#they had ones with the red tongue logo and the band name too!

[waugh-bao]

[togrowoldinv]

Red Hot

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

You meet a hot firefighter at a bar

Warnings: Smut 18+! Kissing, oral, cursing

Note: Uhh Nat is really muscular and hot so yeah. Enjoy!

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 1, Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 2, Main Masterlist

A drink is placed in front of you as the bell above the bar door rings. A parade of loud-talking people stumble in. You take a sip of your drink and fiddle with the band on your left ring finger.

“Is this seat taken?” a raspy voice asks. You would know that voice anywhere.

“It’s all yours,” you reply.

You turn to see a redhead wearing a smirk as she straddles the barstool. Her hair is pulled back in a small ponytail, and she is so beautiful. She orders a drink, Russian vodka, and you watch as she downs a shot. Her biceps flex as she lifts the drip to her plump lips.

“Long day?” she asks you once she’s swallowed her drink.

“Very long. I missed my wife,” you say.

“Hm. I bet your wife missed you too.”

You fail at hiding a smile, and she returns one too.

“I’m Natasha,” she says, holding out her strong hand for you to shake. You do so and tell her your name too. It’s a familiar dance.

“You’re a firefighter?” you ask her.

“How’d you know?” she shoots back almost immediately. You gesture to her shirt that has the department logo on it. “Ah, yeah, I am.”

“So, you’re a hero, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she says, her cheeks blushing a light red.

“I would. Tell me Natasha, how would you feel about saving me from this long day I’ve had?” you lean closer to her and ask.

“It would be a pleasure, y/n. I just live down the block.”

“Me too.”

The redhead pays for your drinks and takes your hand. Her coworkers whistle as they see her leaving with you. She shakes her head and pulls you towards the door.

Once you get to her apartment, you’re crashing your lips into hers. She returns the kiss and is quick to lift your shirt over your head. Natasha’s strong arms lift you up and carry you to the bedroom, never once breaking the kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” Nat says.

She kisses your neck, and your fingers slip under her shirt. She leans back and takes her own shirt off. Your eyes go wide at her perfectly shaped abs and her toned arms. Nat smirks and takes off her bra too. The sight of her straddling you half-naked is enough to make the heat pooling between your legs impossible to ignore.

“I need you,” you plead. “Natasha, please.”

“Be patient, sweetheart,” Natasha replies.

She kisses from your lips, to your breasts, down to your pant line. Her fingers work quickly to unzip your pants and slide them down your legs. Nat smirks as she can see how wet you are through your underwear.

“Fuck baby. Is this all for me?” she asks, kissing the inside of your thighs. You nod. She slips off your underwear in a quick motion. “Use your words.”

“It’s all for you, Natasha,” you say. It comes out breathily.

Next thing you know, Natasha has her tongue buried inside you. She licks at your wetness, and her strong hands keep your legs spread for her. Nat takes your clit in her mouth, and you feel yourself tipping over the edge. Your legs shake with pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for daddy,” Natasha says, her voice muffled by the way you clench your thighs around her head. And you do cum for her. She helps you come down from your high and then moves up and kisses your lips once again.

“God, you’re so hot, Nat,” you say.

“Hot enough to ride your face?” Nat asks, kissing you once more. You nod your head in excitement. You love the feeling of her pussy against your face.

Natasha smirks and situates herself against your mouth. Your hands go to her muscular thighs as she begins to ride your face. Your mind is fuzzy as you gather her wetness with your tongue. The moans she lets out are like music to your ears.

“Oh, I’m going to cum,” Nat says as she clutches the headboard. “Fuck y/n.”

You hum against her, and she cums hard on your face. Her hips move erratically as she comes down. She climbs off your face and lays down next to you. Or more accurately, half on top of you as her cheek presses against your shoulder and her legs intertwine with yours.

“Do you still miss your wife?” Nat asks with a knowing grin.

“Nope. She’s right here in my arms,” you say with a chuckle. “I love you, Natasha.”

“I love you too, baby.”

You smile at her, and she blushes. She may be physically strong and tough, but her heart is soft and it belongs to you.

“We should do this again sometime,” she says. “You know, the whole pretending not to know each other thing because I think that’s the best sex we’ve had in a long time.”

“I agree. Round 2?” you ask.

Natasha answers by kissing you. You love this woman so much.

Tag List: @gracebutnotgraceful @i-wished-for-you-too @wandasbb @be-missed @likefirenrain @hehehehannahthings @mythosphere-x @readings-stuff @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @madamevirgo @milfloverslut @mrswidowjohansson @alotofpockets @ggrangerdanger @maia-lightwoood @xxromanoffxx @peanutbutterprincess @karmasgxrl @picnicmic @wandaslittlewhore @exhaustedfangirl @when-wolves-howl @natashalovers @sammi1642 @jujuu23 @the-night-owl-blr @strangegardentaco @avatarsnips @romanoffswoman @natashasilverfox @imthenatynat @sayah13 @harleysincairo @rach2602 @cordyandbilliehavemyheart @lovelyy-moonlight @huitzilinthebudgie3 @juicyy444 @youralphawolf72 @btay3115 @red1culous @lenam07 @randomwriter1021 @rightwereyouleftme @natismywife @dumb-fawkin-bitch @natashaswife4125 @karsonromanoff @bookfrog242 @theprinceofmarvel

[forthehpfanboys]

Gold Strings & Red Picks- PT 1

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: The Weasley's invented a band! Having a band, means you need a band manager; someone to help find venues, gigs and sponsors. After finding one, Ron seems to be hopeless drawn toward them.

Warnings: flirting, swearing, bickering, sexual tension??, Punk Pining Ron but also Smug Ron, naming a guitar ‘Cherry Popper’, dm me if I missed any.

Notes: I plan on having some chapters kinda spicy. I made an entire gif for this and yes it is Rupert playing 👀 and god is this self indulgent. Hope you guys like it!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWERE~

-

It was a Friday morning when you quit the Static Dragons and posted the news on every piece of social media you had. It didn’t take long for you to edit your bios to state you were looking for a new band, and it managed to catch someone's eye just as quickly. It was Monday evening when you got a dm on Instagram from a user called ddchrmrs-official. The user basically sent you a paragraph about how he was the lead singer of a band he and his siblings threw together and they were looking for a new manager. You agreed to meet with them and talk about the potential of the band and he agreed, using more than a few explanation marks after his reply. He even sent you a few of their songs once he deemed you worthy enough.

So, you found a dining hall, an equal distance from your house and theirs, and with the lead singer's approval, Fred, you booked it for Tuesday afternoon. Fred even made a post explaining the good news- why he was acting like one of the Weird Sisters followed him back, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t help but be excited too. The songs were good- more punk-rock than you assumed from the band's name. Something about the name Daydream Charmers gave off a softer, boyband type.

The day of the band meeting couldn’t have gone much worse. You missed your morning alarm, you couldn’t find your laptop charger and the clothes you picked out the night before ended up covered in stains from breakfast. GPS even gave you the fastest route and you still managed to be 10 minutes late, but you managed to find the right hall. It was a bit different compared to the pristine image shown on the website.

The roof looked like it was caving under an invisible weight and the actual size of the hall looked like a small barn. The walls were made of red and black bricks, most of which seemed to be chipped, broken or bending, like it was being crushed. The door frame was slanting, the door’s white paint was chipping, the sidewalk was splitting at almost every corner. You were desperately hoping the building was enchanted so it was bigger (and nicer looking) on the inside.

You parked your car on the pebble covered asphalt, right next to an equally old and rusty blue car. You had no idea how four people, a sound system, a bass, an electric guitar and a full drum set fit inside of the small wagon, but figured they managed to spell the inside bigger. You weren’t bothered by it- how could you be? You felt your wand hit your laptop inside the bag as you threw it over your shoulder after climbing out of the car. Shutting the door, you hurried up the broken concrete, shoving your keys in your pocket.

You chewed on your lip, adjusting the collar of your shirt as you approached the door. A smile pulled at your lips at the refreshing sound of genuine laughter and bickering. You had an internal battle of whether you should knock or just barge in. It sounded like they were having their fun and you didn’t want to interrupt anything. Soon enough, the laughter was dying down and someone was strumming a bass quietly, practicing a few chords from one of the songs Fred gave you. You raised a fist to knock on the door and the silence that followed was close to defining. Soft footsteps followed the silence and you swore you could hear soft breathing behind the door before it was yanked open.

“Hey! You made it! We were worried you got lost on your way here.”

You weren’t expecting to be face to chest with an individual. Their band's logo was printed across the front, red letters with a gold outline that clashed drastically with the bright orange fabric of the tight shirt. You tilted your head up, meeting cocoa brown eyes and a crisp white smile. His ginger hair was spread across his shoulders, his ear lobes were pierced with two shiny black flat stud earrings and the little white nostril piercing on the left side of his nose was reflecting the sunlight.

“Fred?” You asked, matching his smile. You could tell he had fun, you could sense it. His arm raised, inadvertently showing off his muscles, and rested against the door frame. 

“The one and only.” He grinned, clearly just joking. Before he could say anything else, he was rudely interrupted by a foreign voice behind him. Fred’s smile dropped into a frown like he was suddenly slapped across the face.

“Is it the pizza guy?” The voice asked from somewhere behind him, excitement clearer than crystal. Fred looked over his shoulder to respond.

“No, Ron. That’s not for another twelve minutes.” He rolled his eyes after looking back at you and letting out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry about him. His appetite is larger than Big Ben and it literally never stops. Anyway, I hope you like pizza! I tried to message you about it.” He pulled his phone out of his front pocket, unlocking it and scrolling through his messages and swiping right on notifications he didn’t care for.

“I was using my phone for GPS. Must’ve missed the messages.” Your hands slid into your front pockets, your weight shifting between your feet as embarrassment began to settle in. Maybe this wasn’t the best first impression. Before you could think about it too long, a low whistle was resonating from beside Fred.

Without warning, Fred was being nudged aside by a slightly shorter ginger, his piercing blue eyes staring into yours. They didn’t stay there very long though. They slowly dragged down your body, taking in your form, and his head tilted in appreciation.

“Oh.. I’m not gonna complain about the pizza when Merlin delivered us a cutie.” He gave you a dizzying side smile. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Surely, it’s something as handsome as you are.” Just as quickly as he appeared, Fred was pushing him back, faking a gag while driving the unnamed individual back with Fred’s hand against his forehead. 

“Ew! Ron, down! Seriously? Keep your yap shut! He’s our new band manager and I’d actually like to keep this one, thank you.” Fred groaned, a sneer pulling at his lips. He blocked the smaller ginger from the door with his body before turning back to you with a sigh. “I’m sorry. He’s usually not like this. Usually he’s moping about his ex-” You could see Ron jumping behind Fred to get another look at you. The reaction had you snorting into your hands.

“Fred. Fred, move, mate. I wanna see ‘im again!” The ginger whined, tugging at his older brother's t-shirt. He was dodging around Fred’s constant moving hands to get one more peek at you.

Fred let out a groan, his head falling backwards in agony before letting out a loud “George, please help!”

“Wait! Wait, wait!” Ron’s voice matched the panicked hand trying to hold onto the door frame before it was hilariously slapped off the wood and was dragged into the mystery hidden behind the lead singer. His begs and pleas began to echo and soften which you thought caused you to giggle a bit. 

“I’m sorry. We’ll put a muzzle on him or something. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Fred shifted out of the door way, allowing you to enter the hall. It was bigger on the inside than the outside, that much had you relieved. Fred shut the door behind you with a satisfying click and let you soak the place in while he sat himself down on a velvet red coach. It was dimly lit, about half the lights were on, and the walls were painted a light tan, which easily could’ve been mistaken for white, if white wasn’t used for the tiling. 

Next to Fred on the couch, was a girl with long, slightly darker, ginger hair. Her hair went well past her shoulders, and a bright orange base sat on top of her crossed legs. She had gone back to laying a few chords once you entered, just relaxing as her two brothers basically wrestled each other.

“Ginny, this is (Y/n).” Fred spoke up, pointing from his sister to you, then back to her. (Y/n), this is the youngest Weasley in the family, Ginevra.” Fred smirked, but it turned into a pained expression when she landed a hard slap to his chest.

