#me and mars gonna have a sit down come to jesus meeting if I don’t shift on Friday idc

[anotherwrld]

⟡ zodiacal shifting ⟡

I happened to stumble across a TikTok that alluded to the idea that your birth chart could really impact the trajectory of your shifting journey, so of course I had to check it out. A quick search later, and I find this creator who has basically a beginners guide to using your birth chart to your advantage and a dissection of zodiacal shifting.

below is simply some notes I took about my signs and the advice given for me ⟡

scorpio moon ⟡ mars: inconvenient, intensity, fast, and intimidating

- mars is intense and to the point in how it goes about business. it values and finds strength within valor and courage, while its weakness lies in impulsivity.

- this means very intense, almost debilitating shifting symptoms. this can include but is not limited to: feeling shadowy figures and presences during methods or meditation, auditory hallucinations, and haunting images. on the more tame side of symptoms, itching is very much a spoken for symptom.

- shifting unexpectedly or inconveniently is to be expected of the mars sign. love that lol !

- “mars generally makes shifting a slightly challenging journey as the lesser malefic, and would be considered a negative shifting placement. just because it is a negative doesn’t mean you won’t shift.”

- “mars appreciates a fighter, so if you can prove to mars that you can fight for what you want, you will be rewarded.”

recommended shifting method ⟡

- an awake method is your friend — make sure to enter the flow state

- if you must use a sleep method, try to enter hynagogia and then do your method while in that state

- shift during the day or evening, avoid doing so right before bed

- the “five break five” method (?)

- black noise

- use subliminals that are designed to be intense

cancer rising ⟡ mercury: wants to think, contradict, understand, and be open-minded

- a prisoner to your own mind. not quite a skeptic, but rather science based in how you question and pull apart shifting as a theory. easy to blame a method rather than blame the mindset, and easy to jump to beating yourself up for not shifting.

- as the journey progresses, you will find that letting go is the key. you have to let go entirely to all logic and yearning to understand, and come to peace it’s the fact that control is an illusion.

disconnecting from your CR ⟡

- don’t say affirmations if you don’t believe in them. don’t make them empty. if they don’t resonate, don’t put it out. rather, tweak and modify them to resonate with you instead. curate new ones that are charged with belief.

- brown noise can help dull out reality.

- genuinely try to trick yourself into shifting. lie until it becomes truth. the key isn’t delusion, it’s about consciously thinking and believing your ability until you shift.

- don’t fall into the temptation to believe you have it all figured out. if you attempt and don’t shift, obviously you don’t ��� so re-analyze and fix it.

- shifting is not something to tame. it is something that is meant to evolve around you.

grounding and connecting to your CR ⟡ 4th house

- “you likely aren’t going to be awake when you shift, but rather in a very fine line between a hypnagogic and hypnopomic state. for example, you might’ve scripted that your DR self is just waking up from a nap.”

- the goal is to manifest the world around you and ground yourself after you shift. ground yourself in your DR when you wake up and are conscious.

⟡ what I can do to alter and customize my shifting routine to fit me, like a custom tailored method ⟡

- creating my own listen along meditation. except, this isn’t just a meditation I’ll be listening to. in order to abide my the need to get into a flow state first, I’ll pull a meditation I resonate most with from YT, and drop it into a video editor. this will settle me into the flow state.

- then, ill add music and voice excerpts from my cc’s in for exactly five minutes. this will trigger the beginning of the five by five method. consciously, I’ll know the cut off of the voice excerpts will mean the end of the first five minutes. and with all of this media combined, it allows me to stay in that flow state as I won’t need to touch my phone and risk pulling myself from the immersion.

- I’ll have five minute intervals that swap between voice excerpts with underlying powerful subliminals (thanks to audio editing), and meditative guidance. since this is an awake method, I’ll do this and listen and follow until I fall asleep, with the intention that I will wake up in my DR.

- once conscious in my CR, I’ll ground myself. and thanks to the routine I’ll have set of meditating every morning, it will seem natural to continue to follow that routine, despite the fact that I’m in a different reality.

[arrowflier]

A fic prompt if you'd like: Mickey opening up to Ian about details of his childhood and the abuse he suffered. In 11x06 after Terry is brought home Mickey says he could do anything to him now like "piss on him and let him air dry" and "use his mouth as an ash tray". To me it sounds like those are examples of things that Terry has done to him.

Content warning: child abuse

the things he did

“You’re so much better than that.”

Ian’s words echoed in Mickey’s head while the cooked dinner together. They resonated as they sat side by side at the table to eat, shoulders brushing, rings glinting in the harsh lights of the kitchen. They played on loop as they retired to the living room, alone for once with everyone else out for the night who knew where, sitting close on the sofa as mindless sitcoms droned on from the television.

“What if I’m not?” Mickey asked abruptly, when it got to be too much.

Ian turned to look at him, face full of shadows in the blue light from the tv.

“What if you’re not what?” he questioned, confused, and Mickey shifted away from him, bringing a knee onto the sofa between them to face his husband.

“Not better than that,” he answered, and saw Ian realize what he was talking about. It was in the way his eyes softened in that harsh light, the way his lips turned down at the thought that Mickey might question himself.

He always took it personally when Mickey did that.

“You are, Mickey,” Ian reassured instantly, just as expected. “I know you are.”

Mickey shook his head, looking down. His fingers scratched at the label of his beer, tearing it from the condensation-wet bottle.

“You don’t,” he said quietly. “No one fucking does.” He shook his head, looked up again into Ian’s green eyes. “You don’t just come away from a life like that and turn out alright.”

Ian looked like he wanted to argue. His chin was already pushing out, his lips pressed tight and thin.

Mickey didn’t give him a chance.

“If you knew half the things he did to us, man,” Mickey laughed humorlessly, averting his gaze again. “He should be on death row right now, not sitting next door with a roof over his fuckin’ head.”

“Tell me,” Ian prompted softly, but Mickey shook his head.

“You don’t want to hear this shit, Ian.” At least, Mickey didn’t want him to hear it. Didn’t want him to think of Terry when he looked at Mickey’s face.

“I do though,” Ian countered easily. “Wanna know everything about you, Mick.”

He was always saying things like that. Always trying to challenge the barriers Mickey put up.

But Mickey always challenged his, too, so he supposed that it was a fair enough trade.

“Fuckin’ sap,” Mickey said anyway, glancing up at Ian’s face and down again. “Gonna change what you think of me,” he added more quietly, and bit his lip at how pathetic it made him sound.

“Mickey,” Ian said. That was it, just his name. But it made things better, somehow. “Nothing can change how I feel about you,” Ian went on. “Besides, I was there for some it, remember?”

Mickey snorted, and took a swig of beer.

“How could I fuckin’ forget?”

They sat in silence for a long moment, only the sound of the clock ticking behind them and the strains of an annoying jingle on the TV filling the room. Ian didn’t scoot any closer, didn’t ask Mickey again. He just sat in his presence, calming sipping his own drink, and waited Mickey out.

It was a technique that never failed him.

“It wasn’t too bad when our mom was there,” Mickey started out of nowhere. “She was strung out most of the time, but she cared, you know?” He ran a hand through his hair, scratched his neck. “At least in her own way.”

“And when she wasn’t?” Ian prompted gently. Not pushing, just providing a guiding hand.

Mickey shook his head. “When she wasn’t, things really went to hell.”

A beat. The TV had changed over to some new infomercial, an obnoxiously eager voice droning on about the ‘next best thing’, whatever that was. Mickey ignored it. They both did.

“Iggy and Colin were already used to it, I think,” Mickey expanded. “They were around more the first few times she left, when Mandy and I were still in school. They knew what was coming when she was gone for good.”

Ian made a sound, deep in his throat. He set down his glass on the coffee table, overlapping the multitude of condensation rings that already marred the surface, and grabbed up the carton of cigarettes that lay there. He lit it with a spare lighter, took a drag, and passed it over to Mickey’s waiting hand.

“What about you?” he asked casually. Too casually for the way his fingers shook when Mickey took the cigarette from him.

Mickey scoffed. “Me?” he repeated, then took a drag himself. He held it in as long as he could, breathed it out in a plume of smoke that hid the new wetness in his eyes.

“I was a naive little shit whose mamma hadn’t warned him how bad Terry could get,” Mickey said, then took another hit.

“The first time he hit me—really hit me, not just a cuff around the ears for mouthing off—he laid me out flat on the kitchen floor. I had eaten the last side of bacon, see,” he explained. “Mandy made it for me after school. And Terry’d been savin’ it for after whatever run he was out on.”

Ian stayed silent.

“Couldn’t tell him it was Mandy’s fault,” Mickey went on. “He didn’t care that she was a girl.” Mickey flicked the ashes off the end of the cigarette, watched them fall. Watched the tiny burns it made on the knee of his jeans. “Didn’t care until she was useful.”

Ian swallowed hard at the reminder of what Terry had done to his best friend. But this was about Mickey right now, not Mandy, and as much as she was entrenched in that part of his life, it wasn’t what he needed to get out.

So Ian scooted closer, brushed ashes off Mickey’s knee and rested his hand there, waiting.

Mickey stared at the point of contact, then at his cigarette again.

“You know he used to burn me with these?” Mickey asked abruptly, waving the lit stick in his hand. “Think it was an accident, the first time. Caught me suckin’ on a candy one when I was a kid, told me I needed to man up. Tried to stick a lit one in my mouth, but he was drunk. Used the wrong end.”

He tongued the corner of his lips. “Couldn’t eat for two days while it was healin’.” He chuckled, shook his head. “I was suck a fuckin’ wimp back then, man.”

“Not the worst thing he’s put in my mouth, though,” Mickey continued, on a roll now. His voice was faint, full of that absent quality it got when he wasn’t really there. When he was reliving his nightmares in real time.

“Stumbled into my room more than once looking for the toilet,” he confided. “Forgot there was a second door, I think. He usually just went in the corner, but he got me on my bed more than once.”

Mickey paused, looked up at Ian through his lashes.

“You know why I don’t breathe through my mouth anymore?”

Ian shook his head.

“Wakin’ up to the taste of piss will teach you that trick real quick.”

The cigarette was gone, now, and his beer was only dregs. Mickey stared at a space over Ian’s shoulder, breathing heavy, refusing to let his eyes spill over.

He was done crying for the kid that let his dad walk all over him. He was done crying for Terry. He was done with all of it.

And he really, really wished that were true.

“Frank locked me in the basement, once,” Ian stated suddenly, taking the empty beer bottle out of Mickey’s hand and placing it with his own glass on the table. “During one of my mom’s episodes, when she wouldn’t get out of bed.”

Mickey just looked at him. Let Ian take his hand, turn it over to hold it in his.

“He told Fiona I was at a sleepover, and she believed him—forgot I didn’t really have any friends.” Ian grinned, then, but it was empty, almost sharp.

You had friends, Mickey wanted to say. You had family. You had me.

But the first and the last were lies, and the middle wasn’t always a blessing.

“Lip found me two days later,” Ian told him. “He got suspicious when he saw Frank taking food down there; he was an asshole, but he wasn’t gonna starve a kid on purpose, at least.”

Ian laughed, and rubbed his free hand along the leg of his pants.

“He just didn’t want to look at me.”

Mickey gripped his hand tighter.

“Why are you tellin’ me this?” he asked. “It’s not a fuckin’ competition, man.”

“I’m just saying,” Ian pressed on. “We don’t have to be our dads, Mickey.”

Oh. And there it was. Ian, his husband, ever the optimist.

“What if we don’t get that choice?” Mickey questioned. He’d seen it often enough, after all. Milkoviches that tried to get out, tried to do better for themselves and their kids.

But they always ended up back where they started. They always ended up under Terry’s roof, and under his thumb, just waiting for another chance to break free.

Ian shrugged, and pulled him closer, tucking Mickey’s head into the space between his own neck and shoulder. Mickey made a grumbling sound, but went without protest, tilting his head so that his nose rested near Ian’s collarbone.

“Then I guess we have to kill each other,” Ian stated blandly.

Mickey gave a stunned, barked laugh, breath hitching and releasing in a wash of hot air over Ian’s neck.

“Ian, what the fuck?” he managed, but Ian only gripped him tighter, pressing his face into skin so that he couldn’t speak.

“It’s for the greater good, Mick,” Ian assured him. “Mutually assured destruction, and all that, right?”

He ran a hand down Mickey’s back, scratching lightly.

“I lock you in a basement, you take me out,” he declared. “You piss on me—well, without my permission at least—”

“Ew, Ian, Jesus Christ—”

“I get to murder you in your sleep.” Ian pulled back just enough to look at him, Mickey meeting his eyes without a struggle this time. For all the macabre discussions, Ian’s eyes were bright.

“Deal?” Ian asked, and Mickey finally smiled.

“Yeah, alright, tough guy,” he agreed. “It’s a fuckin’ deal.”

[thedumpsterqueen]

Standards of Performance

Here it is!!!!! First chapter of my first fic on my new AO3! This is a multi-chapter, slow burn work. Please let me know what you think, I welcome screaming and incoherent asks about our fave special agent in my inbox. Full text under the cut, or you can find it through the AO3 link below.

AO3 link

Summary:  You're the BAU's newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 1, Coffee Stains and Neckties

Words: 2388

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

Warnings: Not much for this chapter specifically, but let’s just assume general gore and murder stuff, explicit language, and sexual content are fair game form here on out.

Enjoy! I’ll try to update weekly, if not more often. I’ll let you know when I have a more defined schedule!

“Fucking SHIT!”

You cursed as you felt the (very, very) hot coffee soak your new skirt. Grabbing as many paper towels as you could with one hand, you tried to sop up the mess on the floor. The stain on your outfit? A shame, but nothing compared to marring the assuredly expensive cream color of the BAU’s breakroom carpet.

A low chuckle sounded off behind you, and you froze.

For the love of god, please don’t be…

“Morgan! Please tell me you have carpet cleaner, oh my god. I don’t even know how that happened.”

Morgan grinned, as he typically did, sauntering into the breakroom with his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, the janitor's got it later. I was looking for you, team meeting in five. You all good? You look a little - ” he paused, probably searching for a descriptor that wouldn’t sting too bad, “ - rushed.”

You stood up, sighing. He was right, after all. You had stayed up late last night poring over psychology textbooks and only just woken up in time to leave your apartment. As the BAU’s newest profiling intern - whatever the hell that actually meant - the pressure of performing to seasoned profilers’ standards manifested in spending practically all your free time buried in research. Hence why your hair was coated in unbelievable amounts of dry shampoo, you were wearing your unflatteringly oversized glasses instead of your usual contacts, and why your frantic attempt at pouring yourself a cup of coffee when you got into work had resulted in the giant wet spot currently soaking your skirt.

At least the skirt was black.

“You’re right. Late night,” you said, rolling your eyes at Morgan’s suggestive eyebrow waggle.

“Not like that, I wish. Just trying to catch up. Don’t really want to repeat last week’s disaster,” you mumbled, referring to the first time you actually got to question a suspect, which had ended up with a wad of saliva hawked in your face. It was only your third week in the position, but damn, if that hadn’t let the wind out of your sails a bit.

“Hey, what did I tell you then?” Morgan asked, as you walked out of the breakroom together. “You’re not a true profiler until you get assaulted by a serial killer!”

“I’m not a true profiler until I finish the year long training program,” you pointed out, “so I think I could do without the spit in the meantime.”

Morgan laughed, opening the door of the team’s briefing room for you. “Well if we’d known you were gonna be so picky, we might have gone with someone else.”

“Who’s picky?” asked Emily, looking up from her seat.

While Morgan laughed and launched into a dramatic retelling of the event as if the entire team hadn’t already fucking seen it in real time, you took your seat at the table. Reid nodded in acknowledgment, and you returned it with a small smile. Damn if he wasn’t handsome, and ridiculously smart to boot, but you were pretty sure your chances with him withered and died when you asked him what he was doing after work last Friday and he answered with, “Reading.” Point taken.

Hotch swiveled in his chair to face the table and you suddenly became acutely aware of how much of a mess you probably looked. It’s not that you cared about his opinion regarding your general appearance beyond the basic standard of professional attire, but his always-intense gaze and stony expression had a way of making you second guess even your most confidently held opinions.

“Sit,” he said, his voice cutting through the rest of the team’s animated chatter.

It would have been hard not to notice how quickly they obliged, not out of fear, but rather a respect and deference so deeply ingrained that it almost gave you goosebumps. You’d never thought of yourself as a follower, per say, but if Hotch was what a leader looked like, you certainly didn’t fit into that category either.

He scanned the table, stopping on you. “New glasses?” he asked, with a single, slightly raised eyebrow.

“I, um, not really, just didn’t have time to put my contacts in,” you stammered.

“Hm,” Hotch said, “They look nice.”

Your cheeks suddenly felt hot, and you thanked him quickly, looking down at your shoes to conceal the pink that was probably spreading across your face. Hotch had a way of speaking that made everything he said sound like the absolute truth, which was probably why such an innocuous little compliment had disarmed you so much.

Still though, jesus christ. Get it the fuck together. You’re not Reid; you’re not smart enough to be this awkward.

Hotch, blessedly ignoring how painful you just made that interaction, addressed the team while JJ passed out files. “We have a new case. Three bodies, all found completely drained of blood in various woods, off hiking trails. Cause of death appears to be blood loss from severed carotid arteries, meaning they were likely strung up and drained before being moved to where they were discovered.”

Reid spoke up first. “Erm, what exactly do you mean by various woods?”

“That’s the unusual thing,” Hotch said, pulling up a map of the southwestern United States on the screen behind him. "Each body was found in a different state, one here, one here, and one here,” pointing to spots in California, Arizona, and Nevada. “However, local police discovered the bodies within hours of each other due to anonymous tip offs, and medical examiners estimate approximately the same time of death for all three.”

Morgan whistled lowly. “So what you’re saying is, this guy kills three victims around the same time and takes a road trip to hide their bodies in places he knows won't be discovered until he calls in.”

“That’s how it appears, yes,” Hotch confirmed.

Rossi shook his head, twirling a pen that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. “So, how are we splitting this up?”

You whipped your head in his direction. Splitting up? Of course, you should have known it’d only make sense considering the ground to be covered, but your quick mental calculations told you that there were six of them, evenly split into three groups of two, and one odd man out, both in skill and number - you.

“So, who’s getting stuck with me?” you asked, trying to beat everyone to the punch. Not that any of them would voice it, but if you couldn’t project confidence, you figured self-awareness would do.

When you entered the internship as a recent college grad around a month ago, you knew you’d be in way over your head. Everyone else on the team was a seasoned expert, and you were a 20-something with a degree in psychology who somehow managed to charm her way through the interviews of the BAU’s flagship internship program. It’s not that you weren’t smart, you were, of course, but comparatively? You were pretty sure this was shaping up to be a glorified babysitting program, and you were the baby.

“Oh, hush,” JJ said, smiling and shaking her head. You smiled back. JJ had gone out of her way to make you feel welcome, which you were unspeakably grateful for. Between her and Morgan, you sometimes felt like maybe when this year was done, you could actually belong on this team.

Hotch interrupted your pity party. “Rossi, you’re with Reid in Phoenix. JJ and Emily, you’re going to Vegas. Morgan, you and I are going to San Diego.”

He turned to you. “You’re coming with me.”

Your stomach flipped at his words. You knew he had the most to teach you, and you could observe him coordinating the entire investigation from San Diego, but the idea of your performance being directly scrutinized by your boss in such a small group made you more nauseous than excited.

“Please be aware,” he continued, “Garcia is going to have to deal with three times the inquiries as normal. I recommend you only contact her if the information you’re searching for is genuinely too difficult to find yourself.” He gave Morgan a pointed look, to which Morgan raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning.

“We’ll drop teams off as we go,” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.”

____________

As you settled into your seat on the plane, your mind spun, trying to review every piece of psychology knowledge you’d ever encountered. This wasn’t your first case, but it was the first one you got to travel for, which made it feel much more real.

The hours ticked by as the team reviewed the case. You contributed - not much, and nothing they wouldn’t have thought of without you - but it was something. Narcissist, craves attention and spotlight, physically confident enough to detain and murder three women at the same time. The method was throwing the team for a loop, however. Bleeding the victims out was clinical, relatively painless - uncharacteristic of the sexual injuries found on the corpses and the bravado with which the killer executed the rest of the crime.

When you, Hotch, and Morgan trudged off the plane in San Diego, you had been going at the potential profile for hours and even Morgan’s patience was wearing thin.

“Look, Hotch, let’s hold off on speculation until we see the crime scene in person, alright?”

Hotch nodded, and took that as a cue to head straight to the crime scene. You groaned internally - having barely showered this morning and spent half the day on a plane, your greasy hair and coffee-stained skirt would have greatly benefited from a stop at the hotel to freshen up.

It’s not like you have to look good to go stare at a patch of dirt where a dead body used to to be though, right?

____________

Turns out the aforementioned patch of dirt was actually a wooded grove off a hiking trail leading to a nude beach, much to Morgan’s delight. The site itself was uninteresting except for the way the body had been buried - covered up very securely, implying remorse, another characteristic that didn’t make sense with the initial profile.

This commonality between all three crime scenes was hotly debated on the video conference between the entire team when you got back to the hotel. Cross legged on the bed in Hotch’s hotel room, you listened to Reid and Rossi snipe back and forth on the laptop about what the burial method could mean for ten-plus minutes (“It’s clearly just a functional tool to properly hide the body, Reid.” “But you don’t know that, the significance of burial practices can tell us so much more beyond function, it can even tell us about his religious upbringing…”) before Hotch put a stop to it.

“What do you think?” Hotch asked you, turning and looking directly into your gaze. You were suddenly hyperware of the proximity between you two - sitting close enough on the edge of the bed that your thighs were almost touching. Morgan had abandoned his position on the other side of you to stretch out in the armchair by the window halfway through Rossi and Reid’s debate. Hotch’s eyes boring into yours from only a few feet away and the expectant silence of the other team members on the video call spiked your heart rate, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

“I… agree with Dr. Reid. I think it means something. The position of the hands, they were crossed across the chest, right? He didn’t need to do that. I don’t know if it means he was remorseful, but it was on purpose. I think.”

Hotch nodded, not breaking eye contact. “Good. Let's move forward with that theory.” He turned back to the laptop. “Let me know how interviews with the loved ones go tomorrow. Let’s find the connection between the victims. Call me if you need anything.” After shutting the laptop, he turned to you and Morgan. “Let’s call it for tonight. Meet me in the lobby at 7 tomorrow.”

Having been excused, you and Morgan made your way to your hotel rooms next to Hotch’s. Morgan wished you goodnight, and you unlocked your door and practically sprinted into your shower.

After you got out, you looked around the room, towel drying your hair. It was nice, much nicer than anywhere you’d ever stayed. The abstract art on the walls and the modern, clean white lines of the furniture were lit by the soft glow of the sunset filtering through the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony overlooking the ocean. You poured yourself a glass of wine from the minibar (a reimbursable travel expense, right?) and stepped onto the balcony, breathing in the ocean air.

“Nice night, hm?”

