…well, in the public eye anyway. 

Phil proposed to Dan over three years prior but they both agreed on not planning any of their wedding until Dan’s done with his United States tour. Phil was completely fine with that but Dan wore his ring all of the time when it was just them or he was going out with friends. 

He normally keeps it safe on the bus or in the safe in the hotel room but he must have forgotten to take it off. 

And fuck other people are pointing now and he hopes to God Dan cannot notice what is happening. 

At the end of the show, Phil practically runs to Dan’s dressing room where Dan is crying softly on the couch, his face scrunched up as he struggles to hold in the tears of guilt and frustration that he can read so clearly on Dan’s face. He runs over to him and gathers him tight as Dan lets them go and apologizes to Phil for wearing it. 

“I forgot I had it on.” Dan said through strangled tears. 

“It’s okay.” 

“But it’s not!” Dan cried. “Oh my God I’ve fucked up so bad.” 

And while that turned out to not be entirely true, Phil did reassure him as much as possible that everything was going to be okay. 

***

The tabloids talk about it first. 

Dan Howell Spotted With Mystery Ring on Left Hand in Albany Show. 

That seemed to be the headline written everywhere like a slap across the face. 

All of the fangirls were crying. What women is he secretly married to? What is that ring? When did this all happen? How could this all happen? 

Phil felt like he had whiplash reading all of the comments. 

“We’re going to have to address this,” Phil says softly. 

“I know.” 

They’re sat in a hotel in Boston now, waiting for the show to begin in a few hours. They had snuck away for a private talk and everyone had let them go. They needed to discuss this, no matter how hard it could be. 

“I know you don’t want to out us…” 

“No,” Dan says, biting his lip. “I…I think I have to.” 

“You don’t have to,” Phil says. “You could always say you want to be private and…” 

“How long is that privacy really going to last, Phil?” Dan asked, his voice defeated. “Is it going to last for a year or only for an hour? People are already commenting about you and you’ve done nothing…maybe we should just come out.” 

“If that’s what you want.” 

Dan bites his lip and bit harder and then looks Phil in the eyes as he nods. “It’s what I want.” 

“Okay,” Phil says, leaning in for a kiss. “It’s what I want too.” 

Phil wanted whatever was best for Dan and if this was best, then he wanted to go along with it. 

They made their way back to the stadium and Phil opted for standing off the side of the stage instead of in the audience, just in case. He’d seen some of Dan’s earlier shows this way but never once has he seen him play such a sold out show from the sidelines. 

They concert begins as normal and Phil notices that Dan is wearing his ring again, not taking it off and he feels his heart flutter a bit. Dan does his normal songs and routines and then before they know it, the encore is starting. 

But right before it does, Dan asks if the audience can get quiet for a moment. 

“As many of you all know,” he begins into his microphone. “The next few songs I have written are about someone very special in my life. I’ve been hiding them from you for a very long time now and I really just…don’t want to anymore. They’re such a massive part of who I am today and who I will be in the future and I don’t want to continue hiding them anymore. And it’s not fair to you guys either. 

Suddenly Dan turns to where Phil is standing and Phil feels his heart give out a bit. Dan motions for Phil to walk out and Phil looks down at his black Vibes shirt and ripped jeans and feels like he’s not properly addressed for this but he starts walking out anyway and there are suddenly cheers and yells and Phil doesn’t know what’s happening. 

“Everyone, meet my fiancé Phil.” Dan says, taking Phil’s hand and standing close to him. “You all have been talking about him quite a bit online so here is my apparent stalker who is actually just my fiancé and partner for the last 1o years.” 

Dan leans over and kisses Phil on the cheek and Phil feels a bit flush at all of this. Like he doesn’t know what’s happening anymore but he also doesn’t entirely mind it. 

“Okay, now get off the stage you dork. You’re stealing my show.” 

Dan turns to Phil and wraps a hug around him and Phil hugs him back, holding him close as he kisses Dan’s neck once and lets him go, lingering their hands touching for a bit too long as he disembarks down the stage with Dan’s security guard and stands in the audience once again, looking up at Dan with all of the love in the world. 

Social media went crazy that night, but really Phil didn’t mind. He went to the rest of the shows as promised and recorded all of them too. At the end of the tour, he finally asked Dan what the footage was for and Dan finally told him. 

“It’s for our wedding.” He says, not adding anything more. 

Phil just holds him tight and kisses his cheek some more. 

Life is going to be a bit hectic for a while, but at least he won’t be seen as the stalker fan anymore, and now he’ll be treated as Dan’s fiancé: a title he is more than proud to have. 

[barnesnmrnoble]

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Read on ao3!

Word Count: 2000

Summary: Bucky is moving from the couch, carefully detangling himself from the pile of limbs him, Clint, and Tasha had become, before he really registers the soft knock on the door. Clint is half asleep, curled around Tasha like a koala bear relishing in the feeling of her hand carding through his freshly washed hair, while old Christmas reruns of dog cops play on the big living room tv.

A/n: Merry Christmas to the wonderful and darling @cuddlememerrick​! I hope you enjoy dear! Much love from your no so secret santa! 

The pairings in this are pretty vague, its open to interpretation for whoever you want to be together.Or if you want them all to platonic, there is no real mentions of romantic relationships. I tried to keep the reader gender neutral but I may have missed some pronouns or descriptions so if you see any let me know! anyways!

HAPPY READING!

________

Bucky is moving from the couch, carefully detangling himself from the pile of limbs him, Clint, and Tasha had become, before he really registers the soft knock on the door. Clint is half asleep, curled around Tasha like a koala bear relishing in the feeling of her hand carding through his freshly washed hair, while old Christmas reruns of dog cops play on the big living room tv. He grunts softly when Bucky moves him over, but doesn’t give anymore than the grunt and nuzzles back into the brushing fingers over his scalp. Bucky understands, he feels all soft and cuddly in the god awfully ugly Christmas sweater Clint had brought over and made him wear. He isn’t complaining too much, it’s really soft. 

The door swings open with a loud jingle, damn bells Clint had put on every door as “decoration”. Why does it need to be made known that he is opening literally any door in the house, including the bathroom door. Clint really gets into the Christmas spirit and Bucky may glare at him every time he ends up underneath a doorway, because yeah, every doorway also has mistletoe hanging from it and Clint always catches him and kisses his cheek. It makes it really hard for Bucky to keep up with his grinch-y attitude when Clint does nothing but make him smile all day long. 

 “Hey, I didn’t think you got back until next week?” Bucky doesn’t hide his surprise when he opens the door to see you, and he is clearly happy to see you home finally. It’s been two months since you left on a minimal communication op. Nobody had heard from you in the last two weeks, and there had been no mention of you coming home early. Nevertheless, he is happy to see you and knows that Clint and Nat will be too. The four of you are nearly inseparable. 

You look a little worse for wear, a bruise or two forming on your cheek and around your eye, favoring your left leg and heavily leaning against the doorway. You leaning, seems less out of pain and more out of exhaustion, both physical and emotional. The question he asked nearly a minute ago finally reaches your brain, and you nod. It’s about all you have the energy to muster up as a response. Really you should've just gone to your own place, taken a quick shower and crashed for the next four days but you couldn’t override the part of you that needed to see them, that needed to have company after two very long months being completely alone and isolated. 

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate, he knows just what you need. He bends over and scoops you into his arms, bringing you over to the couch and plopping you down between Clint and Nat. He disappears for a minute and comes back with another one of Clint’s ugly sweaters, strips you of your tac vest, and carefully replaces it with the soft fabric of the sweater. He throws another look to Nat and they do their freaky “silent conversation with their eyes” thing and she kisses your cheek before she runs off down the hallway. With Nat’s departure and Bucky off doing other things again, Clint attaches to you like a sleepy, happy parasite, and you can’t help but join him. 