“Except if you call me that, I will break your legs. It’s Gin or Ginny, nothing else. It’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/n). Fred hasn’t shut up about you.” She smiled at you, reaching a tattoo covered hand out to shake yours. 

“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. You shook her hand proudly, knowing it was probably your reputation that kept the oldest Weasley in the band chatting up a storm. “It’s nice to meet you too, Gin.” You gave her a cheeky grin before turning to the other side of the hall, noting another Fred standing in front of Ron, who was sitting in a chair quiet grumpily. 

The double picked up a deep red guitar covered in stickers and shoved it into Ron’s lap, causing the younger to gasp out a wheeze. It was obvious he had chewed Ron out for his behavior, but nevertheless, he gave his unplugged electric guitar a few strums, which seemed to satisfy Fred 2 because soon enough he was storming back to the couch, shaking his head the entire walk there.

He sat himself down on the arm of the couch, right next to his doppelganger. His arms crossed back over his chest once again. Fred 2 had the same length hair, different piercings though. He only had one set of black earrings, but had an industrial across his left ear. He had a straight line of freckles across his cheek bones and right across his nose. The spots went down his neck and across his forehead. 

“He’s bloody useless.” He grumbled out, his snake bite moving to the right as his tongue ran across it. “Oh, hi!” Fred 2 scooted over to the edge of the arm rest, reaching his hand out to shake yours. “You must be the band manager! I’m George, Fred’s twin bro-”

“Younger twin. I’m the oldest.” Fred interrupted, smirking again as he pointed a thumb to himself. His smirk dropped when he was smacked in the chest again- by both George and Ginny. 

“I’m his twin brother. Ignore him, he has a God complex.” George rolled his eyes, smiling at you while he shook your hand. He pulled his hand away before scooting back to rest his back against the back of the couch. You could tell he wasn’t comfortable, but  he seemed dedicated to the spot. “I’m sorry you had to meet Ron the way you did. Usually he’s tamer than that.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, your gaze turned down to your shoes. Your cheeks were beginning to heat up as his flirting rebounded through your head again.

“Nah, he wasn’t that bad.”

“I wasn’t?” Ron’s sudden voice behind you had nearly jumped out of your skin. You spun around, your backpack strings nearly catching on one of Ginny’s bass strings. You swallowed down a squeak. “Georgie was trying to convince me I was being inconsiderate and rude and that mum would smack me if she saw.” He was still holding the guitar by the neck, and that was when you noticed the bright gold strings with a red pick trapped between them.

“Well, it’s not like you were asking about my shoe size… “ Your eyes landed on the hands holding the black neck of the instrument and you couldn’t help but gawk at them. Rings covered his finger knuckles, veins popped out from beneath his skin. “Wow.” You didn’t mean to verbally gawk over the hands, so you had to force your gaze down to the instrument and ignore the urge to stare at the pale, freckle covered skin that was making your mouth dry. 

You shook your head, looking at the shiny strings. You had you stop yourself from reaching out and caressing the polished neck, the textures strings and hidden pick. It was clearly loved and carefully taken care of.

“Beauty, isn't she?” Ron grinned, showing off the red body drowning in decals- most of which were bright orange Quidditch themed or terrible chess puns. You almost forgot to check if they were a muggle band, but this told you enough. “My best friend got it for me, he’s a blessing. Mum didn’t approve, of course, said we all had better purposes, but dad said rock on.” 

“She really is. I’m guessing you named her?” The second the question fell from your lips, the three sharing a spot on the couch groaned in agony, but Ron was grinning in pride.

“Of course I have! Her name is Cherry Popper and she’s the love of my life. Unless,” Ron was taking a step closer to you, a twinkle in his eyes as he continued speaking, “you plan on cha-” His flirting was cut off suddenly.

“And that’s enough of that! Please sit down and, for the love of Merlin’s beard, rename the damn thing!” Ginny cried out, almost knocking her own instrument straight into the tiled floor. She ran a hand through her hair, her free hand holding the bass hard enough to make her knuckles pure white.

“I mean, come on! Name it something classic like ‘Bertha’ or ‘Jasmine’, or, and here’s my personal favorite, don’t name it at all!” Fred waved his hands while he spoke, counting the names on his fingers before doing jazz hands at ‘don’t name it at all’.

“Fred, that’s hypocritical. You named your mic.” George spoke up, pulling two white marble drumsticks from his jeans pockets and began to spin one between his fingers. 

“That was a joke.” Fred stuck his tongue out at his twin. “At least I don’t do it seriously. And leave Echo out of this.” Fred ripped the non spinning drumstick from George’s hand, holding it out of his twins reach.

“Shut up and give me Crystal back!”

“No, if you wanna talk about terrible names, we can talk about the band's name! Merlin, Fred, were you sky high when you made it?” Ron shot back, his arms crossing over his chest, one still holding the guitar.

Knowing this kind of fight could go for a good while, you slipped past him, patting Ron on the shoulder while you walked past while a pained gasp rented the silence that flooded the hall. You set your backpack on the white table, opening the zipper and pulling out your laptop. You sat down, pulling the laptop onto your lap before opening the notepad application.

“I made the name! And dammit, I think it was clever! It even has a unique backstory! At our school, we had a um- small business and it was quite successful. By ‘we’, I mean George and I and by successful, I mean we run an online joke shop. I thought it fit the shop pretty well.” Fred held a look of pride- a smirk was, once again, drawn across his lips as his eyes twinkled.

“Mate, it’s horrible.” Ginny spoke up, not even bothering to throw the truth as a curve-ball causing two of her older brothers to nod in agreement. She copied Fred’s movement by yanking the drumstick from his hand, but handed it to George, smiling at him. 

“Why couldn’t it have been something cool? You named your shop something cool. Why’d you give the band something’ shitty?” Ron rolled his eyes, leaning his back against the door, the guitar balancing on his sneakers and leaning against his ripped jean covered legs. His attention didn’t stay with his siblings for long. Soon it was shifting over to you, like he was naturally drawn toward you. He grinned at you, sticking his tongue out. The little gold ball stamped into the middle of his tongue had your full attention.

You swallowed thickly. The ball and his guitar strings were the exact same color and reflected the same light. You felt butterflies fill your stomach from the simple action and noticed, almost suddenly, the ginger was actually quite attractive and funny. You sucked on your tongue, hoping the blush across your cheeks didn’t give too much away. Ron looked back at his brothers, his side grin screaming he basically saw your body temperature rise.

“I was led to believe you all loved the name, but no! I’m starting to think you guys are just trying to embarrass me in front of the (Y/n), but since you think it’s so easy, come up with a new one.” Fred cried out, crossing his arms over the printed long sleeve t-shirt, and was pouting like a child now, sinking lower into the couch.

“It makes us sound like a cheesy boy-band going after 12 year olds.” Ginny scoffed, propping her bass up against the couch. She looked over at her slightly older brother, nodding her head in Fred’s direction.

“It does. We could’ve been Fire Wicks.” Ron pointed at Ginny and the teaming up began. “Or like Solar Skips.”

“Or The Red Bloods.” Gin nodded, pointing back at Ron while her other hand pulled out her phone. The game was ‘Who-Cares-If-It’s-Bad-Let’s-Prove-Fred-Wrong’ and you could tell it was for shits and giggles. You were going to pitch in an idea, but someone beat you to it.

“Or FireBolt Bitters.” Spoke up George, who was now gazing up at the ceiling, shaking his head in mock shame, but you could see the edges of his smile growing at the corners.

“Ooh, I love that one!” Ron leaned over, stretching his arm as far as it could to give  George a high five, before turning to look at you. He grinned at your confused expression. “Are you writing these down?” He pointed at your computer before giving you a wink. The butterflies came back, doubled in strength, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You shook your head no, laughing louder when he waved his hands in a panicked manner. “Write them down, mate!”

You rolled your eyes, typing random shit down just to please the younger one. Your eyes trailed across the dumplings, noting three quarters of them were smiling. Fred’s crabby expression made it was clear he didn’t get picked on very often.

“Charlie texted saying ‘The Copper Horntails’ would’ve been better.” Ginny said, looking up from her phone. She dropped the phone onto her lap, wincing a tad when the device collided with the instrument on her lap. She quickly forgot the pain and leaned back, enjoying her brother's pain.

“You asked Charlie?!” Fred squealed loudly, his hands holding his head. Right beside Fred, George had begun to tap his sticks together, improvising a beat to go with the arguing.

“You know what? That’s a great idea! Let’s ask Percy next-” yelled Ron over Ginny’s laughter and Fred’s agonizing scream. His smirk only grew when Fred tossed his head back. 

“Ok, damn! I get it! But I already made t-shirts so deal with it.”

“Fred, we have magic. We can always change the print.” George piped up, tapping the white wooden sticks against his thighs in some random pattern, his head nodding to a beat. He shrugged his shoulders, not focusing on his words all that much,

“George!” This time it was Fred’s turn to smack George in his chest. He glared at him before leaning over to whisper in his twin's ear. It was something you couldn’t make out, but you figured they were debating over your status. You rolled your eyes, reaching behind you.

With a clear of your throat, you gained their attention before pulling out your wand from your backpack. While waving it, you locked eyes with Ron, playfully chewing on your lip to try to hide your smile.

“But-” Fred scrambled to grab his phone. You knew he was going to pull up one of your profiles to show none of them mentioned magic or wizarding or anything.

“The quidditch stickers were a dead give away.” You pointed to Ron’s guitar with the tip of your wand before putting it back in your bag. “That, and the tiny blue car that somehow carried four band members, and all of their equipment even though, that should’ve been impossible. I do enjoy Firebolt Bitters, though.”

Your own smile grew when the siblings broke out into loud snorts and sniggers, save for Fred’s. Ron walked over to you, and you were sure his cheeks were hurting from how hard he was smiling. He laid his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he faced his band members.

“I like this one.”

A smile stretches across your face as your cheeks get warmer. Out of everything to come out of today, this was something even the strongest and most willed seer’s couldn’t have predicted. It wasn’t even half past noon and you’d already started to develop a crush on a punk guitarist who shares a band with his siblings. You were clueless on how you were going to do your managing and keep it strictly platonic when he grinned at you like you were everything he wanted.

[between-two-fandoms]

Cause This Is Our Someday

Ao3 Link

Fandom: Big Time Rush

Rated: T

Word Count: 1,622

Pairing: Kendall KnightxLogan Mitchell

Tag list (ask to be added or removed):

