#swinging his guitar like a bat lmao

[alexturner2005]

Arctic Monkeys @ The Armory, Minneapolis 26th Aug. 2023, By elizabethhedyn

[libraryofgage]

PJO Steddie Two

One

So, this part was kinda supposed to be attached to part one, but I got tired and the part was getting too long so here we are lmao

Anyway, we get a few parents revealed here, but most are still a mystery

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

---

Eddie is on the other side of the park and wondering if he has enough time to see that fake Parthenon when he hears the unmistakable sound of a harpy's shriek. Those things have nearly eaten him enough times at camp for their bird screams to be seared into his memory. And if he's hearing the overgrown chicken, that means it's found those demigod kids before he could.

Fuck.

He whirls around just in time to see the harpy shoot above the trees, wings flared and feathers bristling, before dive-bombing whichever unlucky kid it's decided to eat first.

"Motherfucking shit bitch," Eddie mutters, taking off across the grass to where the harpy dived.

On the bright side, he managed to find the kids pretty quick; he'd only been in Athens for a few hours. On the fucked up side, he might only be able to sneak one or two kids away from the monster. Which, like, he'd love to save more of them, but he's not exactly the best fighter. He's the best runner and hider. This is why he's sent on these missions: the camp has learned that stealth and hiding usually bring more kids into safety than straight-up attacking monsters.

Eddie skirts around a tree, just barely missing the branch that threatens to whack his head off. He can hear music (something light and jumpy, soft and clear) and kids shouting in what he assumes to be fear. Just based on the sound, he's not going to be able to sneak those kids away. They're probably right in front of the harpy.

He'll have to be a distraction so they can run. "I'm gonna fucking die today," Eddie says, resigned and annoyed all at once. He reaches up and tears off the guitar pic and chain around his neck, the small triangle bursting outwards into a shield with straps that wrap around his arm.

It's ready to withstand some harpy claws by the time Eddie gracefully trips over a tree root and reflexively tucks and rolls over his shoulder. He pops up from the ground, eyes trained to the harpy, and freezes as three very important things become incredibly obvious.

One: the kids are not, in fact, shouting in fear. They're shouting with excitement, cheering at the fight happening before them. Eddie watches as a boy wearing a baseball cap punches the air and shouts, "Get 'em, Steve! Fuck the bird up!" His words are quickly followed by two girls jokingly shouting, "Language!" in return before laughing.

Two: the song playing is coming from a Bluetooth speaker on the blankets. It's a pop song. At least, it sounds like one. It's definitely old, though, and he only knows the name (Dancing in the Moonlight, by Toploader) because one of the muses' kids sang it once at a campfire night when Eddie first arrived at the camp.

Three: the most gorgeous boy Eddie has ever seen is currently beating the ever-loving shit out of the harpy with a nail bat. His mouth is pulled back into a vicious grin, his hair is somehow unaffected by the violent swings, and Eddie can somehow tell he's dragging this fight out with the harpy to blow off some steam.

"Oh! Steve!" one of the kids shouts, a girl with a beanie covering her hair. Her hat seems to be shifting just slightly, but Eddie thinks it might be a trick of the light. "Hit her to the music, like one of those movie fight scenes."

Then Eddie hears the boy, Steve, laugh. The sound is bright and clear and pierces right through Eddie's chest. "Sure thing, kiddo," Steve says, sliding back a step and twirling the bat in his hand. He tilts his head, listening to the song and catching the drums and keyboard, and then jumps right back onto the harpy.

And he does it. He starts swinging and landing hits on the harpy in time with the drums. Steve roundhouse kicks the harpy in the chest right as a guitar solo starts, his foot making contact with the first strum. Feathers are bursting in the air around Steve, brushing by him and creating brief, tiny dappled shadows over his face. The way he fights is like a dance, especially when he has music to follow and an audience to entertain.

Here's the thing: Eddie has never been one to keep his imagination in check. Why would he? Some of his best songs have been inspired by daydreams. So, when he sees the most gorgeous boy in the world beating a harpy's ass with a violent yet graceful dance, Eddie really can't be blamed for daydreaming.

The bright sun is replaced by a full moon, the park has become the shore by the lake at camp, and the audience of kids has disappeared completely. It's just him and Steve at the lake, smiling at each other and dancing, trading off lead between them. Eddie spins Steve and Steve dips Eddie. Somewhere, Dancing in the Moonlight is playing softly, nearly drowned out by their quiet laughter and whispered jokes and the waves of the lake brushing against the shore.

Oh. Oh.

That stupid prophecy. It was talking about this. The oracle predicted this moment and, apparently, considered it important enough to actually tell Eddie about it months ago. And he's spent this entire time trying to fight that obscure prophecy, trying to turn it into something bitter and filled with rage when it's just...just Steve. And Eddie doesn't know Steve yet, sure, but not even the gods could stop him from giving it a shot.

"YES!"

Eddie blinks, dragged harshly from his daydream by the kids shouting with joy as Steve brings the bat down on the harpy's head. The monster bursts into that familiar puff of smoke and mist and dust, and the kids cheer even louder.

Steve grins and stands up straight, rolling his shoulders and cockily resting the bat on his shoulder. He starts to turn toward the kids only to stop when he's facing Eddie, their eyes meeting and catching right as the song finishes playing.

----

The rush of joy and adrenaline at beating the harpy is still surging through Steve when he sees the guy his age standing a few feet away, staring at them with wide eyes. For a brief moment, Steve thinks he's a human who just happens to be able to see monsters, too. They've run into a person like that before. Then he notices the shield on the guy's arm and realizes he must be like them to some degree.

Steve blinks, his shoulders tensing slightly as he studies the other boy. Hair that definitely needs a more specialized shampoo, big brown eyes, and a whole grunge kinda vibe that Steve finds inexplicably attractive. He could spend another hour staring at the guy, but then one of the kids leaps onto his back, laughing right in his ear and nearly making him go deaf.

"That was so awesome!" Dustin shouts, wrapping his legs around Steve's waist as the other kids rush to surround him.

El grabs his free hand, smiling up at him. "Thank you for dance fighting," she says, her words almost drowned out by the other kids shouting their favorite parts and Max insisting she could have helped with the fight.

Steve grins a little wider, feeling his adrenaline drain as the relief of keeping his kids safe takes its place. "She shouldn't have interrupted our day off," he says, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the kids instead of the guy still staring at them. "C'mon, we need to keep moving."

"Where are you going?"

The guy's voice is a little rough, and Steve thinks he'd be able to pick it out from any crowd after hearing it just once. He looks over at the guy, frowning slightly. "I don't think it's your business," he says, trying to ignore the part of him that feels bad.

Thankfully, the guy doesn't seem to care. He just shrugs and takes a few steps closer. "Oh, I don't know, big boy. I think your gaggle of demigods is definitely my business," he says.

"Is that a threat?" Steve asks, really hoping it isn't. It would be a shame to punch the guy's face.

The boy blinks, pausing like he's reconsidering how his words sounded. "Shit, yeah, that did sound bad," he says, frowning and tugging on a lock of hair. He pulls it in front of his mouth, a few more seconds passing before he says, "I'm gonna start again."

The guy clears his throat and the retracts his shield. It shrinks down into a guitar pic on a chain that he latches around his neck. "Okay," he says, "Eddie Munson, son of Hermes, future rockstar, and your guide to Camp Half-Blood."

"Future rockstar?" Max asks, her voice low and sardonic.

"Hermes has kids?" Mike asks.

"I've never heard of Camp Half-Blood," Steve says, pushing forward and herding the kids to stand behind him. He stores Eddie's name for later, forcing himself to focus on the whole Potential Threat to His Kids thing.

Eddie nods like this is something he's expected. "That's fine. Lucky for you, pretty boy, I'm here to explain it all."

"Pretty boy," Steve mumbles, doing his absolute best to not think about his face heating up.

From behind him, he hears Lucas groan, "Aww, man, they're gonna be gross."

Thankfully, Eddie doesn't pay them any mind. "Camp Half-Blood is a safe haven for demigods like us. It's got a barrier around it that keeps monsters out, and we make sure everyone is trained to fight monsters and survive as adults," he explains, grinning at Steve.

"Wait, how many more of us are there?" Will asks, poking his head around Steve to look at Eddie with wide eyes.

"Oh, hundreds. The gods aren't exactly known for keeping it in their pants."

"So, we'll be safe at this camp?" Steve asks slowly.

"Safe as can be, big boy."

"Is it demigods only?" Steve asks.

Eddie nods once, flashing a grin. "Of course. We've got one Olympian who helps run the camp as, like, a punishment thing. He doesn't do much, actually. But we've also got some nymphs and Chiron. Uh, there are a few monsters in the forest, but they aren't too dangerous. They're mostly for training. The main thing is that big dangerous monsters can't get to us, and the Mist keeps humans from stumbling on the camp, too."

