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team-science-mega-nerds · 5 years ago

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Fictober Prompt #19: “Yes, I admit it, you were right.”

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Danvarias

Warnings: Minor mentions of drug use

Thirteen miles from a bustling city with a designer landscape, quaint eateries, and a baseball team that nearly became the pride of Ohio is a rural blip on the map that is better left ignored. Duntown, which the residents resentfully call Doomstown, is a place that makes you reckon with reality. Ramshackle churches and hate crimes that people struggle to name, the folks of this city fear everything they do not know. For most that means outsiders. They turn up their noses and yell out the windows of their pick-up trucks. Go back where you came from! For some, their greatest fear is the only thing they’ve ever known - church. They drag themselves to Sunday service, seeking forgiveness for the things they cannot control.

The two most popular places in Duntown are a local bar that serves stale beer and moonshine - if you know how to ask just right - and a weekly flea market that sets up in the parking lot of the local high school. Tents and tables are propped up around potholes that will never be fixed and people banter and barter their mundane little lives away.

The biggest plight of the city takes everyone by surprise. It happens so fast that people struggle to make time between work - at a fading steel mill - and Sunday’s services to figure out exactly what’s going on. It’s a funeral of all things that sparks the interest of the collective town. Watching their children play in a field that they will probably never grow out of and eating bologna sandwiches and salad that’s nothing but iceberg lettuce and croutons, Sam’s entire life changes.

“Went to water my plants this morning. That darn water,” Deborah says shaking her head, “looked like someone done pissed in it.” It’s the way she says it, all bite and resolute, apprehension comes to a head. That’s what catches Sam’s attention. It seems like just another thing to fear, another thorn in her side. Sam’s eyes go to Ruby, she’s laughing and playing tag with her friends. Ruby’s at that age where youth slowly starts to crumble and she’ll become aware of the world around her.

Sam can see Tuffy and John sitting near a makeshift shrine of Kevin. They drink and drink, saluting their dead friend who perished on a normal workday at the mill. To date, Sam had been to seven funerals of people she’d known from high school. They all died in the same place, all had funerals presided over by the same poverty-stricken mourners, and all had after funeral receptions just like this. Tuffy and John smoked meth behind Mrs. Ainsley’s - Kevin’s mother - car. And all this was normal. All this met Sam’s expectations.

Water that she had to boil before drinking did not.

Deborah had made the comment about the drinking water six months ago and now, Sam seemed to be the only one brave enough to do something about it. Her bravery was, in fact, an accident. She’d been weaving in and out of her trailer home, trying to carry all of the groceries that she’d purchased at Costco six towns over. Ruby was supposed to be taking a bath and then going right to bed, Sam didn’t want to argue about it. Not today.

It’d been a long road, getting where they are now. Borrowing from people she despised, working extra shifts at the grocery store, and relying on nosy neighbors to babysit. Sam, you’re a pretty girl. They’ve got some good men at the mill. She’d got a daily reminder of just how cute she was by handsy men, most of whom would go on to live and die at that very mill. Now that Sam and Ruby had a place of their own, things were starting to look up. “Mom. Mom!” Sam grabs four bags at once and rushes inside. She dumps the bags and throws the bathroom door open.

“Oh, Rubes,” It’s a rash, tiny and probably inconsequential, but Sam has promised herself to always put Ruby first. Yellow water that has been slowly turning brown for months, and a rash, are enough to get Sam to make a call.

The call itself goes terribly. She doesn’t know who to ask for or how to ask for what she wants. The secretary on the other end uses big words that feel suffocating. All Sam wants is to be safe. “Do you understand? I need you to send someone who can help us feel safe.” Sam feels like she blew it the moment she hangs up. She deeply considers moving. The cost is far outside of her reach but if she asks the right people and is willing to speak to her mother again, then she can make it happen.

“Someone sent you an email!” Bernice, who everyone just calls Bezza, yells from where she’s seated in front of her trailer. Rocking and knitting like always. Sam approaches with Ruby at her side. “Remember when you showed me how to use the ‘Gmail’? Well, I guess your account is still up. The noise that email made, scared me to hell and back.”

“Who’s it from?” Sam can’t remember the last time she’d gotten an email that wasn’t about her missing a bill.

“Some law firm.” Sam nearly trips on herself as she runs into Bezza’s trailer. She pushes past mounds of newspapers and boxes of old junk and finds her desktop computer. Sam bites her nails while she waits for the computer to wake up. She listens to Bezza tell Ruby about all of her fantastic finds at the flea market that week. Sam feels nauseous.

When she finally manages to get to her email, Sam has to rifle through a bunch of spam and late fee notices to get to an email from Danvers & Danvers Law Offices:

Dear Ms. Arias,

I’ve received some initial information about Duntown and I am concerned about the lack of progress being made on behalf of your town. I’d like to come and talk to you sometime within the next few weeks. Please send me a list of dates and times that you are available to meet and we will work something out.

Alex Danvers LL.M.

Sam rereads the email five times before typing out her response. She’s embarrassed that she’s only free to meet after eight most days, but she leaves room for other suggestions like a phone call. She sends the email and immediately gets a response. They’ll meet at The Tipsy Cow at 8:30 the following day. “Mom, you took like fifty years,” Ruby, who is far too aware and mature for a nine-year-old, says as they walk back to their trailer. “Bezza smells like mothballs.” Ruby hops up the steps one by one and they enter and both go in search of something that will pass for dinner.

“I had to answer an email,” Sam explains. “Don’t comment on how people smell unless it’s nice.”

“I like moths.” Ruby finds an apple in the fridge and munches on that while Sam gets to work on Hamburger Helper. “Who emailed? Delany’s mom got a new boyfriend. They went to Chicago for the weekend.” Sam wishes she could tell Ruby that Delany’s mom’s new boyfriend is an alcoholic who has questionable world views. Instead, she remains silent. “Can we go to Chicago?”

“Someday.”

“There’s a giant bean there!” Ruby gets lost in an old Almanac, Sam starts to think that she’s made a grave mistake. Big corporations don’t take too kindly to meddling women. Sam’s a nobody, she knows that and what kind of lawyer travels all the way from National City just to talk? If Sam had a computer of her own, she’d email this Alex Danvers right now, and tell him to forget it. But dinner and bedtime stories get in the way of those thoughts.

Sam is hunkered down at work just enough to forget all about it until it’s six-thirty and Ruby is asking why she has to stay at Deborah’s house that night. “I have to meet someone and I don’t know how long it’ll take. You like Deborah.”

“I like you more,” Ruby tells her pouting and sulking the whole walk over. The minute they arrive at the ranch house, Ruby sees Scout, an Australian Shepherd mix, and she forgets all of her misgivings.

“Everything alright?” Deborah asks as they both watch Ruby, and her oversized backpack, bouncing around the yard. “You finally meeting someone?”

“A lawyer. Just to talk about the water situation.”

Deborah turns very serious. “You be careful now,” She warns, echoing the same tone that Sam’s mother had when she told her about this last night. Sam kisses Ruby goodbye and returns home to change into something more presentable. She settles for a turquoise shift dress and white platform sandals. The bar is close which is good for most people in the trailer community but terrible for Sam. On more than one occasion, there have been fights that have broken out right outside of Sam’s window. For now, she considers it a good thing that she lives so close, otherwise, she might have been late.

The Tipsy Cow represents all the good and bad of the town. Everyone certainly knows everyone but that means that things often boil over and get heated in these very walls. Sam normally wouldn’t be caught dead alone in this place but it’s 8:30 and she doesn’t think she’ll have to wait long.

Unless this big city lawyer is late.

Sam orders a club soda and finds a booth in the back. They’ll need a quiet place to talk and there are too many mill workers crowding the bar and watching some baseball game that Sam could care less about. There’s a little bit of a lull, which Sam hardly notices until one of the mill workers barks - yes, barks - at a woman who’s just entered the bar. That kind of ruckus signals outsider, so Sam lifts her head to see what’s going on. The woman is wearing a grandad collar white button-up, mid-wash blue jeans, and a blazer that could probably pay off Sam’s mortgage. The briefcase is the thing that catches Sam’s attention the most.

