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katsukikitten · 4 years ago

Text

Rapacious - rə-ˈpā-shəs- excessively grasping or covetous, living on prey, ravenous

(A rapacious appetite only for you my doll)

Hello and welcome to my first formal collab with the lovely @lady-bakuhoe Our thirsty dms finally turned into a full blown collab where our writing melds into one. I hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as we did writing it! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

✧Triggers and Warnings ✧

Pro Hero Dynamight, aged up AU, adult themes, such as intense sexual interaction, yandere behavior, mind break (?), branding, and dub con. If any of these topics make you uncomfortable please do not read any further. Thank you.

The snow comes down heavily, beautifully as it sticks and clings to anything it can. Blanketing the outside world in an unsullied shimmer bringing a smile to your face as you watch the sun dip low over the horizon. The light painting the world in stunning reds and pinks as it filters in through your bay window that faces the street. A small shiver runs through your spine as you wait impatiently for your warm tea, convincing yourself that the chill has nothing to do with your outfit. An oversized Red Riot t-shirt, a pair of black dolphin shorts and black thigh high socks, it was comfortable and you felt cute. Even if it was just for yourself, besides what else would one wear to their solo Netflix binging? Surely not pants.

A rapid knock comes at the door. Harsh, precise as you jump out of your skin, nearly dropping your mug.

Lifting your cell phone to check the time, wondering who could be knocking at this hour, it was far too late for any visitors and it surely wasn't the post. The icy snow ensured that most people would be snuggled into their couches with a warm cup of tea, tucked away from the harsh weather. Much like you were trying to do, maybe if you ignored it the unsuspecting visitor would move on.

But another sharp knock echoes around your living room, urging your feet to move. You pad through your small townhouse, trying to get a glimpse through the window only for the unwanted guest to be standing just out of view. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at the thick oak door, debating on whether to open it or not as another knock sounded from the other side. Curiosity with a hint of fear compels your fingers as you click your door onto the chain latch. Opening it slightly, looking out between the crack in the door to see who it was.

“H-hi.” Your eyes caught sight of the man outside your house, pupils widening in surprise at the sight of him. Messy ash blond spikes on top of his head as his hair faded to a low buzz cut at the sides, “Dynamight?”

The man's scowl morphed into a smirk at your recognition, obviously proud that you knew who he was, his vermilion eyes glistening in the light gleaming from your house as you moved to take the door off the security latch, opening it fully so you could see him properly. His gaze immediately drank you in, glancing at the thigh high socks that hugged your thighs as he made his way up to the hem of your shirt, cherishing the exposed skin of your upper thighs until he noticed the shirt you were wearing. His nostrils flaring slightly at the sight of his best friend's face across your chest. It should be his.

“My car broke down.” He motioned to the car that now sat motionless at the end of your drive, fresh snow already falling and covering its windscreen, “Can I come inside?”

"Oh, um…" You're hesitant, technically you didn't know Dynamight but he was a pro hero. That meant he could be trusted right? Snow sticks to his blonde strands and shoulders. His hands and nose were a little red making it seem as if he had been in the cold a touch too long. Swallowing your fear you take a step back from the door, arm gesturing for him to come in. Silently elated he steps in as if he owns the place. What were the odds he would end up at your doorstep?

"Um, can I offer you some coffee? Coco? Tea?" Your voice sounds small, stupid. Nervousness prickles over your skin as he sinks into your couch.

"Tea is fine." His voice is silky and foreign in your warm home. He watches you with sharp eyes as you reach for a mug. Your short shorts ride up just a bit as your shirt gives him a tease of your back.

Meanwhile you're buzzing from head to toe, THE one and ONLY Dynamight, the man you'd been dreaming of since his debut, the only face and voice that you ever imagined when your hands ventured into your soaked panties, was here. In your home, sitting on your couch and oh Gods...Which blanket did you have out? Was it his that you sprayed with his line of cologne so you would feel less lonely in your apartment?

The kettle howls pulling you violently back to the task at hand. Should you ask him how he'd like his tea? You already know how he likes it, having read it in a magazine once committing it to memory in case you ever met him. But would that come off too strong? You settle on making it perfectly in hopes it would paint you in the light of a "great hostess." You grab onto the cup and turn to face the ill tempered hero head on.

He turns away in time, relaxed on your couch as you offer him his cup. He takes it from your hands, his cool fingers brushing against yours. He takes a sip, peering at you over the rim. His vermillion eyes cause your stomach to flip as you nervously twist the hem of your shirt. His eyes rake over you with a smirk before they land on your worrying hands and that damned Red Riot shirt. Suddenly you're hyper aware of your inappropriate outfit, tugging your shirt over your exposed skin.

His large palm settles on your thigh, starling you.

"The outfit isn't the problem. I just think you look much better in my shirt." He tugs at the hem, "Maybe you should take this one off."

“W-what?” You stammered, your body instinctively shrinking away from his touch.

“There’s just something about the way my face looks stretched against those tits.” He smirked, taking a sip of the warm mug before slipping it into your coffee table.

“What do you mean?” Confusion evident in your tone. What was he talking about? Your Dynamight merchandise? How would he have any idea about how much of a fan you were of him, just how many of his shirts sat in your closet right now.

“Don’t act all coy.” Bakugou continued, turning his body to face yours on the couch, a dark look in his vermillion eyes as his fingers danced higher up your exposed thigh, feeling a warmth begin to seep from his palm as his cool calloused fingertips dig into your skin, “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I assure you, Dynamight.” Bakugou groaned at the way his hero name sounded spilling from your lips, “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Every day you’re out there being a fuckin’ tease.” He growled, biting your lip as you felt his blunt fingernails digging into the plush of your thigh, “Prancing around in these short fuckin’ shorts and my shirts.”

Wait, had he seen you wearing his merch before? Had he seen you in his clothes? How? You were certain he’d never seen the multiple selfies you’d take of yourself to upload onto social media, always too scared to tag your favourite Hero. Instead proclaiming your love for him shamelessly on your socials, gushing about how he was the perfect hero. Still, even if he was lurking on your accounts, he couldn't possibly remember someone as lowly as you.

“You knew I was watching you, didn’t you?” He snarled, his other hand moving up to palm your breast through your shirt, the action catching you by surprise as you gasped, “You wanted me to see you acting like such a slut.”

“N-no, Dynamight. I wasn’t-” You stammer as you think back, trying to remember all of the times you thought you felt a weighted gaze on you. Only to look over your shoulder to find nothing before submerging yourself back into your mundane world.

"Wasn't what? You mean you weren't trying to show the whole neighborhood your ass when you bent over 'pulling weeds'?" His palm becomes uncomfortably hot as his voice dips lower, lips brushing your ear as you drown in his spiced caramel scent.

"Maybe you heard about your new neighbor Pro Hero Red Riot, wanted to show off for him? Or maybe you're just a slut who loves the attention?"

Your blood runs cold, icy despite his burning palm, you swallow thickly as he continues to recite your summer as if reading from a list.

"You know exactly what you're doing don'tchya? So many men have changed their jogging route to include your street, even if it is well out of their way. They slow their pace in front of your house when you're outside. Bent over, head lost in your garden and your skin tight shorts show your plump lips, your thick thighs and that supple, soft ass. Tits almost falling out from your crop tops as you must refuse to wear a bra. But you're such a good girl, reminding everyone who you belong to when you wear those shorts with my name across the ass."

He leans away from you to hold your gaze. A shiver runs up your spine, you had never posted those shorts. The fan made ones that say "Bakugou's" across the ass, fuck how did he-?

He reads the question across your face, a nasty smirk dances on his cruel lips as he takes delight in the fear that blows your pupils wide.

"I've been watching you Princess." You feel your heart beating out of your chest at the realisation, “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

You didn’t.

“That’s why you put on such a show for me every time, isn’t it?”

You hadn’t noticed your favourite Pro-Hero had been watching you all this time. You were beyond excited when Red Riot had moved into the neighbourhood, wishing you’d catch a glimpse of him each time you left your house. Getting up early some mornings just to see the red head stretching for his morning run, his muscles taut across his thick frame. But not once had Bakugou been anywhere in sight. You were sure you'd remember the ash blonde standing next to your second favorite hero.

“You do it on purpose.” Bakugou growled, his hand moving to your exposed waist, stroking against your naked skin as his fingers dipped underneath your top, “It turns you on doesn’t it? Everyone looking at your slutty little body.”

“No, please. It doesn’t- I’m not.” You tried to move away from him, but he already had your body trapped between the arm of the couch and his large, muscular frame.

“All those eyes on you and you don’t give a fuck.” Bakugou’s large palm grasps your round breast, groaning when he feels your nipple pebbled underneath his touch, “You want everyone to see you.”

Before you have a moment to object, to tell him how wrong he is, his lips are already against yours in a sultry kiss. Your mind hazy as he immediately prods your lips with his tongue, desperate for entrance as he invades your mouth. You couldn’t believe what was happening, The Dynamight was inside your house. Your entire body burning as his heat engulfed you, this was something you’d dreamed about more than you could recollect. The amount of nights you’d touched yourself to the thought of his hands dancing across your body. Trying to imagine how it would feel to be completely ravaged by him, but now that he was here in the flesh you were nervous. The reality of the situation slowly consumes your body as your heart beats with more intensity.

“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect.” Bakugou rasps huskily as he tugs your shirt up and over your breasts, his vermilion eyes taking in the sight of your exposed chest to his prying eyes, “Even better than I imagined.”

You nervously tried to move your arms to your chest, trying to hide your body from his burning gaze, but his hand was quick to grab your wrist, tugging your arm away with a glare, “Don’t.”

You averted your eyes from his own, biting your bottom lip as he lowered his face to your chest. His tongue tentatively coming out to lap around your darkened areola, closing his lips around your hardened nipple as he began to suck on the tender skin. Your head falling onto the back of the couch as you let out a low whine, one of your hands coming up to brush through his buzzed undercut, stroking against the spiky hair as you arched your back into his touch.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this, sweetheart.” He murmured around your nipple, his warm breath fanning against your skin as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. An airy gasp leaving your parted lips at the sensation as you involuntarily arched your back into his touch, “Every fuckin’ time I saw you-”

Wait? Every time he saw you? How often did he seek out your address? How many times did his crimson eyes burn into your skin without your noticing?

Your eyes dart to the large bay window, holding eye contact with yourself as you stare at your reflection. A pitiful and clear sight as the blonde's hands groped your exposed tits. If the pro hero was brazen enough to peer through your unobstructed window, just how many other eyes fall onto you?

“When I saw you in my signed debut Dynamight shirt, I knew I had to have you.” His lips curving into a grin against your skin as his tongue lapped at your hardened nipple, rolling the other one between his thumb and forefinger, “There’s just something about the sight of you in my clothes.”

At the mention of your rare signed shirt your body goes rigid, numb. If he had seen you in the shirt you mostly kept tucked away for safekeeping, he had seen everything hadn't he?

“Don’t go all shy on me now, Princess.” He released your nipple with a pop, palming your breast with a grin as he pressed his lips against your own, “Weren’t shy when you were putting on a show for everyone, were you?”

Your bottom lip trembled at the suggestion, worrying it between your teeth as you felt Bakugou lean forward to grab your wrist in a large hand, the scent of his quirk filling the air as you felt the heat radiating from his palm. Vermilion eyes glancing down at your half-lidded ones, a glazed expression over your features as you focused on his touch.

“Look at what you fuckin’ do to me, sweetheart.” Bakugou tightened his grip on your wrist, moving your hand towards his crotch. His cock bulging against his pants, desperate to be released as he lay your palm against him. Gasping at the sensation as your palm made contact with the fabric, feeling just how hard he was for you underneath the denim.

All the while his thoughts are consumed by you, your smell, the look of surprise on your face. The feel of your skin against his and the heat of your breath tickling his ear when he pins you to the couch.

All of the things he'd been imagining for the last few months. Your small hand against his large, twitching cock. Even through the fabric your warmth is hypnotizing, drawing him in and captivating him with every inch of you.

Bakugou's problem is that he can be greedy, hungry for more. Wanting nothing but the best and much like his sun sign, once he had his eyes set on something nothing could overcome his stubborn ambition. Not even the small look of fear in your eyes but even he can see that it is fading, melding into desire. He watches your fingers flutter, teasingly trying to figure out just how big and girthy he really was. Your heart races as you stare into his clouded vermillion eyes. Blood running hot as your mouth salivates, imagining the same thing he is.

How does it taste?

You let out a soft whine, fingers prodding at the head earning you a borderline feral growl.

"Quit being a fucking tease and take it out, Princess." He groans, you freeze at his bold request.

"B..but…" He crowds you as your protests die in your throat. His lips brushing against your ear as he breathes in your sweet shampoo.

"But what Princess? Scared I'll fuck you stupid?" He nips at the shell of your ear, chuckling darkly when you shiver, "Or are you scared you'll get addicted to how I taste?"

"T-taste?"

"Aw look at you acting all fuckin shy?" He squeezes your thighs with a deadly grip, fingers creeping between them, "You weren't so shy last week sitting in this spot were you?"

You freeze as you think back to last week, knowing exactly what you were doing, eyes glancing over his broad shoulder to see the snow coming down in sheets through the large bay windows. You thought you were high enough and far enough away from the road, there, there was no way he saw right?

His fingers press against your clothed sex, rubbing rough circles unable to keep the deadly smirk off of his lips.

"Your phone in one hand and your other right here. Or maybe," He moves the dark fabric to the side, sliding his fingers to your clit, "It was here."

You bite back your moans as the rough pad of his fingers circle your clit, just barely grazing over it in an agonizing purposeful fashion.

"What were you watching again? Amateur porn right? POV with the guy's face hidden but he was in a knock off Dynamight suit wasn't he?" He pulls back to watch your face, twisting with pleasure and horror, body arching towards his touch as your head swims. Cunt clenching as he dips closer to your core for slick.

"And what did that slutty mouth say?" His smile is cocky, holding eye contact. Silence sits between the two of you as your eyes flutter. He pulls his hand away from your throbbing clit, squeezing against your pulse point.

"I asked a question, Kitten. Now answer it." His voice is dark.

"Dy-Dynamight." You gasp out, he ruts his hips against your leg.

"Again." His free hand slips back between your folds, fingers setting a rapid pace that already has you teetering on the edge already.

"Dynamight!"

"Again. Say my name again." His fingers work you over as the coil unexpectedly snaps in your stomach.

"Katuskiiii." You gasp and whine, shamefully cumming all over his thick digits. He groans, shoving his fingers into your cunt to feel you grip onto him, he cannot wait to feel that pretty pussy molding to his aching cock.

But he would wait, for now.

"Good girl." He praises, pulling his fingers from your core, licking up them. Savoring your essence as you watch his eyes flutter paying you a high compliment. In quick motions he throws a pillow onto the solid hardwood floor, pulling the hair at the nape of your neck as he pulls you onto the plush cushion. His free hand undoing his belt with deft fingers before he pulls his pants and boxers down. His cock springs free, the head leaking precum as you lick your lips.

"You're gonna keep being a good girl for me right, Princess?" He coos, dragging his cock across your lips, smearing his sweet and salty pre from cheek to cheek.

"Fuck do you know how long I've been dreaming of your lips around my cock?" He groans, pulling your hair back to force eye contact.

"How, how long?" Your question prompts that nasty smile as his crimson eyes gleam with cruelty and lust.

"Months."

And with that he pulls your hair back hard enough that you cry out in pain. Bakugou takes the opportunity to shove his cock into your mouth. Bottoming out at the back of your throat causing you to gag, your spit eases the roughness of his slow harsh thrusts as your eyes water.

Nothing could have prepared you for feeling Bakugou inside you for the first time, your wildest fantasies didn’t equate to this. The sheer size of his thick, bulging cock made it difficult for you to take him inside your mouth. The prominent veins that forked along the side dragging against your cheek as he eased you down on his length. Fingers stroking through your hair sweetly, a stark contrast to his previous movements. His husky voice cooing down at you, gentle praises that had you keening, desperate to hear more. The red, swollen tip prodding against the back of your throat as you gagged around him, a mixture of spit and pre dribbling down your chin as you tried to fit more of him inside your mouth hungrily.

“So fuckin’ greedy.” Bakugou grunted, his fingers carding into your messy hair and tugging harshly against the root, pressing you further down his aching cock. Watching the way your cheeks hollowed around him as you tried to adjust to his size. The movement causing fresh tears to clump in your lashes as you tried desperately to breathe through your nose. His coarse blond pubic hairs tickling your skin as he held your head down on his cock.

Struggling for oxygen as your tongue lashed against the underside of his length, the salty sweet taste of his cum mixed with the lack of oxygen making you light headed as you felt yourself falling deeper into him. Teeth grazing his sensitive skin as you tried to relax your throat, innocent eyes gazing up at him. The sight almost had him cumming on the spot, it was something he’d thought about for months, stroking himself raw to the thought of your lips wrapped around him. You felt gentle tremors flowing through your body as he finally allowed you a moment of respite, tugging you off his length roughly as you gasped for air.

“So pretty for me,” His warm palm stroked against your cheek, dipping his thumb between your parted lips as he felt you instinctively close your mouth around it. Your tongue swirling around the calloused pad of his thumb as you heard him groan above you, “Look at you.”

“How many times have you played with that slutty little pussy to the thought of me, hah?” Bakugou mused, his thumb slipping from your mouth as he pulled down your lower lip, watching the way your face followed after his hand to try and pull him back in.

“P-please.” You trembled, already feeling your clit throbbing painfully between your thighs, already feeling unsatiated as crimson eyes glared down at you.

“I bet you’ve never had anything this big inside you,” He wrapped his palm around his cock, smirking when he noticed your eyes hyper focused on him, “Have you?”

You shook your head nervously, even the toys you’d experimented before didn’t equate to his sheer size, “N-no, Dynamight.”

“I’m gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, Princess.” Bakugou’s thoughts already flooding to how your tight little cunt would feel being split around his cock. Moulding it to his size so you’d never be satisfied with anything or anyone else. You were going to be his and his alone, and he’d do anything to ensure that happened, “Wanna feel that tight little pussy wrapped around my cock, yeah?”

His words sending more pleasurable jolts to your core, rubbing your thighs together in anticipation as he helped you to your feet, his large palms keeping against your hips as he dipped his fingers beneath the hem of your shorts. Sliding the material down your thighs with one rough tug, exposing your naked body to his prying eyes. The sight of you completely bare in front of him had his cock twitching almost painfully, you were even more perfect than he had imagined.

“C’mere, Princess.” He cooed gently, a stark contrast to his earlier actions. You keened as you slid onto his lap, feeling his thick cock pressed snugly between your folds as you placed your hands on his broad shoulders to steady yourself. Your fingertips digging into his shirt as you tried feebly to get him to take it off.

“So needy,” He smirked, leaning forward to tug his shirt up and over his head. His chiselled abs now on full display as you focused in on each sharp ridge. He was even more perfect in person, and you couldn’t quite believe that the Dynamight was now in front of you.

Bakugou’s large palms moved back to your hips, pressing you down against his cock as you felt the length stroke against your slit, involuntarily grinding down against him as you tried to give your clit some much needed stimulation. The action did not go unnoticed by Bakugou who smirked at your desperation, digging his fingertips into your skin as he began to circle your hips against his cock.

“You’re soaking my cock and I haven’t even put it in yet,” He smirked as he felt your slick coating his length, watching in amusement as you continued to grind yourself against him, trying to give yourself some relief, “Bet you could get yourself off just like this, hah?”

“No,” You whined, “Please,”

“Please, what?” He coaxed, his fingers slipping between your bodies to tease your puffy clit, a harsh laugh leaving his lips when he felt the way your body jerked at his touch.

“Please,” You trailed off, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous and self-conscious that you were now very much naked in front of your favourite Pro-Hero.

“You don’t seem to want it enough, Princess.” Bakugou teased, moving you away from his cock as you groaned in displeasure. Your eyes looking down at his shaft that was now coated in a layer of your slick. Fresh pre spilling from the tip as you reached out to grab him between your fingers. Bakugou’s reflexes were quicker as he caught your wrist in his large palm, giving you a warning look as his nostrils flared.

“So fuckin’ greedy.” He moved his hands back to grab your ass, kneading the round mounds as he moved you to hover over his cock, vermilion eyes gazing up at you as he waited for you to speak, “You want my cock?”

“Yeah-” You felt your head nodding before you’d even had a chance to think, desperate to feel him sliding inside your warmth, splitting you open as he buried himself deep inside you.

“Yeah?” He mocked, tilting his head to the side as he pressed a kiss against your pebbled nipple, “Then fuckin’ beg for it.”