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until you start to wake up to Clint hovering over you with a washcloth, carefully wiping away the dirt and grime on your face. Apparently while you were out, he took the liberty of brushing your hair out and twisting it into a neat braid that pulled everything from your face. You have no idea how he manages, but anytime Clint plays with your hair, it becomes so soft and all you want to do is run your fingers through it. 

The apartment smells different than when you fell asleep, like chocolate. It smells like Bucky’s amazing chocolate chip cookies, and when you see him appear from the kitchen with a plate freshly baked cookies you can’t help the grabby hands you make at him. “Are those…?” There isn’t much need to finish the sentence, by the smile on his face Bucky knows what your about to ask and his dopey grin answers the question. He nods, before he goes back to grab drinks. 

Tasha glides into the room a moment later, three large pizzas and what looks like little jars of black and grey goop balancing precariously on top. With one hand, she grabs onto the jars and blindly throws them your direction and Clint barely moves to catch them both easily.  Nat drops the pizza onto the coffee table, opening the first box and grabbing a piece. She holds it out for Clint and he cranes his neck to take a bite before grabbing one of the jars (of what, you haven’t figured that out yet but you’re too tired to try.) “Bucky, come on, hurry!” You snort quietly when you hear Bucky huff his way back into the room. “Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’.” 

“What's going on? I think I missed a lot in my impromptu nap.” Clint beams with his blindingly bright smile. “You did. Face masks, comfort food, a good christmas movie,” He puts his hand by his mouth and whispers not so quietly, “and a little alcohol.” You hum happily and make grabby hands in the direction of the alcohol and cookies Bucky brought in pointing at him and saying “You. Are my favorite.”

“Hey! What the hell! This was all my idea.” You raise an eyebrow at Clint and he squawks indignantly. “It was!” You can’t help but laugh, pulling your legs from where they were folded underneath you and wrapping them around Clint like he’d been doing earlier. “You’ll always be my favorite, hun.” He winks at you, placing a sloppy kiss on your cheek. Bucky is now grabbing Nat and plopping them both down on the couch at your back, forming a similar cuddle pile to earlier, now just with the addition of you. 

It’s been two long months of being alone with no one to talk to, none of Clint’s big smiles and dumb dad jokes (and most importantly, no Lucky.), none of Tasha’s softness that’s reserved only for the people she loves, none of Bucky’s giant hoodies and his amazing cooking. And maybe two months isn’t that long but it felt like it, and you want nothing more than to be a little buzzed and curled up in between all of them. 

Your peaceful train of thought is interrupted when Clint drops a glob of freezing cold black gel onto your face and starts to spread it around. “God, Clint! That’s freezing!” He just shrugs and smooths it out across your face. Behind you, Tasha is spreading the grey gel on Bucky, who is complaining just as much as you are. This stuff is really really cold.

 Luckily for you, once Clint and Nat finish lathering your faces in the masks, they turn to do it to themselves and Clint spends the entire time complaining much louder than you had. It’s karmic justice, and really, it’s the little things in life that make you happy. 

Clint has yet to tell you what the movie is but when he gets up to get it started, you realize why. He picked Die Hard. You and Tasha have been arguing with Clint and Bucky for months that Die Hard is not a Christmas movie, going as far to tweet Bruce Willis about it. The boys still refuse to believe that it’s not a christmas, even after Bruce Willis replied with “It’s a goddamn Bruce Willis movie, boys. Not Christmas.”

“Really Clint?” He nods, a mischievous smile on his lips before pulling you tight against him again. “Hmm, hand me a piece of pizza?” 

______________

The four of you watch the movie in relative peace, Bucky, -weirdly enough- is the one to cause the ruckus. When the timer you’d set for the face masks goes off, well, let’s just say taking Bucky’s off was a bit more painful than the others.

 “Tash?” She looks up at him, immediately realizes her mistake. Her eyes are wide and a bit sympathetic but she is doing a poor job at hiding her amusement. Bucky sighs. “This stuff isn’t supposed to go in my beard is it?” Nat sputters and shakes her head and Bucky is whining again because they have to peel it off and that shit hurts when it’s not stuck in facial hair. Beyond your laughter, you do sympathize.

But it’s an odd picture to see the fearsome Winter Soldier tearing up while pulling off his face mask.

It takes him almost 20 minutes to finally pull it off, and by the end, it hurts so bad, he makes Nat just rip off the last of it around his eyes. Which of course, was a big mistake. The moment it came off Bucky threw his face into Tasha’s chest and you could hear the litany of curses that bled from his mouth. Clint couldn’t hear it, he’d taken his aids out a while ago, but he could relate, he’d done it the first time him and Tash had done face masks. 

____________

It’s nearly midnight when you start to drift to sleep again, Tasha is asleep, her head in your lap. You’ve bashed through four Christmas movies.  Well three, and Die Hard. Your entirely too full on pizza and cookies. You’re sure you ate through 3/4 of Bucky’s cookies. But it’s nice, it leaves you with this warm and fuzzy feeling that’s entirely too ironic with the holiday cheer surrounding you. 

Clint took your hair out from the braid after you pulled off the face masks and was now running one hand through the hair again, carefully pulling out the flecks of the mask that had gotten in your hairline. It was probably what was lulling you to sleep. You fight the strong pull and press your lips to the calloused skin of his palm, at least where you can reach. You pull your hands from Natasha’s grip and sign as best you can to Clint, Thank you. I didn’t realize how much I needed this. He only hums deep in his chest and presses his lips to your forehead. You reach across Tash and poke Bucky’s shoulder, who is clearly about to crash hard, his eyes flutter close only to spring back open every few seconds and you know the only reason he is staying awake is the bet he made with you and Clint that he would be the last to fall asleep. He is pretty notorious for being the first to fall asleep during team movie nights. 

He won’t ever admit it, but it’s easier for him to fall asleep surrounded by the team and people he trusts then when he is alone with himself. Though it’s extremely rare to find any of the four of you without each other. Whoever is out on an op, it is guaranteed to see the others in together, cuddling or sleeping, or really just spending time together. If the boys are out, its you and Nat, if it’s you and Tash, the boys find comfort in each other. It’s a nice balance for a group of touch starved assassins.

You sign to him as well, unwilling to break the air of comfort by using your voice, thank you. Now, sleep. He gives you an incredulous look, silently telling you he won’t lose the bet. I don’t care about the bet. Sleep. 

You should get everyone at least to the bed or somewhere more comfortable than the couch, you know you are going to wake up with a kink in your neck and most of your body sore but you don’t care, it’s just how it is and you know none of you would ever change it for anything.

[basicallyimqueer]

party poison

summary: Dan wants to get properly drunk on New Years to celebrate the end of a decade, things don't go exactly to plan because he's kinda dumb

words: 2532

Read On AO3!

It’s been a long time since Dan has been properly drunk. 

Eyes glazed, speech-slurred drunk. Falling over furniture drunk, hanging onto Phil like a lifeline. It reminds him of a younger self, one huddled in the woods with a group of teenagers that he wanted so badly to impress; downing liquids that burned his throat and caused full-body shivers to shake his spine.

That type of drinking is such a juvenile thing now, in his mind, though at the time it seemed so grown-up. The summers that he spent playing spin-the-bottle with his emo friends were a nice break from the taunts and bullying that accompanied him like leeches within the school halls. Those words couldn’t touch him, though, when he sat by a bonfire and his numb tongue got to taste the vodka on each of his friend’s lips. 