Oh, she sits up properly, Alex Danvers is a woman.

Alex doesn’t notice Sam just yet. She checks her expensive watch, mutters fuck, and orders something from the bar. When Sam sees the bartender going for the tap, Sam rises to her feet and approaches. “I’d advise against that.” Alex turns looks between Sam and the bartender and taps her head as if to say ‘duh’.

“Long drive. The brain’s on autopilot.” Alex motions to the bartender. “I’ll take a soda.”

“We say pop around here,” Sam informs the lawyer. Once Alex has her soda, she follows Sam to the booth, and extends her hand. “So, you’re Alex.”

“Yep. And you’re Sam?”

“Yes.” Sam sits first. Alex slides her briefcase into the seat across from Sam and takes off her blazer before sitting.

“Am I late?”

“Only by a few minutes.” Sam smiles. “I see you got a good Doomstown welcome,”

“Doomstown?”

“This place. It’s a nickname of sorts.” Alex frowns.

“Doesn’t look doomed from where I’m sitting.” Sam toys with her straw trying not to get distracted by Alex placing her briefcase on the table. Alex pulls out a few documents and sets them on the table. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading. Coores & Phillips Company seems to be the main corp involved. They have the proper ordinances to drill in Cook and Favors county, but as you know, they’ve been drilling near the border here.” Alex goes to take a drink of her soda, but Sam reaches forward and grabs the glass first. “What?”

“Don’t drink that.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The bartender put moonshine in that.” Sam quickly lets go of the glass when she realizes that their fingers are touching. Alex laughs, uncomfortably, at the very suggestion that she’d get her drink spiked. “I’m serious.”

“I can handle my liquor.”

“Don’t be...stupid. We’ve got no-joke moonshine out here.” There’s a competitive drive in Alex. Sam imagines that makes for some magic in the courtroom. “Those papers can tell you plenty but not enough. This place isn’t some cute little town that needs big city saving. It’s been six months, soon people are going to start fighting back.”

“And how would they? Fight back I mean.”

“You see those guys?” Sam nods toward the men at the bar, cheering for a homerun. “When they’re not working, they’re drinking. And if they’re drinking and on crank, then guns get involved.”

“We’ll need a town hall meeting. Something to show everyone that the problems are being addressed.” Alex takes a sip of her drink and grimaces. “We did a case in Texas two years ago. A nice settlement too.”

“How much were the lawyer fees?”

Alex shakes her head. “No, no, nothing like that. This is pro-bono-.”

“I’ll pay. We’ll scrape money together. I’m not a charity case.” Alex seems to recognize Sam’s seriousness, so she lets it go in favor of mulling something over in her mind.

“Show me.”

“Show you...what?”

“This town. Show me what I’m missing.” Alex pays for their drinks and manages to polish off the rest of her soda before following Sam out of the bar. They get another bark on their way to Alex’s car, Sam turns sharply.

“Fuck off!” She warns. She’s seen these guys before. Heard their poor pickup lines. She won’t let them bully what might be their saving grace.

“Oh, mommy’s pissed,” One of them says as Alex unlocks her car. Alex looks like she might say something, but Sam grabs her arm and continues to pull her along. When they’re in Alex’s SUV, which is a black Porsche Cayenne, Alex looks over at her sympathetically.

“You have a kid?”

“A daughter.” Alex will probably ask more but for now, she drives out of the parking lot and down the road. “Nice car.”

“Thanks,” Alex says a slight smile on her face.

“I was being sarcastic, you can’t drive this thing around.” Sam points to her trailer which is only a block away. “You need to pull over there. You can park by my place.” Alex follows directions well but seems less than eager when they get out of the car and start walking. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Alex lies. They approach the church. Sam hasn’t stepped foot in there in four years and counting. Alex seems to acknowledge her jitters by slowing near the front door. “This the kind of place for you?”

“Girls like me avoid places like that,” Sam tells her. “Didn’t always. Things change.” The streets are quiet on the weeknights. The further you get from the bar, the easier it is to forget what kind of town this is. Sam glances up at the sky, the pollution from the mill has changed the whole world from Sam’s perspective. She doesn’t want Ruby growing up in a place without stars and with rusty water. “You shouldn’t take this case.”

“Why not?”

“I saw the way you looked at those guys. Like you wanted to say something or fight.” Sam stops Alex before they reach the long pathway that leads to the mill. “But you didn’t.”

“I would’ve. Easily. You don’t know me.” Alex sticks her hands in her pockets. “My mom would say that this is a lost cause. That we’ll get buried under big corporate lawyers, but our firm is solid. We’ll get you paid-.”

“If you think any of this is about money, then you don’t understand.”

“I do understand.” Alex touches the small of Sam’s back. She isn’t certain what to make of the gesture but she’ll remember it in case things take a turn for the worst. “Whoa.” Alex bends over with her hands on her knees. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“That moonshine.”

“Oh,” Sam laughs. “Yeah, it takes a bit to bite you like that.” Sam wraps her arm under Alex’s shoulder and guides her back down the road. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I could just use some water, which...I recognize is a problem.”

“I have bottled water at home.” Even though they’re strangers, Sam feels comfortable enough with Alex to invite her into her trailer. For one, there’s nothing worth stealing in the place. And two, Alex has just decided to put so much on the line to help out. Sam wishes she’d cleaned up more. Or maybe folded up her couch so it would look like there was more space but Alex seems mainly focused on water, so Sam buries her shame.

“Thanks,” Alex mumbles as she leans against the counter and downs half the bottle. Sam tries not to stare when Alex untucks her shirt and looks around the modest kitchen.

“I told you not to drink that shit.”

“Okay, yes, I admit it. You were right.” Alex shrugs it off. Sam sits at the tiny wooden table and starts unlatching her sandals. When she’s finished and looks back up at Alex, she’s struck by the fact that Alex’s eyes are already on her. Like she’d been watching her. “Um...I’ll go. You have your kid and everything-.”

“She’s staying at a friend’s place.” Sam doesn’t know why she jumps in to say that but she does know that everything has a cost. If Alex wasn’t accepting payment from her, then she must want something. Sam takes a chance, a small one, and stands shoulder to shoulder with Alex. She’s been here before, giving recklessly. Never with Ruby around but there were times where desperation took hold. “I could repay you…” Sam has never had to say much to anyone, just show casual interest and they would find a way to take control.

Alex is different, Sam learns right away, taking a step away and putting her water bottle down. “You’re a good person, Sam. I am too.” Alex lets out a breath. “We can work together, can’t we? Probably better when I’m not this drunk.”

“I wasn’t…” Sam shakes her head. “In this place, things sometimes get warped.”

“It’s okay,” Alex says sincerely. “And in honor of us understanding each other. Would it be possible for me to sleep here tonight? On the couch, on the floor...whichever.”

“Of course you can.” By the time Sam has gathered a pillow and blanket from the closet, Alex is already snoring softly on the couch. Sam covers her with a blanket, locks the doors, and goes into her own bedroom. Outside of feeling embarrassed by basically offering sex as payment, Sam is remarkably thrilled with her day. Even in her tiny room that often makes her feel like a child, Sam is floored by the possibilities that the future brings.

Doomstown might not be doomed quite yet and if the fight that Sam has seen crop up in Alex’s eyes is any indication, they might actually have a chance. Sam doesn’t like to get her hopes up. She kneels at her bedside, crosses herself, and prays for the first time since she was in high school. She wants to be safe and for once, someone understands that.

When she wakes up, Sam finds Deborah and Ruby in the kitchen. They’re both eating cereal and Deborah is boiling the water for the coffee maker. Neither seems all that phased, especially Ruby who points to the other room with her spoon, “Who’s that in there?”

