#Mick Mars | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rentherainbringer · 3 days ago

Text

Dude. I'm 99% sure I sent it to you ON VALENTINES DAY.

Sunday Morning: A Valentines Day Special

⚜ Summary: You wake up alone, only a trail of notes and chocolates to keep you company. But where's your lover?

⚜ Total Post Word Count: 2.1k ⚜ Writing Word Count: 1.8k

⚜ Reader: Gender Neutral, works at the grocery store, bit of makeup. ⚜ Pairing: Nikki Sixx x GN!Reader

If you are older than 19-20 you are welcome to like my writing/posts & leave anons but please do not comment or interact with me directly.

⚜ Track List:

Sunday Morning - Nico & The Velvet Underground

Time Warp - Rocky Horror Picture Show Soundtrack

⚜ Further Recommendations:

Venus In Furs - Nico & The Velvet Underground

Head On (Rehearsal Performance) - Iggy & The Stooges

⚜ For those who use screen readers, there are image/graphics in this but all of them have text descriptions as to what they look like and say.

⚜ Requests, Asks & Anons are more than welcome.

⚜ A/N: I wrote this in two days. I just woke up Wednesday like "Oh I should write a Valentines Day Special!" after not writing anything for 3+ weeks and then busted out 1.8k words and 7 graphics in two days. Don't do that, by the way, cause my right hand is killing me now.

Disclaimer: This work is for entertainment purposes only & does not reflect on the living people referenced. They are purely caricatures based off released media (books, magazines, interviews, etc) depicting their behavior, personalities and preferences. This work does not encourage inappropriate behavior towards them. All photos of the band used where sourced from Pinterest and edited in Canva for design purposes.

[This is me, the author, asking y'all to behave in kinda legalese cause I've seen the nightmare that was Anne Frank & fanfiction.]

[Image Transcription: Two stemmed flowers parallel one another, with a heart in the center to form a border.]

[Image Transcription: A solid soft purple heart reads: Sunday Morning: A Valentines Day Special. It is backdropped by polaroid's, purple flowers and a cassette tape graphic.] February 14th, 1982; Los Angeles, California Sunday, 11:43 a.m.

beep, beep, beep

Alarm blaring, you dazedly reach for the other half of the bed. Finding the sheets empty and made, you sit up.

beep, beep, beep

Exhaustion weighs your eyes down as you squint against the morning sun.

"Nikki?" You call out, rubbing your sore throat, the consequences of shouting over the music all night make themselves apparent.

beep, beep, beep

Annoyance bubbling, you whirl over to shut the relentless beeping off, frustration melding into confusion as you find a note taped to the snooze button. Silently, it clicks over to 11:45 as you pull the note loose.

[Image Transcription: A slip of lined paper decorated with purple pressed flowers and washi tape reads the following: 'Morning, Tommy called, Won't be back for a while. Sorry for using your pretty paper, couldn't find anything else. Go check the bathroom' - NS]

Too hungover to bring yourself to care about the massacre of your floral paper, you choose to flop back into the mattress.

Eyes burning from last nights look smeared around your tired eyes, you doze in the sunlight. Thoughts wandering, your drift back to the long night prior. Last night was nothing short of chaotic, the band finally having taken off with their first proper release. They've been playing just about every bar and club on the sunset strip, and you followed suit. They weren't places you normally ventured into, but Nikki's cloying voice and assurances on your appearance won you over.

Blaring again, the alarm practically vibrates itself off your nightstand, jolting you from your thoughts as you sit up.

Cursing, "Fucking hell, again!?" He can't possibly know you this well. You shut it off, resolving yourself to crawl from the warmth of your bed. Next time he's hungover you're going to drag him out of bed instead of bringing him coffee like you usually do.

Stumbling to the bathroom, you find another note taped to the mirror, a stray chocolate left on the stained counter.

