#i'm laughing my butt off because she is INDIGNANT

[timeguardians]

"I'm going to tie you up if you keep getting in my way!" Doyle growls as he tries to shove past the obnoxious woman who has been dogging his steps at every turn on this mission. No matter which way he goes, he keeps tripping over Qi'ra, and he has about had it with her. If this keeps up, she is going to get one of them killed. --Qi'ra from Doyle/VictimoftheRottenApples

Find your opponents WEAKNESSES and USE it.

The advice is what kept her alive on the cruel and often perilous streets. Even more importantly, it helped the penniless orphan to rise into the ranks of a War-Lord named Dry.den V.o.s. A war-lord who was bound to be PISSED at the failure to complete this ASSASSINATION attempt on a hand-selected TARGET.

A voice SNAPS the thick tension as if it were a twig. Ever-darkening eyes flash upwards with no little DISDAIN.

HIM?!!! AGAIN?!!! Just the mere sight of the IRKSOME soldier NEEDLES under Qi'ra skin like a trillion knife-edged splinters. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!!!" She snarls. Fingers TENSE, curling upwards into the form of a FIST. She is sorely tempted to land a few strikes, but finds herself hesitating.

"I'm going to tie you up if you keep getting in my way!"

His threat engenders no genuine KINSHIP. "Lay a hand on me, and I will break your arm and feed it to you INCH by INCH." The hired enforcer rumbles.

"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST STAY-- OUT---- OF MY WAY??!!!!" Qi'ra vehemently grits beneath her breath. "THIS IS THE TWELFTH TIME YOU'VE INTERFERED!!!" She knows it has been twelve, because for every failure Dry.den punished her thoroughly. She is in NO MOOD to endure yet ANOTHER at the hands of her ill-tempered boss.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Qi'ra simmers, her voice dropping terrifyingly low. Better than making her life a LIVING HELL.

Those same tensed fingers FINALLY snap outwards to coil around Doyle's arm when he tries to BRUSH passed her. "Where do you think you're going, now that you've RUINED my shot?" She forcefully attempts to reel him around to face her, eye to eye. Cold and glowering indignantly, she DARES him to give her an excuse to not haul his BUTT before Dry.den.

[ddejavvu]

Touchy Eddie with f reader who is not used to being touched/hugged and gradually begins to discover that she likes Eddie's touch and cuddling with him

Ofc Eddie is so patient with her

thank you for your request :) a note: eddie picks reader up in this one!

--

You have no warning. Not even the thud of Eddie's sneakers on the dirt behind you, because damn him, he's sneaky. All you feel are arms around your waist, strong and firm, then your feet are off the ground and you're hauled back into someone's chest.

"Boo," Eddie's voice is startling against your ear, low and dramatically raspy as he hoists you off the ground. Your indignant squeal only seems to fuel his amusement, and he twirls you around once before letting you plop back onto the foliage-covered walkway to his trailer.

"I was gettin' something from the van," He explains his absence in the trailer you'd just knocked on, "'Left my jacket in there after last night's show."

"Oh," You supply lamely, standing stiff where he'd dropped you, "Okay."

He's already halfway to his trailer door when you speak, but he stills and turns to you with a confused smile. One of his brows is quirked upwards, his teeth glinting in the pale sunlight that streams through the clouds above.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" You insist, your cheeks burning terribly. You're sure that he picks up on the bouncing of your leg against the ground below you, "I'm just tired."

"Well come on," He urges, stepping back towards you to grab your hand and tug you to his door, "We can nap inside."

You follow him silently, your hand stiff in his grasp. He pulls you through the door without inquiring, though, so you think you're safe.

You're not.

The moment the door closes behind you, he pounces.

"So," He flings his jacket onto the couch inside, yanking you closer to him by your intertwined hands and setting his free hand on your waist, "What's really wrong?"

He's inches from your face, his eyes flitting back and forth between your own, his teeth grating his bottom lip.

"Nothing," Your voice wobbles, a fire searing your cheeks, "Nothing's wrong."

"Liar." He accuses, though it's not angrily so. He drags you to the couch, plopping down right onto his discarded jacket and throwing an arm over the back, "Talk to me."

You have a hard time sitting without brushing your legs with his that are spread over the entire couch. You swear he's making it hard for you on purpose, but as you tuck yourself into the tiny corner of the couch that isn't occupied, his smile drops.

"You can touch me, you know." He jokes confusedly, then after one glance at your face, "Oh, shit."

"I don't-"

"That's it, isn't it?" He pulls his legs from where they're on either side of you, tucking them up underneath his butt as he kneels facing you, "You don't like to be touched."

"That's not it," You look away from him bashfully, "It's not- not, like, a dislike. I just need to get used to it."

"Oh." He nods once, expression uncertain, "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"No!" You're quick to shake your head, "You don't. Sometimes it's just more than I'm used to, though."

"Like when I tackled you outside?" Eddie finally figures out the reason behind your uneasiness, a sheepish tone to his voice.

"Yeah." You let out a weak laugh, "I'm sorry, Eddie."

"For what, sweetheart?"

He asks the question so genuinely, where you expected judgement. You know Eddie's touchy, moreso than anyone you've ever met, and it feels like you're letting him down to admit that you can't handle it yet.

"For- for being weird like this."

"Weird," He scoffs, throwing his head back in mock-surprise, "You're not weird. I'm a lot to handle."

"I- I wanna handle you, though." You insist, "Just take it slow, maybe?"

"Oh yeah?" He quirks an amused brow up, a smirk flitting over his face, "What parts of me do you wanna handle, babe?"

"Eddie!" You groan, burying your face in your hands while he snickers.

"Just teasing," He reaches out, a comforting hand on your knee, "Is this okay?"

You glance down at the gentle contact, feeling the warmth sponging through you at his touch. It pleasant, seeping through your bones and setting butterflies free in your tummy.

"Yeah," You breathe incredulously, his smile growing at the shine in your eyes, "Yeah, Eddie, that's perfect."

[charliedawn]

Marvel x Chubbyreader imagine

Imagine going shopping and one of the employees/customers bodyshaming you.

You find a cute dress and try it on. You get out of the dressing room and Tony's awestruck expression is enough for you to beam with pride.

" What do you think ?"

For once, Tony remains silent and only takes out his credit card as an answer.

" I'm buying this dress, and there's nothing you can do about it."

You giggle, but then someone's nasty comment makes it's way in your ear.

" Look at all that fat, it even moves when she laughs. It's disgusting. Nobody wants to see that.."

Tony stops dead in his tracks and turns towards the man with a fake smile before simply stating.

" You're fired."

The employee only laughs mockingly before replying confidently.

" I don't even work for you."

But, Tony walks to him and stares right at him with a death stare.

" I don't care, a**h*le. I buy the shop, thereby I become your boss and fire you. Now, get out of my sight before I pulverize your a**."

The employee doesn't say anything else and just walks away, not before glancing one last time at you with hatred. Tony wraps his arm around you defensively until he is definitely gone. However, the damage has been done and you finally utter weakly.

" M..Maybe I should just put the dress back.."

But, Tony doesn't let go and whispers in your ear in an hungry tone.

" Don't you dare.."

He then pays for the dress and as soon as you're in the car, he kisses you with such passion that it takes your breath away.

" Home ?"

You ask and he nods before replying in agreement.

" Home."

You already knew that Bucky was handsome..But, that didn't mean that it hurt less when people made comments about it. You spot a beautiful dress and the employee quickly takes out the dress with a huge smile.

" Here you go ! I'm sure you'll be perfect in it !"

You smile happily and nod before entering the dressing room. However, you don't even have to time to get out that you hear the same employee talking to one of the other customers.

" Oh my God ! Did you see that ?! It's a shame to let oneself go this far ! They look like a freaking mammoth in a dress. If she is like this..I can only imagine the man accompanying her !"

You don't dare get out as they start laughing together. You feel tears in your eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. However, the door of your dressing room opens and Bucky gets in, worried since you seemed to be taking a long time. The moment his eyes land on you, he finds you gorgeous in the dress and promises himself to buy it. But then, he sees you face and crouches in front of you with a worried expression.

" What happened ?"

You don't have to answer as the employee outside makes her voice heard again.

" Are you finished, miss ? Or do you have some trouble putting it on ? Do you want a bigger size ?"

He automatically understands and clenches his jaw, glaring at the door before looking back at you with a small smile.

" Did you hear that doll ? Sounded like a death wish to me.."

He takes your hand and kicks the door open, shocking the woman that falls on her butt and looks up at the you with a glare, not noticing Bucky standing behind you.

" Watch where you're going, you big ugly..!"

She doesn't have the time to finish her sentence as Bucky steps out and crouches in front of her to take her by the jaw harshly.

" Next time you even look at her with anything else than admiration or respect, I will make sure that you can't look at all..Understood ?"

The woman only nods in agreement and Bucky stands up, satisfied. He takes you by the waist and leaves the shop after having paid for the dress. You arrive in the parking and Bucky opens the door of his car for you.

" Now, let's go dancing..Okay ?"

Bucky asks and, when you don't answer, he turns around to see you with a frown on your face.

" Are you sure we should still go on that date ? People will still look at us and I think it would maybe be better if..Mmmmppphhh !"

You don't have the time to finish your sentence that he pins you to a nearby wall and kisses you with his hand wrapped around your throat.

" Now, I will only accept two answers from you. Dancing or kissing ? Your choice."

You smile and kiss him hungrily again. Looks like the choice is made.

" Yuck..Look at those stretch marks. They should go cover all of that up.."

Sam can't believe what he is hearing and looks at the man with anger radiating from him. You want to say that it's fine, but Sam doesn't give up and glares at the man while trying to remain calm.

" Man, shut the hell up. She is perfect in every way and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, wrong with having tiger stripes. It just means that if you were in the wild, they would be the one surving.."

You have tears in your eyes at his beautiful metaphor, but the man only laughs mockingly while eyeing you up and down.

" If the tiger is as slow and overfed as this one, won't be a problem outrunning it.."

Sam walks towards the employee and stands just in front of him before replying.

" That's where you're wrong..because this tiger is always accompanied by a falcon that will not hesitate before ripping the eyes of its prey.."

