#there is no way in fuck he has a good tan line with that outfit it is simply impossible

[the-bearer-of-bad-ideas]

its summertime you know what that means (rinen's godawful tan line gets to see the light of day)

[arc-misadventures]

MFK Coco: Jaune, Joan and RK Jaune

MFK : CO III

Yang: H-Hey, Coco...

Coco: Yang.

Yang: So uhh... you up for a game of, MFK?

Coco: That depends... Who are my 'choices' this time?

Yang: You'll like them! You'll like them this time I swear!

Coco: Will I?

Yang: I swear! Please don't hit me again...!

Coco: Alright, show me who my choices are?

Yang: O-Okay! First off we have, Jaune!

Jaune: Hey, Coco! Sorry you have to do this again.

Coco: Well at least it has the only guy I'm willing to fuck.

Jaune: Oh...

Coco: Who's next?

Yang: Next we have, Jaune's twin sister...

Coco: Wait, you have a twin sister?

Jaune: Yep. I'm the older twin by the way.

Coco: How come you never mentioned that you had a twin sister?

Jaune: Never came up in conversation.

Coco: ...

Coco: Fair enough. Continue, Yang.

Yang: As I was saying: Jaune's twin sister, Jeanne Arc!

Jeanne: Ohhh~! So this is the, Coco girl you've been talking about, Jaune. Mmmh~! Love the outfit, it flaunts your body off perfectly~!

Coco: You're one to say, your outfit look exceptional! I love how it shows off your bodies full curves~! And, I must say, 'Boing Boing~!'

Jeanne: Thank you my dear~!

Yang: And last, but not least. The man of myth, and legend, The Rusted Knight, Jaune Arc!

Coco: The Rusted Knight? F-From the book?

Yang: Yep, that Rusted Knight.

Coco: How the hell did that happen?

Jaune: Ohh boy... You better sit down, this is going to take a while...

~~~

A while later.

~~~

Jaune: So yeah... that's what happened.

Coco: ...

Coco: THE FUCK?!

Jaune: Yeah, that's how most people react... So anyway, this is the older me as the, Rusted Knight.

RK Jaune: Hello, Coco. You're looking just as beautiful as the last time I laid eyes upon you.

Coco: ...?!

Coco: Fuck...!

Yang: So, Coco: Of these three who will you, Marry, Fuck, and Kill~?

Coco: Fuck...

Coco: Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck...!

Jaune: Coco? You okay?

Coco: Ahem! I'm fine, I'm fine as hell, Bunny Boy~! So... I kill young, Jaune.

Jaune: Saw that coming.

Jeanne: It was a given since he is here.

Coco: I'm sorry, I...

Jaune: I take no offence, Coco, please continue.

Coco: Okay. I'd fuck, Jeanne.

Jeanne: Oh~? Are you perhaps interested in these?

Coco: Ye...

Jeanne: My titties? My massive badonkers~! My massive milk jugs~! My...?!

Coco: YES! A hundred percent yes! I want to play with your juicy thic body! And do all sorts of things with that voluptuous body of yours~!

Jeanne: Naww... But, I wanted to say the whole line...

Jaune: Told you, you wouldn't get the time to say the whole thing.

Jeanne: Meh, oh well; a lesbian should know how to please a woman~!

Coco: You know it darling~!

Coco: Last but not least; I marry, Rusted Knight Jaune!

RK Jaune: Of course. Let me guess: Upon seeing me you suddenly developed a taste for silver foxes, and because of my age you also realized that the number one thing you are missing in your life is a daddy to bend you over his knee, and give your rear end a good tanning. You want to be folded over as you are dumped full of his seed until you're a drooling mess. Leaving her looking like a happy, lust drunk mess, looking like she's three months pregnant with their child to be. Am I wrong?

Coco: I wasn't thinking about half of those things, but I want those things to happen to me! Please knock me up, Daddy~!

RK Jaune: Hmmm... I think that can be arranged~!

Coco: Fuck yes!

JJY: ...

Jaune: Why am I ever brought here for these when he's here? I always end up dead.

Yang: Can you blame us? I mean... Hello, Daddy~!

Jeanne: Who wouldn't like a, Daddy like him~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: You know I will look like him eventually, right?

Jeanne: ...

Yang: ...

Yang: Wanna get married, Jaune?

Coco: Back off bitch! The original, Jaune is MINE!

Yang: Bring it you whore!

JJRKJ: ...

Jaune: Aren't you going to join them?

Jeanne: Naww, I will join the winner in seducing you.

Jaune: Oh...

RK Jaune: Did you expect anything else?

Jaune: No... But, I can dream can't I?

Jeanne: Not with your luck.

Jaune: Damn.

[agustdiv1ne]

♫⋆｡`♪ ₊ﾟ.11:01 p.m. (m) — choi yeonjun

genre: smսt, bratty sub!yeonjun, rockstar!yeonjun, dom!fem!reader, yj wears a collar at all times bc i said so, light petplay (he gets called pup, but nothing further than that) <3

wc: 2.9k

yeonjun's little secret is hidden in plain sight.

his skeleton in the closet is encapsulated by a simple piece of leather wrapped around his throat — it's something that he nearly always has on, whether it be promotional photos, meet and greets, or concerts. his fans have spotted it on him when he's out partying, perusing festivals, even while he's simply out and about. sometimes, he even attaches a longer piece to it, wraps it around his wrist like a leash, and yet everyone always dismisses it as some sort of social commentary (he's honestly seen enough think pieces on twitter to last a lifetime). and when someone asks about it? he brushes it off and smoothly changes the subject.

because it's not just a plain old choker, or a collar worn to criticize an oppressive social regime — no, it is yeonjun's indirect way of telling the world that he belongs to you.

indeed, you, the pretty little girlfriend of tomorrow by together's famous drummer, have more power over him than anyone else. he's yours to keep in line, yours to ruin — yours to own, wholly and completely. sure, you keep your relationship with him fairly private, but the collar is your own way of staking claim on the man that is desired by everyone. what can you say? you’re a little territorial.

and maybe it makes your sex life just a bit more exciting.

yeonjun slams his sticks down on his drumset’s cymbals one final time before he’s ripping his in-ears out in order to hear the crowd. their screams heighten the adrenaline racing through his veins, his heart pounding against his ribcage so hard he thinks that it might burst from his chest. slick sweat shines against his bare, tanned skin under the blazing stage lights that illuminate him and the rest of the band. they blind the crowd from his eyes, but he can still hear the frenzied screams of “i love you!” and “fuck me please!” and the cries that beg them to continue the show — he eats it up, basks in the untouchable feeling as he stands on his chair and dramatically bows to his fans. hopping down to join the rest of his members at the front of the stage, they give their wild fans one last goodbye as the platform they stand upon begins to lower below the stage, each of them waving to fans. before he is fully off stage and the mic in his hand cuts off, he allows one last bellow of “thank you, chicago! good night!”

impatiently, he mumbles a quick “good job” to the other guys before he’s leaping off the moving platform, removing the stage gear that is strapped to his torso beneath his tank top and tossing it to the floor with little abandon. the staff can pick it up for him later, because all he can think about is finding you right now; he’s excited to hear what you think, always a glutton for your praises. 

frantic eyes scan the crowded backstage area, trying to spot you amongst the sea of staff. his steps grow faster when he realizes you’re nowhere to be found, his heart racing for entirely different reason now. where are you? are you in his dressing room? are you fucking hiding from him? 

“jjunie!”

his head whips around in a flash at the familiar call of his name, watching as you slink over to him in the most mouthwatering outfit he’s ever seen. your skintight black shirt leaves little to the imagination, with plunging cutouts that show off the curvature of your breasts and leave your navel bare, tucked into what can barely be called a mini skirt due to how little it covers. your eyes shine as you stare up at him, hands reaching up to cup his jaw before you pull him into a messy kiss full of teeth and tongue and passion, ignoring the chaos that whirls around your bodies. he moves down to trail his lips down your neck, but you stop him with a single finger slipping under his collar at the back of his neck, pulling him back by it. the feeling lights a fire within him.

“easy there, tiger,” you laugh, smirking as you meet his kohl-lined eyes. “we’re in public.”

“but baby,” he whines, hands wandering down to your ass, slipping under your skirt, and delivering a hard squeeze to the bare flesh. “need you s’bad.”

your tongue subconsciously runs over your front teeth while you watch his once clear eyes grow all hazy and hooded. brushing a thumb over his plump lips, you murmur, “so needy already, hm?” he nods, and you bite back a cruel comment. “then how about we go to your dressing room, pup?” 

yeonjun feels the fire inside his stomach roar to life at the pet name, no longer just a tiny flame, but something all-consuming and desperate. the next few seconds pass as a blur as he makes a beeline towards his room, adorned with a star and his name. the door slams behind you, your back pressed to the wood soon after as he cages you in, his lips crashing against yours with fervor. he brazenly gropes at your exposed flesh, his already hardened cock pressing against your thigh through his jeans. he’s getting too bold, isn’t allowing you to lead — and you’re becoming annoyed.

your fingers find the thin strip of leather around his throat once more, pulling harder this time. he chokes at the feeling, fingers pressing deeper into your flesh, refusing to move as he diverts his attention back to your neck again. annoyance brews into a bubbling anger, your fingers leaving the collar to twist in his hair and yank. a yelp sounds from his throat at the tingly pain branching across his scalp.

“already forgetting who’s in charge, pup?” you grit out, pulling harder all the while. he releases a shaky breath, but doesn’t move to give you an answer. scoffing, your gaze sharpens. “get on your knees.”

“no,” he replies, defiance coloring his tone and expression. “i don’t wanna.”

you use your free hand to grip his chin. “don’t you want to cum tonight?”

“obviously,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

squeezing his chin, your vision spots red, and you seethe, “then get on your fucking knees.”

he gives you a similar response as before. while yeonjun is usually obedient, there are times where he becomes too greedy, too bold in trying to steal the reins from you unrelenting hands — it seems tonight is one of those nights, but you know just how to put him back in his rightful place. he’s too easy, really. 

without warning, you shove him away, stalking over to the other side of the room where your purse lies. you ignore his questions of what you are doing as you dig through the bag, quickly locating what you want: his leash. the black leather is cool against your skin as you wrap it around your hand, the clip held between deft fingers. it matches his collar perfectly; simple yet effective, you surmise. his eyes widen at the sight of you returning to where he stands with it in hand, mouth going dry as he realizes you aren’t in the mood to play tonight. 

yeonjun freezes as the clip loops around the small chain that holds his collar together, biting his lips when you tug, testing the integrity. your expression betrays nothing of your inner thoughts, gaze steely and borderline bored — you refuse to look at him now, moving in silence. he feels a tug from behind now, and it presses the leather against his windpipe for a moment. his cock twitches, and he aches to touch himself, to relieve the unbearable pressure in his pelvis. 

“i was gonna reward you tonight, y’know, for doing so well,” you sigh while you step in front of him again. your calm yet venomous tone sends tingles down his spine and more blood towards his center. you poke at the center of his chest before you continue. “but you decided to be a stupid little brat and not listen. so!”

you’re just being cruel now, but the pathetic furrow of his brow and the pout forming on his lips is the least of your concern at this point. you saunter over to the couch that sits in the middle of the room, bend over right in front of him, and slip your thong down your legs. behind you, he audibly gasps, both of your holes on proud display in front of his eyes. his attempt to surge forward is quickly thwarted, the length of his leash too short to even come close to reaching you, and he turns back to find that you have tied it to the doorknob. he reaches for the knot—

“don’t even try it,” you call. “that isn’t one you know, stupid pup.”

turning back to you, he finds you leaned back on the couch with your legs spread wide, perfectly manicured fingers slowly circling your clit. you emit a quiet moan as you tease yourself, hips rolling up into your fingers to search for more stimulation. gulping, he remains silent, focused on the way your entrance flutters around nothing. 

“i get to touch, you get to watch,” you sigh, pressing harder against your bundle of nerves. “and don’t even think about touching yourself without permission.”

knees weak, he stands there, vision growing hazy around the edges at you prod and tease yourself, working yourself up at a painfully slow pace. he knows you’re doing it on purpose, but his cock is so hard and it’s so painful and he just wants to—

“put your hands back at your sides,” you order, further threats already pouring out of you before he can process the command. “or do you want a worse punishment? want me to go get your bandmates? i’m sure they’d love to fuck me, make you watch with no way to stop them from taking me, have them use me ‘til they’re satisfied— mh, just thinking about that is getting me close.”

across the room, yeonjun feels tears line his eyes. the fingers that have sunken into your entrance should be his. he should be the one between your legs right now, his lips wrapped around your clit and your thighs suffocating him until he’s dizzy on your taste and scent. he should be the one with his cock in you, not anyone else — and especially not his fucking bandmates. falling to his knees, a sob wracks his form, but you’re still not feeling particularly kind. 

“aw, are you crying? you’re such a pathetic little thing, jjunie. can’t even listen to basic fucking orders, but you cry when you don’t get your way?"

the first tears slip down his face when your first orgasm hits you, your legs struggling to remain open as you whimper and whine, exaggerating your moans on purpose. you throw your head back and arch your spine, giving him a better view of your soaked hole as you ride out the waves of pleasure. 

“‘m sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks streaked with tears and his head hanging low. his fingers dig into the meat of his thighs, but you can catch the shake of his fingers despite his grip. 

of course, you heard him well enough, but you decide to feign ignorance. “what was that, pup? look at me when you speak.”

“i’m sorry!” he shouts, his pupils blown out and blurry with lust. “‘m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, please— please let me touch you, wanna make you feel good. i can’t—”

“you’re sorry now?” you interrupt, his head nodding up and down in rapid succession. “huh, i’m not sure if i believe you.” 

“pleaseee!” your boyfriend sobs, disregarding anyone that may stand on the other side of the door, his voice thick and shaky. his collar has been pulled taut against his neck with how desperately he has tried to move towards you; his head is hazy and he can barely think about anything except pleasure, both his and yours. “please please please please—”

his begging continues as you rise from the cushions. you ignore the slight quake of your limbs, now leering over him while he stares back up at you, his shiny, swollen lips parted to allow soft pants to escape. crimson stains his cheeks and spreads down his neck, black streaks of ruined eyeliner mixing with it — an absolute painting.

extending a foot, you press the heel of your shoe against his erection. his jolts, a drawn-out whimper escaping him. your lips form a condescending pout as you press a little harder. “poor pup. so sensitive. so pathetic.”

“‘m not pathetic,” he whispers. with a single eyebrow raised and your head titled to the side, you crouch down to his level, gently gripping his chin.

“no?” you question softly. “then why are you so hard just from me degrading you?”

“‘m sorry, can’t— can’t help it.”

“aw, i know, baby.” you reach up to run your hand through his dusty rose hair, removing a few sweat-slicked strands from his forehead. “i’m gonna untie you. i want you to go sit on the couch, and take your pants and boxers off for me, okay?”

“m’kay.” 

he does as promised once you untie the knot. he even went one step further and removed his tank top, his cock pressed against his abdomen, the entire shaft an angry red, his veins more pronounced than usual. precum beads at his tip, dribbling over the side of his cock. obediently, his hands lay at his sides against the cushions. his fingers curl as you undress.

you move to straddle his lap, cupping his face in your palms. “i’m gonna put it in, pup. you're gonna be good, right?”

he nods before he inhales sharply, your fingers touching him where he needs you most. you guide his leaky cock to your entrance with one hand, biting your lip as you begin to sink down on him. the stretch causes your head to spin and your walls to flutter around him. he whines. “don’t, ngh, don’t do that.”

“what? this?” you ask as you purposefully clench your walls. his whimper morphs into a shout when you sink down fully, taking him to the hilt and staying there. his dick presses against the spongy spot deep inside you, stretches your walls perfectly. your pussy was made to take him, just as he was made to listen to you. 

the rhythmic grinding of your hips is enough to have him crying out, tears flowing down his face once again. you lean down to kiss them away, hands finding his and pressing them against the cushion on either side of his head. sighing in delight, you begin to fuck him faster, bouncing up and down on his cock. his mouth is frozen in a permanant ‘o,’ head thrown back while he bucks up into you.

“feel so good inside me, jjunie. so big,” you moan. he twitches inside you at the words, which spurs you to keep going. “such a dumb little thing, just need my pussy and you’re gone? have to have me think for you? so— fuck, so cute. you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“y-yes! all yours, ‘m only yours!” he replies. you smile at the admission, releasing one hand to pull at his collar. his thighs begin to quake below you, muscles contracting and relaxing sporadically. you lean in to kiss him and swallow his loud moans, holding him close by the strip of leather. power paired with pleasure surges through your veins, pleased at his ruined state. you smile against his mouth. 

“rub my clit,” you encourage, feeling his thumb move like lightning to the little bud, his sloppy circles causing your rhythm to falter. “i’m gonna cum, jjunie. want you to cum inside— fill me up, pup. don’t you want that too?”

“yes! yesyesyesyes-” he rambles and rambles until you feel him spill inside you, ropes of cum painting your walls and triggering your own orgasm, his cock pulsing inside you as he continues to cum. your walls flutter as you ride out your high, your fingers moving to press his face against your breasts. he kisses and sucks at the flesh between high-pitched whines until you finally come down, the pulsing of your walls ceasing. slowly, you lift yourself off him, ignoring how his seed spills from your hole and onto the couch. with one final peck to his lips, you adjust his collar and sit next to him, pulling him into an embrace and allowing him to bury his head into the junction between your neck and shoulder. 

“did so good for me, jjunie. i’m so proud of you,” you murmur against his hair, rubbing soothing circles against his back. you gently rock him back and forth with you, making sure that he’s comfortable. “do you need anything, baby?”

“nuh-uh,” he says, voice vibrating against your skin. “just wanna be held.”

with a fond smile, you nod to yourself and squeeze him a little tighter.

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[mytheoristavenue]

Things Perv!Usopp does 🍋

Summary: A collection of habits that Usopp has picked up in his pursuit of you.

Warnings: Perv!Usopp, NSFW, MDNI, sexual content

Perv!Usopp who steals your clothes. Everything he takes has a use to him. He uses your spent towels and washcloths to wipe his brow when he sweats while tinkering. He uses your shirts as pillow cases, inhaling your scent while he sleeps. His favorite though, are your underwear. He loves pumping himself into them, sniffing them, and sometimes he even carries them in his pocket as a good luck charm.

Perv!Usopp who touches himself while looking at pictures of you. He has several in a box under his bed, and even a few framed around his factory. His favorite one is the one he keeps in a frame on his desk. He loves how you smile at him through the glass, your hand shyly brushing hair behind your ear, and skin glowing from the tropical sun above. Your bikini leaves little for him to imagine, and he loves it.

Perv!Usopp who rubs tanning oil on your back when you decide to suntan with Nami and Robin. He only ever does it for you, though, always making up some excuse if ask by one of the other girls. He loves the way your warm skin feels under his fingertips, and the way the oil makes you glisten. Sometimes, depending on which swim suit you're wearing, he can get away with entirely untying your straps and letting them fall lax at your sides. If you question, he'll say it was in the way, and he doesn't want you to get tan lines. After, he'll book it back to his shop and relieve himself, fantasizing about rubbing your down with his own blend of special oils.

Perv!Usopp who likes bathing in your bathwater after you get out. He knows it's gross and he's even dirtier now than before but that's the point. He loves sinking down and submerging himself in your water. Sometimes, he gets lucky and finds that you've left your washcloth behind, and he'll rub it all over himself, imagining all the places it could've been. After he gets out, he keeps it for his collection.

Perv!Usopp who listens to you nag about how you're almost sure that Nami steals all your clothes, and then takes you out to buy new ones. He'll sit in boutiques, waiting for you to come out of the dressing room and model the outfits he picks. He knows you're putting on a private show, just for him, and it's so arousing. Every once in a while, he'll take you to a nice intimate wear store to replace the ones he Nami stole. He feels so lucky when he gets to pick out cute little matching numbers for you, using the teasing excuse that, maybe if you have cute underwear, you'll finally 'get laid and chill out'. He specifically picks pieces that he thinks will feel nice against him in a few weeks.

Perv!Usopp who constantly chides you about being a 'virgin', or in dire need of sexual contact. He'll tease you and tell you that all you need is a good 'dicking down' and you wouldn't be so mad all the time. He sometimes even lightly degrades you, laughing that you'll need a lot of practice before you can bag a stud such as himself, but he, as nice as he is, would be happy to give you some tips.

Perv!Usopp who bullies you on your lack of companionship, and then pleasures himself to the image of your flustered face, and the sound of you begging him to stop. He'll recall the moment differently while he's touching himself, pretending that you were begging him to go easier on you, that his roughness is too overwhelming for you. "Oh, fuck, Usopp! You're so mean..." Sometimes he'll talk to himself, pretending he's whispering sweet nothings to you while he revenges you. "Yeah, baby. I'm mean alright...And I'm gonna keep being mean 'til you cum all over this dick."

Perv!Usopp who finds reasons to touch you, whatever means necessary. He'll grab your hips and slide between your back and the wall in the hallways of the ship, saying that you were in his way while pressing his crotch to your backside. He'll initiate tickle fights with you, just to get you pinned to the deck, biting on his lip as he watches you writhe underneath his touch.

Perv!Usopp who lets you lay all over him. In the evening, when Robin reads her stories aloud, you're almost always in his lap, laying in between his legs, back against his chest. Other times, you'll share a hammock, you begging him to let you nap with him, before crawling in and fully laying on top of him. He has to be very careful not to make his arousal obvious.

Perv!Usopp who steals your diary often, just incase your writing about him. On occasion, he'll stumble across you rambling about some random act of kindness he'd done for you, and how it made you feel. He'll take note of it, making sure to do it again as he reads over and over about how sweet and cute he is, the praise going straight to his crotch.

Ok I'm done. 🥴

[in-death-we-fall]

Sex, Drugs and One Armed Groupies

...is gonna be the title of this since there kinda isn't one. Scans were posted by @fuckyeswednesday13 a long time ago. I really liked this article and now it's nice and easy to read (especially the columns. Ask me how much I hated the columns.) Enjoy! (drive link)

UPDATED FULL VERSION HERE

The Big Day Out. The Australian travelling musical circus that steamrolls its way around Australia and New Zealand every winter with the hottest bands on the planet flying from all over the globe to join down under’s best bands in a mayhem filled fortnight. This year’s line-up, features among others, The Foo Fighters, Queens of the Stone Age, Jane’s Addiction, Jimmy Eat World, The Hard Ons and deathglam monstrosities, the Murderdolls. So far, the Mid West (sic) based five-piece outfit have been the cream of the festival, appropriately headlining the ‘Essentials’ stage. This is the band’s first time in the Antipodes and quizzical music fans have crowded to see the much-talked about live set. With Sydney copping the biggest crowds of all the legs on the tour, the band are preparing something special. But at 3pm in the afternoon you wouldn’t know it. Most of the band are still in bed from the night before, well, actually… the week before.

The ‘Dolls have been in Sydney for five days before their Big Day Out show and not finding much to do early on in the week they’ve just been getting down to the (sic) rock’n’roll’s most popular pastime: hard drinking. Drummer ‘Big’ Ben ‘The Ghoul’ Graves and bass player Eric Griffin are recovering from last night’s binge. While singer Wednesday and guitarist Joey Jordison are recovering from the night before the night before. Acey Slade, who maintains his sobriety, but still stays out ‘til dawn, has been up since 11am and is the only one ready for the show. With the band on stage at 7:15pm, things need doing. Staggering through their beer can and ‘paraphernalia’-strewn rooms to the showers, they’re down in their van and on the way out to the Big Day Out site just after 4pm.

Situated at the same place that hosted the Sydney 2000 olympics, the festival facilities are first rate and the sell-out crowd of 52,000 festival-goers are making the most of it. The temperature’s pushing a blistering 35°C and being the middle of a drought-ridden summer in Australia, everything’s dry, dusty and cracked. It’s a good 40-minute drive from the city to the festival and the sun’s stinging in through the van windows. Not big fans of the sunlight, the Murderdolls have got their leather jackets up over their heads to avoid even the slightest hint of a tan.

In the cool, air-conditioned shade of backstage I get to sit down with Joey Jordison and singer Wednesday 13 to gind out how the band are doing after their meteoric rise over the past eight months. Joey is straight down the line, measured and professional. “This si the first Big Day Out for all of us. Slipknot have only been down here once but not that (sic) this festival. This is something I’ve really wanted to play – something I’ve wanted to do for a really long time.”

For Wednesday, this is another notch on his rise as an international rock’n’roller. “It’s awesome,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to be out on the front of a rock’n’roll band at a festival like this. After struggling doing my own band for six years I actually quit my job back in April and I’ve been touring every since. I’ve done all the things I ever dreamed about. I’ve been to Europe three times, Japan twice and here we are now in Australia and that has all been pretty much in the last six months! Holy shit we’re doing some things that some bands have never done!”

“We just checked out the videotape from the Auckland show the other day and fuck man, it was awesome!” enthuses Joey. “People are saying we are pulling the most people to that stage out of everyone. Our band has been doing really well especially since we’ve only been going for a short time. We hope that after the BDO we’ll be able to come back and do some real headlining shows down here. We are having fun though, thinking about it, we’ve never had so many days off between shows before, it’s more like the Big Day Off!”

The band wasn’t supposed to be so idle. Most overseas bands on the BDO bill play a bunch of satellite shows in various cities around the country and for a month prior, the Murderdolls had been slated to perform a Sydney show with fellow US rockers The Deftones. But with very little warning, the Murderdolls were dumped from the bill just before the show. What really pissed off Joey and the lads was a lot of the Murderdolls fans had bought tickets on the basis that the band would be playing but in the end had to watch the Deftones supported by ex-At The Drive-In chancers, Sparta.

Without much choice in the matter the Murderdolls issued a statement on their website apologising to their fans and kept trying to fly their flag with some instore appearances at local record stores. One in particular at Utopia Records, was insane. There was such a roar when the band turned up, they looked truly surprised at the number of kids who had showed up, most dressed in black and red outfits.

“Someone told us there was only going to be about 150 kids, which was supposed to be a good turn-out for Utopia records for a new band,” retells Joey. “But when we turned up there (sic) almost 500! We talked to fans and signed everything that they had. We were there for a good three and a half hours. And at the Channel V interview it was pretty much the same story. Hordes of kids that wouldn’t let us get away.”

“That’s the cool thing with our fans,” explains Wednesday. “We’re not a radio band or an MTV band with this created army of little kids which I think is more pure than being the Number One radio band or liking it because someone tells you to like it. I know that our fans are real. It is really cool to see these hordes of kids show up, they are dressed like us, they know everything about us, it is just awesome.”

