#live laugh love Roger Taylor

[not-the-coffee-machine4]

[doing-allright]

the best, most wonderful thing about this year's eurovision

[anonymityisfunwriter]

"Slut!"

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

"She goes through guys like a train-"

You immediately change the channel. The next one isn't better. You don't know why you thought it would be.

"The Stark last name and the long list of ex-lovers, that's her claim to fame. I mean, let's be honest here, she's a slu-" The tabloid reporter is abruptly cut off as the screen before you goes dark.

You look up to find Steve with the remote in his hand. He glares at the screen like the reporter was still talking, "You shouldn't be watching that."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. It's despicable. They were - the things they're calling you-"

"A slut," you finish for him.

His eyes dart to you, that furrow between his eyebrows getting deeper and deeper with every word spoken, "It's not true. This isn't journalism, it's slander."

You weren't sure how this happened. Sure, it was only a matter of time before they found you out. This wasn't the first time. Not the second or the third either. If the press was to be believed, you were love sick. Love struck with a new man every week.

It wasn't the first time someone called you a slut. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

You stopped living your life in fear of what people would say a long time ago. Being this young was an art. And up until now, you thought you mastered it.

It was simple. You even had your rules. You followed them and no one got hurt - or at the very least, it minimized the damage.

They were going to stare at you. Strangers. Press. The flashing cameras. It came with being a Stark. If they're going to look, you gave them something to look at. You didn't so much as step out on the street with a single hair out of place. You were flawless. Always.

You were nineteen, and on the heels of a breakup with your second ever boyfriend, the first time someone spit that word at you - "slut!" It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. It almost made you laugh. You realized that they didn't really care about your love life or about the trail of broken hearts you were supposedly leaving behind. They wanted a spectacle. They wanted a show. If you're going to be drunk, might as well be drunk in love.

It was easier after that. You knew the truth. The people around you knew the truth. You let everyone else believe what they wanted. You did what you wanted. You lived your life without worrying about being called a slut. They were going to call you one anyway. And if they call you a slut, you might as well make it worth it.

You gave just enough to keep them satisfied. Never anything too real. Never too much. Just enough that they wouldn't dare peak behind closed doors. Just enough to be able to live your life.

There were was a cost, of course. No one took you seriously. You dealt with the vague humiliation of the rumors constantly swirling about your hips and thighs and whispered sighs.

And though you inherited the Stark genius, no one cared about what you thought, what you had to say.

In that, the reporter was right, your love life was far more interesting than your thoughts on quantum mechanics or the military industrial complex. That was what you were known for.

For the most part, you were okay with it. You were willing to pay it all.

That was until you fell in love with Steve Rogers. Suddenly, you weren't willing to give them crumbs. You weren't willing to expose a love that felt this delicate.

You sit on the couch, huddled in your sweatpants, pensively staring at the blank screen.

This time, it was different. This wasn't a show, not a spectacle. It was real, an exposed nerve that the world decided was fair game. You were fair game and it was open season.

Steve settles beside you, draping an arm around your midsection. He kisses your temple, "Tony thinks it's probably best that you lay low for a while."

"Yes, well, my brother is the expert on PR damage control."

It wasn't the same though. You both knew it. Tony had done far worse with far more women. Yet, he would never pay the price you were paying in this very moment.

Steve's arms tighten around you like he's shielding you from the storm, "It's not right. It's not fair that you're being forced to sequester yourself. You're being punished but what exactly was your crime?"

"I fell in love with Steve Rogers, that was my crime." You fell for the man everyone wanted, the man who was in the wrong place at the right time.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head.

"For what?"

"You warned me this would happen."

It was true. You told him exactly what would happen, but even you didn't anticipate exactly how bad things would get.

You'd been with Steve for just under a year. And up until a week ago, only a select few knew. You both agreed to keep it a secret from the public. You felt protective over the love you shared, it was more real than anything else you'd ever had. You wanted to keep it to yourself, out of the hands of people that would tear you both to shreds without a second thought.

Steve felt the same. Though he was more worried about the enemies he made over the years.

It made sense to protect the relationship, to protect yourselves until you were both ready. You wanted to protect him from what you knew was lurking around the corner. Steve was still so new to the 21st century. Dating in the public eye wasn't easy. Dating a Stark wasn't easy. For almost an entire year, you used every publicity trick in the book - and it worked.

But then, you heard it, the whispers, rumors bubbled about your newest future ex-lover.

You only agreed to going public because everyone told you it was time, because they promised that the timing couldn't have worked out better than this. It was better to do this on your own terms than have it leaked.

No one knew how bad it would get.

"Are you sure? There's no going back after this," you whisper, standing in the hallway of your apartment. You could practically hear the cameras flashing outside your apartment. You'd never been this nervous to leave your apartment before. You'd been through the plan a million times. You'd be exposed to the cameras for a matter of seconds. Happy was already waiting with the door to your SUV open, ready for you to jump in. You'd walk outside holding Steve's hand - a sort of silent announcement to the world. "It won't be easy."

"I don't care," Steve promises, kissing the palm of your hand. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm proud to call you mine."

You tenderly stroke his cheek, "And if it blows up in your pretty face?"

He smiles down at you, "You're worth it."

"We'll pay the price, I guess." But deep down, you know. You'll pay the price, he won't.

The cameras had never been that loud before. Even though your announcement went off without a hitch, even though your publicist couldn't have been more pleased, not even they could have predicted how bad things would get.

It seemed like the whole world was calling you that four letter word.

At first, it was mostly online. People were mean, you knew that. You were prepared for nasty comments. Steve's most staunch supporters thought he could do better. People rejoiced in the spectacle your love life turned into. You were a laughing stock all over again. All that you were prepared for. Then some rabid fans leaked your phone number.

You decided that it would be a good time to disconnect anyway.

But it didn't end there. Not even close.

The day after you were expected to make an appearance for a charity you founded. It was just a quick 2 minute speech. And though the event had been throughly vetted, you'd never forget the way your blood ran cold when mid-sentence someone screamed that four letter word over and over again until security dragged them out. You continued until your speech was done, but there was no hiding the way your hands trembled.

From what you heard, the video was still making its rounds online.

You were expected to make an appearance two days after that. An event honoring your father. An event you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into to make sure it was impeccable, an event worthy of honoring your father. The same event you were practically uninvited from.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's just me. I come in peace," Tony jokes.

"I'm glad," you sigh. "I was worried I was going to have to get another number."

Tony sighs into the phone, "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"I'm afraid I don't come bearing good news."

"What now, Tony?"

"That event you had Friday night, the one for dad?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You already knew were this was going. "What about it?"

"They want me to take over for you."

You bitterly scoff, "This week just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"You say the word and I'll tell them to fuck off."

"No, don't do that. It's for dad."

"You planned this whole thing single-handedly. You deserve to be the one up there." You don't say a word. He's right, you both know it. It doesn't change the situation you've been put in. "You are still going, right? Come on, you have to go."

"They broke into my house, Tony."

"What? Are you okay?"

"Happy just told me," you explain, sparing Tony the most gory details. "The one in L.A. Apparently, it is now covered in spray paint. You wanna guess what they wrote?"

"Where was your security?" Tony demands.

"Here. Trying to keep people off my sidewalk."

"I'm so sorry."

"I just - I don't think it's a good idea. At least until I get more security."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you've got Steve there. At least I know he'll keep you safe."

You almost smile. Tony was never his biggest fan, but you mostly credit that to him being an overprotective big brother. And the situation you'd found yourself in did nothing to win Tony's over good graces, "It's not his fault, Tony."

"It kinda is, but I digress. Listen, we'll figure this out, alright? I'll go streak in front of the Tower if that'll take some heat off of you."

And though you effectively doubled your security in the last two days, nothing would change anyone's mind about you. You were the villain tainting their hero.

You broke down after that call, violently sobbing against Steve's shoulder. He just pulled you in even tighter.

It reminds you of why you're doing all this. So you can be together, out in the open. That in a world of boys, he's a gentleman.

You squeeze his hand, "You're worth it."

"I'm not worth having your reputation torn to shreds."

And maybe they're right about you. Maybe you do get love struck. Maybe his eyes are like the world's strongest liquor, and it went straight to your head. Maybe you do get love sick. Sure, your life has momentarily fallen apart. It's magic, madness, heaven, and sin, all rolled into one. But if they're going to call you a slut, it might be worth it for once. "But what if all I need is you?"