@toomanyfandomstoolittletime @innocentbi-stander @mirrcrballbaby

Kendall enlists Katie and James's help getting him ready for a date with Logan. Self discoveries, pining and meddling little sisters prove to complicate things for Kendall, though this is what should have been a simple first date with his boyfriend.

~~~~~~~~~

Kendall loved his family, they were easily the most important thing in his life outside of hockey…. Hockey and maybe now the band. Especially Katie, his adorable albeit sometimes scary little sister. She gave up so much just so he and his boys could become a band. Sometimes… sometimes he’d forget, though she was only twelve she still had friends back in Minnesota. She had her people, however little they were.

Katie was one of the strongest twelve year olds he knew, she was his rock. She was his sounding board on a lot of things like, for example, getting ready for a date with Logan. “Too much?” Kendall asked, a hint of flush on his face as he walked out of the bathroom in a loud Hawaian polo shirt. Katie stared at him blankly from her spot perched on the top of the kitchen table.

“Way too much big brother,” Katie said between stifled laughs. A flash went off and before Kendall could make a grab for it she already had her phone tucked back into her bag. “You need to be… not so ugly,” she admitted. Kendall let out a noise of protest.

“I am not ugly,” he squeaked. Katie rolled her eyes and hopped off the table. She walked over to him and made him spin around so she could see all angles. “I’m the front man for a boy band that hit the top charts on our first tour.” Kendall said, only to get a snort in response. Katie grab his arm to get him to stop spinning.

She stared up at him and he couldn’t exactly place the expression. Katie learned how to master expressions as a young child - she was still young - but the control she had and how grown up she already was sometimes made Kendall’s heart hurt. “Your fans didn’t know you when you decided wearing a purple sequined dress shirt to homecoming was a good idea. If it wasn’t for Kelly and your stylist I’d bet Big Time Rush’s signature outfit would’ve been those stinky old jersey’s,” Katie scrunched up her nose and Kendall put his hands on his hips.

“Are you going to help me or just sit there and insult me Miss. Fashion Police?” Kendall asked, staring at her. Kate giggled and then put two fingers into her mouth and whistled. Confusion crossed his face then realization sparked in Kendall’s eyes when James rounded the corner holding jeans and a muscle t-shirt with some band logo. “Oh no, nuh uh definitely not,” Kendall vetoed, backing up from the offensive outfit.

James just stared at Kendall pointedly. “Dude, you’re easily the guy with the most muscle. Logan likes staring at them,” he added, a smirk on his face. Kendall glared at James and Katie in betrayal.

“How do you know he likes staring at my arms?” Kendall asked, crossing them against his chest defensively. Katie cackled, the laughter loud and whole. He was glad the two of them were having fun laughing at his expense. All he wanted was fashion advice, next time maybe he’d go to the Jennifers instead.

Katie shook her head, rolling her eyes. “You’re in the front so you can’t tell, but why do you think Logan’s been tripping over his feet during practice recently?” She asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes Kendall couldn’t quite bring himself to trust. Katie liked getting her sticky fingers involved into his love life, she had a history of sabotaging his dates if she didn’t like the girl. Granted, in the long run she’d always be right but that's besides the point.

“Kendoll, come on!” James insisted, his eyes sparkling as he took a step closer. Kendall dropped one of his arms, keeping the other securely wrapped around his chest. “You’d look so smoking in this fit, these are from that awesome jean store in the mall - Denim On Denim?” He asked. James smirked a little bit, the corner of his lips curling up into a smile. “Plus like… if Logan doesn’t like the shirt on you I’m sure he’d like the shirt even more when it’s off you.” Kendall’s face flushed bright red and he snapped his hand out and snatched the shirt from James.

“Okay okay enough. You guys are the absolute worse,” Kendall complained, though there was no earnesty to it. James and Katie snickered behind him as he ducked back into the bathroom to change the date outfit. “Logan and I are going to keep things PG13 tonight,” he said through the bathroom door emphasizing the term. He was acesexual, not that the other two knew that yet but… god Logan was so understanding when he came out. Kendall tried to explain how he felt about the whole Sex thing, that he could take it or leave it, that it wasn’t the most important thing in the world to him and Logan just held him through it, hugging him.

Once he won the short lived battle with the muscle shirt and pulled it over his head Kendall took a few seconds to appreciate the look in the mirror himself - he hated to admit it but they were right. He did look ridiculously good in a muscle shirt. Kendall brushed his fingers through his air in a halfhearted attempt to get it to stay down. He wasn’t worried too much about his hair, it would give Logan an excuse to play with it.

James cat called him when Kendall finally left the bathroom in the chosen outfit for date night. “You’re looking fly as hell Knight,” James said, a hint of jealousy in his voice. “Logan’s gonna love it,” for some reason Kendall detected some sort of… wistfulness… in James’ voice when he spoke. Almost something with a bittersweet taste to it. Before Kendall could ask what was wrong James whisked him into the family room for pre-date pictures. Carlos was waiting for them with a camera on a tripod all set up and Kendall’s ears flushed pink.

“Awe, he’s embarrassed,” Katie teased lightheartedly. Kendall stuck his tongue out at her, she stuck her tongue out back. “Kendork, you’re going to kill it,” she promised. Anxiety bubbled up underneath Kendall’s skin as his brain worked through all the way things could go wrong during his date with Logan. “James he’s doing the Thing again,” Katie complained, walking over to dig into the pantry for a bag of popcorn.

“Yeah I can see that,” James said unhelpfully. Kendall had begun pacing, nervously walking back and forth as he ran a hole into the carpet in the living room. “Hey Kendall, buddy you need to look at me,” James reached out hesitantly, but Kendall didn’t flinch away from his hand. James put his hand on Kendall’s shoulder and squeezed it. Kendall stopped pacing, his eyes were still a little unfocused but his breathing got slower. “Logan is so gone for you there’s literally zero competition,” James continued, keeping his hand on Kendall’s shoulder, a grounding force. “It’s painfully obvious you guys feel for each other,” he said… there was that hint of bittersweet again. Kendall let out a quiet whine and reached out for James, pulling him in for a hug.

“Simp,” Katie coughed into her popcorn. James glared at her to get her to shut up then turned his attention back to Kendall. Kendall was already feeling a lot better than he did before. He always felt safe around James. They always knew what they felt to each other, they always… they could always go to each other for help… for anything.

“Kendall?” Some asked quietly from behind them. It took Kendall a few seconds to place the voice then the name slid into place and he took a deep breath. Logan, his mind supplied. He hugged James for a few more seconds, holding him close to his heart, then Kendall pulled away. For a brief millisecond an expression of hurt flickered across James’s face but then his smile was back. It was so quick Kendall swore he imagined it happening. “Wow, you look… you look really good,” Logan said, his voice soft and warm. Kendall smiled bashfully at Logan, stepping into his outstretched arms. Kendall accepted the hug, letting Logan pull him in as he pressed his face into Logan’s shoulder.

“See?” Katie asked teasingly, chucking a handful of popcorn at Kendall. “I told you he’d like it! But oh no you didn’t believe me,” she singsonged, skipping around the room. Logan chuckled at the interaction and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Kendall’s head. Kendall pulled out of Logan’s chest looking a bit more flushed than normal, a boyish smile on his face. He reached down to interlock their fingers together. They let Carlos snap a few pictures of them before Logan insisted they’d miss it, whatever it was Logan was taking Kendall too. James had disappeared somewhere in the madness - Kendall made a mental note to check on him later. Surely it was nothing one of his infamous pep talks couldn’t fix.

“Ready?” Kendall asked, a nervous tremor to his voice. Logan smiled at Kendall and squeezed his hand.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Logan promised. He tugged Kendall a bit closer to steal a chaste kiss on the lips. “You really do look amazing Kendall,” he whispered, nuzzling into the nape of Kendall’s neck. Katie let out a noise of disgust then left the room, complaining about PDA in common areas or something. “Come on, I promise you’re going to love this,” Logan said, his eyes lighting up as he spoke. Kendall nodded and kissed Logan’s shoulder as he let Logan tug him out of the apartment and to wherever life was taking them next.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.19 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch has been through a lot in his short time in Backwater, but there's always the Dorothy option.

~~*~~

Read ‘The Dorothy Option’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

As much as things changed, they also stayed the same. But they still changed and there wasn’t a damn thing Stretch could do about it. He never could.

After Red cut him loose from the shop for the day, walking across the main street to the movie theater was the same, but the breeze cutting through the sweltering heat was different. A couple days ago, Stretch would have eagerly lifted his face into it, let it dry the sweat rolling from his skull and basked in the cooling effect.

Today it was a reminder that summer was actually ending, and autumn was creeping in one slow step at a time. He’d always liked the fall season since they came to the surface, there was no such thing in the Underground. But now that he knew what was coming with the end of the harvest season, it only made him a little sad. It wouldn’t be too long until the scarecrow pole in all the fields was empty.

Stretch paused outside the theater, looking back towards the shop and past it, to the forest behind it. He was too far away to hear the rustling leaves, still green and vibrant, untouched thus far by the changing season. He could still hear it somehow, like a leftover echo, the memory of that sound loud in his head as he turned back to the theater, the constant chatter of leaves scratching inside his skull.

The sound cut off like a stopped tape recorder as the door swung shut behind him. Igor was right inside, looking a lot like an out of work funeral director in his threadbare suit. He looked up from where he was sweeping dandruffy bits of popcorn into a pile and wordlessly went behind the counter to scoop out two cartons of fresher stuff. The dilapidated marquee over the concession stand had only one title on it. ‘The Wizard of Oz’.

“weren’t you playing this flick just a couple weeks ago?” Stretch asked curiously, handing over a fiver.

“Popular movie around here,” Igor told him, tonelessly. Yeah, okay, movies about Kansas and great farming fields, and wonderous unknown worlds where danger lurked. Wasn’t hard to see how people around Backwater could form a parallel to that, hell, there was probably a shrine to Judy Garland in every house on the street, set up with offerings of corn and tiny water buckets.

He looked down at the popcorn cartons that were sitting on the counter, the smell of fresh melted butter rising, and asked abruptly, “can i get a box of raisinets, too?”

Igor nodded and took back the single bill he’d laid down, the box of candy rattling loudly as he set it on the countertop.

Stretch took it and the popcorn and headed into the theater. What was that about, he wondered. He didn’t even like raisins. Maybe he’d take them back for Red.

The theater was empty, without so much as an abandoned soda cup in the aisles and the floor still swept entirely clean. So much for people loving this movie. Stretch sat down in the far back row with his popcorn and candy to wait.

Right on schedule, the lights went low, the MGM logo came up, and then with a swell of music Kansas appeared in a grainy sepia.

He’d seen the Wizard of Oz before coming to Backwater. The first time he’d seen it, they were still in the Underground and it was hard not to make the odd mental comparisons when they came to the surface. Now that he was here in this town, Stretch related to Dorothy more than ever. A stranger in a strange land, sure, but the scarecrow sidekick was pretty damn specific. Would Edgar Allen even know what the yellow brick road was? He was pretty sure the scarecrow in his life didn’t get out of his fields much, if ever.

Never going anywhere, never really living. He sat out there in fields with corn and crows for company, guardian and prison as one. Stretch wondered if that was as sad as his mind kept trying to make it or was he putting his own pathos on an anthropomorphic personification of a scarecrow. Maybe Edgar Allen was perfectly happy with his lot in life. Hell, maybe he was looking forward to the harvest season and a chance to rest without the corn chattering to him all the time, it was possible.

Thinking that made him feel a little better about the situation and Stretch sank back into his chair and munched on another buttery handful of popcorn.

He was so absorbed in the movie that at first, he didn’t notice the seat next to him was no longer empty. A blood-streaked hand reaching towards the other carton of popcorn was his first clue and Stretch bit back a yelp, soul hammering in his ribcage as he inwardly cursed himself for being so jumpy. Wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this before, loads of times now, it was what he bought the second carton for.

“hey, there,” Stretch said softly to his ghostly companion. “sorry it’s been a few days.”

“That’s all right,” Doris told him, her faint voice barely audible over the strains of ‘We’re off to see the Wizard.

The Tin Man was lamenting his lack of heart by the time Doris spoke again, tentatively and filled with quiet apology. “I’m very sorry, I feel as if I should know your name, but…”