“Please, Dynamight.” You rolled your hips again, grinding against nothing as you tried to create some friction between your thighs, “Want your cock.”

A groan spilled from his lips at such blunt words leaving your pouty lips, calloused fingertips digging into your supple flesh as he pressed you down on the head of his cock. The tip stretching you out slightly as you tried to drop your hips down on him, wanting to feel him deep inside you.

“You want Dynamight to fuck this slutty pussy?” He pulled you away from his cock which caused a needy whine to spill from your lips, trying to angle your hips back towards his length.

Bakugou’s palm wrapping around his cock to drag the swollen, reddened tip along your sopping folds. Feeling your slick coat his skin as it mingled with his pre, watching the way your eyes fluttered at the sensation of his cockhead brushing against your clit.

“Yes.” You hissed, already anticipating the pleasurable stretch his girth would create inside you. The thick head already back at your tight entrance as he watched you shamelessly try and drop your hips down onto him.

"Yes what?" His voice is dark with pleasure as he glares up at you, a pitiful mess. He's toying with you, as a cat does a mouse and you feel utterly embarrassed. This was Pro hero Dynamight damn it, you wanted to make a good impression. You wanted to be sexy, not some whiny bitch in heat.

Little did you know how much Bakugou loved it, lived for it as he gently bounced you on just the tip. Driving you wild as you whined, all the while he smirked.

"Please Katsuki-sama." Your nails rake down his forearms, "Please, please fuck me."

"That's my good girl." He slams you down on his cock in one swift motion causing your vision to spot. He relishes the way you flutter around him, adjusting as a shiver runs up your spine.

"Now fuck yourself on my cock, Princess."

"But-" He wraps his hand around your throat, malice and lust dance in his eyes as his free hand travels to your thigh. Palm heating with each pound of your heart until it begins to become too much, too hot.

"Ride me like you did your fingers last week. You were thinking of me then weren't you, pervert?” You gasped at his crude words, the idea that he had been watching you while you dipped your fingers inside your tight cunt had embarrassment ebbing in your core. Your body trembling as the object of your affections degraded you, “Wishing it was me finger fuckin’ that pretty pussy, yeah?”

Unable to stop the shameless moan that left your parted lips, the sound restricted to a strangled gasp as he kept his palm wrapped tightly around your jugular.

“Or were you thinking of Red Riot since you love wearing his merch so much, hah.” Bakugou goaded, you could feel his grip against you tightening as his palms heated up dangerously, “Wishing he’d come in and bend you over like the little slut you are.”

“N-no,” You tried to gasp out, feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen that flowed through your body.

Bakugou loosened his grip around your neck, keeping his palm against your skin as he leaned his head closer to yours, his warm breath fanning your face as vermilion eyes bored into your own, “What was that?”

“J-just you, Dynamight.” You rasped, a rush of air filling your lungs as your chest heaved against him, “Only for you-”

“Yeah?” His lips curled into a cocky grin, immediately tightening his grip around your throat once more, “That’s fuckin’ right, you should be thinking about me when you play with that sloppy pussy.”

He squeezes both your throat and thigh harder. You rock your hips, fucking yourself on his fat cock as you gasp for air, hands desperately holding onto toned arms for support as the coil in your stomach begins to snap.

“Now I want you to fuckin' show me how much of a Dynamight fan you really are." He groans at the way you grip around him, tongue lulling past his smirk for just as second.

If you had to try and describe this feeling it would be something akin to euphoria, a constant throb ebbing through your cunt at the dull stretch his cock caused around your core. His cock moulding you to his shape as he bounced you on his lap, the thick jutting veins along his girth dragging against your inner walls with each pronounced thrust. Desperate cries of pleasure spilling from your lips as he fucked himself into you, hungrily searching to pull more of those sweet sounds from your pretty lips. You felt pearly tears begin to clump in your lashes as he fucked into your tight cunt with vigour, uncaring for giving you a moment of respite as he hungrily used you for his own pleasure.

“Aw, you gonna cry, Princess?” He sneered, vermilion eyes gazing down at your own as he kept his pace, “I know you fuckin’ love it. I can feel you squeezing my cock.”

“Please-” You couldn’t think of the words, your mind foggy with the juxtaposition of pleasure and pain overwhelming you as he continued to fuck you with reckless abandon.

“Don’t tell me I’ve already fucked you stupid, dumbass.” He grunted, the calloused pads of his fingers digging into the plush skin of your thighs, crude noising filling the air as you could hear just how wet you were for him, “That sloppy pussy is drooling all over my cock.”

"Who do you belong to?" His husky voice wraps around you like a vice, pulling your heart into your stomach.

"You." You gasp as the heat of his palm on your leg begins to burn, skin warping beneath his touch. Hand glowing golden as if he were a God while his quirk begins to really activate. The smell of spiced caramel, smoke and scalded flesh cling to the couch and invade your senses as a crude whimper leaves your parted lips. The skin that he’d just burned throbbing under his touch, as heat surged through your body. His sharp thrusts helping to morph the pain you felt into a pure, unabashed pleasure as he watched you worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Good girl. Now everyone will know exactly who you belong to." Your eyes flicker away from his face before he uses his finger behind your jaw to meet his gaze, "Look at your King when you cum."

The combination of pleasure and pain paired with the thought of being his makes that delicate coil snap. Your body tenses and freezes as you shake atop his lap, biting nails drawing blood on his arms. He smirks, fucking up into you as another mind numbing orgasim washes over your body. Without withdrawing himself he flips the two of you against the couch.

“Fuck, look at you.” Your back presses into the cushions as he towers over you. Gazing down and into your eyes as he slowly thrusts into you, switching hands to place one on your unburnt thigh, “So fuckin’ pretty.”

The telltale sounds of his quirk sound in the room as his hands crackle, heating his other palm, readying himself to repeat the action. To mark your body and claim you as his own, so if anyone dared to look at you they would know exactly who you belonged. Permanent hand prints marking you as his. No one else was allowed to have you, not that you had a choice, at least not anymore.

Bakugou hissed as he felt your cunt continue to flutter around him in the aftershocks of your climax, snapping his hips as his pelvis hits against your puffy clit, head swimming from both pleasure and your primal need to breathe that was being wholly denied.

Bakugou was going to ruin you and you'd let him.

"Who owns this pretty pussy?" Another possessive question that rockets you to the edge, body hoping for another mark, to make you symmetrical.

Whole.

"You." Another raspy breath but it's enough for Bakugou to hear. A silent moan tears from your throat as you try to keep your eyes locked with his. Pain blooming on your thigh with a delicious bite.

“What was that?” He snarled, pressing your thigh up against your chest as his arm slid underneath your knee, resting your calf over his shoulder as he changed the angle of his thrusts, his cock delving deeper between your folds as you felt the swollen tip bruising your cervix with each hard rut of his hips, “Say my name.”

“Dynamight.” You called out, already feeling your body throbbing in the telltale signs of another orgasm, your thighs quivering as you felt Bakugou fuck your body into the couch hard before using his grip on your thigh to drag you back into him.

The crude sound of skin against skin vibrated around the room as his meaty balls slapped against the swell of your ass, Bakugou’s muscular frame dwarfing your own as he used you for his own pleasure. His own little cocksleeve that would succumb to his every request, you would be his and his alone to use as he pleased.

“Again.” A low growl sounded from the back of his throat, a possessive undertone to it as he urged you on, “Say it again.”

“Dynamight.” You managed to whimper through sobs, tears trickling down your temples now and soaking into your messy hair. The sound of his name spilling from your lips made him readjust his thrusts with newfound intensity.

“That’s fuckin’ right. Red Riot would never fuck you this good, hah?” He provoked, a clear sign of dominance over you, “You’re fuckin’ made for my cock.”

A cry slipping from your lips as he gave a particularly hard thrust inside your aching cunt, the tip of his length pounding against your cervix as he worked to claim your body as his own, trying to wipe thoughts of anyone else from your mind so all you could think about in this moment was his fat cock buried deep inside your tight heat.

“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect.” He grunted, his eyes mapping out your body as he worked himself against you, “Feel so good.”

Your breasts bounced with the intensity of his thrusts as he felt your inner walls quivering around his cock, already feeling another orgasm creeping up on you, the coil inside you impossibly tight as you tried to remember to breathe. Your vision hazy as you felt yourself becoming lightheaded, white dots blanking your vision as you shook beneath him.

“You gonna cum again already? Greedy fuckin’ bitch.” Bakugou’s lips curved into a grin as he felt your fingernails dig into his forearms, leaving crescent shapes in their wake as a dull ache tingled against his skin at the sensation, “My cock’s better than your fuckin’ fingers, yeah?”

“Yes,” You hissed, your toes curling as you felt yourself succumb to the pleasure. Your tight heat clenching around Bakugou’s cock as an usual sensation flowed through you, an intense throb in your core as you felt the unwavering urge to pee. Tightening your thighs around Bakugou’s firm body in an attempt to stop it from happening as wracked sobs left your body, your lower lip trembling as the sensation became too much. Too intense, too overwhelming as you allowed it to take over, your body crying out as you came. A clear stream of liquid gushing from between your thighs and soaking Bakugou’s crotch, his pace never once faltering as he fucked you through the sensation.

“Look at you, you messy fuckin’ slut” He howled in pleasure as he watched the liquid seep from your folds, “Look at your sloppy little pussy soakin’ my cock.”

“I’m sorry-” You cried out in embarrassment, feeling your heart pound in your chest as you saw his abdomen glistening with your release, “I didn’t mean-”

“What? You never fuckin’ squirted before?” Bakugou’s lips curled into a sly smile, his chest puffed out in pride, “Let’s see if you can do it again.”

Bakugou slipped a hand between your connected bodies to press four fingers against your clit, rubbing it frantically side to side as he tried to prolong the sensation, watching to see more of the clear liquid escape your heat.

"I can make this pretty little cunt do what I want. Wanna know why?" He leans in with a deadly grin on his lips, "Cause I own it."

You cried out as you felt the sensation flowing through you once more, a dull ache in your lower body as more of the clear liquid gushed from your folds. The sight made Bakugou smirk with glee, his fingers relentless against your sensitive nub.

“Couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He goaded, feeling your body trying to shy away from him as you withered beneath him, the pleasure becoming overwhelming, “That fuckin’ desperate.”

“P-please,” You whimpered, your entire body felt unbearably hot. Unable to think coherently as Bakugou continued pounding his thick girth into your core, his warm breath fanning your face as he hovered above you.

“P-please,” He mocked, tilting his head as he glanced down at you, “Please, what?”

“‘S too much,” You stammered, your hand reaching down to wrap around his wrist, trying to tug his fingers away from their assault against your clit.

The movement made him growl, baring his teeth as his hand moved from your clit, reaching up to wrap around the curve of your neck instead as he instantly tightened his grip against your jugular. The action caused your eyes to widen in surprise before your soft whines turned into hungry pants as you tried to gasp for air. Bakugou’s consistent thrusts into your sloppy hole made it difficult to think straight, your body fully focused on the sight of him above you while his hand wrapped tightly around your neck.

“Gonna fill that sloppy little pussy with cum, yeah?” You flushed at the suggestion, already feeling your inner walls fluttering around his cock at the thought, squeezing his girth as it created more friction as he dragged his cock along your velvety walls, his grip on your neck tightening as you felt your cunt clench around his cock in response, “You’re gonna look so pretty for me all full of my cum, Princess.”

A guttural groan spilled from his parted lips as you watched his eyes roll back, his thrusts stuttering as he came, bottoming out inside you as white hot spurts of cum splashed against your inner walls. His palms stroking along your exposed skin, sliding against the thin sheen of sweat that coated your body as he came down from his climax, humping a few more sloppy thrusts into your cunt as he cherished the sweet way your walls continued to flutter around him.

You whined as Bakugou slowly eased his hips back, slipping his softening cock out of your quivering folds. His eyes immediately focused on your abused hole as he watched his cum begin to trickle out of you as it dribbled down towards your ass. Unable to resist reaching a finger out to collect the mixture, scooping it up as he slowly pushed it back inside you. Smirking at the way you tried to bat his hand away from your overstimulated folds, this only making him want to tease you more as he moved his finger to press against your inner walls. Swallowing thickly as he felt your body involuntarily clamping down around him in an attempt to pull him back inside you.

“Such a good girl for me, Princess.” He moved his fingers up to stroke against your puffy clit, laughing at the way you arched your hips away from his touch, trying to stop him from teasing your satiated clit, “Took my cock so well.”

You mewl in response, clutching your arms to yourself as you shake from the previous events. You looked so small and scared causing a sharp pain to bolt through Bakugou's chest. God he wanted you in his care even more now.

“You were even more perfect than I imagined.” He pulls you to him, trapping you in his embrace as he presses your face into his chest. Hand smoothing your damp hair as he hums lightly. His eyes catching sight of the Red Riot shirt he’d discarded to the floor, a thought occurred to him, one he cannot keep to himself, as another sadistic smile settled on his lips.

“Kirishima told me not to come over here, said to leave you alone-” He pulls you back so you can look at him, and gods the look you're giving him. Eyes soft and submissive, hazed over in mind numbing pleasure as you float off somewhere far away. Only Bakugou's arms are keeping you bound to Earth. “But I was right wasn’t I, Princess?”

You'll never be able to escape his gravity now.

“He just wanted you for himself.” His fingers feather over your body before he stands, guessing where the first aid could be. You clutch onto his shirt, eyes desperately glued to your new God as the fading sun washes him over in deep hues of red. The way you look at him makes his cock twitch, feeling the intense power he already holds over you.

"You'll let your King go." A growl as his fingers find your throat, you nod with fresh tears catching on long lashes as he steps away. Sobbing from his absence before he returns.

"Don't be a baby, I wasn't that far Princess." His voice all bite while his hands speak the truth. Calloused and scared fingers pressing ointment into the fresh burns tenderly.

“But you’re mine now aren’t you Princess?” He dots over the burns, rubbing the salve in gently, “All mine.”

He leans away from you, cruelty ever plastered on his smirking lips.

“Maybe I should show Red Riot what you look like right now, hah?” He pulls out his phone, going to snap a picture. You're hesitant at first but then move to strike a pose, wide eyes looking into the lens of the camera as Bakugou angles it to get the dark bruises and scars that now marr your perfect skin. "Fuck, I think showing him what a good girl you are in person would be much better."

“W-we shouldn’t-“ You mumble, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought of your sweet neighbour seeing you like this, utterly debauched because of Pro-Hero Dynamight.

“Don’t be shy, pretty girl.” He coos uncharacteristically, almost mocking you as he watches your lower lip tremble, “I’m sure Red Riot would love to see you like this. Probably jerks himself raw to the thought of you.”

He eases you to your feet, sliding your shorts over your thighs as you hiss when they get to the fresh brand. Your mouth waters from pain as you look down at them. His perfect palm prints etched into your skin forever. You bite your bottom lip, wanting more from Bakugou who slips his jacket over your shoulders before putting your snow boots onto your feet. He makes his way to the door.

"Comin' pervert?" He asks before you rush to your feet, “Shall we show Red Riot what a desperate little slut his neighbour is?”

He wraps his arm around your shoulders, engulfing you in his mesmerizing scent and heat. You nod slowly, wanting nothing more than to please your new caretaker.

“Gotta remind that asshole who the fuck you belong to.”

#bakugou x reader #tw: dub con #tw: branding #yandere bakugo x reader #tw: mind break

1K notes · View notes

strawbxrryneptune · 4 years ago

Note

Hood Bakugo gives me life.

I NEED you to write about the whole UA gang in the hood because this was just *chefs kiss*

Easily in my top 5 fav fics of all time ♥♥♥

Idk what you mean by whole UA gang but here's a lil smth smth

♡♡

Bakugou in the hood is beautiful. Dating him is like a religious experience tbh. He's definitely the plug/dealer everyone's afraid of. If you owe him money or anything, I pray for you. He does not take shit lightly, you will leave his place with 4 missing toes, and if you don't pay your debt by the end of the week, you won't have any legs 🤷🏾‍♀️. Carries a glock around all the time, but you wouldnt know cause he hides it. Has a temper but it's not as bad as it used to be when he was just starting out. He sits back and watches, the kind of gangsta that doesnt do the whole 'gang signs for everything' type shit, and he's not soft. For you, yeah. For his bros, sometimes, but if he needs to kill a bitch he won't hesitate.

He loves ass. Like if you walk into his crib and you're wearing shorts??

Game over.

He'll push you down onto the plush carpet of his office and make you suck him off while he takes drags of a blunt, offering it to you while you gag around him. If you accept, he'll have you blow rings around his cock while you suck it, then when he's about to cum he'll pull you off and fuck you from the back, grabbing at your ass and cursing into the air.

Gives you a smack on the ass and a bunch of rolled hundreds so you can go shopping. Get as much shit as you want, but at the end of the day you better be in his bed.

♡♡

Denki's headass is a fake hood nigga . He's probably a super senior (got held back lmfao) cause he kept getting caught either blowing bitches backs out in the stairwell or hot boxing the bathroom. When he was in high school, he was def the type to put a speaker in his backpack and blast NBA youngboy. He throws gang signs in the hallways, not even knowing what some of them really mean.

He's been shot at multiple times.

The only reason he's not always in trouble is cause he and Bakugou grew up together. No one fucks with Bakugou's crew.

He has an unhealthy obsession with tits for sure. He sees you in a tank top or an off the shoulder and hes pulling you to a secluded corner and kissing you breathless, hands tugging and pinching at your chest.

Loves when you ride him cause he can watch your tits bounce.

Even if you dont have big ones, he still loves them, sucking at your nipples and rubbing up and down your stomach.

Leaves lots of marks.

Would die for you. Has threatened to shoot your parents for making you cry, even though all he has is a pocket knife.

Has to beg Bakugou for a glock.

♡♡

Sero is the plug. Like, Bakugou does some runs for him occasionally but Sero has everything. He's always in this really ratty recliner with a pitbull at his feet, smoking a blunt and playing some dumbass game.

He has so much money constantly, its crazy.

Even tho what he does is against the law in so many ways he's friends with all the neighborhood cops. Mans never gets in trouble LMAO.

He and Bakugou are the ones who run shit.

He loves thighs. Around the house you're only allowed to wear short shorts and thigh thighs. Or, even better, naked with thigh thighs 👀

Sadly, the last option is virtually impossible cause there's always people coming in and out.

But when he isnt working, he loves to lay you down and feast on you, making you play his game or try to finish his blunt without choking or losing.

Goes down on you for hours, won't even fuck you unless you beg for it.

Doesnt give a shit about himself when it comes to you :((

♡♡

Kirishima isnt a part of the hood LMFAO

Hes like that one friend who everyone loves but doesnt belong there.

Like Jaden, Shawn, Daeshawn, and Mark.

We love Mark.

Kiri was Bakugou's childhood best friend. He and Bakugou went on different paths, and Bakugou is a growing gangsta while Kirishima is manager in training at Game Stop.

He doesn't smoke often but when he does it's really fun.

Gets the gang discounts at the store, even tho they can all afford to buy the entire Gamestop chain.

That's why Sero has every new Play Station, Balugou has every Xbox, Denki has all the Legend of Zelda merch, Mina has a bunch of cute plushies.

He always comes in clutch 😫

He loves everything about you.

Like he cant pick a favorite body part, but loose clothing (sundresses, baggy clothes, his clothes??) Makes him lose his mind.

He will lift up whatever you're wearing finger you till your creaming all over him, then slide home and make your legs shake for days.

Feral Kirishima is not a common thing, hes usually sweet and doting, the ultimate service dom, but wear his shirt with some thigh highs or a garter belt?? Or even his uniform shirt ??

R.I.P that pussy, ayyy

♡♡

Mina is literally the most fun out of all of them.

She always has some type of substance on her, a little flask, some weed in a cute baggy, some suspicious pills, you name it.

Always dresses in juicy merch.

Shes always wearing those silky sweat outfits with the crop jackets, with a gold chain and some filas.

Nails always done, hair always done.

Ms. Girl can fight, period.

Will and has beat a bitch for you.

Don't get her mad. She angry cries, and will swing on you if needed.

She also loves everything about you, but she be staring at your ass a lot.

Doesnt care what you're wearing, she will smack it.

Shes usually more domineering. Shes definitely a switch, but she takes control in the way that she knows what she wants and she'll guide you through it, even if shes "subbing"

Loves going down on you.

She gets insecure sometimes when you wanna eat her out, but always shakes in pleasure at the end of the night, manicures nails scraping down your back and scalp as she screams your name.

You literally have no idea what she does or where she goes when she disappears randomly, but she always has cash.