“That’s Alex, she’s a lawyer.” Deborah arches a brow at Sam. Sam peeks into the room and finds Alex exactly where she left her.

“What’s she doing here?” Ruby whispers as she looks over the couch at Alex.

“She’s going to help us get clean water.”

“Really?!” Ruby yells. She bolts to where she can get face to face with Alex whose eyes open slowly. She has to blink a few times to remember where she is but when she does she smiles at Ruby and says ‘hi’. “You’re gonna help us?”

Alex looks to Sam and then sits up a little. “Yeah, I’m gonna help you.” On their way to check to see if Alex’s car got stolen Alex observes the town in the light of day. Bezza is rocking away in her chair. The hazy overcast does nothing to deter Alex’s smile. Even shouting from inside a trailer doesn’t seem to frighten her. “I like it here,” Alex tells Sam.

“Really?”

“I like the people at least.”

The next time Alex Danvers comes into town, it’s to rent an entire building out for her team. They parade in with their fancy cars and nice suits but they immediately get to work. The drilling ceases for a week and after what seems like a standoff - marked by a lot of yelling in and outside of town hall - Alex takes the Coores & Phillips Company to court. The win comes suddenly, after months and months of proceedings. The big corporation senses the uneasiness and after a few men from the mill, high on meth, blow up a drill, it’s fairly obvious that this is a war they won’t win. Alex knocks at Sam’s door, sweaty from jogging over to this side of town, she is elated and Sam knows that finally, everything is right in their little burden of a town.

Two weeks later, while Ruby, Deborah, and Bezza are playing cards, Sam announces that she’s going to take a shower. Alex looks up from where she’s seated, after losing in the very first round, and follows Sam into the hallway. “Don’t make me get a restraining order,” Sam jokes.

“This is actually...about that night.”

“I’ve known you for about a year. There’s been plenty of nights.” The hallway is barely a hallway. Just a sliver of space that leaves only a few inches between their bodies.

“The first one.” Alex rolls her eyes, knowing that Sam will wait until she says exactly what she means. “We could’ve, you know. Ended up in bed together.”

“You wouldn’t have been very good. From what I remember you were all valiance and moonshine.”

“That stuff was so strong, I might still be all moonshine.” Alex puts her hand on Sam’s waist, it’s the most direct she’s ever been with something outside of the courtroom. “I’d like to try again. Properly, I mean.”

“That’s sweet.”

“You aren’t interested?” Alex questions sadly.

“I am interested. But more so in you joining me for a shower.” Sam holds Alex’s face in her hands and smiles. “Show me you belong in this crazy little town. Show me what you’re made of.”

“We can hear everything you’re saying!” Deborah yells from the kitchen. Alex and Sam crack up laughing, hustling into the bathroom, and taking off their clothes.

#danvarias #sam arias #alex danvers #supergirl #agentreign #gestures casually: yes this is another fucking small town AU #there will be more to come

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freshwoods · 6 years ago

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Pantene® Beautiful Lengths

Read it on AO3!

Bucky holds the referral card in his hand. He’s not sure why he hesitates, since he’d given in to his best friend, T’Challa’s, strong-arming of him into a haircut the day before, with a promise that he would indeed call and set something up this weekend. It was a haircut. Just a haircut. No big deal. Inhaling deeply, Bucky dialed the number. He didn’t quite expect it when a deep, soothing voice answered on the other end of the line. Bucky felt a little unprepared, but the man on the other line spoke softly, asking Bucky all the questions Bucky assumed was normal practice at these kinds of places. The last time he’d had his hair cut in an actual shop was when his mother had made him go to the local barber before his college graduation—everything else since then had been Bucky cutting it himself.

Which probably explained the fluttering of nerves he felt in his stomach after he hung up. It was totally not the lingering timbre of the man’s voice, or the fact that there was a cancellation so Bucky apparently had an appointment with some guy named Steve in a little over an hour. Fleetingly, he’s glad they had an opening today otherwise Bucky's sure he would chicken out. He wonders at how he even got his brain working enough to ask some of his questions before he hung up, the person on the other end of the line assuring him that they would indeed take good care of him, and yes a wash was included, and no they would not charge more for a style, and yes there was a policy if he didn’t like the cut. The man had been so patient, and Bucky realized he must’ve been the receptionist, used to handling customers. And, apparently, he was damn good at his job because Bucky sure felt handled.

The scheduled time rolls around faster than Bucky anticipates and he pulls into the parking lot of a swanky building. It looked exactly like the type of place T’Challa would frequent. The sign above the door matches the same fancy-sounding name as the card in his pocket, and Bucky quirks a smile as he walks in, wondering how T’Challa found this place. The bell tinkles, and Bucky looks around, noting the various stations and people sitting or standing at them. He faintly wonders who Steve is, but then his eyes land on the front desk. There’s a tall guy behind the desk, with long blond hair, tied half-up, half-down, clicking away at the computer. Bucky walks up and waits for the man to look at him.

The man’s cool blue eyes finally notice him. “Hello, do you have an appointment today, Sir?”

Bucky falters, just a little, because that is definitely not the voice of the guy who he talked to earlier. He knows sometimes phone receivers alter voices, but not this much—not enough to drop an apparent accent of some kind. “Uh. Yeah. With…Steve?”

The man’s eyes light up and he gives Bucky a small smile. “Ah, yes. Bucky, right? I hear you’ll be donating some hair today?” The man reaches for something—a clipboard with a form attached. “Would you mind filling this out for us? It’s a form for the donation.” Bucky reaches out for it slowly as the receptionist hands him a pen. “You can take a seat over there and I’ll collect it from you when you’re done. My name is Thor, if you need anything.”

Bucky nods at Thor, turning around to find the aforementioned waiting area. There’s a nice padded bench with some throw pillows, and a few comfy looking chairs. He opts for a chair, setting the clipboard on his knee to begin filling it out. His hair falls a little into his face and he hastily pushes it back, wishing he would’ve just kept it in the hairband that’s become his recent staple. In this place, he’s highly aware he looks every bit a mountain man—as his sister likes to call him. It comes with being an agriculturalist, he supposes.

He fills out the form with little fuss. Thor comes over after a minute or so to take the clipboard and ask if he would like anything to drink, to which Bucky declines and is told Steve’s just finishing up and would be with him shortly. Bucky always manages to forget how much waiting is involved in places like these. His leg starts bouncing of its own accord, and his eyes drift over the room, taking in the muted, calming colors and designs, the shelves full of products stacked against the walls. There’s a hallway on the other side of the open room and Bucky faintly wonders where it goes.

Minutes pass and Bucky begins to question if he’d be able to sneak out the door or not, but he’d already given them all of his information. Plus, Thor said Steve shouldn’t be too long. So, he’s not really expecting it when a man comes up on his side, holding the clipboard with the form Bucky had filled out. Bucky only has a moment to take him in—tall, muscular, dirty blond hair with soft lighter blond highlights, swooped back to flip out a bit near his neck, a little piece loose and framing his face, and a nicely styled and trimmed beard that looked softer than any beard had the right to. He had on a blue Henley, sleeves rolled up, and a black apron with the logo of the shop on it. “Hi, you must be Bucky.” The man says it without hesitation, a smile pulling at his lips as he stares down at Bucky. And Bucky, he recognizes that voice. It’s the same soothing timbre as the guy he talked to on the phone. All Bucky can do is nod, looking up at him. “I’m Steve.” Steve cocks his head; the little piece of hair fallen into his face sways a little with the motion. “Why don’t we head over to my station and you can tell me what you want.”

Steve turns his back, starting to walk away, and Bucky gets a great view of his back—shirt tight enough to show off muscles that make Bucky’s mouth a little dry, with dark jeans that fit the other man very well.

And all Bucky can think as he follows the man is You.