You jumped, nearly spilling your drink down your front for the second time in less than 24 hours. Hotch was sitting in a chair on his balcony to the left of yours, reclining with his hands behind his head. Despite wearing nothing but your thin hotel robe, you felt the urge to avert your eyes from him. His suit jacket was shucked, tie undone and hanging around his neck, and the top two buttons of his white, collared shirt were unbuttoned. You felt like you were seeing something you shouldn’t have, like the cold stoniness of his exterior had shifted just slightly and allowed you a glimpse underneath.

It’s just a couple buttons, calm down. You’re the one who’s barely clothed in front of your fucking boss.

“It is. Shame we can’t go to the beach,” you replied, keeping your eyes forward.

Oh my god, three women were murdered and I just complained to my boss about not being able to go to the beach.

“You’re welcome to get up early and go tomorrow; might be a bit cold,” Hotch replied. You could tell from his voice he was smiling.

You mumbled in affirmation, continuing to avoid glancing in his direction. “Well, I just wanted to see the view, um, I’m gonna get to bed. Goodnight, Agent Hotchner!” You ducked back into your room, and you could have sworn you heard him chuckle before you slid the door shut.

After getting ready, beating yourself up mentally for your complete social incompetence, and tucking in under the plush, white duvet, you drifted off to sleep.

[the-story-of-how-we-died]

I wrote a quick drabble maybe a week ago, planning on writing some more, eventually. I ain't feeling it, so might as well post it. It ends pretty abruptly, but who knows, maybe one day Ill finish it /shrug.

In the Park

(Under the cut)

Marcy jumped as her phone buzzed twice against her chest, temporarily quieting her blaring music. She let out a sight as she missed the double jump - again - and fell into the same pit of spikes that had claimed her the last three times. 

    So close yet so fricking far, she grumbled to herself as she threw the console to her side. Onto a pillow, of course. Couldn’t risk breaking it. I’m gonna finish that level one way or another. 

    She grabbed her phone. On the screen was a message from Sasha. She quickly typed in her pin - 0286 (The date her favorite game ever was released.)

    Hey, my mom’s gonna be home soon and Anne’s at tennis. Lets hang ;P.

    It didn’t take a genius to read inbetween the lines. It wasn’t a question as much as a begging. 

Sure. I haven’t been out of bed all day anyhow. Wanna meet up at the park on fifth? We can meet up with Anne after ahe done with practice

Marcy didn’t blame Sasha for wanting to avoid her mother. Marcy only met the women once or twice, and she... left something to be desired, to say the least. She wasn’t a bad woman, at least, marcy hadn't spent enough time with her to form that judgement, but she certainly wasn’t cut out to be a mother.

Sure! meet ya there, marbles :3

Marcy groaned as she threw herself out of bed, quickly putting on a pair of pants and her jacket. She stuffed her Creatures & Caverns core rulebook and monster manual, Switch, and portable charger in her bag before grabbing her favourite bobby pin and sticking it in her hair. She carefully made her way through the piles of books and papers on her floor before opening her door.

“Hey, mā, Sash wanted to hang out a bit before her mom gets home, that OK?” Marcy yelled down the hall.

“Just be home before dinner! Oh, and bring xiăo làjiāo a snack, OK?” Her mother said back, quite a bit quieter than Marcy.

“Hăo, māmā! Be back in a bit!” Marcy yelled as she ran down the stairs, grabbing a banana and a soda from the fridge before running out the door - nearly slipping on nothing,

Marcy plugged her headphones into her phone, starting a playlist as she began walking down the street. The late summer sun was setting behind the cityscape, casting the sky in deep reds and purples, a few lavender clouds clinging to the edges of the horizon. She walked in beat with her music, down her road. She was still thinking about that video game level, going over it again and again in her head. She barely noticed the houses passing by as she walked further and further. She and Sash - and Anne when she didn’t have practice - often hung out in the park, for as long as Marcy could remember. It was actually where she had first met Sasha, way back in kindergarten. She stood up to two middle schoolers who kicked her and Anne off the swings, which Marcy always thought was weird. What kind of middle schoolers would bully kindergartens? They were barely 6 at the time. That’d be like a 24 year old bullying a 12 year old. She paused. Well, on the internet, anything’s possible. It’s like a 24 year old bullying a twelve year old in real life.

Marcy stopped at the crosswalk, pressing the button. She watched as the little red hand across the street wave at her, and she couldn't help but smile and wave back. That jump had to be frame perfect though, it just had to be. There was no other way you could make it. She knew that you were supposed to fall there, to prevent you from going that direction until you got an upgrade. She also knew that it was possible, she’s seen other people do it. It just was hard. Super, super, super hard.

The waving hand turned to the green man as she began to walk across the road, making sure to wave at each of the driver’s she passed by. Everyone made the jump look so easy, it was infuriating to her. She turned onto the final stretch of road, the sign of the park in view. She stood up straight, trying to see where Sasha was, when she caught the signature denim jacket over by the tennis courts.

She doesn’t know what came over her at that moment, but whatever it was, it caused her to grab the bars of the fence and heave herself up. She braced her foot against the bars and thrusted her body upwards, grabbing the top of the fence. She struggled for a moment, barely managing to throw one leg over the top. It was luckily a flat top, because she probably wouldn't have had the strength to keep herself from touching it. With another heave, she threw her other leg over the top, so she was sitting on it. She quickly took off her backpack and gently threw it to the ground. Well, as gently as one could throw something to the ground. She grinned to herself, as she, in one final moment of hubris, decided to jump off the top of the fence instead of climbing back down. If only they were looking at ol’ klutzy Marcy now! Anne wou-

“Mar-Mar! What are you doing?” A familiar voice drifted across the park, causing Marcy to second guess herself at the last second, and with a yelp and a tumble, Marcy fell off the fence, twirling in the air before landing with a sudden and rough thump! Pain wracked through her body as she felt something in her shoulder go Pop! and a burning sensation shot down her arm. Her breath was knocked right out of her lungs. Through her somewhat dampened hearing, she heard a barrage of foot falls as two familiar heads popped into her view.

“Marcy! Are you okay?!” Anne nearly shouted, kneeling down at her side.

“What were you doing up there, Marbles?” Sasha said as she reached into her back, fishing out a case with a red “+” on it.

Marcy chuckled, somewhat ironically and then winced from the pain. “Wha- What makes you think I know? All I know was I was gonna land till one of you two called me out on how stupid that was.” She grinned as she looked up at her friends, only getting two concerned looks back. “Aw, come on you two. This isn’t the most stupid thing I’ve done, not by a long shot! Remember the rope-”

“Oh, Jesus, Marce! Don’t bring up the rope! Your arm-” Sasha mimicked gagging as she took out a toilette from the case and started wiping at some of Marcy’s cuts. Marcy grimicade at the burning of the alcohol on the fresh wounds.

“Practice already over, Anna-banana?”

“Yeah, Coach took a tennis ball straight to her good eye - at no fault of her own - so she let us all go earlier.”

“Yeah, it was wicked,” Sasha laughed. “That thing was going at least mach 4”

Anne rolled her eyes but grinned nonetheless.

“Well, by your grinning, I’ll take it she was okay,” Marcy smiled. “. wants me back before dinner, by the way.” She groaned as Sasha and Anne pulled her to her feet. The three of them began to walk over to the table Sasha was sitting at prior, Anne and Marcy sitting on one side, Sasha on the other.

“Oh, Sash! Have you eaten today? Māmā wanted me to bring you a snack. You know how she is." Marcy said, digging the banana and soda out of her bag.

Ye, that's all. Lost all motivation to finish it, so

Idk, I haven't gone through and revised it, either, so don't judge too harshly lol

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

COSAS DE NIÑOS.

Marcus Alvarez x Che Taza Romero's daughter!Reader

Word count: 2k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💖

Author Comments: Just something I needed to write about, I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits: @fromthesixteenthfloor

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

“FUCK!”

You spit your coffee turning over your barefoot, looking at your daughter through the american kitchen, without repairing in the mess you have done all around the tile floor. Lucia is painting in one of her color books and apparently she came out of the line.

“What was that, ah?”

She glances at you somewhat confused, pausing her important task.

“It's my new favorite word”.

The girl shrugs her shoulders playing the innocent one.

“No, it's not. And don' say that again”.

“Fuck”. She repeats challenging you, narrowing the big brown eyes.

“¿Qué dijo, señorita?” (What did you say?)

“You hea'me, mama”.

“Okay… Pack your things”.

“Where we goen'?” Her confusion comes back to her face, getting up from the chair.

“You're gonna say it to El Padrino”.

“No! No, mama! I'm sorre'!” She runs at you terrified, tangling her tiny arms around your right leg.

“I said ‘pack your things’, señorita”. There's no way back. Not even when Lucia starts to cry begging you with all her efforts.

Ignoring your daughter, you end your coffee as she put her case and her book inside the pink bag, with the tears wetting the shirt she's wearing. Sometimes is painful act like you don't care that she's sad, nor upset, nor unhappy, but she has to learn what se can say and what she can't. It would be easy if her father was there, with you two, but you can't try to fuck up the MC if you don't wanna be buried somewhere in the Sonoran desert. At least, you have your father who usually helps you with Lucia constantly. But Marcus is the one she loves. No one can mess with him is your daughter is around. And of course, no one can mess with your daughter without suffering by El Padrino. You know him since ever, practically, and when the Mayans killed Lucia's father, he promised you that he would take care of both at all cost. You didn't even love that man, so make him disappear was also a god's gift.

Your daughter is crying inconsolably while you tie up the seat belt around her body in the back seat. She stills begging you. Whenever she does something bad, you resort to Marcus. He always knows what to say and what to do with her. And you sometimes feel you shouldn't put that weight on his shoulders, but he seems so delighted when he does that it melts your heart. By turning on your car, you drive through the south border from Santa Madre to Santo Padre, and it only takes you some minutes where your headache starts to grow because of your child's weeping.

“Mama, plez', I'm sorre'”. Bawling full of pain, whilst grabbing her hand as soon as she gets out from the car.

All the bikes are parked there, what it means that the whole crew is inside the clubhouse. This is just getting better and better. Usually, when she misbehaves, the Mayans makes a completely show with it only to support your decisions to correct her bad behavior. Crossing the main door, as her cries get loud, the guys stare at you frowning in your daughter's direction. Leaving in the background whatever they were doing before you came, all of them cross their arms above their chests adopting that position they call “mad tíos”.

“Wha' happen', princesa?” Marcus asks with hidden curiosity.

“Mama, plez'”. She turns at you showing her best puppy-eyes reddened and filled with tears.

“I told ya', señorita. Now, tell Padrino”. You push her into the man, walking with small and slow steps towards him.

The girl has her head down, sobbing and shaking a little with her tiny hands tangled under her belly.

“What did you do, mija?” He says leaning with his arms supported on his lap.

Lucia turns at you for a second, waiting for a last minute redemption. However, you raise your chin pouting in a serious look. She sighs cleaning her tears with the back of her hands, ahead she looks at El Padrino.

“I ju—I just say som—somethen'… bad”.

The mexican nods thoughtful before the next question.

“About me?”

“No! ’Cors' no!” She shakes her head in a dramatic way, taking some more steps close to him.

Your father places himself by your side, giving you a funny look as you're trying not to laugh watching the heart-break faces the crew has.

“I sa-said… ‘fuck’”.

The Mayans continue the show, making a surprised sound before clicking their tongues in disagreement. Good Lord, it's costing you your whole life not to break in laughter.

“Why do I think you didn't just say it once?” Marcus gesture gets somewhat rude and angry, but with that calm position he always has.

“I said it… twice”. When your girl sees how disappointed is her true love, she tries to fix it.

“Dammit, mami!” Coco and Angel says, as the guys pretend that they're whispering about Lucia just to make her feel worse. You all are going to burn in hell.

“But 'am sorre'! I'll not say tha'gain! I promise!”

Marcus, lying on his chair, cross his arms on his chest putting his gaze away your daughter, but in you for a second.

“Wait outside and think about what you did. I'm gonna talk with mama in the meantime”.

Your daughter's cheek are being runned by some tears, so long as she nods.

“Can I hug you?”

You can notice who every heart in the room stops for a second, yours included. Sometimes is so hard to not comfort her that you feel extra bad. But she has to learn one way or another.

“No, mija. Estoy triste por lo que hiciste”. (No, mija. I'm sad for what you did). Marcus gets up of his chair, putting well on his kutte whilst turning to the Templo.

“Sit outside and think about what you did”. You say to your daughter as soon as she walks close to you.

“Mama… do ya' think he coul' be happe' if I draw somethen'?” Lucia asks you with a broken voice and her eyes on her foots.

“I don' know. Try it”.

This sounds like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, so she practically runs to your car to take her bag and get to work, sitting on the couch in the porch.

“Jeez, my heart…” EZ says, while you chuckles and the rest seems agreed.

“She only listens to Marcus”.

And that's true. Sometimes it bothers you and pushes you to the limit, but you're thankful for having him in your life. Passing away the men who continue with whatever they were doing, you close Templo's door behind your back resting it there. You're laughing slightly like he's doing also shaking his head.

“You're a good mother”. He says then, pulling away the main chair at the table, so he can support his body against the edge.

“Yea', I think so… But sometimes it just… It's difficult”. That's all you can say, because you're not sure how explain it, even if you know he understand you perfectly.

The man offers you a hand, lifted on air, tangling your fingers with his and coming closer till your chests meet. He kisses you, pressing your lips so dearly and gently that your legs are about to fail. Traveling your hands to both sides of the man's neck, his reach your low back. Having a deep breathe after some seconds, Marcus rest his forehead against yours, touching your nose with his in a soft caress.

“You know? I was thinking about tellin' Lucia that we're together”. The mexican says looking for your eyes, and noticing somekind of surprise in them.

“Did you?”.

“Yes”. He just say. “With respect and your permission, I'm already like her father”.

“Yea', you are, Marcus”.

���And it's been eight month since we started”. He adds. “What do you think about having dinner together, maybe… drop it to her”.

“Yes, we could”. Your lips are pursed in brief smile, kissing him again as much as you missed him after three days out of Cali.

“Outside?” Marcus gets up from the table, holding one of your hand and leaving a gentle kiss on the back of it.

“Yea', she thought you would be happy, if she draws something for you”.

El Padrino beams at you, walking towards the colorful glass door to cross it. He lets go your hand to continue with his steps outside, where your daughter is waiting for him.

“Are you gonna tell her?” Taza asks you, putting an arm on your shoulders.

“Yep. We think it's time”. You raise your eyes to your father. He looks good with the idea, knowing how much Marcus loves you and respects you.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Salsa music floods the restaurant terrace, full of people, families and children that just meet playing and running around the tables decorated with white and small candles. It's a good temperature outside, and Lucia looks happy sitting in front of you, looking everything surrounding her. Drinking of her lemon soda by the straw whilst dancing her hips on the chair, you look at Marcus. You can't help but feeling terrified. You're nervous, not sure if it's going to end well or if it's going to be a chaos. Your daughter is extremely jealous with the mexican.

“So… corazón, we have to tell you something”. You say finally with trembling voice, even if the man is holding and narrowing your hand under the table.

“Are ya' gonna have a baby?”

You're pretty sure your mouth could touch the floor whilst your heart jumping about give you an attack. Marcus breaks in laughter, but you don't see the funny point on it.

“No, mija, we're not gonna have a baby”.

“Oh”. That sounded like a letdown.

“You would like it…?” You ask confused, leaning on the table, with your free arm supported in.

“Yes! It would be cool!”.

“Yes?” Marcus is confused too, with his gaze in your daughter's.

“Yea', I think I coul' sher' ma' dad”.

Sweet Jesus, you're about to die because of a terrible shame. The mexican is about to drown with his own saliva, coughing for a while.

“But, if it's not a baby, what is, mama?” Lucia turns her attention to you, waiting for another thing.

“Well, ahm… Marcus and I…”

“We're together”. He says, knowing that it's costing you a lot to tell her.

“Ya', I knew it”.

“Did you?” Frowning your eyebrows and licking your lips somewhat more relaxed, you twist your neck.

“Yep, you're too obvious, mama”.

You're sure that your boyfriend can't laugh louder than right now, covering his mouth with a hand because of her words. Lucia laughs too, as you chuckle having a sip of your beer.

“I hear' ya' tell tia Letti ‘fuck, we should get married’. That's why it's my favorite word, 'cuz I would like't too, mama”.

“Jesus Christ…” Your hands covering your face as you nail your elbows on the table, and your cheeks getting red as hell.

“Did you?” Marcus ask with some kind of mirth.

“Canna' go to play?” The innocence in her voice overwhelms you, while she's asking directly to her ‘new dad’.

“Claro, mija, ve. Te avisamos cuando llegue la orden”. (Sure, mija, go. We'll tell you when the food is here).

As soon as Lucia jumps off of her chair, Marcus turns at you without letting go your hand, and by supporting the other arm on the table.

“Did you?” He asks again very interested in your answer.

“Maybe”. You reply with pursed lips trying not to laugh because of the bashfulness.

The man, leaning above you and reaching one of your flushed cheeks, catches your lips between his in a sweet and silky kiss. Slowly, enjoying the peace that has just arrived to your life after having the agreement of your daughter.

“I'll keep it in mind, mi amor”.

[dreamersmemes]

yungblud ‘weird’ sentences

feel free to change pronouns ! 

teresa

‘ i’m sorry that they stole your heart ’

‘ they blame you for walking out into the dark ’

‘ they were always gonna see through you ’

‘ they were always gonna try take your heart ’

‘ they were always gonna confuse you ’

‘ i felt it from the start ’

‘ i watch over you ’

‘ you don’t need to run ’

‘ i’ll follow you down every street ’

‘ every breath i would’ve taken, i give to you ’

‘ i won’t breathe again ’

cotton candy

‘ she knows she’s not the only one i’m keeping close ’

‘ tell me your name ’

‘ tell me your problems ’

‘ i wanna get stuck between your teeth like cotton candy ’

‘ i wanna get stuck between your teeth ’

‘ you’ll remember me, darling ’

‘ i’m losing myself in you ’

‘ our bedsheets turn religion upside down ’

‘ we just have sex to solve all our problems ’

‘ let’s do it again ’

strawberry lipstick

‘ i’ve got a toxic attitude ’

‘ i’ve got a toxic attitude and lack of self control ’

‘ need you to cleanse my sins ’

‘ they’re gonna lock me in the closet ’

‘ i’m coming out ’

‘ fuck all the oppression ’

‘ i’m gonna bite off all your fingers ’

‘ put them in my mouth ’

‘ i’m on my knees ’

‘ take it easy ’

‘ take it easy on me ’

‘ she’s so hard to please ’

‘ she got my heart in your hands ’

‘ i can’t see straight ’

‘ such a tease ’

‘ she’s gonna suck on my strawberry lipstick ’

‘ she got all the power in your fingertips ’

‘ she’s gonna taste my body ’

‘ i can’t breathe ’

‘ you can have it all ’

‘ don’t take my heart ’

mars

‘ the saddest pair of eyes that you’ve ever seen ’

‘ she can’t be herself when she’s somebody else ’

‘ she dreamed she’d go to california ’

‘ is there any life on mars ’

‘ they couldn’t understand ’

‘ all this therapy eats away gently at the side of her mind ’

‘ this story told too many times ’

‘ it makes me sad ’

‘ do you feel like you’re irrelevant? ’

‘ do you feel like you’re just scared as fuck? ’

superdeadfriends

‘ super dead kids with super dead friends ’

‘ you’re inside my head ’

‘ i want to live in a new dimension ’

‘ i want to live in a world where i can be who i am ’

‘ let me be free ’

‘ be prepared to accept them for what they’re gonna be ’

‘ it’s too late for you to die young ’

‘ they’ll never know where you were coming from ’

‘ they locked me in the room with a man with no manners ’

‘ if you stick around you might like what you find ’

love song

‘ all i learned growing up was that love chewed me up ’

‘ sweetheart you are changing my mind ’

‘ nobody taught me how to love myself ’

‘ how can i love somebody else? ’

‘ i swear i’m doing my best ’

‘ i’m so new to this ’

‘ i won’t let you down ’

‘ you patch up the blood and the cuts ’

‘ i guess we belong to each other ’

god save me, but don’t drown me out

‘ calm me down before i sleep ’

‘ i don’t know where i’ve just been ’

‘ the drugs just hit so i’m wide awake ’

‘ not gonna waste my life ’

‘ i’ve been fucked up ’

‘ i won’t let my insecurities define who i am ’

‘ take a breath and try to think straight ’

‘ there’s so much pressure ’

‘ i’m off my face ’

‘ i can’t fucking take it ’

‘ god save all of us ’

‘ i think we might be alright, you know ’

ice cream man

‘ i’m sitting on my own again ’

‘ i don’t wanna get out of bed ’

‘ take my dreams ’

‘ i don’t wanna be part of it ’

‘ i’m all used up ’

‘ i got nothing left ’

‘ i won’t ever be like the others ’

‘ make sure i fall asleep ’

weird!

‘ i can’t sleep ’

‘ got jesus on my mind ’

‘ i feel anxious all the time ’

‘ if i smiled, i would be lying ’

‘ only those who are asleep don’t make mistakes ’

‘ seems everybody’s worried ’

‘ hide self-deprecation up your sleeve ’

‘ self-serving friends leave you when you’re sinking ’

‘ come hold my hand ’

‘ hold it tight ’

‘ we’re in a weird time of life ’

‘ don’t wreck your brain, it’ll be alright ’

‘ i want luck ’

‘ i want love ’

‘ but the sun will shine tomorrow ’

‘ only those who are awake will make mistakes ’

charity

‘ i should never go outside ’

‘ i should run and hide ’

‘ because they breathe and bleed ’

‘ they’re sweet, like me ’

‘ i don’t need to be a freak ’

‘ i’d rather go blind than look into your eyes and tell you that i lied ’

‘ i made myself sad ’

‘ i feel comfortable here ’

‘ i made myself mad ’

‘ to be off the rails is to live without fear ’

‘ but then you start feeling nothing ’

‘ feel every fucking tear that comes to your eyes ’

‘ to feel is to breathe and to fear is to be free ’

‘ to be free is what it means to be successful to me ’

‘ love, i’m never coming home ’

‘ i just feel that i’m not real ’

‘ donate my brain to charity ’

acting like that

‘ whose that knocking at four in the morning? ’

‘ you like it more when i ignore it ’

‘ ayy, i’m back on my bullshit ’

‘ heard you hooked back up with your ex ’

‘ you’re way to hot to be acting like that ’

‘ i don’t wanna talk right now ’

‘ i think i’m okay ’

‘ never gonna change my mind ’

‘ i don’t think today is the last time ’

‘ i can see that look in your eyes ’

‘ i can’t sleep ’

‘ i’m all alone ’

‘ we reaped what we’ve sown ’

‘ can we meet somewhere in the middle? ’

‘ i’m going out my head ’

‘ i fell in love again ’

‘ i know that you’ll regret me in the morning ’

it’s quiet in beverly hills

‘ i don’t want them to believe that i am different ’

‘ i’m on a ledge that’s two feet high ’

‘ contemplating silent suicide ’

‘ i’m dying ’

‘ i’ll love you all of my life ’

‘ i got friends who fuck their friends and play pretend ’

‘ you pride yourself on what you fail to be ’

the freak show

‘ if i was to die tomorrow, would you come to my freak show tonight? ’

‘ i wanna get buzzed on the weekend ’

‘ get messed up and depressed with my friends ’

‘ i don’t need you ’

‘ i’ma take a drug on the weekend ’

‘ i’ve been hurt ten times before ’

‘ i’ve hurt myself ’

‘ everybody wants to be a little like us ’

‘ they don’t understand the things we’ve done ’

‘ they will try to change you ’

‘ they’re so afraid of you ’

‘ times will change ’

‘ you might break ’

‘ we’ll go on ’

[language-of-love]

one summer night... (prompt from @jessx2231: sitting on the porch at night) | Summer Soft Series on AO3

.........