Oh. Stretch closed his sockets briefly. Damn it, Red warned him about this, to not be surprised if she didn’t remember him. He didn’t allow the faint sting of hurt to show. It wasn’t her fault, it was entirely the fault of whoever had blown away part of her head and left her here to haunt a lonely, dilapidated old theater until it was time for her to go wherever ghosts did when they moved on.

Whoever it was that did this to her, stole her life and left her mostly alone in death, Stretch hoped they felt that sin clawing its way up their back long after they went to the hereafter.

“it’s okay, doris,” he said as gently as he could while Judy Garland danced across the screen, “it’s stretch, like a rubber band.”

“Yes! Stretch!” she laughed delightedly. She clapped her gloved hands together like a child. “Yes, that’s it. It was on the tip of my tongue when I saw you brought me popcorn, but I couldn’t quite shake it loose.”

No surprise there, half the time she didn’t have much tongue left.

She leaned in over her carton to take a deep, ghostly breath and twin streamers of blood ran from her nostrils. His appetite for popcorn faded and Stretch fumbled out the box of raisinets. The cheap milk chocolate barely masked the taste of the raisins and he grimaced, chewing gamely even though the texture always made him think of eating bugs. Dirt-flavored bugs in chocolate, who the hell came up with this so-called treat and were they appropriately punished for it. He could only hope.

They sat together in silence, watching the movie, and by the time the trio made it to the Emerald City, Stretch was squirming in his seat. Doris’s appearance broke the distracting spell of the movie and now his thoughts were wandering back to that morning and Edge’s sudden appearance in the store with so much worry on his pale face. Then there was that soft, unexpected kiss, so sweet against his cheekbone, a punctuation mark on the end of a silent paragraph and maybe he needed someone else to give it a read.

“doris, can i ask you something?”

She turned to him, the ruin of her head solidifying into a pretty young woman as she tilted it curiously. “Of course.”

“it’s kinda a long story.”

She folded her gloved hands primly into her lap. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

And that was her real tragedy, wasn’t it. She was tied to this crumbling old theater, unable to go where she needed to. He didn’t know what happened to ghosts once the building they were tied to was gone. But this place was on its last legs and if it closed, the cushions of empty seats rotting away and the silver screen silent, where did she go? He hoped it was someplace nice, a place where she could rest and always be beautiful, without bringing along the gory remains of her last minutes of life.

But they were working on his issues right now. “it’s about a guy.”

Doris brightened visibly and literally, going briefly more solid. “That Edge person you were speaking of before? The other skeleton.”

“yeah,” Stretch said, relieved. He hadn’t been sure how to bring up what they’d talked about before without making her feel bad for not remembering. “see, it’s like this—"

Doris sat and listened as he talked, as enthralled as she’d been when watching the movie. It was like last time when he’d came to ask her about Edgar Allen; she never flickered when she gave him the full weight of her attention.

It might be bad for the theater to have so many empty seats in the house, but it was good for people with the bad manners to talk over the movie. Stretch told her everything, didn’t hold back a thing. About meeting Edge in Red’s living room and his attempted lamp-ocide, about their impromptu lunch at Mama’s. About his brief starring role as little orange biking hood when he ventured to their cabin in the woods, about Frisk. The only thing he didn’t mention was the whole ‘me from another universe’ thing. That was a lot for even him to bend his mind around and his was still in one piece. Doris never interrupted, listened all the way to the end, until Stretch was nearly hoarse as he said, "…so what do you think?"

"Hmm. He certainly sounds charming, in a rude sort of way. My, it makes me think of Pride and Prejudice," she laughed softly. "Although your Mister Darcy showed his true nature far sooner in your tale.”

Thinking of Edge’s hips in a pair of those tight old-school trousers while he danced a waltz was not at all helping the situation and Stretch shoved that thought deep into a mental closet for later.

“but what should i do? he confuses me so much i don’t know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt around him.” He slid down in the chair until his skull was resting on the back. “and then there’s red to think about, he’s done so much for me. he says he’s not worried about his brother, but…” Stretch trailed off and held up his empty hands.

She nodded thoughtfully. “But you don’t want to stir up trouble in their family, especially since it seems they already have some rough waters.”

“yeah,” Stretch agreed, tiredly. He knew something about stormy weather in a sibling relationship. The last thing he wanted to do to Red and Edge was bring in rainclouds of his own.

“I think you should talk to him,” she said at last. “Tell him what you’re feeling. It seems to me he’d listen to you and he wouldn’t…” Doris’s mouth moved but her words faded. Her pretty visage changed gruesomely, a full show of her shattered face and skull, the fragile bits of bone littered across one shoulder while blood filled the ruin of her eye socket.

Stretch swallowed hard and didn’t look away, waiting until she slowly returned to appearance of a lovely young woman who was finishing triumphantly, “…and who knows what will come of it after that!”

Okay, well, half an advice was better than none and he sure wasn’t gonna ask her to repeat herself.

So. Talk to him. Right. Not bad advice, maybe a little generic, but then, Doris didn’t know about his past history when it came to relationships. She also didn’t know that Backwater wasn’t a permanent assignment for him. He wasn’t too sure about bringing that up, not when it affected her, too. Maybe it would be better to let her forget him when he was gone; with her memory, she might not even realize what she was missing aside from the occasional wistful thought about a spare carton of popcorn.

But she wasn’t wrong, either. Much as he wanted to continue skipping through his life of avoidance, there was only one way he was going to get any real answers. Maybe it was time to figure out exactly where he and Edge stood. His sense of balance in life was pretty damn shaky as it was, and Backwater seemed to treat the laws of reality as more like suggestions. Why would the laws of gravity be any different?

Plus, there was another mystery Stretch was looking to unravel and he was already working on a plan for that. He owed some gratitude to a bony skeleton dragon in the woods and Stretch wasn’t keen on owing debts.

Doris folded her hands into her lap primly. “So? What are you going to do?”

“eh,” Stretch let out a little laugh, “something stupid.”

“Oh.” Doris pursed her lips. “Is it safe?”

“nope,” Stretch said cheerfully and poured himself out another handful of chocolate pseudo-bugs. “but i’ve stayed alive so far. may as well press my luck.”

On the screen, Dorothy was repeating her most famous line and he had to agree, there was no place like home. His only problem with it was that he was starting to get a little fuzzy on where exactly that was.

~~*~~

tbc

[enchantcdstories]

Die Hard Fan

Summary: Johnny finds out that V’s been hoarding a collection of Samurai merch and won’t let her live it down.

Word Count: 1442

Read on AO3! 

Spring cleaning sucked. V’s apartment wasn’t even very big. It was basically one room, and yet it had taken more than a week for V to get around to cleaning. The bathroom was first, the shower scrubbed and the toilet area smelling fresher than anything else in Night City. This satisfied V for a day or two, before the rest of the mess in the apartment got to her. Clothes on the ground, grime in the corners of the room, something had spilled on her couch by accident and she had to get around that eventually. V sighed as she pulled the clothes out of her little closet, chucking them to the ground in a heap.

“What are you doing?” Johnny said, appearing against the wall he leaned up against. V pulled some random bits and pieces of armor and old pieces of chrome, a few pairs of shoes here and there.

“Cleaning.” She shrugged. “I’ve got too much stuff that I can sell or throw out.” She pulled another heap of clothes and jackets down. Nibbles was in his prime now, curious at all the new happenings. The cat sniffed a bit at some of the shirts before rolling around in them, pawing at the stray zipper here or there. V flopped down next to the cat, pulling an old dusty cardboard box marked ‘donate’ over to her. Johnny sat down across from her, cybernetic arm propped up against his knee. He said nothing, just watched her.

V sifted through her various articles of clothing, wincing at some of the things she still held on to. Terrible-looking long-sleeved blouses and parachute pants that did nothing to flatter her. Jackets that did nothing but make her sweat in the Night City heat would be tossed to the box immediately. Nibbles made it a game by swatting at the clothes that got tossed into the box.

She was sorting through her crop tops and t-shirts when she held up a certain one, one that made her widen her eyes in surprise before quickly tossing it into the box, hoping that Johnny didn’t spot it.

“What was that?” His voice nearly made V jump out of her skin. V threw another shirt on top of it as if hiding it.

“Nothing.” She said, casually. Johnny shook his head.

“I might be old, but I could have sworn that was a Samurai logo I just saw.”

V shook her head, piling over articles of clothing on it. Johnny crossed his arms. “V..”

V sighed, pulling the shirt back and throwing it to him. “Fine...fine. It’s a Samurai shirt. I uh.. Had it when I was younger.” She said, her cheeks turning a slight red from embarrassment. Johnny let out a laugh, one that sounded more mocking than any.

“Didn’t know you were a fan, V.” He said, a chuckle to his voice as he looked over the shirt. V huffed and Johnny continued, sitting up a bit to look better at the shirt.

“Didn’t even know they still made them.” He shrugged, sitting back down. V scooped it back up, looking at it more closely.

“I don’t remember where I got it...I think maybe from one of the street gangs or something, but I’ve had it since I was a kid.” The memories flooded back to her. Someone stole her the shirt when she was just a youngster, and V started to listen to Samurai’s music from there. Their music changed her life, despite V never wanting to openly admit that fact. Finding out she had the lead singer of Samurai stuck in her head made her both irritable and giddy.

V silently got up, going over to her stash and pulling a box out of a cupboard. It was old and dust, making V’s nose suddenly get a bit congested as she blew the dust out of the way. She plopped the box down in front of Johnny, sighing and trying to delay the inevitable.

“When I was...a kid, I got introduced to Samur- your music.” She started, pulling out various bits and bobs of merch. Some of the stuff was tour merch, vintage stuff. Vinyl records and CDs, as well as lanyards and little punch button pins. All of it was way older than V, but she still hung on to the stuff. Johnny just watched, a little smile on his face at some of the items.

“I could..honestly write a book on how much that music helped me growing up..” V trailed off, eyes lingering on the little plush logo of the band. “But that’s cheesy and shit and you don’t wanna hear it.” She said, giving a little chuckle and packing the stuff back up. Johnny stopped her hand, the best he could anyway.

“No no, lemme hear it.” V rose an eyebrow at his words.

“What? No...sarcastic remark? No...making fun of me?” V said, moving the box out of the way and sitting up to look at Johnny properly. He shook his head.

“I’m not one of those rocker boys that makes fun of the fans. I’d be nowhere without them. Plus...it’s kinda hot when you talk about how much you love my music.” He said, the smug little smile coming out. V rolled her eyes but smiled anyway.

“I don’t know it was just something...visceral. Like I could get through all the dog shit times and conquer mountains. Course- I didn’t really know anything about the members of the band. Not in detail anyways.” She shrugged. “Knew you were well...dead, Kerry was somewhere, Nancy was too. No one really explained it to me, just kept me listening to the music.” V paused, her voice getting a little thick with emotion before she continued to pack up the merch.

“Course now I get the ultimate honor.” She said, moving the box back to its original spot. “I get to live twenty-four- seven with the airhead lead singer.” V stuck her tongue out jokingly at him. Johnny put his hand to his chest in mock hurt.

“Well, maybe the honor’s all mine.” He said, leaning back against the furniture.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I landed in the brain of Samurai’s number one fan.” He crossed his arms, aviators glitching onto his face.

“Oh stop,” V said, pulling another set of clothes to sort through. “I’m sure that guy on the other side of town that had your pants in his apartment is considered the biggest fan. Comfy, by the way.” She said, pulling at the pants she wore.

“Nah, No way. That’s creepy and borderline stalking. You feel the music, understand the music. You’re the kind of person I wrote the stuff for.” V’s cheeks blushed a shade of scarlet that would probably be considered medically unhealthy.

“Shit. You’re gonna make me cry if you keep up with that. It was a...phase of my life, I guess. There are die-hards that make me look like a sniveling fangirl.” V did her best to hide her face from him. Johnny just shook his.

“You got my name tattooed on your arm. I’d say that's pretty hardcore.” V scoffed at that. “Oh please. Half of Night City probably has some sort of Samurai tattoo.”

“You literally hang out with Kerry. Stop down playin’ me V. I’m the lead...well, was the lead singer, so what I say goes.”

V laughed, looking up at him again. “Oh? And what do you say besides I’m the biggest fan’?”

Johnny stood up, pacing the room before settling and kneeling in front of her.

“As the lead singer of Samurai, I can fully without a doubt say- You are the only fan that matters to Samurai. Full stop.”