He doesn't understand until Sam punches him straight in the nose. The man whimpers in pain on the floor while Sam doesn't wait before grabbing your hand and stepping over the whimpering man.

" Come on, tiger..Let's go home.."

Vision was clearly excited when you asked him if he wanted to go shopping with you. He was starting to worry about you as you hadn't come out of your room for a while. When you both arrive, your eyes immediately see a very interesting dress that you want to try automatically. It calls you and you drag Vision along as he looks at you with a wide smile, happy to see you so happy. You take the dress and try it on. However, when you get out, you didn't plan on another person being there.

" Oh my God ! You're going to damage the dress ! Take it off !"

The man nearly shrieks and Vision frowns up at the man.

" What do you mean ? You think the dress isn't a good fit ?"

The man sneers in disdain before lookin at you with clear disgust written all over his features.

" No..SHE's not a good fit for the dress.."

Vision's eyes widen perceptibly and you can see his fingers digging into the arms of the chair. However, he still succeeds in remaining calm and answers with cold smile.

" Oh, I see..Apologies my good sir, I thought you were just mistaking, but I can see now that you're just a moron."

The man is shocked and gapes at the insult like a fish out of water.

" What did you call me ?!"

He finally shouts in indignation, but Vision, far from being intimidated, only continues to smile falsely before repeating.

" A moron. Should I repeat it again, sir ? Are you perhaps deaf ?"

The man becomes as red as a tomato and wants to slap Vision that only takes a step to the side. In an instant, he restrains the man on the floor and, in his usual polite smile, says.

" Now, the lady here is doing her best to manage her insecurities. It took weeks for me to reassure her that she is perfectly fine, and you ? You just destroyed all of my efforts with one sentence."

He is about to break the man's arm when you gently run your hand on his back soothingly. He seems to remember where he is and gets up in an instant. He then takes you by the hand to pay for the dress and get out of the shop. You wait until you are in the parking lot before stopping and making him look at you. He seems as upset as you and you try to calm him down by gently kissing him on the lips.

" Sorry..He just was so mean to you and I.."

You kiss him again and he finally melts into the kiss.

" Never say sorry for acting heroically..You acted amazing out there.."

He smiles proudly before picking you up.

" Vision ! What are you doing ?!"

You exclaim before he answers with a small smile.

" I'm taking my wife home."

He then takes back his original form and flies up in the air.

" Miss, I need you to step out of the dress. There is the scale on your right, we don't accept anything outside of size Medium in here."

You are about to reply when Scott suddenly stands up and glares at the salesman.

" No one. Tells. My. Wife. That. She. Looks. Fat."

Scott would normally go with the pacifist approach, but when it comes to directly insulting you about the thing that you're most insecure about ? Get prepared for full-on mad Scott. He will make a scene. He will physically attack the employee. It will take you to physically restrain him from scratching the man too much. He will ask to talk to his boss and will not go without a sincere apology. Don't mess with angry Scott.

" Get up ! Come on ! I'm not finished with you !"

He wouldn't say anything because you told him that you didn't want him to kill anyone again. But give him the chance ? And he would take the man's tongue and cut it so he may never speak again.

" Come on, let's go, Loki..The dress is not that important anyway.."

You take his hand and try to gently guide him outside of the dressing lounge. But, the employee adds before you could avoid any more problems.

" Yeah..The dress would be wasted on you anyway.."

This is the last straw. He turns towards the man with a dagger in hand and threatens him by putting it against his throat.

" One more word, and I will skin you like the pitiful human scum that you are ! Now, address one more time to my future wife with this sort of disgusting behavior, and your may find a thousand snakes hidden in your bed."

You drag him outside, grabbing your clothes and paying quickly. Loki frowns, upset at the fact that you didn't let him finish. You run out and it's only when you're in the car that you turn towards Loki with tears in your eyes.

" Loki. One more complaint and they will throw you in a cell again. Is that really what you want ?! Don't make idiots the reason we are separated again.."

He understands your concern and gently strokes your cheek with his thumb before kissing your forehead.

" Never..I just don't like how people treat you around here. It's so unusual. In Asgard, we don't care about the size, we care about how a woman fights. Here, you are called weak by strangers, and when you try to defend yourself, you are blamed. It just doesn't make any sense.."

You laugh at his perplexity before answering him with a kiss on the cheek.

" Never change, Loki.."

Sometimes, when you're alone like this, Loki seems almost innocent. He hasn't been shaped to understand human flaws, he even has trouble understanding why. But, this is why you love him.

" Hey, fata**! Move out of the way ! You are blocking my view !"

A customer yells at you as you just got out of the dressing room. She tries to get in, but Stephen only arks an eyebrow and uses his time stone on her.

" W..Where..?"

She stammers and Stephen quickly answers.

" You are in my realm. I was just checking if you are relevant in any dimension or time-line..Guess what ? You are not. I could send you to another planet and nobody would come looking for you. Now, do I make myself clear when I say to never speak so rudely to anyone again, and especially not her ?"

The woman nods her head vividly and Stephen smiles before making them both come back to reality. The customer looks shocked for a moment, but she only humphs and walks away. You look at him with an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

" Stephen..What did you do ?"

You ask, but he only smiles innocently at you.

" Nothing, dear. Just had to get some things done..By the way, this dress is lovely. I'll pay for it."

You quickly nod and get back in the dressing room. However, you can't seem to be able to open the back zip and finally ask for Stephen's help. He wants to act casual, but is still nervous when you ask for his help..He still enters and pulls the zip down, marveling on the exposed skin of your back in the process. He slowly runs his fingers up and down your back before kissing your neck shortly and getting out. You still smile. At least, you had your approval on the dress..

The moment you enter, everybody stares at you, Thor had insisted on coming with you in his mighty armor and you just knew it would attract many eyes..and the comments didn't take long to arrive..

" Did you see that ?! How did she manage to pull him off ?! I mean..Why her ?! It's surprising."

You hide behind Thor in shame and he quickly notices why. He approaches the man and leans in front of him with a fake smile.

" Is it though ?"

The employee seems taken aback and takes a moment to answer.

" What ?"

" Surprising ? Is it normal for humans to act in such a way when they have flaws themselves ? I mean, your brain is the size of a poptart, and you don't see me complaining about it now, do I ? I don't think you're even worthy of gazing upon her. She's a queen. A woman who has been by my side from the beginning to the end and who never left my side, even when death was upon us. Would you have done the same ? What are you compared to her ?"

Both you and the employee are shocked by Thor's words and he then takes you by the waist to kiss you in front of everyone, even going as far as squeezing your hips. You blush vividly, but he then takes a step back and looks around before shouting for everyone to hear while pointing you with his index.

" This is my woman ! She is just the way I want her and if everyone has a problem with that, he can come and talk to me !"

That quickly shuts everyone up and he then takes your hand, having spotted a very gorgeous red dress that he just knows would look good on you..or off you. 😏😂

Thor can be very confused about many human things, but he knows when something is wrong with his human and will do everything to make you feel better.

He wouldn't say anything, but as soon as your home..He would take his arrows and bow.

" Where are you going ?"

" Out."

He would simply reply and you already know that if you let him go, the employee will be psychologically scarred for the rest of his life..You post yourself in front of the door and refuse to let him pass.

" Come on, darling. Move. I just wanna talk to him..I just wanna talk to him.."

He would try to reassure you, but then, he would remember how ashamed you seemed when buying said dress. His mindset completely shifts to murderous mode as he tries to get past you.

" I just wanna kill him..I just wanna kill him.."

You wrap your arms around his waist and refuse to move.

" Come on ! You're stronger than this, my love ! Don't do it !"

He finally sighs in defeat before nodding in agreement. However, he takes you by the arms for you to get up and gently kisses you.

" I would do anything for you..Okay ?"

You smile and nod, knowing that he means it.

" I know.."

" Hey there.."

You try to ignore the woman openly flirting with your boyfriend, but it's hard when she whispers something in his ear. Something that makes him cross his arms and frown.

" I'm sorry ?"

He says, apparently confused and the woman only giggles before wrapping her arms around his arm.

" You heard me cutie, come with me and leave the pig behind.."

You nearly choke on your own saliva as she repeats high enough for you to hear..You turn around and see an angry Steve that suddenly gets up and glares down at the woman.

" Oh no..You misunderstood. I was genuinely sorry for the fact that no amount of make-up will ever be able to cover your mean heart. Now, leave us Regina George, before I decide to make you leave."

The woman's eyes widen and she turns around with a loud dramatic humph. In an instant, Steve is by your side and covers your face with kisses.

" Don't listen to her. She isn't worth it..And her perfume was just horrible, I need to wash it off when we get home."

You smile with tears in your eyes, reassured and extremely grateful for having such a perfect man in your life..

" Wait..How do you know Mean Girls ?"

You suddenly inquire as you remember that the movie only got out a few years ago..He smiles before blushing almost embarrassingly. He then admits while massaging the back of his neck with his hand nervously.

" I decided to culture myself..And I also heard Hawkeye talk about how his girl has been going crazy over that movie..So, I decided to check it out.."

Your eyes widen at the information and you smile almost mischievously.

" This is actually very "unlike" you, Rogers..Listening on doors..Are you turning to the Dark Side of the Force ?"

He looks back at you with an arked eyebrow, visibly confused and you sigh loudly.

" Oh come on ! Star Wars ! Don't tell me you've watched Mean Girls but never heard about Star Wars ! "

He only shrugs and you suddenly take him by the arm to drag him towards the exit.

" B..But the dress ?!"

He exclaims and you only reply with a slight grin.

" The dress can wait. We've got other very important matters to intend to !"

He suddenly gets out of your grip to run to get the dress and pay for it before coming back to you. He then grabs your hand with a huge smile.

" Now, we can go."

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | Drabble 4

; Word Count: 1.3k

; A/N: Just a random drabble I thought up, aimless fluff to give you guys a glimpse into the Flower couple a few years down the line 😀

-

"How does someone that hot end up working in IT?" Clarissa asked, her voice a mixture of incredulity and wistfulness. There's a snort of laughter from next to her as Jihyo giggles whilst Chaeyoung tuts her disapproval.

"Don't be mean, there's plenty of hot guys who work in IT. Besides, it's not like management is swimming in Calvin Klein models." She says, fingers tapping away at her keyboard.

"Err, yeah, but that's definitely model worthy."