Honestly? It sounds way too good to be true. Steve has spent years running across this country and back, collecting the kids along the way and struggling to keep them alive. How is he only now learning about some camp that's built just for kids like them?

"The Mist?" Dustin asks, pushing around Steve. He'd be halfway to Eddie if Steve didn't grab his shirt and drag him back. "What's the Mist?"

"It's, like, this camouflage thing that keeps humans from noticing monsters and our powers," Eddie explains, vaguely sweeping his hand in the direction of a few other park-goers. "It's why nobody started screaming when you beat that harpy."

"Oh, that's what it's called," Dustin says, his grin saying he's about to grill Eddie for all his knowledge if Steve doesn't stop him.

Eddie nods and looks over the kids before settling his gaze on Steve again. "You and the kids will be safe there," he says.

"I wouldn't mind settling down," Will says, tugging on Steve's sleeve and looking up at him hopefully.

The other kids nod in agreement, and El squeezes Steve's hand. "It sounds like it'll be safe for me, too," she whispers.

Gods, is it tempting. No more running around, a place they can actually settle down and call home. He could get a full night of sleep for once instead of waking up every other hour to check their surroundings. He wouldn't need to worry about food or clothes or what to do if the kids get sick.

Steve frowns slightly, thinking for a moment before looking back at Eddie. "What happens when we get there?" he asks.

"You'll be given the grand tour by yours truly," Eddie says, playfully bowing to Steve and the kids. "Then, you'll get sorted into cabins and start training."

"How will we be sorted?" Lucas asks. He sounds genuinely curious, so Steve swallows back his retort that they certainly won't be separated if he has anything to say about it.

"By your godly parent. So, pretty boy here will probably go into the Aphrodite cabin," Eddie says, winking playfully at Steve.

"Aphrodite isn't his mother," El says, pushing closer to Steve as the other kids agree.

Eddie blinks. "Uh, who is?"

Steve hesitates, studying Eddie for a few seconds before looking at the kids. This isn't something he should reveal without a general consensus from them. What he gets is a few shrugs, an exasperated sigh from Lucas, and some nods. "My dad is Zeus," Steve says, looking back at Eddie.

"Dude," Eddie breathes, his eyes wide as though his entire world has been shaken, "How the fuck are you alive?"

And Steve can't help it. He laughs, shrugging off the nerves he'd felt earlier because he just can't bring himself to mistrust Eddie. "It's a bit of a long story," he says, "but I could tell it to you on the way to Camp Half-Blood."

The way Eddie lights up is enough to slightly calm the ever-present anxiety that hums through Steve's veins. Maybe this won't be a disaster.

Tag List (there is definitely still room, so just let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie

[campingwiththecharmings]

Night Moves

AN: There's so little plot here it's astounding lmao. Based on a prompt from this list.

(Un-beta'd)

You’re going to kill your neighbor. It’s 3 a.m. 3 a.m. on a Wednesday and this ass hole is blasting fucking Metallica.

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?)

Words: 5,030

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x F!Reader

Warnings: pwp, cursing, kissing, alcohol consumption, p in v, oral sex (brief), fingering (brief), frottage, strangers to lovers/neighbors to lovers

AO3

——————

You’re going to kill your neighbor.

It’s 3 a.m. 3 a.m. on a Wednesday and this ass hole is blasting fucking Metallica.

You can hear every lyric through the thin walls of your apartment, every drumbeat, every guitar riff—everything. It’s so loud, it’s almost as if the band is actually there playing live in your living room.

You’d tried just ignoring it at first, hoping they’d get their rage or whatever out and would turn it off. After an hour, you’d tried banging on the wall, but they were either ignoring you or couldn’t hear over the din in their living room. It’s going on hour two now and you’ve had enough.

With a growl, you roll out of your bed, muttering angrily under your breath as you pad barefoot across the hardwood floors of your living room to your front door. After unlocking it, you wrench it open, slamming it shut behind you as you step out into the hall. 

You stop short when you reach your neighbor’s door, trying to hold back your rage and go into this confrontation with at least a semi-level head. This’ll be your first time meeting them after all, and if you’re going to continue sharing a wall, it might be the best idea to not come out swinging right off the bat.

So you take a deep breath, willing your frayed nerves to calm as you lift your hand and knock on the door.

No response.

Your lips twist in annoyance. There is a possibility that they hadn’t heard the knock, just as they couldn’t hear you banging on the wall earlier, so you give them the benefit of the doubt. With a sigh, you lift your hand again, this time knocking with the side of your fist. The sound is louder this time, the bangs echoing down the hallway.

Nothing.

“That’s it,” you mutter, balling both of your hands into fists and bringing them down on the door, alternating your knocks so they’re constant. 

It’s loud. So loud you’re likely to wake every neighbor on your floor, not just get the attention of this one, but you don’t care. You’re pissed and this jackass needs to know it. You continue banging, your hands starting to get sore from the constant contact with the hard surface of the door, when suddenly (blessedly) the music stops.

Your fists bang on the door one more time as the music cuts, your body tensing a little as you drop your arms back to your side, bracing yourself for the inevitable confrontation. Just as you’re wondering if this ass hole is even going to have the balls to face you, the door opens and—

Oh. Oh no.

There in front of you stands what has to be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s a literal work of art, standing there framed in the doorway looking like one of those marble sculptures you’ve seen in museums come to life. His brown eyes are warm, but also a little guarded as they meet yours, one thick eyebrow raising in question.

It’s then that you remember to speak, blinking rapidly as if it’ll clear the heavenly image of him that’s likely been forever burned onto your retinas.

“Hi,” you offer finally, your throat suddenly dry.

The corner of his (perfect) mouth twitches a little as he slides his gaze down the length of you. Your skin heats and you’re not sure if it’s him or the embarrassment you’re feeling. 

“Hi,” he rasps, eyes meeting yours again as he allows a smile to fully spread across his lips.

You’re staring again and you know he notices, amusement shining in his eyes. 

“Something I can help you with?” he prompts, eyebrows raised as he leans his shoulder against the doorframe. 

The question snaps your attention back to him and you mentally give yourself a shake. “I’m your neighbor.”

“Oh,” he responds, holding his hand out to you as he continues to gaze at you with amusement. “Nice to meet you, neighbor.”

Your eyes drop to his outstretched hand, gazing at it dumbly for a moment before you take it in yours to give it a shake. A jolt zips through you at the contact, heat flaring in your belly as you will your brain to imagine anything other than having his hands somewhere else on your body.

Jeez. You really need to get a hold of yourself.

“Right, so,” you begin weakly, your hand still loosely clasped in his. “It’s 3 a.m. and, uh, your music. It’s loud.”

 His amusement fades instantly at your words and something inside you regrets ever uttering them. 

“Oh shit,” he says, reflexively pulling his hand back and glancing at his watch, “I was unpacking and didn’t even realize the time. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say automatically, even though it really isn’t.  

He shakes his head, putting his hands up placatingly. “No, it isn’t. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you nod, crossing your arms over your chest as you shift a little awkwardly on your feet. “Well, uh, I’m gonna go then. Nice to meet you—”

“Santiago,” he offers, smile returning to his lips as he holds your gaze.

You give him your name as well, returning his smile with your own as you begin to drift back in the direction of your apartment.

 “‘Night,” you mumble, sending him an awkward wave as you open your door and step back inside your apartment.

A soft ‘goodnight’ wafts down the hall in response, reaching your ears just before you close the door and you smile.

—

The next night, you can’t sleep. Why can’t you sleep? You should be exhausted after the day you’ve had, especially after only getting a few hours the night before thanks to your neighbor.

Your gorgeous neighbor. 

Santiago, you remind yourself, chewing your lip as your brain immediately conjures up an image of him in that black t-shirt which was just a little too tight, his biceps bulging slightly as he’d crossed his arms over his broad chest. Your breath quickens as your imagination runs rampant with a seemingly endless stream of tantalizing images; Santiago in your living room, in your bedroom, in your bed, his tan skin slick with sweat, chest heaving, his hips snapping against yours as you moan into his neck—

A whine escapes into the darkness of your room and you freeze, eyes wide. You know no one else is there, that he’s not there, but you still can’t help but feel embarrassed. You don’t even know this guy, and here you are fantasizing about him fucking you into oblivion.

“Shit,” you mutter, shaking your head in an effort to clear it. 

You swallow thickly, clenching your fingers in your sheets, fingers that itch to slip beneath the waistband of your underwear, to circle your clit, to plunge into your tight, wet channel—

“Fuck,” you groan, jolting up out of the bed. 

You walk quickly to your kitchen, grabbing a cup from the cabinet and filling it with water. You chug it, chest heaving as you fill it up again, this time forcing yourself to take sips. As you drink, you lean against the counter, eyes closing as your breathing slows.