[Image Transcription: A lined slip of paper bordered with pressed purple flowers reads the following: 'You listen a lot better than I do, go to your door.']

Sweetness seeps across your tongue just as quickly as a blush does, as you choose to investigate your appearance rather than acknowledge the note any further. Tangled hair, cropped shirt that isn't even yours, smudged makeup; if you didn't smell hungover you certainly look it.

Worry tugs at the back of your mind, wondering if you're being led on another one of his wild goose chases, holidays are rarely an exception for his trickster behavior. You shudder to remember the handmade glitter bomb he did just a few months prior, thank god it wasn't your carpet- or vacuum.

Either way, it's your apartment, there's no where to go but forward. Rolling your eyes a bit, you make your way to your bedroom door. Perplexed, you find nothing on your side. Peering around the door, you find another slip of paper taped to the wood. This ones smaller, it seems he found some different paper to torture with a pen.

[Image Transcription: An unlined, smaller piece of paper with small, purple flowers reads the following: 'Music stand, doll']

Padding over to the dedicated shelf, you spot a new note taped to the make-shift cover of your record player. The fact it's an old refrigerator drawer is besides the point, if it works it works.

A bit giddy, you pick up the soft, slightly crumpled paper.

[Image Transcription: A small slip of paper with purple pressed flowers and washi tape reads the following: 'Start the tape. p.s. make some coffee']

Under the paper you find a cassette tape, it's plastic casing decorated with a red ribbon. Reading the carefully penned track list, you find a mixture of favorites between the two of you.

Crouching, you eject the current tape, setting it aside as the mix slots into place. Pressing play, the machine whirls as the familiar music box sounding piano of Sunday Morning fills the room, Lou Reed's soft voice following after.

"Sunday morning"

Creeping through your apartment, you peer into your cramped galley kitchen. Soft sunlight filters through the window set close to the ceiling, illuminating the green cabinets and another note.

"Brings the dawn in"

Glancing at the calendar, your eyes trace down the weekdays to find today's date. February 14th, 1982. Sunday. You'd be lying if you said you're surprised by his eye for detail. But you'd be saying the truth if you claimed you're flattered.

"It's just a restless feeling" "By my side"

Approaching the coffee machine, your thumb swipes across the long dried ink:

[Image Transcription: A small slip of paper with purple pressed flowers and washi tape reads the following: 'Thanks darling' ♥]

Pressing your lips into a firm, embarrassed line, your cheeks tinge. Setting it aside, you open the machine. Wrinkling your nose, you find old grounds, quickly tossing them into the trash.

Humming along to Lou and Nico, you let yourself be swept into the music and monotony of making coffee. New filter, grind beans… the harsh sound of grinding drowns out everything else, slowing to a stop a few minutes later.

"It's all the streets you've crossed"

Carefully, you wash the glass pot clean, neglecting to hear the lock turning or the door creaking open. You really need to get after the hinges with WD-40, but for now it serves as your makeshift, and clearly ineffective, alarm.

"Not so long ago"

Setting the glass down, a hand grabs your shoulder.

"Hi" You can hear the smug amusement in Nikki's tone before you even see him. You gasp and jump out of your skin, your dye stained hand smacking his chest, "You trickster!"

Reveling in your suppressed smile, he appeals, "Oh come on, you love a good surprise." Smoothing away a stray smudge of chocolate in the corner of your lips, you fluster.

Embarrassingly, you stumble a bit, "I- what did Tommy need?"

Suspiciously, he replies, "Nothing." The scent of fresh coffee fills the air as the cogs in your tired brain churn.

"But you said-" You finally notice one of his arms is curled behind his back, hiding something away from your view, "what are you hiding?" Plans to peer around his shoulders fail terribly, as he sidesteps your snooping attempts, much to your dismay. Dancing around the kitchen, laughter bubbles up in your chest, spilling over as he caves into humor with you. You're only emboldened by the faint rustle of paper over the music and a flash of crimson.