Some hellbeast of a bug buzzes his ear and he flails wildly, both desperate to not have it touch his face and not actually make contact with whatever the hell that was. He doesn’t mind walking home from the store, in fact relishes the solitude of it, but these flying monstrosities inhabiting this town can fuck right off.

“Did you just have a stroke?”

“Oh jesus fuck!”

David feels a year of his life vanish into thin air, both from fright and sheer embarrassment as that disembodied voice takes form in a very amused Patrick Brewer sitting on Ray’s front porch.

“Sorry David, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Instead of responding, David holds his finger up as he takes a few steadying breaths, eyes narrowing as Patrick’s smile just grows wider. Why does he have to have a smile like that? And why are David’s lips nudging up to smile back? Enough of that.

“Does Ray know you’re loitering out here?”

“He does. But, point of fact, I’m not loitering. I live here.”

Wait, what? He’s known this man for weeks now and he’s just finding out that he lives with Ray?

“Really?”

“Yeah, I rent a room upstairs. Sorry, I just assume that everyone knows everything about everyone in this town, so I never mentioned it.”

“Hmm, okay, just...processing this new information over here.”

Patrick chuckles in that warm, rumbly way that he does and David’s rogue stomach does a little churn. He’s not sure what to do about his body’s growing awareness of this little business man that’s dropped into his life, so he does what he’s been doing for the past week and ignores it.

“While you’re processing, I’m gonna go grab a beer. Wanna join me for a drink?”

He doesn’t hold back the minor cringe at the word “beer”, which Patrick sees and probably misinterprets, so he quickly speaks before the wrong idea can be formed.

“Do you have any wine?”

Patrick’s smile is back immediately and he nods as he stands and heads inside, leaving David standing there completely unsure of what he’s doing. He can’t help his anxiety from bubbling up question after question into the front of his brain. What is this? What does this mean? Does it mean anything? Of course it doesn’t. This is Patrick. He’s not interested in David like that. Why would he be?

“”Hey, can you…?

David’s pulled from his anxiety spiral at the sound of Patrick’s voice to find him on the other side of the screen door, hands full with their drinks.

“Oh, yeah, let me,” David stutters, quickly pulling the door open so Patrick can step back outside.

“I figured you’d want something chilled, so I went with Chardonnay. I hope that’s okay?”

“It’ll do.”

Honestly, his standards where alcohol is concerned has sunk so low since living here that he’ll drink just about anything, except Mutt’s moonshine. That’s a mistake you only make once.

Patrick returns to his spot on the stair and David contemplates what to do. He could stand here, awkwardly, or risk doing permanent damage to his white denim. He’s not sure which is worse. So he has no real choice to throw caution to the wind and sits.

It’s just past dusk and the evening around them is growing darker, Ray’s porch light and the lights from the motel down the block illuminating the vast nothingness around them. It’s oddly calming in a way. He can hear Patrick’s fingernail picking at the label on his beer, making him realize just how close they’re actually sitting.

“I feel pretty stupid that I didn’t know you were living here until now,” he admits.

“Eh, I hadn’t supplied the information either, so I guess it’s on both of us.”

Oh...wait.

“So, when you offered up your place for me to stay during the whole...lice debacle,” he pauses, allowing the full body shudder to pass before continuing. “You were offering up what, Ray’s couch, or...your…?”

The chuckle Patrick releases gets caught in his throat a little and it comes out more like a cough and when David looks over at him, he’s pretty sure there’s a little redness coloring those pale cheeks.

“I guess I hadn’t really thought that through.”

Hmm… Interesting. Or is it? David’s history of turning nothing into something is longer than a CVS receipt, so he’s mentally stopping that train of thought. Remembering his wine, he takes a long sip, cringes, and goes back in for another. It’s bad, but it’s cold and he likes the company.

“Luckily, that tragic chapter of our lives is over and we hopefully will never have to think about it again.”

“Cheers to that.”

Patrick tilts the neck of his beer towards him and David lifts his wine, smiling at the soft clink of glass against glass.

“So, Patrick, what else is there to know about you that I’ve neglected to learn?”

Patrick shrugs, but David spies his lips curving up a bit behind the mouth of his beer bottle, and yeah, that sparks some real curiosity about this man he’s obviously not given enough attention to.

“Nothing much, really. I’m just, honestly, really happy to be working with you at the store. I’m enjoying the challenge…”

“I’m a challenge?” David interrupts, his incredulous expression marred by his inability to fully wipe away his smile.

“The store is a challenge, David. You’re…”

He falls quiet and David arches an eyebrow, lifting his free hand to motion for Patrick to continue.

“I don’t know. You’re...you. I’ve never met anyone like you before, and I...I like that, I guess? I never know what you’re gonna say or do next, so yeah, maybe you’re a bit of a challenge, too. But a good one.”

David’s a bit dumbstruck. He’s never had someone say those things to him in a way that wasn’t an admonishment before. It’s an unsteadying feeling.

“I’m glad to have made an impression,” he says quietly, quick to hide his face behind his wine glass and his feelings under another long sip that ends up draining his glass.

Patrick notices, because of course he does. He’s rather attentive.

“Want another glass?” he asks, and David’s thrown off again by Patrick’s open expression of hopefulness. But he’s going to head home. Another glass will lower inhibitions and the wall he’s constructed around his heart to stop himself from getting hurt by nice guys like this. Patrick won’t mean to hurt him when it happens, so it’s best to keep things professional.

“Thanks, but I’m good.” Standing quickly, he waits for Patrick to stand with him, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, his broad shoulder propped against the side of the porch rail, smiling up at him in that genuine way that he’s mastered. He holds out his hand and for a second David freezes, unsure as to what he’s doing, but thankfully, quickly registers he’s offering to take David’s wine glass. Their fingers brush a little and the tiny hairs on David’s neck prickle his skin, but he’ll just pretend that it's from the warm summer breeze that’s surrounded them like a blanket.

It’s gotten a tad bit too cozy on this porch.

David’s a few steps away when he hears Patrick call out to him.

“Goodnight David.”

Smiling softly, he wiggles his fingers in a small wave before turning back towards the motel.

“Night Patrick.”

….....

The scratch of Patrick’s calloused thumb against the side of his neck feels so good that he can feel his body leaning in closer, pressing Patrick’s back harder against the porch rail as his moan of appreciation vibrates against their joined lips. Patrick’s free hand anchored in David’s back pocket clenches and their kiss goes molten, both of them delving deeper as if their mouths are performing all the things their bodies want, but aren’t currently able. The porch light is out, casting them in blissful darkness, masking roaming hands and stubble chafed skin, but David’s more than a little desperate to find some real privacy.

“When’s Ray getting home?” he pants into Patrick’s mouth, not giving him a chance to respond as he captures his lips again for another breathless kiss. He tastes of beer and pretzels from their short excursion to The Wobbly Elm, excusing themselves after only twenty minutes to go back out to the Rose Family car and fog up the windows, a move they will both be teased about forever by Stevie and Alexis who found them an hour later half dressed and dazed.

“Soon,” Patrick manages to whimper, “very soon.”

David has half a mind to drag Patrick inside and up to his room, but they’re both too worked up and he can’t emotionally handle Ray walking in on them, which he’ll inevitably do. It’s happened already.

Twice.

So, he does the last thing he wants to do. Pulling his mouth free, he angles his head enough to let his forehead fall to meet Patrick’s, indulging himself for a moment in the exhilaration of hearing Patrick’s breath heaving just as hard as his own. God, it’s intoxicating being wanted.

“You wanna sit for a while?” Patrick eventually asks and David answers with a tiny nod, made a bit awkward with their foreheads still pressed together. The laugh they share helps release a bit of the adrenaline and electricity, but David feels it spark anew when Patrick drags his hand into his lap as soon as they’ve sat down on the step.

“Do you have plans Sunday night?”

“Who would I have plans with except you?”

“Stevie?”

“We don’t make plans.”

“Right,” Patrick says with a smile, “well, I do, so can you add an overnight date with me to your very busy schedule?”

David’s smile widens at Patrick’s ears going pink, his inability to hide his blush even when he’s being assertive one of his most adorable qualities.

“Okay, but I can’t do Stevie’s again. Now that I know that she’s still sleeping with Jake, it’s all a little too...complicated.”

“Agreed. Some neutral ground would be ideal. Maybe one of the nicer hotels in Elmdale?”

David likes how that sounds. Leaning in, he runs the tip of his nose against Patrick’s temple so he can whisper softly into his ear.

“Somewhere with room service.”

“And late checkout,” Patrick agrees as he turns his head, quickly capturing David’s lips in a sneaky kiss.

It’s only minutes later when Ray finds them, once again caught up, with David’s hand trapped behind Patrick’s head and the porch rail, mouths kiss bruised and fingers grazing skin beneath hems and collars. By some miracle, Ray’s on the phone and greets them with just a knowing smile and a wave, quickly disappearing inside, but leaving the inner door open and efficiently, and undoubtedly unintentionally, ending their private moment.

Since they’re so close, Patrick walks him back to the motel, kissing him again against the door before mumbling “Goodnight David” against his cheek.

David’s “Night Patrick” is texted to him moments later, prompting Patrick to look back at him from down the street and blow him an exaggerated kiss.

…....

The condensation from Patrick’s beer drips down onto David’s wrist and it makes him shiver, the cold water a welcome contrast to his overheated skin. It’s a hot night, still in the high eighties past 8 o’clock and humid, making his thin t-shirt stick to the sweat building at the small of his back and between his pecs.

Stevie’s laugh precedes her as she pushes out onto their back porch, one hand clasping an overfull glass of red and the other holding the door open for Twyla following behind her. Twyla’s cut her hair so the warm summer breeze catches the now shoulder length strands as she smiles and sits cross legged against the porch rail, her sunny disposition a perfect match to the warmth radiating deep in David’s chest.

“Is it almost ready?” Patrick asks, his words making his chest rumble and David’s body vibrate from how close they’re plastered together on their loveseat style lounger. As they’ve settled into their new home, they’ve created these little special places, like the oversized soaker tub and the breakfast nook that faces the morning sun. Knowing they didn’t need to make room for potential future kids allowed them to build their home around their family of two and it’s honestly more than David could have ever dreamed up.

“Needs another half hour or so,” Twyla responds, before launching into a long story about all the different models of ice cream maker she tried out before finding the perfect one to give David and Patrick as a wedding present. Of course, because she’s a millionaire, she chose the most expensive home model, which David has thanked her for countless times.

“It’s definitely our most used wedding present,” he reminds her, which makes her smile.

“What about mine?” Stevie asks, each syllable dripping with her signature mix of boredom and sarcasm.

“You didn’t get us anything,” Patrick responds before David even has a chance.

“Incorrect. Need I remind you that it was only due to my meddling that the two of you even got together? And it was my apartment where you, you know,” she lets her words trail off as she nods pointedly. “And it was me who talked sense into you, David, when you wanted to drag Patrick to New York and leave me all alone.”

“Ah, yes, how could we forget. Thank you, Stevie, for your completely selfless gift of...um…”

“Friendship, David, the word you are looking for is friendship,” Stevie supplies, entirely too amused with herself.

As she takes a few large gulps of her wine, David tries to think of a witty response. But Patrick turns his head in that moment and presses a soft kiss into David’s hair and his brain turns to absolute mush. So, Stevie wins this round, but he’s really okay with it.

They do, eventually, eat some of Twyla’s ice cream, a delicious concoction of chocolate, pistachio and marshmallow swirl. Considering her disastrous attempts at edible smoothie recipes, she’s surprisingly good with her ice cream flavors. As the night goes on, Stevie gets more than a little tipsy, but so does David, and he laughs at his own slurred speech after saying goodbye from his now permanent spot on the loveseat.

“It’s a good thing Twyla stayed sober,” Patrick says from the patio door, the sound of his flip flops hitting the wood making David smile as he knows that means he’s coming back to sit with him again. Leaning his head back against the cushion, he focuses on the string of edison bulbs they have framing the overhang, made brighter now that Patrick has turned off the porch light.

“We should tell them to get an Uber next time. Twyla is a really entertaining drunk.”

Patrick’s warm body joins David’s on their loveseat and David lets out a happy grumble.

“So are you.”

Patrick’s voice is soft and rumbly, his mouth hot against David’s temple as he slowly drops kisses on a path towards David’s mouth.

“I’m not drunk,” David protests, even though he knows he kind of is, but he also knows how much his husband loves it when he’s a little ornery.

“Mmhmm…”

Patrick’s response is mumbled against David’s mouth, his hands greedily dragging David towards him by the back of his neck. David’s more than a little tipsy and he goes with it, welcoming the heady rush of desire mixing with the languid pull of the alcohol, making everything feel hazy and oh so good.

He’s barely maneuvered himself onto Patrick’s lap before his sweaty shirt is being dragged over his head and all the privacy they finally have is taken full advantage of.

Later, skin still pink from their shared shower and eyes closing against his cool pillowcase, David searches for Patrick’s hand between them on the mattress. It’s only when he has those familiar fingers, calloused from his guitar string, wrapped tight in his does he let himself fully drift off to sleep.

“Goodnight David,” he faintly registers hearing Patrick whisper.

“Night Patrick” he replies, or at least he thinks he does, but it could all just be a really amazing dream.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Rockstar (Indruck)

A friend on discord, @morganeashton, requested #28 of the meet ugly list for Indruck: I’m a famous singer and you’re the new techie who just tripped and pulled the plug out of my microphone mid-concert [extra awkward if they lip sync, extra badass if they keep singing and their voice is still on point]. This is NSFW.

A peril of high quality sound equipment is that when it goes out, it’s very obvious.

The mic goes, his guitar and Dani’s bass cut out, and the effects are gone. For a moment it’s total silence as the audience watches him. 

Then he picks up exactly where he left off, notes coming as easy as breath. After a moment Jake starts up quieter than usual on the drums, giving him rhythm. By the time he finishes, the mic and instruments are back on and the applause is deafening. He smiles to himself.

He’s still got it. 

------------------------------------------

Duck knocks on the dressing room door. 

He’s so fucking fired.

“Come in.”

Mr. Cold is sitting at a mirror, takes note of Duck’s reflection.

“Ah, Duck, I thought it might be you. Mama said you were the one who disconnected our sound tonight.”

“Yessir. I, uh, it was an accident, I was movin somethin in a tight space and caught my foot on the cord without noticin’. I’m, uh, I’m real sorry, and, uh, I’ll, uh-”

Mr. Cold holds up his hand and Duck shuts his mouth. The singer turns, in his chair, face now free of make-up. His features still have that alien edge to them, the strange mix of young and old that’s made his attractiveness the subject of much debate. Duck knows where he falls on it; anyone who thinks Indrid Cold is anything other than sex on legs should get their eyes checked. 

That won’t help him, he knows that.

Indrid leans back in his chair, “you don’t need to plead your case to me Duck, for two reasons. One is that I’m not the one in charge of hiring or firing the road crew. That falls to Mama and Joseph completely, and if I ever tried to toss someone out for an accident they’d put me in my place very quickly. But more importantly, I’m not angry with you for what happened. Quite the opposite.”

“You...wait, really?”

Mr. Cold counts off on his fingers, “The space was small, so everyone could still hear me. There’s been rumors I’ve been using a dub, so this ought to quell them nicely, and” he looks at Duck over his trademark red glasses, smile widening, “it was unexpected, something that’s rare for me these days. When you get to this level of fame, everyone is terrified of not having a flawlessly executed plan. But that is not how the world is; it’s not how art is. So it was nice to have the chance to show everyone that the unexpected can be invigorating. Thank you for that.”

“You’re, uh, you’re welcome?”

Mr. Cold  smiles as he stands up, “you should sit down, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“It’s fine, uh-”

The singer simply rests a hand on his shoulder and gently pushes. Duck sits. 

“Would you, ah, like a drink? The hosts here left a very nice bottle of tequila.”

“Sure.” Duck tries not to stare as he bends over to retrieve a glass and a bottle, pouring Duck a shots worth of tequila that costs more than his rent. Duck mumbles a thank you when he hands it to him, then gawps when Mr. Cold sets the bottle aside and retrieves a Capri Sun from the mini-fridge.

“I can’t stand alcohol. Used to try for the sake of fitting in but” he makes a face like a disgusted cat, “eech. One moment, I need to change.” He disappears around a corner, leaving Duck to wonder what the fuck the polite thing to do is. Mr. Cold is always polite to his crew, but he keeps to himself much of the time. Not to mention Duck’s only been with them since the tour started a month ago. 

A photo on the table catches his eye, and he scoots his chair closer to get a look.

“Was, uh, was this an alternate cover or somethin?”

“Hmm? Oh” a light laugh, “no, though you’ve got a good eye; we shot it the same day we shot the cover image for The Cryptids. That was a shot that was nixed because we looked too silly, I think Vincent had said something funny and cracked Barclay up, who set me off. I bring it with me to every show, a sort of good luck charm mixed with a reminder of where I came from.” 

From the faded photo, nineteen year old Indrid Cold smiles at him. 

“I take it you’re a long time fan, then.” Mr. Cold reappears in a pink and yellow bathrobe, the last color scheme Duck would have assumed he owned. 

“Yeah, over a decade. I, uh, I was sixteen when The Cryptids released their first album. Scraped together fifteen bucks to buy the C.D and wore the damn thing out I listened to it so much. Never heard anything like it. That’s, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “that’s not why I took the job, though. Mama didn’t tell me who I’d be crewin’ for until after I accepted.”

“If you’re afraid of looking like a ‘fanboy,’ don’t be. Do you know how Joseph came to be our manager?”

“Uh, story I always heard was he came backstage during a show on your first tour and offered.”

Mr. Cold chuckles, “he did. But what very few people know is that he came back in his lovingly homemade  ‘Bigfoot’s Boy’ t-shirt and a a lot of glitter--remember, that was the E.T tour so everyone was space themed--clearly having left the house with the intent of trying to get into our bassist’s pants, and instead proceeded to tell us he’d seen how our manager operated through the night and we could so better and here’s how.”

“Jesus.”

“He was remarkably intimidating in spite of the glitter and his argument was airtight. So we fired Hayes and hired him. He did eventually bang our bassist, but that was perhaps obvious.”

“Given that they’ve been married for like five years, yeah. Still can’t believe Barclay went from beiin a rockstar to bein’ a chef.”

“He was always an ingenious cook. He once made breakfast using nothing but the still-hot engine of a mini-van.”

“AGH, god, why?”

“We were broke and hungry and there was nowhere to buy food.”

“That’s hardcore.”

“Mostly just oily.” Mr. Cold grabs another Capri Sun, sitting down across from him, “hmm, if you were sixteen when we started, did you ever get to see us?”

Duck shakes his head, “only kinda. Y’all mainly played twenty-one plus places even after you started gettin big, then you weren’t tourin nearby. When you announced the farewell tour, my friend Juno and I drove to Richmond to hear y’all play from outside the stadium. She’s still got a picture of us from that night somewhere, all geared out, tryin to look cool enough to be there.”

“You’ll have to let me see it, so I can determine if you pass muster.” Mr. Cold teases. 

“I ask if she can send me it. Christ, I remember bein’ so fuckin bummed when y’all announced The Cryptids were disbanding, then so fuckin relieved when you said you were gonna keep makin new stuff and performin just as Indrid Cold. Your voice is fuckin amazin.”

“That’s not always the word used.”

“So you don’t sound like Bruno Mars or some pop diva, big fuckin’ deal. You sing and people listen because they ain’t ever heard anyone like you. No one in the world sounds like Indrid Cold.”

The singer gives him an odd smile, “that’s very kind of you to say.”

“Sorry, guess there’s still some fanboy hidin’ out under the roadie.” His cheeks heat up as he finishes his drink.

“I think we should both get some rest.” Mr. Cold stands, ushering him to the door, “and that we should talk again sometime. And thank you again, Duck, for your happy accident.”

‘You’re welcome, Mr. Cold.”

A famous smile that’s never stopped being weirdly captivating, “please, call me Indrid.”

---------------------------------------------------------

“You sure Indrid wants me on the bus and not just to, I dunno, load it?”

“Yes indeed.” Ned, Indrid’s publicity man, gestures grandly to the open door of the tour bus, “now kindly get yourself and your bag on it so we can get a move on.”

Duck climbs aboard, awkwardly sets his bag on the carrier shelf as he nods hello to Boyd, Indrid’s driver and part time bodyguard. 

Indrid is lounging on a black couch, but sits up when he sees Duck, “ah good, you decided to join me.”

“Yep. Uh, did you ask me for a reason or?”

“I like talking with you.” Indrid cocks his head, as if puzzled by the question. Duck wants to point out that the a god of the alt scene, a musical genius, who could have anyone he wanted for company, seeming to be excited by hanging out with a roadie is a bit confusing.

Indrid, meanwhile, is shoving drawings and notes aside so Duck can sit down, “mind you, I don’t expect you entertain me or something; I’m working on some poster art right now, for that fundraiser, so if you have things you like to do on the road, you’re welcome to do them. My room is that way if you want to nap, and it has a t.v as well if you want to watch something. Oh, and we have wi-fi, of course.”

He sounds like a college kid showing off his first apartment and it wrong-foots Duck enough that he just grabs his book from the pocket of his bag.

“Thanks, uh, think I’ll read for a bit.”

Indrid grins, goes back to his drawing, pen scratching hurriedly as the bus jolts to a start and pulls onto the road. 

After awhile, Indrid glances at him and asks mildly, “what was your favorite album? Of The Cryptids, I mean, not my solo stuff.”

Duck taps the spine of the book against the table as he thinks, “I mean The Cryptids  has that whole edge by bein’ the first, because there was nothin like hearin’ your sound for the first time. But I gotta say...Unsolved. Whole thing is fuckin amazin, but your vocals on “To a Flame” still give me fuckin chills.”

“I haven’t played that song in a long time.” Indrid says softly, smiling, “it was always a favorite. I wrote it about someone I could never have.”

“You can feel it. In, uh, in the way it’s arranged, the way you sing, gives this whole feelin of someone who’s decided to love someone completely even though they’ll never be loved back.”

Indrid looks at him a moment, that same odd, small smile quirking his lips, then returns to his drawing. When the road gets bumpier, they move to a couch in the middle of the bus with a low table nearby. Duck pulls out his laptop and plugs in his headphones, pulls up Planet Earth as Indrid’s head starts drooping. Two episodes in, the singer falls asleep, flopping sideways so his head is in Duck’s lap. 

He should move him, Indrid will probably think this is weird when he wakes up. Then again, he looks so cute like this. And it’d be rude to wake him up. 