V paused, letting the words sink as Johnny sat back down on his rear. When he was settled, V lunged forward. Her lips met his, in the strangest way possible. Her brain registered something was there, something that resembled a human, but the feeling and texture were all wrong. V was leaning on him now, but she couldn’t feel the warmth of his body or the material of the tank top he was wearing. Still, it was the next best thing.

“I uh..” V’s voice was raspier than normal as she cleared her throat, pulling away. “I uh..wanted to do that when I was a teenager.” Johnny’s face was slightly shocked- and V wondered if he could feel anything when they kissed.

“Sorry...I just...that was very..”

Johnny waved his hand, gesturing to her to come closer. “Well? You gonna come here so we can do it again?”

[procrastinatorimagines]

Could Have Been More Part 5 (Final)

Fandom: Chicago PD / One Chicago

Series: Could Have Been More

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 (Final)

Characters: Hank Voight x Reader,

Warning/s: kidnapping/assault

Word Count: 3,298

Summary: So you’ve had your heart broken, accidentally derailed a police investigation, allowed a mass murderer to escape and now? Now you were bound and gagged and tossed in the back of a van, but Voight would get to you in time, right?

This was, without a doubt, the worst place you’d ever woken up, and you’d had a pretty interesting college experience. Your head felt like it was weighed down with cement as you tried to sit up, your wrists and ankles chafing and straining against rope ties. You weren’t tied down to anything specifically, but once your eyes focused more you realised that that wasn’t necessary, the man with the gun sat on a crate in the corner provided plenty of incentive for you not to try anything. 

“Nice and slow,” he warned like you could actually do anything but that as you struggled to get into a sitting position, resting your back on the van wall as your head pounded in time to the bumps of the tires below, vibrating the whole van as you drove along. 

There was another figure in the van too, you realised, a woman tied up opposite you, masses of red curls and an old punk rock tee... Jenny.

You tried to call out to her, only to find your mouth taped shut, so it came out as a desperate throaty cry, unable to do much else as she lay unmoving. Trying to steady your thundering heart you focused on her chest, letting out a small sigh of relief as you watched it rise and fall, albeit at a much slower rate than it should. They must have done a number on her, you thought, remembering the phone call with a shudder.

But Strauss couldn’t have grabbed you and her at the exact same time... You looked back to the man with the gun, your mind still foggy, but clear enough for you to realise that duh, this van needed a driver too. Strauss wasn’t working alone - did Intelligence know that?

This man was most definitely Strauss, you recognised the salt and pepper beard and bald head from his photo. So who was driving? Not that knowing right now would have done you any good, you kind of had bigger and more immediate things to worry about. You prayed to God or whoever was out there that this van was the vehicle Hank had been on the phone to Trudy about, because if it wasn’t... 

“If I take that ducktape off, will you scream?” Strauss asked, making his way over to you slowly as the van drove along, gun still very much pointed at your head. You didn’t reply. “Screaming won’t help you right now, trust me,” the way he said it was very much a threat, so you slowly nodded, terrified. He smiled sinisterly and removed the tape slowly.

You took a deep breath out your mouth but refrained from screaming, instead, you kicked into autopilot, so overwhelmed with fear and not knowing what to do that you focused on what you could. “I’m a paramedic,” you told him straight away, “I won’t try and fight you or anything, but if you could untie my hands I could check my friend, make sure she’s okay,” you told him, your tone less shaky and more professional than you’d anticipated. 

Strauss blinked, clearly not expecting that reaction, and glanced back to where Jenny lay, barely stirring by his feet. He gave her a harsh nudge with his foot that had your blood boiling but you held back, you were not good to Jenny dead or incapacitated yourself. Jenny stirred slightly and Strauss shrugged. “Seems fine to me,” he commented coldly.

“Is that your professional medical opinion?” You snapped, regreting it instantly as he regarded you like a predator did its prey. 

“Why do you think I care if she makes it out of this alive?” He asked and you swallowed, the images of the his victims flashing through your mind. 

“Well you didn’t kill her straight away, or me, seems like you need us alive,” you replied, remembering how quickly he’d apparently dispatched of his other loose ends - why had he spared you both?

Strauss laughed as you turned a corner, leaning his hand on the side for balance as the roads got a bit rougher; you must be off the main road now, you thought - where was he taking you?

“Well aren’t you a clever one?” He smirked, “and you’re right, I do need you alive, but only one of you, and if I’m honest, if I had to choose between the Sergeant’s girl or the nosy waitress...” he gestured with his gun between the two of you and you grimaced, this guy was pure evil. 

He let you figure out the rest of that sentence as he moved to sit back on the crate he had been perched previously, the logo of the restaurant clear on the side - this must have been one of their delivery vans, not a particularly smart move if you’re trying to avoid the police. 

“What do you want?” You demanded, struggling against the ropes around your wrists as you glared at him. He knew about you and Voight, which was not good, so you’d already figured that you were leverage, but to what end?

The van started to slow before Strauss could reply, a slow smile spreading across his face as the drivers door could be heard opening. You could hear birds and... water maybe just before the door shut again, but when the back opened and another man came in, you were sure you were by the docks. 

This man was... younger definitely, but the resemblance to Strauss was uncanny. You’d remembered from Voight’s file that he’d had a son, Dan? Dom? You couldn’t quite remember his name, but he’d previously dated the dead waitress before she’d started dating the first victim.

This wasn’t good.

“Do we call him now?” Asked... Dan, you were sure it was Dan. Dan looked to his father, gun in the waste band of his low jeans clear. You pulled at your ropes again, feeling them loosening a little as you looked on at the two men. Were they talking about Voight? You had a sinking feeling that they were. 

“Call him here, yes, but we move on straight away, before they can track our location,” Strauss told his son, who passed his father an old flip phone, a burner. 

“Why bother? You could have been out the state by now,” you dared, confused as to why they would dare incur the wrath of Intelligence rather than make a break for it while they still could. You kind of got the previous murders, in the sick sense that they were they only ones who could testify against him, but taking you and Jenny was a big risk. 

“Yeah if your boyfriend hadn’t flagged our passports and put our faces out at every border-” Dan complained but his father cut him off quickly, scolding him like a child, you actually winced when Strauss’ hand came into contact with his sons face, silencing him quickly. 

“Shut up,” he hissed and Dan cowered back, kid had probably faced that his entire life, you actually felt a little bad for him.

Strauss rubbed his temple before flipping open the phone and dialing a number, your heart quickening when Voight answered.

“Hello Sergeant,” Strauss greeted him way to cheerily as you heard Hank growl on the other end of the line. 

“Where is she?” He demanded, word clearly reaching him about you and his officers, you didn’t even know if they were still alive you realised. 

“Right here with me,” Strauss replied, kneeling down to head height and grabbing a bunch of your hair in his hand roughly so that you faced him. “Say hi Y/N,”

You met his eyes and kept your lips firmly closed, you could barely even hear Hank breathing on the other end of the line as he waited for you to answer. Strauss got impatient and pulled your hair back violently, letting go so your head smacked against the side of the van, hard. You cried out at the impact and Hank swore over the phone as Strauss stood back up, satisfied as you held back tears.

“See, she’s here, and alive,” he said, “if you want her to stay that way you’ll do exactly as I say.” You swallowed hard as he paused for dramatic effect, God this guy was pure evil.

“What do you want?” Voight demanded, violent anger coating every word. If you were being entirely honest, you okay with how Voight did his job sometimes, but he could do what ever he wanted to this son of a bitch, he deserved it.

“I want a chopper, I have a license so I don’t need a pilot, but I want to get out of the city, and I don’t want to be followed,” he replied and you couldn’t quite believe your ears, he couldn’t be serious could he? That would never work, he must have been desperate. 

“Done, should I call this number when I have it?” Hank told him quickly and you bit your tongue, nothing you could say would sway Voight’s decisions, he’d go to the ends of the Earth for people he cared about. Your restraints were getting a little bit looser as he kept talking, but you did your best to school your expression, not wanting to give anything away. 

“Excellent, but no, I’m not that stupid, I’ll call you in 20 minutes,” he told Hank, actually believing a chopper could be brought to him in 20 minutes. You heard Hank sigh on the other end, thinking the same as you.

“I’ll do my best but I’ll need more time than that-” Hank tried but Strauss hung up, checking his watch as he did and you realised he’d been timing the call, not wanting to be traced. 

“Destroy it and then get going to the next location” Strauss ordered his son, the rope around your wrists slacking enough so that you could slip your hands free. Strauss seemed to arrogant to not have tied them properly, Dan must have done them, you realised. 

Dan nodeed as Strauss tossed the phone, barely catching it as he took out the sim and broke it all, opening the back to get back to the drivers side as you saw your window of opportunity. 

As soon as the door opened and Strauss turned his back to take his seat again, you lunged for the door, arms out as you threw yourself at Dan. He lost his balance and you toppled sideways, but not out the door, crashing into the cold metal as he frantically pushed you away from him.

Strauss was on you in seconds, dragging you back with force and flipping you onto your stomach, roughly pulling your hands behind your back as you struggled in his grasp. He was able to retie your rope and snapped at Dan to keep going, an order which he shakily obeyed as he jumped out, slamming the door tight.

“You stupid bitch, did you think any of that through?” He snarled as he haulled you up, slamming you back and punching you in the gut before throwing you to the ground where you had previously been sat. 

You only glared in reply as he muttered more sexist insults, the van driving off a few seconds later. 

Taking a breath you looked to Jenny, watching her chest slowly rising and falling, her face paler than before. Let him think you had been stupid, a last ditch effort to escape, better that than know the truth. You’d never leave Jenny like this, or anyone, and you knew you wouldn’t have got far if you’d have gotten out, but that hadn’t been your plan. Resisting the urge to metaphorically pat yourself on the back you were conscious of the weight that was no longer around your neck. 

You’d thrown your necklace outside the van. The necklace that Hank had bought you for your birthday.

They wouldn’t have had a specific location for that call, and you’d seen multiple vans parked outside at this spot of the docks, but they’d definitely be coming to this area, and hopefully your necklace would put them on the right track, at least in terms of checking surveillance.

Or at least, that was your hope, but you didn’t have anything else, Jenny certainly didn’t. 

The noises around you changed as you drove, Strauss keeping his gun permanently trained on you now as the bird tweets turned to dog barks and the van took more turns. Based on Strauss’ history, you could probably guess the general area you were heading now, his old neighbourhoods. 

You didn’t quite get how a well of white man had ended up running drugs on this side of town, but you figured that that was the point, he’d been able build himself up because no one was looking for him, but everyone was looking now.

He was out of moves, and he was desperate. Hank would never give him a chopper, you knew that, you just hoped he had another play. It was Hank, when did he not, you told yourself as you turned yet again, sharper this time as Strauss rolled his eyes at his son’s driving.

Soon, 20 minutes was up, and you held your breath as the car turned one last time and slowed to a stop. There was a look on Strauss’ face now that scared you more than the others, what was his real plan here?

He pulled out a second burner and called Voight: “Times up Sergeant, for you and your girl if you don’t give me what I want,” he informed Hank as you swallowed. 

“I’m not the one whose time’s up,” was Voight’s only reply. Strauss’ face was one of confusion until your heard it, the blessed sound of police sirens, Hank was coming for you.

Strauss dropped the phone in shock as you heard the drivers side door open, and the clear sound of police arresting Dan. Strauss panicked, glancing at you as he pulled out a knife. 

Your heart was hammering, thinking he was going to kill you, but instead he cut the ropes around your ankles, throwing his knife away and pulling out his gun, dragging you to your feet as you heard boots surround the van.

“Albert Strauss, we have you surrounded, come out with your hands up and surrender. It’s over,” you heard Hank radio from outside as Strauss put a gun to your head. 

“It’s not over yet,” you heard him mutter as he forced you to go forward, Jenny stirring finally at your side as he ignores her. At least she’d make it, you thought as he opened the back doors. 

Swat was stood at the ready outside, but Hank made them hold their positions when he saw you.

“Let her go,” he instructed Strauss, not a question or suggest, he was going to let you go. You saw Hank’s gun at his side, finger iching against the trigger as he levelled his gaze at Strauss, his gun firmly planted next to your temple. 