Thinking further ahead fans will be please to know the band are not going to let up on the groundswell already created by the Murderdolls. “I have to go back and finish recording some Slipknot stuff,” reveals Joey. “Then we (the Murderdolls) are going to do some more touring. There’s usually a three to four month sort of break between recording and when an album comes out so we are going to tour pretty much all the way from the end of May all the way to maybe the beginning of October. Which will be good because there’ll be less sunlight at that time of year,” jokes Wednesday raising his non-existent eyebrows and throwing his arms, heavily tattooed with b-grade horror heroes, into the air.

As the hot afternoon drifts into an only slightly less simmering evening, there’s a small problem with guitarist Acey. He’s got indigestion. This amounts to a small crisis because first aid officials must follow procedure and administer the medicine. This takes two St. John’s Ambulance men on pushbikes in a five minute ride from their base at the side of the main stadium. Very un-rock’n’roll indeed.

With the gig just 45 minutes away, the boys are pacing around their trailer, having their pics taken for Hammer. Acey inside in front of the mirror still applying the last of his make-up, Ghoul is getting powdered up, Wednesday’s still with the photographer, while Joey’s nervously pacing around, in the trailer, out the trailer, back in… Eric meanwhile is ready for the stage and cracks open the obligatory bottle of Jack Daniel’s. As a Murderdolls ritual, they’re applying the slap, the band have to listen to Kiss. “Must. Have. Kiss.” stipulates Joey. “‘All American Man’! We sometimes change that to ‘All American Ghoul’,” chimes in the Ghoul.

Just 10 minutes before showtime and the long lanky frame of Ben Graves is stretched spider-like up against the dressing room wall. “I’ll be in pain afterwards,” he explains. Wednesday has by now finished his solo shots with Hamer’s photographer. The day is hot enough anyway, and under the photographers lights the heat is even more stifling. ‘Jesus, it’s fucking hot!” exclaims the frontman. “But I don’t mind… I’m a naturally dead person in front of a camera” he laughs.

More Kiss blares out from the dressing room, this time ‘Dr Love’! Then the moment comes: ground fucking zero at the Big Day Out! The band clamber into the van and head around the back way to the Essentials stage. The bottle of Jack’s being passed around as they approach the stage the band take a quick peak (sic) to see how the crow’s building up. It’s the biggest yet, taking up most of the grassy area out the back of the main stadium. Joey – who regularly suffers from pre-gig nerves as his pre-stage vomiting on Slipknot’s ‘Disasterpiece (sic)’ DVD proves in all its technicolour glory – is bricking it.

Five minutes before the band are due to hit the powerchords and the guys are milling around in the wings. Ghoul is banging on some warm-up pads and everyone is getting psyched. They’ve left the Kiss CD backstage so they have to hum ‘All American Man’ together. Then they make their way to the stage.

A couple of huge Murderdolls logos adorn the stage and in an eruption of noise and energy, the Dolls take the stage and instantly kick off with ‘Dawn of The Dead’. Jordison in black leather Gestapo hat is jumping around stage left, Acey is wailing away stage right while Eric bangs away on the bass doing his best Nikki Sixx impression, while the Ghoul wrecks the trap kit. Wednesday is the last to take the stage and screaming, “We are the dead, coming for you!” And the crowd goes fucking wild.

The kids down the front, dressed up in full glam-goth regalia, know every word and sing along fervently with the band while among the throng watching from the side of stage are some of the biggest names in the Australian music industry. Members of bands like 28 days, Machine Gun Fellatio, Cog, Jimmy Eat World, Pre-Shrunk, and Sparta all stand wide eyed and mouths agape at the outrageous rock revisionism being unleashed onstage.

By the time the band have launched into ‘I (sic) Was a Teenage Zombie’, ‘Let’s Go To War’ and ‘Slit My Wrists (sic)’, the crows know what they’re in for. Most who have showed up for curiosity (sic) sake are still hanging around, but if anything the crowd is building and everyone looks like they are right into it having fun. The intro to ‘Twist My Sister’ is a kid’s nursery rhyme ‘Old McDonald’ which gets the whole crowd singing along.

Unbelievably, some lunatic in the crowd starts throwing bangers at the stage, but the fireworks only make it as far as the front row of fans before blowing up in their faces. Wednesday tries to get the guy to quit while geeing up the rest of the crowd. “All the people down the front tell the people at the back to ‘Die Die Die… my bride!’ he yells as the band grind into the song…

Today’s set includes two new songs, and we can report that both are killer kitsch rock rippers. The first, set for legendary status is called ‘The Devil Made Me Do It… And I’ll Do It Again’ while the second is the set closer, a crowd sing along gem ‘I Love to Say Fuck’. Wednesday grabs his big black umbrella, emblazoned with the word FUCK, Eric, Acey, and Joey are going crazy, jumping up and down in unison, Ghoul is all arms and legs behind the kit while Wednesday is right down in the crowd’s face urging them to stick their fingers in the air and yell ‘Fuck!’. It looks great to watch. “It isn’t choreographed,” says Wednesday later. “Everything’s pretty much spontaneous. There are some things like we all jump on an ascent in the music or whatever but everything else is stuff that just happens on stage.”

They (sic) crowd are almost passing out from the combination of frenzied activity and the extreme heat, but still manage to scream out for more as the band leave the stage. “A lot of people don’t know that’s what drives a show,” explains Wednesday about his relationship with the audience. “You have to make fans feel part of the event and I think we do it better than anyone else.”

The band then jump back into the van for the two minute trip back to their dressing room behind the main stage. When they get back there the guys are all super hyped up. Excitedly buzzing around their dressing room, drinking beers, telling jokes. Joey is busy analysing the gig, and the BDO circus in general. He and Wednesday have got an interview to do with Australian TV scheduled for 8:45pm. It’s almost 9pm and Joey has another issue: “I want to eat! I must eat before I talk!” he exclaims. The interview is postponed for 20 minutes.

Bass player Eric is hanging around, so I grab him for a quick chat. Of all the Murderdolls, Eric seems the shyest but is probably the one most up for anything, especially if it is party related. He may only be small, (even in his Ace Frehley six-inch platforms he’s still barely average height!) but he’s a true rock’n’roller with a party attitude to match. “‘Machine Gun Fellatio’ that’s a cool fuckin’ name,” he squeaks discussing some of the other bands on the BDO bill. And he does squeak, kinda, like annoying Brit ‘comedian’ Joe Pasquale.

I bring up the fact that esteemed record producer, Nick Launey (Silverchair, INXS) was side of stage watching the show and had an interesting story to tell me about Eric. “I think I know where this is going,” smiles Eric slyly. “I met him about two years ago in LA at a party and we were all fucked up. I got dragged down three flights of stairs by my hair and he reckoned it was the biggest rock’n’roll moment of ‘00 for him. First impressions count, man.”

“It was so rock’n’roll!” Launey informs me later. “It was the launch of Orgy’s album and they had these models dressed as prostitutes lying on a bed and Eric jumps up on the bed with them, which of course you weren’t allowed to do. So the bouncers are dragging him out by his hair, kicking and screaming, down the stairs. His head was literally bouncing down each stair like a cartoon character and all the while he’s just got his middle fingers up on each hand and is yelling out ‘Fuck You!’, ‘Get Fucked!’, ‘Fuck you, mind the hair!’ Somehow he got back into the party and I asked him ‘how’s your head?’ and he just said “Whaddya mean?” - it was just so rock’n’roll!”

Eric has pre-arranged with their tour driver to take him over to the Boiler Room, where the BDO’s electronica acts are playing. He wants to see German electronic innovators Kraftwerk. “One of the bands I was in before the Murderdolls was very digital and computer based,” he reveals. “Kraftwerk don’t do a lot of live shows and I don’t think I’ll ever get the opportunity to see them again. They’re pretty important to the genre and even if I catch just 10 minutes of their set I think it will be worth coming over. A short ride through the back entrance, we arrive at the Boiler Room and manage to get in, via a bit of a labyrinth, through the backdoor and into the main arena just at the side of the stage. The Kraftwerk guys are standing robot-like in front of their computers while the huge dome-like venue is dripping with sweat from the 10.000+ strong punters who have basically been locked in the room all day listening (sic) the dance bands. We get a good vantage point but after about five minutes we’re leaving. “Jeez! That was the most boring piece of crap I’ve seen!” exclaims Eric when he gets back to the dressing room. “But it was worth going because I scored some drugs!”

Acey’s just hanging around backstage with his camera and a little doll from The Nightmare Before Christmas. He has a ritual where he takes a photograph of the doll in front of landmarks all around the world. “I have him in front of the Eiffel Tower for instance,” he says. “The other day I took a pic of him in front of the Sydney Opera House.” And with that he takes a photo of the doll sitting in front of a sign that says ‘Sleazy’. Hmmm. Odd man.

Acey and Eric are loving every minute of the Murderdolls ride. They’re both on their first trip to Australia and according to both of them it is (sic) has been “Cool as hell!” “The Gold Coast was really on,” says Eric. “It’s been kinda mellow since we got to Sydney because we’ve had four or five days off before this show so we’ve just been trying to find out what’s been going on. It’s been building gradually… and we’ve been partying a lot – maybe too much,” he adds sheepishly. Rick the tour manager – who’s passing by – agrees: “Yep, they’ve been very naughty boys – they’ve got to go to bed early tonight with no supper,” he jokes.

“He knows we’re the most dangerous band on the tour,” counters Eric. It’s a fact that seems to deter any other bands partying with the Murderdolls too. “The only band that has even reached out to us are the guys in Jane’s Addiction, in particular, Dava Navarro,” offers Acey. “He actually came out of his way to come over and introduce himself. And pretty much comes up and talks to us everyday he sees us along with the drummer, Steven [Perkins]. Everyone else is just kinda like, ‘What’s Up?’ Maybe it’s because we don’t look like we’re the most approachable band. Then again no-one has done anything to piss us off at all.”

No one may be talking to the Murderdolls but there is talk of the Murderdolls all over BDO. Most centres around their appearance with most Australian musical luminaries agreeing the band are the best dressed at the festival. One member of Aussie band the Resin Dogs even goes as far as to say, “The Murderdolls rock the wardrobe”. Acey is kinda flattered but non-plussed by the comments. “What image?” he exclaims. “This is how we are all day! Obviously we knock it up a notch for the show but this is the real thing. We don’t care if people like us as sexual deviants or not, but one thing’s for sure – they’ll fucking remember us.”

Big Ben Graves strides over to join us at the table. “Did I hear the words sexual deviant?” he announces in his deeply rounded US accent. “I’ve always been like that! Some people have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other – I just two devils. There is NO voice of reason!”

We ask him if he has had any interesting adventures since he’s been in Australia and then instantly regret it…

“Dude, it has been nothing but interesting adventures. For instance last night, he (indicating Eric) he almost screwed a one-armed girl!”

“She had three tits and one arm,” giggles the dimunitive (sic) bassist.

“Yeah. It was weird,” continues the Ghoul, “one of her arms was like a stump and it looked like it had a nipple on it. I must admit I almost fucked her just for the freakiness of it.”

And with that starter for 10, the Ghoul is off. He starts ranting on with these sick freak jokes that crack everyone up and inside a minute you get a window to his personality. “Our drummer is one bona fide sick fuck,” jokes Wednesday of him later. “He stills (sic) freaks us out. I’ll just look at him sometimes and say to myself, ‘holy shit, dude, what planet are you from?’”

“It was weird on the Gold Coast,” says Eric, picking up on the tour adventure thread. “The girls there were the hottest chicks I had ever seen in my life but by the same token I had never got as much shit for the way I look than I have there as well. It was like two opposite poles. At first it was, ‘hey freak, where’s the funeral?’ and the next was, ‘sit down have a drink with us.”

“As far as people looking at you weird, I found Sydney is where I got the stares,” admits the Ghoul. “Sydney sucks! Although we did have some girls staking out our hotel which was pretty funny and I did have an over-zealous fan thrown out of the bar. The guy was just touching me a little more than he should and I didn’t like it,” he says animatedly. “I was like, ‘man, don’t make me waste this perfectly good bottle of Heineken by breaking it over your head. I’ve done it before’. Eric looks at him and says, “yeah he has!” But he was on something. I remember thinking ‘I want whatever he’s on… times ten!”

“I gotta say though, the Sydney crowd today was one of the best crowds we’ve had so far,” offers Acey as he joins the throng. “It was insane. It is good for us this tour, because the kids don’t know what we are all about yet so we have to prove ourselves. By the end of the set they all had their hands in the air.”

By this time Joey and Wednesday have finished their feed and their hastily re-scheduled interview and are looking for some more mischievous fun for themselves. “First of all, I’m going to go back over to the stage we played because there are a lot of kids hanging around over there still wanting to see us,” explains Joey. “Then after that, I’m gonna go directly where ever (sic) the free drinks are at…” Suddenly, Eric’s doubled over in the doorway of the dressing room. It’s been 45 minutes since he visited Kraftwerk in the Boiler Room and the pharmaceuticals are beginning to take effect. We ask if he’s OK. “Yeah man, I just think I’m gonna spew!” he grins. The rest of the band are baiting him ceaselessly.

“C’mon chuck it up man!” they urge and all crack up laughing together.

In the middle of all the commotion Wednesday is taking a piss in the corner of the dressing room. The place is a wreck: there are empty bottles of booze, food scrapes (sic), squashed fruit, hairdryers, make-up, boots, clothes (black and red if (sic) course) and of course a giant mirror. Wednesday is actually pissing into a bottle of Corona. At the same time I am just about to pick up my freshly opened bottle of Corona from the table which is besides (sic) a now suspicious looking bottle. “Yeah I always piss in the empty bottles,” giggles Wednesday. And then I leave ‘em on the table just to piss off anyone who might want to grab some of our rider or whatever. Just be careful just to get bottles from down there in the ice box, he laughs mischievously. Suddenly the oddly warm bottle in my hand seems less than appealing…

As the clock turns 1am the only people left at the stadium are the cleaners, the roadies and the still-partying Murderdolls. Last to leave, the van is parked just outside the dressing room and all I can see through the opened door is the Ghoul chucking around a baguette, now baked hard as a rock over the course of the stifling hot day. “Look at this - it could be used as a weapon to seriously maim you!” he screams bouncing the French loaf off the wall. A post vomit Eric cracks up, as the two hold a mock baguette joust oblivious to the outside world. They eventually make off back to their hotel room in the city, but don’t hang there for too long. The weekend lights of Sydney beckon and they cruise down William street in King’s Cross, to an underground rock venue called Club 77. It’s glam night, just their crowd and they spend the wee hours of the morning hanging out with fans and getting stuck into the sauce with a vengeance. Australia has officially been Murderdolled!

Blood and Glitter

Gavin Braddeley charts the rise of shock rock

Glam is hard evidence that what goes around comes around. Long dismissed as the definitive climax of 70s bad taste, in recent years glam rock has arisen from the grave, albeit with a veil of cobwebs draped over its original dusting of glitter. Originally a violent reaction to the 60s happy fad for all things natural, worthy, meaningful and drab, glam was all about being deliberately artificial, selfish, throwaway and garish.

In the States Alice Cooper was impaling baby dolls and throwing blood bottles around the stage from ‘70 onwards culminating in the vaudeville theatrics of the ‘Welcome To My Nightmare’ album/tour of ‘76.

Back in the UK, the Glam pioneer was lame pop pixie Marc Bolan (sic), photogenic frontman with T-Rex, who caused a sensation when he took to the stage on Top of the Pops in ‘71 with glitter under his eyes, clad in what looked suspiciously like drag. Never one to miss a trick, the lizard-like David Bowie soon jumped from the hippy ship to take on his otherworldly Ziggy Stardust persona.

The older generation may have thought that smearing make-up on your face and covering your clothes in sequins made you look like a ‘pooftah’. Alice Cooper got around this by replacing Glam’s overt ‘fagginess’ with ghoulish melodrama, prompting one critic to observe that Americans were more comfortable with necrophilia than homosexuality. And then came Kiss. Gene Simmons’ monstrous blood vomiting, fire breathing ‘Demon’ persona enslaved an entire generation of US children crossing Glam’s theatricality with heavy metal machismo to create one of the most influential bands in rock music history.

W.A.S.P. and Mötley Crüe supercharged Kiss’s sleaze and violence quotient to spectacular effect in the 80s, and provide the missing link between Glam and the Murderdolls, who happily cite the back-combed bad boys as a large part of their creative DNA. The chief inheritor of the Glam tradition in the last decade, however, is cross-dressing controversialist Marilyn Manson. Bowie may have metaphorically murdered his creation Ziggy Stardust in the summer of ‘74, while Bolan (sic) died more literally in a car accident three years later, but quarter-of-a-century on, Manson used his own dark arts to conjure their spirit on ‘Mechanical Animals’, his own tribute to pop’s most decadent decade.

Dead… and loving it!

The Murderdolls’ five favourite movie death scenes of all time…

The Murderdolls are proof positive that nothing gets some folks’ creative juices flowing quite so freely as a truly delicious cinematic death scene. Joey and Wednesday have a few favourites – both carnage connoisseurs identifying the ‘74 classic power toolfest The Texas Chainsaw Massacre as the gory cream of the crop – a movie currently being remade with a certain Mr. Manson in the soundtrack composer’s chair. (As a curious aside, you never actually see the girl hung on the hook – just a shadow – but such is the film’s sordid impact that most viewers swear you do!)

Joey 1. Texas Chainsaw Massacre “The girl on the hook.”

2. Friday The 13th Part IV “When the knife comes through the bed and impales the chick.”

3. The Exorcist “When the priest is hucked out through the plate glass window.”

4. A Nightmare on Elm Street “Where the girl is getting dragged across the rooftop.”

5. Necromancy “Where a group of devils and monsters take a girl apart.”

Wednesday 1. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre “The girl on the hook.”

2. Dawn of the Dead “When the spiked ball comes down and rips the guy’s head apart.”

3. Phantasm “A silver ball hits the guy in the head and sucks out all his brains.”

4. Hellraiser “Where (sic) the end sequence where the guy is being chased by all these hooks. They attach themselves to him and rip him apart.”

5. Nightmare On Elm Street “Where Freddy rips out the guy’s veins and uses them like strings controlling a puppet.”

Schlock n’ Roll

B-movie classics that have influenced shock rockers of now and then…

Some horror movies are best watched not so much with your tongue in your cheek, as thrust firmly through it, films that by accident or design are more about fun than fear. The same could be said of numerous horror loving bands, including the Murderdolls, where an ‘everyday is Halloween’ ethos prevails. Here are a few examples of B movie blood fests which may not have won any Oscars, have been paid tribute to by schlock loving bands over the years…

Plan 9 From Outer Space (1957) It is no surprise that the mother-of-all cult movies inspired the mother-of-all cult bands, and when Glenn Danzig created a label to release early Misfits material he dubbed it ‘Plan 9’. Frequently voted the worst movie of all time with its ludicrous script, mind bogglingly bad special effects, cardboard sets, and even more cardboard artistry, Plan 9 From Outer Space is irresistibly entertaining. Directed by the cross-dressing caliph of crap Ed Wood Junior, featuring proto-goth babe Vampira and Bela Lugosi (dying of drug addiction, he was replaced mid production by a stand-in who looks nothing like him).

The Abominable Dr Phibes (1971) Featuring horror cinema’s kind of camp Vincent Price as the fiendish Phibes, avenging the death of his wife using maniacal methods borrowed from the biblical plagues, all against wonderful, strangely psychedelic sets. Also possessed of a strange psychedelic sensibility are punk pioneers the Damned, though in the 80s, lead singer Dave Vanian’s horror sensibilities took centre stage, attracting a goth following. The 80 track ‘13th Floor Vendetta’ is a classic example of the band’s game-topping which, if you listen carefully, is all about ol’ Doc Phibes.

Mars Attacks! (1996) Director Tim Burton’s tribute to the drive-in shockers of the 50s and 60s, Mars Attacks! was actually based upon a ‘62 series of bubblegum cards, discontinued because of their gruesomely graphic pictures of earthlings being exterminated by alien invaders. As such this inspiration might suggest Mars Attacks! has little by way of plot, but for anyone with a weakness for vintage schlock sci-fi it’s a true Technicolor treat. This must certainly include the Misfits and when they reformed, they did so without the blessing of founder Glenn Danzig, but with their monster movie obsessions intact – among a multitude of horror movie tributes on their ‘97 comeback album ‘American Psycho’ was ‘Mars Attacks’ (and even an instrumental coincidentally titled ‘Abominable Dr Phibes’!)

I Was A Teenage Werewolf (1957) The drive-in movies of the 50s and 60s typically featured juvenile delinquents or monsters, and this bargain-basement effort delivered both in one lurid package. Before becoming ‘Pa’ on TV’s Little House on the Prairie Michael Landon stars as a troubled teen – though when he starts growing hair in strange places, it’s more than just hormones to blame. A howl from beginning to end, Teenage inspired a number on ‘Songs the Lord Taught Us’, the ‘80 debut from drive-in movie loving ghoulish rockers The Cramps.

Murder, mayhem and a right old mess

Minging Murderdoll tales from the Big Day Out

Who is the messiest Murderdoll of them all? Wednesday: “That would be Eric and The Ghoul. They are just messy as fuck. But you know you’ve just got to get used to living with these people. We’ve been on the road since July. You live on a bus for six weeks which means you’ve got (sic) live in everyone else’s shit.”

Who is the tidy anal doll? Joey: “No-one. We’re all pretty fuckin’ messy.” Wednesday: “I just took two garbage bags of mess out of my room. And just put it in the hallway. Just full of chicken bones and beer bottles and all sorts of shit like that, it was just smelling really bad so I had to get rid of it.”

So you do that yourself? Wednesday: “I don’t let the cleaning staff come into my room and tidy up. I put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign for the whole week I am there.” Joey: “The housekeepers are scared shitless to come into our rooms anyway so we keep it easy for them and put the ‘Do Not Disturb” signs up the whole time. They are going to be so scared to come into our rooms and clean up after we’ve been there for a fuckin’ week!”

[stationintern]

The Big Gay Road Trip Of 2002

Rated M for language and sexually suggestive content.

Draco and Harry take a road trip. Draco likes belt buckles and Stetsons. Harry also likes belt buckles and Stetsons. He really likes them. He might like Draco a bit, too.

Harry’s not blind.

He knows Draco is attractive– has known, probably for longer than the last two months they’ve spent in the United States of Adamant Stupidity, as Draco likes to call it. 

He hasn’t ignored it, hasn’t even been trying to, and Draco doesn’t seem to mind all that much. Still, they have three more months of this to get through, and Merlin knows how quickly becoming involved with one another could go south. 

“I’m gonna show you Brits how to drink the American way.” Violet slurs, tossing her violently pink hair behind one shoulder. Her dark skin is tinged purple and green under the fluorescent lights of the bar.

It’s a disgusting place, and Harry loves it. They’ve been in Dallas for a week, and Violet has said the same thing every night so far.

They picked her up at a dive bar on their first night here, and haven’t been able to shake her. Neither of them particularly mind. She makes for good company.

“And what does that entail?” Draco asks, dropping into the squeaky vinyl seat next to Harry and passing him a Modelo. Harry pushes the lime in with wonder, just as he has every other night. 

Harry’s not blind.

Draco looks stupid good. All buttoned up in a black shirt that's just a smidge too tight across his toned chest, straining against the lean muscle there. At some point during their stay, he’s acquired multiple novelty belt buckles, and is currently sporting one that says Truckers Only, embossed with an image of a woman in a thong bent over a semi. 

The newest addition to his outfit makes Harry’s mouth water, and he gulps, thankful for the loud music drowning out the noise.

“Where’d you get the hat?”

“Oh, this old thing?” Draco smirks, tipping the rich brown Stetson in a way that would make any other tourist look stupid. Harry wants to rip his eyes out. It stands out against the icy white of his hair, and over the course of the trip Draco has earned himself a beautiful golden tan, making his skin several shades darker.

God, Harry wants to eat him.

“Yeah. Where’d you get it?” Harry’s mouth goes from embarrassingly wet to a mortifying state of parched. His words come out in a croak.

“A very kind cowboy placed it on my head along with this.” Draco pulls a folded up piece of paper from the brim of the hat, revealing a phone number, “Reckon I’ll give it a go.”

Harry now wants to rip his eyes out and crawl in a hole.

See, the trip happened like this.

Draco wanted to fuck an American, so, naturally, Harry offered to join him on a five month trip across the United States in order to join in on the fun. They dubbed it The Big Gay Road Trip of 2002.

Things are not going as planned.

“You don’t even have a phone, Draco.”

“When has that ever stopped me?” Draco drawls, before turning to Violet, “Before I was so rudely interrupted by my traveling companion and his utter lack of manners, I believe I asked you what drinking like an American entails.”

Violet perks up, slowly recovering after going too hard, too fast at the beginning of the night, “Well, the American way of drinking usually ends in line-dancing. At least, that’s how it is here.”

“So, I drink enough to the point where I’m willing to line-dance in front of complete strangers for the first time?” Draco reclines in the booth, his knee knocking into Harry’s innocently.

It’s not like they haven’t touched. Occasionally, Draco will get too grabby on the dance floor of some club they stumble into in a town they’re too drunk to remember the name of. A few times, one of them has had to carry the other one back to the motel after having a few drinks too many, and will try to make a desperate move, but they’ve never given in.

Harry is so close to ruining everything, and finds that he’s starting to not care.

He’s had one too many Modelos.

“Mhm.” Violet swirls the remnants of her pint, staring at the bottom of the glass intently, “I reckon we keep drinkin’, and you tell me when you’re ready to hit the floor.”

Draco holds up a finger, before downing the entirety of his beer in a matter of seconds. He takes a deep breath, releasing the loudest burp in the history of mankind.

Harry still wants him.

“How would you feel if Stetson guy saw you do that just now?” Harry asks, feeling incredibly petty.

“Very cool, I’d imagine.” Draco shrugs, impossibly cool, squeaking out of the booth once again, “Onto the next!”

Once Draco is out of earshot, Violet leans in conspiratorially, “So, ya’ll gonna do it?”

Harry startles, feeling too exposed all of a sudden. He leans in as well, “Do what?”

“Screw. Fuck. Bang. Dirty Dance. Make lo-”

“No. Stop.” Harry holds up an authoritative hand with a grimace, “We’re not gonna… screw.”

“And why is that, darlin’?”

“Because it’s a bad idea.”

“Just because it’s a bad idea, doesn’t mean you don’t want to.”