When you feel your calm return, you set your cup by the sink and return to your room. You sigh as you slip between the sheets, pulling them up to your chin as you snuggle down into your pillow. Your mind is blessedly quiet as you close your eyes, the heaviness in your limbs now more pronounced than it was a moment ago. Just as you’re about to drift off, he’s there again, this time pressing you against your kitchen counter as he licks into your mouth, his hands on your hips—

“Fuck it,” you grumble tiredly, eyes still closed as you shift, slipping your hand inside your panties. 

—

It’s Friday. TGIF, or whatever. 

You’re just glad you don’t have to work this weekend; maybe you can catch up on the sleep you’ve missed out on the last two nights. Just as you’re contemplating making it an early night, you hear a knock at your door.

Confused, you shuffle over, lifting the cover over the peephole to look through it.

It’s him. 

In your surprise, the cover slips from between your fingers and clatters against the door. You cringe, knowing that you now have no choice but to open the door. You look down at yourself, grumbling when you remember you’re wearing what has to be the most unsexy collection of clothing ever.

“You okay in there?” a muffled voice asks through the door. 

Sighing, you hurriedly fasten a few of the buttons on your flannel overshirt, attempting to cover the worn tank top and shorts beneath. It’ll have to do.

You shake yourself in an effort to loosen up a little, and quickly unlock the door.

“Santiago, hi,” you say, perhaps a little too cheerfully, as you pull it open.

His smile makes your insides melt, dark eyes boring into yours. You lean against your doorframe, returning his smile as nonchalantly as you can manage.

“This isn’t a bad time, is it?” he asks, gaze flicking briefly behind you, as if looking to see if someone else is there.

You shrug, shaking your head. “No, not at all. What’s up?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he holds up a bottle of whiskey you hadn’t noticed was in his hand. “It’s a ‘welcome to the building’ gift from a guy down the hall. Wanna help me drink it?”

You hesitate, not wanting to embarrass yourself any more than you already have.

“If nothing else, I figured it might kind of help make up for keeping you up the other night,” he adds, his smile sincere.

Panic slices through you at his words before you realize he means the loud music and not…your thoughts about him. Obviously, ugh.

“Sounds great,” you squeak, stepping aside to let him in. “Sorry about the mess.”

He waves you off, stepping over the threshold and waiting as you close and lock the door behind him. When you turn, you find that he’s closer than you anticipated, so close you can smell him, feel the heat of him even through the flannel.

God, you are so fucked.

“Kitchen,” you say, wondering when your voice got so fucking breathy. “That’s—the glasses are in the kitchen.”

His gaze locks with yours, a heat simmering in his eyes as he smiles. “Lead the way.”

You turn away, swallowing thickly as you try to regain your bearings. You guide him in the direction of the kitchen, mentally giving yourself a pep talk with every step.

“You can have a seat if you want,” you offer, gesturing toward your kitchen table.

He shakes his head though, opting to lean against the counter instead. “I’m good, been sitting all day.”

You hum, pulling open the cabinet and grabbing a couple of glasses. “Desk jockey?”

His sniffed laugh makes you smile as you close the cabinet door and turn to face him again.

“More or less,” he says vaguely, a gentle smile on his lips. “How about you?”

You tell him what you do for a living as you make your way back over to him with the glasses. He nods, watching as you pull the bottle to you across the countertop.

“May I?” 

“Have at it,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

The action causes his lean muscles to strain against the material of his shirt. Your gaze lingers there for longer than it should as you absently work to pull the cork from the bottle. Eventually, it comes out, a satisfying pop echoing through the room. You pour a little in each glass, the amber liquid swirling a little before settling at the bottom.

“Ice?” you ask, holding one of the glasses up.

You hold the glass out to him when he shakes his head, his fingers grazing yours as he takes it. 

“Salud,” he says, his eyes locked with yours as he tips back the glass.

You raise your own glass in agreement, bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It’s warm and rich as it slides down your throat. You hum at the sensation, closing your eyes briefly in contentment, the oaky flavor making your taste buds sing. 

“Good?” he rasps, his breath puffing against your cheek. 

You open your eyes, lashes fluttering; goddamn it, why was he so pretty?

“Mhmm,” you respond, not confident your mouth would be capable of forming words right now. 

He steps in closer, reaching past you and pulling the bottle toward him, his arm brushing against your side.

“Want more?” he asks softly, eyes locked with yours as he holds up the bottle.

You can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not just talking about the whiskey and it sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, sliding your glass toward him. He looks away to fill it and you force yourself to take a breath.

“Thanks,” you say as he offers the glass back to you 

He nods, leaning his hip against the side of the counter. “So, how long have you been in this building?”

Grateful for a benign topic to ease some of the tension, you smile. “About two years.”

“You like it?”

You shrug, swirling the liquid around your glass. “It’s a place to live.”

He chuckles and the sound makes something warm unfurl in your chest.

“How are you liking it so far?” you ask, stealing another sip of your drink.

“It’s a place to live,” he responds, raising a teasing brow at you.

 You roll your eyes. “Come on.”

He smiles, shrugging as he drains the rest of his drink. “It’s alright. Most people seem decent so far.”

You sniff, taking another swig from your glass. “Don’t let them fool you.”

Santiago sets his glass down, his arm braced against the counter as he leans toward you. “So who should I steer clear of then?”

“Well,” You sigh, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in contemplation. “Mrs. Sacks in 5B for one, she’s a gossipy bitch; Jay in 2C for another—”

His eyes flick up to yours from where they’re staring at your mouth. “2C? Really? He’s the one who gave me the whiskey.”

 “Yeah well, he’s an ass hole,” you grunt, throwing your head back a bit as you drain your glass.

After studying you quietly for a moment he asks, “Ex?”  

“Please,” you scoff, setting your glass on the counter. “Want another?”

He nods, eyes roving your face as you pour more liquid into his waiting glass.

“And what about you?” he asks as you raise your refilled glass to your lips.

Brow furrowed, you ask, “What about me?” 

“If I asked Mrs. Sacks about you, what would she say?”

You chuckle, twisting your lips in thought. “Honestly? Probably that I’m too loud.”

His eyes darken a little, a shiver running up your spine. “Yeah? And how would she know?”

“Well, we do share a wall,” you say, swallowing thickly.

Santiago leans in closer, his voice low when he asks, “Which one?”

He knows the answer, he must since you only have two neighbors with whom you share a wall, one of which is him. Nevertheless, you respond.

“That one,” you whisper, pointing toward your bedroom.

His eyes briefly flick in the direction you’re pointing before returning to yours, humming contemplatively. 

“Wanna give her something to talk about?” he asks, leaning in close, his breath mixing with yours.

You nod, breath catching as he cages you against the counter between his arms, his body pressing against the length of you. He holds your gaze for a moment, giving you a chance to push him away, breath fanning across your cheek as he hovers. Then he leans in slowly, his nose nudging yours before he tilts his head just enough to meet your lips. They’re warm as they press against yours, stealing the air from your lungs with every soft caress. He licks into your mouth with a hum, one of his hands coming up to cradle your face. He tastes like the whiskey you were just drinking, and something else, something richer, something him. You want more, can’t get enough as you push your tongue between his lips. He groans into your mouth as you taste him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt, holding his body against yours.

When air becomes a necessity, he breaks, trailing his lips down over your chin to mouth at your neck. His hand follows, ghosting over your chest down to the buttons of the overshirt you’d hastily fastened before you’d let him inside. He nips at your collar bone, tongue laving at the base of your neck as he undoes them, his hand slipping inside to settle on your waist. You breathe his name as he sucks a mark into your skin, fingers winding themselves into his hair. You tug at the graying strands, his groan vibrating against your chest before you pull him back up, reattaching your mouth to his.

The kiss is messy and frantic this time, your lips catching on any patch of skin they can reach. You suck on his tongue when he slips it into your mouth again and he groans, his hands reaching up to push the flannel overshirt from your shoulders. His fingers drag lightly over every inch of skin revealed to him, raising goosebumps all over your body. Your hands are everywhere; moving up his arms to his neck, down his back, clutching his plump ass through his jeans—

When your hands snake beneath his shirt, he growls against your lips, lifting you up to sit on the edge of the counter. He fits his body between your legs, hands skating up the outside of your thighs and slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your shorts. You gasp, scooting closer to the edge, to him, encouraging his touch. He groans as you pull him flush against you, wrapping your legs around his torso as you continue to attack each other’s mouths. 

You feel hot, like you’re burning up from the inside, like you’re going to explode into a ball of fire any minute now. His fingers tease you, dragging along the seams of your panties, tickling the sensitive skin there, but never slipping underneath. You grind yourself against his abdomen, desperate for relief, and moan into his mouth when he presses his thumb to your clit through your shorts, the fabric of your panties creating a delicious friction. He kisses down your neck again, worrying a mark at the base of your jaw before soothing it with his warm, wet tongue. Your fingers slip back into his hair, holding his face against you as you continue to absently grind against him.