Steve Rogers Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a

[the-hottest-band-tournament]

Round 8 of The Hottest 80s Band Tournament

Guns N’Roses 

Defeated opponents: ZZ Top, Pantera, A-Ha, The Go Go’s, Fleetwood Mac, Mötley Crüe, Hanoi Rocks

Formed in: 1985

Genres: Hard rock 

Lineup: Axl Rose- vocals 

Slash- lead guitar

Izzy Stradlin- rhythmic guitar

Duff McKagan- bass

Steven Adler- drums 

Albums from the 80s: 

Appetite for destruction (1987)

G N’ R Lies (1988)

Propaganda: “The sluttiest a man can do is be in the Guns’N Roses’s original lineup” 

“Watch this video and tell me slash doesn't have pretty boy babygirl swag”

“Whoo! Time for more Guns N’ Roses propaganda (and by that I mean an excuse to gush about Steven Adler, one of my favorite drummers/people ever)

First off, look at him. This is, and so cannot stress this enough, one of the cutest people I’ve ever seen. Ever. Look at him! (And also, he’s a drummer so he’s fun-size - he is 5’7 at most and at least some of you reading could pick him up)

And he’s one of the greatest and most fun drummers to ever live. I’ve heard maybe 3 other drummers who are as fun to listen to and who have as good of a feel for matching the actual emotion of a song (harder to explain with drumming, but even though they’re both love songs, wouldn’t do the same solos for Patience and Sweet Child o Mine - it’s the same deal here). The demo for Back Off Bitch runs laps around the full version and half of that is because of him.

Izzy Stradlin himself has said that he gave early Guns N’ Roses their feel and that things got weird and “nothing worked” without him (I swear to god that’s a direct quote). You know how hard it is to get a guitarist or singer to recognize and actually admit that? And he’s never made a bad song or sounded boring, and that’s really rare for 80s-era hard rock drummers. Even Tommy Lee’s had his weird songs and I can’t say the same here.

And some bonus propaganda before I write another five paragraphs”

Queen

Defeated opponents: Green Day, Earth, Wind & Fire, The Psychedelic Furs, R.E.M., Duran Duran, INXS, Depeche Mode

Formed in: 1970

Genres: rock, glam-rock, hard rock, pop-rock, pop, disco

Lineup: Freddie Mercury- vocals 

Brian May- guitar 

John Deacon- bass 

Roger Taylor- drums 

Albums from the 80s: 

The Game (1980)

Hot Space (1982)

Flash Gordon (1982)

The Works (1984)

A Kind Of Magic (1986)

The Miracle (1989)

Propaganda: “HAVE YOU SEEEEN THEMMMM???? these men never lost their looks as they aged. smoking hot 20 somethings to smoking hot 40 somethings. in their own words, "we was glam" and "we were all stunning". all four had impeccable style choices 99% of the time, from leather jackets and wraps to monochrome to undone blazers and ties to brightly coloured /everything/. Deacon changed his hair style every few years and even in just tshirts and booty shorts, never missed. Roger had a sleazy mullet and sunglasses for what felt like forever, hot Persian dad, did not miss. Brian forgot how to fully button shirts. bell bottoms. same hair for 50 years. no misses. even after Freddie got sick and started wearing makeup and had to grow a beard to cover up, MAN NEVER FUCKIN MISSED. he was beautiful to the day he died. and thats not even touching on the leather daddy look from the early 80s.king shit. we love wrinkles and laugh lines in this gd house. if they don't sweep I’m blowing this whole website up we was glam”

“a few years back i was obsessed with these guys and i would find it hard to not have a crush on all of them. in the 80s especially Brian was GORGEOUS.. BEAUTIFUL”

Visual propaganda for Guns N’Roses:

Additional propaganda here and here

Visual propaganda for Queen:

[torturedpoetsdepartmentemployee]

I have an alternate universe Buggy that's been ratallng around in my head. A female Buggy that's like Taylor Swift, so she got into music and wants to be a singer. She spent most of her time on the Oro building up her guitar and piano skills. She stole the guitar from the musician(was aware but let it happen) and begged Roger to get a piano. She didn't inherently have the greatest vocals and got teased, specifically by Shanks. Dreams of being in front of a crowd cheering her on and singing her songs. Those dreams are what drive her. It goes hand in hand with canon Buggy’s inferiority complex and constantly seeking attention to be a star.

The reason I can imagine it is because Buggy would be the kind to right the most unhinged lyrics that TS is known for. Also a lot of her lyrics reflect Buggy.

Mirrorball - And they called off the circus Burned the disco down When they sent home the horses And the rodeo clowns I'm still on that tightrope I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me I'm still a believer but I don't know why I've never been a natural All I do is try, try, try I'm still on that trapeze I'm still trying everything To keep you looking at me

Me! - I know that I'm a handful, baby, uh I know I never think before I jump And you're the kind of guy the ladies want (And there's a lot of cool chicks out there) I know that I went psycho on the phone I never leave well enough alone And trouble's gonna follow where I go (And there's a lot of cool chicks out there)

Karma - ‘Cause karma is my boyfriend Karma is a god Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend Karma's a relaxing thought Aren't you envious that for you it's not? Sweet like honey, karma is a cat Purring in my lap 'cause it loves me Flexing like a goddamn acrobat Me and karma vibe like that Ask me what I learned from all those years Ask me what I earned from all those tears Ask me why so many fade, but I'm still here (I'm still, I'm still here)

peace - Our coming-of-age has come and gone Suddenly the summer, it's clear I never had the courage of my convictions As long as danger is near And it's just around the corner, darling ‘Cause it lives in me No, I could never give you peace

long story short - Fatefully I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me Misery Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep And you passed right by I was in the alley, surrounded on all sides The knife cuts both ways If the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels break

Never Grow Up - And no one's ever burned you Nothing's ever left you scarred And even though you want to Just try to never grow up

So here I am in my new apartment In a big city, they just dropped me off It's so much colder than I thought it would be So I tuck myself in and turn my nightlight on Wish I'd never grown up I wish I'd never grown up

Endgame - I hit you like, "Bang" We tried to forget it, but we just couldn't And I bury hatchets but I keep maps of where I put 'em Reputation precedes me, they told you I'm crazy I swear I don't love the drama, it loves me

The whole of Dear Reader and most of Anti Hero. New Romantics just sounds like a pirate anthem. So definitely something Buggy would write.

Here are the albums that would be about different exes. The exes that had a lasting impact on her.

Red Hair Shanks - Debut, Fearless, and Red

Donquixate Doflamongo - Speak Now, a little of Fearless and Red.

Charlotte Katakuri - Speak Now

Sir Crocodile - 1989

Sakazuki/Akainu -folklore, evermore

Dracula Mihawk - reputation, Lover, folklore, evermore

Midnights is a mix of them. Also she falls back in love with Mihawk and Crocodile after they form the Cross Guild.

Her exes have a hard time forgetting her and its made even worse by their enemies using the songs about them to torment them. It also doesn't help that their subordinates and families listen to her songs too. I'm still figuring out the timeline. Akainu happens before Mihawk but she is so hurt by him that she wasn't able to write any songs about him until much later.

None of this is a commentary on Taylor Swift or her personal life. Just my interpretations and how they'd fit.



[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today - June 27th, 1970 - Queen Story!

The first Queen gig: Truro, City Hall, UK, with Mike Grose on bass

🔸What must it be like to brag that you were at rock gods Queen’s first ever performance? Well, quite a few people in Cornwall can, because on this very date – June 27 – in 1970 popular rockers-on-the-rise Smile played their first gig with a new line-up and a new name, Queen, at Truro City Hall, which later became the Hall For Cornwall.

Truro boy Roger Taylor told Cornwall Live: “That was actually arranged by my mother in aid of the Red Cross. We were paid £50, which was quite a lot of money back then. I’m not sure many people turned up though.”

Roger’s mum Win had placed two adverts in The West Briton newspaper on the run-up to the gig, still in the name of Smile. However, the band had already decided to play under the new name Queen – eyebrow-raising for the time.

She recalled Freddie explaining the new name at her Truro bungalow: "He just kept saying how regal it sounded.”

Sue Johnstone, a friend of the band from Truro, remembered: “We would hitch a lift back to Cornwall from the start of the M4, and on one of these occasions Freddie walked us to the bus stop and said ‘what do you think of the name Queen?’

"We thought it was hilarious because he was always so camp. And we just laughed and thought of the gay connotation immediately, but he tried to make it more acceptable by persuading us that it was ‘regal’.”

The first Queen gig: Truro City Hall, June 27, 1970

With Fred, still known as Bulsara, and bassist Mike Grose – a Truro regular at the Smile shows at PJ’s – on board, Queen was born.

The new band intended to concentrate on its own material. Mike recalled rehearsing tracks from the first album, as well as 'Father to Son' from 'Queen II' and 'Stone Cold Crazy' from 'Sheer Heart Attack' from day one.

In preparation for the first Queen concert, Freddie stayed at the Johnstone sisters’ house at Truro’s Rosedale.

Sue said: “He stayed in our attic room and Freddie would stand on his head with his legs crossed doing yoga against the wall. He had long hair and would use our heating tongs to curl his hair in the way he wanted. And my dad was completely taken aback and initially thought they were all a bit weird.”

However, Freddie and Sue’s father soon became the best of mates when Mr Mercury-to-be and his friends dug up the garden, filled it full of flowers and sorted out the lawn.