There was no judgement in that group, not even when his mouth lingered on the other boys’ for longer than the girls. The lack of judgement may have been due to everyone being absolutely pissed, but it still counted. 

Then there were the university months, before his inevitable dropping out. Being in the law program and not being equipped with better coping mechanisms for it, he let himself go to way too many house parties with people he barely knew. The difference with those gatherings was that he had Phil, who was a voice of reason even if only via text. The most trouble he ever got into then was the occasional party being shut down by the hall staff or having to pay way too much for a cab to get back to his room. He doesn’t have much to regret from those times, besides being grossly hungover on exam mornings. 

Looking back from the present day, he thinks he hasn’t been fully drunk since their TATINOF party. It was the last occasion where he really let himself loose, sending out a nonsensical tweet with shaky fingers and even pulling Phil out onto the dance floor without checking for vlog cameras. The consequences of that night, as small as they were, put him off it for a while. That, paired with their stupidly busy schedule in the following years, made for quite the sober Dan. Phil hasn’t been drunk since then either, but Dan thinks that might have something to do with him being a nice, sensible man in his thirties. He usually respects and even envies the soft kind of reservation Phil holds about these things, but tonight it’s not going to do. 

It’s New Year’s Eve, and he’s going to be entering a whole fucking new decade with the man he loves. If that isn’t cause for celebration, Dan doesn’t know what is. It isn’t totally his fault that he got an early start on the night and now he’s seeing double at only 10 p.m. – the bottle of red wine he had been nursing while watching Youtube had emptied out with no warning. When the last few drops hit his tongue he was mildly confused, and when he stood up to put it away, his feet seemed to belong to another body. 

Phil wasn’t ready to start drinking until later, when tipsy, wine-fueled Dan thought it was a good idea to sneak a shot of their salted caramel flavored vodka. Even with the added sweetness it still made him let out a strangled cough as the nail polish remover aftertaste hit the back of his throat. That’s how Phil found him, standing in the kitchen with his face screwed up in disgust. 

“Getting started already?” Phil asks, grinning as if he’s in on some secret.

Dan tries not to let it show on his face that he just tossed an empty, kind of expensive wine bottle in the trash – however, he’s unsure what his face is showing. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to him. 

“Guess so. Join me?” 

His hands shake a bit as he pours another shot and hands it over, and Phil only looks marginally suspicious as he accepts. He doesn’t take it immediately but leans against the counter and holds the glass delicately between his fingers. 

“You look traumatized, is it that bad?” 

“Yeah, you suck at picking flavors. And alcohol in general.” 

Dan leans forward to poke him in the chest, miscalculating a bit and getting him sharply in the collarbone. He blinks slowly as he rocks back onto his heels, an apologetic look on his face. 

“Ow. I’ll be the judge of that. Your taste buds aren’t right.” 

“Okay, cheese-boy,” Dan snorts. 

He watches as Phil tilts his head back, barely hesitating as he takes the shot. The long expanse of his throat is weirdly appealing, Adam’s apple moving ever so slightly as he swallows it down. Even when he finishes it and his face scrunches up in the same way Dan’s had, he’s still weirdly pretty. His face is clean-shaven from his recent Christmas painting video and his blue eyes are bright, the way they always are after a nice trip to the Isle to see his family. Dan wants to kiss him very badly. 

“Don’t gloat about it, but you’re so correct. My love for sugar has failed me this time.” 

They end up pulling out a couple of Coke bottles to chase away the taste, and Dan makes it to his second shot of the night before he’s caught out. Half of it splashes down onto his Star Wars pajamas and when he disregards that to drink the other half, the glass rim hits his teeth in a way that makes his shoulders hunch up in a harsh cringe. The next thing he registers is a wad of paper towels being dragged across his leg and Phil’s other hand dragging through the hair on the back of his head. 

“Don’t gotta clean me,” he mumbles, letting his head fall onto Phil’s shoulder – he feels like he’s in the middle of the ocean, being rocked by insistent waves. 

“How much have you had?” 

“I’m okay, really. Doing good good great.” 

“That’s not an answer,” Phil laughs. 

Secretly, Dan thinks it’s his fault for not knowing – if he hadn’t spent all day in the office working on that comic thing, they could have shared that wine bottle and it would have been a romantic start to the New Years festivities. Instead, Phil is entirely too sober, and the floor is swaying even though they are grounded firmly on their barstools. 

“Worry about you, you need to catch up. I’ll wait.” 

“I have all night to catch up, it’s hardly half ten. Let’s go to the lounge, yeah?” 

“Or the bedroom,” Dan winks, but Phil only stands up and hoists him up from under his armpits. 

His legs are jelly, but eventually he maneuvers them to the sofa and collapses onto it. Phil disappears again into the kitchen, and he’s comforted by the sounds of him puttering around in there. 

“Take another shot at least! One shot is basically nothing!” He yells, probably a touch too loud. 

There’s the sound of clinking glass and he knows that Phil listened, which is nice. That reassurance doesn’t last forever because then there’s nothing – no Phil returning and little to no noise happening all throughout the flat. Dan sinks down into the sofa cushion and pulls a pillow to his chest; the decision to wait out the nothingness fails him as his eyelids start to weigh themselves down. Sleep has almost taken him by the time his shoulders are being shaken, jostling him back into reality. 

“Drink,” Phil says from somewhere above him. 

Dan reaches out, half-expecting his grabby hands to be met with the small glass from before, but it turns out to be a cold, larger one. He opens his eyes to see the water splashing around inside. 

“Not thirsty.” 

“You have to have water, Dan. I found the wine bottle in the trash. You’re sneaky, and you’re way drunker than I thought. Now take a sip.” 

Phil’s voice isn’t harsh, but there’s no wiggle room to argue with him. If he wasn’t incapable of feeling anything other than weird and sloshy, Dan would probably find it kind of hot. He opens his mouth when Phil guides the glass to his lips and drinks it down, not caring when some of it misses and dribbles down the side of his neck and onto the sofa. They can deal with that later. After what feels like a lifetime, Phil takes the cup away and sits next to him on the sofa. Dan immediately rests most of his weight on him, running his hands over Phil’s chest in little circles. “

I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to have all the wine, wanted to share. You were busy, though.” 

“I told you I’d stop working before eleven. I just have a lot of deadlines looming in the distance.” 

“Please don’t be mad at me.” 

Phil laughs a bit at that, grabbing at Dan’s chin so he can kiss him from a better angle. The stupid salted caramel nightmare flavor is vividly present, lingering on his lips after Phil pulls away. 

“I’m not mad. I just need you to sober up a tiny bit before midnight.” 

“I’m plenty sober, bub.” 

“You sure are.” 

“Why should I be sober by midnight anyways? Don’t need to think to kiss your dumb face.” 

Phil huffs in amusement, then reaches for the bottle on the coffee table and pours another shot. It’s only half full, but Dan can’t tease him for it when he’s stuck trying to figure out when it was brought in here from the kitchen in the first place. Maybe he would like to be a little more aware of his surroundings for the start of a new decade. 

“You’ll feel better in the morning, for one. Secondly, drunk kissing is only good if both of us are unaware of how bad it is. We need to be on the same level so that I don’t have to deal with your sloppy mouth, mister.” 

“Whatever, drunk-Dan is sexy. Now excuse me so I can go piss for three minutes straight. I had a whole bottle of wine.” 

“Very sexy,” Phil quips. 

Despite his obvious slight annoyance, he hops off the sofa and helps Dan stand up by holding onto his arms and stopping the gentle sway that came from being vertical. They hobble off to the bathroom and bicker the whole way – midnight feels lightyears from now.