"Okay, okay, before Chaeyoung explodes with indignation about you eyeing up our head of IT...you should know that he's married. So...please don't try anything." Jihyo laughs as Clarissa makes a sound of outrage.

"That was one time and it was a mistake, I wasn't gonna do anything. I don't need the reputation of being a homewrecker!" 

"Good, because from the photos I've seen on his desk...they have a good relationship. From what I've found out, they've been together for a while and married a few years or something. She's pretty." It's a good job that Hoseok is underneath a desk so that no one can see his smile at their words. 

He's used to hearing that people find him attractive, used to the looks and the desire that lit in people's eyes. Many years ago, he used to thrive on it.

Now, it's just nice to hear but it isn't necessary.

There's only one woman who he cares about finding him attractive, and thankfully he's already married to you. It's unusual for him to hear someone calling you pretty in his workplace, though, and he feels dual pride and happiness bubbling up inside of him.

-

There's the quiet sound of the television playing as Hoseok enters the house, kicking off his shoes and laughing as Ciri bolts around the corner. As usual, her paws have no purchase on the floor and she scrabbles desperately.

Crouching down, he opens his arms and let's her jump into them, squeezing tightly as she yelps and licks his face excitedly. Her tail whacks into his stomach repeatedly, the sound audible and he takes a moment to appreciate how great his life is.

There's nothing better than coming home to his wife, his cat and his dog.

"Okay, okay, calm down. Cal-calm down you little butt!" Hoseok laughs, putting Ciri down and finishing his routine of putting his jacket away. It doesn't stop her from jumping up at his legs, desperate to try and get back in his arms.

"Alright, alright!" He chuckles. "Let me get in, you little demon. Where's your mommy, huh? Where is she? Where's mommy?"

As he expects, your retort is quick to his blatant attempt at getting Ciri even more excited.

"Don't you dare rile her up! If she gets too excited to go to sleep later, then you're taking her for a late night walk!" 

Entering the living room with a huge grin, Hoseok takes a moment to look you over. You're curled up against your favourite arm on the couch, the soft and fuzzy patchwork blanket you love so much covering your knees whilst your fingers move the knitting needles in intricate patterns.

It's your favourite hobby lately, and Hoseok has plenty of scarves, hats and other items of clothing to prove it. The TV has an old episode of Chicago Fire playing as background noise and there's a delicious smell of tikka masala in the air.

"She'll be fine, you know she can't keep up this energy. Too small for it, aren't you, my little pumpkin?" He coos, scratching Ciri behind her ears and grinning at her obvious delight.

Moving around the couch, he sits down and let's his body relax into the soft cushions. The two of you had bought this new couch only a few months ago and he still wasn't quite used to it.

Before he can even say anything to you, Kasumi jumps up onto his lap and purrs her own welcome to him. Running his hand down her spine, he pays extra attention to the spot on her back behind her tail and chuckles as she arches into it, tail high in pleasure.

"Hey old girl, how're you?" He coos, kissing her head before pulling her into his arms for a cuddle. She's content to do so and begins to knead his arms, purr growing in volume.

"How was your day?" You get the question in before he can and the conversation he overheard earlier comes to mind immediately. The grin that spreads on his lips is hard to control, and it's not surprising that you notice it.

Eyes narrowing, your socked foot reaches out from beneath the blanket to poke at his thigh in suspicion.

"What's that smile for?"

"Nothing, I just overheard this woman at work saying she thought I was hot." Wriggling his eyebrows, Hoseok has to restrain himself from snorting at how you roll your eyes.

"Oh yeah? Did you tell her that you also leave shavings in the sink? Women don't tend to find that so hot." There's careful neutrality in your voice and he knows you're playing along with him.

Many years ago, he would've never told you something like this. You wouldn't have coped well with the knowledge and it would've likely led to stress and anxiety on your part, even though you would've known he had no intention of doing anything with anyone else.

Now though, you were confident and secure in your relationship with him. The very fact he was being so open about it was something that he knew you appreciated, that he didn't feel the need to keep it some clandestine secret. It meant he trusted you with the knowledge, trusted that you knew he didn't care about this other woman and trusted that you wouldn't get upset over it.

That didn't mean you wouldn't tease him, though.

"Hey, I have a reputation to keep up!" Hoseok says in mock outrage and you simply give him a droll look.

"You have pictures of Ciri and Kasumi on your desk, not to mention the gazillion photos of me on there. Any reputation you might have as a ladies man is gone when they see your desk." Now it's Hoseok's turn to narrow his eyes, looking you over suspiciously.

"How do you know about that? I've never told you what my desk looks like…" He trails off at the look of triumph on your face.

"I didn't, but now I do! Oh my god, that's so cute. Don't worry, I have pictures of you too." You give him that beautiful smile that he'd fallen in love with so long ago and sighs, shaking his head at how well you played him.

"Anyway, someone thinks I'm hot. But then one of the other women pointed out that I'm married and that my wife is very pretty. Which I totally agree with." There's no sarcastic response to that and he smirks at you, brow rising in challenge.

You don't say anything though, simply bite your lip shyly and look away. It makes his heart twist as he recognises the embarrassment of hearing that but also the fact that you still don't quite think you're beautiful. At least it had come from someone else this time, though.

"Anyway, that was the main thing that happened. Thought I'd let you know. Is that tikka a store bought sauce or did you make it from scratch?" Changing the subject quickly, he smiles internally as you accept his unsaid offer to move on from your moment of uncomfortableness.

You may not be there yet in terms of believing you were pretty, but he still had plenty of years to prove to you that Jihyo, and he, were right.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ NOT THIS TIME ❜

with Gilberto ‘Gilly’ Lopez.

Here it is the dirty idea you voted for our big guy 💖

Warnings: nsfw, smut.

Word count: about 2k (lmao not sorry).

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to my wonderful @sonsofeorl ✨

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That tight pair of black shorts fitting perfectly your legs and pushing up your ass are driving him insane. And the crop top adjusted to your chest, showing up your abdomen doesn't help either. You aren't in the mood for a Mayan's party. It's supposed that you should be cuddling with your boyfriend on your sofa, watching a movie, drinking beer and eating popcorn. But the club had other plans in mind. And of course he could say no to them and stay with you. So there you are, walking around the main crew to reach the bar. Squatting to a box of empty bottles to leave yours there, you know that Gilly has his eyes glued on your buttocks, drawing a heart shape over your heels. While you're playing with fire, he's already burning among the flames. Standing up on your sneakers, your ass bounces slightly and his orbs follow the move enraptured by it. Swallowing the bitter drink, he cleans his lips with the back of his hand, abandoning his beer somewhere over the table to get up from his chair.

You would be lying if you say that you weren't expecting him, when you feel his fingertips roaming your forearms in an ephemeral caress up to your shoulders. Then, his calloused palms fall down slowly by your sides to surround your waist with his strong arms. Taking a last step forward, the bulge under his rough jeans, covered by the black shirt he's wearing, creates some friction against your butt. Your boyfriend doesn't give a shit if someone is looking at the two of you, slightly rubbing his hard dick forcibly to your body.

“Baby, I am so sorry”. He whispers into your ear, with his warm breathing provoking you some shivers.

You can feel the desperation in his tone of voice, sobbing against your skin when you intertwine your fingers with his. Believing that you are going to give him some chance, you just push him away from you, turning around to face him. You're pissed off. You asked the hospital for that free night, because he was off too. And this is not how you wanted to be. He can see the deception on your face, crossing both arms over your chest. But let's be sincere, you're just being tough.

“I prom—”.

“Don't”. You mumble raising up your forefinger to shut him up. “Don't you dare to make another promise you ain't going to keep, Gilly”.

“Baby, that's not fair… I should be here”. He's trying hard, walking somewhat closer.

“You should be with me”. Placing a hand on his middle chest, you stop him.

“And I a—fuck, mami! Don't punch me…”

“You fucking pendejo…”

“Let me make this up to you, c'mon”. He leans forward, catching again your body under his arms.

Sometimes you hate you're so weak for him, for his smell, for his voice. He wields a power on you that no one else could. And when you're about to fall for him again, you watch over his shoulder his brothers saying you with gestures to fuck him off. The encouragement you were needing.

“No, thanks”. You utter pushing him away, causing the laughs of the other men.

“Seriously? You have to be fucking kidding me!” Gilly turns at them, raising both arms with indignation. “I didn't even want to come to see your fucking shit-faces! That's not fucking fair, (Y/N)”.

He faces you again, pouting like a bitten dog.

“Mami, I'm fucking losing my mind”. He grunts in your ear, holding you tightly. So tightly that you can't move a single inch from your body. “These shorts are… so short. So, so short, mi amor… And, fuck, I can see your nipples getting harder under this top. I wanna put them in my mouth. Suck them. Bite them. Lick them. Taste them”.

“You don't deserve it”.

“I know… I fucking know… But you do. You deserve the pleasure only I can give you”. He bows down his head to your neck, letting his incisors mark his territory with a superficial bruise on it. Somehow, his hands have ended up on your ass, squeezing it and forcing you to lean on your tiptoes. “I will do anything you ask me to… You deserve it, (Y/N), because I'm the worst boyfriend of all”.

He is not, quite the opposite. But you like the way he's having to slightly degrade himself for not keeping his promises.

“Tell me what you want me to do”. Gilly whispers hoarsely, making you walk backwards to the hallway straight to the dorms.

“I want you to stop”. You grouse.

And he does. But not in the way you were asking him to. Your back finds the wall, and one of his knees finds your center. Scrubbing his leg against you, your boyfriend rolls up your shirt over your breasts. His fingers squeeze them together, so his mouth can welcome both nipples among his lips. As he said; he sucks them, he bites them, he licks them. He tastes your tits, tearing you some delicate and delicious moans. A sweet melody for his ears. Your boyfriend hums against your skin, making it vibrate, before sticking out his tongue to roam the gap between your breasts up to your collarbone over the black fabric, until finding your lips. His huge hands knead your skin tightly, devouring your mouth so desperate. And the last thing you can think on it's that you two could be caught for another Mayan.

“I bet your sweet pussy is so fucking wet right now… Isn't she?”

You gulp in silence, licking your lips and licking them too by the movement.