“Bedroom?” he breathes, bringing his mouth back to yours.

“Please,” you plead, locking your feet together at his lower back as he lifts you from the counter.

He grunts as he walks, mumbling something about his knees. You’re not sure if he trips, or if his knees are really just that bad, but the next thing you know, you’re on the couch, your legs on either side of his torso. His hands are on your hips, encouraging you to grind down onto his lap. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans and it makes you shiver with anticipation. The friction is delicious, better than anything you’ve ever felt. You’re not sure if it’s just been a while or if Santiago is just that good, but at the moment, you don’t really care. You feel his hands slip beneath your tank top as you shift, surprising yourself with a moan as the zipper of his pants catches against your clit perfectly.

“That’s it, baby,” he mumbles, pushing your shirt up and pulling it over your head as you continue to undulate in his lap. “Take what you need.”

He leans forward, mouthing at the swell of your breasts, groaning against your chest as you chase your release. You’re so close, can feel the heat pooling in your belly, the fire spreading beneath your skin. When he pulls the cups of your bra down and takes your nipple in his warm, wet mouth, you come with a gasp, hips stuttering against him as you try in vain to prolong the euphoria. Santiago groans as you continue to grind against him, your nipple still between his lips. You cup the back of his head, encouraging him to keep going as you slow your pace, breath shaky as you come down from your high.

“Fuck, you are incredible,” he praises before languidly swirling his tongue around your neglected nipple.

You moan, heat flaring across your skin at his words; you’re already drunk on him and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

“Look gorgeous when you come,” he continues, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbs teasing their peaks. “Can’t wait to feel you come around my cock.”

You whimper at his words, leaning over to capture his lips again in a slow, sensual kiss. 

“You can’t wait either can you, hermosa,” he pants against your lips, unable to keep quiet, it seems, even when you’re kissing him. “Bet you’d let me fuck you right here on this couch, wouldn’t you?”

A moan escapes you at the mental image your brain conjures at his words and he smirks. “Another time, I promise.”

You silence him with your tongue, slipping it into his mouth again with a hum. He groans, his fingers fumbling behind you to unclasp your bra. Once you’re free, he tosses it away, hands roaming unimpeded across the expanse of your back, fingers soothing the indentations left behind by the garment.

He takes you in his arms again, standing to his feet, your legs wrapped around his hips. You make it to the bedroom this time, and he lays you out beneath him, pressing you into the bed as he covers your neck and chest with licks and kisses. You whine when he begins to pull away, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him on top of you. He chuckles, gently unwinding your arms before leaning in to press a soft, reassuring kiss against your lips.

He crawls back down your body and off the bed, and it’s then that you realize he’s still completely clothed. He pulls his shirt off first, revealing his toned chest to your gaze, then toes off his shoes and unbuckles his belt. You chew your lip as you watch him, eyes devouring every inch that’s revealed to you. He shucks his pants next, letting them drop to the floor unceremoniously and stepping out of them. His boxers are last, but he drags it out, a teasing smile on his lips. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and suddenly you want nothing more than to take him between your lips and make him come down your throat.

Another time, perhaps.

He crawls back onto the bed, stopping at your torso to place a kiss against your belly. His fingers find the waistbands of your shorts and panties, and you lift your hips as he pulls them down your legs. After tossing the rest of your clothes onto the floor, he pushes open your thighs, settling himself between them. You bite your lip as he drags the pads of his fingers through your soaked slit, gazing at you with a knowing smirk as he circles your clit. You moan when he dips them inside, stretching you, massaging your inner walls. He can’t seem to help it when he leans forward, lightly licking at you with the tip of his tongue. He hums at the taste of you, licking his lips as he pulls away, his fingers soaked from your cunt. 

He moves back up your body, his wet fingers settling on your hip as he claims your mouth once more. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, grabbing at him, trying to bring him closer somehow. His cock slips between the lips of your sex and he grinds it against your clit, dragging another moan from you. He keeps kissing you, smiling against your mouth as he continues driving you up the wall with pleasure. But it’s not enough for you to come, and by the time he’s telling you to get on your stomach for him, you’re more than eager to comply.

“You ready for me, querida?” he rasps, breath fanning against your ear as he presses himself against your back.

“Yes,” you moan, pushing your hips up off of the bed, the tip of his cock bumping against your center.

He hums, pulling back a little to situate himself, and when he enters you, he does it slowly, hissing as you engulf him in your tight heat. You press your face into the bedspread, moaning as he pushes his thick cock into you, stretching you, your fingers clenching into fists at the delicious burn; you’re so full, and every inch of him feels exquisite. 

He grips your hips, calloused fingers digging into your skin as he pulls back, dragging his length slowly against your sensitive walls. He groans when you flutter around him, your body still acclimating to his girth. You whimper when he snaps his hips back into yours, the tip of his cock just hitting your cervix. He pulls back again, almost all the way out, before slamming into you again, this time adjusting the angle slightly. He does it again, and again, each time hitting a different spot inside you, as if searching for something specific, something special. 

When he finds it, you gasp, your back bowing as his cock hits a spot inside you that makes you see stars. You clench around him and he groans, hands gripping your hips like a vice.

“You feel so good,” he groans again, his hips snapping hard against yours. “So good.”

You can’t do much more than moan in agreement, the pleasure coursing through you almost overwhelming. He hunches over you, chest pressed against your back as he speeds up his thrusts, his cock still brushing that special spot. 

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear. 

You moan again, your walls fluttering around him as his pace starts to falter.

“So tight, so warm, fuck,” he slurs, slamming into you harder, burying his face in the back of your neck. “Wanna feel you squeeze me.

Callused fingertips brush your clit a moment later and you gasp, a shiver wracking your body. 

“Santi,” you plead, grinding yourself against his fingers. “Please, I’m so close.”

“I’ve got you, hermosa,” he whispers, pinching your clit and dragging another moan from you. “Let go for me.”

At his words, you come with a choked moan, relief and pleasure rolling through your body in waves. 

“Oh, good girl,” Santiago groans, fucking you through your orgasm, his thrusts sloppy as he nears his own peak. “So fucking good.”

You shiver a little as your pleasure subsides, brain still buzzing when you feel him pull out of you, moaning as he spills himself on your lower back. His seed is warm and sticky on your skin and you hum, relishing the feel of it. He’s still panting behind you, trying to catch his breath as his fingers brush soothingly over your skin, smearing his cum. After a moment, he leans in, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades, and your chest aches a little at the unexpected sweetness of it.

“You okay?” he asks, breath tickling your ear as he hooks his chin over your shoulder.

“Mhmm,” you hum, stretching a little, your body feeling pleasantly loose.

He mumbles something that sounds like ‘good’ before pressing another kiss into your neck. Then he pulls away, the bed shifting as he stands to his feet. You steal a glance over your shoulder, dread settling in your belly—Where was he going? He wasn’t leaving, was he? A moment later, he returns, washcloth in hand, and you relax, your panic draining away as he meets your gaze with a smile. 

An hour or so later, you’re both in the kitchen again, sitting side-by-side on the counter laughing, half-eaten takeout containers strewn around you. 

“So then he says, ‘no, it’s European,” Santi says, chuckling as you double-over with laughter.

“No way, he did not,” you laugh, hand covering your mouth.

Santiago nods, an amused smile on his lips as he swallows another mouthful of whiskey. “He did.”

“Shit,” you chuckle, leaning back on your hands as you shake your head. “What an ass hole.” 

He hums, eyeing you appreciatively as he sets his glass back on the counter. You’re naked beneath the overshirt currently slipping down your shoulder, only a few buttons and some flannel between you and his hands, his lips, his tongue, and he’s looking at you like you're the dessert table at a buffet. You chew your lip, heat already pooling again in your belly.

Guess once wasn’t enough.

“So…neighbor,” he begins, his eyes teasing as he drags his tongue over his bottom lip. “Have I done enough to earn your forgiveness for the other night?”

You bite back a smile, tapping your chin as you pretend to contemplate his question. “You know, I’m not sure.”

He raises a playful eyebrow before leaning in, pressing a soft kiss against your lips. “How about now?”

You humming, scrunching up your nose in thought. “Still inconclusive.” 

He grunts, capturing your lips again, this time in a deep, languid kiss. His hand skates up your bare thigh and you moan, tangling your fingers in his curls. He pulls back after a moment, raising his eyebrows at you expectantly.

“I guess, you’ll just have to keep trying,” you tease, biting back a smile when he growls, leaning back in to claim your mouth once more, the hand on your thigh finally slipping beneath the hem of your shirt.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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[xenon-demon]

ok so HI 👋 you're gonna get multiple of these by me because I wanna know everything. but first. I wanna know about the steddie soulmate tattoos because I looOOove a good soulmate fic??? 👀👀

LUIIIIIIII please ask as MANY questions as you want I love talking about all the different versions of steddie that exist in my brain 🤩 thanks so much for the question!!!