Midnight comes sooner than either of them could have kept up with. In a non-shocking turn of events, Dan had peer-pressured Phil into getting past buzzed and into flat-out drunk territory. It was a victory for no one, though, because that meant Phil spent about half an hour lying on the lounge floor with his eyes closed, trying desperately not to be sick. Dan couldn’t help him much, in his state, so he just played one of his Spotify playlists on the speakers and hoped that the chill vibes would drown out the whining. 

Phil tried to distract himself from the nausea with a game of I Spy, but from his place on the floor he could only see the white ceiling. Dan guessed it correctly every time, each round sounding more dead inside. 

Some more time passed with reluctant snacking on microwave popcorn and leftover Domino’s straight from the refrigerator that kind of helped them sober up some. Dan was sitting at the dining table with his head resting against the cold surface when he heard a sharp gasp from the lounge. 

“Whaaat?”

“It’s 11:58, Dan!” 

“Ugh,” is all Dan could muster, turning his head to the side so that his cheek would get some of the coolness instead. 

He squints his eyes, watching Phil climb off the floor and stumble way faster than he should be moving into the dining room. His cheeks are flushed, and his stupidly pretty eyes are suddenly all wide and excited. It’s hard not to let that excitement hit him as well, but his head is just so fucking heavy right now and Dan never wants to move. He decides to gather up as much strength as humanly possible though, because Phil is now bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently, lower lip jutting out. 

“11:59! Come on, we gotta do the thing!” 

“Alright, fuck, I’m up,” Dan grunts, holding onto the back of his chair once he’s at eye level with Phil. 

They huddle closer together and suddenly Dan is hit with just how much this moment means to him. His heart is working overtime, hammering away in his chest with what feels like a weird mixture of nerves and genuine happiness. He smiles at Phil in a way that hurts his cheeks, watching him intensely as Phil stares down the phone screen to check the time. 

“We’re supposed to kiss while it’s changing, not after the moment has passed, you weirdo,” he laughs, bringing his hands up to circle around Phil’s shoulders. 

Phil shoves the phone into his pocket and lets out a nervous giggle. 

“Sorry. I love you,” he says, and then he’s finally kissing Dan in the way he’s been thinking about all day. 

It’s uncoordinated and messy, but it feels so right with cheesy smiles pressed together and roaming hands sliding beneath shirts. If Dan had more brainpower to think about everything they’ve been through and experienced in 2019, he’d probably be having a little bit of a cry right about now. He’d probably do something sappy like kiss Phil through his tears and get choked up while telling him about he proud he is of them. As it is, though, he just squeezes Phil a little bit and buries his head in his shoulder. 

Phil’s arms come down to wrap around his waist and they stay like that for a moment, swaying back and forth. The music is still playing from the lounge and even though it’s some obscure indie artist that Dan doesn’t even like that much, it feels fitting and floaty and far away.

He lifts his head and kisses Phil on the cheek. 

“I love you so much. We’re going to have so many decades together if humanity gets its shit together and stops global warming.” 

Phil laughs and reluctantly pulls his hands away from Dan’s hips. 

“Even if they don’t, we can go to the moon. I’ll be right back.” 

Dan hadn’t missed the way his face had gone a bit pale since the end of the kiss, or the miniscule twinge of fear in his boyfriend’s face that grows more impending by the second. 

“You need to be sick?” 

“Very much.” 

“Right, run to the bathroom. Go!” 

Dan shrieks a laugh when Phil doesn’t budge fast enough and pulls him by the arm to rush to the toilet. They almost trip a thousand times on the short run, but they make it on time. It may not be the ideal, romantic New Years Eve that Dan had envisioned, but they have plenty of years to work on their planning skills. This one is just fine for now.

[coconut-cluster]

OOH CAN YOU PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MAKE HEADCANONS FOR THE TRY GUY!SIDES READ THEIR FANFICTION VIDEO💕

awww HECK YEAH (anon you know how to get into my heart. ask me for headcanons and we’re best friends automatically. sorry i dont make the rules)

SO

It was Roman’s idea. It was Roman’s awful, amazing, doomed-from-the-start and oh-so-highly anticipated idea.

And, surprisingly enough… all three of the others were on board with it?

Logan was mainly interested in the variations of creative writing, sure, but Patton was genuinely excited for it, and even Virgil seemed to chuckle at the concept before nodding concession (which was all Roman needed to tweet their need for good fanfic links)

(And fanfic links they got)

They expected some explicit stuff, obviously, because it’s fanfiction for cryin out loud, but they were pleasantly surprised by the number of harmless tropes that seemed to appear in a lot of suggested fics they received - snowball fights and coffee shop AU’s were particularly popular

What they definitely didn’t expect, however (or at least, Roman and Virgil were blissfully unaware of), was the ships.

Patton was a bit clueless as to what the _____/_____ tags meant at first - Logan did his best to analyze them, but it was pretty difficult with Roman and Virgil cackling beside him - and it took until they clicked on a Patton/Logan fic that they understood

Patton, of course, was not upset at it all - he thought it was sweet that people could see love anywhere, and he, along with Logan, was particularly pleased at the number of fics that ‘shipped’ him with his husband (which seemed to have doubled after the House Hunting video)

Overwhelmingly, though, were the number of Prinxiety fics. (They’re not called prinxiety in the Try Guys universe, probably, but you get my point ;))

Now PICTURE THIS:

The boys have set up their camera and are filming their search for the fics they’ll read in the video; Roman and Virgil have already made fun of Lo and Pat for their fanfic cluelessness, and they’ve chosen a Lo/Pat fic, a cute one about their fantasy honeymoon, when Roman stops dead in his tracks.His silence, uncharacteristic as it is, is quickly noticed - Virgil looks up from his phone and laughs, “What’s wrong, Princey? See somethin’ you don’t like?”Roman opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and slowly shakes his head as he starts to scroll down, but Virgil just leans over and grabs his phone - Roman tries to protest, but V already has it and is scrolling back up as Patton and Logan laugh;“The internet is a dark place, Ro,” he sighs dramatically, still scrolling, because nothing seems out of the ordinary yet, “and I think, as internet celebrities, which we totally are, by the way, it’s important to-” He stops and stares at the phone screen. “Oh.”“What?” Patton asks, craning to look over his shoulder, “what is it? What happened? Did it glitch? Should I stop the camera?”Virgil, clearly ignoring Roman (who is still making frantic grabby hands at his phone), clears his throat and shrugs, “It’s just another ship. It’s not out of the ordinary or anything-”“Of course,” Roman agrees quickly (still yet to have his phone returned), “there’s a ton of ships on the website, so let’s just keep going and pick the next fic-”“You and Virgil, I presume?” Logan says without looking up from his phone; Roman goes cherry-red. Patton’s eyes light up, and before Virgil or Roman can protest, he gasps and shouts, “We gotta read that one! Me and Logan already have one together, so you guys should too!”“…you’re married.”“Exactly!”“…Fine! Cool, no that’s absolutely fine, let’s get some variety in here,” Roman rambles, tugging his phone from Virgil’s grip. “Sure, yeah, me and Virgil. Variety. That’s fun. Let’s do it. Totally.”Virgil’s face goes from confused to almost… offended? “You sound enthused.”“Well of course I am, Little Miss Sunshine-”“Oh, you’re so right, my bad, Sir Sing-a-Lot, you do sound utterly ecstatic.”“And why wouldn’t I be?”“I have no idea, I’m a delight.”“You-”Logan cuts in. “Put it on the list and let’s move on.”

By the time filming rolls around, they’re back to being super excited for the video - they’ve gotten props, a few settings planned, even some simple costumes!!!