You saw the rest of Intelligence too, guns at the ready as Atwater led Dan to a squad car, cuffs on, but Strauss didn’t seem to care.

“Hank-” you tried, voice filled with fear as Hank’s eyes landed on you, face softening and filled with worry.

“Shut up,” Strauss spat, tightening his grip on you before directing his attention to Hank, “I’ll kill her,” he informed him, no hint of remorse in his voice.

In the distance where Atwater was taking Dan, you could see ambo 61 pulling up, Sylvie jumping out before it had even fully stopped as she watched the scene unfold. 

“You kill her, you die,” Hank told him plainly, “the only way for you to get out of this is to come quietly, hand her over.” Hank knew it, you knew it, Strauss knew it, there was no way out now, it would all be decided now. 

You kept looking at Hank, thinking about eveything you never got to do, the rest of your life that you wanted to lead, you didn’t want it to end here. 

Voight’s knuckles were white gripping his gun as Strauss pondered what had been said. “I’ll never see daylight again,” he told Hank, “my life’s already over, you made sure of that, but at least this way I get to ruin yours now too.”

He was going to kill you, you realised quickly as your eyes went wide. Then, the sound of a gun shot. 

It all happened so fast you didn’t know what had happened, but you knew enough to know that if you were still thinking right now, you weren’t the one who’d been shot as you fell forward, hands catching you at the last second as you tripped out the back of the van.

Strong arms lowered you to your feet slowly as you shook, the side of your face wet with... blood, but it wasn’t yours, you realised. Someone was holding you, asking you if you were okay you realised through the ringing of your ears. It was Hank. Hank was here, he had you.

Looking back a little you saw Strauss on his back in the van, a bullet from Hank’s gun embedded in his head. 

Everyone around you was moving, securing the scene and letting the paramedics through.

“Hank...” you mumbled, trying to make sense of what had just happened. 

“It’s okay Y/N, you’re okay now,” he whispered, one hand on your shoulder, the other on your cheek, looking you over for signs of damage as you tried to breath.

Sylvie reached you quickly, face full of relief as Ruzek helped her into the van, Jenny was getting the help she needed. Good, you thought, still a little disoriented. 

“Y/N,” Hank repeated, bringing you back to reality.

“How did you find me?” You asked him as he reached into his pocket, pulling out your necklace, your plan had worked.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” He smiled with relief.

“I thought-” you choked and he shook his head, pulling you into a hug as tears slipped down your cheeks as you realised just how close you came to dying.

“I know, but you’re alive,” he reassured you as Jenny was brought out on a backboard

“Is she?...” You asked quickly, breaking away from Hank. Sylvie smiled.

“She’ll be okay,” she informed you, squeezing your hand, “I’m just so glad you are too,” she said, her voice cracking.

“What, did you think I was going to leave you with Chout?” You tried to smile, actually laughing when Chout said ‘hey!’ Despite everything, if felt like your chest was cracking to do so. With one last look, Sylvie reluctantly headed back to the ambo, promising to check up with you as soon as she could. 

Hank hadn’t left your side yet, and you realised that he was holding your hand, in public. You looked down at your hands and then back at him, so relieved that he’d come for you, not that you’d ever doubted it.

“Hank-” you started, not sure what you were actually going to say, but needing to say something.

And then he kissed you, in full view of everybody. You could tell it got a bit quieter around you as he pulled away, as surprised by what he did as you were. “I nearly lost you today, I don’t ever want to lose you again,” he told you honestly, raw emotion for the first time as he held you in his arms, “I love you.”

You swallowed and took a shaky breath, still processing everything else that had happened today, but one thing was very clear, no matter what came next, you didn’t want to lose him either.

“I love you too,” you said.

[statticscribbles]

Black Fade

Summary: Rent, Mark/Roger

Mark hadn’t meant to get blackout drunk but he’d always been a lightweight and he usually got free drinks for showing up to Roger’s shows with his camera and the fake press badge that Angel had made him as a Christmas joke. When he wakes up on the loft’s couch he could almost cry in relief; he can spot his shoes where he’d kicked them off and sighs; but almost chokes on it when he doesn’t recognise the clothes he’s wearing; they fit him; the pants scuffed along one leg and the shirt reeking of alcohol and a dark black with some sort of faded logo that Mark doesn’t bother deciphering as he shoves it off. His memory flickering at the feel of the material dragging on his skin.

“I just; Maureen is stupid for making fun of me;” Mark doesn’t wait for the other figure to say anything tugging his shirt off of him and shoving himself against the figure. “She doesn’t understand; why can’t she understand I’m not greedy for wanting him; I’m not.” Mark snarls the last words and the figure smiles into the next kiss; almost laughing. The figure; now definitely a male runs his tongue along Mark’s neck when they pull away; he mumbles something almost into MArk’s shoulder and Mark struggles to remember what it is; his memory playing out like the film he shoots; shaky and silent. He’s aware of the man asking him who he wants, whispering into his ear that he can be anyone Mark needs. “Roger Davis…” His voice flickers and Mark realizes they haven’t left the club; he’s relieved when the man casts a look to the stage before pulling Mark into the hazey darkness of the night.

It takes Mark a moment to adjust his mind having gone blank and missing the reel of getting from the club to the man’s bedroom. He sits on the couch head in his hands and sighs; Collins appears grinning; Angel is next to him moments later laughing in equal measure and Mark takes the coffee Collin’s offers out trying not to grimace too much as his muscles feel stiff. “Rough night then?” “I’m still figuring it out.” He nods to Angel who smiles.

“You were talking at the club; complaining very loudly how Maureen; despite being into both guys and girls said that you being into guys wasn’t something she could picture.” “Yeah. I remember that.” “Then you got another drink; went to say hello to Benny and vanished after.” “Vanished? You have no clue who I went home with?” “Roger went out to get a smoke and said he wasn’t worried with whoever he saw you with; said you were in good hands.” “Good hands; ughh I’m so fucked.” “His exact words, ‘Mark is in good hands; don’t worry.’ I think you were fucked; from that trail of hickey’s you’re sporting.” Angel giggles and Mark shoves the shirt down from where it had bunched up; the hickey’s lining his hip and slightly lower that’s covered from the jeans.

“Hah; yeah were you in good hands? Roger would only say that about one of us; or a band member…” Collins joins in and Mark sinks back into the couch. “So I have to wait for Roger to wake up; of course he won’t be up till like one right? How late was he out?” “He was home when we got in at two am, was eating dinner; you know how he does after a fuck; so you must’ve gotten home after us; since we didn’t see you on the couch.” “Ugh thanks anyways.” Mark sighs trying to focus on what he does remember to see if that drags out any more memories from last night. He’s rewarded with a glimpse of the man; the jeans riding lower than on Mark and the man’s hands directing Mark’s body towards a back alley.

“Shortcut.” The words are distorted and Mark panics in the memory realizing he has not told this man where he lives but he seems to be bringing him back to the loft. It skips again and Mark is starting to regret every drink he’d had, as all he’s bombarded with is the feeling of skin on skin and a warmth so intense it steals his voice from his throat. It feels like hands are everywhere at once; running up and down his spine and curling around his chest and neck; hands keeping his own from moving. He can feel teeth next; seeing them is blinding. When he registers what his own mouth is forming he knows he should be embarrassed; he doesn’t know this man’s name and all he can speak is Roger’s. He knows it says something about him that he can’t help it. He feels as if he’s in his own darkroom; undergoing development; Roger the ever present; drowning force that is changing; showing him his true self. Mark blames the alcohol for the flowery words but he tries his best to scratch out the itch that Roger always made him feel complete; always made him feel seen; despite how he’d hide on the other side of his film.

He also knows he can never say a word of this to Roger; his best friend and roommate; sure they had been through more than most regular couples had; but they were meant to be friends; fated to always be near each other and from Mark’s point of view to never intersect or touch longer than a half faded moment on the screen. He’s brought out of his introspection by the devil himself; clad in a pair of half mangled jeans and the remnants of some eyeliner; not that Mark is focused on any of that as Roger stands; head tilted as Mark doesn’t bother hiding staring at his bare chest.

“Roger holy shit put a fucking shirt on!” Mark gapes; Roger looks over his shoulder and pouts slightly; Mark doesn’t notice his eyes travelling up and down Roger’s back where there are faint red lines up and down his back, scratches from whoever he had last night. “I can’t.” “Bullshit.” Mark huffs and Roger blinds him with his smile. “You’re wearing it genius.”

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[mischiefandspirits]

Titanic Beginnings

Part of the Six for the Age of One AU

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Dick was excited when Bruce helped form the Justice League, babbling on about Bruce’s new friends and begging to meet them. Damian also wanted to meet the JL, but to appraise them to see if they were worthy of his father’s time and ensure they were capable of watching Batman’s back.

Not wanting the boys to get involved in the more punishing missions the JL faced, Bruce continually denied their requests.

That was ruined during a meeting a month later when Superman sheepishly admitted that his sons had also been badgering him and his wife to meet the other JL members and asked if he could bring the boys to the next meeting.

Green Arrow, Hawkgirl, Green Lantern, and Martian Manhunter appeared as resistant as Bruce. However, Wonder Woman adored children and agreed before any of them could speak up. She even offered to bring her young sister to keep them company. Aquaman agreed as well, mentioning that his apprentice could use the land experience. Flash and Black Canary were fine with it, which left the League at an even split.

At a nudge from Canary, Arrow broke the tie by reluctantly agreeing to bring his protégé.

Any ideas Batman had at keeping his boys out of it were dashed when Lantern turned to him and asked if he would also be bringing his kids. Superman sent him a look that clearly stated he would invite the boys if Batman didn’t so the Gotham vigilante nodded after giving Lantern a fierce glare.

Batman, Robin, and Serin were the first ones to the temporary headquarters the Justice League were using while Batman, Arrow, and Lantern finished the work on the space station they were retrofitting.

Before they arrived, Bruce had reminded Dick that, allies or not, only Superman knew the Bats’ identities and it was to remain that way for the time being. He had also negotiated with Damian. The boy wouldn’t challenge anyone to a fight and would abide by sparring rules with anyone who challenged him, no matter what abilities they may have. In return, the boy could assess whoever he wanted. He also allowed the boys to bring their dogs, hoping that would help keep Damian from going too far.

Titus (or Birdhound as Dick insisted despite Damian’s arguments that Great Danes weren’t hounds) had swapped out his red collar for a yellow one that matched Serin’s belt and had a tag with Serin’s logo on it. He also wore a grey ballistic vest with dark coral straps and handle. Haley (or Bitewing, a play on a character from Dick’s favorite story in Bruce’s extraterrestrial files) had a green collar with Robin’s logo hanging from it in place of her usual blue. Her vest was red with canary straps and handle.

Robin and Bitewing immediately went off to explore while Serin and Birdhound stayed at Batman’s side as he got things ready for the meeting. The boy kept an eye on the meeting room’s door, so he was the first one to notice the Supers’ arrival.

Superman was talking to his foster son when they walked in, his younger son flying over them with wide eyes. Superboy (aka nine-year-old Jonathan Kent) nearly looked like the spitting image of his father with his blue-black curls and neon blue eyes that didn’t quite look human, though his nose and lips were shaped a bit more like his mother. Meanwhile Hyper (aka fourteen-year-old Christopher Kent) only shared his foster father’s physique, his skin not having that same natural sun-kissed look while his hair was a dirty blond and his eyes were a bright amber that was just a little too close to yellow to be humanly possible. Superboy was wearing jeans, red high tops, and a Superman costume shirt that had a small red cape attached. Hyper was even more underdressed in just jeans, black tenner shoes, a yellow and blue flannel, and a black shirt. A black band wrapped around his wrist, appearing to all the world like a watch though, having helped create it, Batman knew it was a device to help Earth’s newest kryptonian keep control of the powers he’d developed on arrival.

Robin reappeared suddenly, dropping down onto Superman’s shoulders. “Heya, Kal!”

“Hello, Robin,” the man chuckled.

The twelve-year-old did a backbend so he could hold a hand out to the older boy. “Hi! You’re Hyper right? Kal’s told us about you.”

“Oh, yeah. Or K’Riss. Uh, K’Riss-El, but just K’Riss is fine,” Hyper said, accepting the hand.

“And I’m Jon!” Superboy said, dropping down in front of Batman and Serin. He smiled up at the man before holding his hand out to the other boy. “Dad’s told us about you too. Nice to meet you. I like your dog. Can I pet him?”

The eleven-year-old looked at the hand, then glanced over Superboy’s outfit. “No. What kind of attire is that for fighting crime?”