SO this is actually my First Ever Steddie WIP 🥲 and it was inspired by something I saw on Twitter where the make up artist who designed Eddie’s tattoos was like “yeah the bats tattoo is actually a reference to Steve and how both Steve and Eddie were chomped on by the demobats” and everyone was like "OMG STEDDIE SOULMATE TATTOOS REAL?" So I took that and ran with it lmao. The conceit of this soulmate universe is that a tattoo forms on your body the moment you fall in love with your soulmate, and the tattoo is in some way symbolic of that moment.

Eddie's tattoo is the bats, obviously, and Steve's tattoo is of Eddie's guitar, spanning the length of his ribcage on his left side. That tattoo appeared when Dustin gave Steve the play-by-play of The Most Metal Concert Ever™ while they were both in Eddie's hospital room waiting for him to wake up from his post-near-death-experience coma; Steve visualized Eddie doing that in all his glory, though about how Eddie saved Dustin's life, and then BAM. Soulmate tattoo. Dustin will never let him live it down.

Also Steve and Robin have a tattoo for each other because I refuse to write a soulmate AU where Stobin are not soulmates in some way, even if platonic soulmates are not a thing in universe <3 (although in this particular AU platonic soulmates ARE a thing)

Have a look under the cut if you'd like to see Eddie's POV of the moment he got his soulmate tattoo ;) (yes it's That Scene from canon because of course it is)

Send me an ask about my WIPs!

He stops short the moment his brain registers what’s happening in front of him. Steve Harrington, in all his shirtless glory, is currently wailing on that goddamned bat with nothing more than his bare hands. He’s got it by the tail and swings it around over his head before slamming it into the ground, grunting with the exertion of it. Before it has a chance to move, Steve swings it back up again and slams it back down just as hard. Even in the gloom of this nightmare realm, Eddie can see the way his muscles flex with the strain. It’s not like Steve’s muscles are difficult to spot, okay - for all jocks are the enemy, Eddie can respect an attractive man, and he’d certainly been respecting Steve’s athletic physique when he stripped off in the boat ten minutes ago. Seeing Steve shirtless and seeing Steve’s nicely toned upper body in action are two very different things, however, and Eddie most certainly was not prepared for the latter.

It doesn’t end there, though, because Steve’s next move is to step on the damn thing’s neck and pull its tail until its head tears clean off its body, with his bare hands. Eddie thinks he mentioned the ‘bare hands’ bit already, but fuck it, it bears repeating. Eddie’s just watching this happen, wide-eyed, when Steve fucking spits blood onto the bat’s corpse, leaving a string of sticky red fluid trailing from his lips. Holy shit, when did he bite that thing? He’s breathing hard, chest heaving from the adrenaline, and even though it’s on the chilly side his torso is shiny with sweat. Steve tilts his head back, mouth open and chest still heaving, and it makes the blood trailing from his mouth fall back against his chin. Eddie could almost pretend it’s something else dripping from those plush lips, if he tried, but he’s so buzzed from the adrenaline and the absolutely obscene display in front of him that he can’t quite make the fantasy consolidate.

It’s the hottest thing Eddie’s ever seen.

He doesn’t even get to enjoy it though, because as soon as he registers that thought in his brain, there’s a tingling sensation on his right forearm. It starts near the crease of his arm, and within a few seconds it’s spread outwards and down towards his wrist, about halfway down his forearm. The tingling starts to intensify, turns more into a warm, not-unpleasant burning sensation, and Jesus fucking Christ this had better not be what Eddie thinks it is.

[karda]

HELLOOOOO I AM SO BORED RN you dont gotta answer this cuz im just rambling about whatever comes to my mind im so angry i wanna pull up carpet cuz i cant call my frien dn fuckin yell at him i wanna play eectric guitar!!!! i found one at an antique shop but it lookd fuckin 80 uears old i do not think i could ve playied it??? im sad anywya bc it looked super pretty oh my goddd i wanna play off so bad i remember uou talking about how sometimes you get on botw and just fuckin kill mostess thats me with off i go into each zone and fuck up as many ghosts as possilbe just trigger fight after fight after fight bc the battle music (its electro swing and called pepper steak if you like fast upbeat music im begging you to listen to it right fuckin now bc oh my god its so good) and just mashing the fight button makes me so happy like ueah im a fucked uo monsyer killing ghosts with a bat!!! oh my god. im. i am so hot why does off let you play as the batter bad batter is so hot sirrrr FUCK my train of thought went oft the rails idk where i was going with this

HELLOO WILBURRRR :DDDDDD hi i love ur rambling asks sm... did u take a picture of the guitar !! that sounds so cool,, and yeah i did say that lmao sometimes i just go in botw and kill shit like crazy i completely understand what u mean also im listening to pepper steak rn and holy shit this is. this is a banger its so hype but also like. unnerving idk its cool i like it

[hiro-gari]

Hello, it’s me again with some Batarou headcanon! This time I wanted to share my older headcanon that I’d like to rewrite again because I still love the idea 😚💕

Zenko must have lots of knowledge for classical music to learn many piano repertoire as a trained pianist, what if Badd also had that too? But instead of pianist like her, he was a violinist?

He could play a violin at some point when he was a kid, who became Zenko’s inspiration to play classical music, before he decided to stop playing it and take a serious job as a professional hero for Hero Association.

While Badd doesn’t play anymore because he was too busy doing his hero works, he still has muscle memories to play violin, despite it becomes a bit rougher after not practicing violin regularly.

Sometimes Zenko becomes piano accompanist to Badd’s violin playing whenever he feels like to start practicing again. Like it would make him reminiscence his past memories, all the time he enjoyed playing violin as a childhood hobby.

Now that Garou comes into Badd’s life, he later found out that Garou actually likes to play guitar. The wolfboy could play both accoustic guitar (he could do it as a side hobby since training days) or electric guitar (after he got it from Badd as a birthday gift).

Garou likes to watching Zenko and Badd doing violin-piano duet practices, or watching Badd practiced solo violin repertoire at home. On the other time, Badd offering Garou to do violin-guitar duet with him, both using their electric version of their instruments: electric violin and electric guitar. Usually they choose to play some classical music rock/metal cover or some pop music using those instruments.

Then after Garou got pardoned by Hero Association, joined them as a new hero and eventually becomes Badd’s partner, he starts playing a mini concert together with Badd on Hero Association’s charity events. Fortunately, Genos willing to collaborate with them as their drummer. Thus they formed a Shitty Teen Squad band.

Now imagine they three played the music piece like in the video, with the position: -Badd as violinist -Garou as guitarist -Genos as drummer

Their performance amazed many Hero Association executives and staff, their fellow hero friends, or the guests. Especially Badd. He did a truly jaw-dropping performance, because everyone didn’t expect out of all people who can play such an intricate instrument like violin, it would be Badd.

Never thought that a person as brute as Badd who always using his caloused hands to swing a metal bat could handle a rather delicate musical instrumen: a violin. Not to mention he showed his hidden skill like a pro. Garou was so proud of Badd, the young hero finally could show what he got to the world so they wont be underestimate his talent outside being a hero.

Just imagine how wonderful their violin-guitar duet on a modern rearrangement of this classical music piece..

——————————-

So how about it? 😳✨ I hope this mini Batarou headcanon turned out well. Actually I still have one more classical music headcanon that I like to share to you, but let’s make it for next time 😆

This headcanon is a rewritten version of these older asks that I sent last year: -Part 1: https://kaincuro.tumblr.com/post/611223243165138944/ -Part 2: https://kaincuro.tumblr.com/post/611256532153303041/

Like usual, I present this for: @hiro-gari, @the-goddessfighter, @kaincuro, @guby1620, @garous-nipple, @jusqu-une-etudiante, and @lovelybutnot-ablankcanvas, also all of Batarou shippers in the fandom! 😘❤❤

By the way, to @garous-nipple: I hope this little headcanon could spark something for your Band AU, as it also could fit the AU with Badd as vocalist with a side skill as violinist, Garou as guitarist, and Genos as drummer 👀😳💕💖 Think of this as a smol hc present for you, I hope you like it ehehe.. 😅😆

Love you all, and hope you guys have many great days onward~ 😚😘❤💜💙💚💛💖💝🌸🌻💐

-Little1993lamb-

—————————–

~Lilia:

(I couldn’t get the video to play but I found this one)

Yessss oh my gosh these boys need a creative outlet besides beating the shit out of things.. they be slayin’ on the stage instead!! lmao

My favorite part about this is that it suggests Badd probably at some point during his rebellious phase went “you know what,,, FUCK Tchaikovsky I wanna play hard rock” and proceeded to plug a violin into an amp and just SHRED lmao

[barnesandco]

Spies and Secrets

Bucky buys a new jacket that is... uncharacteristically bright. Sam ribs him for it, and you- you don't know what to do with yourself.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language. Heavy makeout session.