No one asks questions tho

♡♡

Let me know if you want a Dekusquad or individual fic/drabble :)

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copias-thrall · 4 years ago

Text

There’s Something About Mary

A day in the life of our crusty Mr. Goore

Mary POV chapter bc I want to and I can.

⬅️ Previous

*public masturbation, kinda*

Mary wakes up horny.

He must have been having a pleasant dream, because his cock is hard and throbbing where it rests heavy against his thigh. He shoves a hand down into his undone jeans to give his cock a squeeze—just for a moment of relief—and, as the touch wakes him up fully, he realizes he can hear the distinct sounds of sex from one of the rooms. A thump thump thump and a squeak squeak squeak, all punctuated with blatant moans.

Fuck it, he thinks, and he begins to jack it to the sex orchestra going on, not 10ft from where he lies on the couch. Once a place they sometimes took turns on, the couch has become Mary’s de facto room—a subtle punishment for his supposed defection. So, he has no qualms about masturbating in his room, and if any of the other guys have an issue with it, Mary has no problem making his display more public, just for spite.

He pauses only to spit in his hand when his dry palm begins to chafe. It doesn’t even matter when the noises from the other room cease (and later Mary will have to tease them about their staying power), Mary just scrolls through his mental Rolodex until he brings up the memory of his dick in between Suey’s tits, how they jiggled despite being held together, how shiny they became once covered in his jizz, and how she looked up at him as she contorted one to bring it up to her mouth to lap some off.

“Shit, shit,” he exclaims as the memory of her pink tongue lapping up his cum causes him to release. Some shoots up his bare chest, but most of it lands and pools in his belly button. Eyes still closed, his free hand shoots out and fumbles for the box of tissues on the table, encountering instead a stack of thin takeout napkins.

As he does his best to clean himself up with the napkins—whose integrity is suspect—he can hear the low rumble of male voices and a high, feminine giggle from the sex room. Just to be a jackass, he gets himself up so that he can have first dibs on the bathroom.

Making sure to lock the door behind him, Mary turns on the hot faucet, willing the water to warm up sooner than later. He takes the opportunity, while he waits, to piss in the toilet; it’s already open—toilet seat up—even though it’s supposed to put it down when they have guests. They’re out of TP again, so a roll of paper towels rests on the lid of the tank.

Once the water is warm enough, Mary uses a couple pieces from the roll to clean off the jizz drying and to give himself a brief wipe down. His face is still half crusty with makeup, and he’s tempted to just add to it, but he’s learned from hard experience how that can fuck up your face, so—even though it’s a goddamned pain—Mary washes his face. He even uses the harsh Dial hand soap, even though the acrid smell will get up into his nose for hours.

He thinks of the nice-smelling scrub Suey has and her drugstore face cream he sometimes rubs into his skin.

In the soap- and toothpaste-speckled mirror, he starts to apply his “Day Face” (as Suey calls it) from the communal box of makeup (his better stuff is in his backpack): a light dusting of white powder; some eyeliner all the way around; a dull, red lipstick; and black shadow on his cheekbones.

He’s just starting on his hair when there comes a pounding on the door

“Fucks’ sake. C’mon, Goore.”

Mary turns his head upside down in the sink basin so he can haphazardly splash some water into his hair.

“Fuck off, douchebag.”

He starts to work his fingers into his locks, coaxing the glue already in it to activate.

“She’s gotta pee, man.”

He fluffs his forelock in the mirror as his other hand searches for the blood tube in the box.

“We have a kitchen sink.”

A small voice tells him not to take his annoyance with his friends out on the girl, and he sighs.

“Stop being a di—”

The voice cuts off as Mary swings the door open. Brendan's angry face smooths into one of minor irritation. The girl—Lisa?—stands, thighs crushed together, in an oversized kitten t-shirt. She looks at Mary, wide-eyed; her gaze darts to his bare, wet chest before snapping back up.

“Lis,” he says, winking as he saunters out.

Her face crumples a little.

“Lizzy,” she says, and Mary’s stomach swoops a bit when he realizes he’s probably slept with her before.

He makes himself smile as she moves past him to the bathroom.

“That’s what I said: Liz.” He shoots her a finger gun at her as Brendan scowls at them both. When the door closes and Brendan is still glaring, Mary lets out a “What?”

“You sticking around for breakfast, man?”

Mary rolls his eyes. “I’m here, ain’t I?” He starts to paw through the plastic shelving drawers next to the couch for a shirt.

Brendan shrugs. “Thought your pussy-whipped ass might need to get back to that uptown princess of yours.”

He glares at Brendan. “Stop being dick.”

“She’s fucking slumming it, dude. I’m warning you.”

It’s not a new argument, so Mary just ignores him, instead trying to apply a bit of blood to the tip of his forelock using the heart compact Suey gave him.

Titus emerges from the shared room, yawning, in his terrible leopard print robe that’s way too short.

“Morning, asswipe,” he says to Mary as he walks by. “What’re we bitching about?”

Brendan says “uptown girl” as Mary says “nothing.”

Titus sighs.

“Jesus, Brendan. You gotta get over that. That’s Mary’s mistake to make.”

“You know what? Fuck this shit.” Mary starts getting his backpack in order.

“That’s right! Blow off another band meeting!” says Brendan, and Mary spins on his heel to stomp back.

He jabs a finger into his chest. “I’m here all the goddamned time, more than I am at her place. I come to every meeting you tell me about.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you about anything. You should just be here. You should be committed,” hisses Brendan.

“I’m going to make some toast,” says Titus as he swishes toward the kitchen.

Mary rifles through his plastic draws and slams a notebook and loose papers onto the table.

“There’s mine, dude. Lyrics. Composition. Where’s yours?”

Donnie and Jamie wander out of their room.

“Not this shit again. It’s too fucking early,” says Donnie.

Brendan vibrates. “What about funds, man? A social media presence? You think all that happens by magic?”

“So I’m supposed to write, and compose, and do the budget?” snarls Mary.

“Guys,” moans Jamie.

“And our Insta is shit, by the way.”

“Fuck. Can we not?” moans Donnie.

Mary again jabs a finger at Brendan. “Then tell him to can it. I’ve already been exiled to the couch. I don’t need him picking fights because he doesn’t like my girlfriend, who—by the way—has never fucking done anything wrong.”

“You haven’t been exil—” Jamie starts.

“We were supposed to fucking share those rooms,” Mary hisses as he gesticulates. “I pay the same amount of rent, and yet I come home one day to find all my stuff in a pile in the living room. I have to wait for you guys to stop playing video games because ‘this is shared space’ to fucking sleep.”

“We all agreed—”

“No. You guys agreed. I didn’t get shit to say about it. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not too fucking keen on being pleasant.”

They all stand there, glowering at each other until Donnie says, “I need to take a goddamned piss,” and finds the bathroom door locked. At his soft The fuck? the lock clicks, and Lizzy opens the door cautiously.

“I’m sorry. It just. Seemed like you guys were getting into it.”

Brendan sighs. “C’mon, babe. Let’s get your stuff.”

The fight isn’t a new one, and—with no resolution in sight—they all drop the subject so they can get on with the breakfast of eggs on toast Titus brings out and the subsequent band meeting. The Brick—a cheap, overworked laptop—is brought out so they can go over band business: the budget; the van maintenance and parking costs; the gig and practice schedule is outlined so that they can align their work shifts; new merch ideas are bandied about; and they talk about how to improve their digital sales.

Mary’s leg jiggles impatiently.

The meeting breaks nearly 5hrs later; Jamie goes back to sleep because he’s got the night shift at the Quik•Mart; Brendan heads out for his afternoon shift at Target; it’s Donnie’s day off, so he cues up Mario Kart; and Titus decides he’s going to go pound on the drums in the practice space they rent, since his dad pays his bills.

Mary has been saddled with stopping by the local record stores to see if any of their physical CDs have sold to prove he’s “committed,” even though he’s got the closing shift at Sixes & Sevens.

As he’s leaving the building, he encounters Brendan, who is leaning against the brick, smoking a cigarette. Mary’s fingers twitch.

“So you’re not coming back tonight, then.”

“We have band business?”

“No.”

“Then, no.”

Brendan lets out a puff of smoke.

“You think I’m being a dick, but that girl does not care about you. She’s a tourist. Us—the band. That’s what’s real, Mary.”

Mary knows he should keep walking, but even after counting to 10, he’s still pissed, so he spins on his heel.

“You don’t know anything about her or her goddamned life.”

“Neither do you.” He finishes the smoke, then tosses it to the pavement to grind under his combat boot. “We’ll be here when it all explodes in your face, Goore. But you’re going to have to rebuild a lot of bridges.”

And then he’s off down the sidewalk. Mary stands there, seething, waiting until Brendan disappears round the corner since he’s also headed in that direction.

He’s not really in the best of moods when he hits up the first store, but by the 4th, he’s back to his plucky repartee. The owner of his favorite shop intimates that a vinyl version of their LP might sell much better than their DIY CD, and Mary enthusiastically thanks the dude as if it’s the first time such a concept has been considered.

The whole route honestly doesn’t even really take that much time at all—maybe 2 hours—so he chances stopping by Suey’s. Worst case, he’ll take a nap; best case, she’ll be there to bitch at him.

Like everything else today, however, circumstances are just not on his side, and he opens the door to her tiny fucking apartment to find it empty. The mail is bad again, and he rifles through it, plucking out anything that’s obviously junk to toss and anything that looks like a bill to put on her counter. There’s only a bowl in the sink, so he leaves it.

He’s hoping that she comes home before he has to leave—maybe she’ll even give him a blow job—as he wraps himself up in the afghan that smells slightly of her.

She doesn’t.

His alarm wakes him up at 4:15pm for his shift at 6. Groggily, he stumbles to the fridge to see what there is to eat, and finds a pot crammed in haphazardly amongst the other food items. Mary’s not really sure what he’s looking at—Suey tends to just throw shit together when she can’t be bothered, but most of the time it’s edible.

It ends up being some sort of cheesy potato stew and actually isn’t that bad. He eats the whole thing out of the pot before scrubbing it and the lone bowl clean. He waits as long as he dares to watch her come clomping tiredly through her door, but he really does have to leave. He leaves a kiss on her mirror after he reapplies his lipstick. (He should probably redo his face but: eh.)

Work is work. It starts slow—with Mary taking down the chairs and wiping off everything with the disinfectant spray. Sometimes Mary finds this kind of Zen—a time to hum out chords and roll around lyrics in his head—but today he’s just tired. It gets a little better when Mickey and the other bartender show up to do citrus prep. It’s a weekday, so there’s only a moderate crowd, and Mickey leaves them to it so he can do business manager-type things in his office.

And then there are the girls. Most of the girls who come to Sixes & Sevens aren’t the type to be put off by Mary’s whole shtick—and there are obviously the ones who come here expressly to flirt with him—so he has no qualms turning on his charms. Mickey lets him do it because customers are customers, and if girls want to come and spend money on drinks while they purr at Mary, who is Mickey to stop them? Len or Mika don’t give a shit because tips are pooled.

Used to be Mary could have his pick of a warm body for the evening—some girl (or occasionally some guy if Mary deemed him beefy enough) who’d take him to her nice-smelling, clean apartment … who’d let him spend the night on her soft, downy pillows after he pounded her into next year, before kicking him out at dawn. But now he’s got a girlfriend—one who makes sure he eats and yells at him to wash his face—waiting for him in her stale apartment with her flat, polyester pillows, and Mary hopes he’s not fool enough to fuck that up.

Not that his dick has gotten the memo.

No matter how many times Mary tells that fucker that he’s not going to fuck any of these women, his dick still twitches in interest whenever plump lips are wrapped around straws or fingertips trail over his hand. Tonight is especially bad for some reason, and Mary has to stick close to the walls of the bar so that no one can see his semi. A girl in a furry, white shrug seems particularly on his dick, and he does his best to flirt just enough for a good tip, but not enough for a proposition.

When he gets his break, Mary takes it out back in the alley by the dumpster. The air is chill, but it feels good after the humidity of the bar. He was hoping maybe his dick would go down, but it’s like it’s trying to spite him. Leaning his head back on the wall, he can’t help but close his eyes and run his palm lightly over the outline. It’s a fool’s errand—it’s not like he can get off without it showing on his pants—but that doesn’t stop him from touching.

A voice clears, and Mary startles. He’s out here by the rancid garbage so he can be alone, so he wasn’t really expecting to find anyone else.

“I can help you with that,” says the girl with the white fur that may or may not be real. She’s standing across from him, and he can see that she’s in a dress so simple that it must be hella expensive. She’s holding an unlit cigarette.

Mary jerks his hand away from his crotch, shifting so that he can surreptitiously adjust his jeans.

“The fuck are you doing out back here?”

She shrugs. “Needed to get away from my bitches. I love them but: drama city. You got a light?”

He knows it’s a ruse, but he still fumbles out his Zippo because he’s a goddamned gentleman. She, shockingly, takes the opportunity to move in closer to his body as he holds out the flame … close enough to blow the smoke of the first drag in his face.

“So,” she says, eyes darting down to his semi. “You want me suck that?” She gesticulates with her chin, posture nonchalant but eyes hungry.

His dick gives an answering throb, but he shrugs. “Nah. I got a girl.”

She looks at him, assessing, before half crossing her arms and taking another drag. Smoke pours out her nose.

“She’s not here.”

Mary doesn’t respond immediately, not knowing how to get out of this. She hasn’t said anything untrue. He’s horny, Suey’s not here, and she wants to suck his cock.

He reaches his hand up and taps his breast where he thinks his heart is.

“She’s here,” he says, and he’s glad Suey’s not present because hoo boy would she give him shit for that winner.

The girl just tilts her head at him, this time blowing smoke out the side of her mouth after she inhales. It occurs to Mary that he wants her cigarette more than his dick wants to be sucked. If she thinks this is some kind of elaborate game of hard to get, she’s sorely mistaken.

“You got a picture?”

“A … what?”

She gesticulates impatiently. “A picture. Of this girlfriend.”

Mary thinks, then pats around for his wallet, even though he only ever puts it in his back pocket. When she sees the wallet come out, she laughs.

“An actual picture? That’s old school.”

He shrugs as he rifles. “I’m on my break.” He doesn’t tell her that his ancient flip phone doesn’t take pictures. Well, not good ones.

The photo of Suey he has is relatively new—slipped in behind the old, worn one of his mum—but its edges are starting to soften. In the image, Suey stands, hip popped, as she gives him the finger with a snotty look on her face. She’s in one of her weird 90′s outfits—a micro mini and tied up band tee—and the cute pudge of her belly hangs over her waist band a little. Her hair is pushed back from her face because she’s just lifted up her sunglasses—there’s still a little mark on her nose where they were resting.

She hates this picture, but her attitude makes him smile.

“You gonna ogle it all night, Mary?”

Mary’s attention snaps back to the alley. He ignores the intimacy. Carefully, with a stern look on his face that he hopes conveys how much the photo is not to be fucked with, he hands the picture over.

White Fur looks at the picture for a long time. Then she looks up at him. She gives the image one more glance before handing it back to him.

“Yeah, ok,” she says as she crosses her arms again.

Mary tucks the photo back into his wallet.

“The fuck does that mean?” he scowls. He’s just about had it with people insulting Suey today, and some random-ass girl in a back alley is the last person he’d let get away with it, even if she is a fan.

She takes her last drag before flicking the stub in the direction of a dumpster.

“Dunno. You seem like the type to have some scene girl with more legs than brains hanging off your arm.”

Mary thinks that’s a little uncharitable: he’s always been an equal-opportunity lay.

“She seems legit though,” the girl continues. “Makes sense.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

“Yeah, no problem.” She heads for the door, but stops to smirk at him. “Looks like I helped after all.”

As she swings back inside, Mary looks down to realize his hard-on is gone.

Mickey doesn’t cut him early, but he doesn’t make him stay past closing either. Even so, it’s still after 3am when he gets to Suey’s. The bills are gone from the counter, but there are no new dishes in the sink. He opens the fridge to find a pizza box crumpled into the top, balanced precariously on the other items. Mary takes it out and inhales the cold pizza right from the box; he knows they’re all for him because Suey fucking hates pepperoni. (Though it doesn’t escape his notice that she’s put one piece of pineapple in the center to mess with him.)

He leaves the box by the trash (he’ll flatten it tomorrow), and then makes his way to her bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, lest he incur her wrath.

When he finally wiggles into her twin bed in his boxers, he’s bone tired. His dick still kinda wants some action, but Mary thinks he’d probably just fall asleep in the middle, and Suey really would bite his head off if he woke her up for no reason. He wishes she’d just sleep nude, but finding her in one of his well-worn shirts is the next best thing. He doesn’t mean to wake her up, but he can’t help himself from running his hands all over her—this girl who sees him and not his “image.”

“Mare?” she says in a quiet, sleepy voice.

He kisses her head.

“Go back to sleep, baby doll.”

She doesn’t speak again, but she squirms around until she’s sprawled across his chest. He’d prefer to have her caught up in a little spoon, but having her pressed into him—body sleep warm—is nothing to wave a stick at.

This is all he wanted, anyway.

Next ➡️

#mary goore #feral cats fic #gutter punk #mary pov #my writing #original post

36 notes · View notes

loftec · 4 years ago

Note

Hi i don't know if anyone haven't ask you about it or i'm the only one who wants to read it but CAN YOU PLEASE SHARE YOUR NOTES (ch.44) i don't know if you were serious about that but i really would love to read them cause i'm obsessed with everything what is ntw related 🖤 hope ur well

Hi friend! It’s possibly just you (or one other person, in case of separate anons) but that is enough! I was absolutely serious.

Note on the notes! This is not all of it, because my notes for this chapter were often repetitive and very messy, and some older notes were from four years ago when I didn’t bother writing things out properly, so they barely make sense even to me. But! I’ve done my best to sort everything in some kind of linear order, and removed most of the repetition. And, well, you asked for it... sorry! 🖤

Ian shows up in the morning, Mickey digs out the magazine Iggy stole from Amelia’s dentist’s office the other day and confronts Ian about the big-ass article in Rolling Stone about IAN’S BAND, says he’s listened to some of their songs, takes out a paper where he’s written down some lyrics that sound strangely familiar.

You’re famous!

I’m in a band, people know about us right now, tomorrow they might not. I’m not famous.

You’re kinda famous.

Ian talks about Mickey recognizing him because of Frank. Hints that there might be several songs inspired by Mickey. It’s awkward as fuck, didn’t want you to know.

Were you ever gonna tell me?

Oh yeah, I had a plan. 3 dates, dinner and a movie, day out with Yev, dinner at my place turned vigorous love-making. Second prong; cohabitation, engagement, marriage, then on our wedding night I tell you about crushing on Justin Timberlake when I was 12,

then I tell you I’m semi-famous, if it still applies.

Mickey thinks his face might be on fire.

What the?

I’m fucking with you, Mick. Figured you already knew.

This again?

You angry?

No, I’m not fucking angry. Just-

Freaked out.

Kinda, yeah.

You shouldn’t be. Please.

It’s weird that I didn’t know, I feel like a schmuck. (And I’m pretty sure by your count we’ve already been on those first two dates.)

I’m sorry. I thought you knew and by some fucking miracle didn’t treat me different. I’d been gearing up to maybe have to have this conversation on our date, ‘cause it’s shit sometimes, you know? I don’t do interviews and I never talk about myself when I gotta do them, but there’s still a limelight and a lot of bullshit that complicates

I’ve been crushing on you since we met basically, and I thought I’d just… let it run its course, keep my mouth shut about it and deal until it went away and we could remain friends without me fucking it up.

Didn’t work, by the way.

Good.

Mickey is talking about it with Etch, who suggests that Ian’s been writing at the diner for a reason.

Etch looks up some lyrics and Mickey caps locks them to Ian

You might have inspired a few lately…

Fuck off. How many?

Since we met? Pretty much all of them.

Maybe one or two made it on to the album, but I wrote those before we really got to know each other so they’re just like… about moments, and how I would feel around you.

Didn’t think of it as creepy but it kinda sounds that way now.

No it’s fine

I won’t do it again.

Said it’s fine. Kinda like it.

Yeah?

You gonna tell me which ones are about me, or is that a secret too?

What are you doing tonight?

Thought you said you were going on tour?

We are, it starts tonight. It’s a small fan club gig here in Chicago.

You have a fan club?

Kinda. I’ll put you on the guest list if you want to come.

(Mickey calls Svetlana to make sure Yevgeny can stay with her over the weekend.)

It’s fine if you don’t want to, we’ll do something else when I get back.