Duck’s to the episode on jungles when a slender, tan hand reaches up and plucks his left earbud out. Startled, he looks down to find Indrid putting it on and adjusting his head in Duck’s lap, clearly engrossed in the carnivorous plants onscreen.

“Do you want me to just turn the normal sound on?”

“No” Indrid murmurs sleepily, “this is perfect.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Duck assumes the bus will be a one-time event, but he’s ridden with Indrid each time since. Which is why, when his phone dings, Indrid is sitting right beside him. 

“Looks like Juno found the, uh, the photo.”

“Let me see” Indrid grabs the phone from him, cackling with delight when he sees the image, “you two were really the pair of cryptozoologists, weren’t you?”

“Told you we were tryin too hard.”

“On the contrary, I love it, it’s exactly the kind of weirdness we wanted to inspire in people. And if seems you did like to collect our merch, that shirt you’re wearing was a limited run.”

“I know. I, uh, I saved up for it, way I always did if something had art of yours on it.” He slaps his hand over his mouth, embarrassed by the admission.

“That’s very sweet.” Indrid smiles at him, then lifts his glasses for a better look, “what does the collar you’re wearing say?”

“I, uh, fuck, I don’t remember, got, uh, got amnesia, collar specific amnesia, fuck, uh-”

“C, O, L...you were wearing a collar with my name on it.” Indrid’s grin takes on a hungry edge, “someone was downplaying whose fanboy he was.”

“I, I didn’t want you thinkin I was creepy, or that I was just bein nice to you because of the crush I had on you in college.”

“I don’t, I promise, though I appreciate the consideration. Here” he hands the phone back, but as Duck takes it he leans in and whispers, “but you really should wear a collar more often.”

-------------------------------------

“Sooooo how’s it going with Indrid?” Aubrey, Indrid’s magician opening act, sits down next to Duck at dinner.

“Good. Wait, shit, are people talkin about us?”

“Kinda? I mean, Indrid hangs out with the band, and with me, plenty, but none of us get to be on that bus. Not like I’m complaining, Dani and I have our own sweet ride.”

“There ain’t anythin goin on between us. It just...Indrid seem like he likes bein’ friends with me.”

“That’s awesome!”

“Yeah” Duck sighs, wistfully, “y’know, it’s funny. Even after I started workin here, he was still Indrid Cold in my head, the guy who sang like he was diggin down in my head, who did wild shit like kiss his male bandmates on stage, who was always so fuckin cool. And now he’s Indrid, this guy who’s kinda awkward and wears way more pink than I assumed and flaps his hands when gets excited and somehow that’s even better.”

“Awww, someone has a cruuUUshh.”

“Had, Aubrey. Had.”

“Whatever you say, Duck” she winks at him, “whatever you say.”

-------------------------------------------------------

“Are these yours?”

Duck shakes himself awake. They’ve been driving all evening and well into the night, and he must have nodded off and knocked his notebook over. Which is why Indrid is now holding several sheets of loose paper.

“Shit! I mean, uh, yeah, but they ain’t anythin special.”

“I didn’t know you wrote songs.” Indrid scans the pages with a critical eye.

“Sometimes. Like I said, they ain’t anythin to make a fuss over.” 

Indrid makes a noncommittal noise and picks up a nearby guitar, tuning it, “you can go back to sleep, I’m just going to fiddle about for a bit.”

Duck lays down on the couch, and falls asleep to the sound of Indrid’s hums.

He’s shaken awake two hours later, and is thoroughly confused to find Indrid in tight black pants and silvery shirt, black boots on his feet and a deep green on his lips; that’s his stagewear, not his pajamas.

“Put on your most punk-rock outfit, and make it fast.”

He manages to get an old Cryptids t-shirt on along with black jeans that, if he does say so himself, make his ass look good, and is tugging on his boots when the bus pulls into a dusty parking lot.

“It’s the only goth/gay bar in the county.” Indrid says by way of explanation as he pulls Duck out the door, Boyd following them as Ned stays behind to watch the van (“in case we need to make a hasty retreat”).

“Wait, holy fuck, I always thought that was a myth, that you would stop at random clubs and play.”

“Not in the least, though it’s been awhile. Ooh, whoever is already playing sounds very good.” He pushes open the door, the smell of smoke and stale beer and sweat pouring over them in waves as they enter. Indrid keeps to the side of the room, holding Duck’s hand all the while, and spots the tiny merch table with “The Hornets” painted on a yellow sign on the front. 

“Wait for me here.” He kisses Duck’s cheek and disappears into the crowd. When the band finishes the song, a youngish woman waves them over to the side of the stage, strangers in the crowd turning to each other to ask what the fuck is going on.

The guitarist and lead singer reappears, giant H on their shirt,  and grabs the mic, “y’all aren’t gonna believe this, but the Hornets have just acquired a new singer and it’s gonna blow your fucking minds. Give it up for one of the gods of horror-surf, the grinning man, the mothman himself, Indrid fucking Cold!” 

The crowd screams loud enough to shake an entire coat of dust from the walls as Indrid steps on stage, beaming and waving.

“Thank you very much, Hollis. I’ve got four songs for you tonight, including something very, very new. So, without further ado” he grabs the mic, flicks his hair, “let’s prowl.”

The Hornets launch into the opening notes of “on the prowl,” the crowd cheering and hooting and singing along with so much energy that Duck can’t hear Indrid’s voice until the last verse. He claps along with everyone else as Indrid takes the mic of the stand, “and here’s one I haven’t sung in far too long.”

The bass and guitar start in a minor key, half country swing and half horror sting.

“Always on the outs, always in the dark.” Indrid shuts his eyes as he croons, “always so hungry for one little spark. Always so willing to play your game. What can I say? I’m like a moth to flame.”

Duck knows the song by heart but he’s never heard Indrid sing it live, like there was someone in the room he was hoping would hear it and know it was for them. He doesn’t breathe until the song ends; he doesn’t want to miss a single note, miss the way Indrid’s voice curls around the room as if searching for him. 

As the crowd applauds at the end, Indrid crosses to Hollis, who hands him their guitar. He loops it over his shoulder, returns the mic to the stand. 

“Now, this next song is very special, it doesn’t have an arrangement yet, so you’ll have to live with just my melodious voice.” He picks the guitar, brow furrowed in concentration, and Duck gasps. 

He knows this song, he’s just never heard it played anywhere but inside his head. Indrid sings it flawlessly, the crowd swaying in time with him, and Duck realizes he must have practiced nonstop while he was asleep. 

The short song comes to a close and he tilts his head, “what did you think?”

The audience bursts out cheering and Indrid grins, “yes, that’s about how I feel too. I can’t take credit though, it was written by a friend.”

He returns the guitar, nods to the band, and purrs into the mic, “the sun goes down and the moon comes up.”

Shit how did he know? Does he know? He can’t know.

He can’t know this is the song Duck used to jack off to. A cover of a cover, a video where Indrid growls and purrs and nearly fucks the mic as he sings. 

“You better duck, when I show up, the goo goo muck” he writhes in time with the music, “I’m a nightmare, honey, looking for some head.”

God, fuck, how could he have forgotten just how Indrid sounds when he sings this, like the monster under the bed came to life, turned out to be hot, and really wants to fuck you. Indrid is on his knees now, working the front row, dragging his free hand across his body with moans between the words.

“He must really like you, mate.”

“Gahfuck, Boyd.” Duck jumps, but doesn’t take his eyes off the stage.

“I’m just sayin’, he’s never let anyone come to one of these before. I only do because Stern’ll kill us if we let him go without some kind of backup.” Boyd pats his shoulder, heading back towards the door. 

Indrid finishes the song panting, the Hornets looking harried from keeping up with his energy. As the crowd screams and claps he bows, and hurries off the stage. In cries for an encore and the darkened house, Indrid finds him again, grabbing his hand and sprinting outside.

“God I missed doing that!” He laughs as they run, “did you have fun?”

“Fuck yeah, Indrid, fuck, you really liked my song?”

“Of course. And it seems they did too.” The bus doors close behind them, but Indrid doesn;t stop moving, “we’re both very tired, going to bed now, goodnight!” 

Duck’s about to point out he sleeps on the pullout couch, not the bed, when the bedroom door slams shut and Indrid yanks him into a kiss, tongue in his mouth and hands in his back pockets, groping him with a growl. 

When Indrid breaks the kiss, Duck’s certain he has stars in his eyes. 

“Is this alright?”

“Hell fuckin yeah it is.”

“Good” Indrid shoves him backwards onto the bed, “shirt off.”

Duck obeys, Indrid stripping his own away and tossing it on the ground. As Duck fights with his jeans, Indrid retrieves a condom and something black from a box, setting them on the bed. He notices his struggle and shakes his head as he prowls on top of him, “ah ah, we don’t have time for that.”

“Butmmmmfff” Duck gasps and moans as Indrid kisses him again, demanding and messy.

“Get them low enough for me to fuck you.” He bites Duck’s lip and sits up, wiggling his own black pants down enough to free his cock. By the time he gets them free one leg and down to his knee on the other, Indrid has the condom on.

Indrid tosses away his glasses, gives him a long once over, licking his lips, “good boy.”

Then he’s on top of him again, cock inside him and fingers tangled in his hair.

“Oh fuck, you’re soaking, god, what got you so wound up, hm?”

“You, just you, watching you, Indrid, god please fuck me.”

“Gladly, goodness, fuck, that’s it sweetheart, you take me so well.” Indrid hammers into him again and again, kissing him each time he whimpers or moans. 

Duck wraps his legs around him, manages to get his head up enough to tease his tongue along Indrid’s nipple. 

“AH! Good boy, mmmm, I knew you’d be perfect to fuck.” He adjusts so he can run his hand up Duck’s throat. There’s no pressure in the gesture, but plenty of possession.

“What do you think, shall we get you a new collar?”

“Yes, yesyesyes, Indrid, god, fuck please.”

“Oh you like that, mmm” he switches to slow, deliberate thrusts, a counterpoint to Duck’s frantically jerking hips that makes them moan in tandem, “we could get you several, would you like that? I could put them on you according to my mood and what I wanted you to be that day.”

Duck means to say yes, whines instead, grinning breathlessly when Indrid strokes his cheek.

“Good. I’d like it, too. Nnnh, god I’m close.” He stops entirely, awkwardly shifts and pulls them until he’s on his knees with Ducks ass in his lap, “but I want you to cum first.”

“I, I can try.”

“It was an order.” He reaches down, revealing the black object from earlier; a vibrating wand.

“Oh fuck yeah, fuckFUCK” his legs thrash when the vibe presses against his dick, “Indrid, sugar, ohmyfuckinggod.”

Indrid grins, wide and wanton, and turns the toy up, eyes flicking between Ducks face and cock as he cries out and bucks his hips. 

“What a good boy, getting my cock so wet” he wiggles his hips with a moan, “you feel delightful when I use this on you, perhaps tomorrow I’ll have you sit on my cock and do the same thing over and over again, edge myself with the feeling of you needy and tightening around me.”

“Indrid, fuckplease, yes, yes, fuck, I’m so fuckin close darlin, ple-fuck, ‘Drid!” He cums with groan, whole body shaking as pleasure overloads his nerves. 

The vibrator thunks to the floor as Indrid lunges forward, pinning him to the bed and fucking him hard and fast, cock thudding into him in time with his purring groans. 

“So, so good, my Duck, so very good, god, yes, yesyes” he’s moving so violently Duck is now grunting from the force of the impact, “that’s it, good boy, take what I give youAHHnnn, Duck, Duck.” His hips slow as he groans, Duck drinking in the sight of him, orgasmic and loving above him.

Indrid pulls out, condom hitting what is hopefully the trash and not his guitar case, and immediately curls around Duck, kissing his neck and face.

“Thank you, thankyouthankyou.”

Duck giggles, kisses him back, “why are you thankin me? I’m the one who just got to fuck a rockstar. You got to fuck some regular dipshit.” He bumps their foreheads together to show he’s teasing. 

“Incorrect. I got to fuck you. You, who are funny and charming and to the point, and who has taught me a remarkable amount about plants.”

“S’important to have hobbies.” Duck mumbles into his shoulder. 

“Indeed. My point is, you make me happier than I’ve been in a long, long time. And while fucking you has been on my mind has been on my mind lately, it was not actually what I planned to do first. I, ah, I” he rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, hides his face in his neck, “I wanted to ask if you wanted to be my boyfriend.”

“Hell fuckin yeah.” Duck hugs him tight as he laughs with relief, “Indrid, I wanna be with you, the real you, not the one I had the crush on all those years ago. I wanna make you happy.”

“You do that just by existing, but I have some other ideas as well.”

“Oh yeah?” Duck kisses his nose.

“Well, for starters” Indrid’s eyes gleam as he looks up at him, “how would you like to write some music with me, boyfriend?”

“I think that sounds fuckin amazin. Boyfriend.”

[headoverhiddles]

The Band-Aid Effect - Marilyn Manson x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: After a blow out fight, you and Marilyn have to survive a flight together. Maybe he'll have time in the airport to get back on your good side... maybe not.

Notes: Good old fashioned hate sex! Set during Mechanical Animals era!

"You know, you are a piece of work."

"All I said was, you look like Dora got a facial from Grape Ape, with that lipstick choice. Could've been a compliment. Wasn't, but I mean, it could've been. And the eyeliner? Sweetheart."

You two walk briskly down to gate B90 for your flight back to LA from Prague.

"You're such an asshole."

He takes your arm, moving his hand down to grip your wrist tightly as you both continue toward your airport gate.

"What?" you mutter, "Don't want me to cause a scene in front of the cameras?"

"I just wanted to hold your hand," Marilyn's drawl comes out from those pink painted lips. He lets go. "Make a scene. I don't care."

"Fuck, you're so apathetic."

"Oh. Yeah, thanks. I'm apathetic. Like I don't get that enough."

"Don't make this about your career. This is about us."

"Who bought you a fucking puppy for your birthday?!"

"It's not about the dog, it's about... co-existing in a healthy relationship, jesus!"

He spends a long time looking at you, as the two of you sit down at the first class gate. You're both silent for a good three minutes. He patters his nails along his knee. You cross your arms and look out the window, trying to let the sound of all the planes taking off calm you down. 

His voice jolts you out of your peaceful trance. "You know what I think?"

"Oh, please tell me," you nod. 

"I think what you need is a good fuck."

"Wow." You shouldn't even be surprised he would say that at this point.

"I do, you look like you could use a quickie. Quick fingering, you know, in and out."

"Sex isn't always the answer, Brian," you growl.

"No, but it's... a band-aid," he tries not to smirk.

"I'm not fucking you after you were a complete asshole to me this morning!"

"I'm sorry if I came off as insensitive."

"I spent a long time doing that makeup!"

"I mean, I would fuck you even if you had the other stuff on."

"Enough with the fucking!"

He cocks his head. "Really? Cause... your pussy might say something different. Maybe you should ask it."

"Maybe you should ask your dick why it's always hard!" You snap.

"That's easy, the answer is right in front of me." He glances down at your cleavage. "Need I remind you of my allergy?"

"What?!"

"I'm allergic to breasts. I break out in erections."

You start to smirk, but wipe it off your face. "You... are so..."

He puts his hand on your knee, and starts to rub higher.

"Baby girl, I want you."

"Literally fuck off right now."

"Okay. Alright," he nods. "You don't want it? Fine. I'm not gonna force you."

You watch him out of the corner of your eye, watch him purse his lips, and pick up a fashion magazine from the pile provided by the lounge.

"You know..." you sigh, "I'm just pissed, okay?"

"Which is the perfect reason to fuck."

"Oh my--"

"I want you to beat my ass, bite me all over and tell me I've been a bad little boy. Punish me for it."

"Like I can do that here."

"You know, it was proven in the 17th century that... like, women were less hysteric when they orgasmed, cause their like, uterus was floating around or something."

You glare at him in disgust. "That's fucking offensive!"

"Yeah well... have you met me?" he laughs helplessly.

"Get your fucking fingers... out of there, we're in an airport!"

"There's an airport bathroom right there."

"We can't just walk in together."

"Yes we can, I look like a woman."

He stands up, but you tug him back down.

"Jerk it yourself."

He puts his hands over his chest, pretending to be shocked. Don't look at him. Don't look at him-- fuck. He's biting his glittery lips, and you can already see the outline of his sizeable bulge.

"Babygirl. My dick is dying to get inside you," he whispers, "It's throbbing so bad, I think that... pissed off looking airline attendant lady is gonna hear it, I think she's gonna think it's a bomb."

You can't help it. You burst into a flurry of giggles, covering your mouth. Marilyn giggles with you, until he sits back down and rubs your back.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"Mhm."

"...We can always wait til we're on the plane. I've always wanted to join the mile high club."

Without another word, you get up, grabbing his hand and leading him to the women's washroom. You get a few stares, but Marilyn keeps his head down so his long red hair tumbles over his face, and you generally go unnoticed until you get into a stall.

"Make it fast," you moan.

He purses his lips. "Oh, don't worry. I'll make it fast and hard."

He turns you around, pressing your front up against the wall of the stall. You hear him unbuckling his belt, and he holds you by the back of the neck, rolling his hips a couple of times against your ass.

"Mmm, get it in me," you groan, and he smirks.

"Not so mad now, are we?"

You growl. "I'm this close to opening this goddamn door and showing the world your dick."

"That's not fair, it's not fully hard yet, it's not as big as it would b--"

You shut him up with a kiss, then he turns you around again, moving your hair aside to attach his lips to your neck. You moan, pushing back against him, and he parts your legs, positioning himself and--

"Ohh," he murmurs in your hair, "So wet."

"I had a... nice dream... last night. That's why..." you gasp out between his deep, rough thrusts.

"Mhmm. Sure." He sinks his teeth ever so slightly into your shoulder, and you have to force yourself to make any noise at all. You're so used to fucking in his house, where you can scream, bang around, shout whatever the fuck you want to with nobody around but Marilyn's cats (and the new dog) to hear.

"Bet you wanna scream my name, huh?" he whispers.

"M-mm-mm.... fuck... you..."

"You are fucking me," he grins, and gives a particularly hard thrust, chuckling deeply as he watches you fall apart. "And enjoying it too."

"God, I'm so... mad at you..." you manage out. "Think you can try actually making me cum?" It's a completely low blow, since he always does, but it has the desired effect.

He slams his hips in hard, and you gasp, starting to slam your hips back just as hard.

"You wanna fuckin' cum?" he growls in your ear, "I'll make you fuckin cum, little girl."

You two rock together like that, Marilyn holding one hand to your back to keep you pressed against the wall and the other hand squeezing your breasts.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispers, "How close are you? I'm about to make wet in you."

"Mfff... don't call it... that..."

"How c-close?"

"I'm almost there, ah," you gasp, reaching back, and he tugs your hair back, sucking a hickey right into your neck. He gives your ass a couple of spanks, not caring at this point who hears since they have probably heard the creaking of the stall by now. He squeezes your ass as he pumps in and out fast, chasing his and your orgasms.

"You like that? You like that?" He keeps fucking you hard. "How's that for an apology, huh?"

"Unghh," is all you can mutter, and you start to feel your toes curl and point as your climax approaches.

"Mar... Mar, oh god..."

"Fucking cum," he growls in your ear, "Cum for me, now." You bite your hand, holding the moan in as you cum hard on his cock. He keeps thrusting in, but strategically, rocking gently and rubbing your clit until he's sure your orgasm has waned. Then he fucks in hard again, giving three thrusts before he bites your shoulder again, stifling his own moan of your name. He slumps, and you both stand there for a second, catching your breath.

When Marilyn pulls out, you feel his cum dripping down your thigh. You smirk to yourself, pulling your panties up.

"Do you love me again now?" he whispers, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes.

"Probably," you sigh, and he peeks over the stall door. Nobody, thankfully. The two of you quickly exit the stall, and you regard yourself in the mirror. Other than the four hickies you've got populating your neck, your boyfriend's glittery lip gloss is all over your mouth.

"Well. It's an improvement from this morning's makeup job," he remarks, and you shove him out of the bathroom.

[wkemeup]

For the witness drabbles i was wondering what would the reaction be to finding out they are expecting?

(+ “Witness one shot or Drabble where Bucky and reader have really steamy sex and end up pregnant” by anon and “Reader ends up pregnant” by anon) 

warnings: SMUT (18+)

The Witness MasterList

You sat on the edge of the tub, hunched over with your elbows resting on your knees as you tapped your foot anxiously. Glancing up to the tiny white stick on the bathroom sink every few seconds, though you knew better than to check it before the timer on your phone rang out. Hands raked through your hair, nails dragging along your scalp just to find some reprieve from the nerves in your stomach, though it did little good.  

The reflection of the diamond on your left hand caught your eye and you let out a heavy breath. Your fingers grazing over the gemstone, thinking back to the day nearly two years ago when you met Bucky down the end of an aisle surrounded by the people who had come to be your family.  

In the world of doubts swimming in your head, he wasn’t one of them.  

You were ready for kids; at least that what you thought until you started waking up every morning with a nausea that constantly had you rushing to the bathroom and avoiding Bucky’s concerned questions. The possibility of it being real settled in and your mind drifted back to the night you knew was responsible.  

***

Your back slammed against the wall the second Bucky was able to get the front door open, his mouth running along your neck hungrily as he pinned you down with his body weight. Wet, needy kisses as he sucked into the sweet spot on your neck that made you shiver down your back and left an aching need between your legs.  

“Bucky,” you panted, hand fumbling along the door to lock the deadbolt, “slow down, will ya?”

“Can’t,” he mumbled against your skin as his hand traveled down the front of your dress, your heart racing in the movement. His hand settled at the end of your dress, lifting it ever so carefully, until his hand set on the bare skin of your thigh, edging up to your waist. He nipped at your earlobe. “Can’t stand another second not being inside you, doll.”  

His words shot straight to your core and you could help but grind down against his thigh he had preemptively placed between your legs just to find some relief. He chuckled at that, his fingers playing with the waistband of your panties as his tongue brushed over your lips. He nudged his thigh against your core and you let out a groan that only spurred him on.  

“Don’t know how much you can stand either, baby,” Bucky purred, his words slightly muffled against your lips as he kissed you.  

“Think we can wait long enough to step away from the door?” you laughed, swatting Bucky away playfully.  

He’d spent most of the night telling you had badly he wanted you. Even sitting across the dinner table in the nicest restaurant you’d been to for months, he couldn’t keep those dirty words out of his mouth. He needed you right on that table in the front of all those people, he said, and you only rolled your eyes.  

He wasn’t kidding.  

Bucky didn’t waist a second and tugged you up into his arms. You let out a yelp, hands wrapping around his broad shoulders as he gripped under your thighs. Even as he walked you to the bedroom, his lips didn’t once leave your neck. You’d find purple markings along your skin in the morning, though you didn’t mind. Bucky always loved seeing the leftover remnants of the night before when he woke the following day, fingers tracing delicately against the colors upon your skin like painted masterpieces.  

He tossed you onto the bed and you bounced upon the mattress, laughter erupting in the room as Bucky crawled his way on top of you. His lips returned to yours, silencing you as he nipped and sucked at your mouth. His tongue traced against you and you parted your lips for him.  