“Let me compensate you…” He mutters, rubbing his cheek against yours with gentle caresses. “Please…”

Gilly is still pressing his knee against your core, creating the kind of friction that turns you on. His lips attack again your breasts and your hard nipples, stealing you a lovely moan that accelerates his heart. But his task gets frustrated when you hear some voices coming closer, dressing up well and adopting a normal posture against the wall. Your boyfriend holds your hand to guide you to his shared dorm with Angel, coming in and locking the door.

“You know what are you going to do, Gilberto?” You ask with a honeyed voice, taking off your top over your head, to toss it to the floor.

“What?”

You can see him licking his top lip, walking dangerously towards you when you start to undone your shorts, falling down by your legs. Heel against heel you leave away your sneakers and the socks, walking backwards to his bed under the gloom of the room.

“You're just gonna watch”. You sentence, looking how his expression changes completely.

“Please, don't”. That beg makes you chuckle, as you get comfy on his mattress, sliding your wet panties down through your thighs to grab it with a hand raised. The piece of clothing falls from your fingers to the carpet. “Please, mi vida”.

“You watch, or you leave me alone”.

“Fuck…” Gilly complains, taking off his kutte to place it over Angel's bed.

Palming a side of his, your boyfriend lies down next to you, putting an arm under your neck to hold you. Finding his lips to kiss them, your right hand travels the skin of your stomach to your center. You can feel the heat that emanates from your wetness, digging two fingers into your pussy. Gilly drinks you gasp with eyes closed, slipping your hand in and out with a low pace.

“Tell me how it feels, baby…” He pleads you, leaving soft kisses all around your face.

“So good… Exactly as you love”.

“Yeah?” Mumbling, his right hand caresses your neck, trying to contain himself from replacing your fingers for his. He's having so much trouble with it.

“Yeah”. You reply, speeding up the pace, while your free hand gives to your throbbing clit the attention it deserves.

“Fuck, you're killing me…” He sobs onto your ear, sucking your weak spot under it.

You have to recognize that his hands feel better on you than yours, but that's the punishment he has earned by choosing the party over a night with you. Gilly's lips bite yours, tucking his tongue among them to softly caress the tip of yours. Little by little, the heat starts to flood your anatomy, stirring under his grips. He takes the risk of touring your skin with his mouth, giving you some tickles because of his rough beard, until reaching one of your nipples to attend the other with his free hand. You're about to fall into the edge, passing away to the orgasm, when you think he has been good enough this time.

Pulling out your fingers, you take them to his mouth. Gilly grunts pleased licking them. Your boyfriend grabs your wrist, sucking them with impetus, and his eyes glued on yours as you place a shaky leg over his.

“You taste fucking good…” He sighs cleaning up your juices and enjoying his favorite flavor.

“You like it?” You whisper, run out of air, stroking his strong chest with your free hand. He just nods. “You wanna make me com'?”

“Fuck, yes, baby… please, please”.

Gilly doesn't hesitate in begging you. He knows how much you like to tease him, as he does. And he looks really excited crawling down the bed to settle his torso between your legs, clinging his hands on your thighs as your legs get placed over his shoulders. His tongue licks your cunt completely, slowly, without any rush. Your fingertips travel the back of his head, slightly arching your back, while he starts to devour your beating pussy. Your moans soon flood the whole room, knowing that you couldn't have this much pleasure only with your fingers. Not even with another man. No one works your body as Gilly does. You know it. He knows it. The whole fucking crew knows it. And you can't help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

“Make me cum, my big boy… Only like you can do”. You whimper desperately, closing your eyes at the exact moment that he slams two fingers into your cunt.

His pace is rough, deep, fast. His lips are sucking your swollen clit as if there was no tomorrow. As if it was the last time he has the opportunity to give you pleasure. And shit. You reach the orgasm screaming out his name. You're sure that his brothers have listened to you. But you don't care at all. His mouth is clinged to your folds and he doesn't mind if your body can't handle him anymore. He continues worshiping you with his tongue drinking your sweet juices and his fingers curled inside you, pounding you. Once and again.

“Fuck…” You cry out, almost with tears in your eyes.

Rocking unconsciously your hips against his face, your thighs get rubbed by his beard, giving you dangerous shivers.

“Baby… Baby, fuck… I don't… wanna cum again”.

He suddenly stops confused, crawling over your body looking for your lips.

“Why?” He can't help but pout at you, surrounding your waist with his arms.

“Cause I want you to fuck me at home”. You brush his lips with yours, sensually, licking them. “I want you to pull my hair from behind, fucking me deep, all in four, spanking my ass…”

“That sounds good, mi niña”.

“You want it?”

He nods while pecking your lips, trying to hold on his desire for you to explode inside the intimacy of your house.

[ariparri]

This drawing was inspired by a story my friend cursedautumn wrote for me as her part of our usual story for art trade.

It's been so long since I've drawn something in this style, I was scared I was going to give up half way through the entire thing. But nope, I was quite ambitious and pulled through 9 hours to finish this piece!

Look at that! It's absolutely beautiful 😭 I can stare at this and be so damn proud of it all day!

Speaking of the story, you can read it here under the cut. Flowers may be my absolute favorite from autumn's stories, but this was just too cute. I just adore the father/daughter dynamic Veruca and Elroy have.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His Princess

"Alrighty, I'm leaving." Wilhelmina kissed Elroy on the cheek and took the bag. “I'll be there in the evening, don't wait for me early. I left a list of products that Vera needs to be fed. Are you sure you can handle it?"

"You underestimate me," Elroy growled, jokingly offended. "Veruca will be fine, I'm a fully capable father, Wil. Go and have a good rest, you'll see when you come back, the house will shine, and the child will have the tenth dream." Wilhelmina smiled dryly and rolled her eyes. "You're the same as always. Well, I'm off."

With that, she opened the door and went out. Elroy watched her go for a while until she disappeared behind the fence, then closed the door and took a deep breath. Elroy McQuaid was a father of two children, but, frankly, he had already forgotten what it was like to stay all day with a small child. Coby had grown up a long time ago, now he was at Hogwarts (where, by the way, he recently received an indignant letter from Minerva McGonagall about his son's behavior), and little Veruca did not want to sit still and quickly came up with entertainment for herself: she rolled away from her father, turning over from her back to her stomach, then, on the contrary, crawled up to him and began pulling his hair or stubble. Elroy didn't mind, but he couldn't let his daughter roll around on the floor all day and pinch him! He had to think of something to do. So he picked up Veruca in his arms and spoke,  "What should we do? We're going to play with toys, aren't we, baby?"

"Yes!" Veruca said glibly. She didn't know how to speak yet, but she already knew words like "yes", "not", "ma", "pa" and "Co-i" (that is, Coby). Elroy was infinitely proud of his daughter; Wilhelmina took it much more calmly and even laughed at his constant delight. Elroy was slightly offended: "How can you, Wil? She talks great for her age!", but there were no big quarrels because of this, and he understood that his wife showed love for her daughter in a slightly different way.

As soon as she was in her room, Veruca clung tightly to a wooden box filled to the brim with toys. There were dolls, plush toys, a plastic tea set, with which the baby sometimes gently beat her older brother, several suits with bat wings and many other means of entertainment. Elroy watched in silence as she turned over the wooden box, and sighed to himself: later he would have to take a long and painstaking time to clean up the mess that his daughter had made. But he obediently waited until all the contents of the box were on the floor, and smiled, "Come on, Vera, choose what we will play."

Veruca thought for a while and a soft bat colored so bright it was slowly eating out Elroy's eyes. This bat was given to the McQuaid family by friends a few years ago, and at first Coby played with it, and then it was taken away from him by his younger sister. Veruca took it out at every opportunity and forced the first family member she met to entertain her, holding her in their hands and "butting" the girl with a toy. Elroy didn't have much choice right now. He asked, "Are we going to play this?"

"Yes!" Veruca nodded. She had the same light green eyes as Elroy, like clear, transparent water.

"All right," he agreed. "I'll butt you. Come on…" Suddenly, he quickly grabbed the toy and began to gently poke his daughter in the face. Veruca burst into a ringing childish laugh, trying to grab a bat, and randomly waved her plump hands in the air. Elroy poked the toy first on her cheek, then in her stomach, then in her shoulder, and she laughed and made futile attempts to outwit dad and catch her pet. At that moment, Veruca strangely reminded Elroy of a young Wilhelmina, just as cheerful, laughing happily, not yet so strict and upset by the behavior of her growing son. Actually, Veruca was much more like her father, but there was already something about her that made her obviously the daughter of Wilhelmina McQuaid.

After playing with the bat, Veruca lost interest in it and took up a book of fairy tales written by the bard Beadle. Of course, it was still too early for her to read them, but the bright pictures on the glossy paper attracted the eye, and the baby ran her finger along the pages with genuine interest, looking questioningly at Elroy, as if asking what was depicted here. Most of all, she was interested in pictures of beautiful queens, princesses and sorceresses, women with long hair, dressed in dresses, robes and heavy jewelry. The girl especially liked the drawing of Morgan Le Fay, a tall red-haired woman with light green eyes, in a white dress. Veruca poked at it with her finger and hooted. 

"This, baby, is Morgan Le Fay. She was a very outstanding sorceress, healer and fortune-teller. The sorcerers bewitched people, Vera, they are also wizards, it's just that their magic was different. And Morgan was both a sorceress and a witch. It's complicated, isn't it?" Elroy explained, to which Veruca frowned and turned away, indicating that she was not interested in this topic. She always did this when she did not understand what was being said to her, but she did not want to show her ignorance — it hurts her pride so much!

And even though Veruca was still a very little girl, she had pride. This pleased Elroy: if self-confidence and healthy pride are inherent in a person from childhood, nothing will knock them out of there. So let his daughter be proud. It was better to have pride than not to have it, his sister had once told him, and Elroy completely agreed with her.

Suddenly, his daughter turned over on her stomach and, starting to turn over slowly, rolled in the opposite direction from him. Elroy was so surprised that he didn't even understand what was happening, and he stared at Veruсa with his mouth open for a few seconds, and then he realized that the typical willfulness of the McQuaids had awakened in her, and she decided to try to move herself. Attempts to "escape" have occurred before, but Wilhelmina, with the air of a connoisseur, assured that this is normal and there is no need to interfere with the child's self-development.