Through his giggles he finally gets out, "If you'd slow down I'd show you. And Tommy's fine."

Huffing to a stop, you pause your assault, shockingly patient. Smugly, he pulls a small dozen of red roses from behind his back, "It's easier to hide a cassette tape than an entire batch of flowers" Reveling in your shock, he dips closer, softly interrupting your swirling thoughts, "For not kicking my ass to the curb when you caught me stealing hair spray, attending damn near every show and rehearsal, and putting up with me for as long as you have."

You're at a loss as he wraps a warm arm around your waist, "I-" Your hands curl around the thornless roses, newspaper wrapping crinkling.

Softly, "Happy Valentines Day, doll" His lips press to your cheek, quickly widening into a grin at your disbelief.

You find your words, staring at him wide eyed, "How much did this all cost?" For a man with all of twenty dollars to his name at a time, this is far more than you expected.

Avoiding your gaze, he fiddles with a lock of your hair, "That is for me to know and you to never find out because I set the receipts on fire."

You scoff in disbelief, "That's a tad extreme-"

"With you? Never."

Red Ribbon Saga

February 12th, 1982; Los Angeles, California Saturday, 2:23 p.m.

Quietly, the upbeat tune of Time Warp seeps from the speakers sat by the TV, a full headed Magenta and her balding brother trading off lines as the rest of the cast dances around the eclectic set. Half paying attention, the band is scattered across Mick's living room.

"With a bit of a mind flip"

Nikki sits on a recliner nearby, fully immersed in a batch of roses sat in his lap. Sliding a knife down the stems, leaves and thorns tumble into his plastic covered lap. Across from them Mick sits preoccupied with a book, Tommy fiddling with a bit of string and failing to wrap it around a slippery cassette tape.

"You're there in the time slip"

Vince sits beside him, brow furrowed at the chaos presents on the screen before him. Directing his attention to his band mate, he only seems to get more confused.

"And nothing can ever be the same" "You're spaced out on sensation"

Spinning a rose between his palms, he seems to expect it'll change something about the flower he's torturing.

"Like you're under sedation"

Riff Raffs voice reaches a screeching tone as the blonde finally caves to his curiosity, "…so… what exactly are you trying to accomplish with that?"

Sighing and skeptical, "Guy at the grocery store said it'd make them look better" Dropping the rose with a bit of defeat, he picks up another, swiftly making work of it's spikes.

Consideration and hesitation fights behind the singers eyes, before he speaks up, "…Hand one over."

A pair of green eyes stare at him from behind black bangs before silently handing over a flower.

"Spinning doesn't really work, just stick your hands in there" He explains, leaning over the arm of the chair to instruct, gently smoothing the petals outwards until they bloom open, "just be gentle cause otherwise you'll rip the petals up."

Tommy interjects, "Is there a reason you're so insistent about this grocery store worker?"

Without missing a beat, he retorts back, knife in hand, "Is there a reason you're still dating Bullwinkle?"

Fumbling the string, the bow comes untied entirely with his outrage, "Hey! Low blow!"

Firmly, Mick interrupts, "If you two start a brawl in my living room I'm never letting you back in."

While the aptly named Terror Twins preoccupy themselves with a heated stare, Vince swipes the abandoned cassette from the table, deftly tying the bow around the plastic casing.

Thoroughly miffed, "What the hell! How!?" he cries out, gesturing at the 'bow magic' as he calls it.

Smugly, the singer passes the cassette over to Nikki, "Practice makes perfect" he wordlessly takes it, slipping it into his pocket. Seeming to preen under the outraged attention, he holds his head a bit higher.

Needless to say the three of them ended up on the driveway.

[Image Transcription: Two stemmed flowers parallel one another, with a heart in the center to form a border.]

#writing #ao3 fanfic #mick mars #music #crimson idol #motley crue #nikki sixx #fanfiction #vince neil #music fic

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