They start out simple, Steve putting a cape on him, again with the logo on it, before brushing out Bucky’s hair. Bucky tries not to shiver when Steve’s fingers start to thread through it, but he’s not sure he succeeds. They talk length, and Steve tells Bucky the minimum requirement for a donation is eight inches, but he could probably get away with doing nine. Bucky really tries to not let his mind think about inches when he’s looking at the barber, because he knows it’s going to be a recipe for disaster. He’s just going to cut Bucky’s hair. He’s a professional. Jesus Christ.

Somehow, Steve convinces Bucky of an amount to cut and a style he thinks would suit him, and even talks Bucky into a beard trim—but, honestly, at this point Bucky’s pretty sure Steve could talk him into buying half the services and products they offer just as long as Steve keeps crooning at him.

Steve’s fingers leave his hair, elastic band tying his hair into a ponytail, and then shears appear in Steve’s hand and Bucky swallows hard at his reflection in the mirror in front of him. Steve looks cool, collected, and the snip-snip of the shears seems to echo in Bucky’s ears with finality. Steve shows Bucky the ponytail with another smile and sets it down in front of Bucky on the station. Bucky lets out a breath. This was what he came for. He needed his hair to no longer be a security blanket for him, even if he did love his long locks. It was hair, it would grow back. He tries to reassure himself of these things as he looks again into the mirror, his freshly-chopped hair falling into disarray in a very unflattering way.

Oh god, this was a mistake, wasn’t it?

Steve, maybe sensing the turmoil in Bucky, or seeing the wide-eyed expression on his face, asks Bucky to walk with him to the bowls for his complimentary wash. Bucky does so on autopilot, sitting down and letting Steve adjust the back of his cape as the chair reclined, his neck resting against the cool ceramic of the bowl. Bucky hears the sound of water, and Steve smiles reassuringly down at him before the spray of the water hits his hair in little circles, gently wetting it. It’s actually quite nice. Bucky can’t really remember the last time he’d had his hair washed by someone else and thinks he might want to have it done more often. Especially if Steve is the one doing it.

Bucky lets his eyes fall shut when he feels the smooth glide of Steve’s fingers run through his hair. The sharp scent of something minty hits his nose right as Steve’s fingers start to massage at his scalp. Bucky relaxes, neck lolling as Steve moves his head this way and that, fingers lightly digging in at his temples, at the back of his neck. He has nice, strong hands, and steady fingers that work magic. When the shampoo is rinsed from his hair some minutes later, the last thing he expects is for more product to be worked through his hair. He thinks it might be conditioner, but Bucky doesn’t use that too often, so he’s not entirely sure. It smells different, but pleasant. This one doesn’t make his scalp tingle like the shampoo had, but Steve’s fingers stroking through his strands sure is nice. Bucky thinks he might’ve told Steve so, and when he opens his eyes, there’s a slight flush on Steve’s cheeks above him, that same stubborn piece of hair falling in his eyes as he tries not to make eye-contact with Bucky.

By the time Steve tilts the chair back up and uses a soft towel to drain his hair of excess water, Bucky feels more relaxed than he has in a long while—the anxiety about his hair from earlier goes down the drain with the sudsy water.

Once Bucky’s back in Steve’s chair, Steve’s eyes meet Bucky’s as the other man tells him, “No peeking.” Steve follows his words with an honest-to-god wink before he turns Bucky away from the mirror. Steve disappears back behind Bucky and Bucky has to make a conscious effort to breathe.

The sheers start snipping again, interspersed with the drag of a comb through his hair. It’s an endless loop of cut, comb, cut, comb, and Bucky gets lost to it easily. He stares at a man two stations down and the client in his seat. He can’t hear their conversation over the buzz of voices and music and the occasional blow dryer. Bucky’s not used to sitting in so much silence with another person, and the uncomfortableness begins to grate on him, so he opens his mouth to speak.

“So,” Bucky begins, the blow dryer making its reappearance somewhere, “that was you I talked to on the phone, right?”

Steve’s hands in his hair stop for a moment but don’t falter. “Yeah. It was early and Thor—our receptionist—was busy doing some paperwork, so I thought I’d help him out.”

Snip-snip.

Bucky makes a noncommittal sound. “Thanks for being so patient with me, by the way. I was kinda nervous about all this.”

Bucky hears a laugh from behind as Steve’s hands drop from his hair. Bucky cranes his head to glance back at the other man. “Yeah, I noticed that a little bit.”

Bucky frowns as Steve once again walks around, cutting the hair in front. “What gave it away?”

Steve grins, combing through Bucky’s hair with a laser focus. “You asked a lot of questions on the phone. Most people don’t.” Steve shrugs, softening his words with a smile. “Plus you looked like you might run right out of the shop when Thor pointed you out to me.”

“Oh.” Bucky cleared his throat, ignoring the blush he feels on his face. “Yeah, I, uh. Haven’t had a real haircut in a while.”

Steve stops altogether now, looking him in the eye as he smiles. “Well I’m glad you’ve allowed me the honor.” Steve reaches out to comb Bucky’s hair this way and that, before cutting a little bit again. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing, donating your hair. A lot of guys don’t think about doing it.”

Bucky shrugs as gently as he can, so as to not dislodge Steve’s hands. “I needed a change, and it helps someone else out. Win-win in my book.”

Steve’s smile fades to something smaller, more private, as he sets his shears down. “That’s a nice way to look at things.” The other man takes a step back, observing Bucky in his entirety. He gives Bucky an appreciative look, then quickly glances away when their eyes meet. Steve reaches for thinning shears next, texturizing Bucky’s hair as they chat back and forth for a bit longer about the donation process and make small talk—now that Steve’s started talking to Bucky, he takes to it with gusto. Bucky learns Steve’s been working here for nine years, and watches a blush color his cheeks at the impressed stare Bucky gives him.

Steve clears his throat, color still on his cheeks as he reaches out to fluff Bucky’s hair. “Alright, so how about your beard?” Steve’s hand extends again toward Bucky’s face, but the other man catches himself before he touches. “Feel like a change with that as well?”

“Sure,” Bucky makes eye contact. “I trust you. To, uh, not make me look completely hideous.”

Steve lets out a chuckle. “Bucky, I doubt anyone could do anything to make you look hideous.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open a little bit, brain frantically trying to think of something—anything—to say, when a chuckle sounds somewhere behind them. Bucky cranes his neck to see a dark-skinned man giving them a gap-toothed smile. “Especially not with a jawline like that, right Steve?”

Steve turns to look at the man, too, another flush coloring his face as the man walks over—saunters, more like. “Bucky, this is the owner, Sam Wilson.” Steve turns to the other man. “I was just debating what to do with his beard.”

Sam hums, assessing Bucky with a razor-sharp focus. “It is a nice jawline. And those light eyes and dark hair: killer combo. The beard makes you look broody. I like it.”

“Thin and trim?” Steve questions.

Sam nods, then shoots a grin at Steve. “You know what to do.” Sam looks back to Bucky, giving him a reassuring smile as he pats Steve on the shoulder. “You’re in good hands, Man. Steve is one of our top stylists. He’ll take good care of you.” Steve looks a little sheepish at the praise, but as Sam leaves the station, Bucky can’t help but think it’s endearing.

Steve brings out the clippers next, working Bucky’s beard into what he hopes is a nice style and length. It’s a bit intense, having Steve stooped down to eye-level in front of him, the other man's eyes so focused on him. Steve puts a gentle finger under Bucky’s chin and adds just enough pressure until Bucky looks up at the ceiling. In front of him, Steve moves closer, leaning in so that Bucky can practically feel the flutter of Steve’s breath on his throat. He trims a clean line, getting rid of the excess growth down Bucky’s neck before he runs his hands through Bucky’s beard with some kind of oil. Then Steve steps back, Bucky putting his head back down as Steve sets down the clippers to reach for a jar of some kind of product. Working a small dab into his hands, the other man once again circles behind the chair, working the product thoroughly through Bucky’s hair. To Bucky’s surprise, his hair is already dry—a perk he’s long forgotten about when having short hair. Steve brings out a big puffy brush with a wooden knob at the end and starts moving it over Bucky’s throat and the back of his neck. It tickles, just a little, and then Steve puts it down, reaching out to tweak at Bucky’s hair until he makes a satisfied sound low in his throat that does things to Bucky.