A/N: Inspired by Sebastian Stan’s 2016 photoshoot - more specifically that yellow jacket - for August Man Malaysia. Written for @redgillan . Hope you like it, Maisie! It was so much fun to write lmao. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Look at you!” Sam exclaims, jumping to his feet. Steve and Bucky stand in the kitchen, arms laden down with shopping bags. The object of Sam's attention, however, is the mustard-yellow jacket Bucky is wearing. "What, were they all out of decent, normal outerwear at the mall?"

“He looks good, Sam.” Steve defends, putting his bags down by the door, and heads over to the fridge. Finding what he was after - a beer - he sits down at the kitchen table, and looks back at his teammates. Sam splutters indignantly, hands on his hips. Bucky looks like he's ready to high-tail it back to his room.

“Really? You, Mr. I-only-wear-plaid-shirts-and-vintage-jackets, are giving out fashion advice. No wonder he bought that monstrosity.” Sam gestures to Bucky, who has thus far remained silent, but is now struggling to rein it in. He was hesitant about buying it - not his usual color - but he thought he looked good in it. He knows Sam's joking - it's just banter, Nat calls them an old married couple - but he's so out of his depth when it comes to the new millennium, and everything that is associated with. Everything except making women swoon. That’s stayed the same since he fell off that train in Austria.

“Shut up, Sam.” He says gruffly, shuffling to grab his own beer and return to his spot in the doorway, ready to leave. Sam ruffles Bucky's hair, flings his arm around his shoulder, grinning madly.

“I'm only messing with you, Bumblebee. Lookin' like a real lady-killer in that thing. Bet the chicks dig it. Matches their fur and all.” He laughs. 

“Ignore him, Buck. You look great, trust me.” Steve says earnestly, beer bottle resting on his thigh. 

“Sure, sure, trust the centenarian when it comes to 21st century fashion.” Sam waves his hand dismissively, biting into an apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen island. Bucky picks his bags back up, and heads for the elevator.

“Whatever, Wilson.” He throws over his shoulder.

-----

“Is Sergeant Barnes going to be here?” You ask, eyes flitting around to see if he’s here yet.

“He said he was coming. Why? You can barely speak when he's around. And now you're eager to see him?” Nat says, leaning her elbows against the standing table they're at. She looks at you intently, fiddling with the umbrella from her cocktail. 

“Not eager, Nat. Just curious.” You answer, turning away from her sharp gaze to survey the room. She does the same.

“Speak of the devil.” Nat says, jerking her head towards the entrance, where Bucky has just arrived.

“Dear Lord.” You whisper under your breath, grateful for the hubbub of the crowd. It disguises the words, but not the sound and Nat turns to you.

“Did you say something?” She wonders.

“No, I- nothing, nothing.” You excuse, coughing as the man in question approaches. He looks good. So good that it takes all of your willpower not to physically drop your jaw. All black - his jeans, his t-shirt, his shoes - with the exception of a delicious mustard yellow jacket. Out of character, possibly. Hot as hell, definitely.

“Hello, Barnes. New jacket?” Nat greets cheerfully, taking a sip from her drink. Bucky swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, and puts his hands in his pockets, drawing attention to those muscular thighs that have fueled your thirstiest dreams for weeks now. He nods, and a strand of hair falls in front of his eyes. You resist the urge to tuck it behind his ear.

“Yeah. Went shopping a few days ago. How are you lovely ladies doing?” He asks, running his hands through those chestnut brown locks you want to use to tug him down till your mouths meet. You touch your lips subconsciously. Is your mouth watering?

“I'm good. I think our resident IT genius could use some help, though.” Nat says delicately, glancing at you from her peripherals. You cough again.

“No! Help with what? I'm fine. Totally fine.” You say, hands flailing. Broken-record repetition must worry them further instead of alleviate their concerns. Behind Nat’s cocktail glass, you can see a thinly veiled smile. "It's good to see you, Sergeant Barnes." 

“Bucky, please, doll.” He smiles at you, and your heart skips a beat. Another one. Butterflies turn to elephants in your stomach, and you shift your weight.

“Right. Uh, you- um, you don't normally come to these things.” It’s a statement, but you trail off at the end, leaving room for a question he could answer. You rest your chin on your fist, trying desperately to look casual. 

“Didn't have anything better to do tonight. Why, you wishing I stayed home?” He jokes.

“No, no! I mean yes. I mean, I'm-”

“It's okay, I get it.” Bucky reassures you. He looks around, and seems to spot somewhere else he needs to be. “It was nice talkin' to you, I'll see you 'round.” Saying this, he pecks your and Nat’s cheeks, leaving you blinking and dazed.

“Bye, Barnes.” Nat is unfazed. Your shoulders drop automatically, releasing the tension - and the breath - you weren’t aware you were carrying. 

“What the hell was that?” 

“What was what?” You say innocently, praying she drops the subject. You’re a terrible liar, and Nat’s an excellent spy. The two factors combine to make for the fact that it is damn near impossible to hide something from Natasha Romanoff if she doesn’t want you to. You’re proud that you’ve managed to for as long as you have.

“You, all stutter-y and flustered. Do you have a crush?” She says conspiratorially. That glint in her eye is back, and that’s bad news for any and all of your secrets regarding Bucky Barnes.

“You're crazy, Nat. Bat-shit insane.” You dismiss, finishing off your drink. She doesn’t let up.

“You have all the symptoms, you know.”

“No, I don't know. All I know is that you're crazy, and I need another drink.” You push away from the table and head for the bar, hoping you don’t run into Bucky again. Heart attack sounds preferable to dealing with him in that outfit.

Two hours later, and you’re sitting with a group of Avengers who have just started a round of poker. The company party is in full swing, S.H.I.E.L.D. employees taking full advantage of the bar, both for alcohol and karaoke. Thank goodness that the latter is in a faraway corner of the room, because while most of these people know more ways to kill a man than there are grains of sand on a beach, none of them can stay on key to save their lives.

“Where did Barnes run off to?” He asks. Maria Hill snorts.

“Why, you miss your boyfriend?” 

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Sam responds mockingly. He has an excellent hand of cards, though, so the joke is on Maria really.

“Said he needed a break.” Steve pipes up, preparing to lose, good and righteous as he is. Can’t lie to save his life. Sam is gleeful, unaware that Nat has the best hand out of the lot of them. You’re not playing. S.H.I.E.L.D. pays well, even to non-superheroes, but you’ve never been much of a gambler. And it’s far more entertaining observing everyone, occasionally whispering suggestions to Nat - not that she needs them - hands on her legs draped over your lap. But your attention has been diverted to a certain ex-assassin, who plays your heartstrings like a guitar. You wait five minutes - five excruciating, torturous minutes - before yawning and pushing Nat’s legs off you.

“I- uh, I think I should head back. I'll see you guys on Monday.” You say, waving feebly to the group, and leave the room to echoes of goodnight and requests to drive safely. Little do they know you’re not leaving yet. You consider the floorplan, and try to figure out where he might be. Eventually, you recall Bucky’s preference for the stairwell designed as an exit in case of emergencies. He mentioned briefly how it was the quietest place in the Compound. Peaceful. Serene. Not to mention the open top means he can smoke.

“Hey, Sarge.” You smile shyly as you lean against the door, hands behind your back. As expected, he’s sitting on the stairs, jacket falling open to reveal a shirt stretched taut over those pectorals you long to touch. You haven’t had an opportunity to rendezvous in weeks, between his missions and your new research project. It’s not like you’ve gone all the way physically even when you do have the opportunity to see each other like this, but the way he’s looking tonight makes you want to change that.

“Was wonderin' when you'd show up.” He says around the cigarette between his lips. The serum stops it from affecting him, so he feels comfortable maintaining this particular habit. Gives him something to do with his hands. Avoids it around you, though. Tonight is no exception. Removing it from his mouth, he exhales one last time, and stomps out the half-burnt blunt under his leather boot. Passive smoking isn’t fun.

“How did you know I'd find you?” You ask, standing between his bent legs, carding your fingers through his hair. He nuzzles your stomach, nips at your dress.

“I'm magnetic, baby.” He smiles up at you, then stops when he sees your facial expression. You’re torn. “Why're you lookin' at me like that?” He asks, holding your hands, rubbing your knuckles gently with his thumb.

“Like- like what?” 

“Like you don't know whether to eat me alive or run for the hills.” Bucky is apprehensive now, worried he’s done something wrong. 

Your gaze moves from his concerned eyes, to that damn jacket, and back up to his lips. Something shifts inside you, and you tug him to stand upright, fists clutching the lapels of his jacket. You pull him down to meet your lips.