Harry knows that, but he also knows it goes deeper, “Listen, Violet. If we… banged, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

“What, like it doesn’t wanna go down-”

“No, no. Not like that. I just-” God, this sounds so stupid. “I think I'd only want to… fuck Draco. Like, forever.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. I mean, look at the guy.” Violet gestures to the dance floor, where Draco is currently grinding up against who he can only assume is Stetson man. He’s tall, dark and broad and everything Draco usually goes for when he’s looking to pull. She gets a pained look on her face, but the damage is already done, “Actually, maybe, probably, don’t look at the guy. Guys.”

“Really rubbing it in there.”

“Oops.” Violet shrugs, before pushing herself up from her seat, suddenly struck with inspiration, “Be right back.”

She hurries off toward the bar, and Harry has a few awful moments to himself, allowing him to stare at Draco and Stetson, twisting the knife further into his own heart with each second that passes. Draco spots him from the dance floor and shoots him a wink, and the knife penetrates deeper.

Violet returns from the bar with three shot glasses of clear liquid.

“Tequila.” She states, slamming them down on the greasy table, liquid sloshing out the sides, “Drink these. Then, go sweep that boy off his goddamn feet.”

“Absolutely no-”

“Absolutely yes.” Violet pushes the glasses closer, “He’s just doin’ this to rile you up. Classic move. He wants you to go out there and call his bluff.”

“But what if he doesn’t?”

“Then you go cry about it. Never know if you don’t try.” Violet pushes the glasses more, to where they’re at risk of sliding into Harry’s lap. “Now, drink up, Prince Charming. You’ve got a Princess to save.”

Harry takes a final glance at Draco and Stetson. Draco is rolling his hips devilishly and grinning the whole time, and Harry has well and truly had enough. Maybe this is the time to do it. Rip the band-aid off. See if any of those times Draco threw himself onto Harry the minute they’d stepped into the motel room meant anything. 

Harry downs the first shot, chasing it with another glimpse of Draco’s arse flush against Stetson’s crotch. The second. Then the third.

Violet pinches his cheek from across the table, and Harry gets a front-row ticket to the boob show, “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Harry feels more like a kitten, but decides to do it anyway. He slides out of the booth, rubbing his sweaty hands on his dark wash jeans and mustering up any Gryffindor bravery he has left in his lust-and-sweat-soaked body.

The tequila hits, and the room turns into a tunnel, Draco shining bright at the end of it. 

Harry lets his feet do the thinking, and with each step his heart speeds up until he’s sure it’s going to explode. Draco stops dancing, and only then does Harry realize that he is mere inches away from him. Stetson man has quit dancing as well, simply doing a little shimmy off to the side. Harry shoots him a glare, and he shimmies to the left a bit more.

“Is there a problem, Potter?” Draco asks, more than a little confused. He looks beautiful like this. Covered in sweat and whatever else lives in this bar that hasn’t been cleaned since Voldemort was around the first time. 

Harry’s hands move for him, and soon he has Draco’s jaw cupped between his fingers, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t go home with him.”

Draco looks dumbfounded, pressing his lips together in a firm line, the blood draining out of his face. 

In a rush of movement, he bats Harry’s hand away, grabbing him by the sides of his face and pulling their bodies so close they might as well be one being. 

“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for a month.” He murmurs, before claiming Harry with his lips, wet and filthy and all-encompassing. His hands grasp at Harry’s waist, finding their way to his arse and kneading it possessively. 

Draco pulls away after what seems like forever and not nearly long enough, reaching a hand up to pluck the Stetson off his head, before placing it gently on Harry’s. 

He presses another dizzying kiss to Harry’s lips. He tastes of lime and honey.

“I reckon I’ll be going home with you, instead…. pardner.”

Harry pushes him away in an instant, trying his damndest not to laugh, “God, Draco, you ruined it.”

“C’mon, buckaroo, don’t you wanna buckado me?”

Harry does. He really, really does.

[ryuichirou]

Replies

More replies!

Anonymous asked:

Ryuichirou!! I've been seeing your (very beautiful) art for some time and i must ask: what is you opinion on the twst background characters, such as Neige, Rollo, Fellow Honest and etc?

Your art has been a great source of inspiration for me to keep drawing, i love your artstyle! Especially the way you draw Silver, but then again i might be biased since he is my fav lololol

Thank you so much, Anon! I am very happy that you like my art, it means a lot to hear that. Yesterday we discovered that we draw Silver very rarely, and I hope to fix that soon… He is a great boy and a very lovely one to draw.

Can’t say much about Fellow Honest – we haven’t seen his event yet; we love Rollo very much! I talked about him in this reply, plus posted a bunch of comics and drawings of him. He was one of the first twst characters we’ve seen even before knowing what twst was, and I still think he has one of the best designs in the game.

We also like Neige! For the most part we talk about him in the context of shipping him with Vil though, so pretty much all of my drawings with him are related to their relationship. This is a hc post, but I’m also kind of sharing my thoughts about him a little bit there… In general, I love what Neige represents and how nicely he contrasts Vil, and I think he could be used in a lot of different scenarios despite basically being just a very sweet and unassuming young man.

Anonymous asked:

YOU GUYS AWOKEN A NEW HORNY THOUGHT FOR ME WITH THE ROOKVIL ART

SAVANACLAW ROOK

WITH TAN LINES FROM BEING OUTSIDE WITH THAT WHORE OUTFIT

Ahem

Anyways

Tan lines on Savanaclaw Rook

ANON, I’M GLAD YOU GOT A NEW KINK OUT OF IT! Welcome to the Savanaclaw Rook appreciation club.

And yes, he would 100% have very obvious spots on his body with different colouration, the only thing is that this could hardly be called a tan line when it’s just… plain red burnt skin 😭 Rook and his little red triangle patch on his chest area because of the V-neck that he wore as his old dorm uniform…

(still sexy)

Anonymous asked:

Savanaclaw rook's a whole different breed, I hope Vil hosed him down before letting him come inside... I mean, inside the dorm!

Prefect: "mf looks like he fucked the flag of Poland"

Idia: "mf looks like an electrode gijinka"

LOL what a way to describe his unique complexion!

Now you made me think about Rook standing against the Pomefiore building wall patiently waiting until Vil’s done hosing him down. But also about some other preparations Vil could’ve made him go through before the other coming inside thing  (who am I kidding, there were no preparations, they’re kinky like that)

Anonymous asked:

I had a weird fever dream after taking meds where Malleus and Silver both wanted to surprise Lilia with sex and showed up at the same time without realizing the other had plans already, leading to a foursome where Lilia had to enlist the help of Sebek.... It was very hot. However I think realistically Malleus would show up for sex, and Lilia would be extremely busy playing some stupid game he told Silver to get him when he asked him what he wanted for his birthday, and Sebek would walk in on Lilia fucking Silver and Malleus and go absolutely completely braindead 😭 oh well....... It is a good fantasy..........

Anon, I can’t express how happy I was when I read that they ended up in a foursome because when you said that they both showed up without realising the other had plans already, I thought it would be an “oh no” interaction LOL But I am very glad that in realm of your dreams, everyone celebrates Lilia’s birthday in the best way possible: by inviting Sebek to help Lilia fuck both Malleus and Silver. What a party.

Let’s hope that in reality Malleus would still find a way to make Lilia pay attention to him without breaking the game or something lol

And Sebek… good luck, brother 💪

[spacehostilityy]

Part 3 of my nnt rewatch ep 13-18

I'm trying to watch it in latam Spanish but I just rlly love the English voice cast >:( I'm doing it for most scenes anyway tho🤪 I do love español!Elizabeth's voice tho !! I maintain that English!Ban is the best voice tho

Do we know why meliodas loses his emotions in this form?

And what form even is this? We never see it again if I remember correctly?

Helbram's magic lowkey cool as fuck

I want to see ban and Elizabeth interact one on one more often, as the two people closest to Meliodas (aside from Merlin, but she has secrets) I want to see them together, yk?

MelBan is just so good like they beat the shit out of each other to show love and I think that's beautiful

I know a lot of ppl ship lancelot and tristan but I ship their dads🫣 el oh el

Elizabeth should be way more powerful than she is and that is what polishes me off the most in all of sds honestly >:(

Also I'm back on my howzer x diane bullshit 😔

La voz del español!Meli es tan profundo, pienso que es la voz más diferente de las versiones, es extraño

Mi teoría sobre la voz de meliodas solo existe en las versiones de inglés y japonés I guess

King and Ban training together is so fucking cutee

I love how we just never rlly find out anything abt the trumpet of cernunos lol

How is ban's jacket too short but his pants aren't? Not complaining, that's just silly lol

Also him defending Meli even tho he obviously knows he's a demon is so🥺

Meliodas splitting the mountain with the branch is one of my fave scenes, we get to see that there's so much more to him and it hints at his coming power

I forgot how tragic Gil and Margaret were that's a good storyline damn

Ep 14 time !!

Is helbram... hot?

YESSS roars of dawn time !!! Slader is so babygirl I love him sm

Guila is such a girlboss line yaasss kween kill those children !!

Why the fuck does meliodas own so many slutty women's costumes HMMM? is he... you know... 👀💅

Gowther introducing himself to Hawk as oinkity oink oink is so real, I love their bond

I love that will Elizabeth feels insta love and Meliodas has BEEN in love for 3000 years

Slader is like if demon!meliodas, ban, and hawk had a baby and that baby was a slut

Seeing genuine surprise from Meliodas when "gowther" was going to be defeated is so weird, like mans was sad he lost his friend and had no idea that wasn't him

The roars of dawn are all hot and that's a good thing

Poor Dale. He just wanted to protect his family. And he was hot too😔

Ban flipping King off while Meliodas revels in Chastiefol's softness is such a representation of all three of them

Meliodas straight up using hellblaze to fight the armored giant/Dale is so funny, it's like baby isn't ur biggest secret that you're a 3000 year old demon prince?? And hellblaze is your specialty demon power?? This does not seem inconspicuous

Also might do a ramble on hellblaze later 👀

Also ban using a whip is kinda 😳

Indiana jones type drip (I am both attracted to and find gender envy from Indiana jones)

The girls are fightingggg

Also this title card is so cute !!

Meliodas straight up being the holy knight grand Master of danafor is so funny to me

He looks so cute in his danafor outfit😭

Also I wonder where meliodas gets the groping thing from because 3000 years ago he was def not like that, though the groping does get less frequent as the story goes on and that's when the holy war arc is so maybe nakaba just forgot abt it lol

Also slavery being canon in nnt britannia is crazy when you think about it

The only reason meliodas didn't carry a sword being he would kill too many people is just a litttleeee bit funny

But also Cain saying that he is both too violently destructive and "too gentle a soul" is painstaking ahaha🥲 literally the best descriptor for him

Gowther carrying King on piggyback is so cute😭😭

I think the moment Meliodas finally kills Dale is a real turning point in the series. Before this, he had not killed a single opponent. He just fought to disarm and incapacitate. Just the next episode, he tells ban and gowther to "go straight for the kill" against the holy knights. As we see throughout the rest of the series, even before his emotions get caught in purgatory, he no longer feels hesitant to kill. He only becomes more and more like himself from the time of the Holy War (post 10 commandments). This is why I love his character sm, a corruption arc (even if he is never truly evil) is just so rare and one this good and angst filled is even rarer.

Ban continually stealing the same 1980s glamrock red leather set with studs bc he keeps getting murdered in it is the foundation of his character fr

Gowther and Elizabeth being the only ones who are not alcoholics is so real

Also all of them just sniffing king kills me😭

Diane being 30 feet tall means the world to me

Also gowther is so pretty, esp without his glasses

Long hair!Dreyfus is also ridiculously pretty

Ban just letting Gowther squish his tits is so hashtag real, mans gives no fucks

Hug🥰

I don't think I've seen this episode since the first time I watched nnt bc I totally forgot Arthur was introduced in it lol

LISTEN howzer rooting for Diane when they're on opposite sides of the battle is just rlly cute look how flustered he is🥺

so in English, after gowther uses rewrite light, the holy knights say "Meliodas! There you are! Ban, I really missed you man!" BUT in Spanish they call Meliodas mijo (meaning my son/my kid) and Ban hermano (brother)😭😭

THEY CALL GOWTHER MI QUERIDO (my love/dear/beloved) AKKSLDLDLT

Howzer and Gyula being the first ones to publicly stand up to dreyfus and hendy means so much I love them

Hendy was so hot😭😭

Wait how did I just realize that fraudrin was the one to break gowther's nightmare teller

Wait I also juT realized that Dreyfus is Gil's uncle. Gil is dreyfus's nephew. How did I not comprehend that

King, sobbing: why can't I ever protect the people that I care about?😢😭😓 Helbram: it's because you're consistently late🤨😐🙄

Helbram's eyeliner game is almost as good as Ban's

Is Howzer's hair supposed to be green or blond? Discuss.

On that note, we always say Elizabeth's hair is silver, but it's def mint green

Anyway,that's episode 18! Can't believe I'm already about to be on my last part of season 1 !!

[storiesofsvu]

Hey hey, another Thursday!

Starting off with OC, ive seen the promo pics and tbh, im excited.

Jet looking amazing in green.

That was the WOOORST job putting a necklace on EVER. Like, not only was it over the hair, but it was not properly lined up for the reveal…

Just casually walking around the streets of nyc with a severed hand.. nbd

Are you seriously telling me that dog devoured that hand in that little time, bones and all?

How and why is it that these hardened career criminals always fall so fucking hard and fast for the UC cop!?? Like, you should have your guard up a little bit shouldn’t you??

Okay, so…. Can we talk about ayanna’s nails for a hot second? She clearly a pillow princess with those claws… LOL

 THANK YOU JET. THANK YOU for fucking calling out that stabler has done SO much worse than KISS someone while UC.

Man this whole sending an agent cop into the field UC to be the romantic interest of a perp/mob/mafia and the cop ends up crossing a line or two, fucking things up and falling for said perp… all while the guy playing Doyle is the main mob boss?? Hmm… this is a little too familiar, like even jet’s wig…

Is she faking this?? Okay, yes, she is. Called that.

This ep is super Ayanna jet heavy and im LOVING it thank fucking god

Also loving ayanna’s apt

Okay the wig coming off would not be that big of a deal in today’s day and age, tons of girls wear wigs all the fucking time. ALSO, why was it not wigcapped, pinned down and secured??

Welp. Cant say im not surprised by the ending. But I am glad that jet’s getting to do more.

As of right now I am paying ZERO attention to mothership. We’ll see if that changes when sam pops up or not.

Okay, the black & tan number Samantha has on close to the end? It looks like it’s a two piece outfit with her midriff hanging out… good job wardrobe…

Ooo..od’d… yeah… called that…, also Nolan that was some of the worst cpr compressions ive ever seen on tv.. cmon

OKAY. Paying attention now!

We REALLY had to watch that machete attack again!?? WHY

Jfc that opening…did we have to go that graphic?? Is this gonna continue to be a new thing?

I cant figure out if they’re trying to test out muncy/Velasco with the fandom and see what way we go, or of they’re teasing the relationship, or if they’re just playing on the brother/sister vibes, because all im getting is muncy being a brat, which is accurate. Also that scene would’ve been a lot less awkward if there was any kind of background noises/music, like when there’s elevator dings on grey’s, you know what im saying?

Loving the purple on Velasco tho

“you wanna keep a stray puppy?” “you got to keep one!” LOL

So bruno’s here to stay?

#1: wtf is this bucket hat.

#2: why is it pulled down so far over her eyes?

Bro those crutches are way too short for this dude

“A funk?” carisi then gives the “who’s this guy” look to liv. LOL.

Man the writing this ep is great.

I appreciate that we’re getting more into muncy’s personality aside from being a lil teasing brat, like, there’s gotta be a lot of grief in there, knowing that her mom died and im pretty sure it was when grace was young, so she’s probably been bottling shit up since then. Also still and always really hoping that they don’t push her & Velasco, let the brother sister bestie vibes win please.

Glad we’re getting lots of muncy this week

Bruno is growing on me….

“sometimes though it’s hard to make a u-turn” IS THAT THE ONLY FOLLOW UP WERE GONNA GET?! (I say that as someone who is 100000000% NOT an eo shipper, but I do think it’s strange that *that* happened last week and like, fin didn’t even ask how noah’s drive back to the city was kinda thing. Yeah, sure there was enough going on in both episodes, but like, there was literally ZERO follow up to everything. Jeeze.)

 Joe looking hella cute in that toque

Man this just keeps getting worse…

Okay… hold up.. grace says “a great one” about Velasco being a liar and liv just flies right passed it AS IF THEY ALL DIDN’T FIRST MEET HIM WHEN HE WAS UC AND NONE OF THEM BELIEVED HIM. Like homeboy WAS working majorly UC for how long??

Though we DO know a tidbit about his previous gang involvement… so I honestly don’t know what direction theyre taking this… it’ll be interesting to see.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

call me back, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader, previous taehyung x reader

summary: You know that feeling where you look at someone and you know they're not going to call you back? You know you shouldn't try to fuck them, but for some reason you can't look away. You're just looking at them across the house party and they're looking at you, and, shit, Jeon Jungkook is being dared to talk to you, so here goes nothing.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; strangers-to-lovers; slow burn and lots of hesitation with possible soulmate vibes; deeper than you think it is tbh; smut (fem reader, lots of kisses, handjob, edging, blowjob, cowgirl, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU - (VOGUE / GQ) blue-haired!JK x big-dick-energy!reader XD, ft reader's roommate hooking up with Kim Taehyung, nice; switches between reader's and Jungkook's POV

you can decide if you're the reader or the reader's roommate, you'll get it once you read it, hahaha

--

now playing – the weekend by bibi (milli remix)

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Pfft, of a guy? No.”

“Not just any guy.” Hushed voice, like the name itself was a secret. “Jeon Jungkook.”

“He is any guy, because any guy is just a person. And everyone is predictable. Even me.”

“Calm down or everyone is gonna see your massive boner from your big dick energy.” Mildly impressed tone covered by feigned exasperation. Then, a panicked gasp, rapid slapping of your arm. “Oh my God, he’s moving, he’s walking, he’s coming this way. Act natural.”

“Act natural, she says as she has a fuckin’ mental breakdown over a guy.”

Turned your head and there he was.

Hair dyed a cold ice-blue, visible black undercut, spare strands fanning over his forehead, brushing against his strong dark brows and the silver eyebrow piercing on the right side. Sharp dark brown eyes, angular jaw, silver lip ring accenting the right side of sultry lips that were made for kisses but never promised anything. Tiny little mole underneath the center of his lips, the perfect dot, the coup-de-grâce to his smile that could make a heart stop.

Good thing you didn’t have one.

He looked good in a dark cobalt blue and bright white tie-dye hoodie and shorts combo. Clean white sneakers too, chunkier to balance out the silhouette. Man knew how to dress.

He was walking towards you and your friend.

“Hey.”

Jungkook turned his head, lips parting.

“Hey.”

Smooth baritone, Jeon Jungkook spinning around, surprise flashing over his features as a black brown wavy-haired, bedroom-eyed, casually handsome Kim Taehyung slid out from behind him, black t-shirt with the short sleeves folded for a nice touch. Flowy black pants made of a high-end fabric with an exquisite drape. Boyish grin, nodding at you, you nodding back in acknowledgement, not looking at Jungkook.

“Nice coat,” Taehyung complimented you and your bright red cropped fur coat, thick and lush over a tight black mesh dress with scarlet red lining.

“Nice try,” was you amused reply, ticking your chin to his outfit. “Did you get dressed in the dark?”

Taehyung had a boxy, endearing smile. “I put on a belt.”

“Didn’t think you would be so worried about your pants coming off.”

Now his smile turned into a smirk. “You know I like making them work for it.”

Silence.

Other than the house party raging all around you four, but it was silent here, right here in this tiny space of Kim Taehyung smirking at you with smooth tan skin and reminiscing eyes, barely feeling the ever-tightening grip of your friend’s hands on your upper right arm, oblivious to the ice-blue bombshell that was Jeon Jungkook, too preoccupied with being the cocky, never-call-back girl even though you did, in fact, unzip Kim Taehyung’s pants once with your teeth.

You parted your lips.

Licked your teeth with the tip of your tongue.

Tilted your head to the side.

“Keep walkin’, boy.”

Taehyung did that thing. That bite the side of his lip grin and bounce of his eyebrows before sauntering off, a startlingly confused ice-blue bombshell stumbling after him, sputtering next to his ear, but you have no time to analyze because you were losing feeling in your better jack-off arm and your friend was sputtering in your own ear, speaking so fast she damn near choked on her words.

“Kim Taehyung? You never – How did – How big – Can I – Do I even have a chance?”

You pried her hand off. “One, am I supposed to self-report the drugs I take? Two, he asked. Three, big enough and then some. Four, sure. Five, sure, tonight?”

Her eyes almost fell out of her head at your nonchalant responses. You figured she would be used to it by now, but apparently not. “Tonight? How are you going to manage that?”

You shrugged. “It’s easy.”

She gawked at you.

You leaned your head against the wall, looking across the room with half-lidded eyes, to a head of black-brown curls next to one of ice-blue, waiting. A ruffle. Slow turn of the head, a single shrouded eye glancing at you, boyish smirk.

You tilted your head to the right, the smallest hint.

Taehyung turned away, but you knew he saw.

“W-Wait, it can’t be tonight, I’m not p-prepared…”

“You’re not prepared for Jeon Jungkook either.”

“I was just admiring, nothing was gonna happen–”

You rolled your eyes and turned to your right. Left hand rising, firmly gripping her left shoulder, pushing her back against the wall roughly. The shimmering threads of her purple dress caught the light, just for a second, before you covered it with your shadow, your face closing in, staring eye to eye.

“Something’s gonna happen.”

You kept your voice low, dangerous.

“That’s what you asked for. That’s what you’re gonna get.”

Eyes wide, shaking under your touch, supercharged air. She had plenty of time to say, no, thank you, but she did not choose to say that.

“Y-You’re scary…” she squeaked.

You backed off, tossing your head to sweep your hair away from your face.

“You like it.”

-

“What the fuck?”

Kim Taehyung snickered. “What?”

“You – You fuckin’ dick, you’re the one who was all like, aren’t you scared of her, huh, Jungkook? And I was all like, the fuck, no, I’m not scared of a girl, then you become mega-annoying and dare me to go say hello, only for – what was all that shit?”

“it was a conversation, bro. That’s all.”

“A conversation, you two were fucking right in front of my eyeballs!”

“I wish. She won’t call me back.”

“Who cares,” Jeon Jungkook snapped, nearly flipping the table of drinks, but there was too much alcohol and he wasn’t drunk enough to not care. When he was, there was a strong need for a clear table to sing on top of, but he wasn’t going to embarrass himself yet. Yet. In time. After everyone else was sufficiently drunk enough to forget seeing anything. “You dickhead, you just wanted to stare at her legs.”

“She’s got some fuckin’ sexy legs,” Taehyung muttered. “Great for putting against your chest when your dick Is being choked for every cent he’s got.”

Jungkook was unsure if he was disgusted or intrigued. “What is with you? She’s just a girl.”

Taehyung turned his head. A quick glance back, and then his eyes were back on Jungkook. “People are just people, but some people stick with you.” The seriousness in his lifted brow and calm tone made Jungkook pause, mesmerized by the picturesque handsomeness that was Kim Taehyung. “Even if they’re just a fleeting moment, your body knows it’s a special moment, remembers it forever. The way someone touched you and the simple bliss it was. The sensuality and confidence in a fingertip. Crazy how intense a single look is when you’re confronted with that kind of woman.”

He said it with such unwavering gravity that Jungkook found it impossible to poke fun at him.

Taehyung nodded sagely and cracked open a beer.

“She’s a whole ass woman. Mmm, yeah, what an ass, oof, watchin’ it bounce on your dick, man.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “Stop or I’ll send you to the bathroom.”

“Send her after me.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Just do that seduction with your eyeballs, look at me I’m a bad boy thing and I’ll rescue her from you. I mean, rescue you from her.”

“A selfless man, taking one for the team,” Jungkook snorted. “What do I get out of it?”

“Her friend is cute.”

Jungkook frowned. Quick glance over his shoulder. “You can’t do that. You don’t know her.”

Taehyung winked. “Only one way to find out.”

Jungkook wondered how he got dragged into this. Oh, right. He asked Taehyung to help introduce him to someone nice. Sigh. He should have asked someone else. Someone who didn’t get himself caught up in things like this. Someone less… Instagram shitposter. At least the one Taehyung wanted was the scarier one. Sure, she was hotter than hell, prettier than heaven, surrounding herself with just as attractive flowers.

But no matter how captivating fire was to look at, it burned.

-

“Why didn’t you call him back?”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“Voldemort?”

She tried to smack you, but you grabbed her wrist, laughing. A pouty little frown, a lingering touch. You waited. A shiver of hormones and confusion. Then, and only then, did you let go.

“I didn’t call Kim Taehyung back,” you answered calmly, swirling your neat whiskey. “Because I didn’t want to break his heart.”

Rapid blinking, trapped between two realms of thought. “What?”

“Look at him.”

“I can’t. You put thoughts in my head!”

You snickered, taking a sip. It burned, but not so bad. Maybe you were too used to the burn. “Okay, well, you saw him. He might look like a grizzly bear, and he kind of is in bed, but that man is a teddy bear at heart and he’s got a big one.”

“How can you tell that?”

“Because he was always polite even sucking his dick into my mouth, kept my hair out of my eyes, took out a whole-ass handkerchief after I swallowed his cum and dabbed my chin clean. Also, he asked me if I was hungry, thirsty, or needed cuddles after ramming me from behind so hard that my knees nearly created permanent indents in his mattress.”

Silence.

“I need to sit down,” she mumbled.

“You are.”

“Not in your lap.”

“There are no other chairs.”

“Yeah, but–”

“I’m gonna figure out you’re thinking a little too much?”

“S-Shut up!”

“Oh, here comes the king of the waterfall.”

She whipped her head around so fast you were worried she was going to get whiplash. “Where–?”

“Just kidding. They’re still by the drinks.”

“… I’m going to strangle you.”

“Do it, some dudes are into that. Taehyung was into that.”

“… Which side was he on…?”

You shrugged, knowing it was casually infuriating and, in fact, aiming for it.

“I’ll let him show you.”

-

“You know, maybe I want the friend.”

Jungkook felt a muscle in his eyelid twitch. “What?”

“She’s cute. And look at her in that sparkly purple dress sitting in her lap. Come on, dude. That’s pretty fucking adorable.”

“Adorable… or are you fantasizing about being part of that sandwich?” Jungkook muttered.

“I would absolutely partake in the sandwich if generously offered.”

“I will bite you.”

“Don’t. I saw the mark you left on Jimin. You freak.”

“I’m the freak, says the guy trying to partake in a human sandwich.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you would say no.”