They film the Logan/Patton fic first - it’s an adorable one-shot, detailing a sweet trip to a wintry cabin that seems to contain endless hot chocolate (not that either of them are complaining)

(This is the exact time they all find out Logan is a surprisingly good actor.)

((Though adoring Patton took little acting on his part. But OTHER than that, it was an impressive sight))

They threw in a chapter of a secret spy AU fic, wherein Roman took far too much delight in pretending to blow things up, and Virgil offered to be a mission martyr despite it being nowhere in the fic itself - he did get to throw himself down a small flight of stairs though, so it was a win-win for everyone except Patton, who spent the entire scene with a pack of bandaids in his hands

AND THEN.

Logan introduces the last fic of the video: a coffee shop AU, in which Roman plays a quirky and admittedly confused barista as Virgil is the regular who spends more time flirting than he does drinking the coffee

(Roman and Virgil both regret not searching their tag for something else, literally anything else)

The thing is, as Roman soon finds, Virgil is… very good at it.

He’s not quite sure what “it” is, really - acting or flirting - but either way, V seems to do it naturally, and judging by the heat crawling up his face, Roman imagines he’s playing his part pretty well, too

(Ten minutes into filming the opening scene, Virgil is still going. 

Like. 

He has yet to actually touch the fake coffee Roman handed him five lines ago, and is instead continuing with the whole flirting-act, most of which Roman does not remember seeing in the fic when they ran through it earlier. 

“Virge,” he finally whispers, “you gotta actually say your next line.”

“My what?”

“…your line. In the script. About coming back tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Virgil glances down at the cup by his hand and seems to reboot. “Oh, right.”)

(The rest of the filming goes smoothly after that - until the last scene.) 

Ro and Virge are standing outside the cafe they used as a set, waiting for Patton or Logan to give them the next line, when Patton shouts, “Now kiss!”

Virgil blinks at him. “Pat, we only have twenty more minutes before the cafe closes; we need the next line-”

“That is the line!” Logan leans over his husband’s shoulder, eyes skimming the script, and nods as he turns back to the camera. Patton tilts his head at the pair. “Didn’t you guys read it earlier?”

“…not really. How long is the video going to be? Maybe we should just cut this scene out,” Virgil says, glancing between Patton and Roman, “or film it tomorrow with better lighting, since it’s getting dark. Besides, I think we’re all pretty tired and we have a lot of editing to d-”

He’s cut off by Roman grabbing his face and bringing their lips together.

(And judging by the way Virgil leans immediately into the embrace, which lasts far past Logan’s cue for the camera’s shutdown, he is either a very, very good actor or a very, very bad liar.)

okay i don’t really wanna end there, but it’s midnight and i can’t keep my eyes open anymore so I HOPE THIS IS OKAY ANON

[the-fiction-witch]

Adventure

REAL LIFE:

COUPLE: TBS X READER

RATING: ADORABLE!!!

I woke, to the sounds of the birds tweeting outside my window likely grabbing little seeds from the bird feeder outside my bedroom window or in there little nests in the back garden tree. the gentle almost unnoticeable sound of the electronics on standby slightly humming in the quiet. I could hear the clinking of the tap dripping in the bathroom, as well as the ticking or the clock on the bedside table.

I felt the warm duvet Hugging me close the soft fresh cotton still slightly smelling of the lavender and Lilly laundry detergent and softener it was washed on yesterday, my little cotton shorts and shirt hugging me close to keep me warm as autumn was on its way and the nights where getting chilly.

My hair was in my eyes a little with the gentle scent of apple from my shampoo last night.

I opened my eyes them feeling stiff and heavy looking to the bedside table.

The light oak wood with swirls and knots looking so pretty, my little pink hymilayan salt lamp slightly glowing where light from my window was hitting it perfect thought a gap In The curtains, my little pink tinted glass having a small amount of water left from last night it sitting on a coaster that said something I don't really remember, I smiled a little seeing my phone I checked it no messages nothing important but my lock screen looking so sweet when I'm barely awake.

The picture of me and Thomas cuddles up by the Southend beach in the summer sun a few weeks ago.

I put my phone down and glanced around the white and grey room seeing the curtains on the window not pulled properly, our little cat Luke sat on the radiation warming his fluffy tummy his tail moving back and forth as he nuzzled close to it, the bedroom door slightly open for the cats and the bathroom door open where somebody naming no names went in the night and triped over trying to get back to bed in the darkness.

I was suddenly forced from my dreamy state by a very loud

'bleeep! Bleeep! BLEEEP!' getting louder and louder from the other half of the bed

I yawned stretching my arms above my head one hitting the headboard so I turned over and smiled

Thomas laid fast asleep, the loud alarm meaning nothing to him to deep on his sleep to even hear it. He laid mostly on his back but turned slightly to cuddle his pillow, his head nuzzled close to the red pillow case his long hair a mess where he had tossed and turned in his sleep his light grey shirt hugged him snuggly his faded blue boxer shorts where fairly lose as they where fairly old now and the elastic was starting to go his morning wood sitting peacefully up towards his stomach slightly on his right not bothering him as he wasn't awake yet, his hands gripped his pillow tightly he must have had a nightmare in the night unfortunately becoming quite common these days, his face blank and expressionless lost in his dreams is eyes still peacefully closed his gentle breaths making a slight wheezing sound slightly moving his skinny chest with his breaths his facial hair fairly long now as he hadn't shaved now in weeks longer now then even when he was away for godless, I originally hated it but I had gotten use to it And I do think it looks nice, plus he's happy.

I sat up a little in bed moving my hair from my eyes seeing his bedside table,

The same oak wood as mine, his phone on charge on the corner fairly far from him, his little lamp still illuminated it looks like a moon and the light makes it look like a full moon in the sky he's left it on alot when he sleeps these days not sure why, his little slightly see thought green lighter on the table humm I'll keep an eye on that, he promised he'd stop smoking in bed I'm pretty sure his rolling tobacco was on the window sill as I was fine with him doing it by the window just not in bed I'm scared he'll ash and set the bed on fire or something, I spotted a little purple wrapper on his table ripped open the used condom from the packet stuffed back inside the torn wrapper slightly leaking what I hoped was the packets lube onto the table, his little clock shaped like a motorcycle with the clock in one wheel and the temperature and humidity of the room in the other still loudly bleeping so I shut it up, hu? It's fourteen degrees, not to cold I suppose, just as his phone lit up jack Sent him a message about something I don't know bike stuff probably and I smiled seeing his lock screen not something I often see as Thomas doesn't use his phone very much, even less since we moved in together it was us a little while ago I don't remember when exactly or where we where the picture didn't show any of it just me smiling widely with him kissing my cheek it was Candid for sure I don't even remember it, perhaps it's an old one from when we hadn't been dating long I moved and laid down in bed again watching him still faster asleep.