Calm your tits Gallagher, course I wanna go. Needed to make sure I’ve got Yev covered.

Oh okay, good. You’re on the list. Doors at 7, gig starts at 8, no support.

You’ve got no chill.

(Ian doesn’t answer for a while)

I like it.

Good, that was torture. Never doing that again.

(Etch teases him about having his nose in his phone, and makes him aware of new guests arriving)

Gotta get back to work

Yeah, me too. See you tonight?

No chill at all.

Ian invites him to the concert and gives Mickey his phone number. Mickey makes sure Yevgeny stays with his mom on saturday, and after work he goes home and gets ready. Showers and cleans himself thoroughly, puts on cologne and a band t-shirt he hasn’t worn in ages, it’s gotten kinda tight on him since he got it. (He puts on a dress shirt first, tucks it into his pants and glares at his reflection).

He’s on the guest list when he gets there, the girl in the box office can’t find him at first but then Anne shows up and points him out, he’s on the VIP list and gets a pass that he’s told he needs to carry so it’s visible. He makes a point of shoving it in the admission guy’s face, but then shoves the ostentatious thing down the pocket of his jeans. Anne shows him in and tells him about the gig, about how the fan club got started. Anne says he can go backstage but he says he’ll pass, thank you. He gets a beer and finds a good spot, there’s a balcony halfway through the venue where he’s got a perfect view of the stage without having to stand in the front.

They text a little, Mickey says he’s there and Ian says he’ll make a sign when they play a song inspired by him.

run-through of the concert, Ian touches the side of his nose when the song is about Mickey. He’s sexy as fuck, and has some ridiculous stripper moves.

He takes off his hoodie at some point, and sweating through his tank he and Anne put on gloves and start hitting the barrels with crowbars.

Anne is the maestro, maybe Ian crowd surfs at some point? Warren Ellis that violin, man. He has little routines with Anne, and some with Jon too. One song, Anne gets one of his guitars and he does noisy stuff with his violin and plays on the oil barrels with Stran, completely in sync.

They got some good stage banter going, and at some point Ian does a Tom Waits impression, and Anne groans and says he’ll sing the whole thing if they’re not careful. There’s a reason why he’s

For the encore, Ian touches the side of his nose and they start playing a song, Anne saying that this is a first. It looks like Ian is about to sing, but then it looks like he changes his mind and they start playing a song that Mickey sure as fuck hope isn’t about him. The insufferable man on a date right next to Mickey tells the woman he’s with that they were about to play the mysterious title track from their last album that never ended up on the record

“it’s derivative, but cute”

how can it be a title track if it’s not on the album

the guy talks about how he’s got a friend working as an engineer in the studio and he’s sent him an early demo version. It’s not their best song by far, but it’s cool that pretty much no one else has heard it.

Mickey asks the girl if she’s ok with this joker, and she says she’s fine. He offers to get her a cab or something, if she wants to get out of there.

She says she’s not interested

Lady, if I wanted to get with either of you, it wouldn’t be you. Just sayin, I ain’t picky, but that guy would’ve gotten the boot ten minutes into the date if he were here with me, no offense.

WHAT IF.

The concert is over, and crowd starts to let up. Then a fight breaks out at the front and Mickey makes his way towards it. It’s over before he gets there, and sees a guy in his 40s with a bleeding nose, and Lip shaking out his fist, a security guard between them.

Mickey talks to the guard and defuses the situation, putting the bleeding man in the position of a sad overzealous fan. It somehow warms Lip to him, absurdly, and he finds himself apologized to, Lip shaking his hand and wincing when Mickey grips his bruised knuckles a little too hard. Lip vaguely explains that that was an old ex of Ian’s, a real piece of work, and then offers Mickey to come backstage with them to see Ian. Mickey declines.

It’s Lip, Carl and Debbie (Liam is too young, and Fiona too pregnant).

“I was drunk, and wrong, and when I’m wrong I say I’m wrong. (IT’S FROM DIRTY DANCING YOU LITERALLY FORGET EVERY TIME AND HAVE TO GOOGLE IT WHENEVER READING THIS NOTE should I really be quoting Baby’s dad in this fic? Probably. If anyone can, it’s Lip.) And Ian tells me you’ve been there for him a lot lately

I wouldn’t say that

But he did, he doesn’t tell me a lot these days, but he told me that.

Mickey gets another beer at the bar as people mill towards the merch and exit, he sits on a stool with an eye on the backstage passage. He watches the band come out to talk to some of the lingering fans and sign shit. Ian comes out and is immediately surrounded by fans, he locks eyes with Mickey across the room and Mickey raises his beer in a silent cheers. Ian comes up to him after a few minutes, he looks damp and exhilarated and unexpectedly nervous,

How was it?

Not bad, Gallagher.

he asks Mickey over. He has to pack up his shit and do the rounds, but he’ll be done in half an hour, tops. Mickey says he’ll meet him outside.

Ian leaves and Mickey finishes his beer, watching Ian talk to some fans, signing shit and taking pictures. He goes for a piss and then goes out for a smoke.

Ian comes out after twenty minutes, carrying two guitar cases and a large wheelie-bag. Mickey takes one of the guitars off his hands and they walk together.

(maybe Ian has a banjo and he gives it to Mickey to carry and Mickey is all really? I wanna kick your ass so bad right now, country boy, but then carries it anyway.) (banjos are cool)

Walk from the club. Mickey mentions talking to Lip. They talk about Ian’s Tom Waits impression. You’re not musically illiterate at all! Talk about Mickey’s Radiohead tee that he stole from a hookup when he was sixteen, he’s grown into it now. Talk about Ian’s onstage dancing, used to be a stripper, well, not saying you can’t still do private performances (?? you know what I mean! this is not what they’re saying but you’ll remember it) (Note from 2020: I DID NOT REMEMBER IT.)

Talk about wanting to learn playing the trumpet. Don’t have trumpet playing lips.

”Sure you and your lips can do whatever you set your heart to, I believe in you.”

Looks at Mickey and smiles.

”What?”

”You’ve been flirting with me since we first met, haven’t you?”

”Maybe.”

”Huh”

“What?”

“Oh nothing.” “Just re-evaluating everything you’ve ever said to me.”

”Re-evaluate this;” gives Ian the finger.

”That an invitation?”

”Fuck you is what it is,”

“sounds like an invitation.”

Ian tells him a little about his different instruments, Mickey picks up the beat up guitar Gus first gave to Ian and strums it, Ian asks him to play him something but Mickey snorts and says he’s counting on getting laid tonight and him playing would be detrimental to that plan. Ian doesn’t think so, but accepts it when Mickey gives him the guitar.

”I’ve walked some thousand miles,” he starts softly, eyes on his left hand, moving over the strings, ”I have slept many hundred nights, and people’ve said hello and bye through the years since you were mine. But don’t think I’ll stop my mourning, don’t I know it’s overdue. Just because I’ve gotten older, none the wiser I cry for you.”

”Honey, cutie, sweetie-pie,” ”My darling boy, sweet old times, as long as I keep you in mind I will remember what love is like. So, don’t think I’ll stop my mourning, don’t I know it’s overdue.”

”Just because I’ve gotten older, none the wiser.”

”I cry for you.”

I’M THINKING OF WRITING MY OWN SONG BECAUSE I WAS THIS MOMENT TO BE MORE BEFORE SUNSET THAN ANYTHING, ALL SMILES AND DRAMA FREE. SO MAYBE A TEXT THAT IS A LITTLE MORE STRAIGHTFORWARD.

Ian plays the song and when he’s done, Mickey kisses him and they have really enthusiastic sex on the couch. Mickey is about to leave after when Ian invites him to stay,

How about some long-ass foreplay on the couch and then they move into the bedroom.

They start on the couch, they take it to the bedroom, they collapse on the bed after and Mickey is feeling too good to argue when Ian mumbles at him to “stay”.

(Sings the song, says it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a song, it’s one quick thought put under a spotlight. Feeling like he should have known Mickey his whole life already. It’s too much, isn’t it? In the kitchen.

”do you normally take guys home and serenade them?”

”nah, don’t think it’d be very effective with most.”

”But you figured I’d swoon?”

”Figured you’d want the truth.”

”which is?”)

??? Need to find a good mix of excitement and new and easy, balanced with ho shit wtf are we doing this isn’t going to end well i think i fucking love him shut the fuck up. needs to be sexy and a little rough, as well as painfully sincere against better knowledge. kissing will do that. they’re doing stuff the way they usually do stuff, but for some reason it feels completely different.

Important that Mickey kisses him.

They stand up and stand chest to chest, Ian says they don’t have to do anything, Mickey says shut up and get naked

he helps ian take his shirt off and kisses him the second his face comes back into view

They fucks on the couch.

OR ALT FADE CUT END and don’t go explicit. Just saying, it’s an option. A valid option.

They can go at it in one of the sequels? Like the roadtrip can be more explicit? If I want? But also not?

I mean, there is such a thing as a nice middle ground right.

I just don’t think I’m interested in going all out porn after 40+ chapters of whatever.

THEY KISS AND THEN THERE’S A MOTHERFUCKING FADE TO BLACK MY FRIEND, BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I HAVE DECIDED. Soz

WHAT IF!!

Iggy comes in, is all: guess what I found at the dentist this morning?

M: again? Did Amelia break another tooth?

I: It’ll grow back, take a look at this

E: Did you steal that from the dentist’s office?

M: Rolling Stone, wtf?

E: your dentist’s got rolling stone?

Mickey reads the headlines out loud as a customer comes in and asks Etch about something they’ve lost the other day, and Etch starts rifling through boxes behind the counter as Mickey moves over to sit down in Ian’s booth, rifling through the magazine.

M: what am I looking for?

I: I marked the page

E: what’s this note?

Mickey starts reading the article, realizing that the blurred picture is of Ian, and the interview is with Ian, and holy shit. Ian is legit famous.

Etch starts reading the list of coffees, eventually turning the page over and pointing out that there’s a phone number.

Iggy comes to the diner in the morning, Etch is rifling through stuff behind the counter and Mickey is doing the rounds with the few guests still there after the morning rush.

Iggy shows him the magazine he found at the dentist’s and Etch is in the background like wtf is this, reading from Ian’s note with the coffee orders, Mickey only half listens, trying to take in the fact that Ian is fucking famous.

Etch says there’s a phone number too and Mickey brushes him off.

Then he’s like, hold the fuck up! And gets the note from the trash and tries the number, and Ian fucking answers. And they have the you’re famous conversation on the phone and voila, Mickey has his number and vice versa.

So Mickey calls Ian in the morning, then there’s text talk during the day.

From Ian

So, you’ve had my number for x days and you only now decided to use it?

That’s cold.

From Mickey

You wrote it on a piece of paper you then balled up and threw on the floor, asshole, it’s a miracle it didn’t end up in the trash. didn’t know I had it until this morning.

You suck at this. (This is a nice revelation that he likes, but Maybe that doesn’t come across in text.

Not a complaint btw, just gleeful observation.

From Ian

Are we still on?

From Mickey

Of course.

Dumbass.

Ian

I probably deserved that.

At some point Mickey starts capslocking and sending lyrics to Ian, who has to explain through text why he’s written songs about Mickey, saying that he’ll point them out tonight.

HERE’S A QUESTION

SHOULD I SKIP THE WHOLE “WRITING SONGS ABOUT MICKEY” BUSINESS??

Isn’t it enough that Ian is famous and kept this fact from Mickey? Isn’t the writing songs business a little creepy? and if he did write songs about Mickey, would he really publish them without Mickey’s consent? No. Maybe I’m deliriously tired and about to fall ill right now, but I actually think I should skip that part. It’s a little sad because it’s been part of this idea for three years, but if I’m uncertain about it now imagine how I’m going to feel about it later?

When I started writing this story, it was supposed to be a quick and silly thing, and now it’s something else. It’s not important or anything, but also it is. To me. And making a decision on the rating was a big deal for me, and I think this is another one of those things. I’ve been holding on to this idea for so long but when I really think about it, is it even romantic? It’s romantic in that kind of teenage dream way, maybe? It’s more romantic to me if they fall in love for reasons other than Ian writing songs. But he’s written NTW, and he still thinks about performing it live, but we skip the whole thing about songs being about Mickey.

So they talk on the phone in the morning, and then there’s a text coming in after a little while asking if Mickey wants to come to the show.

HEYHO IT’S A REVOLUTION AND I FEEL FREE

Mickey and Ian text after the show (after Mickey declines going backstage) Ian asks him to meet him round back in twenty minutes. When Mickey goes out there, he sees Ian talking to a couple of fans by the bus and Mickey hangs back to smoke while he waits. The fans leave and Ian looks around, checks his watch, he has a bunch of guitars with him.

I AM LEANING HEAVILY TOWARDS MICKEY KISSING IAN HERE. He’s like “Stop, hold this” giving Ian back the guitar, so he can grab on to him and kiss him, smiling against Ian lips as the guitar tips over and clatters against the asphalt.

They’re outside Ian’s house, Ian says he has to get up at an unholy hour tomorrow. Invites him in anyway.

They’re in the elevator, then they’re in Ian’s apartment. Ian plays him the song, Before sunset ending.

almost none of that rhymed, just letting you know. kinda embarrassing.

(almost none of that rhymed, just letting you know. kinda embarrassing.

yeah, it’s not a very good song. is why we cut it from the record

oh yeah? thought it was ‘cause of the like, intensely personal subject

that too)

They smile at each other like fools and Mickey feels like he is exactly where he’s supposed to be, and there’s no rush. Fade to black.

Etch finds the paper, says there’s a phone number on it. Mickey dials the number and goes out back as it rings out. When Ian answers, he reads a question from the interview and they talk.

He goes back into the diner and basically blows the whole thing off, it doesn’t make any difference to him and he has to go back to work. Yevgeny does his homework and Iggy leaves, and Ian invites Mickey to the gig via text. Etch invites Yevgeny to stay over at theirs for a movie night.

Does Mickey tell Yev about the gig?

Start with Mickey out back, smoking. The phone rings and he waits for Etch to take it, but it keeps ringing. He bangs the door and yells PHONE and then it stops ringing. He kills the cigarette and goes back inside. Etch is behind the counter talking on the phone and going through the lost and found, looking for whatever the caller has lost. Mickey clears a table. It’s afternoon. Etch hangs up but keeps going through stuff in the box, talking to Mickey, when Iggy comes in.

It’s maybe more like afternoon (?) when Iggy comes in and shows Mickey the magazine. He calls Ian and they have a quick conversation (he probably goes outside to have it, to escape his audience) and they establish that Ian is sorta famous. Then they text back and forth a little, until Ian invites him to the show.

Mickey calls Svet to arrange it so Yev can stay with her, and then accepts. He goes home after work to eat, have a shower and change out of his clothes. He wears the only band tee he owns, mostly because it’s funny and because it’s kinda tight and he doesn’t think he looks too bad in it (and a dress shirt is way too much for a concert not-date, not that he tried on a couple first. Then he does a little bit of cyberstalking only to find very little personal information and a lot of crazy fans. Maybe he watches a couple of music videos, but they’re all really weird cartoons so they give him nothing. They’re cool though, and guess the music’s alright, even though he doesn’t have a connection yet to it so it’s hard to tell if he likes it.

Yevgeny calls, because Mickey switched the days and he wants to know why. Mickey asks if he knows about the Broken Bells, and Yev’s like duh who doesn’t? And freaks out when Mickey tells him about Ian. He doesn’t tell him about the whole date situation though, just that he’s going to the concert. Maybe Yev asks for some merch.

Mickey takes an Uber to the venue, even though it’s not too far from the diner (but on the other side, so at least a 30 minute walk) and it seems like they’ve already started letting people in. He hangs back until the admissions office is clear and then tells the lady that he’s on some kinda guest list. She can’t find him, and he’s about to give up and go home when he sees a familiar figure in the background. He calls her Stay-puft first, but then also remembers that her name is Anne and calls her that too. She remembers him, and finds him on a different (VIP) list, the venue staff woman is embarrassed, but Anne is borderline flirting she’s so nice about the mistake. Mickey gets a pass that he’s supposed to keep around his neck, but he shows it to the guards and then tucks it down his back pocket. Anne shows him inside the venue and asks if he wants to come backstage and say hello, but he kindly declines.

He has a quick peruse of the merch table (he checks the CDs, and then sees a smaller table next to the merch with a guy handing out pins, Mickey talks to him and finds out that it’s “fan club” pins to commemorate the gig and Mickey asks if his VIP pass gets him one, it does, and then the guy asks if Mickey wants to sign up for the newsletter) and then gets a beer, before finding a good spot on the mezzanine floor. He’s got a balcony railing for support and beer holder, and he’s got an excellent view of the stage. The floor is filling up with people packing themselves against the front. He texts Ian saying he’s here and they text a little back and forth. He gets someone to watch his spot and goes to the restroom. There, he finds a kid getting cornered by a middle-aged man. The kid looks vaguely familiar and not older than sixteen. Mickey steps in and casually accuses the guy of creeping on a kid and the guy immediately backs off, the kid says thanks and that he’s eighteen (because it’s an 18+ gig) and Mickey says sure.

Getting back to his spot, There is a douchebag on a date behind him that he wants to move away from, but he doesn’t want to surrender his good spot. He decides to tune him out, he’ll hopefully shut up once the set starts. It’s just a couple of minutes after eight when the lights dim and a song comes on louder than before, and the band start coming out on the stage. Ian is wearing jeans and a hoodie, like he normally does, but he’s clean shaven and his normally smiling face is set in blank determination. Anne is the front person, and she commands the audience with the slightest gesture. It’s obvious that the venue is filled with old fans, they all know exactly what to do exactly when she asks them to do it. Ian’s got like four guitars and a whole lot of other shit around him, and he’s super focused on doing his stuff, but now and then he does little routines with Anne and Jon, and gets a big cheer for his occasional solos.

A few songs in, Ian gets up to stand on one of the oil barrels, and Anne starts banging on it with a crowbar. That’s when Mickey starts to really get into it. It’s cool, and it’s a lot harder than Ian made it out to be, but kind of theatrical at the same time. Ian is brilliant, even though he dances like an uncoordinated stripper.

There is banter between the songs, mainly between Anne and Stran (girl sure bangs those drums!) Anne starts banging one of the oil barrels again and Ian and Jon do a little step dance next to each other across the scene.

At some point Ian takes off his hoodie. He’s wearing a white tank and he’s already sweating through it. He gives his guitar to Anne and puts on gloves. Him and Stran do a little bant-y thing and then they start a new song by both banging the barrels in unison while Anne and Jon start playing (maybe Jon plays something else, like an electric piano or a marimba?). At the crescendo of the song, Ian takes out a baseball bat and goes to town on the barrel, sweat shining on his muscly arms and his wet hair flopping down his forehead.

They go off the stage, but come back when the crowd chants a song, stomping their feet and clapping their hands. Anne says they’ve got one more song for them, and they start playing. She moves away from the microphone and it looks for a second like Ian is going to step up and sing. Douchebag behind Mickey tells his date about an unreleased b-side to the last album. But then Ian steps back and says something to Stran, who nods and moves into a slightly different beat. Without blinking Anne, steps back up to the mic and sings the last song.

Some of the crowd lingers by the stage after the lights have gone back on, but most move towards the bar or the merch table. Mickey hangs back to watch the crew take down the stage, and the two oil barrels being handed over to someone in the audience, along with set lists and left-over picks. Walking down from the mezzanine floor to go look for the restrooms, a fight breaks out on the floor. Mickey immediately recognizes one of them as Lip and the other one as the creep from the bathroom, and intervenes by clearly positioning himself on Lip’s side and reminding the creep that he could get him in trouble, the creep backs off and agrees when Mickey tells the security guards it was an accident (in a way that isn’t obviously helpful, but in the end still makes sure that Lip isn’t hurt or arrested for punching a guy) (because he did, he punched a guy, who is thrown out by the guards after Mickey’s intervention). Lip, Carl, Debbie, and Liam is there, but it’s only Lip who knows who Mickey is. He hangs back to talk to Mickey while his siblings go backstage (and PROBABLY DOESN’T tell him a little bit about the guy being Ian’s ex, making it clear that Lip really doesn’t like him). He also apologizes to Mickey for last time. He asks if Mickey wants to go backstage, but Mickey declines. He’s decided earlier with Ian through text that he’ll wait for him and thinks it’s better to do it somewhere that isn’t backstage where he might get asked questions and have to talk to people who aren’t Ian.

He gets another beer and stands in the bar next to the merch, watching as Ian and the rest of the band come out to sign some stuff and shake hands. Ian still looks slightly damp from sweat, even though he’s obviously changed clothes and run a towel through his hair. Mickey wonders if his skin tastes like salt. He drinks his beer.