Sue Johnstone said of that debut concert and other early Queen shows: “Freddie would get up on the stage and strut his stuff like he’d been doing it all his life. He was well prepared. He didn’t just get up and sing, he got up and performed from day one. I loved Tim's voice, but he wasn't the same as Freddie as a performer"

By Lee Trewhela - June 27th, 2018

👉 Full Article 👇

https://www.cornwalllive.com/whats-on/music-nightlife/queen-played-first-concert-cornwall-1720494

Pic: Queen in 1970, on the left Mike Grose, Queen's first bassist (dies in 2019)

📸 Photographer © Doug Puddifoot

[bitchysoulwasteland]

Hangman X Mercury!Daughter Reader

(A/n: Yet another one of my *insert a franchise* x queen band reader fics. I'm not even sorry for this. XD. It takes place modern day, so just imagine Live Aid now, basically. Also, for the sake of the fic, Jim Hutton will be an Admiral at Top Gun. Just go with it. Do not repost. Enjoy.)

The crowd roared as you, (your father) Freddie Mercury and your uncles, Brian May and John deacon, along with your godfather, Roger Taylor bowed. As you stood back up from the bow, the sound of a plane engine came overhead. You looked up and saw Jake's F-18 barrel rolling over Wembley Stadium. You laughed and shook your head and did a slight salute to him.

Five hours later, you walk into the Hard Deck and see the entire of the Dagger Squad crowded around a TV which was re-running Live Aid. You smirk when you see that everyone's eyes are glued to Queen's set, more specifically, your solo during Hammer To Fall.

"Damn, I look good onstage." you mutter to Penny as she hands you a beer and you give her the money. "Thanks." You see your other father, five-star admiral, Jim Hutton, call sign 'Bud'. You smile at him as you give a small salute.

"I say your performance, Y/n. I'm sorry I couldn't be there to see it." His soft, Irish accent came as a welcome, yet familiar, change as he pulled you in for a hug.

"It's fine, we c'n still see it. Apparently the BBC are still showing it." You say, gesturing to a TV, which had it on. Jake watched as you interacted with the Admiral. 'How the hell did you know him?' he thought before going back to watch you on the screen. He smirked as the concert set was finished and the sound of a plane thundered overhead. On the screen, you looked up and smiled, shaking your head before doing a mini salute. "I think that was quite a nice touch, personally." You say to your father who is sitting beside you and watching the screen. "Papa should be coming with the guys. I left just after they started talking to Mick Jagger."

"I think your pilot wants to talk with you, love." He said, gesturing to Jake, who had walked over. "I'll leave you two be." He walked to the outside tables and sat down.

"That was some move, Hangman." You smirked as he stood beside you.

"Glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart.” Jake responded as the Dagger Squad’s jaws dropped.

“Hi, um, I’m Y/n Mercury.”

“Thought you were going by Hutton-Mercury.” Phoenix piped up. She had been friends with you ever since you had ran into her the night you met Jake.

“Nah, Mercury on Stage, Hutton-Mercury for government shit a-“

“And Seresin everywhere else.” Jake whispered in your ear but you knew full well that everyone herd him.

“You ain’t put a ring on it, so I ain’t changing it yet.”

[cannedapricot]

untitled. || ljn

in which you and lee jeno were definitely friends but you were also definitely more than just friends. frankly, your friend group has had enough of the not so subtle flirting and unbearable tension.

word count: 1.4k

genre, warnings: fluff, slice of life, college!au, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, profanity, mentions of heartbreak, mentions of alcohol consumption, suggestive themes but nothing 18+ happens they just make out, mentions of minor car crash

bgm: message in a bottle by taylor swift, 1 2 365 4 me by kennen, oh shit...are we in love? by valley

a/n: something small so i can get over movie jeno. bro was glorious. i've also listed some songs i listened to while writing and i think listening while reading would be a vibe - lmk how you guys feel about it!

It was a cozy Friday evening. The rain was pelting against the glass windows and you could faintly hear the shouts of your fellow students below as they hurried back to their dormitories. The candle light flickers and shadows dance along the walls. Jeno had his head on your shoulder, faintly humming along to whatever was playing on his Alexa. You were sat on his bed in one of his varsity hoodies, scrolling through social media in a desperate attempt to keep up with your acquaintances' lives.

"Wait, Dejun broke up?!"

Jeno perks up at your small exclamation, craning his neck to peek at your screen.

"How can you tell?"

"He deleted all his posts with them and is listening to glimpse of us. What a shame, I was rooting for them."

"You and your personal celebrity couples." Jeno teases, jokingly shaking his head. "Who's next?"

"Maybe if Mark grows a pair and asks his lab partner out they could be next." You snort, leaning so your head was against Jeno's.

Enjoying quality time with your friend was one of your favorite ways to spend any free time you had amongst your chaotic schedule. Between due dates and classes, you and Jeno always managed to make time for each other. Although, most times just involved one of you showing up at the other's door without prior notice.

"Jeno, have you seen my jacket anywhere? The blue denim one?" Jaemin, Jeno's roommate and self proclaimed best friend asks, opening the bedroom door without knocking. The rest of your friend group insisted on still going out for drinks, even though its raining cats and dogs outside.

"Hn, no?" You feel a weight come off your shoulders as Jeno raises his head to address the question. "Wouldn't it be in your stinky pile of laundry?"

"Hey, I did my laundry yesterday, it's not stinky." Jaemin sticks his tongue out. "Y/n, if you see it in Jeno's closet let me know okay? I swear he steals my clothes."

"Roger that."

Jaemin nods happily, closing the door before Jeno manages to land a pillow throw. As Jeno returns to his place on your shoulder you hear the rest of your friends through the thin walls.

"Did you find your jacket?"

"No. But I did find Jeno and y/n snuggling against each other."

"We should start charging y/n rent."

"Isn't our rent included in tuition though?"

"Wasn't it a separate payment?"

You choose to ignore the conversation as the boys start to argue about dormitory rent. A calm vibration comes from your shoulder and your heart skips a beat from the proximity.

"For your information, Jaemin steals my clothes."

"Whatever you say, champ."

Chenle holds in a laugh as the group bid goodbye to you and Jeno. Upon reaching the ground floor, he allowed himself to finally let it out.

The six boys didn't leave the two of you alone without purpose. They all knew about your little crush on each other. It was so blatantly obvious. The way Jeno constantly checked his phone for updates when you had gone out with an old friend, the way he paces around the common area when he expects you to come over, and, not to mention, the untitled song he wrote for you.

It was all amusing to them. How could he miss the way you looked at him with hearts in your eyes, the way you would happily spend all night in the library with him when he had an assignment due, the way your arm always found its way around his.

"They really are idiots." Jaemin had said, a fond grin on his face.

Really, it was cute, but got frustrating. Slow burn and mutual pining were never Donghyuck's favorite tropes. Watching you hide your embarrassment as Jeno fixes your hair made him want to push the two of you in a closet and scream for you guys to just kiss already.

So in order to prevent Donghyuck from committing a crime against romance, Renjun simply suggested that they give the couple more "alone time". Which leads the boys to this situation on a Friday night, heading to the pub in the rain.

"They better be dating by the time we're back." Donghyuck mutters, attempting to stay dry under Mark's hazardous umbrella holding.

"What do you even call their relationship right now?" Jisung voices over the rain, "not friends, obviously."

"A situationship?"

"No. That's what Yangyang had a while back. Remember how toxic it was?"

"Friends with benefits?"

"Chenle... Do you know what that is?"

"Guys, just leave it untitled for now. They're going to be dating soon anyway."

Jeno met you on the first day of classes. You had turned up ten minutes late, breathing heavily as you stumbled into the free seat in the last row. The seat next to him. Red in the face from running and hair messy from the wind, you looked so loveable to him. Never would he have imagined that you would be by his side like you were now. Though regretfully, as a friend. He wasn't sure how you'd react if he told you he wanted to be more.

You had your head in his lap, phone forgotten as you rambled to him about how stupid Yangyang's situationship partner was. He gently raked his fingers through your hair, reacting accordingly to your story, gaze never leaving your face.

A guitar melody meets the end of the last song and a familiar voice sounds through the room. Your story stops abruptly and confusion dons Jeno's features before he realizes what's playing through the speakers.

"No, wait, don't listen to this! Close your ears."

"I can't physically do that! And why can't I listen? You're singing! Did you write this song?"

As Jeno frantically attempts to scramble to stop the song, you wrap you arms around his torso, pulling him back on the bed. To prevent him from moving, you lie on top of him. Jeno can feel your laughs through his own body and he wonders whether you could feel his heartbeat through yours. With his strength, he could push you off and turn the song off if he really wanted to. But when it comes to you, he strength somehow never works.

"Jeno, this song is so cute. Who's it about?" You smirk down at him, "you have a crush on someone?"