The half-kryptonian looked down at his clothes and shrugged. “I thought it looked cool.”

“It offers no protection.”

“They’re kryptonians,” Robin pointed out as he stood up on Superman’s shoulders so he could pet Bitewing, who was leaning out of a vent on the ceiling. “Their skin is better armor than the stuff we wear.”

“What if they were to lose their abilities? A shard of kryptonite would easily pass through that flimsy shirt.”

Superboy frowned and glanced back at his dad, which gave Batman time to give his son a reprimanding look and hold out his hand.

Serin scowled and palmed him a small lead case.

The Supers didn’t notice the actions, distracted by unsuccessfully trying to get Bitewing out of the vent.

“Neither of us really dressed for fighting crime,” Hyper said over Robin’s soft cackling, pulling away from the vent. “Jon’s too young for that stuff and I’m still getting my powers under control. Our superhero names are more honorary than anything.”

Clicking his tongue, Serin crossed his arms. “Heroes or not, we are in the base of a team of superheroes. You should be prepared to be attacked at any minute by any of the members’ various enemies.”

Superman aimed an incredulous look at Bruce, who shrugged.

His son wasn’t wrong.

“Hello there!” Wonder Woman called as she walked in with a teenage girl in red and black Amazonian armor.

The girl looked exactly like a fifteen-year-old version of her sister with her curly brown-black hair, warm olive skin, and dark green eyes. She gave a smile that looked a bit more forced than her sister’s, which quickly dropped away when she noticed Superman still near the vent with Robin clinging to his back. “Why is there a dog up there?”

“She likes it in there,” Batman grunted when Wonder Woman looked like she was going to try to help as well.

“She’s Robin’s,” Serin added, which did explain it if you knew Robin.

“Dogs shouldn’t be inside vents,” Wonder Woman said pointedly.

“And children shouldn’t nap in chandeliers,” Batman muttered, earning snorts from Serin and Superman. Accepting that the issue wasn’t going to be dropped, he gave Robin a look.

The boy pouted, then gave a sharp whistle. Instantly the pitbull sprung from the vent, hopping off superman’s chest, then Hyper’s shoulders, before landing on the ground as gracefully as her boy despite her missing limb. Robin dropped to the ground next to her and scratched her neck before grabbing the handle on her vest and going over to greet the Amazons.

Wonder Woman introduced her sister as Troia, who had recently left Themyscira so she could learn more about Man’s World at her sister’s side.

After respectfully greeting the sisters, Serin turned to Superboy. “See, the Amazons wear armor.”

“Well, they aren’t quite as durable as us,” Superboy shot back.

“They also don’t have a well-known weakness to a rock, yet they still understand the necessity to be prepared for battle.”

“So that one is definitely Spooky’s,” Lantern joked as he walked in with Hawkgirl.

Robin did a cartwheel into a backflip, landing in front of the two with Bitewing racing to stay by his side. He gave the heroes a wide grin, leaning cutely against the alert dog. “Hi, I’m Robin! It’s so nice to meet B’s friends! I like your wings, Ms. Hawkgirl! They’re very pretty!”

“Thank you,” she said, bemused.

Lantern gave Batman a smirk as he shook Robin’s hand. “You sure this one’s yours and not Supe’s or Wonder Woman’s?”

Robin’s grin turned sharp, then he pulled away.

A green flash lit the room and Lantern was left in just a black tanktop, Flash sweatpants, and mismatched fuzzy socks. The man yelped and looked down to find his ring missing from his hand. His gaze shot up, but Robin and Bitewing had disappeared with the light. “What the heck!?”

The boy’s laughter echoed around the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere.

“Okay, maybe he is yours.”

“Why is Lantern in his sleeping clothes?” Martian Manhunter asked as he and Aquaman came in with a young Atlantean.

“Robin stole his ring right off his hand,” Hawkgirl answered with poorly hidden laughter in her voice.

The test pilot scowled and held out his hand. His ring shot out from inside Batman’s cape. As it slid onto Lantern’s finger, returning his suit in a flicker of green, Robin and Bitewing poked their heads out of the fabric. He pointed at the smug boy. “You won’t do that again.”

“Unless I want to.”

“Kid -”

“Hey, my first idea was to come up and throat-punch you so be glad I just stole your ring,” he snickered, slipping back into the shadows. “Can’t talk bad about my family if you can’t breathe.”

“It seems the Bat’s family are as entertaining as he is,” Aquaman joked. He set his hand on the young Atlantean’s shoulder. “Speaking of family, this is my mother’s ward and my apprentice, Aqualad. Lad, this is the Justice League and their young companions.”

The boy appeared to be around fifteen with alabaster skin that was edging towards grey. His eyes were plum-colored and his hair was long and pitch black. With teeth slightly sharper than a human’s, he smiled and gave a small bow. “A pleasure. You may call me Garth.”

Baring the Bats, the group all greeted Aqualad cheerfully. Batman grunted and nodded with Serin copying his actions while Robin’s hand poked out of the cape to wave.

Before anyone could introduce themselves to the newcomers, Arrow and Canary entered with a grumpy thirteen-year-old.

Speedy had fair skin and pale red hair, alongside eyes hidden behind a domino mask like the ones Robin and Serin wore. Batman knew from his day-life that Speedy’s backstory wasn’t too far off from Robin’s. He’d gotten Oliver Queen’s attention during an archery contest so when the boy’s adopted father died, Oliver took him in.

“Are we the last ones here?” Canary asked.

“We’re still waiting on Flash,” Wonder Woman answered.

“As per usual,” Hawkgirl joked.

“Well, in the meantime,” Arrow set a hand on Speedy’s shoulder, “this is Speedy.”

“‘Sup,” he said, giving a sarcastic salute.

Introductions went around. Robin took the distraction as his chance to slip out and greet Aqualad and Speedy properly. As the time for the meeting grew closer, the group got the kids settled in a room near the meeting room. Just as they were about to leave for the meeting, a steak of red shot into the room.

“Sorry I’m late,” Flash said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re actually on time,” Superman said. “Though you’ll have to wait to meet the kids until after the meeting.”

“About that…”

A second streak came into the room, which turned out to be a red-headed teenager. The boy was tan and freckled. When he pulled up his goggles to smile at the group, his eyes proved to be a grassy green. “Hi, there! I’m Kid Flash!”

The group turned to Flash, who was pinching the bridge of his nose. “My nephew became a speedster last week. I’m training him how to use his powers.”

“Then I’m going to be his sidekick!”

Batman held back a snort at the imploring expression Flash gave him and Superman. The kryptonian patted the speedster on the back and led him out of the room with the others following.

Behave, Batman said with a grunt, giving his boys the kind of glare that would have the JL flinching back and the criminals of Gotham fleeing.

Robin batted his eyes innocently and Serin gave a half-hearted nod.

When the meeting was through, the adults returned to find the room worse for wear.

Robin and Kid Flash were sitting cross-legged on a battered table (one of the few remaining pieces of furniture) with Bitewing draped over their laps. They were both fidgeting with the dog’s ears and tail as they happily talked about a fight the Bats had recently had with Penguin.

Serin and Troia were standing off to the side near some cracked flooring, talking about the Amazonian knife she was showing him. Superboy was sitting on the floor next to them, though he appeared more focused on the pets he was giving Birdhound.

The last three boys were standing next to a hole in the wall. The older two were inspecting the hole with guilty frowns while a snickering Speedy patted Hyper on the back, looking more relaxed despite the bruise on his cheek.

“What happened in here?” Arrow asked, all the adults except Superman and Batman looking shocked at the destruction.

“Sparring competition,” Superman answered, proving he’d kept an ear on the kids throughout the meeting.

“We locked a bunch of superpowered and vigilante children in a room together. I’m just pleased the room’s still standing,” Batman added.

Robin and Kid Flash laughed while Speedy bit down his own laughter at a look from Arrow.

Lantern slapped the archer on the back. “Lighten up. As much as I hate to admit it, Spooky’s got a point. We should have known the kids would screw around and set them up somewhere a little less fragile. So, who won?”

“Troia, technically, since Robin was disqualified after the tournament was over,” Kid Flash said.

Batman turned to Robin, who gave a wide grin. “I don’t want to know.”

“I would have won had I had my full arsenal,” Serin said petulantly.

“He was eliminated because Superboy managed to bear hug him right at the start of their go and he couldn’t squirm free before the time ended,” Robin explained.

“You utilized kryptonite in your spar with a kryptonian so I do not see why I couldn’t!”

Superman gave Batman a look and the vigilante sighed, holding out his hand.

Robin skipped forward and dropped a lead case into his palm. “For the record, I brought blue kryptonite.”

“Was that why you were disqualified?”

“No.”

I will be having a conversation with both of you when we get home, he said with a grunt and put the case in his belt.

“And how did you fare?” Aquaman asked his apprentice, coming over to set his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I won my match against Kid Flash, but Robin proved too formidable an opponent.”

“I lost first round to Troia,” Speedy said before Arrow could ask as he and Canary came up to the teen.

“His close combat abilities could use some work, but his skills with a bow are comparable to some of our best archers,” Troia argued. “Had our arena been larger, the fight would have been much closer.”

“Yeah, Arrow’s not too good at close range either,” Canary said, earning a huff from her boyfriend. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll show you a few tricks.”

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If you're wondering why I put Donna in armor instead of one of the suits she wears in the comics, I ask you this: Why the flip would she want to wear some spandex suit when she could wear sick Amazonian armor? This applies to Cassie too.

And yes, Dick's treatment of Hal is a reference to a certain movie and a certain TikToker. Thanks for asking.

[witchkings]

The One Engagement Ring

An Angbang Modern AU drabble as prompted by the lovely @darklord <3

Three seconds. Barely any time at all. Negligible in the greater scheme of Mairon’s life, nothing to the ever-advancing flow of the universe, miniscule, dismissible, stupid. Three seconds was all it had taken to ruin Mairon’s picture book life. Melkor would kill him.

These were the facts as Mairon had them:

1.       He’d slipped into the bathroom at the university library for a short piss and to get a minute of quiet in the constant chatter of his study group which was spiralling head-first into a discussion about the meaning of life. Even though they were anthropology graduate students with at least half the group minoring in either philosophy or sociology, this was never a good idea.

2.       When he’d been in the stall, his engagement ring had still gleamed golden on his ring finger, a constant, warm reminder of the grand day to come. Mairon had planned an autumn wedding, complete with matching tuxes, a seven-course feast and was already training Draugluin to carry the wedding rings down the aisle with Thuringwethil as his reluctant guardian. Melkor, of course, would have preferred for them to pop into Vegas and have some drunken fat Elvis proclaim them married, or better yet, simply hand in the necessary paper work on his way to the office, but Mairon was having none of that. If for one day in his life he wanted to feel special, be marvelled at and fawned over, it was going to be this day, his accursed father be damned.

3.       After completing his business, he’d slipped the ring off and into his pocket to wash his hands. He wouldn’t chance it being dulled by hard water or rough soap. Mairon always did it like this, only putting the piece of jewellery back on whenever his hands were dry and spotless, but when he’d made to retrieve it, his pocket had been empty.

4.       There’d been two other people on the bathroom with him and he couldn’t remember whether they’d ever come near him at all, but their childish faces, curly heads, and mischievous giggles could only mean one thing: freshmen.

5.       For three seconds between drying his hands and reaching for the ring, Mairon had leaned over the sink and inspected his own face. The stress of upcoming exams together with his thesis‘ due date drawing ever nearer gave him red spots along his jawline and he’d glared at them to will them away before Melkor picked him up.

Conclusion: As Mairon had been caught up in his own flaws, one or both of those bastards had sidled up to him and stolen the ring out of his pocket without him noticing. This implied many things, for example that the fatigue was getting to Mairon’s mental capacities or that those freshmen were unusually sneaky. Chiefest of all was this though: Melkor had paid half a fortune for that golden band. For Mairon to lose it, well. It would spell disaster.

Mairon glared at himself in the dirt-speckled mirror, bracing himself on the sink. Three seconds, oh he would show those impertinent, stupid, drunkard gnomes what he could do to a person in three seconds. Mairon took a deep breath and marched out of the bathroom, back to the round table his study group occupied. Eönwe and Tilion were at each other’s necks with arguments dissecting Descartes’ meditations while Osse and Uinen had their tongues down each other’s throats with disgusting slobbering noises. No studying to be done here, one of the sodden constants of Mairon’s life. He grabbed his notes and tablet and shoved them into his bagpack with more force than necessary which had Curumo look up from where he had hovered over his mess of tiny handwritten notes. He looked a little like a deer in head-lights, always lost was poor Curumo. Mairon rolled his eyes and tugged at his classmate’s sleeve.

“What?” Curumo whined, reluctant to forgo the last stretch of productivity he illusioned himself with, but he was already packing up.