Ian comes up to him after a little while, asking well? (or texts him, which probably makes more sense? But I also want Mickey to see Ian post-show)

Not bad Gallagher, not bad at all.

Ian looks pleased and asks if Mickey wants to come over, even though Ian has an early morning. Mickey says yes and Ian asks him to wait until they’re done packing up.

Mickey finishes his beer, goes to the restroom (where he sees douchebag by the urinal) and then he goes outside to wait for Ian. (He talks to douchebag’s date and offers to get her a taxi before the guy comes out.) He smokes a cigarette, and before he knows it, Ian is by his side, carrying a fuck ton of guitars. They decide to walk, for some reason, talking on the way.

HEY

Ian says he’s got a car coming and they walk a little bit to where they’re getting picked up. They talk about trumpet lips and stuff and Mickey kisses him. They get interrupted by the car arriving, and Ian picks up his guitars and says “you coming?”

Fuck yes

They sit in silence in the car, but it’s a good one. Ian says

Lip told me what you did back there.

He didn’t tell you shit.

He did, told me you stepped in and stopped him from getting arrested

He was getting his ass kicked, someone had to help the guy

And Liam told me you got him out of a tough situation in the restroom

That was Liam? Some pedo’s creeping on a kid by the urinal, I’m not gonna stand by doing nothing.

You know that’s not what happened

Yeah, well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

He isn’t a pedo, and Lip would’ve beat the shit outta him if you hadn’t stepped in.

You defending this guy?

No, trying to say thanks.

You’re shit at it.

Thank you, Mickey

Better.

So… friend of yours.

No. (Ian isn’t forthcoming with the info)

Alright, whatever.

And he’s definitely not someone I wanna talk about, tonight.

(Ian is smiling at him, all the promise in the world in his eyes)

Fucking fair enough.

They arrive.

OR Ian joins Mickey outside and they stand around and talk

They talk about Ian’s Tom Waits impression. You’re not musically illiterate at all! Talk about Mickey’s Radiohead tee that he stole from a hookup when he was sixteen, he’s grown into it now. Talk about Ian’s onstage dancing, used to be a stripper, well, not saying you can’t still do private performances (?? you know what I mean! this is not what they’re saying but you’ll remember it)

Talk about wanting to learn playing the trumpet. Don’t have trumpet playing lips.

”Sure you and your lips can do whatever you set your heart to, I believe in you.”

Looks at Mickey and smiles.

”What?”

”You’ve been flirting with me since we first met, haven’t you?”

”Maybe.”

”Huh”

“What?”

“Oh nothing.” “Just re-evaluating everything you’ve ever said to me.”

”Re-evaluate this;” gives Ian the finger.

”That an invitation?”

”Fuck you is what it is,”

“sounds like an invitation.”

That’s when a taxi pulls up and Ian walks toward it

Could use some help with these.

They ride in silence

They carry Ian’s instruments from the car, and Ian says something cute

Mickey’s like “Stop, hold this” giving Ian back the guitar, so he can grab on to him and kiss him, smiling against Ian lips as the guitar tips over and clatters on the asphalt.

They’re outside Ian’s house, Ian says he has to get up at an unholy hour tomorrow. Invites him in anyway.

There he asks Ian to play him something that other people don’t get to hear (mostly to be a cheeky monkey, but also because he wants it) and Ian plays him None the wiser.

I’ve walked a thousand miles to end up in your corner booth

Grinning idiot when you bitch, falling fool for your dirty mouth

Sitting on my busy hands when you swagger by and I say -

Hey waiter, pour some coffee in my cup and bring me my toast, before you fuck me up

I’ve been in some thousand fights and it’s clear that so have you, too

Faded threats and cigarettes, sharp glass polished by the sea

Wish you’d put your hands on me and make your feelings clear

Hey waiter

meet me ‘round the back door, tell me I’ve got it wrong and fuck me up some more

‘Cause I’ve fallen a thousand times but never felt this way before, like I should have met you long ago

Walked with you by my side and had your back through thick and thin

Sickness and health, come what may, and I say-

Hey waiter

pop the damn champagne

None the wiser

you fuck me up again

Hey waiter

tell me you’ll be mine

I’ll give you my life

and fuck you up in kind

I wish I was just a plain white shirt

then you could wear me off to work

and I’d be one of the things you keep close to your heart

soft white cotton wrapped around your heart

(Contrasts have faded now

but color still haunt my mind

And words ripped off from their lines

Make bitter tears flood my eyes

Don’t think I’ll stop my mourning

Don’t I know it’s overdue

Just because I’ve gotten older

None the wiser, I cry for you)

Honey, cutie, sweetie-pie

My darling boy, sweet old times

As long as I keep you in mind

I will remember what love is like

So, don’t think I’ll stop my mourning

Don’t I know it’s overdue

Just because I’ve gotten older

None the wiser, I cry for you

’Cause I always say ’I love you’

when I mean ’turn out the light’

And I say ’let’s run away’

when I just mean ’stay the night’

But the words you want to hear

you will never hear from me

I’ll never say ’happy anniversary’

Never stay to say ’happy anniversary’

Bom-chaka bom-chak 23 verses

And he climbed up a mountain

And he looked around

Some kind of forest

With all these dinosaurs

And he stripped his woman

He stripped her bare

But there was a pterodactyl

There!

#Anonymous

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daviddoughbrik · 6 years ago

Text

Grow A Pair - a D. Dobrik Imagine

Thank you for the request @dobrikburrito!

WARNING: A LOT OF CUSSING

“I don’t know how to model this merch for the end card,” David whines throughout the house as he turns the corner to the living room. He stands there with his hands on his hips and his bottom lip stuck out. You look up from your spot on the lovesac. You put your bookmark in your book and set it aside.

“Come here, pouty boy,” you say with grabby hands. David takes off running to crash on top of you, sliding the lovesac further against the wall. He lands with an oof and he headbutts your boobs. “Ow, babe. Your hard head hurt me,” he laughs at you before leaning down towards them.

“Awe where did I hurt you, baby?” he coos, settling himself between your thick thighs. “Here?” he asks kissing your the swell of your breast over your shirt. You let out a hum, though you couldn’t feel it much. “Here?” he asks again, moving to another spot and placing a kiss there. “Ugh, stupid bra, I can’t feel how soft you are because there’s too much stuff between!”

Your head is thrown back in laughter as he grips your shirt at your waist and sticking his head under it. He makes quick work and lifts your bra up and over your boobs awkwardly. “David!” you laugh. He’s nipping and kissing as much as he can. Then he decides to tickle you while he’s under there. You’re both laughing hard as Natalie comes out of her room.

“You guys are so weird,” she says as David’s head is still under your shirt. “Better watch out though, Cas is on her way over with the girls from her job,” she warns. “If they get here before I’m out, will you tell them I’m taking a quick shower?”

“Ah, it’s okay, we will be careful! I’ll tell them!” the last part of that sentence was up an octave from David continuing to kiss and tickle your soft stomach. “David!” you screech again. Just then the doorbell rang. Both of you groan as he pulls his big ole noggin out from under your clothing. “Fun’s over,” you mumble.

David gets up and let’s them in, and the people just keep on coming. Cas and her friends from work arrived at the same time as Jack, Jason, Zane, Kelsey and Stassie.

“What’s up bitchesssss,” Zane hollers through the house. David just shakes his head. “Oh, hey, what are you doing here?” Zane asks pointedly at you.

“Oh I’m just chilling. My apartment is getting exterminated again,” you lie, grabbing your book again. You’re literally in yesterday’s clothes from sleeping at David’s last night.

“Damn, again?” Jason asks. “They just did it last week didn’t they?”

“Yeah, and apparently it didn’t take because the people below me brought back something from Jamaica,” you lied again. Jason shakes his head in disapproval before getting into the conversation with everyone else. You dive back in your book as everyone talks and mingles.

You always were a little different than the rest of the group. For instance, you’re the only one who reads on a regular basis. You’re not the going out type or the drinking til you black out type. You really didn’t know how you ended up in this group. You shrug to yourself and get back into the story you were reading.

Days passed by in your book, but it was just minutes in real time. You’re brought out of your reading zone for whatever reason. “You need to put hot girls in there,” Jason says.

“Why though? Why can’t you two just model them?” David asks, referring to his new merch coming out soon.

“Because, hot girls will sell it better. Like, Stassie and Kels and Cas and her friends, they could do it and it would sell so well,” Jack adds. All you can think is “what a creep”. Then he says it. “I mean like we couldn’t have Y/N in it, she wouldn’t sell it as well, because you know...” he mumbles, trying to not let you hear him say it.

“Okay, sex sells, I get it,” David laughs. Suddenly, you’re really interested in seeing how he’s going to make this work with the “hot girls”. He throws merch at them and they go and put it on. They roll up the tops of their shorts and crop the shirts shorter trying to show more of their bodies. David turns some music on and they’re all dancing on each other and showing off the merch. Zane is behind David’s camera and lifts his shirt up so they’d do the same, showing off the new sports bras. Their tits are all in David’s face and you can’t help but to get more and more upset at the different shots he takes of them.

“David, how about we do a clip with you with them?” Jack suggests. David shrugs saying “why not”. Jason takes over the camera. “Wait, how about two of you just have the sports bras on the top and two of you can have the shirt on?”

Fucking creep.

They agree anyways. The music plays again and they’re running their hands all in David’s hair and rubbing up and down his arms. Your face turns more red as the seconds pass. His face says he’s enjoying it. He’s enjoying having other girls with their shirts off rubbing all over him.

You’re finally at your boiling point and you slide the patio door open hard and slam it shut, making the glass in the frame rattle. Your head falls in your hands as you try to calm down. You can hear chatter in the house before hearing David say “I’ll go see what’s wrong. Hold on.”

“Leave me alone,” you say as he takes one step out of the house. He doesn’t listen and closes the door behind him. “I’m serious,” you warn.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks tentatively from across the concrete.

“What’s wrong? Are you fucking kidding me? If you don’t know what’s wrong then I guess there’s no point in being here,” you say throwing your hands up.

“Babe, it was just for the end card,” he bargains. “I don’t even like them,” he says crossing his arms.

“You know what, it was kind of shitty of you to let several other girls touch you and shit for the vlog. But you know what else is really shitty of you? The fact that you sat there and let Jack talk about me that way. ‘she couldn’t sell it as well because you know’,” you mock.

“Baby, you know how he is,” he begins trying to take a step toward you.

“Yeah, David, I know how he is. He’s a prick, but I didn’t think you’d seriously let him say that shit. First of all, because I am a fucking woman who you say you love. Second of fucking all, because I was sitting right fucking there. Third of fucking all, because you know just how much I’ve struggled with everything. Fourth of everything and what hurts the damn most, you don’t even want them to know we are together. That’s why you won’t even stick up for me. It’s your own selfish reasoning. So don’t you dare stand here and act like that and call me baby like it’s okay because it’s fucking not, David. It’s not.” David is speechless. He knows you’re right. He can’t even manage to open his mouth. “Fuck this,” you yell and storm back inside.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he yells after you. You’re grabbing your things: your book, your shoes, and you even go and grab your underwear from his bedroom floor. You wave it around so they can see it’s clearly yours since it’s not sexy enough.

“Fuck you, Jack. Literally fuck you. David sure must think I’m sexy considering he was sucking my titties just before y’all showed up. Y’all don’t know anything. Oh and fuck you, David. Call me when you grow a pair and remove your head from your ass. Seriously, go fuck yourself and lose my damn number.” With that, you’re out the front door heading to your car, ignoring the tears rolling down his face and all the agape mouths. You think you’re going to speed off, except you didn’t drive. David picked you up last night.

With all the frustration you have, you don’t even bother putting your shoes on. You take off walking as if you could ever make it to downtown to your apartment. Soon your feet are just about bleeding on the pavement, but that pain could never compare to what your heart is feeling right now. Soon, you’re weeping on the side of the road in Studio City. You’re crying so hard you just about pass out, so you sit on the sidewalk with your head in your hands. At this point, who cares what’s going on around you. Nothing could ever compare to the pain David has caused you. Cars are passing you by and no one pays you any mind. That is until the familiar white Tesla pulls up beside you. “Y/N. Please,” he says getting out of the running car. “Let me take you home, you shouldn’t be in this neighborhood alone,” he bargains. “Please.” You can’t even raise your head to look at him. You won’t give him that respect or satisfaction. He stands there waiting. No words exchanged. Thirty minutes later he lays his keys down in front of you before taking off walking back to his house, miles away. You sit there until he is out of view. You could feel his eyes on you until he finally gave up and was out of sight. You pick the keys up off the ground and get in the drivers seat. You’re off to your apartment and way fucking far away from David.

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kiheons · 6 years ago

Note

Please please please talk more about sorority girl Aquaria. I don't even know what about, but I'm so fascinated already

okay so she’s a legacy, her older sister was in Delta Rho (I’m making up a name even tho she would absolutely be a sigma kappa or pi beta phi girl I don’t wanna get sued) so she got in pretty easily. Like she barely had to try she was already in before she even sent in her rush paperwork. Alaska was president senior year so Aquaria gets dibs on a room in the house even before some other more senior members do.

Nearly all her friends are in Greek life, including her boyfriend who is in Iota Phi Alpha and Aquaria is absolutely that bitch who goes to frat parties and hangs off her boyfriend’s arm the whole time until someone gives her jello shots and now she’s making out with some girl from Beta Lambda Chi while her boyfriend cheers her on. She’s also the girl that has to be dragged off a table cause she just wants to dance stop I wanna dance lemme dance

She’s also the girl stumbling out of an uber, ass hanging out, who sits down on the sidewalk and tries to take a nap even as her friends are trying to drag her up. She cries about everything, and wakes up half the house when she gets back.

She doesn’t table because ‘she’s busy that day’ and no one questions it cause everyone is still scared of Alaska but it’s cause Aquaria can’t talk to people until she’s had at least two drinks and sitting on the grass in the middle of campus trying to talk to people is a guaranteed anxiety attack

Her org makes t-shirts for everything and half of Aquaria’s shirts crop tops because she cuts them in half. Half of Aquaria’s wardrobe is merch from her org.

It’s March so a bikini top is a bra. Unless its April then bras don’t matter and Aquaria goes out with this loose tank dress and flashes like 8 people

She’s already drunk by the time she gets to the club cause she pregamed, sweet talks the bouncer and tries to hook up with someone before her friends remind her she has a boyfriend

She then complains about her boyfriend and how he’s awful at sex for 20 minutes and then drunk texts him telling him that they’re over and her boyfriend is like “did you go out” cause Aquaria does this literally every other weekend

Going out anywhere more like forcing her friend’s boyfriends to take 8 billion pictures of them cause they look so cute together even though her instagram is half pictures of her getting lit with her friends

She sleeps through intro chem wearing sunglasses even though it’s noon on a Wednesday because she was out till 4 am last night

Aquaria fucking hates the food at the house but she won’t say anything because she knows she’ll be shit on cause she’s not paleo

She gets way too into beer pong and yells at people when they fuck up and then someone has to drag her into the kitchen so she stops ruining it for everyone else.

Halloween aka everyone expects her to be a cat except she shows up in an elaborate costume that still shows off her tits and that’s what you call real talent

Frat parties more like Aquaria trying to kiss everyone and everyone thinks it’s funny cause she’s never kissed a single dude and everyone she tries to hook up with when she’s drunk is a girl

Aquaria genuinely forgets she has a boyfriend because he’s awful and has no personality but he’s 21 and buys her alcohol so he’s okay I guess

She knows she’s a stereotype and it doesn’t bother her, it really doesn’t she’s fine with being a stereotype it’s fine

Aquaria has a good group of girls from her org that she gets along with but most of the people in her org try to cozy up to her cause she’s on track to be president senior year

She honestly does enjoy the fundraising events and Greek and Treat cause she’s not great with kids but it’s fun to dress up and give them candy

When her friends decide to go to a gay bar Aquaria is the one who actually stays sober and hisses at her friends that no Amanda you can’t fucking go on stage during a drag show that’s not how it works sit down. She also pretends like she doesn’t notice the girl who’s been eyeing her from across the room the whole night.

She goes back to the bar alone a few nights later, gets drunk, dances with some girl and actually breaks up with her boyfriend this time around

She’s on the planning committee for rush and has practically taken it over cause everyone else’s idea are stupid and offensive

The LGBTQ center next to the Greek office has interesting stuff outside on the walls and if it’s past hours and there’s no one around Aquaria will read some of it

Aquaria is straight.

#craquaria #:-)#asks #Anonymous

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coralsgrimes · 3 years ago

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I hoped them twitter icons and besties would make me famous and Benny will see so I don't have to do the elaborate plan involving bulk merch buying and me showing him ma tits??? Just wishing for Benny's version of I made that bitch famous, is that too much to ask?

But stupid boy posted cropped pic of the gang from the con and now everyone talks about that? I fucking kid ye not but they are saying that Benny cropped the pic so it would not show off Jessie's ass cause he is so possessive... Guess it's one of ma new favorite twitter things they came up with, right after the time they were tweeting about how much they wanna wear Benny's hands around their necks like a fucking necklace.

And there is some sad airport sighting I see ye muffins sending x.x

Anyways, since the BENtent (eheheheh of course its comes up like that x.c) is over cuz the con is over I got the amazing idea to go back to reblog what I think are ma best posts. Ye know since we have new audience and those deserve love too! Will probably be my best most unfunny jokes, or ma attempts at comedy one may say, and deff the Bella one cause it got people mad the first time around and I hate myself. Or ye want me to leave it be? I do feel like sharing ma comedy again cuz it was never fully appreciated and cared for ;c

Well I don’t know ;c I said it already but I am sorry if that anon and me posting it hurt ye. Truly am.

Thanks for all the other messages muffins, rn Imma not sure if some of those are sincere or ye just doing it for shit and giggles but I will go with the former so thanks <333 The news about Virgil hit too close to home for me but I’ve got some half-good news today too so I’m gonna keep going! And I have the cutest pics of my CHO that I was fully responsible for! They are viable and no mutations going on so another success...

#i do wish to be deceased #ye know what is non-viable?#bulianne x.x

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thelittlestkitsune · 7 years ago

Text

Mid-Semester; chapter three.

A/N; I just want to apologise in advance. I am so sorry. So very sorry. Enjoy! xoxo Lau

Pairing: ScottMccallxProfessor!Reader

Author: thelittlestkitsune

Warnings: none. for now.

Word count: 4,926.

Listen to me. Mid Semester Masterlist Let me know?

Just listen to me okay? Don’t question it.

WEDNESDAY.

You sat back, relaxing into your chair as you shut your laptop, picking at the pomegranate seeds in a ceramic bowl on your desk as students flooded through the doors, cheeks reddened after the trek up the stairs. You smiled, popping seed after seed into your mouth, the scuffling of feet on linoleum calming as they settled into their seats. “How is everyone?” You asked as you heard a chorus of groans, yawns and mumbles. “Oh that good huh? I guess you guys need to get a load off?” You heard chuckles from some of the more immature students in your class. You licked over your lips, folding your legs underneath yourself as you pulled at your shirt, closing away the sliver of skin you had on show; away from prying eyes. “Not like that you pervs. But kind of like that-” You paused, clearing your throat as you leant against your desk, your hands folded beneath your chin. “-I mean you guys are probably so stressed huh? What with midterms and job prospects?” You finished as almost every head drooped. “So how about we take it easy this week? I can’t be fucking bothered grading a paper, so instead we’re just going to do a discussion that okay?” You could practically feel the room vibrate with excitement, cheers whispered underneath breaths as the room sighed collectively.

“So what are we talking about this week Salt?” You heard Cat refer to your nickname, gifted to you by the class. “Well Yankee-” You smiled as you continued. “-I was being kind of figurative when I said get a load off. I was also hinting at who we’re going to savage this week.” You sighed as you lifted the bowl of pomegranate seeds, half empty due to your absent minded picking. “Um, Persephone?” Audrey piped up, her blonde hair falling in curls around her face, cheeks flushed pink as she leant forwards. “Close enough Aud One.” You joked, scanning the crowd for the other Audrey. “Where’s Aud two?” You asked as you furrowed your brow, not coming across her familiar smile. “She’s not well, she’s snowed under with a cold right now.” You frowned, leaning back. “Someone should sent her hot soup and a hot boy. No one should be ill at this time.” You shrugged, looking for someone else to pick on for an answer. “Todd. Who do you think we’ll be talking about?” You asked as he looked up, his eyes red rimmed, his face sleepy. “Um, knowing you probably Zeus.” He answered nonchalantly as you shook your head, a sheepish smile on your face.