Jungkook looked away. He wasn’t going to say shit. This wasn’t about him.

“Anyway–”

Taehyung gloated. “Anyway, he says, he’s just scared, scared little Miss Red Riding Hood is going to bite his dick off.”

“The grandma was the wolf.”

“Eh, semantics.”

Taehyung grabbed Jungkook’s head with one hand and yanked it towards the two women sitting on the end of the couch, chatting and smiling at each other. One in red and black, the one actually on the couch. The other in sparkling purple, displayed on top of those gorgeous legs.

“You know what she did for me?” Taehyung murmured low in Jungkook’s ear, hushed whispers that bred shivers. “Anything. Anything I asked, she was down with. You know how some people just do it to do it for you? Nah, that ain’t her style. She does it and you can tell she likes doing it. I get the vibe that she’s not usually a sub, but there are definitely aspects of it that she likes and appreciates. Maybe she taps into that shit like a goddamn magical girl, I have no clue, but she’s got power, bro. Power.”

Jungkook noted the sly to her smirk, the wave of her hair, the loose but secure hold on her glass, not letting it out of her sight. Black mesh over scarlet red, and for some reason he had the sudden urge to rip it, to tear it up and touch everything underneath, to push her head back with his hand cupping her chin and let his tongue do the talking for him.

Taehyung was still yapping.

“You like that shit. Knowledge is power, and she has all the knowledge.”

“She’s not an encyclopedia.”

“Nah, she’s the… bruh, what did Yoongi-hyung call it again? Oh, right! She’s the Karma Sutra.”

“It’s the Kama Sutra.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You – never mind.”

-

“What are you gonna do?”

“Sleep.”

“You can’t sleep,” she hissed. “I can’t fuck with you sleeping in the room next door.”

“Why? I do it all the time to you.”

“I’m not–”

Pause.

She stared at you.

You stared at your roommate.

She turned red.

You grinned. “I already know you’ve been listening and you like it.”

She choked on air. “I don’t–”

“I’ll stop then.”

“N-No, don’t stop–”

“Don’t stop? Go harder then?”

She sputtered a plethora of sounds and none of them were words. It took her a while to start forming sentences again. “Please, spare me, I’m only human, I’m not whatever supernatural creature you are.” Cough, side-eye. “Just… Just look at Jungkook, okay?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I remember what he looks like just fine.”

“Oh yeah?”

A challenge, and you rose to it without hesitation, with a kind of reckless abandon that was either brave or foolish. It was hard to tell with you. The kind of bitch that drank whiskey neat because you hated dilution and wanted everything in life on high power and full throttle, regardless of the consequence, even though nobody asked.

That was what everyone thought, anyway.

You tapped the glass against your lip, thinking.

“Eyes like galaxies, mouth like sin, chest that makes you indecisive on whether you want your tits pinned to that heartbeat and his hand on your back, or your back to his muscle and his hands on your chest, pushing yours away. His most likely silky-smooth voice whispering in your ear, don’t hide from me, that slim waist begging to be trapped between thighs, squeezed tight and close, breath to breath, lips to lips. He has that silver ring so you can remember his kiss. You push his head back, and his eyes ask you, are you in love with me yet?”

Dropped jaw, held breath. “A… Are you?”

You chuckled. “No.”

“What!”

“Oh, come on. You think just ‘cause the guy has blue hair I’m gonna jump off the deep end?”

“But… you talked about him like that?”

“Yeah, since he’s clearly that kind of guy.”

“How are you sure?”

“I’m not,” you laughed, draining your drink. “But he can’t prove me wrong, can he?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spied movement of cobalt blue and pure white. Turned your head and your eyes immediately went to that body line hinted at under clothes, a body that breathed new life into the house music, casual as it was, parted lips with a small mole underneath, hint of a smile with a twinkle at the right side, strands of cold ice-blue against light tan skin, dark brown eyes like galaxies.

He tilted his head as you made eye contact.

You raised an eyebrow at Jeon Jungkook.

He raised his hand and curled his fingers to him.

You opened your mouth and curled your tongue to you.

Your friend poked you. “Uh… what are you doing…?”

You smirked at Jungkook and a wave of uncertainty rippled across his features.

“Talking. Get up.”

-

“You can’t leave me with him.”

You cocked your head. “Sure, I can, darlin’.”

Spun her around and threw her into Kim Taehyung’s arms. He jumped slightly, surprised by your sudden appearance and the welcome intrusion. Split second of his inquiring eyes and you did a little wave of your hand with a wink. Your friend clutched Taehyung’s biceps, gawking at you in a panic, but you ignored it, noting the way his fingertips settled on her elbows, keeping her close.

“Talk about the art you’re gonna make tonight.”

The corner of his lips rose.

“W-Wait – o-oh, hello, wow…”

You turned around, letting it go where it was meant to go.

“Hey.”

The background common, the melody classic, the bass throughout every body in this room, and this was the vibe that had been heard before, the only difference being those in it, the eye contact that was fresh and different.

You looked up at him. No nerves.

“Hey.”

You leaned forward and breathed in deep. Fresh and sharp with a hint of sweet. Ticked your head, up tan skin and silver, connecting with dark brown framed in ice-blue from a box.

“You smell nice,” you said to Jeon Jungkook.

A sharp inhale at your calm remark. Then he leaned down. Closer. You didn’t move. Bold. Narrowing his eyes and you smirked a little, closer, just a little closer, waiting for that moment that you would pull back, once he was a little–

Jungkook curved his path and inhaled next to your ear.

“You smell nice too,” he murmured in his silky-smooth voice.

Oh?

He drew back with a smile. “Smokey and sugary.”

His eyes glimmered with something new.

You smiled back.

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

He raised an eyebrow, cocking his head.

“Wanna go somewhere with me?”

-

“Thought you were gonna take me to the back.”

“That’s not really my style, although it’s probably yours.”

“Actually, it’s not.”

Jungkook handed her the refill of whiskey and she took it, her fingertips brushing against his. A shivering spark danced through his fingers and disappeared as she pulled away. He noted her nail polish was dark, dark red, layers of sparkling glitter under garnet. He caught her eye. She took a sip, elegant hand surrounded by red fur, her expression asking him, what?

“You have a reputation,” he said with a shrug.

“Yeah?” She gave him a wry smile. “You too. Girls talk about you.”

He toyed with his lip ring, annoyed. “It’s all lies.”

“There’s truth to every lie.”

He frowned.

He didn’t have to prove anything.

“Why didn’t you call Taehyung back?”

They were walking along the walls now, away from the party, her hands to herself and his hands to himself. He was walking backwards carefully, sliding against the wall, watching the fur and mesh and legs, closer up now to see the waist he would like to hold, the collarbones waiting for his kiss, but he didn’t make any visible indication that he was interested, treading with caution.

There was no impatience in her air.

“I don’t call anyone back.”

“Why not?”

“Bad habits and I don’t trust myself with people.”

Jungkook stopped and she stopped in front of him, leaning against the wall. Could have leaned against him if she wanted to, but she didn’t, stopping with space between them, not even a brush of fur against his hoodie.

“Why not?”

“Do you trust me?” she asked nonchalantly.

He stared into her eyes.

She waited.

“… No.”

She smirked. “Ouchie.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Nobody does. I keep it that way.”

She spun around him, slow steps, and now she was the one following the wall, drink in hand, on the outskirts of the party with him where the music was softest and where they were the most alone, the smell of him and they smell of her mixing together, lingering and disappearing like lucid dreams.

“Why?”

“Easier than calling someone back.”

Jungkook tilted his head. She gave him this look. He thought about it. Those eyes, those lips, the glow of her skin, and, yeah, maybe it was too scary thinking about calling someone back, maybe it was too much hoping someone could reciprocate. Thinking about what if the feeling wasn’t the same. Even if the feeling was only a little, he would feel the need to cling onto it, hoping it would turn into more but it never did, it never would, and the calls would become less and less, until they just disappeared, leaving him wondering why he cared.

“You look like bad news, but you’re a book deep down, aren’t you?”

Jungkook broke out of his thoughts at her question, his eyes darting to her face.

“Why do you say that?”

She smiled. “You went pensive in the midst of our conversation even though you could be staring at my tits or trying to put your hand between my legs.”

“Why would I do that when you don’t want it?”

She opened her mouth, but then there was a pause, like a lull in the melody of their song. She stared at him, and he waited, looking back.

“You could just dive in, but you’re asking me questions,” she said softly.

He leaned against the wall.

“You too.”

Jungkook stared into her eyes.

They were like galaxies.

The song playing slowed to the bridge and so did time – or at least it seemed like it. Right before the beat drop, when the singer’s voice softened, melodic, and time went with it, dreamy words in semi-silence, and he could see it, what he would have done if it was someone else, if the moment rewound and he was walking past the first time, their eyes connecting, if it had been someone else, if he hadn’t been surprised, letting himself linger, leaning in, tempting promises, maybe even a passing touch, maybe being chased after, maybe taking the easy fling, but now in front of him was red fur, questions, and eyes like galaxies, burning with the fire of the stars themselves.

“I’m an easy target for you, aren’t I?” Jungkook whispered to her, so low that only she could hear because she was right in front of him, smokey and sugary against his fresh and sweet, somehow almost chest to chest now, gazing into each other’s eyes.

Her plush lips parted.

Jungkook wondered what it would be like to kiss them.

“You scare me,” she whispered back.

And then her eyes shifted and she began to walk away from him.

-

A hand grabbed your arm, clasping tight.

“Where are you going–?”

Your wrist twisted and your grasped Jeon Jungkook’s forearm, squeezing it tight, so tight he gasped at your sudden grip.

“They’re going upstairs.”

Your eyes followed the sparkle of purple behind broad-shouldered black, dark brown waves hiding her face and her smile. Your legs were already walking, dragging Jungkook along at his own insistence, placing your glass on a spare table and abandoning it, watching your surroundings with a discerning eye.

“It’s only Taehyung? Didn’t you guys fuck? Don’t you trust him?”

“I make sure my friends are safe, regardless of who it is.”

“She’ll be fine, she’s–”

“She’s a girl.”

On the stairs.

“So–”

You whipped your head around, glaring daggers, but Jungkook had paused himself, looking up at you with wide eyes.

He squeezed your arm reassuringly.

“I’m sorry. I get it now.”

You let go of him.

Jungkook didn’t let go of you.

Instead, he nudged you with his hold, ticking his head to the top of the stairs.

You looked away and he was dragged along, sliding in between the people, him saying excuse me, excuse us, you ignoring everyone, eyes following sparkling purple, her hand on his upper arm and her head on his shoulder, Taehyung’s frame towering over hers protectively, and it wasn’t him, he was a teddy bear, but your eyes trailed up and down the hall, watching everyone around you, searching for malicious intent. Jungkook stayed behind you, body heat close and his hand still buried into red fur.

You just never fucking know.

“You alright?”

You slowed, watching Taehyung and your roommate slip into a bedroom, locking the door.

Waited.

Every nerve on high alert.

Jungkook came close, his hand sliding up, rubbing your shoulder.

“You wanna stay here for a sec?”

“Yeah,” you said to the air. “You can go back down.”

“No. I’ll stay with you.”

You glanced at him and Jungkook gave you a half-smile.

“My friend’s in that room too.”

Someone pushed into him and Jungkook slammed his free hand against the wall to avoid colliding into you.

“Oh, shit, sorry, dude, my bad.”

“S’nothing,” Jungkook mumbled, his warm breath against your temple.

Fresh and sweet lingered with smoke and sugar.

His eyes went down. “You okay?”

Your eyes went up. “I’m always okay.”

He lingered for a second and backed up. “Me too.”

You finally breathed. “Cool.”

He gave you this look. Stepped closer, his shoulder against the wall so no one else bumped into him, lowering his hand. You could tell he wanted to ask, but you didn’t answer his call, your eyes going from the people to him, hyperaware, because one time, just one single time, one time you weren’t aware of your surroundings, one time you were too self-absorbed in teasing dick and some bad things happened, not to you but to a former friend, strength in numbers and all that, but bad shit happened anyway and you wished you could take it back, it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do it, but maybe it was, you felt like it was, you should have been more aware, and that person couldn’t talk to you anymore, you remind me too much of that night, I’m sorry, I can’t be friends with you.

“You care a lot.”

“Don’t you?”

“I don’t know if I care that much about Taehyung.”

“It’s different.”

“Yeah. I know. Well, I don’t know, but I figure, as in, I figured it out, er, it makes sense, I’m sorry that it’s like that, not that I’ve done anything, but on behalf of men I’m sorry that some of us suck kinda bad, not that kind of suck–”

“Do you always talk this much?”

A small pause.

His fresh and sweet a tiny bit closer.

“Sometimes. When I don’t know what to say.”

You clicked your tongue, still wary, eyes darting all over. “I can kiss you with my eyes open, will you shut up then?”

“We can’t do that.”

Your eyes stilled, on his face beside yours. Dark brown orbs on you and something was different. You could feel the bass through the walls from the speakers, and suddenly you were aware that Jungkook could feel it too, the bass, your body line, his body line, almost touching, and you could tell he wanted to, but you could also tell that when he looked into your eyes, all he saw were lonely nights.

Holding his phone, calling yours.

His galaxies asking you now, would you let it ring?

You remembered his hips on the dance floor.

“Are you scared?” you breathed.

Jungkook lowered his head.

“Yeah, I’m scared of you.”

You waited.

This wasn't even your house. These weren't your walls. The bed in the other room wasn't yours. It wasn't like you were going to smell his cologne on your sheets or see his head against your pillows. You weren't going to have to wake him up in the morning and tell him to leave. You weren't going to have to wake him up in the morning and struggle to tell him to leave. You weren't going to wake up in the morning knowing you would have to wake him up and never call him again.

You leaned in.

Stopped.

Ice-blue bombshell right at your fingertips.

You heard a familiar moan.

You raised your eyebrows.

Jungkook grinned, centimeters from your face. "I think they're having fun."

You didn't move away. Neither did he.

"I have a reputation," you mumbled. "A bad one."

Your lashes lowered. So did his.

"Me too," he murmured. "People talk a lot about stuff they don't know."

Not yet touching, looking down, his chest of rippling cobalt and white, yours of layered see-through black and red underneath, and you could see his tattooed hand, fingertips extended, very close to yours now.

He whispered your name under his breath, making it sound like smoke and sugar.

"Testing it?" Your voice was so quiet that only he could hear. "Just in case?"

You peeked at his smile. "Something like that."

Still weren't touching yet.

Fingertips so close, so close.

"I'm not easy, you know."

"I saw you on the dance floor. You're only a tease. Good. But a tease."

Jungkook chuckled at your response.

"It depends on who I'm dancing with."

He touched your fingertips, searing the memory of his touch into your mind. You gasped against his lips, your eyes snapping up into his, and he was looking back, dark brown galaxies glimmering, strands of ice-blue surrounding them.

"I want to dance with you."

-

He almost thought she was going to run.

"Do you want to dance with me?"

She still hadn't said anything.

He almost pulled away but then her fingers interlocked with his, covering his hand and finger tattoos with her hold, squeezing, skin to skin, and she was the fire, red, red fire, a wisp of a second and then there was no more air.

"Jungkook."

Right after, her lips on his, pressing into his lip ring, her other hand reaching up and gripping his hoodie, yanking him closer, and Jungkook did not resist, he tumbled into it, so soft but there was a roughness to it, her tongue dancing in the outskirts of the kiss, toying with his lip ring a little, and his other hand came up and landed in her hip, sliding up to her waist, pressing her against the wall, his blue hair fanning over her forehead and hers brushing against his face and shoulders, filling all space with the scent of smoke and sugar, and he was burning, burning with kisses and gasps and dancing tongue, teasing him, and it was a fleeting moment...

Right?

He tried so, so hard not to have those. He didn't want to get attached and have anyone break his heart, but, come on, it wasn't that serious, all that hesitation that led up to this moment was only... only...

Precautions.

Right.

... Fuck.

She tasted so good.

Felt so nice holding her waist in one hand and her hand in the other.

"Just testing..." she breathed against his lips, heavy with desire. "In case... anything happens."

Jungkook had her pinned against the wall and her hand was still clutching his hoodie, fingers digging into the fabric.

"Yeah..." he panted. "'Cause nothing might."

She smirked, her tongue flickering at the side of her mouth.

"Something like that."

-

Door slam.

Lock.

Gasp.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…

Hands on your waist, squeezing tight, your arms around his neck, lips to lips, metal on flesh, nipping at his, his silvery moan, moaning in sweet descent of your lips going down his neck. Leaving a trail of kisses, kisses that led to tongue, tongue drawing his name on his own skin, shit, he sounded so good, shit, he smelled so good, shit, he tasted so good, power under your lips, ice-blue bombshell melting in your hands, turning into a mess as you gripped his hair and pulled him close, your teeth on his ear, whispering, hot and low.

“Just so we’re clear…”

Through the wall was the violent slapping of ass to hips and moans in unison.

You pushed Jungkook’s hair away from his ear, messing it up and pushing it to one side, placing kisses on the curve, making him shudder.

Lingered.

Then you changed what you were going to say.

“I’m not actually scared of you or anything.”

He chuckled deep in his chest, his hands on your ass.

“Me neither.”

Breath trembling against each other’s skin, so hot and dishonest.

“I just said it to say it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Your hands were traveling, traveling, all over his hair, running your fingers through it, stroking the back of his neck, beat and bass of the music still audible, down his back, tracing out the muscles, raising your head so both of you were now eyes to eyes, stars to stars, watching each other under lowered lashes, fanning your fingertips over his back, watching his breath catch, feeling his hips collide with yours, hard to soft, beat and bass, ghosting kiss, your tongue flicking his lip ring.

Jungkook’s hips swayed, holding yours, making you follow.

Your hands slid under the bottom hem of his hoodie and up his bare back.

“You wanna dance right now?” you teased.

He grinned. “Yeah.” His grin softened to a smile, leaning in, light kisses, feathering them like dreams, his hope against your lips. “Still not sure if anything is gonna happen between you and I.”

In some random bedroom.

At some random party.

Your roommate and your past fling fucking in the room next door.

Ice-blue bombshell in your hands, his back muscles under your nails.

You made a choice.

“Hey.”

Dark brown orbs locked with yours.

“Let’s stop lying. I wanna fuck you.”

You raked your nails down his back.

Jungkook gasped and arched against you, pressing his chest to yours, moaning in your mouth and then you took his moan away with a kiss, drinking it in, tongue to tongue, stumbling deeper into the random bedroom.

-

Please call me back.

She gripped his hoodie and dragged it up.

Even if you don’t answer right away, please look at my name and consider calling me back.

He lifted his arms and yanked it off, tossing it aside, cold air onto hot skin.

“Fuck…”

Jungkook untangled from his clothes and saw that she was staring at his body, her fingers dancing up his tattooed arm, her other hand on his abs, sliding up, her eyes on his again, burning galaxies, trailing over his skin, leaning forward, his heart beating fast, gasping at the first kiss of lips to his chest, following her fingertips, circling him, kiss after kiss, little fires blossoming over his skin, him looking down, watching with hazy eyes.

Mesmerized by the flames.

His hands lingered over her form as she made her way over his left side, tongue circling his nipple and sucking on it lightly, a strange but arousing sensation, onto his upper arm, entranced by that body line enhanced by a tight dress and the short fur coat. His eyes kept following until she was right behind him, her kiss on his spine.

“W-What…?”

He sucked in a tight breath as he felt her nimble tongue on the small of his back and drag up, shivering at the contact, up, wet and dripping and hot, up his back, in between his shoulder blades, right to the base of his neck.

Holy…

Shit.

Her nails dug into his back, raking down, her heated breath on his wet skin.

“You’re sexy,” she whispered to his neck.

Her hands curled around his waist, fingers splayed, spreading over his torso, up his chest, pressing his body against hers, her covered breasts to his naked back.

Jungkook placed his hands on top of hers, so short of breath he needed a second to catch it.

Shit.

“You too,” he gasped.

Shit.

Her hand slid down his belly, his own carried along. She spoke to the back of his neck, low murmur, eliciting shudders, building anticipation, and he wanted it.

Oh, shit.

“You would look good on top of me.”

Her touch molded to his hardness, rocking her hips into his, slow and easy, their rhythm now, following their own music of heavy breathing and soft moans, body to body, stroking him through his shorts, her soft thighs against his hard ones, in some random bedroom, at some random party, and he was falling into the fire, his tone deepening, his free hand traveling down too, pushing, listening and feeling her hitched breath on the back of his neck.

“I would look good under you too,” Jungkook breathed and shoved her hand under his clothes.

Taut, pulsing skin to firm touch, and he was losing his mind.

“Fuck…!”

Stroking up and down, holding his chest to her back, caressing him from behind, his shorts half pushed down his ass, his hand guiding hers to hold him, the faintest whimper escaping his lips, and then her fingers closed in around his stiff, trembling length, one by one.

“I love your voice,” she mumbled into his neck, her lips to his skin. “It’s so beautiful.”

Jungkook moaned, his eyelids fluttering, the world shifting between dark and faint light, her fingertip teasing his nipple as she slowly jacked him off, kissing the back of his neck, and he wanted to say, please don’t say things like that, you’re making me fall more, but he didn’t want to admit it, to her or to himself, rushes of pleasure and measured softness, rolling his hips into it to extend each stroke, gasping at the squeeze of the head, his core tensing, her fingers fanned over his racing heart, rubbing his nipple with her palm, just the right pressure. Faint, dainty kisses.

“More?”

He could barely think.

“Less?”

“Fuck, you’re g-good like this, feels so fucking good, o-o-oh…”

She stopped.

Removed her hand.

Before Jungkook could protest, cry out, or fathom another word, he heard her licking her hand, drenching her palm and fingers with saliva, and then she gripped his twitching cock once more, slick and unyielding.

“Oh, fuck!”

She forced him against her chest, clenching her jaw, warm chuckle on his skin.

Fast, rough, amazing.

“Fuck my hand, come on, fuck my hand like it’s my pussy.”

His hips were already moving, not waiting for him, vicious waves of pleasure rippling through his body, sinful groan and gripping her arm and her hand around his cock, ramming his hips into that tight, wet hold, his shorts and underwear falling to his knees and slipping down his tense calves, but he didn’t notice and he didn’t care, feeling her elbow lock so he couldn’t move, trapping him in her fire, kisses on his neck and upper back, losing, losing his mind, losing his thoughts, only pleasure, only fucking, only feeling, so good, the pressure, the hold, the tightness, so good he could get used to it, want it, crave it, the kiss and the prison, closer, closer, closer, chasing it, hips rocking, almost, almost, almost.

He cried out and clamped his hand down on hers, squeezing the head of his cock forcefully.

“Fuck!”

Blinding almost pain and erotic denied pleasure, his eyes rolling back and his entire body trembling, leaking pre-cum all over her fingers, on the edge and yanking himself back, near-little-death experience.

Her fingertips on top of his thundering heartbeat, soft voice with a hint of concern.

“Are… you okay?”

She shifted behind him and rubbed his chest, nudging the side of his head with her nose.

“I… am always… okay…”

Jungkook panted, slowly letting go of her hand.

She chuckled, lightly kissing his ear. “Why did you do that?”

He looked down at the rug below them. “Didn’t want to cum on some random person’s rug. Cops might come find my ass.”

She backed up, laughing in genuine amusement. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”

“Also, it’d be a waste.”

He turned and she was smiling at him.

Waiting for him.

“Yeah.”

She opened her mouth and let her tongue hang downward.

He grinned.

-

His clothes were all over the floor.

You were still wearing all of yours.

He was in the euphoria of heaven.

You were trying not to breathe.

Drew back, your tongue tracing the shape, hard and pulsing underneath your lips, dripping down his length and lapping it back up. Jungkook was watching you, his fingers digging into the bed, watching you dive down and swallow it all once again, tongue swirling around his girth as you went down, down, shoving the head into your throat, as far as it would go and then deeper, squeezing all around in a steady rhythm, amused as he fell apart under you.

“F-Fuck, that’s so good, ah, p-please…”

Slowly licking up and down his length, your head unmoving but your throat constricting around him, a myriad of sensations that flowed into one another, saliva, tongue, lips, throat. Sucking, licking, toying from the sensitive tip to the tops of his balls, surrounded by his taste and his cologne, clean, fresh, sweet, and building the pace slow, gradual, passionate.

He gasped, grabbing the other pillow and jamming it under his head, never taking his eyes off you.

You cocked an eyebrow at him.

Placed your hands on his hips and pinned him to the bed, faster, more intense, your tongue shadowing your pace, lips soft, throat tight, head up and down, and his eyelids fluttered, low and sweet moans, all some variation of, you’re so good, holy fuck, I don’t even know what you’re doing, it’s so fucking good, you chuckled internally, so he was part of the vast majority that thought those weak, sloppy porn blowjobs were the real deal, tsk tsk, well, you were showing him what the real deal was, and you smirked around his cock, bobbing your head up and down.

Licked his balls every time your descended.

“Oh, shit…! Are you… oh my God…?”

You let the flickers of pink tongue show, choking yourself a bit with the depth you were taking him and your tongue being extended so far, but you refused to gag. You didn’t. His eyes on you, wide in disbelief, sparkling at the edges, his arms up and clutching the pillows, giving you a great view of his flexed arms and underarm tattoos.

Well.

You couldn’t disappoint him.

The sound, wet and lewd sucking, the sight, keeping your eyes on him as you got him off, the scent, fresh and sweet mixing with smoke and sugar, all over his thighs and cock, the touch, fire and ice, his body succumbing to the crackling shivers, straining under your fingertips but you kept him there, digging your nails into his hips, forcing him down, rippling muscle and overwhelming tension, and Jungkook was desperately trying not to break your speed and pace, his moans deepening, louder, so delicious, so uninhibited, so close, and then.

The taste.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

Exploding into your mouth, his hips bucking violently, shooting a thick spurt straight into the back of your throat and you held him down, feeling it again, his hard cock shivering and streaming more, his cum filling your throat, closing your eyes, so good, damn, gulping it down and hearing his whimper, slow rubs of the tip against the roof of your mouth and swallowing in tiny measured sips, letting him have the euphoric rush over and over and over, dribbling more and more, delirious with pleasure, your name slipping out of his lips, silvery, lovely, the kind of tone that made someone feel exclusive.

You circled your tongue slowly, licking him all around, taut skin shivering, keeping him hard, listening to his heavy breathing, your eyes still closed.

Imagining him on your bed, in your room, surrounded by your things, all yours.

You opened your eyes, vanquishing the mental image.

Jungkook cracked open his eyes, his forehead glistening, strands of ice-blue clinging to his skin.