You weren't asking because you were purely curious. You were asking because you had a big fat crush on the man and needed to know if he liked someone else. Though, you didn't know if you were ready for the answer. You've heard the heartbreak horror stories. They were always worse when the couple weren't dating but you couldn't help it. Somewhere along the line, you had fallen, and by that time, a platonic relationship had been established. Somehow, you convinced yourself that you'd rather stay friends than potentially losing what the two of you already had.

The rest of the friend group knew. You knew they knew. Hiding your feelings weren't your strongest point and you definitely caught Chenle making kissy faces behind you and Jeno once.

So, to say you were nervous about his answer was an understatement. But you weren't about to let him know.

"Isn't it obvious?"

Huh?

Jeno turns his head away, avoiding eye contact. A redness creeps up his cheeks and his throat feels dry.

"It's about you."

The cat's out of the bag. Jeno wants to scream in embarrassment. He can't believe he leaked his own embarrassing song about you. He can't believe this is how you find out about his feelings.

"Oh." A matching redness creeps up your own cheeks. "You think my eyes have stars in them?"

"Shut up."

Laughter settles over the both of you before your eyes meet. Jeno's eyes move down to your lips and his tongue darts out to wet his own absent mindedly.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Just our luck."

"I can't believe we witnessed a car crash?"

"At least it was a minor one. Nobody got hurt which is great news."

"Hang on, we have to tell those two we're going to be home late."

Jeno pulls away as his phone alerts him of a message received. You glance over at the screen, giggling at the content. Mark had sent a photo of the six of them posing with the police.

Just witnessed a car crash. Gonna be home late.

"Great, we can continue making out then." Jeno mumbles, throwing his phone aside and pulling you back in.

[matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl]

Woman taken by the wind - Roger Taylor x Fem!reader

Summary: You've taken a liking to a new band and your boyfriend cant help but tease you about your recent infatuation. 

Warnings: no swearing, implied sex, mention of oral sex, minor stress, mainly just fluff

Word count: 1.6k

     Alone in your apartment, you skip over to the turntable set up in the living room and turn up the volume to fifteen. The recently released sound of ‘Rhiannon’ by Fleetwood Mac blared through your flat. You weren't a fan of the earlier stuff from the band, but with the newest addition of Stevie Nicks and Lindsay Buckingham to the group really brought a new interesting vocal and guitar sound, you couldn’t get enough of it. You heard the track that was playing from the speakers on the radio, and you demanded that Roger pull over the car so you could go get a copy of the album. 

     Your boyfriend, Roger, wasn't as much of a ‘Fleetwood Mac super fan’ as he so lovingly calls you. He preferred the heavier tracks of Jimi Hendrix, while still liking some of the softer stuff from Dylan and such. He didn’t mind when you played them, though.

     You were alone at the moment. Roger was off in the studio with the boys. He suggested you stay home this day so you don't get caught in the middle of their idiotic arguments over if the harmony should be sung with an ‘ah’ sound or an ‘oh’ sound. You had some work to do in the apartment that day, so you were fine with staying home. Your recent purchase was great background noise for your daily chores. 

     You take a moment to walk over to the turntable again and flip over the record to side B before you continue on with washing the dishes. Swaying your hips to the beat of the song, you sang along to lyrics you were able to figure out. You had most of them memorized after listening to the album a couple of times.

     Roger had always loved your dancing. You felt dorky and rarely danced in front of others, but Roger was able to bring that side of you to light. You felt free around him, even if you still felt embarrassed to dance around him.

     You dry off the dishes and put them into the cabinet. That was another chore knocked off your list. You were surprisingly productive this afternoon. You often procrastinated by saying you'll do it later or you get too invested in whatever TV show you're watching. 

     You boogie(Rogers words) out of the kitchen and bend over the dining room table, reaching for the little notepad and checking off ‘wash dishes’ on the list. You had finally finished everything you had to do, and it was only 2 pm. You flip the cardboard cover to the front of the notebook and hook the pen back into the metal coil holding it together. 

     The way you were dancing almost made you feel like a hippie. You were too engulfed in the booming music that you didn't hear the door of your apartment unlock.

     Roger enters the apartment. He could hear the music before he even reached the doorstep. He leans against the entrance frame of the living room, watching as you dance in a pair of short pj shorts and his t-shirt. He loved seeing you wear his clothes. 

     “Hey, cutie,” Roger says, and you almost jump out of your skin at the sudden sound of his voice. “What- Roger! That's not funny!” you whine. You scramble to the turntable and turn the volume down to three. 

     Roger laughs at your childish reaction. “I think it's very funny, actually,” he says with a smirk. You feel his strong arms wrap around your waist as your bent over the turntable. “Why are you turning it down, lovie?” he asks as he takes hold of your hand and turns it up to ten. 

     “Why are you home so early?” you ask, not answering his question about the volume. Roger spins you around, smiling at you as he holds onto you in a waltz-like position. “We decided to stop for today. Too much arguing,” he says. “Is that all?” you ask as you begin swaying in his hold. “And because I missed my girl,” he smiles and gives you a kiss. 

     You hum against his soft, pillowy lips. “You were only gone for a couple of hours,” you giggle. “Is it so criminal for a man to miss his woman?” Roger laughs. “If so, give me the electric chair,” he says as he spins you around, causing a small yelp of excitement from you. “Not criminal. Maybe needy,” you smirk back.

     “You look cute,” he says, laying a kiss on your lips and then your cheek. “Oh, do I?” you ask, and he hums. “Love it when you wear my shirts,” he smiles softly as he toys with the hem of the shirt. “Especially when you wear those tiny shorts,” he adds.

     “Why? Because it looks like I’m wearing nothing underneath?” you question. 

     “Yep,” he grins and spins you again. “Maybe I should send you to the chair,” you joke. “On what charges?” he asks. “Horniness,” you say. Roger's hands slide down your sides, poking at your hips. “Oh, you're not too innocent yourself,” he points out.

     You laugh and give him a kiss before pulling yourself from his hold. “Never said I was,” 

     Roger watches as you walk away from him. “Where do you think you're going?” he asks as he cocks an eyebrow. “Changing the record,” you chuckle. You carefully lift the vinyl from the padded surface and return it to the protective sleeve before you feel Roger's hot breath against your neck. 

     “You know, I was thinking about you earlier,” he whispers into your ear. You couldn't help but smirk. “What were you thinking?” you ask innocently, still keeping your attention fixed on the neatly organized display of your shared record collection in front of you. 

     “I was thinking about that little red outfit you wore on my birthday last year,” he says. You laugh under your breath. You had great memory of that night. “Mhm?” you hum, telling him to continue as you feel his hands wrap around your waist. “You had on your favourite red lipstick,” he continues. 

     “You mean your favourite red lipstick,” you laugh. Roger always loved how you looked in that specific shade of red. He loved when it smudged onto your chin, and when you would leave kiss marks all over his body with the lipstick just to get a rise out of him. “Whatever,” he chuckles.

     “And, my head between your thighs,” he whispers. “Roger!” you whine, hitting his hand like a mother disciplining their son for having a potty mouth. Your cheeks were as red as that god-forsaken lipstick. You turn around to face him, putting on a brave face as if your cheeks weren't blaring red. “And you screaming that!” he grinned. It took every ounce of strength in your body not to smack that smirk right off his face.

     “You're such a pervert,” you joke. Roger gave you a kiss and laughed. “You keep sleeping with that pervert, so you make up your mind, y/n” he hummed.

     “See, and I would ask if you were thinking about me too, but you were probably too focused on your artsy fartsy music,” he teased. You huff and cross your arms, but it was so difficult to stay mad at him when he was staring at you with those big blue eyes. “Hey, baby, don't be so mad. I like your music,” he says as he gives your cheek a kiss. You tighten your lips as you struggle to hide your smile. “There's that smile,” he hums, and you finally let it be seen. 

     “I hate you,” you mumble through an embarrassed laugh. “Love you, too, babe,” Roger smiles. He wraps his arms around you again as the sound of the second track on The Beatles album ‘Abbey Road’ begins playing. Roger nuzzles his face into your neck and gently kisses it as you sway. “Somewhere in her smile she knows, that I don't need no other lover…” he hums to you softly, and you smile yet again in response. 

     “How's the album coming?” you ask, and you feel as he shrugs. “Sort of behind schedule, but I much rather spend time with you,” he says. “Oh, Roger. You know I don't like it when you choose me over your work,” you annoyingly say. Roger sighs, and he moves his head from his neck to meet your eyes. “I know, I know. Just, you know, the constant bickering is exhausting,” he confesses.

     “I love making music, but now it's just like clockwork now,” he says. He didn't want to admit it, but he had to. “And the record company has us on a strict deadline, it's just… so stressful,” 

     You hated to see Roger like this. You remember the days when he was so excited to go to the studio and work on the albums. But now, every day he would come home more miserable than the day before. 

     “I understand,” you tell him, letting your fingers comb through his un-styled mop. “It will get better soon, I’m sure of it,” you say. “Just wait, soon you’ll be on tour, and you get to see the world and perform for thousands of fans!” you smile, hoping that the response from the fans would cheer him up. It did, in part. 