"Veruca!" Elroy called out to his daughter.

"Ah!" she answered him and giggled, once again turning over on her stomach. "Vera," the man said more quietly. "Where are you going?" Veruca smiled with an almost toothless mouth and giggled louder. Elroy sighed loudly and got to his feet to put the mischievous girl back in her place.

Suddenly, Veruca reached out with a tiny hand and grabbed the leg of a chair. She tensed, slightly lifting the body and pulling her legs under her.

And then she began to get up — in the literal sense, to get to her feet, holding tightly to the leg of the chair, as if for a handrail, and finally straightened up and stood up, swaying slightly. Elroy froze in mute amazement, joy and disbelief, watching his little daughter, his princess, stand on her feet for the first time, and was afraid to even sigh and break the great moment. This feeling was even brighter than what he had experienced when Coby first got on his feet, much, much brighter, although Elroy did not want to admit it to himself.

It seems that Veruca was afraid of her own independence and the next second fell on the carpet and began to cry. Elroy was at his daughter's side in the blink of an eye and hastily picked her up in his arms, saying affectionately:

"Don't cry, Vera, don't cry, my princess, everything will be fine, you're a good girl. Look, you got up for the first time today, can you imagine?" and he kissed the top of her head, stroking her back. Veruca's crying wasn't caused by pain or anything worse, it's just that she hardly expected such sharp physical progress from herself.

So he patiently calmed her down until the girl stopped crying and wearily buried her face in her father's shirt.

"Do you want to sleep?" Elroy asked gently. "Let's go sit outside. It started raining there, we'll swing in the chair, listen to the weather…"

They did just that. Elroy went out onto the terrace. There he sat down in a wicker rocking chair with Veruca in his arms and was quiet; a summer downpour was really rustling on the green street and in the garden. The storm swelled over the McQuaid estate, rallying in the sky in a dense purple wall, ready to crack and burst into lightning. But while there were no loud noises, Elroy held the sleeping Veruca, wrapped in a plump purple blanket with a bat's face, in his arms and looked at the blooming garden. There was an unusual calmness in his soul, although, in general, there was no cause for alarm; nevertheless, such satisfaction in his soul had not been for a long time-maybe because he was the father of two children, the eldest of whom was now supplying his school with problems, and the youngest was still very small and helpless, like a porcelain doll. They had to look after both of them, and it was difficult for him and Wilhelmina. Very difficult.

Elroy kissed the top of Veruca's head as she dozed off. No, he was grateful to his wife, Providence, and himself a million times for his daughter, because since his youth his dream was to have a daughter, his little princess, just like from fairy tales. As a child, he saw how carefully his father treats his sister, and just dreamed of doing the same.

And now he had Veruca.

His little girl.

His princess.

Elroy wrapped his daughter more tightly in the blanket and began to doze a little himself. The storm did not break out with thunder and lightning, only the rain began to rustle more loudly, and somewhere on the horizon a rainbow began to appear, as if the sky was watching the father and daughter and letting a bright ray through the summer rainy haze.

The rainbow was flaring up. Elroy and Veruca were sleeping peacefully.

[copias-thrall]

Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now—no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his  casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

[shnuggletea]

InuKagWeek 2020

Alright, to those of you still here, thank you! To those of you who left... eh, it's your choice. Anyway, here is chapter two day two of InuKagweek 2020! Loyalty. @inukag-week thanks for the poster art and here’s my day two! Still working on my own art for this piece. Something I was working on a while ago and quit. Hence why Kagome looks way better if you ask me. Thank you @petri808​ for showing me a few tricks for my posts on tumblr!

Chapter 2 of 8 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Fanfiction link HERE

AO3 link HERE

Or if you’d rather, just reading reading!

Loyalty

If I'm being honest, I never had a job in food service. But I had to assume they were all the same mostly. Things like learning the names of the drinks and the regular customers as well as how to handle a tray filled with heavy things were to be expected. However, given my place of 'work', getting grabbed, touched, and pinched wasn't. Two weeks later and I was as used to it as you could be. When you go from living in a girls home, sharing a room, and counseling sweet innocent children to your own space in a mansion and bringing drinks backstage to the dancers, it would never feel normal.

The girls were nice enough though and I never saw Inuyasha which I was fine with. Mostly.

I'd even made friends with most of those that worked there. Some were just there to strip and make money so a little inexperienced waitress wasn't worth their time. Which was fine. But my favorite was a girl named Sango.

Her eyes brightened at the sight of me, a smile on her pretty face as she paused in putting on her fake lashes. I handed off the other drinks, giving Sango her whiskey sour last. "Oh, I do love the nights you're working Kagome."

"Which is every night?"

Sango giggled, taking a sip and moaning her appreciation of the flavor. "Yes. But you are so quick with our orders. The others take forever."

"I just don't want you guys going without some liquid courage. I couldn't do what you guys do."

Sango tisked her tongue at me as I leaned against her vanity table. "It's not that bad. I mean, the audition was a little awkward."

"Audition?"

Sango went back to her makeup, lining her lips with a dark red lipstick. "Yeah. Having to get naked in from of the boss? That was nerve-wracking, wasn't it? Naomi told me she had to do the same thing even as a server. You had to too right?"

I shuttered. So everyone had to do that? Inuyasha had slept with every single girl in this place as an audition? Was that what that was? I lost my virginity to a man like that?

I swallowed my disgust and the rising vomit in my throat, suddenly feeling a desperate need to get checked for STDs because he definitely didn't wear a condom with me, and pushed off the table. "I should get back to it."

"Yep yep. Don't want the boss to catch you slacking!"

As if he could, he was never here. Too busy 'auditioning' more girls. The only one here every day, giving me a hard time, was Koga. He was always somewhere around the club, waiting to bark at me for doing something wrong or touch me. It was never in an inappropriate place but it was still unwanted. A hand on my shoulder or a push to my back. Once, he patted my butt and I nearly tore his arm off. He hasn't done it since but I see him do it to the others all the time.

Returning to one of my tables, I leaned in to be heard over the loud music. The girl on stage now was talented for sure so I was always surprised when anyone gave me their attention over those on stage. Probably thanks to the required low cut top I had to wear. It wasn't even a top really, it was a vest and I barely fit in it. There definitely wasn't room for a bra. And the pants sat low on my hips so my skin showed all the time. Every time I leaned over, I waited for a breast to fall out. Not that anyone would mind, save for me.

Plastering a smile on my face, I listened as the guy I was attending rattled off a drink order as slowly as he could to keep me there longer. It was a struggle to keep my fake smile up. He finally finished, certain he was touching himself under the table the whole time, I fled to the bar. Far from safe, it still had fewer men ogling me at it.

I rested, waiting for my order and Naomi stood next to me. "Hey, Kagome? I'm not really sure I should say something but...there's a guy here who keeps sitting in my section and watching you."

I suppose stalkers were a normal thing here. It didn't mean I was okay with it. "He's watching me? With that going on?"

I thumbed towards the stage as Sango did a super sexy split on the pole. Not sure what I'd do with myself if I was ever that sexy but it was nice to dream. "Well...I've only been here a few days but yeah. I wasn't going to tell you until I was sure. I mean he's far less creepy than the other guy that watches you…"

"There are two guys watching me?!"

She grabbed my shoulders to reassure me. "I'm not really sure! I haven't even been here a week yet. But it seems like this guy is definitely here to watch you. He sits in the corner booth in the back so he can see you but you never seem to see him…" I gently pulled from her hold and made the quick decision to face the creep. "Wait, Kagome!"

I waved back to her, heading off towards the mentioned table. "Don't worry, I won't get you in trouble."

I didn't have to go all the way to the table, figuring out pretty quickly who it was. Shaking my head and growling a laugh in irritation, I walked right up to Inuyasha who looked a little taken aback that I seemed to notice him. Crossing my arms over my chest served two purposes; hiding my overexposed breasts and showing him how pissed I was at him in general. How the hell did Naomi not know who this was? She auditioned for him last week!

Setting his drink down carefully, he cleared his throat over the loud music and adjusted his seat. "I just wanted to check on you, that's all. See how my investment was holding up."

That wasn't good enough for me and I told him as much by not changing or saying a thing.

"This is my club, damnit, I can come in and do whatever the fuck I want."

"Yes you can, Boss," Koga said, coming up from behind out of nowhere. "Everything up to your standards?"

There was something about Koga. He said one thing but clearly felt another. Inuyasha had to be ignoring it, no way he missed the indignation in Koga's demeanor. "Everything is fine, Koga. Except for your customers getting too handsy with the wait staff!"

To my added irrigation, Koga put his hands on my shoulders as if to hold me steady. Never did I ever need another to keep me steady or still and now wasn't the exception. I glared over my shoulder at him but he ignored me. But then his hands popped off me as if burned and I turned back to Inuyasha who looked ready to kill someone. And that someone was Koga so he stepped further away from me.

"I'll..uh...I'll see what I can do about that, Sir."

Just the two of us again, I turned to leave but Inuyasha called out to me again. "Looks like you're blending in here. A real chameleon or just within your element here?"

Turning on my heel, I stormed back up to his table. Leaning over I put my finger as close to his face as I could. "I survive. It's what I've always done and those girls back at the home wouldn't if they were tossed out on the street. So remember that when you think I'm okay with any of this. With you, this place, getting my ass grabbed daily, or even going through your audition. I'm a survivor and I will survive this."

He had backed up a little in his seat but I'd rid the distance in an instant. Big golden eyes danced between my finger, eyes, and lips. "I can see that." I slowly removed myself from his bubble and he crossed his arms over his chest like he was the one wronged. "I said I was sorry the other night. I lost control and took things too far…"

"Do you say that to all the others too? Is this your blanket apology for using women the way that you do?"

He had been looking toward the exit but snapped back to me with my words. "What are you talking about?"

I huffed, pissed to the point of tears. "Fine. Play dumb. Stop coming here and watching me. I'm not going to screw up your stupid club."

He tried to say something but I really wasn't interested. It wasn't like we didn't live together, not that I ever saw him at home either. If he really wanted to talk to me, he could do it there.