I shuffled forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips I slightly giggled still not used to kissing him when it's any more then stubble, he shifted in bed lightly kissing back till I pulled away

"Good morning Thomas" I smiled he kept shifting a little clearly already noticed his own morning wood his nose scrunching up in that cute little way he always does

"Uugghhmmm..." He groans unhappily turning over away from me pulling the duvet up to be over his shoulder and tucked under his chin and I giggled giving him a cuddle slightly spooning him

"Come on Thomas it's waking up time" I smiled

"Ughmmm no..." He groans sleepily "let me sleep y/n"

"No, come on you promised you'd start waking up with your alarm" I smiled

"Five more minutes" he pleads

"Okay" I sighed "I will go make you a coffee, you have till I get back to be sat up and awake Mr" I warn giving his cheek a kiss and getting up wrapping my silky nightie around my body and walking down the stairs using the last banister to turn me to the kitchen having to avoid all thomas' shirts and jackets just hung on the stairs going into the kitchen the cold floor hurting my feet as I walked to the coffee machine putting thomas' star wars death star mug under the machine as it made his coffee I made myself some tea and as soon as it was done I walked up stairs pushing our door open with my foot where it had closed on itself and Thomas was sat up rubbing his face looking like he sat up when he heard me coming up the stairs he saw me and outstretched his arms doing grabby hands towards his mug like a baby for its bottle I handed it to him getting back in my side of our bed tucking the duvet around me tightly as I sipped my tea

"Ohh that's good, thank you darling" he smiled waking up now he had had some coffee

"Your welcome sleepy head" I smiled resting my head on his shoulder as I had some more tea "how did you sleep?" I ask

"Alright" he shrugs "I was only up...four times tonight"

"That's better" I smiled giving his cheek a kiss "it will be okay soon as these nightmares pass"

"I know, atleast your here to keep me safe" he smiled kissing my head

"So what do you wanna do today?" I ask him as I put my empty mug down

"Can we maybe... Just go for a drive?" He suggests

"To where?" I ask

"Anywhere" he shrugs "just drive and see where we end up"

"Like a little adventure" I smiled

"Yes darling, an adventure" he smiled putting his empty mug down and hugging me close "I love you so very much"

"Aww I love you too Thomas"I laughed Hugging him tightly too.

Once we where all sorted out we went and got in thomas' car he drove of course as he never lets anyone else drive his car, we started up and went off down the busy London streets, after a while I tried to hold his hand but he moved away

"I would darling, but this is rush hour London traffic, I need to concentrate" he explained

"Okay" I said sadly

"As soon as we are out of town darling I will, I need both hands to drive especially when there are stupid people everywhere, I'm going up and down the gears like a bloody jack rabbit" he sighed "hey, I would hold your hand if I could darling" he smiled

"I know" I smiled blowing him a little kiss he blushed a little and did back to me as he drove, until atlast we got out the busy bits of London and he smiled taking my hand interwining our fingers his thumb rubbing on the back if my hand he moved my hand a little so our hands sat on his thigh as he drove so he was close to the wheel and gears I'd be had to do anything suddenly "I love you darling" he smiled

"I love you too Thomas" i smiled giving his hand a kiss and he gave mine one too

"Come on let's get adventuring" he smiled resting our hands back in his thigh as we drove off somewhere else for a while.

[movietvtechgeeks]

Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/supernatural-returns-12-16-ladies-drink-free/