You kissed him like he was the last breath you had and it only urged him on as he dragged his hardened length against your leg, aching with need beneath his jeans. Distracting him in the kiss, your hand slid down his stomach until it slipped behind the band of his pants and gripped at his cock. Bucky let out a whimper into your mouth and you smirked against him, running your hold along his hardened shaft.  

“Fuck, doll, you’re gonna kill me,” he panted, eyes glancing down to your hand nestled in his jeans. You flicked your thumb over his tip and he nearly gasped at the sensation. He pulled back suddenly, yanking his shirt over his head, revealing the rippled of muscles and scars beneath.  

Your eyes caught onto the marred skin of his shoulder; still present and rough against his smooth skin, though they had faded in the years. The surgical scars upon his abdomen had all but disappeared, but you could still find them if you tried. You knew his body too well not to.  

You felt Bucky tugging on your dress as he struggled to get it off of you. “Help me out here, babe?”

You laughed, obliging his request and pulled the dress up over your head, leaving you in just your bra and panties. The two-toned gold of your pendent swung down by your breasts.

Bucky licked his lips hungrily as he shimmied his jeans down over his hips along with his briefs and kicked them off to the corner of the room. His cock hung proudly, waiting for you, red and dripping in precum, and your hand reached out for it. He gripped onto your wrist before you could touch him again.  

“You’re wearing more clothes than me, baby,” Bucky purred and his hands curled into the thin fabric of your panties. You smirked at him, giving that slight nod he needed and he pulled them down your thighs; the cool air causing you to squeeze your thighs together to alleviate the ache in your throbbing core.  

Bucky grabbed a hold of your knees, pressing them down to the mattress and spreading you open for him. He sighed, eyes settling on the wet shine of your folds.  

“Such a pretty sight,”

“Don’t make me blush, Bucky,” you teased, unclasping your bra from behind your back and swinging it over to the laundry basket.  

“Like you ain’t blushing already, doll,” Bucky smirked, settling himself between your legs as he ran his cock against your folds. You let out a gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders for support, hand grazing over the hardened skin of his left side.  

Bucky snaked a hand between your bodies and ran his fingers up the slick of your folds, parting you further and spreading the wetness up the slit. You let out a godly moan and Bucky pressed his face to the crook of your neck to keep himself from coming on the spot. A finger slipped into you easily, followed quickly by another. Your hips rocked against his hand and your nails dragged along his skin.  

“Oh, Bucky, f-fuck,” you mewled, panting into his ear and releasing the sweetest sounds he ever heard.  

“Jesus, Y/n,” Bucky groaned, circling your nub with his thumb as his curled his fingers against your walls, “you gotta be careful with those noises if you want me to make it long enough to come inside you.”

“Then stop teasing me and get on with it,” you said breathily and the grin that passed Bucky’s lips was enough to send shivers down your spine.  

“Whatever you want, baby,” Bucky grunted as he lined himself up, his tip edging at your opening until he slid himself inside. Warm and tight and encasing around him enough to make his eyes flutter shut in the sensation. He sank down into you until he had nothing left to give and settled himself against you. Chest pressed to yours, just revealing in the feeling of you all around him, all consuming. It wasn’t something he’s ever get used tp.  

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, baby?” he replied hazily.  

“I’m gonna need you to start moving,” you teased, kissing at his cheekbone lazily. He smiled sweetly at you, entirely too gentle and pure for the state of his body connecting with yours, but Bucky Barnes was an enigma; a culmination of kind and soft and lethal and needy. He was everything.  

“Sorry doll, you just feel so good wrapped around me,” he sighed, winking at you before he pulled out slowly, just to bait you, and pushed back in with agonizing pace. You whined his name again and he chuckled to himself, lips pressing to his favorite spot on your neck as he picked up his thrusts. Steady rhythm as he stretched and filled you and built upon the knot tightening at your core.  

“So good,” he panted into your ear, “so fucking good, doll.”

Propping himself up on his left elbow, he slid his hand down your stomach until it settled above your slit. One touch and you arched up against him, nails digging into his back. He gritted his teeth, the pleasure and pain searing together, as he began to rub hasty circles at your clit.  

“Bucky, oh God-” you cried, pushing your hips up to meet him halfway and his thrusts became more urgent, harsher, needy, chasing that release you both desperately craved. Walls clenching around him, his cock throbbing, the knot at your core twisting and pulling and building and building until-

RING RING RING  

***

Your head snapped up, a gasp in your throat as the timer of your phone echoed through the walls of the bathroom. You scrambled to your feet, tapping on your phone at least four times before you were able to turn off the timer. The silence that followed only made it easier to hear the deafening thumping of your heart inside your ribcage.  

Slowly, carefully, you approached the test. Eyes closed and hands clenched at your sides, you didn’t even know what you wanted it to read. It wasn’t like you and Bucky were actively trying, but you had talked about it before. He’d made it known he wanted kids with you, but he didn’t once put any pressure on how soon he wanted it to happen. He was a patient man, he told you, and you knew he was sincere.  

Would you feel relieved if it was negative? Disappointed? Would you be terrified if it had those two little pink lines? Excited? You had no idea.  

A knock came from the other side of the door and your heart nearly leapt from your chest.  

“Y/n?” Bucky called cautiously. “You okay, sweetheart?”

He wasn’t supposed to be home so soon. Your lips parted to respond but nothing came out. It was like you were paralyzed.  

“Y/n?” Bucky called again, a nervous tone in his voice, when you didn’t respond. “I’m coming in, alright?”

You swallowed thickly, staring at the door, though you made no movement to lock it. Maybe you didn’t have to go through this alone. Bucky was supposed to be your partner in everything. You shared rings to remind you of that. You found yourself thumbing the band on your left hand.  

The door creaked open and Bucky peaked in through the sliver to find you clenching your jaw, hands pressed into fists at your side, and quick breaths in your chest. He narrowed his eyes, pushing the door open further and reaching out for you. He gathered you quickly into his arms, chin resting on the crown of your head. You never felt as safe as you did in his arms.  

“What’s wrong, doll? Everything okay?” he asked, pulling back just to examine you further.  

You nodded, though your eyes glanced over to the pregnancy test on the sink. Bucky followed your gaze and his breath caught in his throat.  

“I haven’t looked yet,” you blurted out. “I… I don’t know what I want it to say and I’m afraid you’ll be-”

“Hey, hold on now,” Bucky soothed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m not going to be anything, okay? I’m on board with whatever it says and if it’s not what you want, then I’m on board with that, too.”

You nodded slowly, taking in a deep breath as Bucky’s hands ran along your arms.  

“You’re my wife, Y/n. I’m with you every step of the way,” he said sweetly and you believed every word.  

Bucky closed the toilet seat and sat down, rubbing his hands together nervously as he waited for you to look at the results of the test. If he was honest, he knew exactly what he wanted the test to say, he’d wanted it for a while, but he was cautious to watch for your reaction first. You were the love of his life, the most important person in his world, and if you weren’t ready, it was the end of the discussion. When it was time, he wanted you to be just as excited as he was. If it meant waiting a little longer, he was okay with that.  

You swallowed, wincing as you took another step closer to the sink. With Bucky’s eyes watching you so carefully, you found it hard to find your breath. Then as if he could read your mind and you often questioned if he could, Bucky’s hand snaked into yours, squeezing it softly just to remind you he was there.

You picked up the test and you were surprised to find a smile curve up your lips. Shock. Excitement. Maybe a little relief and you clung onto the tiny stick.  

“Y/n?” Bucky asked nervously. “What did it say?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Bucky froze, wide eyed. He scratched at the nape of his neck, eyes everting to the ground before they looked up at you again under hooded stare. “Are we, um, are we happy about that?”

You nodded, the smile only lifting your cheeks higher as a grin broke out on Bucky’s face. “Yeah, yeah I think I am.”  

“Yeah? For real?”

“Yes, Bucky, for real,” you laughed, amused by the look of complete disbelief in his features. “I’m happy. I’m really, really happy.”

Suddenly, he let out a joyful shout and swung you into his arms, lifting you up to sit on the bathroom sink. He kissed you through the dizziness in his head, the thumping of his heart racing with an excitement he didn’t know how to contain. 

Stars aligning, a millennium of pain crammed into the few short months that hurled Bucky into your life, and you’d do it again, live every second over, if it meant it would bring you to this moment with him.  

With Bucky.

Completely and undeniably yours.  

–

ok folks thats it 😭 I have so appreciated the love for this story and I sincerely wish I could get to all the drabble requests you sent in because were so many cute ones and ones that made me smile and laugh. I might come back to this story eventually but for now I want to focus on my future works.

Thanks everyone!!! I always love to see your comments and it seriously makes my heart BURST so please keep doing that 💖

tags 🍼 @sweetheartbarnes @musiclover1263 @pies-wands-and-more @buckygrantbarnes @mywinterwolf @breatheeagainnnn @jewelofwinter @lumar014 @alohafromhell1 @bucksandroses @beautiful-aravis @me-chi / @somewereinthegalaxi / @marvelfansworld / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @yourwonderbelle / @fairislesheets / @brokeinflight / @verygraphicink / @lollipopdomination / @emotionallysalty / @forsaken-letters / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @ashlieadelia / @kasimagines / @ladymelissastark/ @panic-naran / @pinkisokay/ @jsmith509 / @hennessy0274-blog / @littlemsrantsalot / @bucky-rrogers / @the-wayward-robot / @the-omni-princess

[unofficialkfamtranscripts]

King Falls AM - Episode Thirteen: Crop Circle Jerk

View on Google Docs Summary: November 1, 2015 - An emergency at Libbydale Farms has Deputy Troy and King Falls AM on high alert. Mysterious lights? Check. Crop Circles? Check. Intergalactic Gang War? Stay tuned to 660 on the AM Dial to find out.

[podcast intro music]

[S&B show intro]

Ben Good evening! You’re listening to King Falls AM – that’s 660 on the radio dial.

Sammy Folks, we are jumping right into it tonight. We got Deputy Troy on the line, live from Libbydale Farms. Hey, Troy, can you hear us alright?

Troy Loud and clear, Sammy. Heard you real fine, too, Ben.

Ben [muttered] Suck an egg.

Sammy Okay. So, Troy. Tell the listeners what you just told us right before we went on air.

Troy Ladies and gents, in all my years— and I mean all of ‘em— I ain’t never seen anything like this! Not even comparatively close to what I’m lookin’ at right this instant. [faint sounds of police radio in bg]

Ben POINT. GET TO IT.

Troy Gosh darnit, Ben. I’m trying to sell the magnitude of what I’m feastin’ my eyes on!

Ben Who even knew you could see Libbydale Farms from so far out in the Kiss Ass Sea aboard the SS Backstabber.

Troy You know G-D well I’m not on a ship nor would it be called the SS Backstabber if I were. Don’t be so damn sore, Ben! Everybody knows I’m sorry! Plus- [kinda shyly] I reckon my ship be called the- USS Super Badass.

Sammy *pointedly clears throat* Troy. Ben. Let’s put our differences aside and let’s get to the matter at hand. So, Troy, you’re live at—?

Ben & Troy Libbydale Farms…

Troy & Ben I’m trying to talk!

Sammy GUYS!

Troy A-a-as I was sayin. I’m out here at the farm and out past the barns just hours ago, Old Man Libbydale called us in, and acres upon acres, boys, have been De.Stroyed out here.

Ben [accusingly] Where were yoouu, earlier this evening, Troy?

Troy Using my keen detective skills and ninja-like mental agility, I can see you’re trying to place me at the scene of the crime, little buddy. However Ol’ Troy was sawin’ logs next to the Mrs. before. my. shift.

Ben While crimes are being committed? *scoffs* Typical.

Troy Now that’s a low blow just be—

[shouting over each other] Ben NO! NO! Troy —low my pistol belt— Ben YOUU— N— TROOYY!— Troy — Ben come on— Ben — T— OHH Troy — this ain’t about the farm— Ben [mocking] OHH YEAHHH- OHHH YOU’RE SOOO— Troy — and you know— Ben —GOOD AT FIGHTING—

Sammy GUYS! GUYS! [“break it up kids”/dad-voice] I understand there’s renewed intensity between you two, but Ben, as co-host of this show and a respected journalist— put it away. Troy, you’re the first friend of the Sammy & Ben Show and a deputy sheriff. You guys don’t have to be best buddies, but let’s please report- on the news story- at hand.

Troy Couldn’t have said it better myself, Sammy.

Ben [hissed] Jesus.

Sammy So, Troy. Old Man Libbydale called you out— Acres of his lands destroyed. How so?

Troy Y’all ain’t gonna believe it, but you know I always shoot you straight… Two words: Crop. Circles.

Sammy [incredulous] Crop circles?

Troy It’s like a live action Led Zeppelin album cover as far as the eye can see! Big ones, little ones. The craziest damn designs you ever could imagine.

Ben Troy, I assume you and the rest of Gunderson’s thugs— I-mean-”deputies”— inspected the circles, and the surrounding areas, for man-made tools? There have been stories that men with boards tied to ropes can replicate what people believe crop circles to look like. Bending the crops at the right angles, etcetera… did you find—

Troy Didn’t find anything, Ben. Not a board… not a footprint… nothin’ but hunched over crops.

Ben So you think—?

Troy Oh, there isn’t a doubt in my mind it’s from the UFOs or those lights. I mean, whichever you wanna call it. No man made these! And in just a few hours to boot!

Sammy Okay. So, has this ever happened here before, Ben?

Ben No! Nor abductions! Not even lights being so close to town. The past few months- have been a hotbed for extraterrestrial activity— it would seem.

Sammy “It would seem”? So you aren’t certain?

Ben *scoff/laugh* I only said “it would seem” so you wouldn’t get all defensive about it.

Sammy Okay, alright. Well, as much as I hate to say it, I definitely feel there’s a lot more than meets the eye here in Kings Falls.

Ben I’m not one to say “I told you so”… But I DID tell you so!

Troy Just so everybody out there knows: Libbydale Farms is private property. So, unless you’re doing the dairy farm tour in mornin’, this is not an attraction for looky-loos. There is an official investigation still ongoin’ here. Plus, don’t nobody need another person gettin’ snatched up by the Martians either.

Ben *smug snort* Martians are from Mars, Troy. They aren’t representative of all extraterrestrials?.

Troy [defensive] Whatever— Ben Nye the Science Guy. I’m headin’ out to the field again. I might not be smart as Ben about the aliens and such, but I can definitely sniff out a spot where the Williams boys will come lookin’ for Mischief and Mayhem. [click]

[dial tone]

Sammy Deputy Troy, folks. Now, I didn’t realize you and Troy were still so angry at one another, Ben. You can’t let that hostility clou—

Ben THANKS, DAD! — We’re just gonna take a break to hear from one of our fine sponsors. Maybe Sammy here can talk to me about the birds and the bees after we get back.

Sammy [quietly] Maybe…

[disquieting, melancholic piano music]

Soft, disquieting voice What if what you thought wasn’t really what you thought you thought? … Ever think of that? … Here at the Institute of Science, we can help you become what you’ve always wanted to become… A better you, for a better mankind! Call us today for a free brochure and a C-meter reading. That’s “C” as in “cat.” … We’re coming King Falls… Be well! … And be ready.

[piano fades out]

[S&B theme]

Sammy You’re listening to King Falls AM and we are opening up the phone lines to you. 424-279-3858.

Ben We’ll be talking about the apparent crop circle- situation at Libbydale Farms. As well as if any of you out there have had any experience with this phenomenon.

Sammy So give us a call or tweet us @kingfallsam. So, you’ve heard our story, now let’s hear yours.

Ben Line 3.

Sammy Good evening, you’re live with Sammy and Ben.

Cynthia Good evening? For who? Certainly not King Falls!

Sammy Hi, Cynthia. How ‘bout you tell us how you really feel tonight.

Cynthia Weellll, to be honessst, I’m a little rattled over these gang signs the aliens are leaving on our turf. Literally.

Ben Cynthia— there is no way to tell if those circles are- angry orrr happy! even. They’re *huff/laugh* just symbols.

Cynthia So’s a swastika, Ben Arnold. Get your head out of your tuchus!

Sammy Okay, obviously, we aren’t trying to raise alarms here, Cynthia. It’s just, uh— it’s an interesting story. Especially here in our backyard. Would you not agree? Uh, you know, it’s not every day you can see this kind of handiwork – man-made or otherwise.

Cynthia You two sound sooo happy. We’re getting tagged in an intergalactic war and all of us in the Falls are sitting around at ground zero.

Ben I- don’t think that’s fair t—

Cynthia That’s the problem! You just. don’t. think! It’s all Tim Jenson’s fault, I just know it. We didn’t have any flying saucer, land-tattooing bedlam before he chased those lights.

Ben He didn’t “chase” anything! He was driving from work and called to report on a breaking news story.

Cynthia Watch your tone, Ben. I’ll buy one of those rabid, disease-ridden sugar flyers and toss it in Lake Hatchenhaw. just to spite you!

Sammy Goodnight, Cynthia.

Ben Sugar glider. And- they are. illegal.

Cynthia So are illegal aliens, but you’re just getting ready to throw ‘em a parade! I can’t! I just can’t! [click]

[dial tone]

Sammy Heh, alright, uh… Line 12, you’re live on King Falls AM.

Emily Hi, Sammy! Hi, Ben!

Ben Emily! I–I didn’t realize you were back in town!

Emily I just got back. I was listening on the way in! My mom and I actually drove by the farm and saw all the commotion over there. Police; reporters— big lawn-mower thingies…

Ben Lawn mowers?

Sammy Uh, y’ know, if you don’t mind me asking, Emily, why were you out of town?

Emily Oh, I flew out to Buford, Wyoming,[1] for the annual small town librarian expo! And I had my mom pick me up from the airport since— Ben was on the air.

Sammy Wow. So you guys are in the taking and picking up from the airport stage of yourrr—

Ben Friendship. Is that the- word- you’re- searching for, Sammy?

Sammy [kinda smug] Thaaat was exactly the one, Ben.

Emily *soft laugh* You guys are so silly. But I just wanted to say “hi” and tell Ben I’m back home now!— Oh! And starting next week, I’ve got a whole bunch of fun activities I learned from the expo to start doing at the library! Hopefully we can get some of the scared kids back now.

Ben I’ll call you later, Emily.

Emily Goodnight, Ben! Night, Sammy!

[click, dial tone]

Sammy Emily Potter, ladies and gents. King Falls Librarian and Ben’s… Friend.

Ben [shyly] Yeah-yeah… Lucky Line 1, you’re on King Falls AM.

Greg Hey, guys! It’s Greg Frickard!

Sammy Hi, Greg! You know, we appreciate you running the ads on the show, sir. It’s so nice to meet youuu… uh, over the phone, of course.

Greg Thanks, Sammy! I— think— we’ve- talked before, and uh, glad to run the spot! Me and Granny Frickard love the show! You should hop on down to the Froggery and we’ll hook ya up!

Sammy I might have to take you up on that offer, Greg!

Greg We’d love to have you! You too, Ben…

Ben Greg, you’re a lifelong King Falls resident… w-we’ve been talking about the crop circles out at –

Greg Oh I know. I’ve been listening, but— I was actually calling about- sssomething else— if that’s okay.

Sammy Uh, yyyeah. Sure thing, Greg. What’s on your mind?

Greg Well, I heard Ben and Miss Potter a second ago and they made a— declaration of friendship? Is that correct?

Sammy Oh! U-uh. Is- this about Emily?

Ben [suspicious] Did you- call before, when Emily was in the studio, Greg?

Greg Uh, noo… *nervous laugh* that must have beeeen… somebody else. But is that true, Ben? Are you and Miss Potter just friends?

Ben [terse] Good friends. *tsk* Close. Friends… Real close.

Greg Huhhh! … Well th- okay! That’s all I needed to know! Thanks a million, buddy.

Sammy Hey— Greg. You didn’t have a comment orr—

Greg Oh, no, no! I j— *chuckles* I don’t know the first thing about crop circles and— what-have-you. Uhh, it’s real interesting and all! but- Miss Potter’s lovely voice just… [sighing dreamily] speaks to me. I always just assumed that Ben and Emily were… “bf” and “gf” respectively, *laughs* but… if that’s not the case, thennn…

Sammy Ben? You okay?

Ben I don’t like putting our— personal lives out there in the public eye…

Greg Well, gee, Ben, I’m— only asking because ifff you’re into friendship with the lovely Miss Potter, and— I’m afraid, uhhh, I might just have to be into courtship. *chuckle* Granny wants to see me married before going into the great By-and-By—

Ben Bye-bye to you too! Greg. Looks like we lost line—

Greg I’m still here, pals! Now about that thing—

Ben [click, dial tone] Line 7, you’re on King Falls AM?

Sammy Did you just hang up onnn—

Ben I would never. LINE 7.

Herschel I’d like to place a complaint, rrright this instant.

Sammy Herschel?

Ben Is everything okay, Mr. Baumgartner?

Herschel Would I call into you nincompoops if everything was hunky-dory?

Ben I guess not… No.

Sammy So, what seems to be the issue, Herschel?

Herschel All this yackin’ about G-D UFOs and crop circles, for starters. Makes my damn d[bleep]k itch.

Sammy Sir! This is—

Herschel Did you call me to tell me what to think, comrade? Or did I call you to talk about an issue?

Sammy Please continue, Mr. Baumgartner…

Herschel Thank you. So, I’m out on the lake tonight— got up brright and early, so I could make sure I got my special spot.

Ben “Got up early”? It’s— just now a little past 2…

Herschel You the sleep police?! Ya little bastard… I thought not.

Ben Sorry, Herschel.

Herschel So I’m trollin, out on the… well. That parts Top Secret, boys. But I’m trollin, so I don’t scare the bigguns away, and those g[bleep]ddamn sons of b[bleep]chin’ rainbow lights start blowin’ through the sky. Looked like Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat[2] was fightin’ that big Jap lizard!

Sammy Godzilla? Please don’t use derogatory wor—

Herschel McCarthy[3] would’a skinned your ass alive, you Red[4] sack ‘a sh[bleep]t! Can I tell my story?!

Sammy Of course, I’m just asking you not to—

Ben [quickly] I’m on the button. Sammy. Heh. Herschel’s gonna Herschel!

Sammy Okay. So, you saw the lights tonight…

Herschel Saw ‘em? Hell. They scared the literal piss out of me. Got a trickle down my Carhartts[5] look like the state of Florida. I’m out here naked as a jaybird! Not a fish in sight.

Ben I’m sorry, did you just reference a musical, Mr. Baumgartner?

Herschel Oh, just ‘cause I like some colorful metaphors, means I can’t be refined, Ben?!

Ben I wasn’t— I didn’t– im-imply— I’m-I’m just saying—

Herschel [softly, for Herschel] Ol’ Mrs. Baumgartner, (god rest your sexy soul, Edna), used to love those hippy-dippy singing plays. And I’d do anything to keep in those pants, fellas.

Sammy Oh, god.

Ben Awww. [pleading] Can we get back to the lights?

Herschel That Edna. Oh, lemme tell ya… Oh! Uh, yeah– the damn lights! Yeah, so, I saw ‘em. What the hell else am I supposed to tell ya about it?!