     Roger hugs you, burring his face in your neck yet again. “Thank you, y/n,” he whispers. The only thing he didn't favour about the tours is that he didn't get to see you. You both understood that it was an important part of his career and that it would get easier with time. 

     The next track, ‘Maxwells' Silver Hammer’ comes on. This one was a bit funny to you. You both giggle as the lyric “Bang Bang Maxwells’ silver hammer came down upon her head” came. 

     “You remember that thing you mentioned about the red dress and lipstick…?” you ask, and Roger smirks. “Of course, I do,” he says. “Still in the mood?” you ask. He didn't even have to answer, because the next thing you knew Roger was pulling you down the hall to your bedroom, not even bothering to turn off the record. 

[rogertaylorshbb]

'toxic' Roger Taylor x reader

summary- you and roger get into an argument but you guys make up like 20 minutes later🤭🙄���

swearing, light smut, mentions of alcohol. [ I have no idea why I'm adding these, just makes the fanfic look more ✨professional✨]

"okay see you tomorrow!! love you!!" you yelled out to your bestfriend Chelsie as you stepped in the door of you and rogers apartment. "finally" your heard a groan, it was roger "I've been waiting for you all night". you turned on the light to see him slouched on the couch with a bottle of vodka in his hand. "your drunk" you sighed.

"maybe" he chuckled "where were you?". "I was out at that new nightclub that opened" you smiled thinking back on it. "with who?" he questioned his words becoming more intrigued. "just Chelsie and a few other friends" you said.

"Chelsie? and what other friends" he said turning his head to you. "just...people, I'm not sure, just Chelsie's friends that she kept from high school".

"what? like guys?" he questioned "guys..?" you questioned back. "where there any guys?" he stated. "Jesus rog.." you sighed. he stood up from the couch placing the vodka bottle on the table. "what? don't 'Jesus rog' me" he said mimicking your voice. "your drunk, and I don't wanna argue, go to bed".

"are you cheating on me?" he asked. "what?!, god no!" you frustratingly told him. "don't fucking lie to me y/n, I know your cheating on me!" "no!" you yelled "I know your fucking other guys y/n" roger shouted. "how-? what- why? why would I do that huh?" you shouted back. "because your a fucking slut-" roger slurred pointing a finger at you. your heart went cold, how could he? how could he call you that?.

you tried to keep calm, "your drunk roger". "So? being drunk doesn't make me a liar" he groaned. you tried to keep in your tears. "I cant hang out with my friends for one night without being a slut?? I'm cluttered with work, all I want to do is go have fun for one night, but no, I cant have fun" you stated.

"your such an idiot" he muttered. "your the idiot!" you yelled, you took a deep breath "you know what? arguing with you is childish, I'm going to out to get bread because I forgot and then I'm going to bed, sober up or not before I get back....actually I don't care, do what you want"

roger stood there while you walked off out the door. he started to really think about what he had carelessly blurted out, and the guilt in his chest started to hurt. "fuck...I am an idiot".

you walked to the convivence store 7 minutes away, getting bread from the shelf, and walking as slow as possible back to your apartment, trying to escape the awkwardness that would be there when you walked back in.

you walked back in to see roger in the bathroom brushing his teeth. you plopped the bread on the counter stumbling into the bedroom. you took off your party dress and heels and picked out a pair of pajamas. as you were looking around in the messy clothes draws roger walked in. "get out, I'm getting dress" you huffed. "what? I'm not allowed to see you naked now?" he scoffed. "whatever" you muttered throwing on an oversized t-shirt.

"I'm not so drunk anymore" roger told you. "good" you sighed. not one of you making eye contact as you both slid into bed. the tension was killing roger. "I'm sorry" he whispered "I don't think your a slut, I was just jealous". you turned to look at him. "the truth is....im scared of losing you, just the thought of you finding someone better then me terrifies me, I don't think I can live without you"

you looked into his eyes. you were speechless, you had never heard roger say anything like that. since you had no words you just kissed him, running your fingers through his hair. roger grabbed your waist, practically dragging your body over his. his hands travelled your body, reaching over to take your t-shirt off, before he suddenly stopped "oh wait...im not allowed to see you naked anymore, guess were gonna-" he chuckled, you cut him off "oh shut up" you laughed.

you dragged the t-shirt off you continuing to kiss roger. roger cupped your breasts, massaging them, making you moan into his mouth. "where are the condoms?" you smirked. "here" roger said reaching into his drawer.

he hurriedly put it on, you started to slowly sit further on further down on his cock, not trying to muffle your moans at all when you did. "fuck I love it when you moan like that" roger smiled.

-just gonna end it there-

[captainsimagines]

pretty woman, this is me trying || twelve

Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader

Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers

Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

(12/14)

Mini-Series

Warnings: explicit language; thoughts of self-hatred and guilt; creepy male reporters; use of the word “whore”; overthinking idiots; dumbass Steve Rogers

Word Count: 3,000+

~

     The office parties and political Balls you had been to in all your years of working as an escort did not compare to Tony Stark’s annual Christmas Ball. Decorations covered every inch, lights were of every color imaginable, and the people were dressed in the most elegant attire ever stitched. It was natural for you to feel out of place at these things. You were either overdressed or underdressed.

With Bucky attached to your arm, you felt included. You felt a part of the club.

You caught sight of Natasha near one of the three bars, this one being in the grand hallway leading into the main reception. She waved, winking as she took notice of your dress. She was wearing the blue one she modeled yesterday, every lovely curve even more pretty as she moved beneath the lights. Bucky waved at her as well, his appreciative glance short and sweet.

In fact, you had believed he was constantly glancing at you to make sure you were still by his side.  

When really, he’s been checking you out all night.

You flushed beneath his cheesy stare, confidence bombarding every inch of your skin. The faint feel of his touch, of his kiss, of his tongue, lingered in the most inappropriate areas. And with the way he was looking at you, he knew too.

“One other thing,” Bucky said as he leaned down to your ear. “You’re gonna have to bid on me tonight.”

“Bid? Like money?”

“Exactly that.”

Why didn’t he mention this before?

“I think I just saw a Kennedy. You think I have that kind of money?”

Bucky stifled his laugh with his metal hand. “It’s already paid for. Trust me. Just bid until everyone else stops. There is no limit.”

“I’m lost.”

“You’ll be fine,” he soothed. Then, “Sam!”

You were on your own until the bidding war. Just as well, you thought. There was a dessert table with your name on it.

~

    Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff were an item, it seemed.

Or maybe that quick, secret kiss by the bathrooms was a platonic thing.

Either way, your doubts were cleared when Sam Wilson spent nearly one million dollars for a date with her. Or rather, Tony Stark provided Sam Wilson nearly one million dollars to take Natasha out on a date.

What solidified the relationship for you though was how Natasha didn’t even spend one dollar when it was his turn. Her grin was feline as she hid it behind a champagne glass and watched seven other people bid for that special night with him. His quiet pleading did not sway her, and an actual Kennedy ended up winning that date.

“You’re next,” Natasha commented, watching as a nervous-looking Bucky walked up the stage. He did his best to cover random parts of himself: his chest, his metal arm, his hands. His hair was pulled back in a bun, two french braids layered across his temples. He had asked you earlier to do them for him, sitting between your legs and talking a mile a minute about the plot holes in the Santa Clause movies. He even showed you a picture of how he wanted his hair done for tomorrow.

“Stark better be paying for this.”

Natasha chuckled, “His most trusted donors have already done so. Don’t worry.”

“Mm.”

The announcer called Bucky forward, listing his “best” qualities and how he adored walks on the beach. In the corner of your eye, you saw Thor and Clint dying of laughter.

“We’ll start the bidding at five dollars!”

Before you could raise your hand, ten other people beat you to it. Back and forth, the dollar amount increased. You started bidding once the amount hit the thousands, then the hundred thousands. Once it was just you and some other bitch (you were allowed to say this and you’ll beg for forgiveness later), you upped the ante.

In the end, you won the bidding with your bid of six hundred thousand and the satisfaction of hearing that bitch squeal her bitterness. Bucky gave you a quick thumbs-up, motioning toward the bathroom so he could go catch his breath. He rubbed his chest, his smile sheepish and slightly apologetic.

Random people congratulated you as you made your way to the area in which you needed to write your name down. From what Bucky said, your name would show up no matter what.

Why didn’t Bucky tell you before this morning that you would need to bid on him? If you had been told that since the beginning, all the more reason to help him out. Then again, maybe he felt embarrassed.

Put on auction, not knowing who would have bet on him, treated like cattle.

If he had told you, you could have told him how relatable it was.

You scribbled your name on the card they handed you. Distracted by rereading and checking for errors, you didn’t notice a stranger settle beside you.

“Are you two dating?” he asked, referring to Bucky as he jutted his chin at the card.

You handed the card back to the woman collecting them. You barely glanced at the man as you responded, “I’m sorry, who are you?”