“That was… fucking amazing…”

You popped your mouth off leisurely, leaving wet, dirty kisses that made him jump under you.

His mouth was open, heavy exhale, jaw sharp, so, so sexy on his elbows, halfway up on the bed.

You bounced his still-hard cock with your tongue, staring at him.

“Hah… hah… w-what?”

You felt the side of your lips rise.

“Just thinking your family photos must be nice if your face looks like that even after getting the best blowjob of your life.”

You saw his smile and it was a bright, endearing one.

You half-expected him to make some smart remark, but instead.

“The family photos could use a beautiful face like yours.”

Shit.

His pink tongue slid out and pushed his lip ring back and forth anxiously.

You smirked.

“You don’t even know what the pussy is like yet.”

Jungkook paused, his teeth catching the left side of his lip. “Fuck. I didn’t bring a condom.”

Here.

Here was the point that you usually stopped, hit rewind, next time then, backing up, knowing the response, wait, no, please, give me your number, I’ll make it up to you, watching them chase after you with amusement, fumbling with their phones, plucking it from their hands, typing it in and slinking out, never intending to answer any of their calls.

Some people came prepared though so, sometimes, if they were worth it, you let them tap it. Like Taehyung. He came very prepared. He was very worth it.

Your hand was still on Jungkook’s thigh.

You raised your head, gazing into those galaxies.

He breathed your name.

Yearning.

Longing.

Craving.

You ticked your head teasingly.

Reached into the pocket of your red fur coat.

-

“I didn’t think I’d see anyone I would want – oh, fuck me!”

Her red fur coat was tossed onto the bed. She had removed her panties as he rolled down the condom she had provided. He looked up as he was talking, trying to explain why he wasn’t prepared, and she was spreading her pretty pussy lips, and then sank right down onto his dick.

So, yeah, he didn’t have the most intelligent response.

She smacked her hips down and every expletive he knew flew out of his mouth all at once, suffocating tightness and disbelief rendering him frozen in shock, seeing his own wide eyes reflected in her shimmering galaxies. Wide smirk, snickering at him, and he was aware that this was embarrassing, but he couldn’t keep up.

“W-Wait, doesn’t that h-hurt, don’t you need to–”

She yanked her dress up and over her head, and he, mortifyingly, gasped as her tits bounced out.

She threw it behind her.

Placed her arms on his shoulders.

“You’re right,” she replied calmly.

Her pussy squeezed him.

Oh.

No.

She pulsed her muscles around his length and his cock twitched and became even harder.

Shit, I’m fucked, she has muscle control!

Jungkook was truly screwed in both senses of the word.

First.

The pleasure.

Like fire, it spread fast and it was relentless, already all over his body and searing him with the memory.

She rolled her hips and he gasped, throwing his hands back to plant them on the bed, grimacing to avoid exploding in two seconds, looking down, the slow wave of her hips, smothering his length with wet warmth and massaging muscles, shit, steady pace, shit, shit, shit, slow and deep, and he was afraid to look up, he really was, her fingers running through his hair, flicking the sweat off his forehead, pushing his head back.

His eyes travelled up her body. Full hips, pretty waist, beautiful breasts, and then the face, his eyes lingering on lips, eyes, cheeks, thinking to himself, I’m goona be real fucked up later when you don't call me back, shit, his lashes lowering, hiding a little, falling, falling for her, into the burning stars in the galaxies of her eyes, wordlessly asking.

Are you in love with me yet?

She smiled, leaning in.

Please tell me you are.

Soft lips, lush and delicious, slowly fucking him through the kiss.

Please be as into me as I am into you.

“Let me fuck you,” Jungkook gasped into her lips. “Please.”

She hooked her legs around his waist, burying him all the way inside, so deep and so tight, making them both moan into each other’s mouths.

“Roll over,” she murmured. “I’ll hold onto you.”

She pressed her naked body against his. He rolled them over, a little awkwardly, but there was something fun and dirty about it. Jungkook felt her smile against his. She let go a little, falling into the pillows and he looked down at her, seeing her hair flare out over the linens, half-lidded eyes sly and playful, rocking her hips up into him, a low moan leaving his lips, too absorbed with the image of her under him.

Imagined her on his bed, in his room, surrounded by his things, all his.

Something hurt, but it wasn’t physical.

Her hands left his shoulders. Jungkook felt the loss. A different kind of weight descended onto them.

Her fingers sank into his hips and yanked him to her.

He gasped, sliding in into that warm tightness all the way, again, tingling nerves stinging under his skin.

“Can’t wait,” she whispered, fiery and breathless. “Want you, right now, right now.”

The rush was so immense that Jungkook was lost for words.

Her hips rising, smacking into his, fucking him from below, and he met each and every gratifying smack with vicious desire, hard and loud and so fucking wet that he could hear it, lewd squelches and smacks, her hands falling, flying up to the headboard, pushing back against him, his pants of exertion and her moans, wispy and sweet, like smoke and sugar, locked with his eyes, his lust reflecting in hers, chasing a feeling, making a memory, harder and deeper, throbbing shivers, flames coursing through his veins. His ice-blue hair was falling into the edges of his vision, his head lowering, sloppy kisses, ruining the rhythm a little so he could last a little longer and just so…

Just so he could taste those lips again.

Feel them on his, pressing into his lip ring, firm and secure.

Drawing back, thrusting hard to hear her moan his name, sultry and saturated with desire.

“Like that, fuck, like that…”

She felt so good. Looked so fucking sexy. He loved it. He wanted it for a long, long time.

Maybe forever.

“I could… get used… to this.”

She smirked at his words between pants.

He thought she would say, well, don’t.

“You won’t.”

Basically, the same thing.

“I’ll get better every time you get better.”

Or not.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You think?”

“I know.”

She thrust upwards roughly and he bit back a groan at the pulsing squeeze and loud, visceral squelch that resonated throughout the room, surely heard through the thin walls, becoming one with the music of the house party.

She tilted her head, grinning.

Jungkook clenched his jaw, his hands and arms next to her head.

“Call me, then.”

And then he squeezed his eyes shut and fucked her as hard as he could, deep rather than fast, the bed screaming under them, rhythmic squeaks mixing with her gasps, yes, fuck, yes, giving it his all, trying not to give in to the continuous pulsing around his twitching cock, grabbing her legs, pushing them up, sandwiching them between their chests, her juicy thighs flush to beating heart, getting that deeper angle, so good that he couldn’t speak anymore, losing himself in the pleasure.

“Oh, f-fuck, Jungkook…!”

It all crashed down, gloriously, in an instant.

Constricting pressure, rush of sweet-sour juices, splattering onto the inside of his thighs and shivering walls molding into his stiff, throbbing length that jerked and shot into the condom, immediate ecstasy, primal need gratified, soaring from the high, savoring the flinching jolts that ransacked his hips and drove him forward.

He gasped her name and opened his eyes.

Her eyes on his face, lips parted, erotic exhale, shimmering gaze burning with stars of her galaxies, framed by lashes, reaching up, pulling him down. Her lashes lowered, her eyes closing and so did his, in darkness with her arms around him, her lips touching his.

She whispered so, so softly that Jungkook wouldn’t have heard it if he didn’t recognize the question.

“Do you trust me?”

The aftershocks of orgasm hummed through his body.

“Yeah.”

She pressed her lips to his and kissed him.

Kissed him and kissed him, his arms cradling her head and her hands in his hair.

-

You handed him his phone back.

“That’s how you do it, huh? Give ‘em mind-blowing orgasms so they beg you for your number?”

You tilted your head at him.

“Does it work for you?”

Jungkook turned sheepish. “I don’t try to lead anyone on.”

“Neither do I.”

He held his phone for a moment and then tucked it into his pocket.

“Was it always like this for you? Did it always mean this little?”

You looked at this ice-blue bombshell sitting beside you on this messy, sexed-up bed that did not belong to either of you.

“No,” you admitted. “I do it to punish myself because I did something bad.”

“How long?”

“What?”

Jungkook leaned his head against your shoulder, looking up at you with those big brown eyes, small galaxies. “How long does your punishment last?” he asked softly.

Your gaze lowered. His hand was on top of yours that was resting on your thigh.

“I don’t know.”

He pressed his lips to your shoulder. A soft kiss on your invisible weight.

“Call me back when you know.”

-

Jeon Jungkook called you the next morning.

You didn’t answer.

Let it go to voicemail.

Stared at the ceiling, thinking.

How long does your punishment last?

You had made sure your roommate got home safely, got her everything she needed. Hangover meds, water, breakfast waiting in the kitchen when she woke up, made her tell you at least five times that she was okay.

“Am I the one who has to be okay?” she laughed sleepily as you tucked her into bed. “I think you need to check if you’re okay.”

You laid in your bed, thinking.

How long? Years. Your fault? No. Lost a friend? Yes. Did they blame you? No. Do you blame you? Yes. Was it really your fault? No. Never was. Did you try to be better? Yes, all the time. Was it enough? Don’t know. Didn’t feel like enough, but then again, the only one rating you was yourself and you were being deliberately unfair.

So.

How long?

You took a couple days to think.

To really think, not just pathetically overcompensate.

The world was a cruel, cruel place. Hardships were by chance. A random lottery of misfortunes that knew not the difference of character between individuals, no rhyme or reason. They just were and people just had to deal. You knew this. You told everyone else this.

Why were you cruel to yourself, then?

Was this really the deal or did you make up the rules? And when will you allow yourself to unmake them? Nothing had changed if nothing had changed. Nothing will change if nothing will change.

You picked up your phone, nearly a week later.

Stared at the missed call.

Pressed the call button and raised it to your ear.

-

“She called you back.”

Jungkook frowned. “But it’s the weekend.”

Taehyung shrugged. “So?”

He had a strange feeling. “Isn’t that a bad sign?”

“Bro, she called you back. She never calls anyone back.”

Jungkook felt a flutter of unease, excitement, and anticipation all rolled into one. He glanced at his phone again, the contact’s name, the returned call, and he found he missed it, the voice, the whisper in his ear, the fingertips of his skin, the kisses and nails down his back, but there was so, so much danger in that fire, and was he fireproof? Was he fireproof to the special moment that he knew he would remember forever? The way she touched him and the simple bliss it was.

The sensuality and confidence in a fingertip.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Uh, you definitely should, because I gotta see that roommate of hers again.” Taehyung grinned boyishly, repeatedly nudging his arm. “Come on. Double date, double bang. Do it for hyung.”

Maybe he didn’t need to protect himself at all.

Maybe all he needed to do was be just as hot. Match the temperature.

Burn brighter together.

“Do it for hyung.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m answering the damn call…” Jungkook grumbled, but only in annoyance at Taehyung’s behavior, hiding his smile with the side of his phone, listening to the rings. One. Two. Three.

Fou–

A voice smoother than butter.

“Hey.”

--

masterpost

[actorfrustration]

The Resistance: Fueled by Coffee

TITLE: The Resistance: Fueled by Coffee PAIRING: Oscar/OC RATING: T CHAPTER: One-shot SUMMARY: Oscar has a funny way of flirting with Annie: through coffee.

[A/N - Been a while, huh?]

They were all ready to go on set. There was just one little problem.

Oscar was late.

“Find out where Oscar is! J.J. is starting to get impatient!” Alexa, Annie’s boss, snapped at her.

Annie nodded quickly and pulled out her cellphone, dialing Oscar’s number.

Just as it started ringing, Oscar sauntered in with a drink holder in his hand.

“Oscar! Thank god!” Annie said.

“Sorry, querida. The line was around the block.” He held a coffee out to her. “Just how you like it.”

Annie blushed and took it from him. “You know, normally it’s the intern’s job to get the coffee.”

“Well maybe I just like seeing the adorable blush on your face.”

Annie blushed even brighter. “They need you in costume and makeup.”

Oscar gave her a wink. “On my way.”

“When are you two gonna get together?”

Annie jumped and nearly spilled her coffee. “Daisy! What have I told you about sneaking up on me!”

The British actress laughed.

“I swear to god. It’s like you really do have the Force,” Annie said.

“If I did, I would Force-push you and Oscar together.”

“Daisy, he doesn’t like me like that.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Please. He goes out of his way to make sure you have a good day. Whether that means having lunch with you or bringing you little treats. That man is in love with you.”

“He is not! He’s over a decade older than me!”

Daisy shrugged her shoulders. “So? Lots of people fall in love with people older or younger than themselves.”

“He has a kid, Daisy!”

“You love kids!”

“He…”

Daisy put a finger on Annie’s lips. “Stop making excuses. Everyone can tell you’re head over heels for each other.”

Oscar walked out of costume and makeup in what Annie called his “Han Solo” outfit. Khaki pants, brown boots, a tan shirt, a bandolier, leather gloves, and a scarf.

Except he wasn’t wearing the scarf yet and he had the buttons of his shirt undone so she could see the skin of his neck. Her eyes followed him as he walked on set.

“If you’re done eye-fucking my co-star…” Daisy said.

Annie’s eyes went wide. “Daisy!”

“What? You are?”

Annie covered her flaming cheeks with her hands. “Oh my god! Get on set before J.J. and Alexa kill me!”

Daisy chuckled and sipped on her Starbucks.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Over the next few days, Oscar walked in with coffee from Starbucks.

But every day, there was something different written on her lid that corresponded with her coffee for the day.

One day, it was a cold brew with “You’re brew-tiful.”

Another it was a caramel macchiato “You mocha me very happy!”

Her black coffee had “We were meant to bean together.”

Annie wondered if he was coming up with these himself or looking them up on the internet. Either way, she liked his subtle, if not funny, way of flirting.

Eventually, he graduated from written notes to jokes. “What do beans say to their Valentines?” he asked.

Annie rolled her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“You keep me grounded.”

Some days the jokes were funny and clever and others weren’t.

“What do you call a sad cup of coffee?”

“No idea.”

“A depresso.”

“That’s not funny, Oscar.”

“Well I didn’t come up with it, princessa.”

Annie wanted to surprise Oscar one day, so she ran to Starbucks while he was filming with Carrie and some other actors. She walked in as they were finishing and Oscar walked over to her.

His dark curls were mussed like he had been running his hand through his hair.

She handed him the coffee and said, “I…I found a joke you might like.”

Oscar sipped the coffee. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…let me here it then.”

“What’s Fat, Slimy, and Drinks a lot of Coffee?”

Oscar thought about it for a second. “I genuinely have no idea.”

“Java the Hut.”

There was a beat of silence before Oscar started laughing. “God, that’s so bad!”

“I thought it was appropriate. You know, seeing as you’re in Star Wars.”

Oscar set his coffee down and cupped Annie’s cheek in his hand. “I have one for you. How do cups greet each other?”

Annie opened her mouth to answer when Oscar kissed her.

“With mugs and kisses. Words cannot espresso how much you bean to me.”

“Oscar…”

“It’s hard for me to expresso my feelings for you.”

“Oh my god! Stop!”

“I like you a latte.”

Annie shook her head and laughed. “Shut-up and kiss me Isaac.”

Oscar smiled and leaned down to kiss her.

[chiwhorei]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭

cross-posted to Ao3!

pairing: issei “horse cock” matsukawa x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~4.4k

tags: stripper!issei, stripper!seijoh, roommate!oikawa, tendoukawa (bc @heauxzenji said it an it’s now the only ship in my head) dry humping, lap dance, a little corruption, spitting, public, alcohol and recreational drug consumption (weed and coke), spanking, degradation, hardly edited

a/n: howdy! this is my contribution to the smut pile’s western collab and it is so incredibly late but what the hell else is new. the masterlist for the collab can be found here! @messwriting and myself, in true chaotic duo fashion, built an absolutely depraved multiverse of seijoh strippers: the lawbreakers. lee, i love you so much. this journey we’ve been on the past few months has been chaotic and beautiful, and there’s plenty more to come. 

the multiverse: hanamaki || iwaizumi || kyoutani

hymn: save a horse (ride a cowboy) by big & rich

and all the girls say— save a horse, ride a cowboy

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head.

How the fuck did you get here?

***

You shift your weight on either foot, arches aching already. The pair of jeans and top you had planned on wearing tonight were all but ripped off of your body, casual boots thrown down the hallway with sadistic glee and replaced with heels that are taller and a dress much too short.

“Damnit, you’re walking too fast.” Your appointed captor turns around dramatically, stopping in his tracks to watch you catch up. The cigarette pressed into his mouth cards in two fingers and extended towards you as a peace offering. You take the half gone stick and bring it to your lips.

Tendou’s mission was simple, drag his boyfriends roommate and best friend-- possibly kicking and screaming-- out for a night she won’t soon forget. 

“Were those really necessary, Satori?” You point with the remnants of his cigarette and he feigns a kicked-puppy expression, looking down dramatically at his all black outfit contrasting drastically with a flashy pair of brownish-red cowboy boots. 

“I am being a supportive partner. Plus Tooru and I wear the same shoe size.” His hair is bright outlined by the neon sign above the building.

You inhale smoke and nicotine, eying him over once again before continuing. 

“Does it bother you when he’s dancing on all of those horny women?” The cigarette butt falls to the ground, you snuff it out while exhaling remnant smoke from your nose, the bachelorette party walking towards the door in a parade screaming emphasizes your question.

Tendou pulls you close, mouth pressing against your neck to bite against the skin. You jerk away from his embrace, with a feeble push against his chest to match the scoff scratching against your throat. The tall red head above you, currently leaned into the dip on your neck, always has an air of vulgar humor and zero personal space. 

“Watching my pretty little boyfriend grinding on women that would never stand a chance with him,” he pulls away just in time to catch another eye roll before grabbing your wrist to pull you inside, “I think it’s hot as fuck.” 

You stumble behind him, the doorman recognizing your friend immediately and lets the pair of you through tacky saloon doors. You catch a glimpse of the tattered sign standing right next to the entrance. 

Lawbreaker’s Presents: The Guys of the Wild West

The club is drastically warmer than outside, the chill in your barely covered limbs thaws in a mixture of stage lights and body heat.

 You sigh deeply as the sound of country music fills your ears, seemingly in rhythm with the squawking of drunken hens sipping on tall flutes of champagne. Thinking back briefly to when you first signed the lease with Oikawa, you remember he wore glasses and a sweater vest. 

He said he worked as a “fitness instructor.”

“Ah, my two favorite people in the whole world,” Tooru’s ears just have been burning at your recollection, as your roommate appears in front of you in nothing but white spandex shorts and a pair of shiny boots to match, a tray of drinks is placed to the side on an unoccupied table. The white cowboy hat on his head gleamed in the low light of the club, rhinestone star shimmers-- you want to shy away from the bright refraction hitting your eyes.

He looks in his element, completely confident and cocksure as he walks around in only underwear and body oil. 

“Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.” Oikawa melts into Tendou’s side, he looks just as content in the current atmosphere. Tendou seems at home in any ecosystem he wanders into.

“The show starts in 15, go get yourself a drink and try to pull the stick out of your ass. I’m going to, uhm, wish Tooru an extra special good luck.” 

“I really didn’t need to know that, thanks. Tooru, break a leg.” You turn around at the sight of the wandering, tattooed hand on it’s journey south on Oikawa’s abdomen and retreat to the bar. You aren’t shocked by the display, not hardly, not with the two of them using almost every surface in your apartment as a debauched playground.

The space around you is emptier than you imagined it would be, but there is still time before the night actually starts. The bartender approaches just as you sit down on one of the wooden stools, every fixture around you is designed to look like an old saloon-- save for the strobing lights and dj booth.

You order something strong and amber, partially to stay in-theme, partially for the nerves settled in your stomach that draft beer wouldn’t be able to curb.

The woman smiles brightly and turns to pour your liquor, leaving you to pick at a cocktail napkin and await your friend’s return.

“You’re Shittykawa’s roommate.” A stranger's voice is deep and bellowing, sounding high above your ear. You swivel in your seat, gaze meeting a tanned chest instead of a set of eyes. Trailing upwards past thick black tattoos and an unavoidable pair of silver nipple rings.

You can feel the muscles in the back of your neck as they strain to meet his chocolate brown stare, he looks amused as you all but gawk at him.

“Yes, uh, I am. And you’re, uhm--” the train of thought you try to hang onto derailed completely by a devastating smile, “one of Tooru’s co-workers?”

If his smile wasn’t enough, his laugh could level the building around you. Your new friend taps the black Stetson against the bar top before putting it back on his head. He gestures broadly to his attire, or lack thereof, with another disarming and smooth chuckle. 

“What gave that one away, darlin’?” You realize how stupid your question sounded, mentally kicking yourself but trying desperately not to show it on your face.

Long, thick legs are wrapped in a pair of leather chaps, the tight fabric hides nothing even if it covers most of his lower half. A matching vest hangs open on his chest, the muscles in his arms look bigger than your head. He seems huge in presence and physique, your own form is a shrinking violet below him.

“Your drink, dear. Double Jack n’ Coke.” The bartender slides a glass towards you, and you accept it with a gracious smile. The distraction is definitely appreciated, any excuse to break the eye contact that has you dissolving like lye.

“Jack n’ Coke, a gal after my own heart.” You choke, a coupling of small coughs break out of your chest. You curse your bodies reaction, you don’t even know--

“You’re name, uh, w-what’s your name.” Casual conversation seems like the best option, because it’s only been two minutes with the almost-naked Casanova and there’s a gnawing feeling that you don’t want him to walk away.

You blame it on the alcohol not yet even running through your veins. 

“Call me anything you want, pretty girl, but my name’s Issei.”

A smile creeps from one end of your mouth to the other. His presence is jarring to say the least, but there’s something about the way his teeth peek out past curled lips that makes you want to lean in instead of away.

Tendou calls your name, effectively pulling you out of Issei’s orbit and reminding you where you are. Heat flushes in waves on your face as Tendou wraps his long arms around your shoulders from behind. Acknowledging your new friend with a pointed, “Howdy partner,” before turning to order his own drink.

“Something sweet please, and strong.” You hear his voice singing to the bartender but still face Issei, having his attention is more intoxicating than whiskey. You want him to talk to you, to ask you questions, to grace you with that smile over again.

You feel the ability to breathe escaping when Issei leans into you impossibly close, his hand enclosing around your back and pulling you in so slightly you could swear you imagined it.

“It was nice to meet you. Make sure I hear ya’ out there, darlin.”

You’re left almost falling from the bar stool, watching as Issei strides toward the back. The way his hips sway is unfair in every--

“Hey,” Tendou’s fingers come up to snap in front of your face, “Didya hear me? Let’s go take our seats.” 

That’s right; you feel like you’ve just run a marathon, heart beating erratically at the briefest interaction, your night hasn’t even started yet. 

You’re dragged directly towards the front of the stage and sat in a small two person table. You agreed to the night out between gritted teeth, hauled to the uber with absolute defiance; but most of your protest has fizzled away-- definitely not due to a pair of deep brown eyes and planes of perfectly tanned skin-- as you get comfortable next to the boisterous bridal party. You can hear their idle, drunken chatter at your back. 

“I heard they call one of the dancers ‘Mad Dog’. Apparently he’s totally feral.”

“One of them is nicknamed the ‘Big Tease’, he really likes the pretty little brides~” 

“Oh yeah? Well there’s one dancer called ‘Horse Cock’. I’m going to go home with him.” 

The women behind you howl with laughter, enjoying their friend’s last night of freedom. The straw in your drink twirls idly, thoughts drifting with each turn of the plastic against your liquor. Surely, Issei had just intended a friendly introduction, he wouldn’t be raking in tips by being unapproachable.

Friendly, you decide, repeating it to yourself until the lights drop and a black curtain is pulled up, he was just being nice. 

* * *

The show starts out mostly how you would expect. Through a few sets, toned, beautiful guys take their clothes off and fling articles at the screaming, panting crowd. The table next to you gets the most attention, bridal parties, you assume, would be the prized cash cow.

Oikawa comes out in the most obnoxious, white and teal outfit and strips into nothing but a thong and boots. Every inch of his skin sparkles, the cause becoming obvious when he jumps down to the audience and swivels his hips and ass right into your lap. Your hand comes up to his hip reflexively to brace yourself-- of course, body glitter.

You watch on at the sweaty writhing of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in real life. The atmosphere around you is absolutely contagious, it’s impossible not to fall into the rhythm, losing inhibitions with every stray piece of fabric as it’s tossed into the sea of women.

Just as you lean over to Tendou to admit that you’re enjoying yourself, the next song blasts loudly from the speakers. The beat vibrates your table, soaking into every nerve, but is almost drowned out completely by the shrieking from every patron around you. They must know what’s coming. 

 Looking back up front, you realize why the crowd is losing their minds. The man that commanded your attention at the bar is even more alluring now. His strut to center stage is deliberate, flashing smiles and winks to no one in particular and hypnotizing every person in his reach.

Issei is stunning in his element, soaking in the reaction with a humble tip of his hat. You could swear, though you’re sure that it’s just your imagination, that he’s looking right at you.

His performance starts out like the rest of them, but each movement of his tattooed hands as they travel over his chest is spellbinding. 

Issei discards his leather vest and tosses it to the side, it feels like you’re watching him in slow motion. He’s gorgeous, skin tanned and tight over thick muscle, arms wrapped in black ink and shining with sweat.

His chaps are next, ripped from his legs just as music behind him picks up. The wedding party next to you so loud you swear the laundromat next door can hear.

 All that’s left is a thong that’s barely covering his cock. You try desperately not to, but all your eyes can focus on is the bulge under a tiny piece of black leather. Your thighs rub together in search of any relief to the feeling growing hot and slick in your stomach.

He moves like liquid platinum, every long, deliberate swivel of his hips and overt palming over his crotch is enough to cause delirium. He soaks in every whistle and shriek of his name, vibrating on the high of squelching attention. 

Issei is a natural. He’s a wild animal, and, along with every other woman there, you wish he would tear you apart with his canines. 

He descends the short staircase with a quick stomp of his boots, now making rounds through the crowd. He stops in front of tables at random, invading the space between strangers and collecting wrinkled one dollar bills.

Why does something so blatantly performative feel voyeurous?

All you can do is gawk, ignoring how every time another woman’s hand runs down his abdomen you heat with envy. As he turns away from the bridal party neighboring you, your blood turns ice cold.

Issei has you, unmistakably, in his sights. His eyes pin you, holding you down tightly in your chair as he struts forward. Tendou whistles loudly as the brunette approaches your table. You wonder, in your last moment of cognizance, if Saroti and Tooru had planned your evening in more detail that you originally thought.

“Long time no see, darlin’,” Issei stands over you, and all you can do is stare dumbly up at him, “do ya trust me?” 

You don’t answer, not with words, not like he would even hear your quiver over Big & Rich booming through the speakers. His question is stupid, to trust someone you just met so vaguely?