“Shut the fuck up, Barnes.” You murmur, mouths grazing against one another before they press together fully. He gasps at the pressure and passion behind your movement, and you take the liberty to engage his tongue in a dance with yours. His arms wrap around your waist, bending you backwards a little, but you’re too occupied by the taste of chocolate and whiskey on his breath. Too surrounded by everything Bucky. The feel of his hair between your fingers, the scent of his cologne enveloping you like his embrace. Panting, you pull away, moving to his neck.

“Hey, woah, what's gotten into you?” Bucky’s gasping for air, hands moving up and down your sides, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He settles for resting them over your ass, and nips at your earlobe. 

“You complaining?” You ask, hands on his chest. He shakes his head, and that’s all the confirmation you need as you resume your task, sucking a hickey onto his collarbone, fingers curling in the loops of his belt. He tries to continue speaking, muttering in your ear.

“Hell no. But you're always so shy, and - oh, jeez, sugar.” His sentence falls apart as you rake your nails gently down his abs. You stop at the exclamation, also intrigued by the new pet name. 

“This stupid fucking jacket.” You say, pecking his lips chastely. You lean your forehead on his shoulder, unable to look him in the eyes after your outburst. Everything is hot. The air, filled with palpable electricity between your bodies. Your body itself, on fire from head to toe, concentrated on a spot between your legs. Legs that are shaking as you strive to stay upright.

“You don't like it?” He asks, holding you to him. All shyness or shame dissipates into thin air, as your head snaps up to meet his insecure expression incredulously.

“Are you shitting me? It's the hottest thing I've seen all week.” You tell him, pushing up on your toes to kiss him again. And again. And again. 

“I think I can top that.” Bucky says between kisses, cradling your face in his hands, yours clutching his sides.

“I'm sure you can.” You answer, smiling wolfishly at the double entendre. 

“You know what, I have a better idea.” He pauses, waiting for your signal. You give it.

“Yeah?”

“Why don't we go up to my room, and you try on my jacket. Just my jacket.”

Taglist: @buckyreaderrecs @corneliabarnes @mermaidxatxheart

[totaltozier]

Song 101 - Finn x Reader

REQUEST: @cxxl-gall Can I get a Finn Wolfhard imagine where his band comes in a bit early to the studio while you’re just finishing up recording and when reader comes out he asks her to stay and listen to their stuff (so he can show off lmao) and to just hang out when he’s not playing and like watching the others play (bc they’re all talented blessss) and like he compliments her voice etc. Like proper cute and fluffy

NOTE: Yo yes I really enjoyed this one. I left it sort of open ended so I was thinking about maybe making it a series? LET ME KNOW IF THAT’S WHAT Y’ALL WANT! 

The song I mention by The Tragically Hip can be heard here. The song Calpurnia is recording is this one!

PLOT: Calpurnia is using the recording studio after you and it turns out that Finn loves your music a little more than you though he could.

WORD COUNT: 1675

Recording was your favourite part of making an album. After your debut EP was released over a year and a half ago, you could not wait to get back into the studio. But before that, you had to write the music and collaborate with others which was a long process but it was totally worth it and you could really feel it in the studio. There were only two more songs that you needed to finish up before you were done. Today you had been working on your favourite song, one that was reminiscent of The Tragically Hip’s song Grace, Too. It was mellow bit still alternate rock.

You were in the middle of the final run when you noticed a small group enter the room just outside of the booth. You couldn’t quite make out who it was since you were trying to concentrate on your harmonies but once you had finished you removed your headphones and made your way out.

“Who’s our guests?” You asked at no one in particular to the room full of people.

The boy with the mop of black curly hair who was bent over a guitar case stood up and turned to you. “We’re Calpurnia.” He introduced. “I’m Finn- “

“Finn Wolfhard” You interrupted. “Yeah I’ve heard your guys play before!” You said.

Finn looked around at his other bandmates with a smile. “That’s awesome!” He exclaimed. “We’re fans of your work actually, Ayla won’t stop singing your songs”

“Your voice is amazing, you’ve got such a unique sound” Ayla said.

Your face turned into a great smile. “Wow thanks, that really means a lot” You said sincerely. You were still a small artist, so it really felt great to hear people say that they loved your music.

“We’re recording some new material today,” Finn said. “It’d be cool if you stayed and listened but uh, only if you wanted to, you don’t have to!” Finn stumbled, spitting out his words nervously.

You looked at your phone and checked the time. You didn’t have to be anywhere for a few hours so you figured you might as well hang around and listen. “Yeah sure, I’d love to” You smiled.

A huge grin came across Finn’s face and he nodded before moving around to get everything set up for their session.

Malcom was the first to record on the drums. They were recording their first original song during this session. It currently didn’t have an official name yet. Finn only referred to it as Song 101. While Malcom was recording, you were sat on the old purple couch outside of the booth watching everything going on inside. Finn came and plopped himself down next to you and started talking.

“So how did you get into music?” He asked right off the bat.

“Well my dad was a sound engineer, like one of the people who works on producing music sort of, and so he would always be playing all kinds of music around the house and I just sang along. My mom stuck me in piano lessons which I loathed but reluctantly did anyways. I wanted to take guitar but she said that piano was the base of understanding all instruments so I didn’t start guitar until I was like eleven I think.” You explained. Your music history wasn’t that interesting yet everyone wanted to know it.

Finn eyes were lit with excitement. “That’s so cool, I’m not great at piano, like I wish I was better but guitar is my thing.”

“It suits you,” You said. “Your voice is great too but the guitar makes the complete package.”

“You like my voice?” Finn asked.

You shrugged. “Yeah, you’ve got this cool indie rock persuasion sound which I totally dig.”

Finn’s already there grin slipped into a full smile. “Thanks, that means a lot” He said sincerely.

Before you two could talk more, Dan, the man in charge of recording, announced that Finn was needed in the booth. Finn looked at you with a look of excitement before pushing off the couch and picking up his guitar.

“Break a leg!” You encouraged and Finn let out a deep breath before pushing open the door and entering the booth.

“Let’s do vocals, yeah?” Dan said into the mic so Finn could hear. He nodded his head before Dan pressed some buttons so Finn could sing. You watched intently as Finn closed his eyes before starting.

“See you driving round town with a chip on your shoulder

Well it’s you who gets the last laugh after I call her

I feel cold, oh lord I feel cold.

I feel cold.” Finn sang.

Dan stopped to comment. “That sounded great. Let’s move on to the next part, okay?”

Finn nodded and Dan cued him again for singing. This time you noticed as Finn didn’t close his eyes as he sang. Instead he looked right at you.

“When I’m gone you’re there,

When I’m gone you’re here,

When I’m gone you’ll be older,

When I’m gone you’ll always be cold.

I feel cold, oh lord I feel cold. I feel cold.”

Finn sang with a look of both aspiration yet desperation at the same time. You could only wonder who he was singing to.

Nonetheless, he sounded great. He was able to move his voice around, creating a crisp sound that only he could. You’ve listened to Calpurnia before, once live at the Strange 80’s show. Their cover of Weezer’s El Scorcho was your favorite. You knew that this band was going to go far.

Caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed that Finn finished with the vocals and now Dan had him working on guitar. Now as you paid attention, you watched as Finn waited for Ayla to join him in the booth. Until she was ready Finn decided it was time to goof around.

First, he was trying to play with his opposite hand but the sound it was making was as atrocious as it was funny. Finn enjoyed seeing you laugh so he continued on. He swung his guitar behind his head and tried to play the chords without being able to see. He was actually pretty decent at this, something that can only be done with lots of practice. Finally, you watched as Finn attempted to play the chorus while only standing on one leg. By now you had already pulled your phone out and was snapchatting the whole experience. Finn was holding his balance pretty well before toppling over, guitar and all. At this point, Ayla was ready to go and Dan was not impressed but you were doubled over with laughter.

“Finn, please get up.” Dan said over the speaker before glancing back to you with a look.

Finn quickly jumped back up, adjusting his guitar to the right place. “Yep, sorry Dan.” He said with a nervous smile but as soon as Dan looked away, Finn was winking at you with a smirk.

Ayla and Finn worked together, strumming out the chords and swinging the melodies. You couldn’t help but stare at Finn as he played. On stage, he has such a persona that was completely different from what you were seeing. Here he was concentrating, rocking to the rhythm and letting it take over him as he played. It was a whole other Finn. And for some reason you felt lucky that you got to see it.

Soon enough, Finn’s time in the booth was over and he was walking back to you, slinging his guitar off his body and into its case.

“How did that sound?” Finn asked slightly out of breath.

“It sounded amazing.” You said. “You sounded amazing!” You added.

Finn blushed and sheepishly looked away. “Really?” He asked.