Sammy Well, you were calling to complain about them, I’m sure.

Herschel That’s right! I’d like to report that no-good drunkard! Cecil Sheffield! Called that cumbersome ass-wart damn near 15 times to come bring me a pair of skivvies to no avail! Avoiding my calls and his duties as the co-winner of this damn boat!

Ben It’s— so late, Mr. Baumgartner. I’m-I’m sure he’s sleeping now.

Herschel You would take up with him!

Sammy W-well, Ben’s just sayin’ that he isn’t avoiding you so much as he’s, you know— probably asleep.

Herschel Sleeping one off! Soggy son of a b[bleep]h. He knows if I ring the special line, it’s a damn emergency.

Ben So, you guys have made up?

Herschel Made up my ass! If he’s gonna be “co”-anything with Herschel F. Baumgartner, that tally-whacker’s gonna have to keep up his end of the bargain.

Sammy To be at your beck and call in case you… soil yourself…

Herschel Don’t be crass!

Ben So, you guys are actually sharing the boat? That’s awesome! I figured you only—

Herschel I ain’t sharin a damn thing with that son of a b[bleep]h! Stop stirrin’ the pot or I’ll make what Charlie did to John McCain look like foreplay, Ben Arnold!

Sammy So, to the point. You’re calling to complain about Cecil because he’s sleeping through your time of need?

Ben But! He is corroborating seeing the lights, Sammy! That’s a big deal.

Herschel Just have an intern or something bring me some britches and stop fiddle fu[bleep]ing fuss! 32 long! I’ll be at Begley’s. He’s probably peering out his window lookin for a damn show… I don’t like beige! [click]

[dial tone]

Sammy You’re on King Falls AM with Sammy and Ben.

Riley Please hold the line for Mayor Grisham.

Sammy This again?

Ben *groans*

Sammy You know, I wonder, do you wake him when we say special keywords, or…?

Riley Mayor? You’re on with Sammy and Ben.

Grisham Sammy. Ben. I hate to rain on your little topic of discussion tonight, but let’s shut it down. It’d be much appreciated.

Ben What??

Sammy The always-fair, Mayor Grisham, folks. Remember this come election time next year.

Grisham Do you think that a public servant should have to call the local “Tom & Joe Chucklehut Show” to ask them not to jeopardize a police investigation?

Sammy Do you ever call Channel 13 and tell them what to report and how? We are a topical late night talk show, Grisham.

Grisham Mayor.

Sammy I didn’t vote for you.

Grisham Fair enough. I don’t expect you to respect anything but your own pathetic grab for ratings. Now, regarding Channel 13—

Ben Sorry, Mayor. Obviously, Sammy is flustered. He wouldn’t have used such a bad example if he was thinking straight—

Grisham The answer to your question, Sammy, is no. I wouldn’t call in and tell a reputable news agency how to do their job. BUT, amazingly enough, I continue to have to ask you to stop your rhetoric— seemingly once a month or so. Interesting, don’t you think?

Ben You do realize the only people that watch Channel 13 are drunks that can’t find the remote and animals left alone with the TV on, right?

Grisham Whatever helps you sleep better, Ben. I can tell you for a fact that, right now, Storm Sanders is probably not working a “local yokel” interview and digging up the muck. He’s reporting on city ordinance 29.44371.

Ben Storm is knee deep in a barrel of backyard bathtub hooch during commercial breaks.

Sammy So, Mayor. What is this ordinance? Ya know, since we aren’t reporting the news to your liking, give us a glimpse into what works for you.

Grisham The add-on to the local YMCA? The new menu over at Rose’s! I’m not paid a handsome salary to do your job.

Sammy Oh, right! I forget you think you can dictate what we report on, for free.

Ben Sammy… they’re destroying the crop circles! That’s the ordinance!

Grisham There’s hope for you yet, Ben. Don’t go down with this ship. I’ll put a good word in for you elsewhere.

Sammy You son of a b[bleep]h! You’re destroying the crop circles?! That could be the only thing that brings Tim Jenson home!

Grisham Don’t bring Tim Jenson into this! The city is paying Libbydale Farms a fair share for their remaining crops! But it is in the public’s best interest to mow down this batch of mischief accordingly! Especially after this broadcast.

Sammy *derisive scoff/laugh* You are despicable.

Grisham These affairs aren’t your business to ramble on about… Do the weather! Talk about traffic! I mean, I filled those potholes! Stop making trouble!

Sammy Freedom of the Press. When your assistant isn’t typing out our every word, maybe have her look it up and tell you all about it.

Grisham I can’t wait to hear about it! And here’s a little phrase for you to look up too! OBSTRUCTION OF JUSTICE.

Sammy Uh-huh.

Grisham Do you think using your connections to officers of the law to report on “breaking news” is fine and dandy, Stevens?? *sniffs* You are perverting the course of this case. Things— especially ongoing issues— aren’t meant to be talked about until all the facts are out there! And you— *sniffs* IDIOTS are playing on the scene, reporting with your bagel-eating buddy! who happens to be a cop.

Ben *scoffs* ‘s not my buddy.

Sammy BEN.

Ben I’m not throwing you under the bus, Sammy. I just hate Troy.

Grisham So, the moral of the story would be, gents… some things require couth. Some things require kid gloves when handling. And most things don’t need to be aired in the public for ratings and entertainment. A perfect example being how, I’m sure Sheriff Gunderson will handle Deputy Krieghauser on his own, for calling into this joke of a show with police business constantly. Doubt you’ll see that done during a press conference.

Ben Uh… is that… really necessary, sir?

Grisham This show is a breeding ground for incompetence, and you’re now dragging your pals down with you. Straighten Up and Fly Right.

Sammy Troy doesn’t need to be punished for you to make your point, Grisham.

Grisham Out Of My Hands… I’ve already had Riley send my opinions on it over to the good sheriff! Now again, I ask you: pick a different topic of discussion. Maybe one that won’t lead to the continued pain and misery for all those around you. Night night, fellas! [click]

[dial tone]

Sammy [quickly] I’m gonna call Troy.

Ben Umm, uh *nervous stuttering* W-we’ll be back after this— King Falls. We’ll- we’ll take some- calls about uhh… *helpless scoff* I guess we’ll- see…

[KFAM outro]

[CREDITS]

References

[1] Buford, Wyoming - “America’s Smallest Town”, Buford is mostly just a convenience store/gas station. The population was 1-2 from ~1995 until it was completely abandoned in 2017.

[2] Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat - Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat is a musical comedy with lyrics by Tim Rice and music by Andrew Lloyd Webber. The story is based on the "coat of many colors" story of Joseph from the Bible's Book of Genesis.

[3] McCarthy - Joseph Raymond McCarthy was a Republican U.S. Senator from 1947 until his death in 1957. Beginning in 1950, McCarthy became the most visible public face of the “Red Scare”, a period in the United States in which Cold War tensions fueled fears of widespread Communist subversion. He is known for alleging that numerous Communists and Soviet spies and sympathizers had infiltrated the United States federal government, universities, film industry, and elsewhere.

[4] Red - Communist

[5] Carhartts - Carhartt, Inc., is a U.S.-based apparel company founded in 1889. Carhartt is known for its work clothes, such as jackets, coats, overalls, coveralls, vests, shirts, jeans, dungarees, fire-resistant clothing and hunting clothing.

[sentfromwolves]

oc prompt game .  ( queen of the meadows. uselessness / mars & laurel ) 

< hoes b4 bros >

hwa: mom

hwa: mom

hwa: mom

starmom: son wuat the fuck its 4am

hwa: o fuck i forgot timezones again

hwa: wait

hwa: why r u up ! !!  

hwa: MOM

hwa: go 2 SLEEP

starmom: no now im here and awake and alive enough whats up son

hwa: mom we need an intervention (go 2 sleep)

starmom: jesus christ

starmom: for who

hwa: mars said he wants 2 marry the dude from his plant class (seriously!! GO. TO. BED)

starmom: that class started literally 2 days ago

hwa: I KNO!!!!! (pls, mom, for the love of everyone around u and also me, get some sleep)

aspen groans and rolls over in his bed, peeling himself away from his sheets and staring groggily at his phone. it’s not unlike mars to get fleeting, would-be crushes on other green witches in his classes. usually he’ll ogle them for a day or two, wax poetic about their ass, and then move on. he’s a tall kid with a heart of goddamn gold, and wears every single emotion he ever owns on his sleeve. it’s caused trouble more than once, but generally he’s pretty good about loving, and realistic expectations, and knowing that you can’t marry a guy you met two days ago. frozen proved that much, if nothing else.

still, he cracks open the door to his room and sidles down the hall and peeks up the stairs. there’s no movement, but something clinks in the kitchen that connects to the living room, and he ambles in that direction, wondering what he’ll find. maybe yonghwa had also been texting cobalt, who is a habitual night owl. maybe cobalt is also in on this intervention thing too. after all, their witch bonds are stronger than most. when one of them feels something too strongly and doesn’t clamp down on it, often times the others will feel it too. and aspen knows that most of them have been feeling pretty ecstatic over the last few days, the stress mitigated by the unbridled adrenaline and raw energy of diving back into classes, into a sea of new faces and old as the new semester cracks open like an eggshell suspended above all of their heads.

what he finds isn’t cobalt hunched over the fridge with three popsicles sticking out of his mouth (a regular occurrence during summer). what he finds is mars draped over the living room couch holding his hand over his forehead dramatically, a spoon hanging from his fingers and a half-empty jar of gelato (his gelato, aspen realizes with a little bit of exasperation), looking like he’s ready to be painted by a young leonardo dicaprio.

“um,” aspen says, “you okay in there, buddy?”

“aspen,” mars says. “can you marry a guy you just met?”

goddamn it. they really do need an intervention.

“no, mars,” aspen says with all the patience of a man who just woke up at 4am because his witch family are being dumbasses. “you can’t marry someone you just met.”

“fuck,” mars says, and sits up. “okay, plan b.”

“plan b?”

“i’m gonna ask him on a date.” mars looks fiercely determined. so determined, in fact, that aspen breaks out into a laugh that threatens to wake cobalt up from his dead slumber upstairs.

“what?!” mars demands, his voice pitching high. “what’s so funny?”

“it’s just,” aspen says. “no, you know what? i’m not even going to say it. okay, so you’re gonna ask - “

“hot greenhouse man,” mars says dreamily.

“you’re gonna ask hot greenhouse man on a date,” aspen says. “cool. and how are you gonna do that?”

mars face drains of all color. because for all of his open-hearted adoration for people, his poetic compliments, his easily obtained sincerity, mars has never asked a person out before in his life. in the realm of dating, he’s as good as useless, and aspen’s gonna let him flounder a bit in the blind, desperate hope that he learns how to swim.

“i’m,” mars says, sputters, and says again, “i’m gonna figure that out. right. now.”

“cool,” aspen says, planning for the inevitability of mars chickening out by the time the sun has risen in the sky. “i’m going back to bed while you do that. wake me up when there’s breakfast being made.”

mars, in fact, wakes him up later on when breakfast is (rather poorly) made.

he also tells him that he knows hot greenhouse mans name courtesy of one of his rather nosy, gossipy friends.

his name is laurel. and aspen is worried he’s going to break mars heart.

***

aspen doesn’t have to worry for long.

the moment he meets laurel, he knows that this is as good as fate crashing into his living room floor and starting a forest fire. laurel has the fucking heart eyes of the century every time mars back is turned, and for all of their early floundering, he’s a good soul with a cute smile and (currently) light blue hair that fluffs up to minty green whenever he gets excited or happy.

however, there is one big problem. the biggest fucking problem in aspens world. something that keeps him up late at night, staring at his ceiling, asking the universe how two people can be so stupid that it’s almost funny for everyone involved except it really isn’t because how is he, the good samaritan stuck between a rock and two love-struck people so dumb about the feelings of the other that they don’t even know how to act, supposed to sleep soundly when he can’t knock the minute amount of sense into his best friends head to do the right thing?

the right thing, of course, being to ask one another on a date.

“three months,” yonghwa says on the phone with him one night. “aspie, it’s been three months and neither of them have asked each other out?”

“i know,” aspen moans, hitting his head against his desk, hands in the air. “i know! they’re both like, oh wow, look at this beautiful friend i made. and then mars waves him out of the house, turns around, and starts screaming because he’s so fucking in love! how can he not just - just ask him out? how is this hard?”

“listen,” yonghwa says, “i’ve seen one whole picture of them together and i don’t think i’ve ever seen someone look at mars the way laurel looks at mars. that guys whipped. and he’s not even gonna ask him out?”

“they’re dense, hwa,” aspen bemoans, lifting his head. “dense as bricks. denser than bricks. it’s like the cauldron gave them all the good looks in the world and then was like, hey you know what? good looks? well then i guess you can’t have any braincells around each other!”

“could you,” yonghwa asks, “could you like, give them a nudge? a push? a kick in the ass? throw them off a cliff.”

“i’ve tried everything,” aspen says, and looks up at his computer screen. yonghwa is bent over, painting his toenails as he speaks, the glittery polish he’s using apparently magically scented with blackberries and vanilla. “i straight up said, now is your chance mars, go ask him out! and he just looked at me like this deer in headlights. what if he says no, he said. what kind of bullshit!”

“useless,” yonghwa says, blowing on his big toe. the enchanted blow dryer aspen had sent him for christmas dances around his head, drying out his recently dyed silver-purple hair. “i wish i was there. i would just do it for them.”

“i wish you were here too,” aspen says, breaking from his complaints to let his words flow with genuine fondness. “i’m excited for when i can finally have you back here for real. i miss you.”

“i miss you too, aspie,” yonghwa says, and smiles up at him through the camera. “it’s only a while longer. and then the whole family will be together.”

“not quite,” aspen grumbles. “laurel should be part of this family. hell, he spends enough time over here that he should be on my chore wheel.”

“ah yes, the chore wheel,” yonghwa says sagely. “you should just add him. maybe they’ll finally get the hint.”

“no,” aspen says. “they’re both fools in love. i really don’t know what to do.”

yonghwa tilts his head thoughtfully.

“maybe,” he says, “they just need to suffer a bit more, and then they’ll figure it all out.”

“maybe,” aspen replies, but he really doesn’t think so, but he pulls all of his blind hope and shoves it into that one, tiny word.

***

one month later, aspen snaps.

it starts on a friday afternoon, when he hears the door bang open and closed, and a wail reaches his room where he’s trying desperately to finish a lit essay while talking with emerson about latin translations and books that he wants to set on fire.

“i gotta go,” aspen says, glancing behind him at his door.

“gotcha,” emerson, “wanna come over and dramatically recite shakespeare with me while i pretend to care about grading these papers?”

“please,” aspen says, “i think i’ll need it.”

“cocoa or tequila?” emerson asks knowingly. “or do you want some sort of bliss tonic? I think we have some leftover from the party.”

“cocoa,” aspen says, “i love you. talk to you later.”

“doors unlocked!” emerson calls after him before he ends the call.

in another life, aspen thinks, he’d ask emerson out on a date. but harper is madly in love with him, and aspen is madly in love with harper, and so he stays out of both of their paths, knowing better than to get in the way of something that could be wonderful for the two of them.

sighing, aspen closes his laptop, stands up, and prepares for the worst.

mars is on the kitchen floor.

aspen fights two spontaneously grown thorn bushes, a snapper plant that descended from the ceiling to eat his hair, and three rows of angry, bushy cactuses that have since surrounded the open dishwasher and its surroundings with all the grace he can muster.

mars doesn’t so much as move or bat an eyelash at him when he comes to stand at his head. he’s face down on the granite, arms splayed out in front of him, and he looks, quite frankly, like he’s just keeled over and died in the middle of the day.

aspen does the nice thing.

he kicks him (gently) in the head.

mars lets out a pathetic cry.

“what happened,” aspen says, and it’s not a question.

the only other time mars poisoned the whole kitchen with toxic plants, it had been because someone had called him a giraffe and he’d cried all the way home. he’d been seventeen at the time.

mars rolls over onto his back and stars up at aspen. he’s on the verge of tears.

“oh my god,” aspen says, crouching down. “baby.”

“aspen,” mars croaks. “i’m a dumb person.”

“oh my god,” aspen says. “no you’re not, mars. tell me what’s wrong.”

he sits down gingerly, ignoring the cactuses around them, and mars scoots up a little so he’s laying with his head in aspens lap as aspen brushes his fingers through the boys hair.

“i really like laurel,” mars says, like it hasn’t been painfully obvious for four months now. “like, really, really like him.”

“yes,” aspen says. “i know.”

“cool,” mars replies, staring glassy eyed at the ceiling. “so today, i go into the greenhouse early because like, i’m planning to give him this cactus i found down at the gardens to laurel, because the needles don’t hurt at all and make little bubbles when you tickle the head.”

“okay,” aspen says.

“and there he is,” mars says, lifting his hands to the ceiling like he’s looking at heaven and laurel is up there somewhere too. “beautiful. haloed in light. perfect. the most amazing guy i’ve ever been blessed with. and he’s getting kissed by some other dude.”

okay, that’s a hold up. laurel? kissing another man?

“are you sure?” aspen asks.

laurel has been madly in love with mars for months. this story doesn’t make any sense.

“yes!” mars exclaims. “like, the cutest fucking gesture and he’s just sitting there, laughing as it happens! and i’m sitting there with this stupid cactus like, oh! that’s why he never asked me out. he must’ve been like, dating this hot dude this entire time and was just taking - what, i don’t know - pity on me or something! i look stupid.”

mars actually wails at this.

“i’m a dumbass!”

aspen frowns.

“no,” he says, leaning down to kiss mars forward. “you’re absolutely not a stupid person, mars. you’re the best, sweetest, greatest person i know. and if that’s really true - which i’m not saying it is - then laurel is missing out on something incredible.”

“but i don’t want him to miss out,” mars says, and sobs.

“i know,” aspen says, immediately planning either murder or the biggest fucking Mom Talk he’s ever going to have in his life. “i know, baby. you’re the best thing i’ve ever had in my life. and you deserve the stars.”

***

the stars hiss at aspen the moment laurel makes it into their front garden, telling him hurriedly that the boy he’s been waiting on to arrive is finally here.

aspen checks his watch.

cool, three hours since mars breakdown.

enough time for aspen to school all of his emotions into neat little lines and prepare for whatever the fuck is about to happen downstairs. as requested, cobalt is diligently distracting mars upstairs with video games and an ongoing call with yonghwa, who’s hollering memes at them while dancing to the ponytail song aggressively.

aspen goes downstairs and opens the door.

laurel is standing on his porch looking wildly out of breath.

“is mars here?” he asks, all of his words blending together into one massive slur.

“amazing,” aspen replies. “you’re both useless.”

laurel freezes.

“um,” he says, very eloquently. which is great, because aspen doesn’t have time for him to go on any sort of ramble that dodges the point. aspen’s nonexistent love life might be a hot garbage fire that he’s given up controlling, but he’s not about to let mars go down in flames over what he hopes and prays is a misunderstanding of cosmic proportions.

“no,” aspen says, shutting laurel’s mouth with an audible click. “nope. don’t talk, laurel. it’s my turn. i get to talk now. mars is upstairs, by the way. my kitchen is a nightmare. and if this conversation doesn’t go right, i’m going to make you clean every single cactus out of my dishwasher before you leave.”

“what?” laurel asks, dumbly.

“listen to me very carefully,” aspen says. “mars likes you a lot. he might even love you, and for mars, that’s a monumental thing. he’s wanted to ask you out since he met you. he’s so far down the rabbit hole of affection for you that i don’t think his heart has room for literally anything else.”

laurel sits there gaping like a fish out of water. jesus christ - had he really been so dumb?

aspen tries to boil down every strand of exasperation in him.

“today,” he says, “even after months of friendship, you kissed someone else in front of him.”

“i - what?”

“don’t ‘i - what’ me, mars was crying on my kitchen floor for two hours because of this,” aspen says. “if you really didn’t notice that he was madly interested in you and you were just wanting to be friends, then i might be able to forgive that when mars recovers. and that’s a big if. but if you were leading him on, thinking it was cute to have him fawn over you while stringing him along, i will personally - “

“waitwaitwait,” laurel says, loudly, holding out his hands. “wait, aspen! please!”

aspen frowns at him, in what he hopes is his best scolding mom stare.

“you have five seconds,” he says, “go.”

“this is a whole, big, wild misunderstanding!” laurel says, so loudly his voice has to carry out through the whole house. “the guy that kissed me was one of my old frat brothers! he was just coming by to say hi! he’s got a girlfriend and a boyfriend for godsake! it was just - just platonic. i don’t feel that way about anyone but mars! i’ve wanted to marry that guy for months now. literally marry him! i’ll even get down on one knee - “

laurel is jumping down onto the ground before aspen can stop him, even as he rushes forward, trying to stop this mess of a man from also destroying his house with blooms of crazy fucking plants. he can already see the dirt around his front yard sifting, little tendrils of greenery poking on through.

“laurel!” aspen says, loudly. “laurel, please - “

“i love him!” laurel shouts. “please, aspen. i really love him! can i see him? i can explain it all, really, i just want to see - “

“laurel?”

aspen turns around.

mars is standing in the hallway, illuminated in the soft gold of the fairy lights floating around the ceiling, swimming like snakes above their heads.

he looks stunned and a little bit awkward, his massive cardigan slouching off of his shoulders, hair a mess, eyes tear-streaked and nose rudolf-red.

“mars,” laurel says, from his kneeling position in front of aspen. “mars.”

he stands up and aspen moves out of the way. laurel crosses the hall to mars and without hesitation, takes mars face in his hands and kisses him hard on the mouth.

aspen feels like he’s part of a korean drama. he thinks he must be at the season finale, because how could anything in his life get more dramatic than this?

“oh my god,” cobalt says from the stairway, holding his phone up and videotaping the entire thing. “they really are useless in love.”

aspen knows he should say something, because the whole hallway is filling with cherry blossoms and red roses, massive lilies and blooming sunflowers. but for a moment, he just sits down hard, and agrees with cobalt’s assessment. mars and laurel are useless in love.

but their love is more gorgeous and brilliant than anything aspen has ever seen before.

and how could something so beautiful be useless at all?

come ask my flower prompt questions here!

[allaboutthebooz]

Rescue Me

A/N: My goodness it’s been forever since I’ve posted anything worth reading. This isn’t my usual Winchester fic. It’s not even a Supernatural fic. It’s Marvel, but not Steve or Bucky. I’ve also replaced Scarlett Johansson with our reader. She will be Black Widow. You’ll see why I did it, when you read it. Well, here you go. OH! And this was supposed to be one part, and has morphed into two!

Warnings: Angst (because I’m the princess of angst.)

Pairing: Jeremy Renner x Reader

Summary: The reader and Jeremy are having a hard time settling into the mind space of filming for the Vormir scene. (actual scene is in italics)

Sitting on the couch in your trailer, elbow propped up on the back, fingers against you lips, nails between your teeth as you stare out the window lost in thought. You had been dreading this ever since the Russo’s gave everyone the script at the table read. As soon as you saw that Cint and Natasha were heading to Vormir and what was going to happen, you and your husband held each other a little tighter. The brother’s kept everything so quiet, that no one knew what was going to happen. They kept everything to themselves, until it was time to sit around the table and read together. Even then, they still were still changing things. You would be told one thing and then when you arrived on set to film, you would be handed a new script. Except, this. This they were keeping. You just had a feeling.