“Alright, Bucky,” Steve comes to the side, looking down at Bucky, “you ready?”

“Why not.” Bucky tries to play it cool with a shrug, but a smile quirks on Steve’s lips that tells Bucky he probably looks anything but cool.

And then Steve unsnaps the cape and spins the chair around, and Bucky finally gets a good view of his reflection.

And damn. Damn. He looks good. His hair seems soft in its gently-tousled style. He can see his ears. He swears he’d almost forgotten what they look like. And his beard; that appears just as soft and shorter, tighter, the lines cleaner.

He looks like a whole new person; a new and improved version of himself. Bucky can’t help but reach up and feel his beard, to run a hand through his hair.

“Wow. Steve. This is...wow.” Bucky leans closer to the mirror, the blue of his eyes popping somehow with the new look. His eyes find Steve’s then, in the reflection. The other man smiles at him, arms gently crossed over his chest. He beams a little with pride, and Bucky definitely gets why this guy is one of the best workers here.

“I’m glad you like it.” He glances away then, toward the front desk, with a nod at something Bucky can’t see. When he looks back at Bucky, his smile has faded a little. “If you want to maintain the short hair, I’d say to come back in about three weeks. If not, then about six, to at least trim up the ends.” Steve motions Bucky up from the chair, and Bucky follows, walking up with Steve to the front desk.

Bucky bites his lip, knowing he’ll probably be back in three weeks just to be able to see Steve sooner. Unless...Bucky wonders if Steve would give him his number if Bucky asked. There had been a vibe, right? Or was Steve like that with all his clients?

“Well,” Steve turns back to Bucky when they’re almost to the desk. “It was really nice to meet you, Bucky. I hope I’ll see you again soon.” Then Steve seems to hesitate for a moment, looking at Bucky with an unreadable expression before he finally motions to Thor. “Thor can help you set up your next appointment, alright?” And then Steve walks away, over to the waiting area, where he greets his next client, like Bucky’s world isn’t upending because it’s over already and Bucky’s just another client for Steve and he should know better.

Thor smiles at him, energetic and broad, and does indeed help Bucky set up his next appointment. His next two, in fact. He’s told he’ll get a certification in the mail for his donation once the charity they use receives it, and Bucky leaves, feeling a little dazed.

The next week passes in a blur for Bucky. He’s busy harvesting during the week, so that when Bucky takes his stock to the local farmer’s market the following weekend, his stand is full to bursting with fresh produce—sweet corn, tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, yams, assorted peppers, and cucumbers. He sets up early, and after just a couple hours, his stock is more than halfway gone.

He’s talking to a particularly enthusiastic customer about what kind of irrigation he uses, when he hears a throat clear behind him. Bucky excuses himself, the customer having already paid well before their questions started, and turns around, smile on his face.

...And sees Steve.

Steve blinks at him for a moment, some zucchini and cucumbers perched in his arms. “Bucky?”

Bucky, feeling mildly proud that he’d at least attempted to style his hair this morning, grins back, shoving his hands into his jeans’ pockets. “Hey, Steve. Um. Finding everything okay?”

Steve looks down at the vegetables in his arms. “Oh, uh, yeah. Is this—is this your stand?”

Bucky reaches for a bag for Steve just to have something to do with his hands. “Ah. Sure is.” He sets the bag down on the table near him. “We set up here every weekend.” From the corner of his eye, Bucky takes stock of Steve. His hair’s a little messy today, which warms Bucky for some reason. He wonders if he’d somehow missed Steve coming here before. Bucky surreptitiously tries to study Steve as he reaches for the produce Steve offers, counting up the prices as he moves them into the bag for Steve before the other man pays.

“I haven’t seen you here before…” Bucky trails off, not sure where he’s going with that, but Steve seems to pick it up anyway.

Bucky watches as Steve reaches up to run a hand through his hair. “Yeah, this is my first time here.” He seems almost embarrassed by that and Bucky levels him a small smile as he continues. “One of Sam’s clients was in a couple days ago and he mentioned he had a friend who had a produce stand down here.”

Bucky lets out a small laugh, shaking his head when Steve looks a little startled at him. “Was his name T’Challa?”

Steve blinks once again. “Yeah—Wait, are you the guy he was talking about?”

Bucky motions to the vegetables in bins around him in answer. “T’Challa’s an ass sometimes, but he’s a decent best friend. He’s actually the one who referred me to your shop.” Bucky cocks his head. “I’ve been meaning to thank him for that, actually.” Bucky shakes his head, mumbling to himself about how he’s going to have a talk with T’Challa on the art of subtlety.

Steve flushes. He opens his mouth to say something when an older couple walks up. Bucky gives him an apologetic look as he rushes to help them, making it as quick as he can.

“Sorry about that,” Bucky says after the couple walks away.

Shaking his head, Steve reaches out for his forgotten bag. “No, I’m sorry. I really should let you get back to work.”

But he doesn’t move, just gives Bucky a look, and Bucky returns it, a smile tugging at his lips. “You really don’t have to. I promise...unless you have somewhere pressing to go.”

Bucky definitely detects a pink tint to Steve’s cheeks at that. “Bucky. You’re working.”

But Bucky just shrugs. “I’ve already sold my quota for today. Besides, if you walk away again, I won’t have a chance to ask you out. And I really, really want to ask you out.”

Steve finally lets go of his paper bag, gaze snapping up to Bucky’s. “You do?”

Bucky full-on grins now, leaning over the table toward Steve. “Honestly? I’ve kinda wanted to since you helped me on the phone. Anyone ever tell you you have a nice voice, Steve?”

Steve bites his lip, looking a little bashful. “Uh, no. You’re definitely the first.”

Bucky’s grin turns a little wicked. “What about ‘nice hands?’”

At that, Steve lets out a sharp, loud laugh, then brings his hands up to hide his face for a moment. “Unfortunately, yes.” He drops his hands and meets Bucky’s eyes. “But you can keep telling me what you like about me, if you want. It’s great for my ego.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to bite his lip, stifling a laugh. “Go on a date with me and maybe I will.”

Later—much, much later, after Steve and Bucky’s date the following week, when Steve kisses Bucky, soft and sweet, on his doorstep—Bucky thinks now he really does have to thank T’Challa.

Hair inspirations:

(pictures are not mine)

#freshwoods: fic #stucky fic #stucky fanfiction #stucky

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cocoarosalia · 7 years ago

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Truth or Shot (LadyNoir)

Follow A Sister on AO3

“Chat, i don't know about this” Ladybug said eyeing the high end bottle of tequila between them and the makeshift spinner that was aimed right at her.

“What’s not to know” Chat Noir rebutted with his famous sly smile.

“Truth or shot?”

When Ladybug asked Chat to be her drinking partner this wasn’t even close to what she had in mind. And yet, she shouldn’t have expected anything less from his usual grandiose theatrics. Especially after her tearful cries to him for comfort.

And it was so stupid too. What did it matter that her boyfriend for the past 6 months suddenly just decided to up and ditch her for some skank with massive tits? Wasn’t her fault she wasn’t packing a pair of state fair, blue ribbon watermelons under her shirt. But even with that ladybug still found herself buying the biggest bottle of vodka her wallet could muster and crying to chat to drink with her until she forgot who she really was under the mask. He agreed but only on two conditions.

A) she let him buy the alcohol for the occasion (because according to him her choice was “insultingly cheap”)

B) that they drink it his way (“What’s the point in destroying bad thoughts if you can’t have a little fun”)

Had she have known that his way consisted of a russian roulette of shots and dirty black secrets she would’ve easily settled on just chugging it alone in her apartment until she passed out watching old cartoons. But that was just the effect Chat had on her. One teasing smile and a gaze into those way too sexy emerald eyes and she could follow him to the ends of the earth.