I caught Koga grinning at me as I stormed away, feeling Inuyasha's glare on my back. All I could think was that I really had fallen into a den of demons somehow.

oOo

Checking every day, every hour, I didn't see Inuyasha return. A week had passed and he hadn't come back to the club. Meaning things went back to the way they were, not seeing or hearing from him at all. This time I was glad.

That is until I got to work on another Friday night.

The place was packed and Koga was far too pleased about it. "Kagome you're going on stage tonight."

"Wait, what?!"

"We're short-staffed and I've gotten requests. So you're dancing tonight. Be ready to go on after Kiki."

I was numb, staring at my reflection at the vanity that Sango let me use. She was doing something with my hair but I felt none of it. The only man I'd ever been naked in front of was Inuyasha and I was fine with that. It was a livable condition to my servitude. But now I was going to be naked in front of a ton more. As I said, the place was packed tonight so easily 50-60 people were going to see my bush.

"It's not that big a deal, Kagome, I promise."

"That's easy for you to say! You can dance! And you're super sexy."

Sango sat down beside her and frowned. "You're sexy!" When I frowned in return, she kept on. "You are! Plus, dancing isn't so bad. You're alone and no one is touching you. It's easy to pretend you're just dancing in front of your mirror. Stay out of the champagne rooms though. They touch a lot in there."

I'd heard about those rooms and had stayed clear the entire time I'd worked here. But I was a server. As a dancer, if someone paid to take me in there, didn't I have to go?

The question was bouncing around in my brain when the door to the dressing room slammed open. Inuyasha took a quick look around and when his eyes landed on me, they went from bronze to molten metal. The others squealed and ran while I was frozen in my seat, Sango stuck by me even as he stormed up and ripped me up from my seat. The only thing he said or did before dragging me out was grab a robe and throw it at me.

"Cover yourself."

In the bra and panty set I had worn there that night, cause no way in hell was I borrowing from anyone else, it was nearly my turn to go on but Inuyasha was taking us towards the exit. Koga stood near it, shaking with anger and...fear?

"I told you. I fucking warned you. She's not to go on the fucking stage. Ever. She can't even dance!"

"Look, I got requests, what was I supposed to do…"

"Tell them to fuck off, that's what! Jesus, what the hell do I pay you for?! When some asshole with a few bucks tells you what to do and you listen to them instead of me?"

Koga's head hung low but I didn't feel any pity in the slightest. "Sorry, Boss."

Inuyasha still had my hand in a death grip but he put his free one on Koga's shoulder. It was the kindest act I'd ever seen him do. "If anyone bothers you, you call me. Got it?"

I didn't get to see how Koga reacted, Inuyasha pulling us out into the night. He stopped, only to wrap his coat around me before shoving me into his car. The ride was silent until I could take it no longer. Anger was surging in me. Sure, he saved me but who asked him anyway?!

"I don't get you at all. You put me in a strip club to work but then get pissed because people want me to take off my clothes?"

"You're a server."

"IN A STRIP CLUB! What did you think was going to happen?!"

"I thought you'd do your fucking job!"

A dark laugh escaped my lips and Inuyasha turned to glare at me. "My fucking job? Interesting words coming from you. Considering you bought me to fuck you."

"I told you, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to …"

I wanted him to stop apologizing because it made the loss of my virginity a regret to him. I didn't regret it, I had enjoyed it until he opened his fat mouth! "It doesn't change a thing! Your apology doesn't change that night and it doesn't make my hymen magically grow back! And it doesn't change your complete lack of care for my feelings on the subject either!"

"Lack of care?!"

"I know I should be thankful...that things could be a lot worse…" I really tried not to, because I didn't want to give him my tears, but I couldn't stop them either. "But it's hard to feel anything but resentment when I went from being surrounded by angels all day to working for the devil."

I cut my sobs off after five escaped and Inuyasha listened to each one. It made me wonder if he got off on them until he spoke again. "The devil huh? That's how you see me?"

Nothing more was said even as we split off to our rooms. The devil going silently into his and I could honestly say for the first time that I hated someone. Cause I hated Inuyasha.

oOo

I half expected Inuyasha to show up at the club again the next day. But with him nowhere in sight two hours in, I considered him a no show and went about business as usual.

Sango was happy to see me, jumping up as soon as I entered the dressing room while everyone else seemed surprised to see me as well. "Oh man, last night was intense. You're okay, right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Inuyasha is just...weird…"

"Weird? I thought it was hot as hell. I wish I had a boyfriend that protective. I was wondering why you were just a server all this time but now I get it…"

"Wait," I stopped her ramble with a gentle hand in her face, "that guy is not my boyfriend."

"Huh? Then who the hell is he? The way he dragged you out of here I thought for sure he made you quit…."

"What the hell do you mean, who is he? He's the boss!"

Sango's face and those eavesdropping around us twisted in confusion. "No, Koga's the boss."

I looked around, finding faces that agreed. "Wait...so when you said you auditioned for the boss…"

"Yeah, Koga. He made us all strip for him in his tiny little office. I was scared he'd do more but that was it."

I felt faint, my head getting light and my breaths feeling shallow. "But I thought… Inuyasha…."

"Kagome? Are you alright?"

Sango was holding me up off the floor and I gripped her shoulders tight. "Yeah, I just… need some air…"

If she didn't have her first set in five minutes, I was sure Sango would have gone with me. As it was, I wasn't sure I wanted the company anyway, following her finger to the back door of the dressing room.

It was freezing out, middle of January, and snow falling lightly from the black sky above. The cold helped my brain though, forcing the sticky feeling inside it to freeze so it would function.

So when Inuyasha said he was sorry...what had he said? He didn't mean to, that he lost control. Did he never intend to sleep with me? He was Koga's boss but not the boss of the other women? How did that make sense? It was if he had some kind of loyalty and he was actually showing it to me but I didn't understand or know how to take it.

Damn, now I hated him a little less.

"Hey."

So lost in thought, I missed the guy standing nearby, smoking. He took a step closer and I took a step back. It pushed me into the dark and him into the light. The bright red bulb at the end of his cigarette as he took a long drag and then tossed it. His features were sharp and dangerous looking, even with his long, wavy locks that softened his appearance. It was his eyes really, they were dull and lifeless and set on her.

"You're...Kagome right?" I really didn't like that he knew my name. "I'm a bit of a fan of yours. I'm Naraku."

He stuck out a hand but I refused to remove mine from their wrapped position around my chest. Naraku chuckled as he dropped the offer, digging in his pocket for something so I took another step back. A new cigarette and lighter in his hands, I still didn't relax, trying to slide towards the door. If he noticed, he said and did nothing as I grabbed a hold of the handle and pulled with all my might. But the door didn't budge.

"It's locked from the outside. Usually, the girls leave something to block the door but I guess they didn't tell you about that, did they?" he was grinning while my skin was trying to find a new home far from him. "Why don't you dance? You have a killer body and are so damn sexy. Does Inuyasha have a reason for not letting you? I must admit, it has me curious about your relationship to him."

"We don't have a relationship past employee and employer."

He shook his head, clucking his tongue at me. "Koga is your boss. Or...isn't he?" I fidgeted, looking for a way out. "Oh...I see… you belong to Inuyasha, don't you? Just what is your title then?"

My only choice was to walk around the building to the front, which I was about to do when the door popped open and Sango's head appeared. "Kagome? There you are! Sorry, I forgot to warn you about the lock…"

I was breezing past her, not worrying about the slip-up and Sango was glaring at Naraku. "If you ever want a change of pace, Kagome, let me know."

The door slammed heavily behind us and I couldn't be happier. Sango was still looking behind us as if Naraku had a key he forgot to mention. "You should stay away from that guy, Kagome. I'm not sure why he's even allowed near the building."

"Why do you say that?"

She looked back at me, her face pale. "Well...he snaked away a few of the girls that worked here a few years ago to work at his house or something. He promised them more pay and no stripping. But the last I heard he was sleeping with all of them and only some of them were willing."

I didn't bother hiding my disgust, nearly vomiting on the dark tile below us. Sango looked sick too. We were making our way back towards the front, Sango required to 'meet and greet' after her show and get tips. I was supposed to get tips too but I think they all went to Inuyasha or something. They could all go to the home for all I cared, I was loyal to the cause.

Naomi ran up to us as soon as we made it out of the hall and into the main floor. "Kagome, someone is here for you."

If it was Naraku again, I was just going to slug him and call over Koga. But it wasn't him. It was Mother Kaede.

And Naraku shows up, so you know there's going to be issues. Drama. Angsty drama. Weeeeeee...

[hoodoo12]

Just found your blog and I'm fangirling all over it ❤❤❤ Would you possibly (if you're still taking prompts) write something of my OC Rick C-886 (who is basically an older Flesh Curtains era Rick) and reader? If not no worries ❤❤❤

@wolfwithinher: Thank you for letting me play a little with 886. He’s a cool OC; I hope I did right by him! (NSFW)

⁂

Rock God

The party raved on aroundhim. He sat back and watched it, slouched carelessly over the arms of a chair.

He’d seen it all. Done itall. The group over there, snorting whatever powder was in demand right now?Done it. The couple in the corner, copulating under the lecherous stares ofother people? Cliché. The dancing, the boozing, the crash and burn—he’d been there,done that. The problem was all these other people weren’t wearied of it. Theyweren’t tired and jaded.

It made him a littlebitter, knowing what he did, that he was above it all. He was bored as fuck. Ignoranceis bliss, he’d heard, and he never believed it until recently.

Someone called his name;he barely gave a flick of his eyes in return. Someone else tried to come up,fawning over him; he could hardly resist the urge to spit in their face. Fanswere the worst.

Morty’d tell him fansmade him who he was, try to inject a little humility and appreciation into him.He’d snap back that he made himself, he was the reason fans provided theirlifestyle, even if deep down, the kid made a point. Morty wasn’t here, though:after parties weren’t really for the kid.

Suddenly fed up with theinane debauchery that surrounded him in this room, C-886 stood up. Other peopletook notice, and either stood or called out to him; he ignored them. Telling noone in particular, he said,

“I need some air.”

A few people offered togo with him. The nuclear glare he sent around the room indiscriminately shutthem down, and he was able to get to the patio doors and outside blessedlyalone.

The night was dark andcrisp. There were other people here—no place was completely free of them, on aparty night—but even though the group of them turned and perked up when theysaw who’d come outside with them, any suggestions to join them died on theirlips when the set expression on his face was noted. They huddled togetheragain, smoking.