'Supernatural' Returns With 12.16 Ladies Drink Free

This week’s Supernatural "Ladies Drink Free" episode saw the return of Claire Novak (Kathryn Newton), who is a controversial character for the fandom. I was excited just to have the Show back on the air after a mini hiatus, so my expectations were somewhere in the middle -- but I was in a good mood just to be able to watch. I ended up enjoying the episode, though it won’t go down in history as one of my all time favorites. The opening scene was notable for its scariness factor, and also for the acknowledgment of what everyone is asking the characters in every single horror movie. That, of course, didn’t keep the brother and sister from being attacked by the creepy mask-wearing werewolf. That’s a new one, werewolves in masks! I guess that’s a smarter than average werewolf. Soon Sam and Dean are summoned to the Men of Letters headquarters, and I may have squealed a little bit just to have Ackles and Padalecki back on my tv screen, looking mighty fine. Dean is still clearly not really on board, especially not with the whole ‘reporting for duty’ thing. And especially if they keep him waiting!  I was glad to hear Dean say that out loud because we all knew that wouldn’t sit well with Dean. Thanks, Meredith Glynn, for putting it in words. I was also very glad to hear Mick admit that if Mary and Sam hadn’t been there, he would be dead too – finally, someone admitting that SAM saved the day and killed the alpha vampire! More thanks to the writer. Dean is also not down with Mick wanting to come along on the hunt, claiming that you can’t learn to hunt from reading a book. This has been the season of Sam prevailing, though, and once again Dean goes along with what his brother wants. I know some fans have been clamoring for a more equal partnership between the brothers for a long time, but I think it’s certainly there now. I like to think that Dean will still struggle with it from time to time, because being the big brother is ingrained in him (and I don’t ever want him to lose that, it’s a big part of why I watch the show) – but he absolutely respects Sam as an equal. They’re at a good place this season – they trust each other, respect each other, value each other’s intellect and strength. Would I like a little more emotion shown between them? Absolutely. But they are definitely a team, often speaking for each other with ‘we’ instead of ‘I’. Dean isn’t amused that Sam finds some things to like about the BMoL, and I find that amusing. Mick: Kendrick’s is the largest collection of occult lore in the world. Sam: Cool! (Turning to Dean to share his glee) Dean: (glares) If words could kill, seriously. Sam: O—o. I laughed out loud. Sometimes I almost forget what a treasure it is having Ackles and Padalecki on this show –  they can take a small scene like this one and make it into something hysterically funny, or heartbreakingly sad. Sometimes just with a look. This was one of those moments. In fact, Dean is not amused at all every time Sam shows any enthusiasm for the way the BMoL do things. It’s endearingly like Dean and Mick are fighting over Sam’s loyalties, which warms my heart. I need to see more emotion between the brothers, Show, but this will suffice for now. Sam gets to do a lot of shaking his head, but there’s a fondness to it that I also appreciate. Dean has to endure podcasts in the Impala and Mick in the backseat, and it’s during the drive that Sam and Dean learn that the BMoL have been killing whatever they deem as monsters indiscriminately, even ones who might not have done anything bad. Sam and Dean protest, citing Garth as an example of a so-called monster who can keep it in check, but Mick is not convinced. They are then conveniently distracted by arriving at their destination, but the conversation seems to foreshadow what fandom has been expecting for some time – the Winchesters will eventually part ways with the BMoL over this very issue. Sam and Dean started out also thinking in black and white, but over the years they’ve realized that not all monsters hurt people. I actually tweeted #alwaysshadeesofgray after that conversation, before Dean makes it explicit a bit later in the episode. I love that about Supernatural and am once again thrilled to have it acknowledged in actual dialogue (and without the help of anvils either). Thank you once again, Meredith! The “3-star hotel” scene was also glorious. Dean’s glee about the “little shampoo bottles” was so very Dean – it always makes him look like a five-year-old no matter how old either he or Ackles get. I also love that neither of the Winchesters was all that thrilled about the separate rooms, though – they do their best work in their shared hotel rooms! Has Ackles already said that Dean grabbing a fist full of the free hotel mints and trying to shove them in his jacket was an ad lib? My money is on it if not. Never change, Dean. I love all those little reminders of the sort of life the Winchesters have to live off the grid. They don’t allow themselves luxuries, but on those rare occasions when they can have a taste of some “luxury”, Dean grabs for it with both hands. That also explains his dip in the pool, sans bathing suit. FAIL, SHOW, FAIL! Where is this footage??? Sam’s face was pretty priceless though as he contemplates the image. Which Dean clearly enjoys way too much. The Winchesters and Mick visit the surviving werewolf attack victim in the hospital, getting competitive about who gets to talk to her and her distraught mom. Mick wins out by pretending to be a doctor – he is a rather quick study, even adopting a Fleetwood Mac alias himself. But then he flat out lies to Sam and Dean about the girl being bitten, and uh oh. We can see where this is going. Sure enough, Mick goes back and kills her, but Adam Fergus does a good job of foreshadowing the not black and white speech Dean’s going to end up giving him. It’s his first kill by his own hand, and it’s clearly not as easy as he thought it was going to be. Meanwhile, Claire has been working the same werewolf case. And she’s also lying – to Jody. There are so many lies in this season it makes my head spin! Dean calls her on the phone she’s using for cases, doing his best impression of Yogi Bear, which cracked me up (and was probably a lot of fun for Ackles). They meet up and catch up over a beer (which Dean won’t let Claire drink). Claire insists Jody is fine with her hunting alone and too busy anyway, which clearly neither of the Winchesters are buying. Dean’s still pissed about Sam’s enthusiasm for Mick and the BMoL too, much to my continued amusement. Dean: Oh he’s Sam’s best friend. They’re like nerd soulmates. Me: Soulmates! Nope. That’s already been settled on Supernatural. Sam just rolls his eyes at his brother. Mick lies again to Sam and Dean the next day, but that’s okay because we get a treat – we get Smart!Dean, my absolute favorite flavor! I adored Dean interrogating Mick as they’re supposed to be interrogating the bartender with the tattoos, clearly knowing he’s lying. And then grabbing him by the hurt shoulder he’s trying to hide and slamming him up against the wall. Damn! Badass!Dean, wait, that’s my favorite flavor! This episode kept reminding me of early Supernatural episodes, almost like I was having flashbacks. That pinch to the wounded shoulder threw me back to Born Under A Bad Sign, when possessed Sam does the same thing to Dean (who has been shot in the shoulder). That was one of the episodes that sold me on this show, so intense and so superbly acted. Like I said, I loved Dean letting Mick know in no uncertain terms that this is NOT black and white, and not letting him off the hook. He tells it like it is: you killed that girl. That mother lost two children. Dean: All you have is a case in front of you. But here’s a little tip – things aren’t just black and white out here. Dean brings up Magda too, who Sam and Dean think they spared to go live her life. Mick, of course, knows that Mr. Ketch executed her. I wonder when the Winchesters will find out about that?? We also get some Badass!Dean dealing with the jerk of a bartender guy, who seems to think it’s perfectly fine to be grabby and disrespectful to “girls like that”.  Dean getting in his face and warning him never to touch Claire again or “I’ll break your face!” was not only hot has hell, but made me want to jump up and yell YES! You tell him, Dean! Dean has come a long way in more ways than one. Sam, meanwhile, is attempting a heart to heart with Claire, where he sounds oh so reasonable, and she isn’t having it. Calling Sam an old skeezer seemed like a low blow (and didn’t endear the character to Sam fans…), but nobody who’s struggling to be seen as an adult likes being called childish I suppose.  Sam nevertheless tries to convince Claire to tell Jody the truth. Claire: Stop treating me like a stupid kid! Sam: Then stop acting like one! Predictably, Claire has a tantrum and runs off (with headphones on….definitely a rookie hunter move, Claire) and, as we suspected would happen, gets bitten by the werewolf. Sam comes running just a moment too late and drops to his knees to gather Claire into his arms, frantically checking to see if she was bitten. Jared did an amazing job in this scene, conveying Sam’s desperate hope and then the moment he realizes with horror and despair that she was. I guess I’m thinking a lot about early SPN recently, because this scene reminded me of another of my most unforgettable scenes – when Dean arrives similarly a moment too late to save Sam in AHBL, gathering him up and having a similar crushing realization as he checks Sam’s injuries and feels all the blood. They even say the same things, murmuring “I gotcha, I gotcha”. Ouch. My flashback invested the scene with even more emotion. [caption id="attachment_44406" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Caps by: jarpadprincess[/caption] The next scene was one of the strongest, as Claire begs to be killed, saying she knows she won’t be able to keep from hurting someone and she refuses to take that chance. I liked Claire more than ever in this scene, and Kathryn Newton did a great job – Claire demonstrates that maturity that she’s been struggling with, along with palpable emotion. Some of my own emotional reaction is also due to Padalecki and Ackles, who look absolutely devastated about what has happened. They’re both such good actors that the pain on those handsome faces just seeps right into me – pretty sure I had a similarly pained expression in empathy. Dean: (desperately) You can live with this. Claire: No, I can’t. Cue the sad sad music, and me fumbling for the tissues. Sam and Dean are a united front against Mick at this point, nearly speaking in unison. Dean: Back off! Sam: Shut up! Sam: (steely) You killed a kid. We’re not angry; we’re done. Damn boys. Sam, super smart geeky research boy that he is, makes all that staying up reading pay off – the BMoL did have a cure for this, at least in mice. It killed 9 out of 10, in agony, but at least there’s a chance. My twitter timeline always adds to the fun. Astroglide: (who often wins the best tweet contest hands down): You know what sounds like a terrible idea? Were-mice. Anyway, Dean says absolutely not, it’s too risky (though really Dean, how risky are the other options?)  But Claire wants to do it. Kudos to Meredith Glynn for the next little interchange, as they try to decide whether to risk it. Dean to Claire: You don’t get a vote in this. Claire: It’s my life. I get ALL the votes. Damn right. And another thank you to Glynn. Dean wants to disagree, but Sam backs Claire up, and Dean reluctantly goes along. (Once again, that’s a theme this season. Dean is as emotional and passionate as ever, but he can also listen to other viewpoints and hear them. And he’s capable of understanding when his knee-jerk reaction, his long ingrained need to protect those he loves, is not the right way to go. That, right there, is character growth. Character growth that’s realistic and not superhuman miraculous) Adam Fergus also did a great job in this scene of showing us Mick’s in-episode evolution. He’s still torn between what his orders are and the way the BMoL have always done things, but the Winchesters are already teaching him. Dean leaves Claire with Mick along with a threat that nobody has any doubt he’ll carry out if needed, but you get the feeling that Mick is also rooting for Claire at this point. He killed one young girl; I don’t think he wants to do that again. Sam and Dean head out to find the werewolf sire. I love that at first they rough up the wrong guy – just because he has tats doesn’t mean he’s the bad guy! (Also, that guy’s gonna have some gigantic therapy bills after this.) Unfortunately, that means the real bad guy is grabbing Claire out from under the hapless Mick and taking her back to his place to turn her. She manages not to gulp down the nice juicy fresh heart he tries to force on her (ewww, Kathryn Newton you’re a brave soul…) and while the dialogue in this scene didn’t ring true to me (really? Claire takes the time to wittily call the bad guy ‘Teen Wolf’ in the middle of all this?) I was intrigued with what we learned. The werewolf and his pack were peaceful until the BMoL started wholesale killing them. How much worse are they making things in the US? This is a lesson the Winchesters learned a long time ago, but I wonder if this will poke a substantial hole in Mary’s argument that they’re “doing so much good.” Maybe not. The Winchesters and Mick track Claire down thanks to a bug in her pocket, there’s a fight scene that’s as well choreographed as all the fight scenes in Supernatural,  Dean defends himself from were!Claire with pots and pans and Mick manages to help save the day (and Dean). They have the means to inject Claire with her sire’s blood now, but how much do I love that Dean pauses before he plunges the needle in, looking to Sam. Dean has learned some hard lessons about consent. So has Sam. Dean: She wanted this, right? Sam: Oh yeah. There are a lot of messages in here about autonomy that are right on point, can I just say? One more thank you to Glynn. And then they wait. Wait to see if Claire will live and get better or die in agony. She definitely experiences the agony part – once again, the worst of that was watching the pain on Dean and Sam’s faces as they have to watch. Dean eventually can’t take it and goes out to get some air, reminding me of that time Sam was detoxing in the panic room and Dean couldn’t stand to listen. Dean can be ruthless and fearless, but he takes no pleasure in hearing someone else in pain – if it’s someone he cares about, his empathy literally won’t allow him to bear it. (And yes, I love that about him). Sam calls his brother back inside when they think Claire has died, but I’m guessing none of the viewers fell for that. I wish I had, because then it would have had more impact when she opened her (human looking again) eyes, but the relief on Sam and Dean’s faces feels really good anyway. Of course, that scene and this episode, in general, reminded most of us of the classic episode ‘Heart’, where a heartbroken Sam has to kill Madison and an equally heartbroken Dean has to let him. Who will ever forget Dean’s flinch when the gun shot ran out, or the single tear that overflowed when it did, knowing how much it cost his little brother? Some fans felt that finding this new werewolf cure negated the intensity of that episode, but it wasn’t truly a retcon. They couldn’t have cured Madison back then; they had no way of knowing that the BMoL had been working on a cure. So for me, that episode remains just as tragic and just as emotional. I’m sure poor Sam and Dean are going to think about Madison sooner or later, though, and find it even more heartbreaking. Claire shows her newfound maturity again by thanking the Winchesters, gets some hugs, and heads to her car. Sam and Dean, showing their respect for the fact that she is an adult (I’m assuming she’s over 18, and to the Winchesters, that would certainly rate being old enough considering their own hunting history), leave the decision to call Jody to her.  Claire actually did hear Sam though, even if she pretended she didn’t – she calls and leaves a message, acknowledging Jody’s impact on her as ‘her mother’. I might have sniffled a little. Also anytime we’re reminded that Kim Rhodes will eventually be back, I’m a happy camper. Sam and Dean decide to give Mick one more chance, presumably because he came through in the end, but that doesn’t seem like the best choice to me. They said one chance! Hmmm. I have to quibble a bit with the end too. Claire drives off, on the nose rock music playing (Wild Child). That parallel was a bit too heavy-handed for me – yes, we get it, she’s a hunter. But only the Impala gets to drive offscreen at the end of an episode, Show. Got it? The ending had Wayward Daughters spin-off feels all over it, which would be very welcomed by the fandom. If that was the intention, I’ll forgive that error this once. But don’t let it happen again. I like my endings with Sam, Dean and Baby driving off up the road. While this won’t go down in history as one of my favorite episodes, I like how much evolution occurred for both Claire and Mick, and I like that we’re finding out more about the BMoL little by little. The theme of lies and deception continues, but I’m at least hoping that none of that will be between Sam and Dean. It was difficult to watch Sam not tell Dean about working with the BMoL, essentially telling him after they’d already been taking their cases. Not cool, Sam. No more of that. Some of the cast live-tweeted the episode, so we got a few behind the scenes pictures. Kathryn has to deal with plenty of big brother shenanigans, clearly – Jensen tied her shoe laces together in the scene where Claire is crying. [caption id="attachment_44420" align="aligncenter" width="533"] Photo: Kathyrn Newton Twitter[/caption] And even William Shatner was a bit put off by Claire’s insult to Sam. Shatner: hey @jarpad, Skeezer?? Exactly. One more little thing. Claire reads Batgirl. Nice touch, Supernatural. Glad you’re back! Check out next week's Supernatural episode 1217 The British Invasion.