Which coincidentally happened to be at the bottom of a Don Julio bottle.

Ladybug eyed the clear bottle again. On the one hand she could just keep everything buried in the shadows and just drink to her stomach’s discontent. On the other hand was the fact that she knew she had rather loose lips once alcohol got involved. So the way she saw it it was either voluntary truth or involuntary spewing of information….

She’d rather be aware of her stupidness first-hand

“Alright kitty, what do you wanna know?”

God, she could feel her hands pricking with pins and needles as she awaited her dreaded fate. This was such a stupid idea and she knew it but she was desperate for mental escape. But what would he ask? Would he ask of her identity, her true feelings of him, something even worse? Her heart beat erratically as she stared down his alluringly green eyes. She steeled her nerves, prepared to deflect anything.

“Last tuesday when you said my new scarf looked dumb and then said you were kidding...did you actually mean that?”

Oh that’s right, this is chat we’re talking about...he’s about as deep as water poured on a glass counter

Ladybug groaned in a mix of relief and annoyance “Yes kitty I meant that. The scarf actually brought out your eyes quite nicely”

“Works for me!” He grinned with his usual boyish charm. Taking the tequila bottle by the neck he carefully poured himself a shot and tipped it back. She couldn’t contain her composure as she snorted at his face twisted in disgust.

“Now explain to me why YOU’RE the one drinking again?”

“Oh simple” he said casually “Refuse to answer, you drink. Decide to answer, I drink”

“So either way, one of us is getting smashed”

“Or both of us, depending on how the night goes”

Ladybug’s lips split into an eager smile. “Sounds fair to me” She took hold of the spinner and whipped it around “Now let’s see how far we can really go”

Unsurprisingly, the arrow landed on everyone’s favorite feline. She looked at his face for any kind of discomfort but it appeared his poker face was air tight as he balanced his shot glass on the tip of his nose.

“Well kitty?” she said, leaning back into her chair atop a cafe roof “Pick your poison”

“Ooo sexy choice of words my lady” Chat replied, still relaxed in his own chair “But for the sake of fun i’ll choose truth”

Ladybug drummed her fingers along her chin, humming absently while she thought about her question. When it finally hit her, her eager smile slid into something more devious and rather mischievous.

“What was the last thing you searched on your phone”

A flurry of giggles spilled from her lips as she watched Chat nearly fall out of his chair and directly onto his poor kitty cat ears.

“W-why do you wanna know that?” He demanded

She smirked at his clear discomfort “Because either I get to learn about all those naughty fanfics that I KNOW you read on your off time OR I get to see you squirm and down another shot”

Ladybug was really starting to turn her opinion around on this whole game of his since it meant watching the inner machinations of her poor kitty’s mind (which of course amounted to nothing more than a knocked over milk carton). Chat wracked his brain endlessly for some type of loophole out of this, but, sadly he could find none and had to concede defeat.

He straightened out his back and cleared his throat. Ladybug rolled her eyes, all of this for a silly secret. What a ham.

“The last thing I looked at were porn fics about us”

She was stunned silent. She didn’t think he’d actually admit it! She moved to blindly just pour herself a shot but then paused. What if he was lying? Even better, if he was telling the truth...just how filthy were these fics of his?

“I’d like your phone please minou” She said plainly

Chat’s eyes were as wide as the twinkling moon above them “FOR WHAT!? I told the truth”

Ladybug clicked her teeth disapprovingly “Now kitty, such an outlandish answer demands proof don’t you think?”

“Not really, no”

she swooped up his phone into her hands before he could even have time to blink “Isn’t that unfortunate for you then”

She fully expected for him to be lying, covering up something more embarrassing under something lewd and outrageous

Oh how she only wished

Pages upon pages, bookmarks beyond bookmarks of various levels of smut were plastered along his phone screen. And the worse part was that it ranged! One minute she could be glancing over a sweet intimate peace on them revealing themselves to one another and in a heartwarming flurry of emotions they would pour out their love in a beautiful show of trust and acceptance….

And the next she’s reading one where Chat has her strung up in a hotel room with a vibrator shoved up between her legs while he’s smacking her ass and she’s calling him sir and begging for more

Suffice it to say the cat was well out of its bag

Ladybug gently put the phone down with her face matching well to her suit and was instantly met with both shot glasses filled to the brim being pushed her way. She glanced up at him, considering protesting but his reply left her with nothing to combat against

“One is for me telling the truth. The other is for putting me through that humiliation”

She sighed and bravely downed both shots, the plan was to get wasted after all

Shortly after that little fiasco the pair fell into something of a rhythm. They asked about each other’s lives and families, experiences and regrets and within about 3 shots each they were pretty fucking comfortable with one another.

“Did your parents ever give you the birds and bees talk?”

“My father? Not a chance in hell. The man tossed me a ‘my body and me’ book and never looked back. Have you ever, you know, ‘walked in’ on your parents?”

“I so supremely do NOT want to relive that trauma (I still will never look at marshmallows the same ever again) so I move to drink.”

“Booo lame ladybug”

“Oh shut up you weren’t there in the fall of my 11th year”

“Was it really that bad-”

“YES IT WAS THAT BAD NOW LET ME DESTROY THE MEMORIES IN ALCOHOL”

It was about 4 more shots in and the realization that, yes, Ladybug has had a wardrobe malfunction once before (AND ON THE ONE DAY HE HAD TO TAKE OFF FOR OTHER WORK) that she began to finally feel all the booze hit her system. Suddenly the space around her began to feel hazy and warm while her suit felt itchy and too tight. Her glazed eyes peered over at chat gulping down another shot. And then, she had that thought. The kind of thought that only borderline drunks and rabid fangirls has.

Chat was stupidly attractive

Ok, obviously she’d never say he was bad looking at all but he was a FAR cry from what he used to look like when they were just plucky teenagers trying to figure out what the hell a hormone even was. He used to be nothing but skin and bone, Lithe, lanky, and in much need of a well cooked homemade meal. Not to mention his speech wasn’t much better with his sizeable collection of horrendous puns and white knight way of “courting” her. It was cute and all, maybe even charming sometimes, but she never felt anything more than a fluttering crush that would peter out under the immense weight of her puppy love crush on Adrien Agreste.

But somewhere in between their usherance into adulthood and agreeing that fucking during work time would NOT be the best use of their time, Chat decided to get all….stimulating.

I mean just a heads up that he would run off and be remodeled into the son of Adonis himself would’ve been appreciated. He grew to a dizzying 6”3 seemingly overnight, towering over her tiny frame and taking an annoying amount of pleasure from their height difference. He grew his hair out longer and was apparently hitting the gym EVERY. FUCKING. DAY cause while he wasn’t a beef cake he definitely was not the one you’d wanna fuck with in a bar fight

But on a rooftop with all her inhibitors drowned in a sea of Don Julio?

She’d fuck with him. Ohhhh She’d fuck with him goooooood.

Ladybug suddenly stood up from her seat and slowly raked her eyes over Chat’s sculpted body. He looked at her with a confused expression. ‘He has no idea, does he?’ She mused ‘That makes this even more fun’.

It was as if her body was running completely on autopilot, operating on nothing but blind desire. She sauntered her way to the other side of the table, her hips swaying to an almost exaggerated extent. She could tell that Chat was getting antsy now, his tail flicking around nervously. She was getting way too close for someone not saying a word.

So when she just plopped herself onto his lap and wrapped her arms possessively around his neck it was like the air was being knocked clean out of him.