A knock on your trailer door, pulls you back to reality. You and move to the door, pushing it open to greet the PA on the other side. Time to head to hair and makeup. You grab your AirPods and phone. Slipping the buds in your ears, you scroll through your music and selecting ‘Rescue Me’ by Thirty Seconds to Mars. You allow the music to fill your ears and clear you mind. You give Mary and Deborah a smile as you sit in one of the chairs. Nothing is said as they begin to turn you into Black Widow. Your long hair being braided down your back, your makeup giving you a natural beauty look. Waterproof eye makeup because they knew that tears would be shed today.

You’re so absorbed into your music, that you don’t see the room get brighter as the door opens and Jeremy walks in. Deborah gives your hair a few puffs of hair spray before stepping away, giving you a moment to let everything set. Jeremy can see how lost you are, as he moves behind you. You jump when you feel his hands lad on your shoulders. You look into the mirror and pull on of the pods from your ear.

“You okay?” He asks, gently. Stroking his thumbs over your shoulders.

You nod and give a small smile. “Yeah, just ready.” You reach your own hand up to hold his, feeling the warmth radiating off of him, giving you comfort.

He nods. His hair floppy but wild, from sleep. “We got this.” He kisses the back of your head and giving your hand a squeeze, before letting you go and sitting in the chair beside you so that the girls can do his hair and makeup.

“Yeah.” You stand from your seat. “I’m gonna get a quick snack and some water. Want anything?” You stand close to him, but out of Mary’s way. Reaching for his hand again. His wedding band, gleaming on his finger.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m okay. I’ll meet you on set?”

You nod, squeezing his hand and leaning towards him, pressing a kiss to his lips. Pulling back, you give him another smile and walk out of the trailer, fitting the earbud back in place and letting the music fill your ears again.

---

You and Jeremy stood close to your markers, wrapped around each other, mentally preparing yourselves for what was about to happen. Filming scenes like this is always difficult, no matter what movie you were filming. This time was different though. You were saying goodbye to a character that has been with you for almost ten years now. You were also filming the scene with Jeremy, the man that you’ve been in love with since you filmed Avengers together. The two of you have been married for the last four years. You’ve spent the last six years together and now it was ending. Not your marriage, but your Marvel days together.

You know he was having a hard time, too. Maybe even harder, considering he had to imagine you dying right before his eyes. He is a such a great actor; he’ll get the scene done no problem. It was after that worried you. How would this scene affect him? You were going to find out.

You pull away from him enough, that you can put your forehead again his. Eyes closed, breathing each other in. You can hear the crew moving around you both, getting the set ready. You can hear the click of the camera as the on-set photographer took photos, probably drooling over the affection between you and your husband. You’ll have to remember to ask for copies of them.

Opening your eyes and pulling back, the tiniest bit. “You ready?” you ask, your voice no higher than a whisper.

He peels his eyes open, looking at you with his blue eyes. He gives his head the slightest shake. “No. How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to imagine you like that?” His jaw clenching as he grits his teeth together.

“I know it’ll be tough but as soon as they call cut, I’ll be with you. I’ll be right here.” He shifts his gaze away from you and gives an unconvinced nod. You bring your hands up, one on his cheek and the other on his neck, bringing his attention back to you. “I love you. We can do this.” Your voice stern, filling him with the confidence his needs to pull himself together.

He nods one last time, before kissing you. Quick, but filled with everything he is.

You pull away from each other and stand on your marks, keeping your gaze on each other a moment longer before Anthony calls for everyone’s attention.

---

Cameras rolling. You sat on the rocks, snow falling around you. Jeremy standing in the center with Ross, playing Red Skull, behind you. One camera focused on your face, the other focused on the three of you.

--

“How’s it going?” Clint asks with a wave and a chuckle, stepping towards you with a shake of his head. “Jesus. Maybe he’s making this shit up.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Why? Because he knows your daddy’s name?” He asks, pacing.

“I didn’t.” You give your head a slow shake. “Thanos left here with the stone. Without his daughter. That’s not a coincidence.”

All Clint can say is “Yeah.” Staring into the distance.

“Whatever it takes.” You murmur.

Clint turns towards you. “Whatever it takes.” You look over at him, finally looking at him for the first time since sitting down.

You stand and move towards hm. “If we don’t get that stone billions of people stay dead.”

He holds your gaze for a second longer before looking out at the horizon. “Then I guess we both know who it’s gotta be.”

You keep your gaze on his profile and nod. “I guess we do.”

He looks down and takes your hand into his, you bring your other hand up and secure it around the back of his, holding it between yours. “I’m starting to think we mean different people here, Natasha.”

“For the last five years, I’ve been trying to do one thing. Get to right here. That’s all it’s been about. Bringing everybody back.” You stand a little closer to him.

“Oh, don’t you get all decent on me now.” You can hear the pleading in his voice.

“What? You think I want to do it? I’m trying to save your life, you idiot.”

“Yeah well, I don’t want you to. How’s that?” He shifts on his feet. “Natasha, you know what I’ve done. You know what I’ve become.”

“Well, I don’t judge people on their worst mistakes.”

The sadness creeping on his face, makes your heart clench. “Maybe you should.”

Raising your chin, you give him a small smirk. “You didn’t.” You can feel your throat growing tight with the emotion that you are trying to keep down.

A beat passes between you both.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that.”

Your face trembles, just slightly. You both lean forwards and press your foreheads together. You’re shaking, you know he can feel it. You can see him trying to hold himself together. His jaw ticking with each breath he takes.

Suddenly, he’s pulling back and making you look up at him. “Okay. You win.” You take in a small breath as he gives you the smallest smile before taking you down and pining you to the ground beneath him. “Tell my family, I love them.” He grunts as you quickly switch positions. His back to the floor, you are standing over him, fist pointed at him, suit lighting up.

“You tell them yourself.”

He groans, knowing he was supposed to being shocked by the weapon attached to your wrist. You turn and start to run towards the edge, ready to jump. He quickly stands and fires an arrow; an explosion of rubble makes gives you your cue to fly to the right. Landing with a grunt, you roll onto your stomach and watch as he gives you a sad smile, before taking off into a run.

He leaps over the edge, ready to fall to his demise. What he isn’t expecting, is for you to throw yourself onto his back, attach a hook to his belt and launch the other end into the stone edge behind you. Both of you being jerked at the force, you slipping from his grasp until he catches your wrist in his hand.

“Damn you.” He grunts out. He looks behind him and up, trying to find a way to save you. He looks back down, trying to reach for your other hand. He grunts and groans, trying to pull you up. You don’t say anything, you just look up at him with a calm expression, panting. He can feel you start to slip, and he squeezes your wrist tighter. “Wait.” He puffs out. Quietly whispering, “come on.”

You try to calm your breathing, staying calm for him. “Let me go.”

He looks back up and then back at you. Pleading with his eyes. “No.” He shakes his head. “No, please no.”

You tremble but give a slight nod. “It’s okay.” You whisper with so much affection.

That’s his breaking point, the moment he had been dreading. Tears form in his eyes, the blue of his irises looking like the ocean and giving you a sense of peace. “Please.” He begs.

You give him a nod and then you manage to get your footing on the wall, and you launch yourself off with a grunt, your wrist ripping from his hand as you begin to descend. You can see his face twist into agony and wretched wail leaving his body.

You fall onto the mats below and lay still. Listening to your husband wail and sob above you, waiting for someone to call cut. You see him clinging to the rope that’s attached to him, crying as he looks down at your unmoving torso.

--

“Cut!” Joe calls. Giving the all clear for movement behind the camera. “Great job guys, I think we got it. The only thing we will need to get is a shot of Y/N after the fall, but that was amazing. That’s lunch guys.”

You climb off the mat and wait for the stunt team to remove your harness for around your waist. You were ready to get back to Jeremy. As soon as the last wire is removed from your belt, you move towards the cliff set up, beginning your climb. Jeremy is moving down the cliff at the same time and meets you in the middle, gathering you in his arms.

You can feel him trembling and you grip him harder. “It’s okay. I’m right here. I’m okay.” You whisper in his ear, stroking the back of his head. He sinks the both of you to the ground, holding you in his lap. You wait until he calms down a bit to pull back from him. Holding his face within your hands, you look into his sad eyes. You never want to see that devastated look on his face ever again.

Forevers:

@mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @gh0stgurl @pretty-fortune @psychoredpanda @tmiships4life @babypink224221 @luciawinchestergirl @20gayneen @simonsbluee @flamencodiva @supernatural300 @captaindorit0 @nickgv @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @glennacocoa @aomi-nabi @invisibledevour @wayward-river @housav @crystallstaircase @jessieray98 @jamielea81 @logical-princey @cookiechipdough @81mysteriouslyme @deans-baby-momma

[motleymachinegun]

Hi beautiful Fucker. Could you do a story about meeting Motley Crue backstage after winning a contest and then as you’re meeting all of the guys you make a connection with Tommy and you fall in love with each other? I am a newish Crue fan and have fallen really fast for Tommy. xxxxxxxx

I took the liberty of assuming you wanted this to take place back in the 80s, hope that’s okay!

“Holy fucking shit Samantha I won the fucking contest!” “What contest?” Your best friend Sam says as she rolls her eyes and flips the page to her magazine. “The Odis 106.7 Mötley contest!” She suddenly stops reading her magazine and sits up, giving you the look of death “no.fucking.way.” You both start screaming in excitement. It’s a week later and you’re getting ready to meet the band at the radio station. You’re in the restroom giving your self a final check in the mirror. You’re wearing the tightest pair of black skinny jeans you could find, your brothers ripped and torn Mötley T-shirt with your very visible cheetah print bra underneath and black studded stilettos. You fluff your hair in the mirror and apply another layer of lip gloss before walking out into the waiting room. Some random dork intern comes out to get you. He brings you to a large conference room where you see Tommy Lee, Nikki Sixx, Vince Neil and Mick Mars sitting at the large table with the host of the show and what you imagine to be managers of the band or something not that important to you. The intern who brought you in introduces you to the room, all the guys giving you their best smiles. “Hi” you wave to them and smile Jesus Christ I’m a fucking dork you think to yourself. They all wave back to you, and Vince starts asking you questions about yourself (how old are you? Where you from? What’s your favorite Mötley song?) and the others chime in here and there. After about an hour it’s time for the photo op and you all get brought to a much cooler room from the pictures. You stand in the middle of Tommy & Vince, mick standing next to Vince and Nikki on the other side of Tommy. When it’s time to leave Vince invites you to a house party that night.

You race over to your friend Samantha’s house and tell her to get ready as fast as she can. “Vince fucking Neil fucking invited you to a fucking party?!” “I know it’s un fucking believable! Now get dressed like a skank and hurry, it’s on the other side of the fucking city.” “Yeah but we don’t want to show up too early, that’ll look desperate.” “Bitch we are desperate! Are you kidding, I’d die to have any of them inside of me.” “Yeah but we don’t want them to know that dummy”. You finally get there after what feels like an eternity later, the place is packed and people are everywhere. You see Vince leading a couple of blondes into a room off of the balcony. “I see Nikki, I’m making my move.” Samantha says and gets out of the car before you can even shut it off. You start to head in looking around wonderstruck that this is actually your life right now. Suddenly an arm gets flung around your shoulders, you look up to see its Tommy. “Hey there gorgeous, I was wondering when you were gonna show.” He says with a big grin. “You were?” You ask dumbfounded. He laughs and hands you a beer he’d been drinking and leads you out to the pool area. “You want to swim?” He asks stripping off his shirt “maybe later, I just got here.” “Oh right” he says and takes a seat on a wicker couch and pats the spot next to him.

You and Tommy say by the pool talking for what seemed liked hours, the party was starting to fade. People were leaving and it was getting quieter outside, you could hear the peep frogs off in the distance of the hills. “How about that swim now?” Tommy asks. “I’m not really wearing swim clothes.” “That’s ok, neither am I.” He says and pulls off his jeans to reveal a red thong. You laugh and stand up stripping off your shirt and jeans, revealing your cheetah bra and black underwear. He eyes you and wiggles his eyebrows at you before diving in. You follow him in and swim to the shallow end where you stand up look around. Tommy is already sitting on the jetted built in steps, you sit next to him and look up at the house, you see the familiar silhouette of Samantha, and she’s not alone but you don’t recognize the other person. “What are you looking at?” “I think that’s my friend Sam up there about to get fucked.” You and tommy both laugh. You look at him and find him smiling at you, you decide it was now or never if you were going to get brave.

You lean over and wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull yourself onto his lap. He wraps and arm around your waist and rests his other hand on your thigh. He leans up and kisses you and you feel all the butterflies that had been swarming in your stomach all night float away. You reposition yourself so you’re attacking him on the steps in the pool and you intensify the kiss, gripping his face with both of your hands while his explore your body. He undoes your bra and throws it behind him, he admires your breast for all of half a minute before taking them in his mouth, you can’t help but moan at the feeling of his warm tongue flicking your erect nipples as their exposed in the cool night air. You run your fingers through his hair and pull his head gently so he’s looking at you. While mainting eye contact you slip your hand down into his thong, gently stroking his hardened cock he lets out a moan and closes his eyes. You stand up and pull your underwear off and toss them behind him “oh fuck” he says as he hurriedly tries to take his off, as he pulls them off he looks at you “You’re 18 right?” You laugh at him “yes, yes I’m over 18 and I’m over 21.” He smiles and sighs in relief “oh thank god” he laughs as he pulls you back down on top of him. You gently rub the tip of his cock under the water for a moment before guiding him inside of you. You both breathe out in pleasure, his hands exploring your body again, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. You begin to rock your hips a little faster, he continued to pump in and out of you slowly, basking in every moment of pleasure, his face exposing all his reactions and emotions without any shame. He opens his eyes and stares into your eyes, you keep the gaze as you both start bucking your hips faster. He grabs your hair and pulls it into a low pony and holds it with slight pressure, you grab a fist full of his hair in return. You both begin moaning as he lets go of your hair and pulls your body into his and buries his face into your neck, planting soft kisses on your collar bone while still thrusting his cock into you fast and hard. “Tommy, I’m gonna come” you moan into his ear, he bites your neck and sucks, the sensation sending you into over drive. Your body goes stiff and your mind goes blank and you have the best orgasm of your life. When you return to earth Tommy is still thrusting into you, you pull his head back and start kissing him and rotating your hips in small circles. He smiles and pulls his cock out of you, you stand on your knees and open your mouth just in time to catch most of his warm cum in your mouth. You swallow and lick your lips while he watches you stand up. ***

Always tag list @ellixthea @colsonbakersnoseringmain

[punkcupcakestyles]

Love Song

1

Whatever was happening, I could only describe it as an out-of-body experience, almost as if I were looking at myself from the other side of the room, mocking me for my own awkwardness. Or maybe I was just starstruck. 

I couldn't look away from him. His lopsided smile grew bigger,  and he cocked his head slightly to the side, staring at me as if there was nothing else that could possibly interest him in that room. A new feeling, the small, warm flutter that started at the pit of my stomach, maybe it was just my heart that was starting to race in my chest. 

Time had stopped, it had to, as there was no way I had spent so much time looking at him, and standing awkwardly in the middle of a room, while other two people witnessed my stupidity. I wasn't used to it, not to the rushing heart that was thumping in my chest, or to the hollow pit in my stomach that made it difficult to breathe. I wasn't used to not know what to do with my hands, or how to smile, or how to think. 

"I'm sorry, am I boring you?"

Funny enough, that's never a concerned question. It's always asked with certain annoyance and in a stern tone that commands attention, almost as if the person asking didn't really care about the status of your entertainment.

I looked up at her, her piercing and steely blue eyes staring at me while her red nails drummed on the table impatiently. She was wearing a black dress, without a jacket, as the sunny day in L.A. was hot enough to make you feel like going to the beach and having a couple of beers. Could you even swim in L.A.? Maybe in Corona del Mar, certainly not in Santa Monica. Never by the pier. Jesus, I was bored. 

But even then, the thought of answering sincerely didn't really cross my mind. 

"Of course not," I smiled meekly at Midge, hoping the gesture would calm her down. "I'm sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night. What were you saying?"

And oh, she didn't buy my excuse, never really did. Her eyes rolled back, just a little bit, enough to let me know she thought I was a fucking pest, but that still, she was a professional. Without saying a word, she went back to look through the magazine on her Ipad, flipping the page to stare carefully at the page-wide photo. I looked at it and felt that familiar pang of anxiety, the certainty that I was way in over my head. That someday, somehow, this dream or nightmare was going to end, and I was going to wake up back home, clad in sweat, to go back to wait tables at the dinner. Go back to fighting for a way out. 

Midge kept staring at the photo, with a clinical eye that only years and years of experience could grant. I wondered if she thought the same as I did; if the person staring back from the glossy page of the Vogue magazine was as much of a stranger to her as she was to me. Sure, she had my lips, red and pillowy from the makeup, and her hair looked as disheveled in the long braid as mine usually did, but still, she wasn't me. She couldn't be. She looked powerful and peaceful, two feelings I wasn't too familiar with, as she sat on a huge red velvet throne with her feet hanging in the air. Her hand was resting awkwardly above her head, and the dress, beautiful as it was, with its gauze and its pearls and its flowers, wasn't the most striking part of the picture, but her eyes. They were fierce and piercing and demanded to be looked at. 

She wanted to be seen. She demanded it. She was in Vogue and wanted everyone to know there was a new star in town. 

"This is a nice picture." Midge pointed at it. "Nice work."

"Thanks," I replied, scrambling to look away from her as soon as she went back to inspect the rest of the magazine. 

Midge's office was almost as impressive as she was. Her main wall was covered with photos of her clients, with people wearing their finest clothes and posing as if it was nothing; like their lives were normal and the rest of us just needed to catch up. There was Sandra Bullock in InStyle Magazine, Jennifer Lawrence on Time, and Taylor Swift on Elle. A picture of Midge and Elle and Dakota Fanning in some party was right in the middle of the mix, and I gulped, wondering when would she finally tell me to fuck off. She didn't need me. She would do just fine after I disappeared into thin air. 

And I needed her so badly.  

I looked back at her to inspect her further, even when I had done that thousands of times before. She was wearing a simple black drape tunic that fell a little above her knees, and a pair of Alexander Mcqueen's sandals, with a leather bow around her ankle.  Everything about her screamed boss, and I was adequately scared of her. 

"We need more photos," She said, without raising her voice, which made me think she wasn't even talking to me. "We want you everywhere during award season."

"I will make sure I am seen everywhere," I offered, but I was received with a dismissing wave of her hand, right before she got up to serve herself some water, or at least what I hoped was water. 

"Don't worry. We'll take care of it. I have...something in the works already." She turned, offering me an odd smile that made me shift on my chair. I picked up an ambiguity in her tone, like even that tiny bit of information was already saying too much, and I gulped nervously, looking at her as she walked calmly back to her chair. I debated whether I should ask her about it, or just nod, to put myself on her bad side or just let her do her job. On one side, she was fucking good at it and I thanked all of my stars to have her. On the other side, "something in the works" is never enough information, much less when you're the one on the receiving end. 

"Midge, can I ask..."

"Don't worry about it, honey." She smiled condescendingly. "I'll tell you when it's all ready. Until then, let's focus on getting you as many nominations as we can. We're going after an Oscar, let's not forget that."

The Oscar, the only thing being talked about around me even before the movie came out. If anything, I was incredibly happy I had the chance to play make-believe, dress fancy and run around talking with a British accent. To work along well-established actors, and to have their grace and support, it was more than I ever expected. Much more than I could ever dream of. 

Also, my performance had been buzzed about before, raved between critics and peers, and not even that had gotten me a nomination. 

Even a sliver of hope seemed too risky at this point. And I knew it, knew the heartache that was coming my way if I wasn't on the list of nominees. But even then, I couldn't help it, couldn't help but wish for it, imagine myself crying as I hugged my mother when they called for my name, and the words I would say as I held the golden bald man in my trembling hand: "Thank you, God. Thanks, mom..."

"Do you think I can get it? That I can get an award?" I asked her, holding my breath as I waited for her answer. Maybe she had picked up the doubt in my voice, or the fact that it quivered a little at the end. I felt small, almost expecting a laugh and a resounding no, but Midge smiled instead, turning to look at me with a soft expression I didn't know she was capable of.

"I think you're incredibly talented, honey. I wouldn't be representing you if you weren't." She said. "I think you can get it, and that you deserve it, and I'm just gonna push you in the right direction, so I need you to trust me, yes?"

Anything she wanted, everything she needed. 

"Yes." 

Well, not everything. 

Or maybe yes. 

I still hadn't decided. 

***

The meeting went on for about 15 more minutes, during which, Midge seemed to grow more distracted until she finally dismissed me. I tried not to jump up from the chair and run out of that office but left pretty quickly anyway, rushing through the corridors jammed with cubicles, and trying to ignore the head peeking out of the white cardboard separators.

The rush of a dream, a grand one, was making my heart beat faster, and my smile grow bigger as I head to the lobby. I tried to calm myself down, to not give in to the fantasy, but my mind kept rushing with the images of the balls, and the dresses, and how beautiful the statuettes would look in my living room.

"Hey!"

My heart came to a sudden stop, as I turned around to see him. He was sitting on the black couch in front of the receptionist counter, and was looking at me with a mix of bewilderment and amusement. Sam was wearing all black, and his curly hair was starting to get too long to behave, so it just flopped on his forehead. I smiled at him as he started to get up and let him take my bag out of my hands for him to carry. 

"You didn't have to wait for me, y'know?

"Well, you promised sushi." He shrugged off, smiling widely as I bumped my shoulder against his in protest.

"So, let's get sushi," I agreed, following behind him as he started to make his way out of the building. The day was incredibly shiny, and the air was crispy and I felt giddy, walking to his car as if I was on a cloud.

Sam had this thing about him, something that made everything easier when he was next to me. His smile could light up a room, like a burden had lifted off my shoulders, and his company made me feel safe, maybe from how many times he had saved me before. 

"So, how did it go with Midge?" He asked while he got ready to turn on the engine to leave. He pronounced her name with an edge, just like he did since she had asked us to keep our friendship from the public eye. We appreciate your privacy, Sam. Hanging out so much with Sofia will only get you trouble.

But Sam only saw me as his friend. I should know, I wish he didn't.

"It went well, she said she has something in the works for me."

"Like what?

"I don't know...I'm a bit scared if I’m being honest.”

“Well, you should be,” He said. Sam was considering his next words, I could see by the way his eyebrows scrunched up right in the middle, and by the chewing of his bottom lip. He looked at me, with his big hazel eyes, and his mouth twitched a little. “Are you sure you don’t want to be a teacher? It seems easier”

“An actress, Sam,” I smiled. “I’ll make enough money, so we’ll never have to go back.”

“You won’t ever have to go back. I’ll never let you.”

I believed him. I could still remember the smell of his drenched jacket when he started his car before we drove away. 

"I know," I replied simply. "But, it's also fun, isn't it?"

"If you say so." 