Once his eyesightadjusted to the dark, he noted another person by herself, near another sectionof the railing. She hadn’t turned to see who’d come out. The smoke thatsurrounded her had a distinctly different odor.

The area wasn’t large.Weighing the options, 886 quietly moved closer to the woman.

At the railing, sheglanced at him but didn’t say hello or oh my god you’re Rick C-886 or anything.She was down to the last few dregs of her joint. She didn’t offer it to him,which frankly, surprised him.

They stood in silence fora bit, while she finished her smoke. The sounds of the party inside weremuffled. When one of the patio doors burst open, it was like noises had beencaged and were suddenly freed. 

“Hey! Rock God! You are missing out!” someone yelled.

His lips tightened and hegave half a second’s thought to just walking down the stairs and out into thedark of the manicured lawn. He’d just keep going and going—

“Come on!” someoneinsisted. “You’re gonna want to see this!”

He highly doubted that, butsighed and pushed himself away from the railing. Morty would tell him to makean effort.

The woman he’d stoodbeside glanced in his direction as he moved, and quirked an eyebrow towardshim. She still didn’t say anything, even as he tipped his head to her as hedragged himself back inside. Once there, he could only think about her.

886 was disinterested ineverything, but it had been a long time since someone was disinterested in him.

He had a regular group ofroadies, lackeys, yes-men, and hangers’ on. Most he barely tolerated but“played nice” with. Others, necessary but disliked, stayed as out of his way asthey could. That woman haunted him; he couldn’t seem to get her out of hishead. It didn’t make any sense. She was nobody. Just a chick at a party, andnot even one of the fun ones, with tits and ass hanging out, dusted with K-lax,offering to suck his dick.

He asked everyone who shewas.

No one seemed to know.

It was frustrating.

What was the use ofprestige and money if he couldn’t find out one person’s goddamn name?

With effort, he pushedher out of his mind.

Until the next afterparty. She was there again, flitting around the edges of the room while he was trappedand forced to talk to other people. She made eye contact with him and gave himthe same twitch of her eyebrow and a twist of her lips, then was gone.

The next party he saw herslip through the patio doors again and extracted himself from whatever mindlessconversation someone was trying to have with him. By the time he’d gotten outside,however, she was gone.

At the following party,she was nowhere to be found. It made him sulk and snap at people. A black cloudsettled over him, and everyone left him be. He liked it and disliked it.

It was driving himinsane. He had to know who she was.

Finally, to hisentourage’s surprise, he suggested hosting another party. It had been some timesince their boss initiated something like that, but they weren’t paid or keptaround to say no. Even if it all felt organic, there was planning to be doneand caterers to be organized, the house to be cleaned and everything madeready.

They made it happen. Andonce again, he was sprawled in the same chair, hearing the same triteconversations, watching the same people destroy themselves the same way—drugs,sex, booze—he’d seen a thousand times before. A million times before. This hadto be a circle of Hell Dante forgot to write about.

When he couldn’t stand itany longer, he got up and stalked the room. She wasn’t there. She hadn’t come.He shouldn’t be surprised; no one knew who she was, so how could they make sureshe was present? The cloud of foul temper descended again, and he stompedoutside before he did something he might regret.

He pulled up short whenhe realized she was standing there.

She was by herself, likebefore, against the railing of the patio, like before. She was smoking anotherjoint.

It was déjà vu all overagain.

He walked over to her andgot the same reaction he’d had before: a glance. She took another pull on theblunt and released the smoke out into the wild to twist around them.

886 wasn’t nervous, perse. It had been a long time since he’d had anything to feel nervous about. Hewas well known and popular. People stumbled over themselves to meet him. But standing here, in the dark,beside this silent woman made one solitary butterfly flutter in his stomach,and he didn’t know why.

“Mind if I . . .?” heasked.

When she looked at himagain, he indicated her joint. It’d been forever since weed did anything forhim, but for some odd reason he couldn’t come up with another sensible thing tosay.

She looked down at whatshe held in her hand, pondering it a moment, but didn’t hand it over.

“Shotgun?” she countered.

He raised his eyebrows.Even without his heeled boots he towered over her. He simply asked for a toke,and she wanted to shotgun him? He chuckled, then realized she was serious. Itwas like something a die-hard fan would ask to do to him, for the chance to beclose. But he couldn’t even determine if she was a fan . . . she was a mystery,and his life hadn’t had those for a bit.

His choice wasstraightforward: agree and let her, or give up on the oddly intimate requestand leave.

“All right,” he agreed.

That earned him ahalf-smile, and she dragged on the blunt again while he leaned down to herlevel. While she filled her cheeks with smoke, he moved close to her and tiltedhis head slightly so their noses didn’t brush.

When she’d pulled howevermuch smoke she thought was necessary into her mouth, she caught his eyes. 

He parted his lips and she didthe same, in a parody of opened-mouth kissing. Then, as she began gentlyblowing out, he sucked in. A thick rope of smoke coiled between them,connecting them a moment, before he’d taken it all in and she was out ofbreath. He held it in for a moment, letting it settle in his lungs, beforeblowing it out too.

Silence stretched betweenthem. She continued to smoke, steadily reducing the joint to ash. Her refusalto say something, anything, was borderline maddening.

Finally, he’d had enough.No one just stood with him!

“Who are you?” hedemanded, out of nowhere.

“Me?” she replied. He’dstartled her, then she shook her head. “I’m nobody. I just get paid to behere.”

886 threw a critical eye overher. She wasn’t wearing much makeup. Her eyeliner was smudged and her lipstick wasuneven because most of it was on the butt of the joint. Her hair looked okaybut not perfect. Clothing-wise, her skirt was above the knee; thenot-so-flattering shirt she wore slipped off one shoulder. When her bra strapwas exposed—which it was, right now—he could see it was faded.

He snorted a laugh. Shewas paid to be here?

“You’re the worst hookerI have ever seen!” he told her.

Her hand, almost to hermouth for another drag, stopped. She stared at him. As her eyes narrowed, thenwidened, he could see the dawning of understanding in her head.

“I am not a hooker!” she said fiercely. Indignationpunctuated her voice. “My friend Cherry—“ she jerked her thumb back towards thehouse, “—she’s one of the dancers your people hire. I’m her designated driver.She pays me to get her home!”

886 glanced back throughthe windows on the patio doors into the house. Mostly nude women writhed to themusic or to whatever beat was in their head if they were high. Some were inmen’s laps, two were kissing each other . . . all of them looked happy to bethere, which made sense. They were hired to make sure the real party guests hadfun. It was either their dream come true or they got paid, like real escorts.He’d seen their kind a million times. They were dull and homogenous.

But the woman standingout here . . .

He turned back to her andpointed out the flaw in her statement. “DD, huh? No alcohol but weed’s okay?”

Sherolled her eyes and deliberately took another drag.

Hecouldn’t remember the last time someone had the audacity to roll their eyes athim.

“Soif this is a free party, why aren’t you in their enjoying yourself? You knowwho I am, right?”

He hated that he asked,but he had to know if she knew. The question had burned at him like Greek fire.She was so unaffected by the self-indulgence available inside and that made hersomething different.

She looked him straightin the eye—no small feat based on how short she was.

“You’re Rick C-886. TheRock God. Of course I know who youare,” she said dryly, with a hint of ‘duh’ in her voice, like she couldn’tbelieve he was so conceited he was making her recite this. “I’m not inthere—for your legendary party, yes,I know what those are too!—because it’s too hot and loud. There are too manypeople. Everybody’s fucked up and stupid and boring and trying too hard toimpress everyone else. Why would I want to waste time with them?”

It was the mostheart-felt, sarcastic thing he’d heard anyone say in a long time. A hint of asmile lifted his lips as he appraised her again. She went back to not lookingat him, finished her smoke, and flicked the remaining bit of paper out into thehedges.

He held out his hand. Sheglanced at it, brow furrowed, then looked back up at his face again inquestion.

“Want to go someplacequieter?” he asked.

She cocked her head as ifpicking apart his words individually, then, just when it was almost awkward,she took his hand and agreed.

If anyone saw him leadher around the outskirts of the party-goers in the room, he didn’t care. Ifanyone saw her being led by the host to a locked door that led to a privatestaircase, she didn’t seem to care either.

Upstairs, through ahallway where the sounds of the party below could still be felt—whomever wasplaying DJ tonight seemed to think too much bass was better than balancedmusic—and through another door that he had to unlock, 886 didn’t say a word.Neither did she.

Once the door was shut tohis own private suite, all noises from down below were erased. He’d been veryspecific about the amount and quality of soundproofing he wanted here.

With the door relockedbehind them and the blessed silence, she suddenly looked apprehensive.

He didn’t acknowledge hermild alarm. “I know you said you were a DD, but would you like a drink?”

He went to the bar at theside of the room.

“Nothing alcoholic,” shetold him. “Straight up tonic water is fine.”

He was surprised at herconviction, but went behind the bar to the small refrigerator there. As hefound a chilled bottle of tonic water and set it on the counter with a glass,he noted she hadn’t taken another step into the room. “You don’t need to standthere. Come on over.”

She licked herlips—another sign of uneasiness he didn’t miss—then agreed.

Skirting the furniture,she made her way to the bar and stood in front of it, like she was a patron andhe was the barkeep.

“Have a seat.” Was hegoing to have to instruct her in everything? She might be interesting becauseshe wasn’t obsequious, but this could get tiresome—

She eyed the strategicallyplaced bar stools, then ignored them and hoisted herself up onto the polishedwood of the bar, scooting enough onto it her knees were comfortably hangingdown. She twisted a little bit to face him, and took the offered glass of tonicwater. She raised the glass to him, toasted, “Cheers!” and took a drink.

Her hand was shaking alittle. He didn’t miss that either. Pouring himself a vodka, neat, he walkedback out from behind the bar. He didn’t like the separation between them.

Moving to her side, herested an elbow on the bar and leaned against it, close enough to her his bentarm was against her thigh. He could feel her tremble, but she didn’t inch awayfrom him.