You do. Against any better judgement, you do. 

He doesn't give you the chance to ask what he means, stuck in the gooey feeling of his attention. Issei reaches behind you, picking up your half empty glass. He swirls the drink with an almost evil smile before bringing it up to his lips and draining the last bits of whiskey and coke. 

Your face reads confused, not putting his intentions together until you feel his thumb pressed against your chin. Issei’s eyebrow quirks, eyes trained on your reaction. You’re options are to shy away, turning back in your seat, running for escape in the bathroom, or--

The gloss on your mouth is sticky as your lips part in obedience. Issei tries to hide his elation, but it’s difficult to remain aloof as your tongue lulls out and your eyes beg him.

Issei’s hold on your chin tightens, nudging you to lean in so he’s only inches away. Your eyes shut lightly, the shouting surrounding you sounds little more than a whisper with the blood rushing in your ears.

You swear you can hear him groan above you as the sharp taste of liquor hits your tongue. Willing your body to cooperate, you swallow the drink with only a small cough. 

His face dips down, it seems like a habit now, to brush his promises against the shell of your ear once again.

“You’re an agreeable little thing, I think you can take it.”

His hands are on either side of your chair in a flash, lifting you up with trained, bulging muscles. You fall forward in your seat, bracing against Issei’s chest. Every cell in your body is tight with tension, if you lift your head up to meet the audience’s eyes, you’re sure you’ll crack like glass.

He steals you from relative comfort, shifting your weight in his arms as he ascends back onto stage. You’ve gone limp in his hold, pliant to his will. The unfamiliar presence at a dusty bar top has turned into more than a front row seat to depravity.

You’re thrown off balance as he sets you down, eyes adjusting to the white hot stage lights. You’re exposed to every set of eyes in the building, even if you can’t see him-- you know Satori is smiling from one sharp cheek to the other. Wherever Tooru is, he’s most likely sitting in the same satisfaction.

Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.

Issei rounds the back of your chair so his actions are hidden from your view. The brim of a leather cowboy hat breaches your field of vision, much too big for your head.

His hands come down onto your shoulders, snaking down your bare arms. His touch leaves a scorching fleet of chills. Issei runs his finger tips upwards, tracing against your collarbone before wrapping his grip lightly around your neck. 

He can feel it, he has to, the racing pulse right under the surface of your skin.

The music transitions effortlessly, going almost unnoticed. The next song, still sharp with a cheesy country twang, is slower, deeper.

Issei’s thumb brushes against your cheek, your body wants to relax into the touch before it remembers how public the gesture is.

You hold in a shaky breath as he comes to stand in your eyeline again, you might as well be bound to your chair with rope. He looks larger than life-- in both stature and presence-- in front of you. His skin is glistening, refracting from the harsh lights with sweat and oil. 

He is an unstoppable force against your will. Your desire to hide from the blinding attention is nothing compared to the desire to please. To please a stranger, to please the man you met only an hour ago. 

To please Issei.

He flashes you another wink, taking a moment to rake his stair down your body. He memorizes the outline of your cute little dress, red is definitely your color. 

Issei slides across the smooth surface of the stage to meet where you’re perched. The barreling, almost naked body now impossibly close to where your knees are pressed together.

He starts at your ankles, tracing the soft skin of your legs until his palms press flatly against your lower thigh. Issei savors the moment for a beat longer before prying your legs apart.

The crowd below you is loud and hollow in your ears, the shame bubbling up against your cheeks and nose is nothing compared to the pressure between your legs. 

Issei’s hands wander up and under the hem of your skirt, scratching his nails on the vulnerable skin before they find his prize in the form of thin lace.

The “Wait” and “Stop” sitting on your lips shrivels up and dies as your panties are ripped off. You see the bright color, the last remnants of opposition twirling around his pointer and middle finger.

The crowd goes wild, watching as your body is made a fantasy that they can all live vicariously by. all you can do is watch as the fabric is stuffed into the side of his thong to accompany fistfuls of singles.

* * *

You’re still in shock by the final dance, still under a trance as Tendou pulls you towards the back. Stumbling behind him to catch up, you’re given no time to think about what you’re about to walk into. 

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head--

“I didn’t go too far did I?” Snapping back into reality, you hear Issei call to you. You’re vaguely comforted by a familiar voice before remembering the man attached had spat whiskey into your mouth and stolen your panties just 30 minutes prior. You heat up at the tips of your ears at the recollection of two things you had let him do, that you had wanted him to do. 

Your eyes find Issei sitting on the couch on the opposite end of your freshly showered roommate, seemingly unbothered as Tendou flops down against the middle cushion and drapes both arms across the back. 

“Don’t worry partner, our girl doesn’t startle easy.” Oikawa laughs, adjusting to sit across his boyfriend’s lap.  Issei’s all leather outfit is replaced with a pair of grey sweats. He looks relaxed, effortlessly handsome. 

What was it like, you wonder, before you knew how it felt to look at him? Life past the single night feels grey around the edges. 

When was the last time you felt this alive? 

He takes a sip of a water bottle, wiping off his chin with the large rose tattooed on his hand. You can’t stop staring at them-- the ones that roamed your body in front of a club full of drunk bachelorettes, the ones that traced your skin like he already had the map. 

And now you watch those same hands, so new but so inviting, as two fingers curl inward. They pull you as if tightening a rope around your waist. You wade past tall sweaty men and freshly caught audience members as they tangle across dusty furniture.

You scoot by your best friends from where they sit next to Issei, ignoring the slap to your ass and the following laugh from Oikawa in between loud, sloshing kisses.

“Well, little one,” He pats his thigh, inviting you to the spot on his lap rather than the empty seat next to him, “you’re not gonna run away are ya?” 

Every nerve in your body is twitching, you’re not sure if you could run if you wanted to.

You don’t.

Issei takes in your small nod of confirmation, pulling you into his hold. The position is awkward at first, perching on his knee as you try to keep your balance. He laughs, his arm snaking around your back so you relax into him. You fidget with your fingers as they lie against your lap, watching the bustling around you. A cloud of smoke settles in the air, you wonder if it’s a permanent haze of tobacco and pot-- the scent is probably painted into the walls. 

“Is this what you expected?” Issei’s voice is low and close to your ear, you can feel the smile curled into his question. Your eyes are fixed forward, watching as Tendou pours a small white line into Oikawa’s collarbone and dives in nose first.

“Honestly,” you adjust, kicking your legs up over his other knee, “I’m pretty used to this kind of stuff.”

Even if your usual scene doesn't include a drug filled almost-orgy, you can’t say you’re fazed much. Not with the company you keep.

Even with the circus revolving around you, Issei is the only thing you can see. Everything else falls away but the smell of his body wash and the soft material of his sweats where they meet your naked legs.

His hand rests against your thigh, fingers just above then short hem of your party dress. The metal rings on each digit are cool against your burning skin. You’re sure Issei can feel the heat rising in your stomach as it spreads through your blood. 

You feel him lean back, fishing something out of his pocket to set in your hands. You feel every hair stand on edge as the thin cotton drops into your grip, heavy as an anchor.

“You know what I think, darlin’?” Your breath hitches, the room around you squeezing tight against your shoulders, “I think you’re a natural on stage. I bet you would have let me do anything up there.” 

A hand wanders down the path of your spine, rough fingerprints stroke past each vertebrae. You arch at the feeling, his skin is like a narcotic. The liquor still swimming in your mind is no match to this, to the heady smell of sex and sweat as it cuts through your senses. 

Issei’s right, you’ll let him do anything to you. You’ll beg for it like you’re trying to pass the gates of heaven.

Your body moves of its own volition, legs swinging to straddle his waist. The material of your dress bunches over the curve of your ass, completely exposed to the room around you before being eclipsed by steady palms.

You would be, should be, embarrassed by the display of public depravity. No one around seems to notice, half naked is still more modest than most everyone else. Tendou and Oikawa have dissolved into a pile of spit and clashing teeth next to you, saving you from any snide quips. There’s nothing but Issei, face an inch away from you and lips tempting you to lean forward.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I don’t usually do this?” 

Glassy eyes flick dumbly at the man below you. He sees the wobble of your lip, the glaze in your stare as you memorize every feature on his face. Any reassurance sitting on his tongue dies when you crash your lips against his, hips rolling down into him and knocking him off guard.

Your kiss is searing and drips with finality. You’ve decided what bed you’ll wake up in the morning with your tongue tracing against his molars.

“No, not really.” Foreheads pressed together, it’s your turn to laugh. If you’re honest, you probably made this decision while still sitting at the bar.

You dip back in, emboldened with the bruising fingers digging against the fat of your hips. The feeling of your cunt pressed against his crotch could bring a man to his knees.

He’s not opposed, he’s just gotta get you home first.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - The Beach War

Peter loves the sunshine.

He loves the sand under his toes, the little shore-line waves bumping against his ribs, he loves the sound of gulls swooping low, but he loves the sunshine most of all.

Steve warns him not to spend too much time out in the sun. Steve buys him sunscreen and umbrellas and hats.

But if the damning red crest over the bridge of his nose is anything to go by- Peter takes little heed.

“I’m going to aerobics,” Peter chirps sweetly, pouring coffee into Steve’s mug and reaching for his headband on a Tuesday morning.

His husband, in slacks and a still-unbuttoned shirt, looks up from the morning paper with a small, curious smile. “Didn’t you go yesterday?”

Peter nods, “I like it.”

“Alright. I suppose you deserve to enjoy yourself. Now that I’m officially a ballot candidate, thanks to you.”

Peter smiles warmly, reaching over to kiss Steve’s mouth and wipe the toast crumbs from his husband’s chin. “We all collected those signatures.”

Steve laughs at his modesty. “It’s one step closer to stopping Stark from destroying this town. I won’t rest till it’s done, Pete. Bucky’s coming over today, to help with the campaign.”

“Okay. Well, there’s lasagne in the fridge left over, will you two be alright?”

“Yeah.” His blue eyes run over Peter’s face. “Have you been wearing suncream?”

“Yes,” Peter lies, but is it really a lie? He tries to. He does, at least like, 50% of the time. Maybe 40.

Steve accepts it easily, and kisses Peter again, and then Peter’s out of the door and into the sunshine and free.

***

Class is perfect. Adrenaline-pumping, vibrant, fantastic, and it fills Peter with energy and when it’s over, dripping with sweat as he heads into the cool, air-conditioned bliss of the mall and wiggles his toes in his shoes.

He’s free the whole day.

He’s going to spend it in the water. On the beach.

He buys a danish from the new mall store, and is heading for the automatic doors when it catches his eye.

A familiar face. Or rather, fifteen of that unfamiliar face, splashed across a display for the new colour tvs. Beck. Peter stops despite himself and watches through the glass as fifteen Quinten Beck’s lecture on how environmental restrictions are really just restricting progress.

Peter takes another bite of his Danish and warm icing dribbles down his fingers. He licks it off angrily. Ugh, Beck. He was a dick in college, and he’s an even bigger dick now. What did Peter ever see in him?

He scoffs, turning away, only to come face-to-face with-

Oh. Handsome. Very handsome. Peter can’t help but be a little winded at the tanned skin, groomed hair and expensive suit and then-

Oh. Shit. It’s Tony Stark. Is it? It must be. It looks like him from the papers, and the interviews and- Yes. Yes, it is. The camera’s, already flattering, still don’t do him justice. It’s Tony Stark. Standing right here, in the mall that he had all those trees chopped down to make.

“You seemed drawn to him, and then you scoffed. It doesn’t speak to you?”

Peter blinks. Stark’s voice is lovely. Smooth. Just how it sounds in the adverts. “Oh!” Peter hums, hastily swallowing his mouthful of Danish. Stark’s eyes are roving over him- not even subtly. What is he looking for? Peter shifts a little in his workout gear. These shorts are very short, he must look- there’s probably icing on his lips and- “I don’t- I wasn’t drawn to him.” Peter insists, “I just know him- uh, Beck. I know him in real life.”

“I see,” Stark grins, eyes all amused, “do you have one?”

Peter blinks. He watches Tony’s eyes dip over his form once again. Rest on his lips. Peter licks them reflexively. He knows Tony isn’t married, but- “I do. I’m uh- I’m married. Sorry.”

Tony laughs, and Peter feels his cheeks flush. “I meant: do you have a colour tv? I know you’re married.”

Peter frowns. How is that possible- oh. He glances at his ring and manages a little laugh. “Perceptive.” He hums.

Tony lifts an eyebrow, a little quizzically. “No.” He says slowly,  “I know who you are, Peter Rogers. I saw the “Save our Wave” campaign. You and your husband. Smart way to launch. Ocean in the background. You looked….radiant.”

Oh god. Tony Stark knows who he is.

Peter brushes his hair behind his ears and doesn’t know what to say. “Uh...thank you.”

Tony grins. “Good ad. But it won’t be enough. It can’t stop progress.” Tony steps forward, so they’re a little closer than what’s proper, and his voice drops into something lower. His fingers graze Peter’s bare shoulder. “But I’m not sure you want to stop progress, do you, pumpkin?”

Is he talking about his aerobics outfit? Or the fact he was watching colour tv? Or the fact that he’s in the mall, having just finished a mall class, eating a mall-pastry, and watching mall-tv? Despite the fact that he’s supposedly against the mall.

Peter ignores the ripple of goosebumps that spread across his skin. He lifts his nose, but Tony still towers over him. “I do not agree wih Quinten Beck.” He snaps. “I’m sorry, but we do care about the environment. And we’re not going to have our beach destroyed for another mall.”

He pulls away then, pushing past Tony.

“Peter,” Tony says, and he can’t help but look back. Tony stands there, stupidly handsome, hands in his pockets, and his voice is as cool as the ocean-breeze when he says, “If I were married to you, I’d put you in my campaign videos too. You’ve got a face that changes minds, sweetheart.”

Another furious, heated blush, and Peter bumbles out into the sunshine.

Beach. He needs to go to the beach. Stat.

***

Peter’s freckles always make their debut in the LA Summer.

He serves a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade as he, Steve and Bucky take lunch out on the patio.

Bucky and Steve are pressed close together. It’d be odd, if it wasn’t so commonplace. But Peter expects it now. They’re childhood friends. It’s fine, probably. He tries not to think about it too much. Because he knows Steve. And Steve is kind and loyal, and even if he wanted to- he wouldn’t cheat on Peter.

Unfortunately, Peter thinks Steve might want to. More and more lately, now that Bucky’s basically been living here to help with the campaign.

“Thanks, Sweatpea,” Bucky murmurs, as Peter refills his glass.

For the man who’s stealing away his husband, Peter should probably like Bucky less. “No problem, James. Do you guys want more pecan pie?”

“It’s alright, sugar. Steve and I will eat at the community luncheon.”

Peter blinks. He turns to Steve, who looks away bashfully.

“What?” Bucky asks, reading their faces.

“We were invited to the Harrisson’s gala this afternoon.” Peter points out, still looking at Steve’s face, “it’s a great opportunity to raise some funds-”

“It’s a stuck up crowd,” Bucky points out, not incorrectly, “not exactly who we want associated with Steve’s campaign.”

“Right,” Peter hums, because Steve had a choice between him and Bucky, and Bucky’s already won.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Steve says earnestly, reaching his large hand across the table to take Peter’s. Bucky looks away. “I just feel the luncheon has a lot more to offer. You can go to the gala by yourself, can’t you? You’re more than amazing without me dragging you down.”

Not true. Peter thinks, because as much as he loves being free, Steve’s all-American home spun wholesomeness always leaves a trail of admirers.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “You guys have fun.”

He collects the rest of the dishes and takes them inside, unaware that he has a Bucky-shaped shadow until he’s corned next to the kitchen sink.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky says, bowing his head, and Peter half-smiles. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I knew you guys had already-”

“It’s alright.” Peter says softly, “I think he would rather be with you anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes snap to his, ice-blue and frightened and hopeful. “Pete…” he says, voice a little raw. “It’s not…”

“You guys alright in there?” Steve calls from outside.

Peter ducks under Bucky’s arm, and it isn’t very difficult to make his voice bright when he calls back: “Just fine!”

***

The Harrison’s own a ridiculously nice estate, and Peter only feels a little out of place. He’s in the dark blue silks he brought with him to LA all those years ago, and Mr Harrisson greets him warmly at the door.

It’s...better than he thought it would be. It turns out he doesn’t really need Steve. At all, actually. He’s clever and he has his degree and he knows a lot about the environment. People like him. They respond to him. It’s-

“Just look at you,” comes a whistle, and Peter turns slowly to see Tony Stark in a tuxedo.

Fuck. It’s a very tasty sight. Tastier than the crab rolls being handed out, and they were pretty damn incredible.

“You’re just working the room, aren’t you, honey?” Tony drawls, voice dripping with appreciation and something low and dark and-

“I’m uh, I’m trying,” Peter manages, feeling his cheeks flush.

Tony looks like he wants to step closer, but he doesn’t. Peter kind of- maybe a little- wants him too. “And where’s your very lucky husband?”

“Oh, he’s...he’s not here.”

Tony’s eyes light up. “Really? Well, how about you and me get some air?”

The Harrison’s house sits on the beach, and Peter kicks off his shoes and is pulled down onto the sand as easy as breathing.

God, the ocean air. He rolls up his trousers, sinks his feet into the cold, trembling waves.

“Just look at you,” Tony hums, and Peter turns to see he’s being watched, and Tony’s skin looks even better lit by the sunset.

“You said that already,” he points out, feeling bolder, braver, now that he’s out on the beach.

“Well, maybe that’s because I can’t stop looking at you.”

Peter blushes, before stepping into the water a little further. “Are you going to join me? Or do you hate the ocean as much as you claim?”

Tony obligingly toes off his shoes. “Never said I hated the ocean. Don’t get me mixed up with Beck. I just know that sometimes we’ve gotta sacrifice things in the name of progress. Technology. The future.”

Tony pulls off his bowtie, slips off his jacket, and then comes and wades into his knees.

“Gotta sacrifice things,” Peter echoes, “like the ocean. Like trees. Who needs ‘em, right? They only give us oxygen.”

Tony grins at him. “You’re a firecracker, aren’t you, Peter? I thought you liked my mall. Or wasn’t that you? In that gorgeous little aerobics get up? Eating one of those danishes- to die for, aren’t they? Wasn’t that you, sighing at a colour tv?”

Peter scoffs because he doesn’t have a comeback, and he glances out at the horizon.

“You were mine, sweetheart, you’d be purring away with that tv at your feet. I’d buy you a hundred if you wanted ‘em. You wouldn’t want for anything.”

Jesus. Peter tries to stifle the flood of arousal that courses through him. “I’d be wanting for a husband that cared about protecting our coast line.” He manages, though it sounds a little weak.

“The coast line,” Tony hums, reaching a hand down to plunge into the water. “The beach. You a surfer?”

“No, I just...I like the beach, it makes me feel…” free “...it’s the beach. It’s nature. It’s not for us to bend and re-shape for another mall, Tony.”

Tony chuckles, “I do like to hear you say my same.”

Peter scowls, and heads back for the sand. A few splashes later, Tony follows. “You can’t...I don’t know, you can’t seduce me into supporting you.”

Tony’s hand grips around his wrist just before Peter reaches his shoes, and he’s looking up into very dark brown eyes, and a very, very appealing mouth. “I’m not trying to change your mind.” Tony murmurs, “I’m just trying to see where it is you stand. You like the mall, you didn’t mind the trees being cut down there, but the beach. The beach is where you have a problem. It���s your line.”

“It-it’-it’s not about me.” Peter stutters, feeling exposed, “My husband is the one running for-”

“And I am trying to seduce you. Have been since I saw you in that advert. Couldn’t get you out of my head. Thought they’d hired a model at first, and then I found out you were married to him. I couldn’t believe it.”

Oh. Warmth buzzes through his skin, flattered and delighted and giddy, Peter doesn’t know what in the name of hell possesses him to say: “He’s not going to be my husband for much longer.”

Tony’s eyebrows lift in surprise. Then he smirks. His hand is still wrapped around Peter’s wrist. “That so?”

A few other guests pull out onto the beach now, and Peter spots Mrs Harrisson in the distance.

“Save our wave, Mr Stark,” he whispers, unable to stop smiling, as he gathers his shoes and heads over.

***

He and Steve have sex that night.

It’s the best sex they’ve had in a long time. Passionate, erotic, and Peter knows why. It’s because he was just with Tony, and Steve was just with Bucky, and they’re both pretending.

Afterwards, still warm from the haze, they look at one another.

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” Steve whispers, voice-choked up, and Peter brushes away his tears.

“Don’t be. Where you are, it’s where I am. You and Bucky are made for each other.”

“You have someone too?” Steve asks. Peter nods. “Okay. Okay, but not till...not till after the campaign. Divorce…” the word makes him jerk a little, and Peter soothes him, “it could rock things.”

“After the campaign,” Peter nods, and they sleep in each other’s arms, and maybe it shouldn’t feel like everything’s going to be okay, but it does.

***

Steve annihilates Tony in the televised debate.

Peter knew he would. Tony is clever and pithy, but Steve is earnest, and kind, and people can see that. They can feel that. Tony handles it as well as he can, but it’s clear by the end of the interview- Steve is ahead.

Peter swims back towards the shore.

He’s still wet as he pads into the mall and heads for the pastry-store.

“I’ll get that,” Tony says, appearing from nowhere and handing over the money before Peter can fish his wallet from his ocean-wet shorts.

Tony’s hand is on the small of his back then, guiding him towards the food court, and soon Peter’s eating his pastry on a plastic red chair, and looking at Tony with wide, innocent eyes.

Tony breaks first.

“So, your husband’s campaign is a little stronger than I thought.”

Peter laughs. The sound seems to make Tony light up, and that just- Peter’s stomach tightens.

“My advisor’s are a little worried.”

“Steve is very good.” Peter agrees, taking another bite.

Tony leans across the table, and his cologne makes Peter want. “I’m better, though, Pete, is the thing.”

“Are we still talking about the campaign?”

“Let’s get dinner.” Tony says suddenly, “please. I know it’s early, but I am burning with it, Pete. I think about you all the time, I can’t keep staking out beaches and malls hoping to run into you.”

“What if someone sees us? What about Steve’s campaign-”

“It’d hurt mine just the same. Who gets the sympathy? The man being cheated on, or the man who slept with a married guy?”

Peter pulls the pastry apart with his fingers. “Just dinner?”

“At my house.”

Peter laughs, scandalised, “dinner at your house? How easy do you think I am?”

“Not easy at all. You’re fucking difficult, sweetheart. Look at what you’re wearing, fuck, it’s like you want to torture me.”

Peter tries not to blush and fails. His voice is gentle though, when he voices his main concern: “And what happens if once you’ve...once we’ve...what happens then? Curiosity satisfied, you might not want to see me anymore.”

Tony reaches across the table to touch Peter’s hand. Peter looks around worriedly, but nobody is paying them any mind.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Tony whispers, more serious than Peter has ever seen him. “Peter, I would never get bored of you.”

“It’s happened before,” Peter says weakly, and doesn’t realise how true it is until it’s spoken aloud. The pain for the divorce yet to happen ripples across his chest. Oh god, where has this been? Someone loved him once, and then found someone else-

“I’m gonna crush him.” Tony vows, voice vicious, as soon as he spots the glitter of Peter’s tears. “I’m going to destroy his campaign-”

“No, no,” Peter insists, sniffling, and managing a small smile. “Steve is- he’s a good guy, Tony. A good guy with a good cause, you don’t need to,” Peter huffs fondly, “you don’t need to protect my honour.

“Alright,” Tony says, a little bit like he’s unconvinced, so Peter squeezes his hand.

“I want to have dinner with you. I want to feel your hands on me- I- I think about it all the time. And afterwards, I want...more.” Peter looks down at their hands. “You said you’d get me anything.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony whispers, “I’m going to give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

***

The mall gets made.

In the next town over. The beach is saved. Steve wins.

They divorce.

Steve hugs him. Bucky hugs him. There’s a lot of crying, but then Peter’s being picked up in a ludicrously nice hot-red car, and there’s Tony and kissing and a house in Malibu right on the sand.

There’s a wedding, and teasing, and arguments. There’s sex. A lot of sex. There’s swimming and living and life under the sun.

There’s a thousand things. A million things.

And every day with Tony promises more.

When Peter wakes up, ready for the beach, Tony slathers him with suncream and for some reason it doesn’t feel like he’s trapped.

Maybe it was never about the suncream.

He still loves the beach. And the sunshine. And the gulls swooping low and the sand under his toes, but-

But he doesn’t need it to feel free. He feels free right here, in bed, tangled up with Tony and the promise of more.

[ifmywishescametrue]

i don't know if you're still taking prompts (so please ignore this if you aren't) but i cant stop thinking about your recent buckytony fic (and how much i love breaking up and making up as a trope) - so i was wondering if you'd be up for doing smth else w that trope for buckytony?? maybe they re-unite at a mutual friend's wedding?? and it brings up emotions about their almost wedding?? idk i just really love breaking up and making up as a trope and i really love your writing :))

thank you!! I'm very much up for doing another buckytony break up/make up, plus you deserve nice things for finishing law school - congrats on that!🎉🎉hope you like this one 😊

There's a ring on Bucky's finger.

It's the first thing Tony notices when he walks into the bar for Natasha and Sharon's joint bachelorette party. He stands there in the doorway, frozen and staring until someone clears their throat pointedly behind him, and he mumbles an apology as he moves out of the way.

He thinks about turning around and not coming back, just ditching the event entirely and maybe even the wedding tomorrow, but he tosses the ridiculous thought the second it comes. He promised Sharon when she asked him to be her man of honor that he could handle Bucky being Nat's. Living on the other side of the country afforded him to miss the rest of the events and planning along the way, and he could deal with one day of being cordial to his ex, even if the day comes with walking down an aisle together.

But now there's a ring on Bucky's finger.

The silver catches the light, and it's on prominent display with his left hand wrapped around a beer bottle. It shouldn't be possible for him to have moved on that quickly. Eight months shouldn't be long enough to bury three years of memories. Three years of hopes and dreams and plans for a future built together. Years of love so blindingly intense that it burrowed into Tony's soul to make a home and refused to be evicted just because it was supposed to be over.

Tony wonders what the timeline is. Did he find someone new while Tony was still just beginning to pick up his own scattered pieces? A first date for him while Tony was barely getting out of bed. When was it that he replaced Tony as the last person to have his heart? And how did he find forever in someone else so soon after losing the one he used to call his soulmate?

Natasha notices him first, still hovering near the entrance, and she raises a single eyebrow that calls him a coward. He rolls his eyes at the accusation, though it's accurate. She elbows Sharon to catch her attention, and before he knows it the entire small group is turning their heads his way, giving him no choice but to join them.