He chuckled quietly, “Dave Reagan. The New Yorker.”

“Good for you.”

You turned and left him at the table, cursing silently as he followed you.

“I don’t usually come to these things, but my boss told me an interesting little detail,” Reagan continued, dipping down as if to whisper more in your ear. You leaned away, making your discomfort noticeable in your expression. He seemed to enjoy that, though.  Not sexual enjoyment, but more like it stunned him jolly.

“Isn’t it obvious by the way I’m internally dying that I don’t want to be in this conversation?”

“Astonishing…” he sighed, his half-compliment falling on deaf ears. Before you could weave your way through an incoming crowd, he intercepted your path.

That familiar sinking feeling punched your gut, even turning your legs cold. Was that something common in all women? To feel so dreadfully trapped in situations that don’t look necessarily dangerous? To feel as if your fight or flight response malfunctioned, and it shouldn’t have been so easy to be stopped? You were surrounded by superheroes and yet, safety was a foreign concept. You were reduced to a human woman, gulping the internalized confidence you had stored for these very moments. Cultivated since girlhood. Without it, you might have crumbled to the floor.

“So, do you service the Winter Soldier on weekends and the others throughout the week?”

Something detached in your brain and shocked you still. Paralyzed.

He couldn’t be saying what you thought he was saying.

But his eyes held no secrets. He was laying them all out for you, allowing you to take your pick.

“How did you know about me?”

“Your picture is on the internet and a lot of higher-ups love that little website you’re on. So many of the guys at work have brought dates they hired from there.”

Bucky. You had to find Bucky. You searched the crowd, even chancing a look behind you, but he wasn’t here. He must still be in the bathroom catching his breath. Tony was busy talking to donors, Clint was in the middle of telling a story, Natasha and Bruce weren’t at either of the two indoor bars, and Maria had left for the bathroom.

“Can you speak lower?” you asked, shrinking by the second.

There.

You locked eyes with Steve Rogers, who had stopped paying attention to the group in front of him the moment his gaze found yours. The hardness of his eyes immediately softened when he took in the expression on your face. He was moving before you could mouth a Help toward him.

He knew. He might have found your relationship with Bucky untrustworthy and sudden, but he did not hate you. He’d be damned leaving you in a situation you desperately needed saving from.

Reagan ignored your request, however. The next thing out of his mouth hurt more than any physical hit.

“You’re not even going to deny that you’re the Avengers’ personal whore?”

Tears burned behind your eyes. Your throat closed on itself. You had no reply, no explanation, no defense.

Steve stepped in between you and Reagan, seemingly bigger than the last time you saw him. “Do we have a problem here?”

Reagan flashed him a rehearsed smile. “Captain Rogers, lovely seeing you again!”

“Can’t say the same about you, Reagan.”

Reagan glanced toward you, his smile devilish. He was aware that Steve followed his movements. He was doing this on purpose.

You had never met this man before. He had never met you. You chalked it up to him just having a horrible, incel-like reaction to sex workers. He mentioned his coworkers and their dates with a hint of a frown. Add in the fact that he was a misogynistic reporter, digging for a front-page story, and was brutal in his search.

“Tell me, Rogers. Do you fuck her immediately after your best friend has had his way with her?”

“Stop…” you begged, cracking at the end.

Steve’s jaw clenched, his entire demeanor one of a man in battle. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Reagan sipped from his drink, bouncing his eyes from you to Steve. The shock on your face was old news apparently, but it was enough of a sign for him. Reagan simply had to glance back at Steve to put the puzzle pieces together. Stuttering on a laugh, Reagan drawled, “Oh my god, you don’t know.”

Steve’s eyes bore into the reporter’s, fire blazing from his original comment to his statement just now. And it was Hell the moment Steve realized what Reagan was actually saying, because comprehension slithered onto the Captain’s face as horribly slow as Reagan’s accusation.

Steve turned his head to you, his eyebrows pulled together. He noticed your wobbling lip, your shielded position. He didn’t say anything. He simply stared, the puzzle fitting for him as well.

“Reagan!” you heard Stark shout as he marched to the group. He kept his strut natural so as to not worry guests. “How did your sleazy ass slip through security?”

“Holiday events are your easiest barricades, Stark,” Reagan joked, sipping from his glass.  “Do you employ her as well?”

Reagan’s last syllable was strangled as Steve punched him in the face, breaking his nose instantly. He fell with a loud thud, gaining the attention of numerous bystanders.

You heard Stark calling your name, but you kept walking. Your dress swayed beautifully as you picked up your pace. You ran past Natasha and Clint, Sam and Pietro, even the Scarlet Witch herself. All magically appeared in this horrid moment, and not in the moment you needed them the most. In the morning, all those lovely faces would adopt similar strains of astonishment, of disgust maybe. They would no longer see you as Bucky’s friend. They wouldn’t invite you over for tea and crumpets. They wouldn’t tell you that you’re the thing making Bucky Barnes smile anymore.

They will discover you weren’t Bucky’s friend at all. You were his whore.

“Hey, hey,” Stark soothed, finally catching up to you. “I am so fucking sorry. I made sure to employ you secretly, privately, discreetly. Someone’s ass is getting fucking sued.”

“I don’t want to talk about this here, Stark.”

“I will find whoever leaked this. I will make sure your reputation stays intact—”

“What reputation! He’s not wrong!” you screamed, uncaring for whoever eavesdropped.

“He’s saying you’re our whore. Now, I reject that language regardless, but that statement is plain slander!”

You scoffed, humorless. “Who are we kidding, Stark? I am what I am.”

“But Barnes—”

“Bucky wanted me because he wanted to get used to company again. Nothing more.”

Stark pursed his lips, unconvinced. “Barnes didn’t want to bring anyone to the Ball, but I convinced him it was a good idea. He would have been auctioned off to a stranger against his will. When I searched for someone, I didn’t show Barnes a picture or your biography. I simply thought you looked like a person who could keep a secret. Barnes decided the day—”

“What?”

“Barnes decided you were a right fit—”

“Bucky didn’t want me?”

He had told you that he had a say. That he didn’t think you two would hit it off, but that he still chose you.

It was a lie.

Stark chose you. Stark told him he had to choose you. Stark forced this upon Bucky, a hurt and struggling man, and didn’t tell you. Bucky was going to be auctioned to a stranger against his will because of some immature charity ring, and in his distress, told Stark to fix it.

“Where in my words did you pick that up?”

“You just said you were the one who chose me, who looked for me. That Bucky didn’t know I was going to walk through his door.”

“Well, he agreed to the ‘having a date to the Christmas Ball’, but I had full rein on choosing the person.”

Confirmation was revolting. Even if Bucky had given you his consent to everything you two had done together, it was the overall consent that lacked. It made you feel immoral, corrupt.

Lied to.

You ignored the curious faces of guests watching your conversation, desperately trying to angle their heads for better acoustics. It didn’t matter, though. You’ll never have to see them again after this.

“Do what you have to do to keep the story out of the papers. I don’t care anymore,” you told Stark, pushing past him and to the striking double doors. Holiday music followed your grand escape, mocking you with each step. The lights lit up your path.

“Wait! Wait!”

Everything in your body told you to keep walking, to run through those glass doors and hail a taxi. But his voice was a siren call, and your heart was at war with every cell.

You whipped around, furious and broken. “You didn’t want me.”

Bucky froze, immediately falling pale. “What?”

“You never asked for me.”

He swallowed hard, seemingly caught in his lie. “I… I didn’t, but you have to understand—”

You sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “I chose you… And you didn’t even want me.”

“I wanted you after I met you,” he rushed.

“I get that, but it feels dirty to know I just forced myself into your life. To know that you were just doing what Stark told you to do because of some requirement for this Ball.”

He shook his head, fighting you without fists. “I want you now.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?”

He paused, as if debating his answer. Then, with calculated urgency, he said the one thing you hoped he wouldn’t say. “I was still worried you’d leave after you were paid.”

You scoffed out a laugh, “I feel dirty. And that man in there made me feel worthless.”

A muscle in his cheek jumped at the same time his metal arm whirred. “What man? What the hell did he say to you?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” you laughed, humor absent. “But I’ve touched you, Bucky. I’ve done everything a hooker is expected to do and I fell in love with you, and I was still going to take the goddamn money. All of that… Without even knowing that you were forced into this arrangement?”

He went to say something, but you continued, “You promised to tell me what you wanted and didn’t want.”

“ I did,” he enunciated, completely serious. “You did not take advantage of me.”

“You don’t get it.” You tried not to sound like you were whining, but it was hard. “I was just exposed in there. I let people show me off and fuck me for a living, but that was humiliating. None of your friends knew I did this. None of your friends had that image of me sleeping with other people while being with you until now. I lied to them. And I was going to continue lying to them, even after Stark paid me.”

“They won’t care.”

“But I still lied.”