“W-woah there cowgirl!” He sputtered nervously “I think your seat is on the other side of that table over there”

Ladybug ignored him, much to his dismay. She just pressed her body in closer, the smell of the alcohol seeping from her lips. It left his mind empty for a moment. Normally the smell of alcohol made him feel a little nauseous but with it being mixed with her cherry gum that she must’ve been chewing earlier it left him with a all too familiar tingle sitting at the meeting of his legs. She really needed to hop off him...preferably sooner rather than later.

She lifted her head from the cook of his neck and looked up at him. Damn, she was even cuter and sexier up close. Age clearly did wonders for his favorite bug. Her face still had its usual plush cheeks, dotted with freckled that looked like stars dancing across her face. And she even stayed pretty much the same height (to which he will never get over since it meant he could plop his head atop hers which, come on, who wouldn’t). But she must’ve sold her first born to Aphrodite cause when they met she was as thin as paper with the non-existent curves to match.

But now?

Now, she apparently just decided to have the body of a valley with abs of military grade steel and an ass that just refuses to quit (that he would honestly murder for). She was all the woman he could dream and drool for, powerful and athletic but still quite huggable after a bad day

And let him reiterate...she REALLY needs to hop off him

“Kitty” She sang sweetly in his ear “Let’s keep drinking”

Chat laughed nervously “I would say sure but first you’d need to be off of my lap for me to reach it and second I think you’ve had just about enough liquid courage in your system.”

She puffed out her cheeks defiantly. “Bullshit” She slurred out “I can get it my damn self! Just stay right here”

…….

“Oh this isn’t even fair”

Ladybug sat up on her knees, still nested comfortably on top of his legs and stretched herself backward to grab the bottle off the table. He had to hold on to her lower back with both hands just to keep her from falling off. Chat suddenly got a full open view of her smooth plane of stomach, delicately sculpted abs and soft peaks of breasts.

His mouth felt horribly dry, and there was really only one way he wanted to quench it

“Hah! Told you I could do it!” She exclaimed when she sat back up. Ladybug was a giggling mess, but not entirely at random. She knew what she was doing and she knew EXACTLY how it was affecting her favorite feline (These suits are obscenely thin). But she didn’t care. Chat wasn’t kidding about that liquid courage thing either, she felt like she could do anything her little heart desired. And unfortunately for his self-control that meant him.

“Congrats buginette but that still doesn’t change the fact that-”

“Chaton” She interrupted, the booze lightly clutched in her hand “Where do you go when we don’t patrol together”

He initially thought she was joking, teasing him about being unfaithful or something. Her eyes spoke to him differently though. There was a kind of mirth behind her eyes, a playfulness that gave him a feeling of high alert. This was still a game to her. But to what end? He hadn’t the slightest clue.

He attempted to laugh it off “Don’t tell me you think i’m swaying my tail for another superhero. I’m a one cat woman, Ladybug. Plus you could easily snap me in half over your knee so I’d rather not cheat on you”

He petted her head softly. If he could just lull her into passing out on his chest then he can just drop her off at her apartment and deal with his own biological problem in the comfort of his own apartment with some well written smut (Satisfaction Brought It Back, here he comes!). But Ladybug wasn’t giving in that easy.

She shook off his warm hand and started to giggle drunkenly “Someone’s a liar~” She cooed “That means that it’s BOTTOM’S UP KITTY CAT!”

Chat suddenly had the tequila bottle forced up against his lips. He swallowed down two big gulps of the burning liquid and spat out the rest. Ladybug laughed almost maniacally at his predicament.

“Christ that burns” Chat said after catching his breath “And are you insane? I’m not lying!”

Her laughing dyed down to a light chuckle “That’s not what that cute baker girl told me~”

The color that once painted his face was dyed a complete white. There’s no way she knew. He always waited at least 5 minutes before approaching her apartment. She’s just crazy! Yea...she was just being a crazy, deluded drunk…

Right?

Her lips were just a hair’s breadth away from his ear “From what I hear, you’ve been visiting that Marinette girl eeeevery night when you’re not with me”

“A-and what about you” He said defensively “It’s not like you’ve been able to keep your hands to yourself around that model Adrien….A-at least from what I’ve heard anyway”

Honestly he couldn’t care less that she was more into him as a civilian than a hero. As time wore on and they got older he realized that if she liked him one way then chances were that she’d like him the other way too. He was honestly just being a pussy about the whole thing but figured that he’d wait until she was ready. Until then he had no problem playing her mystery lover that she could visit in the dead of night. His window will always be open for her.

Ladybug hummed in agreement “Hmm that is true I do enjoy rocking his little model world whenever I can”

‘I know she’s talking about me but that salt doesn’t burn any less’

“But the way I see it” Her eyes darkened with a predatory hunger “He’s not here right now, is he?”

Chat felt like he was having an out of body experience. Ladybug, his partner in justice, woman of his heart and subsequent wet dreams was currently smacking her cherry alcohol tasting lips to his. It was all he had ever wished for in the dead of night. He had reached his nirvana!

….until his stupid conscious had to come kicking him in his leather bound tail

He let out a small whimper of regret. He could feel Ladybug just starting to poke her tongue through his lips right before he took hold of her face. He pulled her away and caught his breath. The look in her eyes set his whole body on fire, eyes foggy with wanton desire and lips tinted pink with what little kissing she could get in. Fuck, he wasn’t drunk enough for this!

“Look,” He said reluctantly “I want this, sweet merciful christ I want this so fucking bad it quite literally hurts to not have my tongue down your throat right now.” He sighed for what felt like the 15th time that night “But I am a gentleman first and I won’t take advantage of you like this. You’re drunk, possibly emotionally damaged as well, and it would honestly be scummy of me to prey on that just because I want to fuck you into the morning light. I’m taking you home, you’re gonna go to bed and we’re gonna forget any of this even happened. Plus, who knows, you might just reconcile with your ex or some sappy shit like that”

“Well that’s fucking stupid”

Huh?

Ladybug honestly looked annoyed by his impassioned speech. She put the alcohol back onto the table and wrapped her arms back around Chat’s neck. She even wiggled her butt on his lap to punish him a little.

“I don’t give a ripe, flying fuck about that dickless fuckboy.”

Chat doesn’t think he’s ever heard her say fuck so many times in a sentence….it was honestly super hot

“As much as i’ve been fucking Adrien I know he has his sights on another. So I’m currently 0-2 on getting consistent dick and it’s making me want to beat the nearest criminal till he bleeds out”

‘This feels like a one-sided conversation and I genuinely do not care’

“Now you listen here, kitty cat. I like you. Hell, I think I might even love you. Certainly enough to have been wanting to fuck you since entering college. So are you gonna let me have what I want?”

‘This night could not possibly get any better!’

He leaned in to give her everything he had and more but paused ‘Oh wait. Yes it can!’

“One question before we wake up the neighborhood”

Ladybug clicked her tongue in irritation “What now?”

Chat laughed at her eagerness and nestled in her chest “What exactly was your ex’s name anyway?”

“What does that matter?” She was getting impatient, how cute

“Because,” Chat dropped his suit and looked up at her with a dangerously playful look in his eye “Famous model Adrien Agreste wants to make sure he calls him by the right name while i’m bragging about how good i’m giving it to you”

Ladybug didn’t even bother making a show out of dropping her suit as she grabbed the tequila one last time, taking a massive swig “His name was Liam”

Adrien took it from her hands and swallowed the rest

“Let’s see if we can make you forget that”

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ralphlayton · 5 years ago

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In a Fast-Paced Digital World, B2B Marketers Can Benefit from Slowing Down

We are living in the age of speed: faster connections, faster answers, faster service. People expect many things to happen instantly, in real-time, and technological advancements are increasingly making it possible. As such, it might seem counter-intuitive to suggest that we as B2B marketers are wise to slow our roll. Sometimes we tend to go through the motions too quickly, or in the wrong order, and it can hurt our results. In fact, it can prevent us from even accurately evaluating our results. Sean Callahan recently wrote a post on the LinkedIn Marketing Solutions* blog arguing that a top priority in 2020 for B2B marketers should be to slow down when measuring ROI. The case is simple and convincing: Sales cycles have grown significantly longer but analytics haven’t responded in kind. Per the post, 77% of marketers are still measuring ROI in the first month of a campaign, even though the average B2B sales cycle is now about six months long. “The reality is,” writes Callahan, “most marketers are showing up to their book club having only read a sixth of the book.” This got me thinking about the argument’s broader applicability in B2B marketing. There are a number of different areas where it’s becoming clear that practitioners might be moving too quickly and doing themselves a disservice. To be clear: We’re not suggesting that you delay making decisions or drastically cut down your content production; sometimes it’s as simple as stepping back and taking a beat. Let’s talk about four opportunities that stand out: experiences, strategies, social media, and SEO.