It's less bachelorette party and more pre-wedding celebration with the crowd they've gathered, all mutual friends of both brides with no regards for gender traditions that usually come with this night. Tony used to fit in well with them all, back when gatherings like this were just a typical Friday night. But he made himself an outsider between the move to California and the breakup with Bucky. All he has now with most of them is a dead group chat that hasn't been used in months. He wonders which one of them made the new one without him in it.

Sharon is the first to pull him into a hug, then Natasha follows suit. He gets a nod from Sam, a wave from Clint, and what might pass as a smile from Steve. Bucky stares so intensely that Tony can feel his eyes with his back turned, but when Tony looks his way, he pretends to be interested in the floor.

He had a plan before the ring threw him off. Step one should have been the entrance. Head held high, shoulders square, perfect outfit that shows everything off and compliments the Malibu tan he has now. Step two should be nonchalance. A light hearted greeting to everyone, accompanied by an easy grin and relaxed body language, and catching up with subtle brags slipped in. Show them all that he's doing better than he ever was, sitting on top of the world these days, even if most of the time it feels like he's barely above rock bottom.

Step three in his ideal scenario involved Bucky breaking down and begging to get him back. Some versions even had him on his knees for it, with tears running down his face. Others required it to be raining outside, and the cloudless sky ruined that before the ring on Bucky's finger did.

With steps one and three out the window, he tries to salvage step two.

“Hey,” Tony starts, a little too loud. He swallows the lump in his throat and tries again, “Hey, Bucky. It's good to see you.”

Bucky nods, a strained, jerky motion. “Yeah, you too. How, uh, how have you been?”

“Good. Really good, actually. Company just had its highest sales quarter yet, so it’s been a little crazy around there, but good.”

“Good,” Bucky repeats, and there’s a long awkward pause.

“And what about you?” Tony asks, and then because he can’t help himself, he adds, “I see you got engaged. Or, hell, I guess it could be married, even.”

Bucky freezes with parted lips and wide eyes for the briefest of moments, like he wasn’t expecting Tony to know about it or bring it up, and his eyes shift to the ring on his hand and stay there.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “Engaged. Last week.”

Tony ignores the ache in his chest and plasters on a smile like he’s happy for him. “Congratulations. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know him. Steve introduced us. They work together.”

“So he’s at the museum then? I thought you used to say that you hated all those stuffy guys and Steve was the only one worth knowing.”

Bucky smiles, a fond thing that widens the crack in Tony’s heart. “Yeah, well, I guess I was wrong. Felix is a great guy.”

Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes. Stupid name that probably matches a stupid, punchable face.

Some masochist thing pulls at him to make him keep digging for more information, a twisted need to know even as each word pushes the knife in deeper. He aims for casual, leaning back against one of the high top tables as he asks, “So how long have you been together?”

“Just a couple of months. Kind of fast, I know, but when you’re sure about something, it doesn’t really matter, right? Why waste time waiting?”

“Right, of course,” Tony says, a little flatter than he intends. “So why isn’t he here tonight? Hope it wasn’t to spare my feelings, because it’s really not necessary.”

Bucky falters, “It’s not? You, uh, you’re dating someone, then?”

Tony nods, and he wishes he had grabbed a drink before this so he could hide behind it as he lies through his teeth. “Only a few weeks, though. A little too early to be a wedding date, but I’m sure your guy will be there tomorrow right?”

“Oh, um, yeah, definitely. Why wouldn’t he be, right? There’s no reason I can think of,” Bucky says, stumbling around it. “But tell me more about your thing. Your person. How’s that going?”

Tony shrugs, and he finally pulls off that easy smile he’s been trying for. “Well, it’s not get engaged in a couple of months good, but it’s been really great. We’re taking it slow. Trying not to rush anything and just get to know each other first. I think it could really be something, though.”

“That’s good,” Bucky mumbles. “You deserve something good.”

He isn’t meeting Tony’s eyes anymore, almost like he’s upset that Tony moved on, and the vindictive part of Tony wants to be happy about it, but another part wants to be angry because it isn’t fair. It’s not fair to act like Tony should stay stuck in time, forever longing for him when he already moved on with someone else first. It’s hypocritical and selfish, even if Tony is lying about there being anyone else.

“Well, I’m gonna go get a drink,” Tony says, pushing down every feeling. “Should catch up with everyone else, too, while I’m at it. I’ll talk to you later.”

He heads over to the bar and isn’t surprised when Sharon joins him a moment later, right after he orders a double shot of whiskey. She puts an arm around his shoulder and asks, “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Tony laughs, running a hand through his hair. “My ex is engaged to somebody else and apparently doing really fucking well. Meanwhile, I’m making up fake boyfriends that I’m taking it slow with, because last week I went on my first real date in eight months and cried in the bathroom in the middle of it. And then, at the end of the night, he literally told me to my face that he didn’t think a second date was a good idea. We weren’t even talking about it, Sharon. He said it unprompted when we were still ten minutes from his apartment, and I was driving.”

Sharon nods slowly as she processes the rant. “He told you he got engaged?”

“Yeah, thanks for not telling me, by the way. It was really fun to get blindsided by it.”

She ignores the complaint to ask, “What else did he tell you, exactly?”

“Oh, just the whole line about how you know when you know, and Felix is such a great guy, and all that bullshit.”

“Felix,” Sharon repeats.

Tony knocks back the rest of his drink and orders another. “Please tell me he’s not better looking than me. Tell me it’s a downgrade. Don’t lie, because I know I have to meet him tomorrow, but please give me something that will make this better.”

“Well, I can guarantee he’s not as attractive as you. But he’s a little too perfect, you know? Like how could this guy possibly be real, he’s so unbelievably perfect,” Sharon says.

“I told you to make me feel better, not worse.”

Sharon shakes her head with a smile, the arm around him tightening into an approximation of hug. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I don’t think they’re going to last. He’s kind of flaky, too. Always cancelling at the last minute and all that. Bet he won’t even show tomorrow.”

The amusement on her face that she’s failing to hide confuses him. He’s starting to feel bad, though, for making the night about him when it should be about her and Nat.

Resolving not to dwell on it anymore, he squeezes the hand on his shoulder and says, “Alright, enough sad drinking, and definitely enough about me. We’re celebrating you and Nat and a lifetime of sickeningly wonderful happiness for both of you.”

Sharon grins, “Hell yeah, we are.”

“Shots?”

“Is that even a question?”

_____________

He wakes up with a headache and hazy memories. Shots of tequila that turned into shots of vodka when Nat got involved, then Clint’s terrible suggestion to try a shot of every liquor they had to offer. He vaguely remembers the round of toasts and drunken impromptu speeches from everyone, locking eyes with Bucky and failing to look away on both their parts. There’s a blur of wandering hands and heated, messy kisses. A bathroom stall turned into a cab ride which turned into his hotel room. He knows what he’ll find next to him when he opens his eyes, and guilt comes in full force.

“I know you’re awake,” Bucky says, voice still rough with sleep. It used to be Tony’s favorite sound in the world. “And I know we’re both sorry about what happened, but pretending to be asleep isn’t fixing nothin’.”

Tony shifts over to his back, and if there was any question before about what happened between them, the all too familiar ache in his body would answer it. He stares up at the ceiling to avoid the acres of bare skin on display next to him.

“You should probably leave,” Tony says to the walls. “I’m sure your fiancé is wondering where you are.”

“I doubt it.”

Tony puts an arm over his eyes, partly to block out the light that makes them ache and partly to hide his face. “Just go, okay? It was a mistake, and it won’t happen again, and we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Was it a mistake?” Bucky asks. “It didn’t feel like one to me.”

He doesn’t answer, and it’s soft and broken when Bucky says his name. Too much for him to handle.

Tony pushes back the blankets and searches for Bucky’s clothes in the mess they’ve made. He finds the shirt first and throws it at him. “You’re engaged, which means it was a mistake.”

His boxers are on the back of the couch, jeans right in front of the door, and they join the pile on Bucky’s lap. “You promised the rest of your life to somebody else, and I’m pretty sure fidelity is supposed to go with that.”

He tosses a shoe in the general direction of the bed, and it hits the nightstand with a loud thud. The second shoe is still in his hand when Bucky gets up and walks over to him, taking it and letting it drop to the floor.

His eyes hold a level of intensity that Tony has spent months dreaming about, and Tony couldn’t look away or move from this spot even if he tried.

“Felix isn’t real,” Bucky says. “I made him up when you asked, because I didn’t want to tell you the truth that I haven’t moved on in the slightest. That I’m so pathetic that I’ve spent the last eight months wearing an engagement ring that I bought for a guy who doesn’t love me anymore because I don’t know how to let him go.”

Tony stops breathing. “What?”

Bucky slides the ring from his finger, holding it between them so Tony can see the inscription. Always yours. He can’t remember the last time he heard the words get spoken.

“When?” Tony asks hoarsely. “When did you get that and why didn’t you ever ask me?”

“About a year ago,” Bucky says, slipping it back on his own finger. He sits back on the edge of the bed and stares down at it, twisting it around. “I thought about doing it on your birthday, but Nat and Sharon had just gotten engaged the week before and I didn’t want to take anything away from them. You were working a lot of late nights after that, and I thought it would be better to wait until things slowed down. You were so tired all the time, and you deserved a better proposal than when you’re falling asleep in the middle of dinner. It never slowed down, though. And then you got that big promotion and somehow we fell apart instead. If I’m honest, I still don’t really know how. One minute I’m getting ready to come with you, and the next you’re telling me not to bother.”

Tony sits down next to him, shoulders touching, and he pulls Bucky’s left hand into his. “You didn’t really want to go.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky says, but Tony shakes his head.

“All you talked about was how much you would miss New York. How much you’d miss your friends and your family and your job. Every day, everywhere we went. Even the fucking hot dog stands got sonnets about them. It really didn’t take a genius to figure out that you weren’t exactly looking forward to leaving.”

“I still would have gone for you,” Bucky argues. “I told you I would go anywhere with you, if it was what you wanted.”

“And then what? You move with me, and you’re miserable all the time, because my job never slows down so I’m still not around as much as you want, except now it’s compounded because you’re in a city that you hate with no one else that you know. You resent me for making you go, and the outcome is the same in the end either way.”

“Or I move with you, and I finally ask you to marry me like I’ve wanted to since almost the day we met. I find new friends and a new job, and even if it’s not perfect, it’s still worth it because at the end of the day I have a husband coming home to me.”

Tony runs his thumb over the ring and murmurs, “I wanted you to be happy. I didn’t think I could do that for you anymore.”

Bucky cups his cheek, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but baby, you’re an idiot.”

“Oh, thanks,” Tony laughs.

“You’re my idiot, if that helps.”

Tony smiles, still fragile but growing more hopeful. “Am I?”

“Always have been,” Bucky says. “Always will be if you stop assuming I’m going to leave you all the time. Let me decide for myself what I’m willing to sacrifice for us.”

Tony nods slowly, then says, “I’m sorry for ending it like that.”

“I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to.”

Tony climbs into his lap, circling his arms around his neck, and Bucky pulls him in closer with his hands on Tony’s hips. The ring is strange to feel against his skin, but also completely right. He wants it to stay there and to mean what it was always supposed to. Wants one of his own to match.

“We can fix it, right? We can be us again?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, and Tony’s heart sinks for just a moment. “Is your boyfriend as real as my fiancé?”

Tony laughs again in relief, “Yeah, they’d be a good pair.”

“I knew you had to be lying. You’ve never taken it slow in your life,” Bucky grins.

“Do you want me to start now?”

Bucky flips them over in one fluid motion, and he kisses up his throat as he murmurs, “Absolutely not.”

[mrs-gucci]

A Different Kind of Urgent {Charlie Barber x Reader}

author’s notes: hellooooo! my penpal friend, a fellow adam driver rat, sent me a print of a charlie picture (that I’d seen a gajillion times before, mind you) and for some reason, I thirsted hard. so, naturally, I wrote a fic inspired by the picture. the reader in this story is a college professor, but it doesn’t really contribute to any ‘essential’ parts of the story (aka the smutty parts). it’s just her job lol

warnings: smut. some fluff. masturbation. semi-public smut. the sending of nudes (well, lingerie pics, to be specific). charlie’s dad outfits™️. cigarette smoking during sex. uhh tennis shoe kink??

(possible) tw’s: semi-public sex. semi-public masturbation. tobacco use (as is canon for Charlie’s character). implied age gap (everyone’s over 21, no more than 10 years).

You’re in the middle of class when Charlie texts you. Your phone buzzes and buzzes on your desk so much so that you have to stop your lecture for a few seconds, worried that something urgent has happened.

Well, something did happen, and it was pretty urgent, but not exactly in the way you’d expected.

-Charlie: I know you’re teaching class right now kid.- -Charlie: But I need you.- -Charlie: Right now.-

A shiver runs down your spine as you read his words on the screen.

-Y/N: I’ve got like 45 more minutes of lecture, baby, I can’t.-

He growls under his breath, cock straining in his tan khakis.

-Charlie: Fuck.- -Charlie: Can you send me a picture? Just need to see your pretty body, kid.-

-Y/N: Say please, Charlie.-

Charlie groans in sexual frustration, hips bucking up in his desk chair.

-Charlie: Jesus fucking christ, fucking brat. PLEASE! PLEASE send me a picture!-

You smirk, picking out one of the lingerie photos you’d taken when you were home alone one night. You’ve been waiting for the right time to whip them out and...well, this seems like the right time.

-Y/N: Attachment 1 image- -Y/N: Knock yourself out. Take a picture when you’re done, and I’ll be over as soon as class is finished.-

His shaky hands scramble to type in his phone passcode and click on your message, a strangled moan leaving his lips at the picture you chose. He’d never seen this one before, never seen this set of lingerie before.  He unbuckles his belt and almost tears the button clean off his khakis as he pulls his cock out, tip already red and drooling with precum. 

Before he starts anything, he quickly runs over to his office door, locking it to keep anyone from walking in. 

His navy cardigan suddenly feels almost suffocating and he sheds it without hesitation, unbuttoning his dress shirt and parting it, revealing his undershirt. 

Wait...you want a picture. Fuck.

An idea comes to him and he whimpers, equal parts aroused and nervous about giving it a try. God he hasn’t touched himself since the divorce proceedings, just needing to blow off some fucking steam, but you’ve reignited his sexual passion, overwhelmingly so, and seemingly even more than before. Maybe even more than ever, if he’s honest with himself.

He feels like a teenager again, both completely smitten with you while at the same time incredibly horny for you.

Charlie stands up on shaky legs and shoves all the paperwork off his desk, clearing a roomy spot right in the center. He bites his lip as he props his phone up on his desktop computer with the picture of you pulled up. Jerking off with just his hand wouldn’t be enough this time around, a small part of him just knew it. He needs to fuck you, fuck something.

He positions his hands around the edge of his desk, leaving his thumbs right at the top, putting them in a wonky sort of ‘o’ shape. He adjusts so that the sharp edge is pressing against his palm before experimentally thrusting his length forward into the hole he’s created with his thumbs, immediately groaning in pleasure. 

“O-Oh, kid.”

He whispers, picking up a slow thrusting rhythm, eyes squeezed shut as he imagines your pussy.

“Such a good little pussy, my good f-fucking girl.” A line of sweat has already begun forming on his forehead as he moves a bit quicker, growling wildly with each thrust. He’s embarrassingly close already. “God, j-jesus fucking christ, gonna make me cum so f-fast, kid. I’m already s-so close, damnit.”

His hips grow desperate, bucking erratically into his grip. The drag of his cock against the faux wood surface feels absolutely incredible, and he barely even hears the desk begin to groan and shift against the floor of his office, too consumed with his impending orgasm.

“Yeah, you ready? Y-You fuckin’ ready for my big fat--fuck!--load in this pretty little--shit!--k-kitty?”

Just hearing him say the word aloud, his nickname for your cunt, has him cumming within moments. His vision blacks out for a second as his hips rut forward, a seemingly continuous stream of warm white cum painting his desktop. 

“Ahhhhh, fuuuuuuuck.”

He has to bury his mouth into his shirt arm to hide the cries that come from him, eyebrows knitted at the center of his forehead. His breathing is heavy as he begins coming down from his high, eyes flitting open and looking down at the mess he’d made. 

His load had gone across the entire width of his desk, and his eyes widened for a moment as his brain somehow comprehended to grab his phone and take a picture of the spread. 

-Charlie: Attachment 1 image- -Charlie: Come straight to my office when you get to the theater.-

You take a quick peek at the message from Charlie as your students pull out their workbooks, jaw dropping when you open the picture full-screen. Holy shit, he really did need it.

-Y/N: You sure you still have enough to fill me up with when I get there?-

-Charlie: I always have enough for you, kid. Gonna have it leaking out of you when you leave.-

You chew your lip, thinking of a quick yet clever response.

-Y/N: Is that a promise?-

He groans under his breath, chuckling lightly with a small smile.

-Charlie: Absolutely. Can’t wait to see you, kid.-

-Y/N: I’m excited too. I’ll be there in 20.-

The twenty minutes it takes for you to finish class and walk over to Exit Ghost feels like some of the longest in Charlie’s life, knee bouncing impatiently and eyes glued to the door. He twirls the Marlboro package in his hand, the clock behind his desk tick-tick-ticking the seconds away. 

Finally, a soft knock comes and, just in case it isn’t you, he stuffs the carton into his pocket. “Come in.”

Your head pokes through the door and you smile at him as you walk in, shutting and locking the door behind you. You immediately notice his outfit, specifically his shoes, which are propped up on his desk. 

He knows that you like how he dresses, especially when he dresses very dad-like. And those sneakers he has, the white ones with the blue lines on them...god, they drive you absolutely crazy and you have no idea why.

Your bags are quickly shoved off your shoulder by the impatient director, pulling you into his body as his lips attack yours fiercely. He notices the way you’re eyeing his outfit, and it’s then that he realizes what shoes he has on, the pair that you like so much. Oh, he could use that.

His grip on the meat of your hips tightens increasingly as the kiss heats up, lips eventually moving down to your neck. 

“Well, hello to you too.”

You say, laughing softly.

“Mmmm,” He hums onto your skin, lips littering kisses and small nibbles everywhere they can reach. “I missed you, kiddo, feels like forever since we’ve had time for something like this.”

Charlie’s large body presses you up against the door, hands eager to rid you of your pants. He quickly yanks them down to your ankles, fingers finding your clothed folds.

“I’ve got a staff meeting at two, baby. We h-have to be kind of quick...sorry.” You breathe, hand wrapping in his hair, tugging at the silky raven locks.

A small and slightly disappointed sigh leaves his lips, but nothing more is said on the matter. His movements do become a bit more rushed, though, digits dipping beneath the fabric to shove up into your entrance. 

Your legs spread instinctively, knees shaking as he finger-fucks you, thick digits scissoring inside you to prepare for his girth. Meanwhile, you try to focus on getting his belt and pants undone, but it’s awfully hard when his fingers feel so damn good.

He pulls away suddenly, sucking the juices off his fingers as his hungry eyes roam your figure. The carton of cigarettes presses against his thigh and he smirks, pulling his digits out with a lewd pop.

Charlie suddenly pulls you off the door, putting himself in your spot instead. He smirks, fingers running under your chin, keeping your head tilted up at him.

“Will you go open the window for me please, beautiful?”

You nod, rushing over to push it open, then come back over to stand in front of him.

“Good girl. Thank you.”

His pointer finger twirls and points to the floor while the other hand grabs the pack and lighter from his pants pocket.

“Now, turn around and bend over right here, hold your ankles or feet, or whatever.”

As you position yourself accordingly, he leans back against the door, legs spread and sneaker-clad feet planted on either side of you, right within your line of vision. He’s almost fully hard again already as he moves to free his cock from its khaki confines, undoing his pants just enough to have it out. 

Again, his cardigan feels suffocatingly hot, so he quickly pulls it off and tosses it away. He rolls the sleeves up on his button-up, a sight that makes your insides clench.

He jams a cigarette between his teeth, jaw clenching when he looks up and realizes that you’re bent over for him, in just the way he asked. Your glistening pussy’s on full display as you wiggle your ass a bit, his cock bobbing and twitching with excitement. 

“Oh kid, you’re dripping.” Charlie whispers, almost to himself, hand kneading one of the globes of your ass.

You chuckle softly. “Hey, baby? As much as I love hearing and feeling you, my legs are getting kinda tired.”

Laughing, Charlie says a quick ‘sorry’ before holding and pulling your hips back, lining himself up with your soaked entrance. He pulls you back some more, impaling you on his cock, head falling back against the door as he does so. 

His hands shakily ignited the small flame on his lighter, bringing it up until the tip of the cigarette turned orange before flipping the cap back on and shoving it back in his pocket. He takes a long drag, groaning on the exhale. 

He keeps one hand on your hip while the other spreads out on your lower back, guiding you back and forth over his shaft slowly, gently.

“Thaaat’s it, just like this, kid.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, the impossibly deep angle created with this new position has it feeling like he’s reaching into your guts. Plus, with the natural up-curve of his cock, he’s brushing all the right spots inside you.

“C-Charlie…”

The familiar and comforting scent of Charlie’s cigarettes fills your nostrils, a haze of smoke surrounds your joined bodies. He continues to move you up and down on his length, buttocks clenching as his hips naturally rock forward, burying himself to the hilt each time you sink down.

“God...jesus christ...love this little pussy of yours, kid.” He breathes through his gritted teeth. “Taking me so nicely, always wrapped around me so goddamn tight.”

You quickly begin moving yourself up and down his stiff rod, bouncing as fast as you can manage. The sweet burn in your thighs only grows more prominent with each passing second, but you don’t care, too consumed in pleasure.

“Mmmmmyyyeah, baby, all for you.”

His hand comes down on your ass, giving it a firm smack before taking another quick drag, exhaling through his nose.

“That’s f-fucking right, all mine. You love being a little slut for this cock, huh? I know you do, you love when I bring you in my office and fuck your pretty cunt in the middle of the goddamn work day, can’t even wait until I get home, this f-filthy slut cunt needs to be split open and stuffed nice and full. Can’t go one fucking day without my cum fucked in you, always needs to be filled up and leaking, hm?”

Charlie was never able to do stuff like this or talk to Nicole like this. She was pretty vanilla when it came to sex, just like to be fucked quietly in bed. He called her a ‘slut’ once and she almost cried, lecturing him for half an hour afterwards on how disrespectful it was.

But now, he gets to explore everything he hasn’t gotten the chance to with you. You love it all, love the way he talks filth in your ear, calls you naughty names. You love getting fucked in all sorts of places, which at first made him a little nervous, cheeks and the tips of his ears bright red when you asked him to fuck you in your classroom or finger you under your dress on the subway. But, after almost a year and a half together, you can safely say that he’s a full-on exhibitionist deviant.

Your walls clamp down around him, eyes still squeezed shut as you feel his hips begin to thrust forward. Soon, he holds you almost completely still, moving his hips as fast as he can. His cigarette is almost ashes at this point, and he kicks himself for not thinking of a good disposal plan beforehand.

“Oh baby, oh baby...f-fuck!” You whine, hips squirming and gyrating as your impending orgasm grows closer. “Y-Yeah, I love it, love everything you do to me. Wanna take every s-single fucking drop of your cum, Charlie, want it inside me, want it dripping down my thighs.”

He almost loses his mind over your comments, drilling into you at an impossibly hard and fast rate, the lewd slapping squelching sound of your hips colliding overwhelmingly prominent in the space around you. 

“You’ll go back to work with so much cum shoved into you, make you sit through your stupid fucking meeting with my cum dripping out of you. B-Better hope no one notices, huh? Better hope your boss doesn’t find out what a good little cockslut you are, how much you love having a pussy-full of your boyfriends f-fucking cum.”

A few muted cries leave your lips as he pounds you harder, his own words spurring him on. He can feel your walls pulsing around him, a sure-fire sign that you’re about to cum. 

“C-Charlie! Charlie, I...I’m close.”

“K-Know you are, kid, I know you are. You’re doing so f-fucking well for me, Y/N, squeezing my big cock like a fuckin champ.” Charlie growls, quickly tossing his spent cigarette in a coffee mug on a nearby table. “And now you’re gonna rub your little clit and cum for me like I know you want to. C’mon, kid, wanna feel you come undone around me.”

You quickly begin rubbing your clit and, despite the odd angle, it brings you right up to the edge. You just need something, just a little something, to push you over the edge. Your eyes flutter open to look up at him, but then, you’re met with the sight of his sneakers.

“Goddamnit!” You’re cumming almost instantly, flooding his shaft with your release. “Yes! Oh god, yeah, c-cumming for you baby!”

His hips keep pumping, taking you right through your climax before abruptly coming to a halt when they’re buried as deep inside you as they can possibly be. His eyes go wide before squeezing shut, a guttural groan ripping through his chest as he pumps and shoves his thick creamy load into you.

“T-Take it, f-filthy whore!” He groans, rutting his hips the whole way through, making sure every drop is put inside you.

Once he’s finished, having ridden out his high to its fullest, he tucks himself back into his pants before helping you stand back up. He holds you close, looking down at you with a bright, genuine smile. 

“You’re amazing, incredible...just so perfect.” He kisses all over your face before landing on your lips.

Your cheeks heat up at his compliments, hands weaving through his hair as the kiss deepens. 

Suddenly, someone knocks on your office door, jiggling the doorknob.

“Charlie?”

His eyes fly open and he pulls away. Shit.

“Yeah, I’m h-here, just give me a minute!”

You quickly pull your pants up and jump under his desk to hide just as he opens the door, running a hand through his hair. 

He talks to the person on the other side of the door in a rushed voice, answering their multitude of questions before quickly shutting the door, sighing as you crawl out from under the desk. 

“At least we both got to cum, unlike last time.” You walk up and put your hands on his pecs, rubbing them over the fabric. “I gotta get going though, baby. I wanna grab lunch from the deli before my staff meeting.”

Charlie nods, dipping his head down to kiss you one last time, nuzzling his large nose against yours. 

“Come over tonight, though? Nicole’s in town and she’s got Henry, so we’ll have the house to ourselves. I feel like we haven’t spent any quality time together lately.”

Nodding, you smile. “I would love to come over. I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Great.” He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you later, kid. Have a good meeting.”

You laugh as you grab your bag and head out, turning back to wave and flash him a soft smile.

“See you tonight.”

[in-death-we-fall]

Six Feet Down Under

Metal Hammer 112, April 2003

Touring and whoring on the other side of the world, Hammer kept a diary of death with the Murderdolls through their residency at Australia’s Big Day Out festival. Shock horror: Mark Hughes. B-movie hero: Tony Mott.