Over Bucky’s shoulder you saw Steve rushing from the main room, frantic in his search. For you, for Bucky. Didn’t matter. The moment he saw you two, his face contorted.

“Great…” you sighed, suddenly tired. Bucky glanced back to see who you were referring to. “I lied to him the most.”

“He. Won’t. Care,” Bucky said, setting his jaw.

“I need to get out of here,” you declared, basically running around him.

“Wait—Wait!” Bucky begged, grabbing your wrist. His force was miscalculated though, and your wrist made an audible pop. Bucky dropped you instantly, his eyes wide with fear.

“Don’t touch me.” Ignoring the slight pain, you backed away from him.

“Just let me explain—” His body, always rejecting what his mind told him to do, went to reach for you again. You lifted a hand, as if to swat him away, yet you had every intention of missing him.

But Bucky flinched, recoiling and turning his shoulders inward.

You missed Bucky completely because Steve Rogers pushed you away, slamming you against the wall.

“Steve!” Bucky yelled, ripping Steve off you. You fell forward, barely catching yourself from falling. The two grappling men fell to the floor.

“I wasn’t going to hit you,” you breathed, sending Bucky the most hurt expression you could conjure.

He stuttered, rushing to stand again. “I—I know that. It was instinct. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for reacting. Be sorry for thinking so low of me.”

Pushing open the doors, you paused when you heard Bucky’s whimper of, “Please don’t go.”

Steve stood, keeping his distance. He had done enough damage, it seemed. You couldn’t even look at him long enough without feeling betrayed.

He had just proved you right. The team, Steve included, would not accept you.

“But that makes sense, right? I’m just a whore you didn’t even want in the first place.”

You didn’t look back to see how your words landed. You rushed into a taxi and drove home, crying the whole way there.

What’s another Christmas spent alone?

~

[groupiewhoreee]

hii, first of all, finding your blog is a blessing from heaven🙌🏻✨, I'm so happy for have found it❤️ don't know if u write for them but, can I request queen headcannons, please? It's ok if you don't write to them, anyways, your blog is amazing thank u💕

hii! omg, thank you so much, i'm so glad you think so! its a blessing that your requesting me right now! 💕 yes, of course you can. i'd love to write headcanons about them! i don't really write for them, but as stated i do take requests for other bands/people! ur welcome, and thank you. ❤️

(whats happening in the gif 😭)

QUEEN HEAD-CANONS! (NSFW ADDITION!)

FREDDIE MERCURY

Freddie is the most sweetest person during sex it is very unbelievable. But he has his times where he cracks a smile and starts to laugh when you make an weird noise or manage to fall off the bed. He wants to make sure what he is doing is ok with you, of course. He never wants to hurt you or make you uncomfortable in any way possible.

He doesn't have many kinks, but Im gonna think he might have a role-play kink. Dressing up, all that stuff, yk? He doesn't have a particular favorite roleplay pair.

He prefers non-public sex due to the fact because he doesn't want to get in trouble, nor does he want anyone to even see in the first place. So he prefers to do it where its just you and him. He also doesn't like to go out in public with you hence people back then weren't very supportive of ur relationship.

You both don't really use positions. You guys just end up doing it however you two land up.

Honestly, sex happens mostly on the couch or the bed, no in between. Although, if you'd like to do it somewhere else that's fine with him.

BRIAN MAY

He's a sweet, somewhat serious and goofy guy during sex. He always cracks a smile during sex, and remains eye contact with you. He holds ur hands, kisses you all over and makes sure ur okay and he isn't hurting you too much. He can get rough though. He can start to spank you, and roughen you up.

Thighs, he loves thighs. He is a big thigh person. He adores touching and getting in between ur thighs. Hickies are left there sometimes.

Breeding kink. Nuff Said.

Very possessive sometimes, although he'll let you see friends and everything. During sex, he'll force you/beg to moan his name because he loves to hear how he owns you.

He isn't much interested in kinks, though he's fine with them. He's got a major breeding kink, how he groans to put a baby into you, and how he's gonna fill you up.

ROGER TAYLOR

Ah yes, Roger. The screaming boy. That definitely applies to the bed. Grunting, and moaning softly in ur ear. But, he likes to dominate you and roughen you up. Brian accidentally walked in on you two, It was kinda embarrassing. He loves pulling ur hair, calling you slut and names.

He likes his hair pulled, enough said.

He loves your boobs. Sometimes he'll grope them when he's behind you, or in front of you. He'll slap them sometimes. Freddie had to tell him to stop.

He loves having sex in the car, because music can play, and he loves his car as well, so. He loves having you in his car.

He'll definitely let you dominate him.. calling him baby boy, and how he'll call you mommy.

JOHN DEACON

John is just chill during sex, though he can get very serious and somewhat goofy, it's pretty casual. But, he'll roughen you up for you and will try new things for you if sex is getting boring.

Lives for you riding him, he likes to grip ur thighs and make eye contact with you.

Loves ur ass. He likes to smack it, and grab it from behind or when he is walking by. Brian noticed it and never said anything after.

He likes when you just tug his hair slightly when he eats you out. He loves it. How you entangled your fingers get into his soft/curly hair.

Is willing to do a threesome with you and one of his bandmates.

[burtonandtaylor]

Richard Burton Interview with BBC reporter John Simpson (1977) - shortly after his 1976 divorce from Elizabeth Taylor.

I was the BBC’s radio correspondent in Johannesburg at the time when the African scenes in The Wild Geese were filmed… . The prospect of meeting Roger Moore, Richard Burton, Richard Harris and Hardy Kruger was, of course, an attractive one, though I probably didn’t mention that side of it. It would scarcely have sounded sophisticated. 

“If you remember, I asked for an interview with Richard Burton.” … I wasn’t expecting anything. If Richard Burton was too grand to have lunch with the others, he would certainly be too grand to be interviewed by me. The PR man came back looking apologetic. I was ready with a sharp reply, assuming I would be given a crisp turn-down. 

“He says if you don’t mind the mess in his caravan… . . [H]e’s just going through it a bit. That’s all.” 

He certainly was. Richard Burton’s ravaged, pockmarked face looked even harsher in reality than it did with all the care of the make-up artists. And despite the fierce sun outside he looked pale and unhealthy. 

But nothing could affect the voice. 

“Come in, come in, my dear boy,” he said, gripping my hand and pulling me up the steps… . The warmth of his tone outdid the afternoon heat. 

“Really sorry not to be down there with the others for lunch,” said Burton. “The fact is, you see, I’m on the wagon at the moment, and it doesn’t feel all that good, I have to confess… . Wish I’d been teetotal, like my old schoolmaster told me. But the stage, you know. And the company I’ve kept.” 

He gave a huge laugh, which seemed to make the entire caravan shake. It was a big one, with room enough for a sizeable (unmade) bed and a table covered with books, make-up bottles and photographs in silver frames. The biggest photograph was of Elizabeth Taylor. I had wondered how to broach the subject, after their divorce. But with Burton, whether it was because of the influence of the bundu or his free, open nature, there was no trouble at all. 

He saw the direction of my eyes. 

“Ah, Elizabeth. Isn’t she the most beautiful animal you’ve ever set eyes on?” 

… . I nodded, and felt emboldened. 

“So, you don’t feel bitter towards her?” 

“Bitter?” The caravan shook again. 

“Look, if she’d have me back I’d leave this sh—y film and this ghastly heat right now, and charter a plan to go wherever she was. Actually I know where she is. She’s in Malibu. I kind of keep in touch, you know.” 

“So why… . .?” 

“It’s the old thing: can’t live with her, can’t live without her. But I adore Elizabeth, and I always will.” 

There was a catch in his voice, and he looked out of the window at the baobab trees. 

“I don’t drink now, you know. I’m not pretending it’s not painful, but I’ve given it up for good. It was what Elizabeth hated most in me, I think, even though she’s pretty partial to it herself. It was like pouring petrol over our marriage. And now I don’t do it anymore. I hate it, in fact.” 

… . It seemed to me that a tear was glittering in his eye… . 

“What is it about her that you love so much?” 

“Ahhh,” he said expansively, waving his arms at the baobabs, “where does one start? ‘Age cannot wither her… .’ She’s a magnificent actress, you know, if only they will let her be.” 

“She’s lazy, they say, and they also say she’s not very bright, though that happens to be an outright, damned lie. It’s just that her brightness is a natural brightness, not necessarily a college brightness. She may not know all about Shakespeare or Marlowe or Albee, but she understands the emotional truth, and that is what she projects.” 

… “Director wants to know if you’re all right, Mr. Burton.” The voice was muffled by the door. 

“Tell the director to go and f—- himself. I’m reminiscing here about the divine Elizabeth, and mustn’t be disturbed.” 

“You were telling me about her understanding of the emotional truth of a part.” 

“Was I?” … “But you see, what I should have said was that she was a lass unparalleled. A woman of the most charming but also the most natural kind. She could take care of a man, you know.” 

He glanced at me. 

“No, I don’t mean that. What I mean is that she could be so normal, so natural, so caring. 