4 Areas Where B2B Marketers Can Benefit from Pumping the Brakes

Slow Your Experience

There are plenty of metaphors I could toss out regarding the inverse relationship between speed and quality of an experience, but I’ll go with this one: Would you rather be shuffled through a fast-moving line at a fast-food joint, or carefully walked through a restaurant menu by a knowledgeable and curious server beside your table? Yes, customers want things quickly, but there’s a balance. It’s been nearly two decades since William McEwen made a point that remains very true today: When marketers emphasize doing things faster, they often end up doing things worse. “If the goal is to create strong bonds that ensure customer retention, companies must focus on activities that create and sustain the customer relationships, not just on those that enhance company efficiency,” McEwen wrote in his book, Married to the Brand. In his example he notes that a cold, tasteless sandwich from Arby’s isn’t going to yield a happy customer, no matter how fast it’s delivered. The same principles apply to any B2B experience — fast isn’t memorable. But when content is unusually entertaining, impactful, or tailored? That can stick in one’s brain. More recently, Ann Handley preached this premise at Content Marketing World 2019, arguing that the most efficient is not the most effective. She recommends that marketers step back and ask themselves a few questions with regards to the customer experience they’re providing:

How can I build trust and momentum for the content experience over time? And what does that look like?

How can I involve the audience in a meaningful way so they are invested in the outcome?

How can I create an experience that individuals rally around in a way that makes them more invested in the community?

[bctt tweet="The most efficient isn't always the most effective. Stop conflating them. @annhandley #B2BContentMarketing" username="toprank"]

Slow Your Strategy

Thinking through the questions above, and others, takes time. Rushing through our B2B marketing strategies invariably leads to overlooking key factors, while also generating undue stress for the team. It’s a real psychological phenomenon: Slowing down helps us reconnect with the present, enrich relationships, and find more productivity. “When you slow down, your mind can work on solutions to problems you may be experiencing, finding a better way to do something, prioritizing tasks and projects and eliminating or reducing conflict,” writes Suzanne Kane at Psych Central in the article linked above. These are the tenets of successful strategy. The “Slow Your Strategy” directive runs the operational gamut, including pre-planning, resource allotment, promotion, and — as referenced earlier — measurement. When I think about pacing a business strategy, I think about the game of chess. Great players aren’t often the quickest; instead, they proceed methodically, analyzing the entire board and mentally playing out the consequences of a possible move before pushing the next piece. Marketers should adopt the same mindset. Strategy is by definition “a careful plan or method,” and being careful means taking our time. Don’t hurry while solidifying the seven elements of your your B2B marketing strategy:

Goals and Objectives

Audience Segmentation and Characteristics

Brand Messaging

Multi-Channel Touchpoints

Content Types

Content Topics

Measurement

[bctt tweet="Strategy is by definition “a careful plan or method,” and being careful means taking our time, B2B marketers. Don’t rush the strategy process. @NickNelsonMN " username="toprank"]

Slow Your Social

The world of social media moves so quickly, it’s easy for marketers to feel under pressure to keep up. “Has our latest tweet already been buried on feeds?” “Are we seeing results yet from this LinkedIn campaign?” “Should we be on Tik-Tok?”

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via GIPHY According to the latest B2B content marketing benchmarks report, social media is the most common content type used by B2B marketers, with 95% listing it. Yet in my experience, social often tends to be an autopilot function, disconnected from broader strategies. Bundles of messages are packaged up for scheduling across platforms, generic promotional links are hastily developed, and minimal effort goes into follow-up or interaction. What’s the point? Quality over quantity is a mantra that rings throughout the digital marketing environment today, and social media is a pertinent area in which to emphasize it. Take the time to think through the purpose of each platform, and each tweet or update. Prioritize value over volume. Keep in mind that aimlessly publishing without discretion can actually hurt your visibility on social feeds by diminishing your content’s overall engagement rates and causing people to unfollow.

Slow Your SEO

Every SEO specialist knows that influencing search rankings takes time. As algorithms increasingly shift from technical signals to user-based signals, creating quality audience geared toward a well-understood audience becomes all the more paramount. If you’re displeased with your website’s search visibility, a good next step is running an SEO audit of existing content. "An SEO audit is a great place to start when you’re trying to understand the factors that are hindering your search visibility," Tiffani Allen, TopRank Marketing's Associate Director of Search and Analytics, writes. "The data you collect, once analyzed, should help you create a roadmap to improve rankings and capitalize on white space." And as Aja Frost, Head of Content SEO for HubSpot, offers to Search Engine Journal: “I’d recommend auditing all of your content for overlapping rankings and merging, redirecting, and archiving as needed so every page ranks for a unique set of keywords,” Frost said. “If your website covers the same topics again and again, even if you’re covering these topics from different angles, your pages are going to knock each other out of the results.” This is but a sampling of examples of where slowing down with SEO can yield major long-term benefits. Scrutinizing your topical pillars, audience assumptions, and technical health of your site are additional measures that pay off.

Moving Forward in Slow Motion

While watching playoff football over the past few weekends, I’ve been reminded of how much speed affects our perception. You can watch a play in real-time and miss so many details that become evident in the slowed-down instantly reply. There’s no time clock ticking down on your B2B marketing strategy. Obviously we have deadlines and time-sensitive objectives, but in many cases we’re probably placing undue constraints on our programs that take a negative toll on results. We live in a fast-paced world. But slowing down our marketing efforts — from experience to strategy to social to SEO — can help brands differentiate and achieve more. [bctt tweet="We live in a fast-paced world. But slowing down our marketing efforts — from experience to strategy to social to SEO — can help brands differentiate and achieve more. @NickNelsonMN" username="toprank"] So the next time you receive a request from a boss or client that seems to skip steps or rush through critical strategic elements, there’s only one valid response: not so fast. Take a moment to assess and validate your marketing approach for the coming year by reviewing Lee Odden’s rundown of the Top 10 B2B Digital Marketing Trends in 2020.

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samuelpboswell · 5 years ago

Text

In a Fast-Paced Digital World, B2B Marketers Can Benefit from Slowing Down

4 Areas Where B2B Marketers Can Benefit from Pumping the Brakes

Slow Your Experience

How can I build trust and momentum for the content experience over time? And what does that look like?

How can I involve the audience in a meaningful way so they are invested in the outcome?

How can I create an experience that individuals rally around in a way that makes them more invested in the community?

[bctt tweet="The most efficient isn't always the most effective. Stop conflating them. @annhandley #B2BContentMarketing" username="toprank"]

Slow Your Strategy

Goals and Objectives

Audience Segmentation and Characteristics

Brand Messaging

Multi-Channel Touchpoints

Content Types

Content Topics

Measurement

[bctt tweet="Strategy is by definition “a careful plan or method,” and being careful means taking our time, B2B marketers. Don’t rush the strategy process. @NickNelsonMN " username="toprank"]

Slow Your Social

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Slow Your SEO

Moving Forward in Slow Motion

The post In a Fast-Paced Digital World, B2B Marketers Can Benefit from Slowing Down appeared first on Online Marketing Blog - TopRank®.

from The SEO Advantages https://www.toprankblog.com/2020/01/slow-down-b2b-marketing/

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