“No fucking way.” Em muttered, her hands wrapped around her jaw as she doodled on her notebook. “Don’t fucking swear! I can talk about other things! Kinda-” You laughed as you placed the bowl back down, unaware you were still gripping at the rim. “- think of someone who is just as salty as I am and probably had the dead sea named after them.” Students seemed to pause deep in thought before Cat’s head shot up, her unusually smart shirt sticking out in comparison to the normal baseball merch she wore. “Hera. His wife and sister right?” She questioned, vaguely unsure of herself as her brows knitted low over her green eyes. “DING DING DING. Yes!! We’re talking about the Cersei and Jamie of Ancient Greece and how her spite and fury made something we are still heralding about to this day.” You licked over your lips as you pinched some seeds between your recently manicured fingers. “Okay you guys, it’s time to make like the great R&B songs of the nineties and talk about sex. Mainly about Succubi and Sirens.” You raised your brows as your lip quirked, excited chatter filling the room.

“Weren’t sirens just mermaids with a higher sex drive and a penchant for driving men mental?” Em spoke up, her british slang confusing some of the other students as you sat there, chewing over her question. “Well, yes and no, they liked to take the lives of hapless sailors that had not blessed their voyage by praying to poseidon. They also did it for the bants. But they weren’t always seen as mermaids per se, some were half chicken?” You spouted off a useless fact as some of your students broke out into laughter. You followed suit, your lungs aching as you heard comments of chicken fucker going through the air. “But what has a half chicken woman got anything to do with the succubus.” Kenzie asked, pulling her caramel blonde hair behind her ear as her nose scrunched quizzically. “THANK YOU KENZIE.” you sighed dramatically as you flung your arms in the air, not catching them before you let your hands slap back against your legs. The slap echoed through the uncharacteristically quiet room as you swore under your breath.

“Ow, fuck fuck fuck fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck-” You caught yourself, looking up at flustered smiling faces as you collected yourself. “What I was going to say was thank you for asking that. So you know myths are connected? Every myth nicked bits and bats from other countries and legends, but never cited their sources much like the most of you-” You looked at certain students, their eyes guiltily averting away from your gaze. “-and most of what is believed to be a succubus could easily be tracked back to the siren. They were often seen on land, gorgeous insta models of women.” You soothed over your stinging skin as you cleared your throat. “Basically they were the epitome of female beauty, super gorgeous women that would lure men to sleep with them. However upon actually doing the nasty she’d suck the life force from him, leaving him a husk of a man.” You sighed, your skin calming as you leaned back. “That’s kinky.” Todd laughed, looking at his friends as he covered a grin. “Not really, if you’re doing something right any man is left a husk at the end.” Maddie giggled as she high fived Kenzie, her head turning back towards you.

“Neither of you are wrong. Either way, we should get this lesson actually underway cause I have somewhere to be after class.” you laughed as Cat looked at you, a questioning look in her narrowing eyes. “Where you going?” She asked as you smiled, thinking of the evenings activities. “Well if you must ask, I’m heading to my best friends engagement party.” You looked down at your own hands, wondering when you’d get a ring like hers. “Congrats to them.” Cat spoke, her accent barely noticeable as you nodded, your lips pressed together firmly. “Yeah, congrats to them. Anyway, let’s talk about boats and hoes.”

WEDNESDAY NIGHT.

“Look I’m not saying dress like a hoe, I’m just saying you have a cracking set of tits and you should get them out!” Mal laughed as she nudged at you, her ring sparkling in the low lighting of the restaurant. You sipped at your wine, lowkey wishing it was something stronger. “She’s right you know!” Thomas spoke, his whiskey brown eyes skating over you quickly as Camile looked at him, her mouth hung open in shock. “What? I’m just saying! Remember, I only look at you that way.” He smirked as she smiled, pressing her lips to his cheek as you wished even more that you were drinking anything other than wine. Bleach? Too far. You placed your glass in front of you, looking around the table as all your friends had coupled off, arms slung over their partners, doe eyed looks on happy faces as you frowned slightly. “Cheer up buttercup. I saw the dude you’re going out with tomorrow. You won’t have that frown on your face forever.” Mal spoke cheerily as you smiled, your eyes not quite meeting hers. “Thanks!” You gripped the stem of your glass as Camile turned to you again, her lips finally leaving Thomas’. “So, what are you going to go with?” She referred back to your conversation as you shrugged. “I’m going straight from the office so I have no idea. Maybe some trousers and a shirt?”

Her head shook vigorously as she sipped at her drink, mulling over her response as she gazed off into the distance. “What about that green dress? You know the backless one? With a blazer over top for when you’re in the office?” You gulped, mouthing no as you pushed around the food on your plate. “Oh! What about the red one? The tight and short one?” Mal put forward, spooning some ramen into her mouth as the korean bbq sizzled in front of you. “It makes me look like slaggy barbie. Maybe not the best if I have a student meeting tomorrow.” you bit at your lip as you thought of Scott, quickly squashing any feelings that bubbled up. “Purple is always a nice colour?” Stuart spoke, unusual for the quiet reserved guy. “I don’t know if I have a purple dress. But I like that idea!” You smiled, giving him a small wink as he blushed behind thick rimmed glasses. “I have one you can borrow. However, if you’re going to get laid in please for the love of all that is holy; get it dry cleaned.” Camile laughed as you play slapped her arm. “Are you insinuating that I’m going to sleep with him on the first date?” Your lips quivered as you laughed. “A man like that? You drop your panties or forego them all together. If you strike out that’s on you boo boo.” She cheersed you as you smiled, uneasy butterflies swarming in your stomach as you looked forward to tomorrow. Just got to get through tonight first.

THURSDAY AFTERNOON.

The dress you wore slid up your thigh as you walked across campus, your head ducked as you tried to cover yourself up. I should’ve worn something else. You bit at your lips, dry skin pulled off as you walked, nerves bubbling up as you headed to your office. At least I have my blazer on, and flats. You mentally thanked your morning self for deciding to put on the blazer rather than the leather jacket you had planned on wearing. Coffee first. You walked through throngs of students, heading to the coffee shop for your daily fix of caffeine. Your earbuds hung around your neck, your head whirring with thoughts too loud to be drowned out even by the likes of real friends. You clutched at your bag as you ascended the steps to the coffee shop, your footing uneven as the tight dress didn’t move much with your legs. Finally when inside you glanced at your phone, noting the time and how little of it you had until Derek was picking you up.

As you ordered your phone vibrated in your hands, your poker straight hair pushed behind your ear as you smiled at your phone like an idiot.

Sourwolf: I can’t wait to see you again, pick you up at 8?

Smartass: Sounds great, I’ll text you when I’m finishing up my lesson okay? Can’t wait!

Your thoughts were briefly distracted as your fingers clicked over the keyboard on your phone, only thoughts of your impending date occupying your mind. “Y/N?” A young guy spoke as he held out a takeout coffee cup, his fingers curled around the blue cardboard. You looked up, the concentration on your face evaporating as you smiled at him, handing over the cash that you owed him. You glanced out the window, cursing quietly as clouds hung low in the sky, your mood diminishing as you scurried from the warmth of the small shop, back out into the square. Students teamed the large area as you navigated through the masses of people, almost cheering as you hit a stretch of land that was barely populated. You walked fast, wanting to get to your office as quickly as possible, almost speeding through the walkways of the crowded college. You bit at the plastic lid on your coffee as you walked, deep in thought as your heels drummed against concrete, your building coming up on the left as you banked towards it. “Hey Y/N, you look nice!” Kenzie and Maddie passed you, textbooks clamped in their arms as they headed towards their psych class.

“Thank you!” You smiled as they paused, looking as though they wanted to ask a question. “What’s up girls?” You asked, gripping your coffee a little tighter as you turned to talk to them, the sun lowering in the sky as you shivered. “We were just wondering what the mid terms are going to be like?” Kenzie looked at you with wide eyes as Maddie stiffened. “You don’t have to worry, it’s an overall paper and by both of your guys work so far; you’ll ace it.” You smiled as they both exhaled, clearly relieved. “Well hope you enjoy whatever you’re all dressed up for!” They smiled as you nodded, scurrying away through the door to your building as coffee lapped over the lip of your cup. Unlocking your office you threw your bag down, grateful you hadn’t bothered to bring your laptop. 5pm. Scott should be here soon. You had emailed him the night before, pulling the normal time forward so you wouldn’t be knackered when Derek picked you up. You slipped your shoes off, opting to pad about your office just in your stockings as you tidied away the mess.

A knock on the door came as you bent over to put away files, your dress stretched over you almost looking like a second skin as you shouted for Scott to come in. “Hey Y/N!” Scott sang cheerily, his footsteps halting as he coughed awkwardly. “Sorry did I interrupt something?” He sounded flushed as you stood up straight, your face red as you looked at him. “No? Why? Does it look like I was doing something inappropriate?” You blew your hair from your face as you realised how short your dress was, the hemline barely skirting the curve of your ass. “Oh my god Scott, I’m so sorry! I had no idea; I pretty much just completely flashed you I'm so sorry-” You gushed, turning quickly as you pulled the bodycon material further down, his eyes twinkling as a smile played on his lips. “It’s okay Y/N. You look nice.” He blushed, his smile spreading as he gave you a crooked grin. “Why thank you Scott, that’s really nice of you to say!” Your skin grew hot as his eyes trailed over your plunging neckline, shivers spreading wherever he looked. “What’s got you all dressed up? And in colour for that matter?!” He joked, a personal jab of the lack of colour in your wardrobe. “I have a date I’ll have you know!” you smiled, suddenly shy and guilty as his face dropped.

“Oh, that’s great!” He spoke despondently, crossing the room in a few bounds, his long legs carrying him swiftly across the small room. He took his normal place in the leather chair, his legs stretched out in front of him as you took him in properly, allowing yourself one indulgent moment. Baggy jeans coasted over his long legs, a leather belt strapped around his hips. Peeking over top was a band of white, stark against his caramel coloured skin, the hints of ink sprawled across hard muscle. You tore your eyes away as you travelled up his body, his chest hard as he sat up, the light grey henley he wore tight across his chest as it gaped open; his neck stiffening as you sucked your lips between your teeth. His arms flexed as he reached into his bag, your eyes almost glued to his forearms as he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up, bunching the material at his elbow. His skin almost shone as he looked at you, your eyes tearing away from him as you became flustered, your cheeks burning as you smiled.

“So who’s the lucky guy then?” Scott asked his brows knitting together as something shone behind his eyes. “Just an old friend. I’m probably reading far too much into this, he probably just wants to catch up, it’s been like a decade since we saw each other last.” You sighed, settling into your chair as you undid your blazer; the material sticking to your hot skin. “Wow.” Scott sighed, regret blazing in his eyes as he looked over you. The plunging neckline of your dress skated down your chest, the delicate eyelash lace covering your freckle dusted shoulders. “He’s a really lucky guy anyone would be lucky to go on a date with you.” He breathed as you hid your smile, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Thanks, it’s really sweet of you to say.” You let your smile break free, the simple act of happiness breaking over your face as his eyes softened. “I mean it, but that’s enough of that, how about we get on with this?” He averted his gaze from you as you nodded, breaking yourself out of the bubble you had wrapped yourself in. “So what bullshit are we breaking ground on?” He asked as you rolled your eyes. “Succubi and Sirens.” You spoke, your voice slightly hushed as he looked at you with a pointed brow.

“Succubi? We’re actually covering this?” He asked incredulously a laugh on the tip of his tongue as he ran his fingers across his chin. “Yeah, why is that hard to believe?!” you responded, confusion tinging your words. “Nah, it’s just rather random you know? You were telling me last week how you knew werewolves are real and now we’re talking about succubi and I know they’re real; it makes me wonder if vampires are lurking about somewhere in the shadows.” You laughed before his words processed, your mind reeling back to what he said. “Wait, you said succubi are real!??” You leaned forwards, your shoulders pressing your tits together as he tried to avoid looking at them. “Yeah, I knew one back in Beacon Hills. She dated my friends.” You smiled as you leaned back, an oh leaving your lips. “Friends? As in plural?” you asked as he nodded. “My best friends in fact. Derek and Stiles. She was with Derek originally and then Stiles got involved and it was all confusing cause she had no idea what she was and oh god it was a mess.”

It was almost as if your blood ran cold at the mention of Dereks name. “You alright Y/N? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Scott waved in front of your face as you zoned out, your heart beating faster as you pieced things together. Of course they know each other. Fuck. I’m going to be sick. I should cancel. I am definitely going to be sick. This was a mistake, their both werewolves for fucks sake. IT’S OBVIOUS THAT THEY KNOW EACH OTHER. Beacon Hills isn’t that big? Maybe I’m over reacting, maybe it’s a different Derek. “Hello? Earth to y/n?” Scott called as you blinked, shaking your head as you paid attention to the wolf in front of you. “Are you okay? You went really pale?” His eyes softened as he reached for your hands, his fingers pressing tentatively against your forehead.

“You’ve gone cold are you okay?” Scott spoke, his voice soft as his fingers trailed down the side of your face, his lips slightly parted as you looked at him. “Yeah, just got really nervous all of a sudden, sorry!” You smiled slowly, unsure of yourself as you pulled away from his touch. His hand paused where it was, retracting back slowly as he coughed. “You’ve no need to be nervous, you’re gonna kill it.” A half smile played on his lips as you mouthed a thank you, something itching inside your throat. “I’ll tell you what, how about a drink?” the words spilled from your lips as you tapped on the desk. “Coffee?” Scott asked, his hands gripping at the arms on the chair as you shook your head slowly. “Whiskey. I know it doesn’t affect you but it tastes good?” You licked over your lips as he nodded, twiddling a pen in his fingers. “Sounds good, seems like you need it anyway.” Your eyes widened as you stood, smoothing over the wrinkles in your dress. You tugged at the material, slowly pulling it down your legs as you crossed the room, your stockings snagging on the corner of your desk.

“Oh for fucks sake.” You studied the ladder going straight down your left leg, the thin material ripping just by standing there. “The curse strikes again!” Scott laughed, covering his smile as you threw your head back. “I’m gonna make myself a double.” You sighed, bending at the hip as you unlatched your stockings from the clips that held them up. “You want one?” You asked Scott, your question unanswered as you slowly rolled your stockings down your legs. “-Yeah, a double sounds good.” You snapped up quickly, gathering the ripped material in your hands as you balled them up. “Guess I won’t be needing these anymore.” You lined up your eyes with the bin near the door, aiming your arm as you threw them across the room. They somehow bounced off the rim of the bin as you let your arms drop to your side. “I guess I’ll never make the basketball team.” You sighed, a chuckle on your lips as you stepped forwards to pick them up, your dress riding up as you felt Scott’s eyes on you.

“You’re too short for that anyway!” he joked as you turned to him, putting your hands on your hips. “I am not! I’ll have you know that I am above the national average height!” You smiled before turning around, heading to your bar cart in the corner by your kettle. “And how tall is that?” He asked, his voice sounding closer than before as you shrugged. “I dunno, I just know I’m not that short.” You admitted, grabbing your decanter as you poured two double whiskies. “You’re short compared to me.” His breath coasted over your neck as you stiffened, his cologne filling your nose as you shook your head. “That’s because you are the size of a rather large tree.” You laughed, your skin sizzling as he reached one arm around you, gripping at the glass on your right. You shivered as his skin brushed over yours, your lips caught between your teeth. Reaching for the other glass you turned, your body almost completely pressed against his. Okay, just breathe. “To calming down.” his voice was deepened as his chocolate brown eyes bored into yours. “To calming down.” You smiled, clinking your glass against his before lifting it to your lips.

HALF AN HOUR BEFORE YOUR DATE.

“I’m just saying she’s definitely a succubus, there is no way in hell that you can look like that and not be?” Scott laughed, trying to prove his point. “You said that your friend back in Beacon Hills was a succubus out of being lonely. AT WHAT POINT IN TIME DO YOU THINK THAT GAL GADOT WAS EVER ALONE. THE WOMAN WAS FUCKING WONDER WOMAN.” You joked, your spirits lifted as you sipped on the last of your drink. “I’m just saying, the woman could get away with anything.” Scott shrugged, a cheeky smile on his face as you nodded, your eyes glancing at the clock. “You’re probably not wrong-” Your phone vibrated for the ninth time that hour as you paused, finally picking it up. “Sorry Scott, my group chat is insane right now.” You flickered through your chat with Malissa and Camile, laughing at the gifs they had sent you. Your phone vibrated again as you checked the chat, confused when a new notification didn’t pop up. Clicking back to your home screen your lips parted as you read over the texts from Derek.

Sourwolf; Hey! Sorry to drop this on you last minute but I’m actually going to be early, I got out of my meeting early and I couldn’t wait. I’ll be there around about half seven?

Sourwolf; Sorry again y/n but I just didn’t know if you got my messages! I know you’re in a meeting right now, just gonna wait in the Camaro, if you’re late then i’ll just drop by your office!

You looked back at the clock, scrambling as you read the time. Seven fourty five. “Hey Scott, we’re going to have to leave it there, my date just texted me and he says he’s picking me up from the office!” You rushed your words, panic rising in your chest as he leaned forwards grabbing his bag. “Yeah, no worries!” He smiled reaching out to grab your hand as he calmed you down. “Don’t sweat it. Enjoy your night Y/N.” His words were tinged with sadness, guilt washing over you as you remembered he knew Derek. Please don’t cross paths. You wished as Scott stood, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, the golden hour sun hitting his skin. “I’ll try!” You smiled, grabbing your heels from your bag as you slipped them on. You stood shakily, your head rushing as you smoothed over yourself, taking your hair from the ponytail you haphazardly had it in. “I’ll see you in a few weeks then!” He spoke, his hand on the handle of the door as you finger combed through your hair. “A few weeks?” You stuttered, your lips pouted as you ran a gloss over them. “Spring break? I’m heading home for a while, thought I should try and see my friends.” He smiled, his eyes drawing over you once more.

You felt shy under his examining eye, your body singing at the mere thought of him looking at you like that. “Well enjoy yourself. I’ll be heading home to Paradise for a while, maybe we’ll see each other.” You smiled as he laughed, dipping his chin to his chest. “Yeah, I’d really like that-” Your heart fluttered as you grabbed your phone and your leather jacket, a knock at the door making your heart plummet into your stomach. “Do you want me to get it?” Scott asked, pointing to the door that he stood beside as everything in you wanted to tell him to wait here whilst you left. “Sure-” You breathed, readying yourself as you grabbed your bag. “Hey man, sorry I’ll get out your way, I was just finishing a lesson with Y-” Scott gushed, finally looking up at the dark haired guy in front of him. “Derek?” He asked confused as he stepped to the side, letting Derek in the room as you stood there frozen. “Hey man, what you doing here?” Scott asked as Derek smiled, his stubble thicker than the last time you had seen him. Werewolf or not that stubble grows thick.

“I’m picking up Y/N for our date.” He smiled, his pearly white teeth flashing as he looked at you. “Beautiful as ever of course.” He looked at you appreciatively, crossing the room as he placed his hand on the curve of your back, pressing a small kiss to your cheek as you glanced at a rather broken looking Scott. You swallowed thickly, trying to suppress the feeling of your heart breaking into a trillion pieces as he pressed his lips together slowly. “So this is your date huh?” Scott plastered a fake smile on, his eyes showing how he truly felt as Derek’s hand still pressed against you. “Yeah, me and Derek go way back!” You could almost hear how thick you were laying on the happiness, a little too much to be believable. “Well I hope you guys have a great time.” He waved, chucking Derek something. Derek lunged to catch it, his fingers gripping at the silver key. “Don’t be back too late okay?” They nodded at each other as Scott gripped at the strap of his bag, biting his lip as he left the room. You felt sick as you stood there, your fingers gripping onto the leather of your jacket as you felt your stomach lurch. “You ready to go?” Derek asked as you thought of the look on Scott’s face. Maybe it isn’t one sided. “Sure, let’s go.” you smiled, the corners of your lips not quite reaching your eyes as his hand laced with yours.

You walked outside, the late California sun setting over the skyline, your eyes darting about as you looked at Derek, your stomach still unsettled as you walked to his Camaro. It wasn’t a long walk by much, but by the time you reached the black car your feet were on fire. “You hungry?” Not at all. Derek paused by the passenger door, opening it as you ducked your head, ready to climb in as you saw him. The look on Scott’s face in that moment both made your heart soar and fall into a pit. Mutual or not. I can’t be with him. I made my bed, now I have to lie in it. Your eyes fell from his as you climbed inside the car, your head slamming against the head rest as Derek rounded the car, sliding in next to you. “You okay?” He asked, smoothing over your hand as your head swam with thoughts. “Yeah, just really hungry.” You lied, the truth skirted as he revved the engine, peeling away from the college as you saw Scott in the rear view mirror, finally turning away, his head downturned. No matter how much it sucks.