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Were the Bryce Harper Opening Day Boos Worthy of Media Headlines?

Alright.

I see some shit floating around on social media. Actually, it’s a lot of shit. And I see some articles out there talking about the (light) booing that Bryce Harper received after striking out twice on Thursday. There’s also a lengthy Twitter argument between Mike Sielski, Marcus Hayes, and former Phillies writer Ryan Lawrence, which we will get to.

I wasn’t at the ballpark yesterday, but people I guess heard some booing after those whiffs:

Bryce Harper struck out a second time, and there were boos. Just sayin'. There were boos. #Phillies

— Mike Sielski (@MikeSielski) March 28, 2019

Some responses to Mike:

I was in left field. Heard boos after both of his strikeouts. They weren’t loud loud, but it did happen.

— NE (@NickyEyess) March 29, 2019

This is exactly why reputations are perpetuated. Should the (literally) handful that “booed” somehow be a representation of Phillies fans? Not a friggin chance.

— Kevin Todd (@K_Todd_62287) March 28, 2019

Basically what happened was that people accused Sielski and others (Meghan Montemurro, etc) of making a story out of nothing, a story that some relatively large news outlets ran with, after the jump:

NJ.com rolled out a story titled WATCH: Phillies fans boo Bryce Harper on Opening Day After Two Strikeouts. The featured clip is this one:

Yeah, I hear boos. I don’t hear a lot of them though, sounds like some isolated stuff to me, maybe a couple of losers in the crowd.

Said one of the people in the comments:

“You get 1 or 2 drunks from Jersey booing and you make it sound like 40K plus were doing it.

Whats next, a mention of Philadelphia Fans throwing snowballs at Santa?”

And another person:

“Zack, settle down with the cheap headlines. I don’r get it, they teach you this in journalism school or something ? I heard 1 drunk guy “booing”.”

I’m not sure if the writers handle their own headlines at NJ.com. That might be Sports Director Kevin Manahan. It might be an editor. It’s different at every outlet.

But when I go to NJ.com I also see the following stories:

Phillies fans cheer for Bryce Harper in Opening Day intros

Phillies’ Bryce Harper’s huge ovation before 1st at-bat

Boos, booze and Bryce Harper: My afternoon at Citizens Bank Park on Phillies’ Opening Day | Rosenblatt

Phillies’ Bryce Harper talks about Opening Day debut

Those were just four of the stories/videos on the sports landing page. When I click on the “Phillies” tab and go down the list of other items, I see this:

Phillies’ Odubel Herrera delivers game-winning hit after being called a ‘clown’ and a ‘dog’ in Sports Illustrated article

And here’s another:

Bryce Harper debuts as Phillies crush Braves on Opening Day | Rapid reaction

Those are mostly positive, the headlines. You can’t sit here and say the booing was the focal point of the NJ.com Phillies coverage from opening day. They had a bunch of different stories up there on a bunch of different topics.

Lawrence, I think, was being a bit dramatic when he used one of the NJ.com stories and a Business Insider headline in this tweet:

And there we have it. It's been struggling for some time with regular death rattles in the last decade, but today, when this hit the old world wide web, journalism officially died. #RIP pic.twitter.com/4ndPtszAgi

— Ryan Lawrence (@ryanlawrence21) March 29, 2019

This is a recurring thing for Lawrence, who pops up every few months to rue the direction of the journalism business and complain about not having a Phillies gig, which I can’t imagine is helping him land a new Phillies gig. He often laments the rise of “click bait” websites, sites that might not win a Pulitzer but find a way to inform and entertain at the same time.

But the real point here is that NJ.com and Business Insider and USA Today aren’t exactly Crossing Broad. We try to have fun and don’t take ourselves too seriously, while these other sites do “traditional journalism,” or whatever. That’s why I wouldn’t poo-poo all over Lawrence’s opinion. He’s not wrong when he talks about the influx of grabby headlines and non-stories, which seem to interface incorrectly with “traditional journalism” practices. We might get some clicks off a goofy and harmless Kendall Jenner story, but they ain’t writing that up at The Athletic, right? They do what works for them and we do what works for us.

This all devolved into an argument involving Sielski and Marcus Hayes, two guys with whom Lawrence worked at the Inquirer.

Here you go:

Anyway, the real question is this:

Was the smattering of Harper boos worth a headline for a “traditional media outlet?” You might expect to see something like that on Barstool, or Deadspin, or here (we actually didn’t do it), but should NJ.com be running with it? Should Inquirer writers be tweeting about it?

I dunno. You tell me. Is this is a big deal or is everybody just blowing this thing out of proportion?

The post Were the Bryce Harper Opening Day Boos Worthy of Media Headlines? appeared first on Crossing Broad.

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