Listen. Once I took my brother and my business manager to Twickenham for the Wales-England match. Wales won; they always did in those days. And of course we had too much to drink, even my little runt of a manager. Much too much. And we came back on the Tube, and fetched up for some reason at Tottenham Court Road station. I must have said I knew a bar near there. It was late, you see, about midnight. 

There was a gang of about a dozen skinheads at the top, all tattooed with England flags on their chests and faces and arms; a rather fearsome sight. 

Well, it was too late to turn back, so we decided to take them head on. When I say we, I mean my brother and me. The last I saw of my manager, he was shouting, ‘You can’t hit me, I’ve got a briefcase.’ They gave us both a pretty good going-over. I think they were worse to me, though I don’t think they’d seen me on the screen. Maybe I was just bigger and uglier than my brother. 

And then they left us lying there at the entrance to the Tube. My brother said he thought he could manage to get home by himself, and he hailed a taxi for me. He had to do quite a lot of persuading, because my entire head was a mass of blood. But at least I didn’t seem to have any bones broken. I told the driver to take me to the Dorchester, and gave him a tenner. Which was pretty good money in those days. 

They wouldn’t let me in at the Dorchester, of course, till I told them who I was and demanded to see the manager. Then they were niceness itself, and two of them helped me to the door of our suite, though I told them to leave before I banged on the door for Elizabeth. 

But, you see, she was magnificent. Utterly magnificent. She didn’t have a fit of the vapours, she didn’t get excited, she didn’t even tick me off for being drunk and getting beaten up. 

‘Oh, you poor thing,’ was all she said, and she rang down for bowls of water and towels and bandages and God knows what. And when they sent up some kind of quack to look after me, she shooed him away. 

She sponged the blood off my face, and found that my left eye was halfway out of its socket, so she carefully put it back in. Would you ever imagine that someone like her would be able to do any of that? But she was tough, you see, and brave too. And she tucked me up I in bed with the bandages over my head, and at nine o’clock the next morning, when I was starting to feel a bit better, she ordered up a magnum of Bollinger to cheer me up. And then she sat on the side of the bed and toasted me and Wales’s victory.” 

He paused, and looked away from me and the microphone. 

“Magnificent woman, in every way. Magnificent. If I’m honest, my life is a little empty without her.” 

He thought for a moment. 

“No, if I’m honest, my life is horribly empty without her.” 

I (author) said goodbye not long afterwards, and shut the door of the caravan on him. He waved me out in the most courtly fashion, but I think he was probably glad to be left alone with Elizabeth Taylor’s picture.

[the-hottest-band-tournament]

Round 5 of The Hottest 80s Band Tournament

Duran Duran

Defeated opponents: Starship, Nine Inch Nails, Bauhaus, De La Soul

Formed in: 1979

Genres: Pop rock, synth-pop, new wave, new pop, dance-rock, post-disco

Lineup: Simon Le Bon- vocals

Nick Rhodes- keyboards

John Taylor- bass

Andy Taylor- guitar

Roger Taylor- drums

Albums from the 80s: 

Duran Duran (1981)

Rio (1982)

Seven and the Ragged Tiger (1983)

Notorious (1986)

Big Thing (1988)

Propaganda: You can't do a hottest 80s band tournament without The Fab Five. They set off fashion trends. They made your Mom (or possibly your grandma if you're real young) swoon. They led the way into the video era. They were Princess Di's favorite band. They got really overexposed, botched a performance at Live Aid and then imploded before coming back as a trio but the classic line-up, the one that brought us Rio and Girls on Film and Hungry Like the Wolf were these five guys. This is Duran Duran and I love them.

Queen

Defeated opponents: Green Day, Earth, Wind & Fire, The Psychedelic Furs

Formed in: 1970

Genres: rock, glam-rock, hard rock, pop-rock, pop, disco

Lineup: Freddie Mercury- vocals 

Brian May- guitar 

John Deacon- bass 

Roger Taylor- drums 

Albums from the 80s: 

The Game (1980)

Hot Space (1982)

Flash Gordon (1982, movie soundtrack)

The Works (1984)

A Kind Of Magic (1986)

The Miracle (1989)

Propaganda: “HAVE YOU SEEEEN THEMMMM???? these men never lost their looks as they aged. smoking hot 20 somethings to smoking hot 40 somethings. in their own words, "we was glam" and "we were all stunning". all four had impeccable style choices 99% of the time, from leather jackets and wraps to monochrome to undone blazers and ties to brightly coloured /everything/. Deacon changed his hair style every few years and even in just tshirts and booty shorts, never missed. Roger had a sleazy mullet and sunglasses for what felt like forever, hot Persian dad, did not miss. Brian forgot how to fully button shirts. bell bottoms. same hair for 50 years. no misses. even after Freddie got sick and started wearing makeup and had to grow a beard to cover up, MAN NEVER FUCKIN MISSED. he was beautiful to the day he died. and thats not even touching on the leather daddy look from the early 80s.king shit. we love wrinkles and laugh lines in this gd house. if they don't sweep I’m blowing this whole website up we was glam”

“a few years back i was obsessed with these guys and i would find it hard to not have a crush on all of them. in the 80s especially Brian was GORGEOUS.. BEAUTIFUL”

Visual propaganda for Queen:

[krispyweiss]

Rewind: The Byrds - Byrds (1973)

By the time the original Byrds reconvened in 1973 to put a proper cap on the band, David Crosby was a huge star, Chris Hillman and Michael Clarke were former Flying Burrito Brothers, Gene Clark was nursing a fledging solo career and Roger McGuinn was the last remaining original member of the Byrds in the lineup that recorded and were touring behind ’71’s Farther Along.

And although the Byrds LP has been much maligned in the intervening decades, the criticism is mostly unfair. The original Byrds - who hadn’t played as a quintet since 1966 - didn’t attempt to recapture their original sound; rather, they gave listeners an idea of where they were as individuals.

McGuinn was tired - writing only two of the 11 songs and turning back from country to his first love on “Born to Rock ‘n’ Roll.” Clark was hungry, writing and singing the apropos opener “Full Circle” and “Changing Heart” and leading the band though country-folk covers of Neil Young’s “Cowgirl in the Sand” and “(See the Sky) About to Rain.”

Like McGuinn, Hillman, too, returned to folk-rock music, collaborating with his Manassas bandmates Dallas Taylor and Joe Lala, respectively, on writing the driving “Things Will be Better” and the frenetic, mandolin-focused “Borrowing Time.” Crosby, meanwhile, is in the early stages of his drug-induced malaise, opting to cover Joni Mitchell’s “For Free,” re-record his own “Laughing” in an inferior redux and rewrite “Cowboy Movie” as “Long Live the King.”

In some ways, Byrds sounds more like a various-artists album than a cohesive group effort, albeit with Clarke steering it all from behind the kit. Though the songs aren’t essential, neither are any of them filler. The result is a solid effort from the rare band that closed the book on its career the right and respectable way.

For there was never another Byrds album after the Byrds album.

Grade card: The Byrds - Byrds - B

5/19/24

[m-o-o-n-thatspellsblog]

playlist(s) for any of the ka-tet members (this includes the og ka-tet if you want to pick one of them instead)?

yesss thanks for this ask!! i freaking love the dark tower so much so i kinda went a little overboard with this list lmao

og ka-tet

Roland Deschain:

Age- Jim Croce

Pretty Maids All in a Row- Eagles

Run for the Roses- Dan Fogelberg

Rock Me On the Water- Jackson Browne

Cuthbert Allgood:

For Everyman- Jackson Browne

Laugh- The Monkees

Summer, Highland Falls- Billy Joel

My Rifle, My Pony and Me- Dean Martin & Ricky Nelson

Jamie DeCurry:

Beautiful Loser- Bob Seger

Take It to the Limit- Eagles

I Want to Live- John Denver

Ripple- The Grateful Dead

Alain Johns:

You Don't Know How It Feels- Tom Petty

Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes- Jimmy Buffett

Mexico- James Taylor

Another Saturday Night- Sam Cooke

ka-tet of 19

Susannah Dean:

Box of Rain- The Grateful Dead

Comes a Time- Neil Young

End of the Line- The Traveling Wilburys

Poems, Prayers and Promises- John Denver

Eddie Dean:

Wild West Hero- ELO

American Storm- Bob Seger

The Needle and the Damage Done- Neil Young

Son of Man- Phil Collins

Jake Chambers:

A Child in These Hills- Jackson Browne

Mad World- Tears for Fears

Sounds of Silence- Simon & Garfunkel

You'll Be In My Heart- Phil Collins

Father Callahan

Lord Is It Mine- Supertramp

Tuesday's Dead- Cat Stevens

Show Me the Way- Styx

Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters- Elton John

BONUS

Walter O'Dim

Everybody Loves Me- Don McLean

Dire Wolf- The Grateful Dead

The Gambler- Kenny Rogers

The Loner- Neil Young