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incmorata · 6 years ago

Text

"Hey Quinn, it's your moth--"

DELETE.

"Quinn, not sure if you got my last --"

DELETE.

"Quinn, please answer the phone, I really --"

DELETE.

By now, you'd think Quinn would know better. Blocking numbers, declining phone calls and deleting messages had become the norm over the last several years. Unfortunately, there was a piece of Quinn that still cared. That still longed for a mother like a child, especially a daughter, often would. For the most part she'd done a good job at ignoring her mother -- she'd gone about five year since seeing Bianca Caruso-- but she'd blame this pesky fucking holiday for the lapse in judgement.

"God damn it, Bianca." Quinn muttered to herself as she sat at a table located in the bar of the hotel she was kind of, sort of, not really staying at. The heel to her foot tapped nervously against the tiled floors, eyes glancing every few seconds to the screen of her Apple Watch to note the time:

4:32 p.m.

She's late. Three more minutes and I'm getting the fuck outta here, Quinn thinks to herself.

Impatience and anxiousness coursed through her veins, not even the glass filled with wine could calm her nerves despite being half empty. The clock strikes five minutes after thirty and Quinn is reaching down for her purse, prepared to make an exit when she could feel her mother's chaotic energy from where she was sitting. Quinn lets out a deep exhale, dropping the designer bag to the ground with a thud that sounded as exasperated as she did. She couldn't even force a smile when her mother came sauntering through the bar, navigating through all the tables and chairs to get to the one Quinn was at.

"Quinn! It's so good to see you." Quinn's entire body feels like it's made of lead, unable to move but her mother doesn't hesitate to make contact. Bending over, she wraps her eldest daughter in a strong embrace and kisses her cheeks. "Look at you, you look beautiful." She cooed, making Quinn grab her glass as soon as she was freed and downed what remained of her wine. If she thought she'd survive this meeting sober, that was the biggest joke of the year.

Waving down the waiter with a simple gesture of her hand, she ordered a refill on her beverage and a vodka martini for her mother. "That’s still your poison, right?" A brow raised at her mother, not so found memories associated with the beverage. How at the age of ten she'd become a master at making the martini for her mother and whatever guests she entertained that evening. Ice cold -- the sound of the ice moving against the steel shaker made Quinn shiver before coming back to reality."Yes, that's fine -- extra olives." Her mother responded to which the waiter nodded and left the two women alone.

The silence was defeaning, Quinn not making much of an effort to speak. Her mother wanted this meeting, then she can start the conversaton. Legs cross and she takes a moment to soak in her mother's apperance as the leather jacket falls from her shoulders. Quinn bites back a groan, not at all surprised not much as changed since the last time they saw one another. Bianca was never a regular mom -- knocked up in her peak twenties and bogged down with a kid...eventually two (her words, not Quinn's) -- she never quite grew into motherhood like most women would. The outift she wore was way below her age range as her tits and legs were on display, leaving little to the imagination. With the two women sitting across from one another, there's no denying they're related -- even despite a few differences Quinn acquired from the father she never knew or met.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me." Biana broke the silence once both drinks were placed before them, the waiter lingering on Quinn as it finally clicked in his brain who Quinn was. Out of the corner of Quinn's eyes she can see the flicker of annoyance in her mother's eyes and she's thankful that he doesn't say anything before leaving, that would've turned this meeting in a different direction faster than Quinn planned. "I didn't have much of a choice. You're quite...persistent." Quinn responded with a casual shrug of her shoulders, her voice dismissive.

Her mother simply nodded her head, taking a drink from her glass before continuing. "Well, how've you been?" Quinn's brow arched, shaking her head. "We don't need to talk about that." She responded, voice terse and wanting to get past the subject. "I heard your song on the radio, it --" And Quinn cut her off. "And we're not talking about that either." The aggravation was growing in her voice and she saw a flash of what Quinn could only assume was remorse in her mother eyes.

Quinn let out a heavy sigh, fingers raking through her dark locks of hair. "What do you want, Bianca?" Already, she was defeated by this conversation and it'd barely begun. She wanted to give her mother the benefit of the doubt but she knew there was always an alternative motive to these conversations. There was a reason why Quinn choose a location that was indoors, knowing that a hotel wouldn't allow paparazzi inside, but she wouldn't put it past her mother to sneak in a photographer to take some photos so she can make a few bucks. "Am I not allowed to see my daughter?" Her mother counted to which Quinn responded with a scoff, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, you see me. I'm alive, I'm doing fine. This has been a great reunion see you in another -- " As she spoke, her chair skid across the floors but before she could get up, her mother reached out for her hand.

"Marcella..." A sharp inhale is taken at the sound of her real name, making Quinn frigid. "...please." Her mother added, causing Quinn to scoot her chair back in but remove her hand from the other's grasp, folding them into her lap. "Eugene and I broke up..." An audible snort filled the air, Quinn shaking her head not at all surprised by the reveal. There'd been numerous men that came in and out of Bianca's life. Many of whom she dropped were the reason Quinn and her little sister, Alessandra, were dropped off on her Grandmother's doorstep to take care of. Some were wealthy, others came waltzing in with false promises to make Bianca into the star she always wanted to be and other's were simply prospects -- investments, as she liked to call them -- for her future.

"You know I wouldn't ask if I didn't really need. But after Eugene and I was talking to an agent who can --." Mid-sentence, Quinn couldn't help the "Jesus Christ..." that she let out with a groan. That caused her mother to snap. "You could be a little bit more supportive and sympathetic. I am your mother after all."

Now it was Quinn's turn to snap, her blue eyes narrowing and she couldn't help but look at Bianca like she was out of her god damn mind. "You're kidding, right? It's funny how I'm conveniently your kid whenever you need something." Quinn chuckled bitterly, shaking her head.

"After everything I sacrificed for you, putting my own dreams on hold to raise you, it's the least you can. You wouldn't be here...have all of this without me." The tension was thick and Quinn's face dropped at her mother's comments. A million thoughts popped into her head, ready to fire back with the endless list of facts that would burst a bubble in her mother's fucked up version of reality.

Everyone always worried about Quinn being young that she'd become some sort of victim when she was shoved into the spotlight. There was never a need to, her mother more than willing to hop on a casting couch -- not for Quinn's benefit but for her own. Quinn lost track of how many times her mother would show up to set in the clothes she wore the night before, sauntering behind a producer, a writer, a director or anyone without enough influence to make her into the star she always wanted to be. Quinn thought getting discovered in a Macy's department store at the age of thirteen was a dream come true when, in fact, it was the beginning of an endless nightmare. Resentment always lingered between them -- Bianca never shying away from the fact that Quinn was a mistake who robbed of her her dreams-- Quinn getting the dream that Bianca so desperately sought only put a futher wedge between them.

Before her mother could continue with her sob story and verbal outburst, Quinn started talking. "How much?" Quinn asked, voice stoic and expression blank. "How much would it cost for you to leave me the fuck alone?" The emancipation at seventeen wasn't necessary but Quinn needed some legal barrier to keep her mother out of her bank account. At the time, shew as already living full time with her grandparents when she was in Los Angeles or filming. And, really, at that point the damage had been done and it wasn't like Quinn expected her mother to recoup the money she blew through.

Legally, she was free, but it still didn't stop her mother from popping up whenever she saw Quinn get even a speckle of attention. Almost nine years later and she still feels burdened by her mother despite being a grown ass adult.

"Just...give me a number." Her tone softens, mostly because she was tired. Handing over the cash was easier than her mother opening her mouth and speaking to the press for a few bucks. Or attempting to sell off merch with her fake signature on her it.

"About, fifteen grand." Bianca nodded to which Quinn simply nodded her head. Bending down, she grabbed her purse and pulled some cash out of her wallet, leaving money on the table. "I'll have my accountants shoot the money over to you within the next week. But if I hand this money over -- don't call me anymore and leave Allie and Nana alone. Got it? Those are my guidelines." She didn't even wait for a response, pulling the strap over her shoulder but catching the nod from her mother's head out of the corner of her.

"Happy Mother's Day, Bianca." Quinn bitterly added before pulling her sunglasses back over her eyes and exiting the bar.

#(self para) quinn campano #(chat) quinn campano

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copias-thrall · 5 years ago

Text

It Was a Day Out

The misadventures of Suey and Mary on a lovely fall day. Are they still a hot mess? FIND OUT

(Part: 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7)

*breathplay*

It’s one of those rare weekdays where both you and Mary are free of your obligations. A successful gig the night before has the band taking the day off from practice, and an industry conference has the firm you’re working for offline. It’s a crisp Fall day where you can smell both the sunshine and the decaying leaves in the air, where you can almost be tricked into getting away with a t-shirt until you walk into the shade.

You knew he had a big gig, so you weren’t expecting to see him until late afternoon—if at all—so when you’d startled awake from him banging your front door open, his presence was a surprise. You’d barely even comprehended the first slam before Mary was bursting into your bedroom like people had to see it from the back row.

“It’s a beautiful fucking day and I’m here to cartoon bird you. Get up!”

You blink at him and say, “You’re a monster. I’m breaking up with you,” then bury your head under your pillow. You’re surprised when your covers are yanked off, and you yelp, grabbing after them way too late—you definitely aren’t wearing clothes.

“Oh … what do we have here?”

You try to get your pillow over you, but Mary is too fast—crawling over you and effectively pinning you down. The leather of his jacket quickly warms to your skin, but his pins and zippers bite into your skin.

Mary touches his nose to yours. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say back.

When he doesn’t move, you say, “Can I get dressed now?”

“Hmm,” he hums as he pretends to survey the situation. “I kinda like you as you are. Naked. At my mercy. Feels almost a crime not to take advantage of it.”

You wriggle. “I thought you wanted to go out.”

He grins at you. “I’m flexible.” He sits up so he can reach behind him, and you’d suddenly feel his fingers searching for your slit.

“Mary!” you yelp as you jerk under him.

When he finally slips in a finger, he finds you dry, and he makes an exaggerated gasp.

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

He gives a vulgar thrust of his hips and says, “I know what gets you wet,” before kneeing up your body until his crotch is in your face. “Take me out.”

You fumble with his belt and zipper before slipping your hand into the slit of his boxers. Mary’s cock is half hard—hot to the touch—and he moans as you wrap your hand around him. By the time you get him out of his pants, he’s almost fully erect. You give him a few loose strokes, and his head rolls back before he says, “Suck me.”

Though the angle is awkward, you suck him into your mouth, twirling your tongue around the tip while simultaneously stroking his shaft.

“Yeah. Just like that.”

You flick your eyes up to him; his eyes are glazed eyes and he’s biting his bottom lip.

“Oh, fuck—I love it when you look at me.”

You continue to suck him as best you can—casting your eyes up at him whenever you remember—as Mary rocks his hips in time. When you press your tongue into his sweet spot, he groans, then leans forward to settle his arms on either side of you. He starts fucking into your mouth, and you let your hand fall away, hooking your lips over your teeth and pressing the flat of your tongue into the underside of his cock. He grunts in approval as he takes his pleasure from your mouth.

When you feel his dick throb, he slows, then stops.

“Fuck,” he pants. “I can’t decide if I’d rather cum down your throat or in your cunt.”

He slowly rocks into your mouth, letting out little Mmms as he rubs against your tongue. You take a deep breath and hum around him, causing Mary to moan hard. He growls and starts fucking your mouth faster.

“You want me to fuck your face then? Shove my cock down your throat? Be careful what you wish for, little girl.”

You hum again, and he just grunts as he tries to stick his dick as far into you as possible. Repeatedly. When his hips start to stutter, you dig your teeth-wrapped lips into him harder. He gives a choked off cry—and you briefly taste the salt of his cum—before he pulls out to shoot the rest on your tits, eyes fixed and tongue peeking out. Once he slows, you curl forward—mouth open—and he rubs his cockhead over your lips and tongue as he softens.

Finished, he rolls off you, reaching for the travel pack of tissues you used to carry around in your purse before it seemed to find permanent residence on your night table. He pulls out a few to hand to you, then tucks himself back into his jeans.

As you wipe at yourself, you say archly, “I thought the point was to cum down my throat?”

May turns on his side, propping himself up on his one arm as the other reaches out to thumb at a nipple.

“Most girls really appreciate it when their boyfriends give them a pearl necklace.”

You just narrow your eyes at him before shoving the wadded tissues into his face. He lets out an Ack as he hastens to grab them away. While he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to swing your leg over his hips to straddle him. His gaze meets yours, and you ruck up his shirt so that you can smear your slick on his concave stomach—having his cock in your mouth has made you soft and wet.

“Shall I make a mess of you now?”

When he just blinks at you, you work your way up his torso, carefully maneuvering around the sharp points of his pins.

“I’m going to grease your chin.”

As you press the folds of your cunt to his mouth, Mary’s arms come up behind you to push you into him. His eyes immediately close as he parts his own lips to worm his tongue into yours. You ride his face, grinding down when you want more pressure and rocking against him when you want more movement—the whisper of slight stubble scratching against your sensitive skin. The closer you get, the faster you rock, and the more your thighs begin to tremble at the strain.

Without warning, Mary throws you off—but then he’s right there again, grabbing your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. His mouth suctions back onto you, his tongue lapping at your now-throbbing clit, as he inserts two fingers into you.

You relax into the bed and moan out loudly at the dual sensation—and that’s before he starts tapping at your G-spot. You let Mary take over, losing yourself in the pleasure while noisily conveying your approval. Soon you’re close—clutching at your sheets like a lifeline—and Mary speeds up his ministrations. Your climax builds up slow and sweet—and you know you're going to get there even as you tense, back locking and breath catching.

Mary feels your tells, and he starts flicking at your engorged nub in a quickened pace. When you cum—sparks bursting behind your eyes—you clamp your thighs on his head and buck up, Mary doing his best to follow.

Coming down, you let your limbs sprawl out and open, half expecting Mary to use the opportunity to fuck you. (You hope he’ll let you take a nap while he does.) But he just wipes off his lips and chin with the inside of his collar, smearing his already-ruined white face further. He crawls over you again, blanketing you with his body, and sighs.

“I could probably fuck you right now. If you wanted.”

“Nap.”

“K.”

You grope for an edge of a sheet or blanket, but—in the end—Mary’s the one to throw the covers over you both. When you awaken 30min later, it’s because one arm is half asleep and there are dull aches where Mary’s sharp edges had been pressing into you. You push at him with your feet, and when Mary just grumbles, you kick harder.

“Jesus, what? I thought you wanted to sleep.”

You squirm. “Uncomfortable.”

“Pain in my fucking ass,” he mumbles, but instead of just rolling off you, he keeps going, yanking the covers off in such a way that you’re suddenly a mass of limbs on the floor.

As you sputter, he just laughs and says, “Oh good! You’re up!”

You clamber to your feet trying not to stumble in your sheets, and Mary breezes past, slapping you on the ass.

"C’mon, baby doll—let’s go get some vitamin D.”

“Didn’t you just give me that, Mare?”

He looks at you over his shoulder. “You’re stealing my jokes, and I don’t appreciate it.”

You end up pulling on one of his XL graphic tees—off the hook in your bathroom—and a pair of electric-blue fleece tights. At Mary’s grumbling, you yank on your thigh-length, lace leggings over them.

The two of you playfully fight for mirror space as you put on your Day Face and Mary does his best to repair his. Despite him chomping at the bit like an overeager puppy to get out the door, he still finds time to sidle up behind you to squeeze your curves through the t-shirt. (“What? I just wanted to see if you felt as good as you looked.”)

You try not to feel like a Rock Star as you walk down the street—you in your worn, retro-jacket you found in dollar-a-pound & cat sunglasses, Mary in his leather jacket and various studded belts—but for better or worse, you’re getting a lot of attention.

Or maybe that’s because Mary is kind of a rock star.

Whatever.

You’re cute as fuck.

Mary mostly wants to trawl the record stores and argue with pawnbrokers over the price of guitars—which he definitely needed to wake your ass up at the crack of before noon to do—but you still find plenty of merch to engage with.

At one pawn shop you trill out a bastardized version of Toccata and Fugue in D Minor on a keyboard, jumping 5ft in the air when Mary appears from nowhere.

“You play?”

You yank your hands away from the instrument.

“No,” is your knee-jerk response, but then you lightly run your hand over the keys. “I mean, not anymore.” You flick the power switch off.

You make your way out of the shop, and you can feel Mary’s restrained interest. You sigh heavily.

“I didn’t say anything!” he says, hands up placatingly.

“You were thinking it really loudly, though.”

He shrugs, and the two of you walk in silence for a beat before you run your arm through his.

“Suzuki Method. It was supposed to help my language skills. Enjoying it was an unexpected consequence.”

Mary angles his head to squint at you.

“Consequence?”

“When my father was in a mood, he’d pry the black keys off. I got very good with wood glue.” You pause. “Apparently they destroyed it. At least, they sent me a box filled with broken keys.”

Mary stops walking, causing you to jolt to a stop as well.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Yep,” you shrug. “They'd rather destroy something than give it away.”

You slip your arm free so you can continue on down the sidewalk, and Mary follows until you’re both walking side by side again. When you don’t continue speaking, he looks at you for a moment.

“So you know Mum raised me.”

“Yeah,” you say as you take his hand and run your thumb over the ring of hers he wears. He interlocks your fingers before mashing both your hands into his pocket.

“Don’t know much about dad, though. I barely remember him. He has a string of families, apparently. I’ve got all these half siblings strewn about the country. But they don’t seem real, you know? Just names and addresses scrawled across index cards and on the back or receipts. I guess I could reach out. But.”

He lets the thought hang.

“You don’t have to explain to me, Mare.”

“Thanks.”

The two of you walk another block before Mary pulls you into a store that’s half comics, half records. You make to tell him that you’ll be by the graphic novels, but he’s already making a beeline toward his intended goal and waving you off.

You’re just finishing browsing the rickety wireframe housing the zines, when you hear Mary exclaim, “Hey, dude! It’s been forever!”

“Mary, my dude.” Comes another voice. “I just got back! Awesome show last night, by the way! But where’d you run off to? The guys were frustratingly unhelpful.”

You meander around the corner just in time to see Mary embrace and back slap a blonde-haired dude in the standard uniform of skinny jeans and leather jacket. Mary leans back a little.

“Believe it or not I’m not this beautimous on my own. Gotta get my vitamin Zzz.”

The guy narrows his eyes and lets go, wrinkling his nose.

“Sleep, huh? Is that why you smell like pussy?”

You sidle over.

“He smells like pussy because I sat on his face this morning,” you say with a sly smile.

The guy scrunches his face at you as Mary jerks in surprise to find you right there.

“You letting the groupies follow you home now, Goore?”

You tense as your face flushes.

Mary quickly slings his arm around your shoulders, holding you in place. “This is my girlfriend,” he says lowly.

“No shit,” the guy says. His face contorts through a journey you can’t interpret. His eyes flick back to Mary. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really,” says Mary.

The guy scrutinizes you closer, and you’re suddenly feeling less like a rock star and more like a conquest in last night’s clothes; you shift uneasily.

“You gotta problem, Aaron?” says Mary.

“Just … since when do you have a fucking girlfriend?”

You say Three months just as Mary says, “You haven’t been around in a while.”

Mary turns to you. “I thought it was four?”

“Since that night in August?”

“I was counting that night at Sixes & Sevens in June.”

“Where?”

“Mickey’s place.”

You scrunch your nose at him.

“You want to count that?”

“Why not?”

You can’t think of a rebuttal, so you raise your hands.

“You know what? I just remembered I don’t care.” You give him jazz hands. “Four months it is”

“You’re a bitch.”

You beam at him. “Thanks!”

“No distractions, huh,” mumbles Aaron.

Remember Aaron?

The two of you turn back to him. He’s hunched into himself a little, hands crammed into his pockets.

“Suey isn’t a distraction,” says Mary.

Aaron gives you an exaggerated once over.

“Yeah, I can see that.

Heat quickens in your veins, and you slip in front of Mary to stand arms akimbo.

“Ok, that’s enough. I think it’s time for you to drive through.”

“Suey,” sighs Mary as Aaron half laughs, half snorts.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll do something you won’t like.”

He does laugh then.

“I’d listen to her,” rumbles Mary, even as you feel his hands come to rest on your arms.

“Yeah? I’d like to see you try.”