She seemed content to letthe silence ride. Part of him was pleased she wasn’t gushing about his latestalbum, or that she’d seen him on tour fifty times, or what the lyrics to thatone song meant to her personally. However, it was a little odd to him shedidn’t want to talk at all; he was so used to toadies he was out of practicewith normal people.

886 broke the ice askingabout her friend who danced downstairs: how they met, how she got roped intodriving, why wasn’t she dancing too—this question made her laugh, throwing herhead back and creating a full-throated sound that made him study her moreclosely; laughing made her prettier—and so forth. Nothing of importance.Nothing he actually cared about.

She warmed up a littleand finally asked about his Morty—his Morty?The query actually startled him. In his presence very few people wanted to knowabout the kid; he tended to eclipse most other things. But she persisted:asking how the boy got his education, traveling so frequently. 886 went into asemi-tirade about the poor state of schooling available, but she didn’t backher stance down. She insisted schooling was important, for social developmentas well as traditional goals.

Scoffing, he asked herqualifications on the subject. She retorted she was a tutor, and she’d seen theproblems some children who were home-schooled had. Not that public or privateschooled children didn’t, she said, but—

Enough of this.

886 stood up straight.Caught in her diatribe, she didn’t react as he left her side and stepped infront of her, between her legs. He reached for the glass she was holding,grabbing it.

“—and there’s no betterway to—what are you doing?”

Her fingers didn’t wantto let go until he put some pressure on them. He set the glass beside his onthe bar.

“Did you come up here toget laid?” he asked directly.

“W-what?” she choked.“Did I what?”

“Because I did,” hecontinued, stepping a little closer, forcing her legs wider.

Now was the moment oftruth. Either she was going to make some excuse and dart for the door, beaghast and dart for the door, or slap him and dart for the door . . . or shewas not going to do any of that, and be interested.

She laid a hand flat onhis chest. He wasn’t sure if it was to stop him or—then her fingers curled intotight hooks in the fabric of his shirt, and he had his answer.

886 leaned forward andbrushed his mouth on hers. She recoiled the tiniest amount at the contact, thensighed and moved into the kiss. It was dry and a bit bumbling, but her fingersdidn’t release him and he could feel the heat start coming off her. Still,after only a few seconds, she pulled away. 

Her pupils were dilated and ablush highlighted her cheeks. He knew the signs of arousal and just figuredkissing was off the table. Even if it left something to be desired, it wasn’tthe only thing.

Standing between her legsas he was, her skirt had ridden up high on her thighs. The fingers of one handslipped up underneath it and found the thin fabric of her panties, alreadydamp, in her groin.

She’d become very stillat the questing of his hand.

886 quirked his lips in asmall smile.

“You can go,” he offered.He didn’t remove his hand, and the tips of his fingers found and traced thelength of her slit.

Her mouth slightlyparted, her tongue wet her lower lip. He cocked a brow at her. She moved minutely,scooting towards the edge of the bar as if to jump down off it.

He’d been wrong. Shedidn’t agree to come up here for fucking. A small piece of his ego was a littlebruised. Another part was impressed. A larger piece didn’t care; there wereplenty of women and men one floor down that would fight over the opportunity tosleep with him—

She edged closer, and herealized she was grinding down on his hand, not trying to get away.

“No,” she breathed out,so quietly it barely qualified as a word. “I . . . don’t want to go.”

His lips widened with alarger smile.

He didn’t take her to hisbed, the couch or even the floor. This was a one-night thing, nothing seriousor repeated; he wasn’t one for drawn out relationships. He hoped she understoodthat.

His fingers were chillyfrom the glass he’d been holding and he watched goosebumps erupt on her skin ashe lifted her shirt off her. She shrugged out of her bra faster than he’danticipated—maybe she thought he expected it—and her nipples hardened under hispalms too. He pinched them between his fingernails, making her gasp. When hereleased them to fish for her panties under her skirt, she steadied herselfwith one hand on the bar but the other rolled her own tit, keeping the nipplepeaked.

She shifted a little tohelp wriggle out of her underwear. He let them drop to the floor and left hishand cupping her pussy. One finger slipped into her folds, and she squeaked alittle.

“Do you like that?” 886asked, pulling her forcibly towards him. His torso blocked her from falling offthe bar. “Or, would this be better?”

With no warning orteasing, he pushed two fingers three knuckles deep inside her. She was tightand wet, and her pussy clenched around his digits firmly. The sound she made atthe intrusion was a surprised gasp, not the needy, porn-star quality moan hewould have typically gotten from a groupie.

Oh shit. Was she avirgin?

But before 886 could havethat unforeseen possibility confirmed or denied, she scooted forward again androcked her pelvis hard, impaling herself on his fingers. He may have gotten ananswer without even asking the question.

Grinning, he encouragedher by curling his fingers inside her, stroking the inner wall of her cuntexactly where he knew women liked it best. His thumb also put pressure on herclit. At the combined sensations, she gasped again, a throaty laugh similar towhat she’d done before. Previously it make her prettier, in the context it madeher sexier. From her responses to everything so far, 886 guessed there hadn’tbeen many other people to witness this side of her.

That was rousing. 886 hadbeen with so many people and done so many sexual things having someone . . .unexperienced added an angle he’d not had in a long time.

He grinned again. She waspractically falling off the bar now; if he stepped away she’d have no support.He didn’t. Instead he extracted his fingers—making her groan at the loss—beforeadding a third.

His stimulation had madeher wetter, but the addition stretched her further and she bucked against him.He didn’t relent, however, keeping his fingers deep inside her even as shesquirmed. Her sounds took on a much more desperate tone, and when he fondledher g-spot again with three fingertips, she came in a rush that seemed to takeher by surprise.

She squirted, coating hishand down to his wrist with liquid. Her breath was quick little pants, she wasshaky, and when she was finally able to open her eyes again she immediatelyapologized.

“For what?” he asked inreturn.

“For-for making a mess,for this . . .” she replied, trying to move back, move away.

He didn’t let her,keeping a tight grip on her thighs.

“The wet? It’s nothing.And you’re sorry for coming on my hand? Shit, I’d be insulted if you didn’t,”886 told her in return. “Now, the question is . . . what are you going to dofor me?”

She looked up at him insudden concern. She was sweaty and flushed. Her skirt was rumpled. She’d hadone orgasm and looked spent. The immediate area smelled like sex. He wassuddenly, suddenly completely aroused by this situation. Truthfully, he hadn’texpected to be this turned on by her.

“I’ll do . . . anythingyou’d like,” she said.

That sounded more likesomething a fan would say. They’d say anything, do anything for him and to him.It was boring. He liked her better disinterested and green.

“Will you?” he demanded,abruptly. It was harsh. “Will you let me fuck your throat till you pass out?Will you let me fuck you in the ass? Will you let me invite ten other people uphere to wreck you? Will you let me tie you up and leave you here until Iremember to come back?”

His burst of anger didn’tmake her inch back from him, but it did make her lose the look of concern. Inits place was an expression of annoyance.

“Is that what you want?”she spit back. “It is really what youwant? I already told you I’m not a goddamn hooker. If those things are what youwant, then find somebody else, Rock God.No, I won’t do those things!”

After saying her piece,she moved with real determination to get off the bar.

He held her in place.

Her annoyance didn’tdissipate. She actually scowled at him.

886 laughed. Pure,unadulterated laughter. It’d been a while since someone seriously told him noand was annoyed with him—to his face. He loved it.

His mirth didn’t seem toreassure her and that scowl got deeper.

“I don’t want you to dothose things!” he tried to reassure her, between chuckles.

The expression on herface only softened a little.

“I have a million peoplewilling to do all that, and more,” he continued. “I don’t need that from you.”

She still lookedskeptical, but stopped trying to get down from the bar. “So then, Rock God,what do you want from me?” Her tone was much less sarcastic and angry.

That was an excellentquestion. For starters:

“Give me a kiss. A realkiss, not that dull, chaste shit from before.”

He watched a calculatinglook crawl over her face, then she shook it off and agreed.

This kiss wasbetter—still not great, still not sublime, gusto didn’t equate to better,necessarily. But it proved to him she was willing to give back. Within reason.

He fucked her against thebar. He liked that position, her holding onto him while his cock was buried inher, but it didn’t allow for much movement and at his age, more stimulation wasbetter than just being balls’ deep inside her pussy.

In the end, he let heroff the wooden bar, then bent her over a stool and took her from behind. Itgave him a pretty view of her skirt hiked up over her ass and of the elaboratewatercolor tattoo of a poppy field inked across her shoulders. She seemed toenjoy it too, from the keening moan when his cock filled her—three fingers werenothing compared to its girth—to the little gasps with each thrust.

The particular stancealso put him in line with her g-spot again, and with a little extra attentionto her clit she came again, soaking the tops of her thighs. The wet made itslicker for him and he didn’t last much longer either.

886 pulled out and jerkedhimself off to completion in his hand. If that was unusual or unexpected forher, he didn’t care; he certainly didn’t need to get a random chick from ahouse party pregnant and then have to deal with anything else that it couldentail!

To clean up he offeredher his bathroom and whatever she needed in it. When she fretted about the messshe’d managed to make on the floor—and bar, but he didn’t point that out—hetold her the cleaning staff would take care of it. He didn’t add they’d seenmuch worse and were paid well to keep their mouths shut.

She accepted anothertonic water, then, realizing the time, told him she’d have to go downstairs andmake sure her friend was okay. Her shift would be over, she said, and shedidn’t know if Cherry was going to want to stay past or not, depending on howthe guests were . . .

He read between thelines, didn’t say he was well aware of how the hired girls worked, and took herback to the party.

It was slowly fizzlingout.

She gave him a kiss,European-style, on each cheek as someone else noted 886’s return and wanted hisattention. 

“Thanks, Rock God,” shewhispered to him. “Should be Sex God, probably.”

He flashed a smile ather, pinched her ass, and then she used the other person wanting an audience ascover to slip away and search for her friend.

886 watched her as longas he was able, before his attention was dragged annoyingly away. By the timehe was able to look for her again, she was gone.

 She never returned to anyof the other parties held at his place. He casually asked about a specificdancer named Cherry to the people who hired them; nobody could pinpoint who “Cherry”was. He was told gently, like it was surprising it needed explaining, thatthose dancer chicks never used their real names and weren’t really smart enoughto use the same name twice.

He never saw her again.

 fin.