“Yeah! You’re like a whole other person in there, completely different from when I saw you on stage!” You explained.

“You’ve seen us live?” He asked with wide eyes.

You nodded with a grin.

“When?” He asked, hungry for your answers.

“Strange Eighties.” You said. “I know El Scorcho was an exception to the theme but you guys killed it! Best version I’ve ever heard, hands down” You added.

Finn looked like he was about to pass out. He threw himself down onto the couch beside you.

“No way!” He said astounded. “I’m going to need you to write that down for me because no one will believe me when I tell them that Y/N L/N likes my music!”

You laughed at the boy next to you and reached for a scrap piece of paper on the table nearby. “Okay sure” you said shaking your head. You quickly scribbled out the sentence you had just said and held it out to Finn.

He glanced at the paper before accepting it. “You should also write your number on that too” He said with a cheeky grin.

You leaned back into the couch and crossed your arms still holding the paper in your hand. “Are you asking me out Finn Wolfhard?” You raised an eyebrow smirking back.

Finn blushed but didn’t give up. “Well technically I am asking for your number, but since you seem so willing I guess I could ask you out as well.”

You uncrossed your arms and started to write your number on the scrap paper. “Okay, but I’ll only say yes if there’s ice cream involved.” You stated with a smile.

You held out the paper for Finn and this time he took it from you. “Are you serious?” he asked with wide eyes. You looked at him with confusing face. “You’ll actually go out with me?”

You nodded your head while tucking your hair behind your ear. “Yeah, of course.” You smiled.

“Fuck yeah” Finn said, excitement all over.

From across the room Jack piped up. “Swear jar, Finn.” He said in a monotone voice. He must have to say it often.

Finn reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a quarter. “It was worth it” he said as he threw the coin over to his bandmate.

[fakeasskpop]

Dating Joshua Would Include...

so right off the bat josh is quite up front about his feelings

like he goes around making puns about love to you

the boys would tease him but it just leads to more puns

you just blush and laugh bc you think he’s joking

but he’s not

then one day he asks you out using a really bad pickup line

and it works!!!

the boys are incredulous

first date is to a little indie cafe with live music

you sit and drink your coffee(or tea) and josh just keeps ordering food

like he never stops eating

you're starting to get a bit concerned

then he gets up and goes over to the little stage

shakes hands with the guy that was playing

bc apparently they're friends

and starts playing guitar

but it’s a really meme-y song made to make you laugh

and you do

so hard you have to drag josh out of the cafe

and to the park where you spend the rest of the evening swinging and cloud gazing

the relationship is very....traditional?

idk i cant think of a better word

but like he opens doors for you

pulls out your seat

gives you his jacket

walks with his hand on your back

that kind of thing

and the boys tease him abt being whipped 

but they're secretly vvv jealous

you get along famously with jeonghan

sometimes you just hang with him and gossip abt every one

sometimes josh joins you

he plays guitar for you a lot

and sings you to sleep

you also ask him to teach you guitar

you’re terrible at first and keep getting really frustrated

but josh thinks its so cute and perseveres

you visit his family with him a lot

and they love to pieces

to the point where they tell josh he doesn't have to come to family dinners anymore

they just want you there lmao

he likes pda but also understands when you need space

when you’re stressing about work or school he gives you massages and sings to calm you down

is always down to help you study

you have music dates where you just sit and listen to music that you recommended each other

and book dates like that as well

you take a big interest in his religion 

and try vvv hard to follow it the way he does

he gets very touched by this bc to him it shows that you really care abt him

he also takes an interest in your hobbies and might even try them with you

again josh is very traditional when he says i love you for the first time

a romantic picnic

how cute

and he says it a lot to you

just randomly in the middle of sentences

bc thats often when his love for you hits him the hardest

[rikirachtman]

Black Death - Black Death (1984) review

If you’ve ever spoken to me about music for more than five centiseconds, you’re probably aware that I have a raging ear-boner for the recordings of Black Death. If you’re not familiar, they were a heavy metal group from Cleveland, Ohio (and quite possibly the first all-black metal band ever) headed by guitarist/vocalist Siki Spacek, alongside guitarist Greg Hicks, bassist Clayborn Pinkins, and drummer Phil Bullard. Pinkins was shot and killed in 1979 and was replaced by Ed Goodan, who in turn was quickly replaced by Darrell Harris. Sadly, one LP, a few demos, and a spot on a Cleveland metal compilation were Black Death’s only existing recordings before they mysteriously (and, as far as I can tell, without clear reason) dissolved in 1988. Earlier this month, Spacek chose to unexpectedly release a compilation of never-before-heard Black Death recordings, news which has kept my aforementioned ear-boner fully erect for more than four hours. Frankly I could ramble more and cover their entire history in this review, but let’s get to the actual album!

So first off, holy SHIT does this thing ever wear its influences directly on its flame-decal-bedecked sleeve. This album is positively dripping with the mark of Priest, UFO, even some Sabbath here and there. If anything, this relatively wide range of influences gives you a good idea of how genuinely VARIED the album is, as in 40 minutes, Siki and co. cover thrash, doom, NWOBHM, and even a melancholy ballad without ever once losing sight of their style and sound. The album opens with a punchy, energetic foot-stomping pseudo-thrasher and closes with a crushing nine-minute doom metal epic; if anything, Black Death’s lack of recorded material is compensated for by the variety that their limited discography holds. Later re-releases would include a bonus disc that houses three extra songs, including two of my favourites from the band: Retribution, a galloping number soaked in UFO’s hot seminal fluids (the chorus riff is, almost note-for-note, the same as Doctor Doctor’s), and Until We Rock, a long solo-laden piece that seems to derive influence from, of all things, Kiss and Thin Lizzy. If you somehow track down this album physically (good luck lmao), DEFINITELY don’t hesitate to throw on the bonus tracks assuming they’ll be sub-par (as most bonus tracks are), these songs are just as powerful as the other seven on this album.

The instrumentation is top-notch. Spacek is a guitar god, and has more talent contained within his Crimson Underwear of Power™ than any mortal human being could ever hope to attain. His blistering solos fly all over this album, essentially weaving in and out of every song, never really going away for too long (think Hendrix, how most songs would be constantly punctuated with mini-solos and leads, but in a metal context); dude has pure shred coming out of every available orifice at all times. As a vocalist, he more than holds his own, utilizing traditional thrash shouts, deep guttural growls, charismatic mid-range wailing, and notably a VERY distinctive, if grating until you get used to it, high-pitched Halfordian scream, featured perhaps most extensively in the closing seconds of bonus track Retribution. As for Greg Hicks, Spacek alleges that he played just TWO solos on this record (Hicks states otherwise), but I’m unable to tell by ear which are his, so I’ll have to assume he’s damn good too if he’s keeping up with Spacek that well. Darrell Harris’ bass playing is very intricate and brings some fantastic bulldozing low-end to the mix, including a nice mini-solo in the opening seconds of When Tears Run Red. Spacek states he taught Harris how to play bass not long before the recording of the album, and if this is true, I have nothing but respect for the man for getting that damn good that fast. Phil Bullard rounds out the lineup with a pummeling, fill-heavy swing style, never overpowering the guitars but creating a rock-solid foundation for the band. His playing is somewhat dampened by the production, but more on that later.

Lmao okay it’s later, and the production, frankly, isn’t great. Right off the bat, one will probably notice the vocals being VERY loud in the mix (which gets most grating when Spacek unleashes one of his head-splitting banshee screeches), and conversely, the drums are very quiet. Not so quiet that they’re inaudible, but if you told me Bullard set up his kit inside a dumpster, closed the lid, and played in his dark Sensory Deprivation Trash Booth while the rest of the band recorded it through an answering machine outside, I’d believe you. To top things off, one guitar is distinctly much quieter than the other at certain points, such as the opening lead in Retribution (Sorry to constantly bring that song up but DAMN it’s good), which is really cool but barely audible unless you’re really listening closely. Ultimately, this sounds more like a demo recording than a proper studio mix. In fact, their demo recordings generally have better sound quality, as seen in utterly fantastic tracks like Breaking the Chains of Hell and The Last Prophet of the Rise of the Beast, which never made it onto the album for reasons unknown. That said, the flawed production does NOT take away from the songwriting and impressive performance courtesy of this godly (satanly?) talented group.

If you’re looking for new bands to listen to, make one of those bands Black Death. These guys were beyond talented, full of energy, and never got the recognition they deserved, even a full 33 years after their first (and final) album. Once you’ve heard the album, check out the bonus tracks, the demo tapes, even Spacek’s new projects, since basically everything this guy touches is gold (including, if his word is to be believed, Cyndi Lauper’s tit!). Also, bonus points for stating that Dreamer Deceiver is his favourite Judas Priest track, anyone who says that is cool in my book tbh

Here we go, into the pit, Black Death, the angels scream