You feel Mary clamp down on your arms, but you don’t need mobility to hock your saliva and spit it in Aaron’s face. He freezes in shock as Mary hisses, Jesus Christ, Suey. Aaron wipes his face and looks at you disbelievingly. You stare hard at him with your eyes. Then he just starts laughing—it’s not a kind laugh.

“Oh my god, Mary. You’re dating yourself.”

“Fuck off already” you say.

“Wow dude, good luck that. She’s a feral little thing, isn’t she?”

“You were being a massive dick,” says Mary.

“See you around, Goore,” says Aaron as he stalks out of the store.

Mary’s eyes follow him—and your gut clenches for a second when you think Mary might leave you and run after him—but he makes no movement towards the door. He does look down at you, frowning.

“You’re a fucking menace, you know that? Try not to piss off all my friends, ok?”

You shrug. “Are you mad?”

He rubs your arms. “It’s not like I wasn’t five seconds away from doing something if he insulted you one more time. But Christ, Suey. You’re gonna get stabbed one day.”

“Whatever.”

“C’mon,” he says as he puts his arm around your shoulders again.

The two of you leave—whatever Mary came in for long forgotten—and amble down the sidewalk in the early-afternoon sun.

“Was it serious?” you ask after a while.

Mary stops. “Get sliced with a broken bottle? No, just a few stitches.”

“Wait—what?!”

“What?”

“I was talking about Aaron, but can we rewind to you getting stabbed with broken glass?!”

Mary shrugs. “Typical drunk meathead saying some shit. Turned a fist fight into a shitshow.”

He pulls up his shirt and points to the raised crescent above his hip, the one you often trace with your tongue. You trace it now with your finger before he lowers his shirt again.

“Jesus, Mary.” You wrap your arms around him. “Don’t go getting stupid like that again, ok?”

He returns your embrace, huffing out a laugh. “I won’t if you won’t, champ.”

“Yeah yeah, fine. Ok.” You slip out of his arms and jab a finger at him. “But you’re changing the subject.”

“Aaron?”

“Yes.”

Mary presses the heel of his hands into his eye sockets. He removes his hands, sees the black on them, rubs them on his jeans, and tips his head back to look up at the sky.

“I like Aaron. He’s a good dude.”

“Ok. But?”

His head tips down.

“He hasn’t been around because he’s been following another band. That’s what he does. He gloms onto bands. We all had some good times with him … but for him it’s all about status. He fixated on me the second he realized I write the songs.”

“You rebuffed him.”

“Well …”

“Oh no …”

Mary shrugs. “He was a good time.”

“Mary, you cad!”

Mary scowls at you.

“Can we just fucking drop it?”

“Oh shit—he’s not going to sue you for palimony or anything is he?”

“I said fucking stop.”

“Yeah, ok,” you say as you give his arm a kiss.

The two of you continue on, content to fog up display glasses while window shopping and playing “what if” until Mary feels you hesitate in front of an ice cream shoppe.

“You want?”

You give him a careful shrug.

“Maybe.”

He considers you, before sighing.

“All right, c’mon … but take your lactaid this time—you’re a bitch to deal with when it goes right through you.”

“Don’t be gross.”

“I won’t be gross if you won’t be gross first.”

He orders you both cones. When you see him scrounging for change in his pockets, you try to pay, but he just elbows away.

“I can buy you an ice cream cone.”

You lean into him. “Of course you can, Mare bear—I was just trying to be efficient.” You stick a hand in his back pocket and squeeze his ass. “I can help search too.”

He makes a tetch noise at you and waves you outside. You lightly bite his bicep before trouncing out of the store and finding a bench in the park across the street. In the direct sunlight it’s quite warm, and you shrug out of your coat as you sprawl over the bench. You imagine that you’re a lizard, soaking up the heat to store for later.

You must doze off a little, because suddenly Mary is beside and jostling you.

“Fuck. Take your ice cream before it melts down my hand.”

You sit up and grab the melting item from him. When you give his sticky fingers a lap, he gives you an exasperated look.

“Tease.”

You shrug. “Just helping.”

“Mmm.”

The two of you eat your cones while arguing about the subjectivity of art and authorial intent vs death of the author as applied to all creators.

“Ok,” you say, “but—can’t you agree that once you put art there in the world it’s subject to the observer effect? Once your audience consumes it, it intrinsically changes?”

Mary huffs. “That’s all well and good for fine art and Hawthorne—but as a songwriter—I have to say my meaning is my meaning. My subtext is my subtext. I’m loath to think someone out there could be interpreting my lyrics about dismantling the construct of social norms to actually be a call to maintain them!”

“You don’t think Hawthorne would be just as distressed to find his symbolism about morality within the human psyche misinterpreted as misogynistic theory? But he can’t stop it once it’s out there. The creator basically creates a Schrödinger's cat of intention! Until their audience consumes it, the art is both what the creator intended and what the audience interprets. I’d absolutely say the same as lyrical intention!”

Mary scoffs. He’s gearing up for a rebuttal when he falters, his attention suddenly elsewhere. He turns his head, and you follow his line of sight: there’s a little boy, standing not too far from your park bench, alone and wide-eyed. As you push your sunglasses onto your head, Mary slips off the bench and squats by the boy.

“Well. Hello, little man. I’m Mary.”

He holds out his hand, but the boy just stares at him.

“Where’s your mommy?”

The little boy looks around, lip trembling.

“Hey, it’s cool. We’ll find her. What’s your name, dude?”

“Jake,” says the small voice.

“Nice to meet you, Jake.”

Jake points at Mary’s face.

“You’re Halloween,” he says.

“That’s right,” says Mary. “I like to play make believe. Do you like to play make believe?”

Jake’s eyes brighten and he nod vigorously. Mary nods with him.

“That’s so cool, Jake. Do you want to play ‘investigators’?”

Jake nods.

“Awesome. Now, where was the last place you saw your mom? Take a good look around, ok?”

The boy’s head swivels as he looks around the park. He considers before pointing toward the joggers area.

“Ok, Jake. Let’s go investigate, all right? Hold my hand, ok?”

You shift. “Should I…?”

“I’ll be right back, Suey.”

Jake focuses his eyes on you, then flick back up to Mary, questioning.

“That’s my girlfriend.”

“Ew,” says Jake.

You make an exaggerated face as Mary chuckles.

“Yeah, she’s pretty gross. But,” he says in a stage whisper, “don’t tell her I said that.”

Jake shakes his head, and the two of them take off across the grass, hand in hand. Halfway there a woman in bright workout gear comes sprinting across the gap. You watch, frowning, as the woman points and yells at Mary, grabbing her son to her and shielding him. Mary puts his hands up and backs away, even as the woman jabs at the air between them. The woman hurries herself and Jake away. When Jake turns around to wave, Mary waves back, but it’s cut short when his mom wrenches his hand down and ushers him out of the park and away. You watch as Mary stands there for a few more seconds, before he turns and starts his way back to you.

When he gets back to the bench, you reach for his hand.

“Mare—”

“Let’s just go,” he says as he grabs up his jacket from the bench.

You scramble after him. He has his hands shoved into his pockets, and you don’t try to thread your arm through his. You follow him out of the park, hurrying to keep up as he strides down the sidewalk. After a while you say,

“You’re good with kids.”

He spins around on you.

“And that’s such a fucking surprise is it? Scary Mary Goore isn’t a total dick?”

“N-no … I just—”

“Wearing makeup and being in a band means I can’t like kids?”

“I didn’t—it just that not being good with kids myself—”

“Yeah, well. You’re a little self-absorbed.”

You stop walking. “Wow. Ok.”

Mary looks over his shoulder. “See? Here’s where you make this all about yourself.”

You know he’s not angry with you. You know. But you still can’t stop yourself from digging a 5 dollar bill out of your pocket and throwing it at him.

“For the fucking ice cream.”

You turn and try not to stomp away. If he wants to be in a snit, that’s on him. You don’t need to subject yourself to it. And you don’t need to be beholden to him in any way. Mary and his fucking moods.

You’re about a block away when Mary’s voice next to you startles you out of your funk.

“Don’t fucking throw money at me.”

Mary crowds into your space and tries to press the $5 back into your hand, even as you pull away.

“No. I don’t want to owe you anything.

Mary catches your arm. “Why would you owe me anything.”

You shake free and snarl, “Tell me I’m wrong, then! Tell me some part of you wasn’t thinking how dare I be such a bitch and after you bought me ice cream too. Look me in the face and tell me that!”

Mary falters. It’s just for a second. Just a second, but it’s enough. You jab at him again.

“That woman was a bitch—and I hate it for you—but I’m not your fucking punching bag, Mary. I’ll walk away every time.”

Mary seems to crumple in on himself. You exhale and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Mare. But I won’t take your bullshit. Now, c’mere.”

You hold out your arms—Mary looking at you as if this might be some trick—but then he hunches over and lets you enfold him in your arms. You rock him a little, the way he tries to do to you.

“You suck at this shit.”

“I know.” You rock him a bit more before stopping. “I’m sorry I threw money at you. I know you’re not mad at me.”

You curl your hand into his to take it back, but he yanks it away from you,

“Nuh-uh,” he says as he moves away and crosses his arms. “I’m keeping this as ‘asshole tax’ as you like to say.”

You gape at him as he tries hard not to crack a smile.

“Whatever. Let’s go back to my place. It’s getting chilly and I’m hungry.”

“You just had ice cream.”

“That’s a completely different stomach.”

“That sounds legit for sure.”

You thrust out your hand, and he’s quick to take it, stuffing both yours and his back into his pocket.

After walking in silence for a while you say, “Children scare me.”

Mary glances over at you. “Scare you?”

“Yeah. They’re just so. Impressionable. And fragile. And they’re like little psychopaths you have to be nice to.”

“I think they’re fun. They give zero fucks about what they say—sometimes it’s weird-ass shit and other times it’s like they cut right through the bullshit. They love getting dirty and the world hasn’t crushed their sense of whimsy yet. I’ll take playing in the creek with them over a band meeting any day.”

“That’s so on brand Mary. I bet you caught frogs as a tot, didn’t you?”

He gives you a mock glare. “You don’t know my life.”

“I bet you can’t—” You cut yourself off before you can finish with wait to play with your own.

“I can’t what?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what?”

“Nothing.”

Mary stops. “Well, now I know it’s something.”

Your hand slips out of his grasp, and you wrap your arms around yourself.

“I—you just. I didn’t think about you thinking about kids.”

He squints at you. “Thinking about kids?”

You make a curt gesture. “Having them.”

The two of you stare at each other.

“Because you …” Mary starts.

“Because I?”

“… want them?”

“Do you?”

“I asked you first.”

“I implied it first.”

Mary’s eyes are boring into yours, and your heart is beating in your ears.

“Fuck,” he says. “I don’t wanna break up.” He takes your hands in his.

“Should we not say?”

“No, we gotta.”

You realize that you’re trembling.

“Shit, Mare.”

Mary pulls you into him.

“Ok, fuck. I’ll say it.” He takes a deep breath. “Never. I never want kids.”

Wait.

You must not have heard him right.

You pull away from him, furrowing your eyebrows.. “You … never want children?”

Mary’s face contorts. “I’m so sorry—”

You slap his chest and burst into relieved laughter.

“Oh thank god.”

He’s just looking at you blankly.

“Oh my god, Mare. That whole speech? I thought you wanted kids!”

“You don’t…?

“Jesus, no. I can barely take care of myself.”

“But one day …”

You just shake your head. “Everything’s hard and exhausting all the time. If it ever gets better, I don’t want to dive back in.”

Mary just shakes his head.

“Fuck. I miss smoking sometimes. Let’s go.”

“What about you?” you ask as you thread your arm through his.

He shrugs. “I’ll be the cool uncle til the cows come home, but I’m fucking selfish. I want to see the world, and sleep in on my days off, and fuck when I want to.

“A lot of people do all those things.”

“A lot of those people have means.”

You’re on your couch, still in Mary’s oversized shirt and a pair of boy shorts, laying on your stomach as you flip through one of those books that’s supposed to make you a better person. Your crossed calves rest in Mary’s lap (he’s similarly in his t-shirt and boxer briefs), and one of his hands long ago snuck up under your shorts and now rests cupping your one ass cheek. He flips through your cable and complains that there’s nothing on.

“Seriously, though. Why do you even have cable? I’m the only one who watches it.”

You put your finger in the book to mark your place as you look over your shoulder.

“Because it’s cheaper.”

He squints at you.

“Having cable is cheaper?”

You roll over. His hand just glides to your thigh.

“Having cable is cheaper with high-speed internet—which I need in order to work from home—than having basic cable.”

“Really?”

“Yep. It’s good for you and your WWE addition, though.”

“Hmm.”

His hand kneads at your thigh, but his gaze is far away.

“What?”

He gives you a measured look.

“Ok. Look. I don’t actually know what it is you do.”

“You … don’t?”

“In my defense every time I bring it up, you just make a snoring noise and change the subject.”

“Well it is.”

He gives you a playful shake.

“OH MY GOD JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU DO.”

Laughing, you push him away, but set your book on the coffee table so you can climb into his lap.

Mary settles his hands on your hips as he looks up at you.

“If you think you can distract me with sex—you’re right.”

You wind your arms around his neck even as his hands, warm and guitar calloused, slip under your shirt and up your sides.

“You’re going to be sorry you asked.”

“Asked what?” says Mary as his hands cup your breasts, his eyes now trained on the movement under the shirt.

You lean forward to kiss at his jaw, then the hinge, and then to press your lips to his tragus, tonguing at his piercing.

“I’m a contract paralegal,” you whisper seductively into his ear.

Mary stills, his hands receding.

“You … what?”

You shift back up.

“Yeah. It’s not exciting or glamorous.”

Mary’s brows furrow.

“Or very punk rock at all.”

“I’ve got a lot of debt. And you eat a lot.”

“What debt?”

You sigh and rest your head into his shoulder.

“Look, can we move on? You asked what I do, and now you know.”

His hands run up and down you again.

“K.”

You lean forward to kiss him, and he accepts you readily. His hands slide under your clothes—one under the shirt, the other under the shorts. Mouth sliding across your cheek, he sucks at your neck, and you slip your hands into his hair. His teeth scrape down your neck and bare down at the juncture where it meets your shoulder.

“What about after?” he murmurs into your shoulder

“Mmm, I expect you to fuck me into oblivion. No need for after.”

Mary pulls his head back, even as his fingers knead and trail across your sensitive skin.

“No, after your debt. You can’t want this—” he jerks his head at your apartment, “forever.”

Sighing, you slide your hands down and around his neck before leaning back.

“I don’t know, Mare. Of course I want something better—but I have no idea what that looks like. Like, am I going to turn 30 and suddenly want a big house in the suburbs? Am I going to decide to move to Tibet and live in a yurt? Owning my own place sounds nice—no sketchy slumlord. Another bedroom perhaps? A place for a meat fridge? Those are my dreams. But, a lot can change in 5 years. I could ask the same of you. You live with 4 other guys in a 2 bedroom and take turns on the couch. Mickey pays you in slightly better than minimum wage and trade.”

Mary leans back into the couch, taking his hands with him.

“Christ, I hope in 2 years I don’t wanna live in a yurt. But a house, yeah. Someplace nice for me and … whoever.” His one hand lands on your thigh. “I’m gonna have my name up in lights, Suey. And then I’ll buy you all the groceries—and enough meat to fill your locker.”

Mary’s eyes are round and bright. You wiggle on his lap.

“Your meat can fill my locker right now.”

His hand grips your thigh hard.

“You’re the literal worst.”

“What?” you pout. “I’m just saying if you wanted to make me happy now … no stardom needed! Just that thick cock of yours.”

“Temptress,” he says, but he’s rolling his hips up into you, his bulge forming.

The two of you grind into each other for a bit, kissing hard. The boy shorts are beginning to stick to you, and you contort yourself trying to peel them off, Mary’s hands appearing to help you out of them. Once you’re free, your hand dives into the slit in Mary’s boxers, and he moans as you squeeze his dick. You pull it free, before hastily sinking down onto it.

“Shit,” gasps Mary, his head thrown back and his eyes shut.

You put your hands on his shoulders for leverage and squirm around until his cock is hitting your sweet spot. You don’t so much bounce on his cock as you swivel your hips and grind down into his pubic curls. Mary’s hands find your hips so he can guide you up and down on him. On every down stroke you feel that burst of pleasure as his cockhead hits your G-spot, and you whine.

“Oh fuck, Suey. Yeah, use my cock. Cum on me.”

“Shut up and I fucking will.”

Even as you grind down harder into him, your hand shoots out to cover his mouth. Mary’s eyes widen before rolling back, and you lick your lips. You maneuver your hand so that your palm is pressed against his mouth and then you squeeze his nose shut with his fingers. His hands drop away from you, and his thrusts—already shallow—recede to small twitches. You speed up, trying to lift up as much as you can without popping off before slamming back down into his lap, his thighs wet with your slick.

When Mary starts to flail, you let up just enough for him to gasp in a breath or two before you clamp down again. Fucking him quickly becomes more about watching him thrash and jerk under you than getting off yourself—though the ember of your arousal is there, simmering.

It’s only once your thigh muscles start to protest that you urge Mary toward his final climax, clenching around him as you keep the seal of your hand tight. He started sweating a while ago, and his face has turned red at the strain. His hands start scrabbling at your waist, but he doesn’t tap out. You clench again, and he suddenly arches off the couch.

You remove your hand in time for him to suck in a lungful of air, only to start screaming it out again, his grip on your waist forcing you down as his hips thrust up hard. As he’s emptying into you, lost in his climax, you bring your hand down to swipe at your clit, letting the excitement of his orgasm usher in your own. It’s a soft thing—more of a gentle wave to shore than the crash of a tidal—but you still spasm hard enough that Mary whines at the sudden clench around his sensitive and softening cock, and he jerks under you.

On shaky legs, you roll off him to the side, and his hands fly down to cup his dick. As his chest continues to heave, you look about for your underpants, balling them up and pressing them to your cunt so his cum doesn’t leak on the couch. His arm reaches out, his hand fumbling artlessly to pet at you.

“Oh fuck,” he says. He turns his sweaty head to cast hooded eyes at you.

Grinning at him, you pat at his thigh before extracting yourself from the couch. You teeter dangerously on your exerted muscles, and Mary shoots out a hand to steady you.

“Do you want to join me in the shower,” you ask, “or …?”

“Yeah, ok. But I’ll have to leave soon. Mickey wants me to open.”

He shifts off the couch into a stretch, his soft cock still out and bouncing a little. You reach your hand down to cover it and he flinches away.

“Sensitive.”

“Sorry, Mare bear,” you say around a smile.

“Mmm.”

The two of you make your way the five or so steps to your bathroom.

“Are you going to be by later?”

Mary is stripping out of his clothes as you fiddle with the shower.

“No—and probably not all weekend either. Band stuff. We wanna talk about how to piggyback off this gig.” He reaches out a hand to thumb at your cheek. “Is that ok?”

You roll your eyes and remove his hand.

“Jesus, Mary. I think I’ll survive.”

He grasps your jaw.

“You could miss me a little.”

You slide off the tub onto your knees and clutch at his leg.

“OH MY GOD, MARY. DON’T LEAVE ME.”

“Ok. All right.”

You nuzzle into his shapely thigh.

“What will I ever do without you?!”

“Ok, enough.”

Your press your face into him.

“How will I ever survive this separation?”

He starts to shake his leg to try and dislodge you.

“You think you’re funny, but you’re really not.”

You clutch harder.

“I’M NOT FUNNY I’M HEARTBROKEN AT THE LOSS OF MY BELOVED.”

“I will twist your nipples. Try me.”

“Maaaarrrryyyy …”

He suddenly bends over—hands aiming for your tits—and you jerk away shrieking, “Fucking don’t!”

He’s making clamping motions with his thumbs and forefingers as he continues to lunge at you.

“I will murder your face!” you scream as you scramble away from him.

Mary just grins wickedly at you. You escape into the shower, and he follows, crowding into you and giving you a few hard pinches on your bottom. Even as you slap at him, he clutches you to his wet chest and rubs himself over your tits.

“Let me soap these up and I’ll show you round 2 of what you’ll miss.”

You blink up at him as the shower spray coats both your lashes in a mist of droplets, and you run your hands down his back to grab at his bubble butt.

“I don’t want to miss you.”

Mary is silent for a while.

“It’s ok if you do. I won’t tell anyone.”

You squeeze his ass.

“Fine then. It’s possible I might miss your stupid face.”

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#mary goore #ofc #feral cats fic #gutter punk #gritty girls #my writing

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