***

- Info you need to know -

Name of the show: The Late Late Show with James Corden.

Host: James Kimberley Corden (Do not call him Kimberley). 

Time slot: 12:37am/11:37pm c

Banned subjects: Kardashians/Kanye; Trump; how much you hated 'Love Actually'; how Grey's Anatomy needs to end. 

Encouraged conversations: Your movie (the Oscar one, not The Kissing List), your love life (we'll feed you cues), how hot you think Rihanna is. How much you love John Mulaney. 

1. You'll be wearing a short dress. Be sure to sit like a lady. 

2. Tell James you love his British accent. Laugh at his joke. 

3. Mention your little sister.

4. Mention your multiple scars from falling everywhere. 

5. Don't sing even if he asks you to. Or maybe do. We'll revisit this.

6. Come by my office at 8:15. 

D.

***

I was late for Diana's meeting. I didn't know what it was about, or why it had to be so early in the morning, all I knew was that I was late and that she was probably going to chew my head off. 

By the time I got to her office, it was already 8:35, and I was sweaty and panting, breathless from running the flights of stairs to the 8th floor, as it was almost impossible to get into an elevator at that hour. A light layer of sweat was forming over my forehead, and the fishtail braid I had begged my little sister to do was falling apart. It wasn't my best look, but there was nothing I could do about it. 

Hi, Diana, I'm so sorry I'm late. Cat missed the school bus and I had to take her. Yes, I know, you don't care...

I expected to find Diana fuming, with her arms crossed on her chest and a carefully threaded eyebrow raised almost to her scalp. I expected her to be so angry at my tardiness, that she refused to see me for an hour or two, even if there was nothing else on her calendar, just to teach me a lesson. I was ready for it, actually. 

So, when I pushed the door open, and I found her laughing, it was almost disappointing.

The chirpy blonde (Midge's second best agent!!!) did not notice my arrival, nor did the two guys that were chatting with her. It wasn't until I closed the door behind me that they turned to look at me. The conversation died down, and an awkward silence took over the room while everyone's eyes fell on me. 

The guy to the right was about D's age, 34 or 35 years old, tall and handsome. He was wearing a simple gray peacoat and a pair of black jeans and was holding a bunch of papers in his hands. He nodded, almost in recognition, and I offered him a small smile in return.

The guy to the left, well, I recognized him. It would be almost impossible not to. 

"Hi," I heard myself mumble, looking at him as he stared back at me. 

"Hi, I'm Harry," He said as his lips twitched into half a smile. I noticed that he was wearing a black knit sweater, and was trying to jam his fingers into the pocket of his black jeans, however, the heavy looking rings on his fingers didn't allow him to do so. 

"I, I know," I replied.

Whatever was happening, I could only describe it as an out-of-body experience, almost as if I were looking at myself from the other side of the room, mocking me for my own awkwardness. 

Or maybe I was just starstruck. 

I couldn't look away from him. His lopsided smile grew bigger,  and he cocked his head slightly to the side, staring at me as if there was nothing else that could possibly interest him in that room. A new feeling, the small, warm flutter that started at the pit of my stomach, maybe it was just my heart that was starting to race in my chest. 

Time had stopped, it had to, as there was no way I had spent so much time looking at him, and standing awkwardly in the middle of a room, while other two people witnessed my stupidity. I wasn't used to it, not to the rushing heart that was thumping in my chest, or to the hollow pit in my stomach that made it difficult to breathe. I wasn't used to not know what to do with my hands, or how to smile, or how to think. 

"So..." Diana was looking at us, her green eyes dancing from one to the other while a coy smile started to form on her lips. "Can we continue?"

She was mocking me, of that I was certain. Her eyes followed me until I took a seat next to the other guy, whose name I had totally missed, and smirked when I finally looked at her. My cheeks felt hot, and my heart seemed to barely be recovering from a marathon. 

"Ok," She continued, recovering her serious face as she turned to face us all. "Here's the thing: We have an offer to make, which we think might benefit all of us. Our client is an up-and-coming Hollywood star, and as you may, or may not, know, we're pushing for her to be an Oscar nominee this award season. We almost have the Golden Globes nomination in the bag, and we're being as careful as possible with her overall image and fame."

I almost felt like I wasn't in the room, as if Diana wasn't talking about me. It was all too clinical, too impersonal, and I felt far away from it. I peered to my side and saw the guy next to me shifting awkwardly in his seat, just like if he knew what was coming, and regretted it deeply. As if he was waiting for a train to crash, and all he could do was stand there and let it happen. 

"The movie she was in was very particular." Diana smiled, looking at me for the first time since she started. "And she was wonderful in it. We're certain she'll have no problem creating buzz for herself, but...we'd like to help."

"Help how?" I asked.

"Jeff, would you like to continue?"

The guy next to me, whose name was Jeff, didn't seem like he wanted to continue. He didn't seem like he wanted to be there actually, but he stood up and leaned against Diana's desk to look at us. 

"First," He started. "I owe Midge a favor."

"That's reassuring." I heard Harry mock under his breath.

"We want to spread a rumor, and not deny it, about you two." He ignored Harry, and looked at me, as if I was an easier audience that would understand what was wanted of me. "We want you to hang out, and act like a couple, a romantic one." But the fact that I wasn't protesting, or even talking, was not because I agreed with whatever he was saying, but rather, because I had no fucking idea of what was happening. Instead, I just stared at him dumbfounded. "We think it might give you an edge. Your movie is about to hit theaters, and it might push people to go and check it out, just to see who's that girl Harry's dating. That and the buzz you already got during the festivals' screenings, you might have a great chance next year."

"Also," Diana interjected. "It might tip the balance in your favor in the Josh and Hazel's Guide to not Dating's casting. People don't really see you as a romantic lead."

"And, for you, Harry." Jeff was rather cautious as he continued. "We think it might give you exposure to a broader audience, and..."

"I don't need exposure," Harry shook his head. 

"You do. You're nothing without it, and that's exactly what you don't want to be," Diana explained in a rather cold tone. More like the Diana I knew and feared. "We also think you'll be a really good Josh. If this all works out, who knows, maybe you'll even lead the movie. That's something people would love to see."

She smiled at him, despite the fact that there was a deep set frown in his forehead, and that his face was not very friendly at that very moment. I still couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was happening to someone else, not to me. It couldn't be happening to me. 

"We'll let you two talk, I'm gonna get the papers ready," she said, taking Jeff’s hand to pull him out of the room to leave us alone.

"I can act romantic," I mumbled as soon as she closed the door. 

"What?"

"Nothing." I let my hand ran through my hair before looking at him. He was already staring at me, with that same intensity as when I first entered the room. He looked tired, and his eyes were puffy like he had barely gotten any sleep the night before. He switched on his seat until he was fully facing me, with his feet dangling from the arm-chair while he leaned back to the wall to make himself comfortable. The colorful planets on his black sweater made me smile, and before I could blush under his gaze, I looked down to my lap, not uttering a word as I felt his eyes on me. 

"I like your movies." I heard him say. 

My eyes rose to his, which was definitely a mistake. It was easier not to look at him, not to see the way his pink mouth twitched when he was deep in thought and the anchor tattoo that was peeking under his black sweater. He was prettier by the minute, and I could feel a strange pull in my tummy, one I had never felt before, and I still couldn't decide if it was a good or a bad feeling. 

"Thank you. My little sister really likes your music."

"You don't?" He asked in amusement. 

"I, I like Fireproof." 

"That's a 1D song."

"I still like it." I shrugged off, feeling elated as his sweet smile spread on his lips, showing off his bunny teeth and the dimples on his cheek. "And Woman, I like Woman."

The fluttering in my stomach seemed to be growing, and I had to wonder if I was going to explode at any second now. He leaned forward, as if he was ready to tell me some big secret, and bit the corner of his lip as he got ready to say his next words. 

"Do you want to do this?" He finally said. 

I did. I didn't. I had no idea. 

"Do you think it'll work?" My voice didn't sound like my own. It was laced with doubt and something else that I couldn't quite describe yet. 

"People will believe whatever they want." He shrugged, returning my gesture in an effortless way.

"You're right...I just, I never seem to know how far I want this to go."

"As far as you can go without losing yourself." 

"How do you know you're not losing yourself?" I asked in response, looking at him as his expression turned just a little bit darker. For a person so private, his face said too much.

"You never really do," Harry whispered. "I guess, you have to go with your gut."

My gut. My gut was untrusting and anxious, ready to flee at any second. It had done it before, now it was just waiting for a new opportunity to do it again, really.

"I'll do it." The words came out of my words even before I had processed. So easy, it almost hid the fact that I was an anxious-ridden mess on the inside. "If...If you want to."

I couldn't tell if he actually liked my answer. All of the sudden he got serious as if he had just realized what he was getting himself into, and he sighed, standing up from his chair to perch himself on Diana's desk in front of me. He was towering over me, which made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. When he noticed, he sat up straight, giving me some space to breathe better. 

"We'll do it then," He whispered. There was a tiny hint of disappointment, that grew from my chest and spread to my stomach at the tone of his voice as if this was an irritating chore.

"You don't have to do it. You don't know me after all."

"I guess I'll have time to do that." He softened a little, looking at me with a small smile as I leaned back on my chair and crossed my arms around my chest in a protective way. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Sam. 

"I don't. Do you?"

"A boyfriend, no," He mocked, smirking as my eyes blew wide in embarrassment. 

"I didn't...uh, I wasn't...I didn't mean a boyfriend. I was, I was asking for a girlfriend, but if you do have a boyfriend, I mean..."

"I don't have a girlfriend either." He finally put an end to my misery. "It makes things easier."

I didn't know what he meant and I decided against asking him about it. Instead, I chose to focus on the fact that he was single, which definitely gave me something to dream about. Even if I knew nothing was going to happen. Even if I knew this whole thing was nothing but an inconvenience for him. 

That didn't stop the fluttering in my stomach. Probably nothing would.

I was about to say something when the door opened, and Diana entered the room with Jeff. They were holding a bunch of papers each, which she set over her desk before throwing a triumphant smile at us. 

"I think this is all we need." She said. "Let's go through them before you take them to your team. Oh, and there's a party tonight, I want you both there. We need to set things in motion."

After that, there was nothing much to say, or do. Jeff and Diana took over the conversation, arranging little details that I couldn't even begin to imagine. It was all a blur, of contracts and NDAs and rules that I was supposed to follow, but couldn't even remember. By the time they left, my head was spinning and I had to close my eyes tightly to stop myself from getting dizzy. 

Diana had about a billion things more to discuss with me, ranging from the interview with James Corden, to new scripts, to the outfits I should wear to drop Cat at school, AKA something that didn't make me look like a crazy person walking through the streets of L.A. But there was too much in my head already, excitement, fear, numbling anxiety, and I could barely keep up with her, as she continued to check things from her to-do list. It was already 19:30 when was finally done, and I had about 1 hour to get ready for the party Diana wanted me to go. 

I was so tired. I just wanted to go home.

"Ok, you can go now."

"Thanks. Di, can I just...take a raincheck on that party?"

"No, you can't. Harry's coming to get you at 9:15."

"But, D..."

"Have fun, sweets." She didn't let me finish. "He's sooooo hot, try and behave."

He was, that was exactly the problem. 

***

What Diana had forgotten to tell me was that Harry was not going to pick me up himself. Rather, his driver showed up to my front door, waiting patiently for me for about 20 more minutes until I was ready.

I was surprised when we got to the venue, as there were not as many paparazzi as I had thought there would be. Actually, there was none. There was only a couple of people by the door, and they all looked at me with surprised expressions as I walked by them, followed by Harry's driver.

It was never a good idea for me to go out. I got hugged and pulled and stared at. But here, everyone was calm, probably used to hanging out with people a lot more famous than me. I sucked in a deep breath, smiling at the people that waved at me and sometimes stopping to greet the people that I actually knew. As a result, it took me around 15 minutes to get to Harry's group. 

He was leaning against the wall, holding a glass in his hand while he listened attentively to the girl that was standing in front of him. She was gorgeous, with her long hair layered in loose curls, and a red tight dress fitted like a glove to her absolutely drool-worthy body. She leaned over as if to tell him a secret, and he cocked his head to the side to allow her to do so. I could hear her flirty giggles, and I stopped where I was, suddenly realizing that I did not belong there. 

What was I doing? This wasn't me. 

I turned around before anyone could see me, and started my way back to the door. If I called an uber, I would be at home in around 30 minutes, and maybe Sam would go and watch movies with me. He could even bring his girlfriend! I was used to it. 

I stood by the bar, leaning on it as I pulled out my phone from my clutch. I was glad I hadn't wasted a whole lot of time in my outfit, and that I had decided to wear a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt tucked in, with red heels and a black blazer, that way I didn't feel so disappointed, or embarrassed for the thousands of situations I had pictured in my head. 

"Would you like something to drink?" I heard someone shout at me, which made me turn around to smile to the bartender. 

"N...A shot of tequila, please." I found myself saying, to the bartender's pleasure. He winked at me and nodded solemnly as if mine was a great choice of alcohol. 

"Coming right up!"

And he was right, as about a second later there was a short glass in front of me, dripping from tequila. He offered me salt and a wedge of lime, and I gladly took them before gulping down the shot. The dry liquor burned my throat on its way down, and I winced at the taste, slamming the glass on the table for him to refill. 

But before I could grab the new shot he was offering me, someone else took it. I whirled around, ready to tell someone off, but instead, saw Harry as he tipped the glass and chugged it down, wincing as soon as he had finished. The salt and the lime the bartender had offered me were left unattended on the bar. 

"Hey, that was mine!!"

"Sorry," He said. The bar was a little quieter than the rest of the bar, so I noticed that his voice was a little hoarser than I remembered it from the morning.  "Saw you drinking one on my way here. What are you doing here?"

I could feel we were being watched closely by about a hundred people. I could feel their eyes, burning hole on my back as Harry leaned closer to me. He smelled of alcohol and a little bit of mint, and I struggled to stay still where I was, starting to recognize the signs of the strange feeling that had taken over me in the morning. 

"I was about to leave," I told him. "But was offered alcohol, so I ummm...got distracted for a bit."

"Why were you leaving?" Harry was pulling out his wallet, and before I could do anything about it, he handed the barman his credit card, signaling for two more shots to come. 

"I, uh, I saw you back there, with the cute girl! I don't want to impose, Harry, and you're definitely gonna score with her, so I just...I can't mess with that!"

"I'm gonna score?" He seemed amused by my affirmation, but I still nodded vigorously, taking the new shot I was being offered and downing it. It burned a little more and made my head a little more fuzzy than it was after the first one.  

"You totally are, and she's hot," I said, with my tongue feeling a little heavy as I talked. 

Harry smirked like he knew I was right, and the girl was probably a goddess put on earth so we could all feel a little ashamed of ourselves. Kind of a reality check in the body of a breathtaking model. 

He took his shot and drank it in one gulp, just like I had done seconds before. He winced, scrunching up his nose and smiling like a little kid as he slammed the glass down. 

"Fuck, you couldn't choose another drink?"

"I like tequila," I shrugged, leaning to him to bump my shoulder against his. I stayed there, close to him as I smelled his faint cologne and the bitter alcohol in his breath. "Listen, I'm gonna go. You go get the girl, and we try this another day, yeah?"

"What if I don't want to?"

"Of course you do! That girl was hot as fuck, and it's not like I'm gonna give it to you..." I stopped, growing hotter in embarrassment as I looked at him amused face. "I should shut up."

His hands were warm and soft and they made my skin tingle as one of them slid carefully to the back of my neck. I stopped breathing, only able to look at him as he pulled me closer to his chest until his breath was fanning over my skin and I could almost taste the bittersweetness of his lips. I took a deep breath, noticing the little smile that played on his lips before he pressed our lips together. 

The kiss wasn't soft, nor was it rough either. It was uncertain and eager as if we wanted to learn as much about each other as we possibly could. His fingers curled around my neck, as he brought me closer to him, and one of my hands tangled in the soft hairs that rested on the nape of his neck. He tasted like peppermint and tequila, and a sweetness I could not describe. My lips parted slightly, and I sighed into the kiss as he took command of it. Our lips were made for each other, of that I was sure, and I allowed myself to mold to him, while time around us stopped and rushed by at the same time. I leaned to him when he broke the kiss apart, looking for the warmth of his body even though he was right next by my side. 

"There's a lot of cameras pointing at us." He whispered while his fingertips brushed down my neck, keeping me still close to him. 

"Oh". 

He smiled, dissipating the heaviness that had set in my tummy at his words. "And I really wanted to kiss you since this morning. You should stay.""

"Ask me really nicely, I'll think about it," I whispered, almost against his lips, already dreaming about the taste of them. 

He was definitely trouble. 

Keep reading

[im-tops-bottom]

Steve, Bucky and Nat walk into a club in search for their friends. Nat spots Clint and Sam at a table filled with drinks and they make their way over. Bucky nods his head to Nelly Furtado's 'Say It Right' as he follows behind Steve and Nat.

"hey guys, where's Tony?" Steve had asked curiously as he looks around watching everyone before turning his head back to Sam and Clint.

Bucky too was curious as Tony usually waltzes up to Bucky to make some sort of sexual joke involving Tony and Bucky's metal arm.

Clint snorts as he downs a drink and nods behind Steve, Nat and Bucky to the dance floor. As soon as he does that the lights start changing as a slow jam comes on. This one is one of Clint's favorites.

"oooh Usher YES! Nat my love let's go dance"

Bucky laughs as he watches Clint stumble but manages to drag a giggling Nat behind him to go dance. At that moment Bucky wishes he never watched them leave because now his eyes are stuck on one particular person dancing oh so sexily.

"oh Jesus Christ Tony can move"

"you got that right Steve. Clint and I have been watching him work it since we got here. I knew there was a good reason to let him drink before coming here. That body has got people hypnotized. Both men and women have been lining up. Only managed to survive 10 minutes of dancing with him"

Bucky growls and licks his lips as he can feel himself hardening. Oh the things he wants to do to that body. He makes his way to the dance floor and smoothly slides up to Tony, does a quick turn to go around him and then presses up behind him as if he was Neyo or Chris Brown. He places his hands on Tony's hips and smirks as Tony looks up at him impressed.

"where did you learn to do that?"

"well when you have friends that love hip hop and r'n'b you learn a thing or two from their music videos. That can't compare however to the way you move doll"

"years and years of practice baby. So what got you coming out of your shell this evening?"

"you"

Bucky grinds against the surprised Tony's butt and let's out a little moan.

"can't stop thinking about you but we can get to all that mushy stuff later. In the meantime baby we dance and then we do exactly what this song is telling us to do"

At that moment the chorus to Love In This Club plays and Tony chuckles as he leans back and makes sure his whole backside is pressed against Bucky's front. He let's his head lean back and tilted to the side a bit as Bucky leans his head down so he can drops kisses and nips along Tony's shoulder and neck. Tony's right arm lifting up so he can place his had against the back of Bucky's head to keep it right there. He body rolls as he feels Bucky's right arm let's go of his hip and cups his dick through his leather pants.

Their bodies are swaying and every now and again they let out a little moan. Near the end of the song they are pretty much just bumping and grinding and once the song finishes they are climaxing in their pants. Moans and groans are all that fall from their mouths. Light pants come out as they catch a break.

As soon as R.Kelly Ignition plays, Bucky grabs Tony's hand and drags him off the dancefloor and to their groups table. They down several shots each and Thor who had just arrived gives Bucky some of the real good stuff he snuck in. Tony shrugs and has a little bit of the mead as well. As soon as the two are drunk off their faces, Bucky drags Tony up the stairs and to a private room. One with a pole much to Tony's pleasure.

Tony pushes a seat in front of the stage and pushes Bucky to sit down. As soon as he does he can't help but smirk anf say "perfect timing" because Ignition ends and Bruno Mars' Gorilla plays.

Bucky hardens again as Tony tells him tonight is gonna involve pole dancing, lap dancing, stripping, more drinking and a whole crap ton of sex. He thinks that at this moment Tony will be the death of him. As soon as they sober up and are cured of any form of hangovers, Bucky is definitely gonna ask Tony to be his boyfriend. He will do everything in his power tp make sure Tony says yes because he doesn't want to let Tony ago. Not now, not ever. Tony belongs to him now and hr will let out possessive side if he has to.

He sits back with a drink in one hand while the other hand motions for Tony to come towards him. Tony crawls on the stage until he reaches the edge and they both lean in to kiss before pulling back.

"I heard you knew how to work the pole real well. If you put on a good performance baby doll then daddy will give you your reward, got it?"

Tony turns around and Bucky can't help but bite his lip as he watches Tonys hips sway. He looks up and sees Tony smirking.

"of course daddy. Your princess will put on the show of a lifetime. Just sit back and enjoy the show gorgeous"

They next day finds Bucky waking up feeling sore, tired and oh god what the hell is on hi-

"Tony?"

"mmmmmmm"

Bucky wipes his eyes before opening them again. He moans as Tony moves and everything from last night hits him like a Freightliner.

After the party at the night club, the Avengers somehow managed to make it home. Bucky and Tony did not stop having sex. Infact Buckys dick never left Tony's ass and here they are. They fucked their way up to Tony's penthouse and into Tony's Jacuzzi. Well looks like they need to go back to the club and pick up their clothes they left behind.

"oh god why do I feel sore all o-Snowflake?"

"hey sweetheart"

"oh god that's right."

"oh good I'm glad I'm not the only one that remembers"

"oh sweet Jesus thank God happy brought the car to the back of the club. I can only imagine what the pictures will look like from inside the club"

"who knew someone your age could keep going like that. I swear at one point I was the one begging to stop and I'm a super soldier with the refractory period of a teenager"

"I swear if I don't come out of this pregnant, then that would be a miracle. I feel so full of you. You didn't pull out once"

"we gotta go back to the club to pick up our clothes, hope you know this right?"

"I'll get pepper to do it. If she's gonna yell at us then at least give her the ammo to fire with"

"hey doll can I ask you something?"

"if it's a date that involves food, coffee, painkillers, a shower and a massage then I am down"

"actually I was thinking of asking you to be my boyfriend but that works too"

Tony sits back so he can look up at Bucky in shock. Bucky cant help but chuckle at Tony for being so cute'.

"I would love to. I wow okay this is really happening. Yes. Definitely. Did I say yes because I definitely wanna say yes"

Bucky lifts himself and Tony out of the jacuzzi slowly and makes his way over to the bed so he can take his time in fucking Tony. Afterwards they have a shower, put on some clothes, take some painkillers, contact Pepper and then make their way down to the local cafe where they go to full lengths to discuss their feelings and lay everything out on the table. After that they finish up to head back to the table where the sit down for 30 minutes alongside the rest of the avengers as she rants about how reckless, especially the new couple, they were. Pepper congratulates the new couple before telling Tony that he is free for the next two weeks there are no board meetings before she leaves.

Steve makes everyone breakfast while Bucky bridle carries Tony down to his workshop because

"I've always wanted to fuck you while you tried to work so if you can do Clint's arrow properly while sitting on me dick, no moving and no cummin, then I'll give you a reward"

Bucky groans as Tony leans towards his ear to whisper out a dirty "yes daddy".

"seriously Tony, you are going to be the death of me"