(drive link)

The Big Day Out. The Australian travelling musical circus that steamrolls its way around Australia and New Zealand every winter with the hottest bands on the planet flying from all over the globe to join down under’s best bands in a mayhem filled fortnight. This year’s line-up, features among others, The Foo Fighters, Queens of the Stone Age, Jane’s Addiction, Jimmy Eat World, The Hard Ons and deathglam monstrosities, the Murderdolls. So far, the Mid West (sic) based five-piece outfit have been the cream of the festival, appropriately headlining the ‘Essentials’ stage. This is the band’s first time in the Antipodes and quizzical music fans have crowded to see the much-talked about live set. With Sydney copping the biggest crowds of all the legs on the tour, the band are preparing something special. But at 3pm in the afternoon you wouldn’t know it. Most of the band are still in bed from the night before, well, actually… the week before.

The ‘Dolls have been in Sydney for five days before their Big Day Out show and not finding much to do early on in the week they’ve just been getting down to the (sic) rock’n’roll’s most popular pastime: hard drinking. Drummer ‘Big’ Ben ‘The Ghoul’ Graves and bass player Eric Griffin are recovering from last night’s binge. While singer Wednesday and guitarist Joey Jordison are recovering from the night before the night before. Acey Slade, who maintains his sobriety, but still stays out ‘til dawn, has been up since !!am and is the only one ready for the show. With the band on stage at 7:15pm, things need doing. Staggering through their beer can and ‘paraphernalia’-strewn rooms to the showers, they’re down in their van and on the way out to the Big Day Out site just after 4pm.

Situated at the same place that hosted the Sydney 2000 olympics, the festival facilities are first rate and the sell-out crowd of 52,000 festival-goers are making the most of it. The temperature’s pushing a blistering 35°C and being the middle of a drought-ridden summer in Australia, everything’s dry, dusty and cracked. It’s a good 40-minute drive from the city to the festival and the sun’s stinging in through the van windows. Not big fans of the sunlight, the Murderdolls have got their leather jackets up over their heads to avoid even the slightest hint of a tan.

In the cool, air-conditioned shade of backstage I get to sit down with Joey Jordison and singer Wednesday 13 to gind out how the band are doing after their meteoric rise over the past eight months. Joey is straight down the line, measured and professional. “This si the first Big Day Out for all of us. Slipknot have only been down here once but not that (sic) this festival. This is something I’ve really wanted to play – something I’ve wanted to do for a really long time.”

For Wednesday, this is another notch on his rise as an international rock’n’roller. “It’s awesome,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to be out on the front of a rock’n’roll band at a festival like this. After struggling doing my own band for six years I actually quit my job back in April and I’ve been touring every since. I’ve done all the things I ever dreamed about. I’ve been to Europe three times, Japan twice and here we are now in Australia and that has all been pretty much in the last six months! Holy shit we’re doing some things that some bands have never done!”

“We just checked out the videotape from the Auckland show the other day and fuck man, it was awesome!” enthuses Joey. “People are saying we are pulling the most people to that stage out of everyone. Our band has been doing really well especially since we’ve only been going for a short time. We hope that after the BDO we’ll be able to come back and do some real headlining shows down here. We are having fun though, thinking about it, we’ve never had so many days off between shows before, it’s more like the Big Day Off!”

The band wasn’t supposed to be so idle. Most overseas bands on the BDO bill play a bunch of satellite shows in various cities around the country and for a month prior, the Murderdolls had been slated to perform a Sydney show with fellow US rockers The Deftones. But with very little warning, the Murderdolls were dumped from the bill just before the show. What really pissed off Joey and the lads was a lot of the Murderdolls fans had bought tickets on the basis that the band would be playing but in the end had to watch the Deftones supported by ex-At The Drive-In chancers, Sparta.

Without much choice in the matter the Murderdolls issued a statement on their website apologising to their fans and kept trying to fly their flag with some instore appearances at local record stores. One in particular at Utopia Records, was insane. There was such a roar when the band turned up, they looked truly surprised at the number of kids who had showed up, most dressed in black and red outfits.

“Someone told us there was only going to be about 150 kids, which was supposed to be a good turn-out for Utopia records for a new band,” retells Joey. “But when we turned up there (sic) almost 500! We talked to fans and signed everything that they had. We were there for a good three and a half hours. And at the Channel V interview it was pretty much the same story. Hordes of kids that wouldn’t let us get away.”

“That’s the cool thing with our fans,” explains Wednesday. “We’re not a radio band or an MTV band with this created army of little kids which I think is more pure than being the Number One radio band or liking it because someone tells you to like it. I know that our fans are real. It is really cool to see these hordes of kids show up, they are dressed like us, they know everything about us, it is just awesome.”

Thinking further ahead fans will be please to know the band are not going to let up on the groundswell already created by the Murderdolls. “I have to go back and finish recording some Slipknot stuff,” reveals Joey. “Then we (the Murderdolls) are going to do some more touring. There’s usually a three to four month sort of break between recording and when an album comes out so we are going to tour pretty much all the way from the end of May all the way to maybe the beginning of October. Which will be good because there’ll be less sunlight at that time of year,” jokes Wednesday raising his non-existent eyebrows and throwing his arms, heavily tattooed with b-grade horror heroes, into the air.

As the hot afternoon drifts into an only slightly less simmering evening, there’s a small problem with guitarist Acey. He’s got indigestion. This amounts to a small crisis because first aid officials must follow procedure and administer the medicine. This takes two St. John’s Ambulance men on pushbikes in a five minute ride from their base at the side of the main stadium. Very un-rock’n’roll indeed.

With the gig just 45 minutes away, the boys are pacing around their trailer, having their pics taken for Hammer. Acey inside in front of the mirror still applying the last of his make-up, Ghoul is getting powdered up, Wednesday’s still with the photographer, while Joey’s nervously pacing around, in the trailer, out the trailer, back in… Eric meanwhile is ready for the stage and cracks open the obligatory bottle of Jack Daniel’s. As a Murderdolls ritual, they’re applying the slap, the band have to listen to Kiss. “Must. Have. Kiss.” stipulates Joey. “‘All American Man’! We sometimes change that to ‘All American Ghoul’,” chimes in the Ghoul.

Just 10 minutes before showtime and the long lanky frame of Ben Graves is stretched spider-like up against the dressing room wall. “I’ll be in pain afterwards,” he explains. Wednesday has by now finished his solo shots with Hamer’s photographer. The day is hot enough anyway, and under the photographers lights the heat is even more stifling. ‘Jesus, it’s fucking hot!” exclaims the frontman. “But I don’t mind… I’m a naturally dead person in front of a camera” he laughs.

More Kiss blares out from the dressing room, this time ‘Dr Love’! Then the moment comes: ground fucking zero at the Big Day Out! The band clamber into the van and head around the back way to the Essentials stage. The bottle of Jack’s being passed around as they approach the stage the band take a quick peak (sic) to see how the crow’s building up. It’s the biggest yet, taking up most of the grassy area out the back of the main stadium. Joey – who regularly suffers from pre-gig nerves as his pre-stage vomiting on Slipknot’s ‘Disasterpiece (sic)’ DVD proves in all its technicolour glory – is bricking it.

Five minutes before the band are due to hit the powerchords and the guys are milling around in the wings. Ghoul is banging on some warm-up pads and everyone is getting psyched. They’ve left the Kiss CD backstage so they have to hum ‘All American Man’ together. Then they make their way to the stage.

A couple of huge Murderdolls logos adorn the stage and in an eruption of noise and energy, the Dolls take the stage and instantly kick off with ‘Dawn of The Dead’. Jordison in black leather Gestapo hat is jumping around stage left, Acey is wailing away stage right while Eric bangs away on the bass doing his best Nikki Sixx impression, while the Ghoul wrecks the trap kit. Wednesday is the last to take the stage and screaming, “We are the dead, coming for you!” And the crowd goes fucking wild.

The kids down the front, dressed up in full glam-goth regalia, know every word and sing along fervently with the band while among the throng watching from the side of stage are some of the biggest names in the Australian music industry. Members of bands like 28 days, Machine Gun Fellatio, Cog, Jimmy Eat World, Pre-Shrunk, and Sparta all stand wide eyed and mouths agape at the outrageous rock revisionism being unleashed onstage.

By the time the band have launched into ‘I (sic) Was a Teenage Zombie’, ‘Let’s Go To War’ and ‘Slit My Wrists (sic)’, the crows know what they’re in for. Most who have showed up for curiosity (sic) sake are still hanging around, but if anything the crowd is building and everyone looks like they are right into it having fun. The intro to ‘Twist My Sister’ is a kid’s nursery rhyme ‘Old McDonald’ which gets the whole crowd singing along.

Unbelievably, some lunatic in the crowd starts throwing bangers at the stage, but the fireworks only make it as far as the front row of fans before blowing up in their faces. Wednesday tries to get the guy to quit while geeing up the rest of the crowd. “All the people down the front tell the people at the back to ‘Die Die Die… my bride!’ he yells as the band grind into the song…

Today’s set includes two new songs, and we can report that both are killer kitsch rock rippers. The first, set for legendary status is called ‘The Devil Made Me Do It… And I’ll Do It Again’ while the second is the set closer, a crowd sing along gem ‘I Love to Say Fuck’. Wednesday grabs his big black umbrella, emblazoned with the word FUCK, Eric, Acey, and Joey are going crazy, jumping up and down in unison, Ghoul is all arms and legs behind the kit while Wednesday is right down in the crowd’s face urging them to stick their fingers in the air and yell ‘Fuck!’. It looks great to watch. “It isn’t choreographed,” says Wednesday later. “Everything’s pretty much spontaneous. There are some things like we all jump on an ascent in the music or whatever but everything else is stuff that just happens on stage.”

They (sic) crowd are almost passing out from the combination of frenzied activity and the extreme heat, but still manage to scream out for more as the band leave the stage. “A lot of people don’t know that’s what drives a show,” explains Wednesday about his relationship with the audience. “You have to make fans feel part of the event and I think we do it better than anyone else.”

The band then jump back into the van for the two minute trip back to their dressing room behind the main stage. When they get back there the guys are all super hyped up. Excitedly buzzing around their dressing room, drinking beers, telling jokes. Joey is busy analysing the gig, and the BDO circus in general. He and Wednesday have got an interview to do with Australian TV scheduled for 8:45pm. It’s almost 9pm and Joey has another issue: “I want to eat! I must eat before I talk!” he exclaims. The interview is postponed for 20 minutes.

Bass player Eric is hanging around, so I grab him for a quick chat. Of all the Murderdolls, Eric seems the shyest but is probably the one most up for anything, especially if it is party related. He may only be small, (even in his Ace Frehley six-inch platforms he’s still barely average height!) but he’s a true rock’n’roller with a party attitude to match. “‘Machine Gun Fellatio’ that’s a cool fuckin’ name,” he squeaks discussing some of the other bands on the BDO bill. And he does squeak, kinda, like annoying Brit ‘comedian’ Joe Pasquale.

I bring up the fact that esteemed record producer, Nick Launey (Silverchair, INXS) was side of stage watching the show and had an interesting story to tell me about Eric. “I think I know where this is going,” smiles Eric slyly. “I met him about two years ago in LA at a party and we were all fucked up. I got dragged down three flights of stairs by my hair and he reckoned it was the biggest rock’n’roll moment of ‘00 for him. First impressions count, man.”

“It was so rock’n’roll!” Launey informs me later. “It was the launch of Orgy’s album and they had these models dressed as prostitutes lying on a bed and Eric jumps up on the bed with them, which of course you weren’t allowed to do. So the bouncers are dragging him out by his hair, kicking and screaming, down the stairs. His head was literally bouncing down each stair like a cartoon character and all the while he’s just got his middle fingers up on each hand and is yelling out ‘Fuck You!’, ‘Get Fucked!’, ‘Fuck you, mind the hair!’ Somehow he got back into the party and I asked him ‘how’s your head?’ and he just said “Whaddya mean?” - it was just so rock’n’roll!”

Eric has pre-arranged with their tour driver to take him over to the Boiler Room, where the BDO’s electronica acts are playing. He wants to see German electronic innovators Kraftwerk. “One of the bands I was in before the Murderdolls was very digital and computer based,” he reveals. “Kraftwerk don’t do a lot of live shows and I don’t think I’ll ever get the opportunity to see them again. They’re pretty important to the genre and even if I catch just 10 minutes of their set I think it will be worth coming over. A short ride through the back entrance, we arrive at the Boiler Room and manage to get in, via a bit of a labyrinth, through the backdoor and into the main arena just at the side of the stage. The Kraftwerk guys are standing robot-like in front of their computers while the huge dome-like venue is dripping with sweat from the 10.000+ strong punters who have basically been locked in the room all day listening (sic) the dance bands. We get a good vantage point but after about five minutes we’re leaving. “Jeez! That was the most boring piece of crap I’ve seen!” exclaims Eric when he gets back to the dressing room. “But it was worth going because I scored some drugs!”

Acey’s just hanging around backstage with his camera and a little doll from The Nightmare Before Christmas. He has a ritual where he takes a photograph of the doll in front of landmarks all around the world. “I have him in front of the Eiffel Tower for instance,” he says. “The other day I took a pic of him in front of the Sydney Opera House.” And with that he takes a photo of the doll sitting in front of a sign that says ‘Sleazy’. Hmmm. Odd man.

Acey and Eric are loving every minute of the Murderdolls ride. They’re both on their first trip to Australia and according to both of them it is (sic) has been “Cool as hell!” “The Gold Coast was really on,” says Eric. “It’s been kinda mellow since we got to Sydney because we’ve had four or five days off before this show so we’ve just been trying to find out what’s been going on. It’s been building gradually… and we’ve been partying a lot – maybe too much,” he adds sheepishly. Rick the tour manager – who’s passing by – agrees: “Yep, they’ve been very naughty boys – they’ve got to go to bed early tonight with no supper,” he jokes.

“He knows we’re the most dangerous band on the tour,” counters Eric. It’s a fact that seems to deter any other bands partying with the Murderdolls too. “The only band that has even reached out to us are the guys in Jane’s Addiction, in particular, Dava Navarro,” offers Acey. “He actually came out of his way to come over and introduce himself. And pretty much comes up and talks to us everyday he sees us along with the drummer, Steven [Perkins]. Everyone else is just kinda like, ‘What’s Up?’ Maybe it’s because we don’t look like we’re the most approachable band. Then again no-one has done anything to piss us off at all.”

No one may be talking to the Murderdolls but there is talk of the Murderdolls all over BDO. Most centres around their appearance with most Australian musical luminaries agreeing the band are the best dressed at the festival. One member of Aussie band the Resin Dogs even goes as far as to say, “The Murderdolls rock the wardrobe”. Acey is kinda flattered but non-plussed by the comments. “What image?” he exclaims. “This is how we are all day! Obviously we knock it up a notch for the show but this is the real thing. We don’t care if people like us as sexual deviants or not, but one thing’s for sure – they’ll fucking remember us.”

Big Ben Graves strides over to join us at the table. “Did I hear the words sexual deviant?” he announces in his deeply rounded US accent. “I’ve always been like that! Some people have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other – I just two devils. There is NO voice of reason!”

We ask him if he has had any interesting adventures since he’s been in Australia and then instantly regret it…

“Dude, it has been nothing but interesting adventures. For instance last night, he (indicating Eric) he almost screwed a one-armed girl!”

“She had three tits and one arm,” giggles the dimunitive (sic) bassist.

“Yeah. It was weird,” continues the Ghoul, “one of her arms was like a stump and it looked like it had a nipple on it. I must admit I almost fucked her just for the freakiness of it.”

And with that starter for 10, the Ghoul is off. He starts ranting on with these sick freak jokes that crack everyone up and inside a minute you get a window to his personality. “Our drummer is one bona fide sick fuck,” jokes Wednesday of him later. “He stills (sic) freaks us out. I’ll just look at him sometimes and say to myself, ‘holy shit, dude, what planet are you from?’”

“It was weird on the Gold Coast,” says Eric, picking up on the tour adventure thread. “The girls there were the hottest chicks I had ever seen in my life but by the same token I had never got as much shit for the way I look than I have there as well. It was like two opposite poles. At first it was, ‘hey freak, where’s the funeral?’ and the next was, ‘sit down have a drink with us.”

“As far as people looking at you weird, I found Sydney is where I got the stares,” admits the Ghoul. “Sydney sucks! Although we did have some girls staking out our hotel which was pretty funny and I did have an over-zealous fan thrown out of the bar. The guy was just touching me a little more than he should and I didn’t like it,” he says animatedly. “I was like, ‘man, don’t make me waste this perfectly good bottle of Heineken by breaking it over your head. I’ve done it before’. Eric looks at him and says, “yeah he has!” But he was on something. I remember thinking ‘I want whatever he’s on… times ten!”

“I gotta say though, the Sydney crowd today was one of the best crowds we’ve had so far,” offers Acey as he joins the throng. “It was insane. It is good for us this tour, because the kids don’t know what we are all about yet so we have to prove ourselves. By the end of the set they all had their hands in the air.”

By this time Joey and Wednesday have finished their feed and their hastily re-scheduled interview and are looking for some more mischievous fun for themselves. “First of all, I’m going to go back over to the stage we played because there are a lot of kids hanging around over there still wanting to see us,” explains Joey. “Then after that, I’m gonna go directly where ever (sic) the free drinks are at…” Suddenly, Eric’s doubled over in the doorway of the dressing room. It’s been 45 minutes since he visited Kraftwerk in the Boiler Room and the pharmaceuticals are beginning to take effect. We ask if he’s OK. “Yeah man, I just think I’m gonna spew!” he grins. The rest of the band are baiting him ceaselessly.

“C’mon chuck it up man!” they urge and all crack up laughing together.

In the middle of all the commotion Wednesday is taking a piss in the corner of the dressing room. The place is a wreck: there are empty bottles of booze, food scrapes (sic), squashed fruit, hairdryers, make-up, boots, clothes (black and red if (sic) course) and of course a giant mirror. Wednesday is actually pissing into a bottle of Corona. At the same time I am just about to pick up my freshly opened bottle of Corona from the table which is besides (sic) a now suspicious looking bottle. “Yeah I always piss in the empty bottles,” giggles Wednesday. And then I leave ‘em on the table just to piss off anyone who might want to grab some of our rider or whatever. Just be careful just to get bottles from down there in the ice box, he laughs mischievously. Suddenly the oddly warm bottle in my hand seems less than appealing…

As the clock turns 1am the only people left at the stadium are the cleaners, the roadies and the still-partying Murderdolls. Last to leave, the van is parked just outside the dressing room and all I can see through the opened door is the Ghoul chucking around a baguette, now baked hard as a rock over the course of the stifling hot day. “Look at this - it could be used as a weapon to seriously maim you!” he screams bouncing the French loaf off the wall. A post vomit Eric cracks up, as the two hold a mock baguette joust oblivious to the outside world. They eventually make off back to their hotel room in the city, but don’t hang there for too long. The weekend lights of Sydney beckon and they cruise down William street in King’s Cross, to an underground rock venue called Club 77. It’s glam night, just their crowd and they spend the wee hours of the morning hanging out with fans and getting stuck into the sauce with a vengeance. Australia has officially been Murderdolled!

Blood and Glitter

Gavin Braddeley charts the rise of shock rock

Glam is hard evidence that what goes around comes around. Long dismissed as the definitive climax of 70s bad taste, in recent years glam rock has arisen from the grave, albeit with a veil of cobwebs draped over its original dusting of glitter. Originally a violent reaction to the 60s happy fad for all things natural, worthy, meaningful and drab, glam was all about being deliberately artificial, selfish, throwaway and garish.

In the States Alice Cooper was impaling baby dolls and throwing blood bottles around the stage from ‘70 onwards culminating in the vaudeville theatrics of the ‘Welcome To My Nightmare’ album/tour of ‘76.

Back in the UK, the Glam pioneer was lame pop pixie Marc Bolan (sic), photogenic frontman with T-Rex, who caused a sensation when he took to the stage on Top of the Pops in ‘71 with glitter under his eyes, clad in what looked suspiciously like drag. Never one to miss a trick, the lizard-like David Bowie soon jumped from the hippy ship to take on his otherworldly Ziggy Stardust persona.

The older generation may have thought that smearing make-up on your face and covering your clothes in sequins made you look like a ‘pooftah’. Alice Cooper got around this by replacing Glam’s overt ‘fagginess’ with ghoulish melodrama, prompting one critic to observe that Americans were more comfortable with necrophilia than homosexuality. And then came Kiss. Gene Simmons’ monstrous blood vomiting, fire breathing ‘Demon’ persona enslaved an entire generation of US children crossing Glam’s theatricality with heavy metal machismo to create one of the most influential bands in rock music history.

W.A.S.P. and Mötley Crüe supercharged Kiss’s sleaze and violence quotient to spectacular effect in the 80s, and provide the missing link between Glam and the Murderdolls, who happily cite the back-combed bad boys as a large part of their creative DNA. The chief inheritor of the Glam tradition in the last decade, however, is cross-dressing controversialist Marilyn Manson. Bowie may have metaphorically murdered his creation Ziggy Stardust in the summer of ‘74, while Bolan (sic) died more literally in a car accident three years later, but quarter-of-a-century on, Manson used his own dark arts to conjure their spirit on ‘Mechanical Animals’, his own tribute to pop’s most decadent decade.

Dead… and loving it!

The Murderdolls’ five favourite movie death scenes of all time…

The Murderdolls are proof positive that nothing gets some folks’ creative juices flowing quite so freely as a truly delicious cinematic death scene. Joey and Wednesday have a few favourites – both carnage connoisseurs identifying the ‘74 classic power toolfest The Texas Chainsaw Massacre as the gory cream of the crop – a movie currently being remade with a certain Mr. Manson in the soundtrack composer’s chair. (As a curious aside, you never actually see the girl hung on the hook – just a shadow – but such is the film’s sordid impact that most viewers swear you do!)

Joey 1. Texas Chainsaw Massacre “The girl on the hook.”

2. Friday The 13th Part IV “When the knife comes through the bed and impales the chick.”

3. The Exorcist “When the priest is hucked out through the plate glass window.”

4. A Nightmare on Elm Street “Where the girl is getting dragged across the rooftop.”

5. Necromancy “Where a group of devils and monsters take a girl apart.”

Wednesday 1. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre “The girl on the hook.”

2. Dawn of the Dead “When the spiked ball comes down and rips the guy’s head apart.”

3. Phantasm “A silver ball hits the guy in the head and sucks out all his brains.”

4. Hellraiser “Where (sic) the end sequence where the guy is being chased by all these hooks. They attach themselves to him and rip him apart.”

5. Nightmare On Elm Street “Where Freddy rips out the guy’s veins and uses them like strings controlling a puppet.”

Schlock n’ Roll

B-movie classics that have influenced shock rockers of now and then…

Some horror movies are best watched not so much with your tongue in your cheek, as thrust firmly through it, films that by accident or design are more about fun than fear. The same could be said of numerous horror loving bands, including the Murderdolls, where an ‘everyday is Halloween’ ethos prevails. Here are a few examples of B movie blood fests which may not have won any Oscars, have been paid tribute to by schlock loving bands over the years…

Plan 9 From Outer Space (1957) It is no surprise that the mother-of-all cult movies inspired the mother-of-all cult bands, and when Glenn Danzig created a label to release early Misfits material he dubbed it ‘Plan 9’. Frequently voted the worst movie of all time with its ludicrous script, mind bogglingly bad special effects, cardboard sets, and even more cardboard artistry, Plan 9 From Outer Space is irresistibly entertaining. Directed by the cross-dressing caliph of crap Ed Wood Junior, featuring proto-goth babe Vampira and Bela Lugosi (dying of drug addiction, he was replaced mid production by a stand-in who looks nothing like him).

The Abominable Dr Phibes (1971) Featuring horror cinema’s kind of camp Vincent Price as the fiendish Phibes, avenging the death of his wife using maniacal methods borrowed from the biblical plagues, all against wonderful, strangely psychedelic sets. Also possessed of a strange psychedelic sensibility are punk pioneers the Damned, though in the 80s, lead singer Dave Vanian’s horror sensibilities took centre stage, attracting a goth following. The 80 track ‘13th Floor Vendetta’ is a classic example of the band’s game-topping which, if you listen carefully, is all about ol’ Doc Phibes.

Mars Attacks! (1996) Director Tim Burton’s tribute to the drive-in shockers of the 50s and 60s, Mars Attacks! was actually based upon a ‘62 series of bubblegum cards, discontinued because of their gruesomely graphic pictures of earthlings being exterminated by alien invaders. As such this inspiration might suggest Mars Attacks! has little by way of plot, but for anyone with a weakness for vintage schlock sci-fi it’s a true Technicolor treat. This must certainly include the Misfits and when they reformed, they did so without the blessing of founder Glenn Danzig, but with their monster movie obsessions intact – among a multitude of horror movie tributes on their ‘97 comeback album ‘American Psycho’ was ‘Mars Attacks’ (and even an instrumental coincidentally titled ‘Abominable Dr Phibes’!)

I Was A Teenage Werewolf (1957) The drive-in movies of the 50s and 60s typically featured juvenile delinquents or monsters, and this bargain-basement effort delivered both in one lurid package. Before becoming ‘Pa’ on TV’s Little House on the Prairie Michael Landon stars as a troubled teen – though when he starts growing hair in strange places, it’s more than just hormones to blame. A howl from beginning to end, Teenage inspired a number on ‘Songs the Lord Taught Us’, the ‘80 debut from drive-in movie loving ghoulish rockers The Cramps.

Murder, mayhem and a right old mess

Minging Murderdoll tales from the Big Day Out

Who is the messiest Murderdoll of them all? Wednesday: “That would be Eric and The Ghoul. They are just messy as fuck. But you know you’ve just got to get used to living with these people. We’ve been on the road since July. You live on a bus for six weeks which means you’ve got (sic) live in everyone else’s shit.”

Who is the tidy anal doll? Joey: “No-one. We’re all pretty fuckin’ messy.” Wednesday: “I just took two garbage bags of mess out of my room. And just put it in the hallway. Just full of chicken bones and beer bottles and all sorts of shit like that, it was just smelling really bad so I had to get rid of it.”

So you do that yourself? Wednesday: “I don’t let the cleaning staff come into my room and tidy up. I put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign for the whole week I am there.” Joey: “The housekeepers are scared shitless to come into our rooms anyway so we keep it easy for them and put the ‘Do Not Disturb” signs up the whole time. They are going to be so scared to come into our rooms and clean up after we’ve been there for a fuckin’ week!”