“Come with me,” Mairon replied. “We’re going to hunt down some freshmen.”

After a quick text to Melkor to explain he needn’t be picked up today, Mairon dragged Curumo out of the library. The dismayed reply came seconds later, and Melkor wasn’t at all happy with the excuse of needing to tutor Curumo on their upcoming French test. Melkor and Curumo had never gotten along and if Mairon was honest with himself, he would have ditched Curumo after the first week of the first semester, but sometimes the guy proved useful. Especially because, in spite of his timid disposition, he somehow knew everyone on campus, ranging from the most introverted freshman all the way to the creepy maintenance guy who smelled like he lived in the sewers.

“What for?” Curumo asked. They crossed the student-littered yard, dodging peer-pong balls and caffeine-crazed grad students to the cafeteria where Mairon figured his best bet would be. Freshmen were always hungry, and he had a vague memory of four curly-haired heads positively camping in there at all times, claiming they needed seven meals a day to function.

“They stole something from me,” Mairon muttered, raking his hands through his hair. He’d neglected to trim it to its usual chest length and it was getting quite out of hand, tangling at the lightest breeze. Still better than what Curumo’s mother had done to him over the last holiday, short and ragged so that he looked like Jack Frost.

“What did they steal?”

“My engagement ring.”

“What?” Curumo spluttered, and almost ran into the door, but Mairon held it open in time. Under the pretence of having lunch – Mairon never had university lunch if he could help it, the stuff was vile and Melkor was a great cook if he wanted to be – they both got into line, eyes darting about for the thieves.

Mairon spotted the usual groups as he scanned the perimeter. The musical theatre kids led by a haughty grad student with a harp who had a gazillion brothers around. The nature-loving hippies who smoked too much weed for their own good and gave themselves funny names and pretended to be trees on weekends. The burly punk rockers who rode Harleys and had a kink for arson, Mairon had met their gang head Gothmog in a colloquium once, he wasn’t too bad. Even the naval engineering students who usually spent all their free time down by the beaches to test their self-crafted boats where in attendance, picking at salads and discussing hydraulics. Not a sign of those nasty burglars though.  

The guy behind the counter handed him a tray, and Mairon took it, paying with his student ID chip card before turning back towards the room, just in time to see a pair of dark, curly heads disappear through the swinging doors of the cafeteria, chips trailing after them like crumbs. Mairon dropped his food and took off after them, spitting curses. Curumo, the good dog that he was, mirrored this. They tore out of the cafeteria and down the hallway together.

“Hey,” Mairon screamed. “Hey, stop!” The two freshmen threw hasty glances over their shoulders, hollering as they ran and dodged around students, but Mairon and Curumo were faster, knew these halls better and soon enough, they had the two cornered against a row of blue lockers.

“Now,” Mairon crooned and made to advance on them, but before he could, someone interrupted him. “Now you will repent.”

“Hey, what do you want with them,” he barked and two people stepped into Mairon’s and Curumo’s way, obscuring the goblins from view. They were both jocks, broad-shouldered and bearded, and towered a head over Curumo and Mairon. He knew the blond one, Eomer, an agriculture major, from a finance class they’d both taken as an elective, but he’d never seen the other man before. He was the one who’d spoken and wore a sports shirt of a team Mairon had never heard of. A white tree was their logo and their motto was written in a strange swirl of letters that looked almost Arabic.

“Just a friendly chat,” Mairon said through gritted teeth. “Not to worry.”

“That didn’t sound so friendly to me,” the guy growled and Eomer put a hand on his shoulder, nodding. His scowl deepened and his eyes burned, staring daggers into Mairon’s.

“Weren’t you that condescending guy at the back of Accounting 101 who called everyone peasants?” he asked and Mairon sighed inwardly. One bad day to haunt him. Or well, a whole semester of bad days, but who was counting anyway? Melkor had been abroad for that time and Mairon had suffered terribly.

“Why do you even care?” Mairon asked, and Curumo put a warning hand to his arm. It wasn’t unlikely that he’d seen these two beat someone up at some frat party before, but Mairon wasn’t intimidated by such mundane things as physical violence.

“Because they’re our friends,” the second jock growled, crossing his arms over his chest. It was hard not to laugh, these fully grown men proclaiming themselves friends of two troublemakers who weren’t even legally adults yet.

“Look, guys,” Curumo said quietly. “Merry and Pippin stole something very valuable from my friend here and he is rather upset about it.”

Eomer bared his teeth, but the other guy whirled around to stare at the two thieves in question who were huddled against the lockers, but silently giggling amongst themselves.

“Is this true?” he asked, and the tone of his voice implied he knew already. Helpless or not, they probably had a reputation for mischief-making.

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” one of them said with a thick accent.

“You said it yourself,” the other added, “he is a condescending ass.”

“Boys.”

“Boromir.”

“Enough,” Mairon hissed and pushed through the two jocks and bore down on the freshmen, holding out his empty palm. “You give me back my ring or I will make your lives here a living nightmare. You can hire as many football players and wannabe wrestlers as you want, I am very good friends with the dean, I have more than enough money to bribe every professor in the state to bully you and my boyfriend will beat every last one of your bodyguards to a pulp. Is that clear?”

Merry and Pippin stared at him, their facial muscles contorting in a series of impossible expressions, torn between laughing and crying. They settled for blankness and, at last, Pippin handed over the ring. It was smudged with grease from his fingers and Mairon pulled out a linen handkerchief to polish it with.

“I’m sorry, they’re still not used to their actions having consequences,” Boromir sighed and Eomer nodded sternly.

“Whatever,” Mairon said with half a shrug and he stalked off the scene, leaving Curumo to deal with the polite formalities or whatever the situation demanded. He had his ring back, he could call Melkor to get him after all, he would get laid tonight while all these losers were busy with their parties and teenager friends and studying until their eyes bled. It was not ten minutes later that Mairon was comfortably tucked into Melkor’s Chevrolet, the heated seat warming his ass-cheeks.

“Have a nice day?” Melkor grumbled, not taking his eyes off the parking lot around them. Mairon leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of his beloved’s mouth.

“Nothing special,” he replied and leaned into the backrest. “Nothing special at all.” The ring glinted in the low-afternoon sun and everything was as it should be.

[headoverhiddles]

You're So Vain - Marilyn Manson x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You wear a Rob Zombie dress to your boyfriend's double headliner concert. This article of clothing has a certain effect on him, and it’s not good.

Notes: Heaven Upside Down era! I just banged this one out fast (that's what she said) and figured it's passable enough to post. Takes place in the same timeline as "Just For Me." Enjoy the light dom/sub jealous!Manson quickie! ALSO HAVE YOU SEEN HIS NEW HAIR FROM THE OSCARS PARTY??? 

His eyes meet yours through the mirror as he shadows his eyes. You can tell immediately upon your entrance into the room that he’s not pleased, and you can’t wait to hear why this time. 

"What's that?"

You look at your boyfriend, to see where he's looking now. His eyes are on your clothing. "What do you think it is? It's a dress." 

"Don’t need your attitude. Is that really what you're wearing? For the show?"

You sigh. He always has a way of making you feel special. "Yes." You spin around in your black and red dress, adorned with symbols, splatters and big "Rob Zombie" logos on it. "I think it's perfect, since you're playing the show with Rob, Twins of Evil, yada yada." 

"I'm sure Rob’s going to love that," Manson says in a low voice, and the undertone of irritation does not go unnoticed by you. He sucks in his cheekbones to dust them with a powder puff of blue, and you dissect the darkness in his eyes. You can’t say you didn’t know this was going to happen, when you wore a dress with his co-headliner’s name all over it. You know how possessive your boyfriend can get. 

Provoking? Of course that’s not what you’re trying to do...

You smirk, walking over to smooth your hands down his chest. "Jealous?"

"I’m not jealous. But you've got his name emblazoned over your tits."

"And whose tits are they?"

"Mine."

"The correct answer there would have been "yours," but the jury will accept it."

Manson grumbles some more. "When did you even get it?" 

"I ordered it."

"With my money?"

"Look, I'm supporting my friend. He's in the band."

"In case you don't remember, Ginger was my drummer for 15 years."

"Well, he's not anymore. What do you want me to say?! I'm not gonna wear a dress with you on it! I've got you on my body every other night of the year, I don't need it tonight."

"You don't think I'm going to fuck the shit out of you tonight?" 

"Not at the rate you're going," you tease. 

“Watch yourself.”

“Make me.” It’s a clear invitation, up in the air. 

Manson looks like he's about to literally growl, but turns back to finish his makeup, sulk, and down his three "complimentary" glasses of stadium beer. It’s not worth it to start anything with you ten minutes til showtime, and you have to say, you’re disappointed he doesn’t make a sport of it. 

When your boyfriend goes out on stage first, Zombie's band comes in through the backstage, along with your best friend from when you two worked in Vegas together. "Kenny!" you grin, jumping into his arms. He picks you up in a hug, that drummer strength useful in boosting you up. 

"Ah, (y/n)! Glad you could come on this leg of the tour. I was so excited when I heard we were playing with Manson again, couldn't wait to see you."

"We're definitely meeting under calmer circumstances this time," you smile, arms wrapped around him tight.

He laughs, remembering all the backstage shenanigans from the late 90s touring days with you along for the ride. "Yeah, it's much more chill with Twiggy and Pogo gone. And Manson's toned down a little I guess."

You cock your head. "In a manner of speaking."

"It's kind of nice. It's like we've grown up, you know?"

"I don't think Manson will ever grow up," you laugh. Ginger pulls away to look at your dress, finally noticing it.

"That's super cool... what did he think of it?"

You giggle. "What do you think he thought of it?"

Ginger shakes his head, remembering the fiery look of pure rage his ex boss had given that one guy from the pit at that one concert in 1999. The guy’s never gonna change, I swear.” 

Rob comes in, punching the air. "Ready to fucking ROCK!?”

"Totally!" John calls from a distant room.

"Woah," Rob says, "You must be (y/n). Ginger's told me all about you."

"All bad?"

"Jesus, yeah. Heard about the time you got plowed on stage in '99. Typical Manson. Cool dress." Rob looks at your outfit. "Really cool. Hey, what's up with your bf?"

"What? What about him?"

"He's crashing and burning out there. Crowd's pissed, whiiiich means I'm gonna have to save the show."

"Shit..."

"Bad day?"

You sigh, and walk out to the wing. Rob's right. The crowd is practically rioting, and they're not the only ones who are pissed. Manson seems to be out of his mind, singing Kill4Me with a particularly hard edge and apparently a version that skips every third lyric. He then launches into an overly aggressive rendition of The Beautiful People.

You know exactly what this is about.

Rob jostles your shoulder as he prepares to go out, wishing you luck when you should really be the one wishing him luck. Ginger gives you a low five, and you take a deep breath as Manson comes stumbling off stage, makeup trailing down his face and neck from the water he always spits upward.

"Could you be anymore of a child about this whole thing?" you demand, crossing your arms. He points a wavering finger at you, letting the security carry him properly toward the hall.

"Don't. Even."

"Oh, don't what? Don't what? I can't wear a dress now?"

"Wear whatever the fuck you want, I don't care." Piggy D hurries between you two awkwardly to run out on stage.

"You are being such an asshole."

"Whatever. You wanna misinterpret how I... what I'm..."

"I know you, you're jealous."

He shoves the security off, coming back over. "I'm not fucking jealous."

"It's a dress. What, you think I wanna fuck Rob?!"

This time, he does growl. His tall, imposing form advances on you, and despite his debauched appearance, the intense darkness in his eyes is unmistakable for anything other than hunger. Real fear flickers through you for a split second.

"Wanna try that, little girl? Hm?" You shiver, breath quickening, but you've known your boyfriend for far too long, and you're not about to back down now. You want him hard and fast, and it’s your turn to get him back for making you wait.

"Maybe I do," you whisper defiantly. That does it. He tears the straps on your dress. You moan, letting him reach in and grab your thighs, and lift you against the wall with ease, pinning you there. 

"You want me to drag you out on that stage, and fuck you in front of the crowd again?” 

“You only teased me in front of the crowd,” you have the nerve to reply, “You never actually fucked me out there in front of anyone.” Manson holds you by the neck as he roughly marks you down your jawbone. 

“That’s because you're mine," he mutters, hurrying to get his dick out, "You're fucking mine. Only person gets to see these tits, see this pussy? Is me." He leans in to hiss: “Only one who gets to see you gush is me.” 

You can't protest, caught up in a rush of arousal as his stage pants rub dangerously close to your clit. You grind your hips forward, desperately seeking his touch. You’ve never wanted him so bad, his stupid fucking feral expression covered in pink and blue gloss driving you wild. 

"Fuck me," you gasp, not stopping to wonder if the roadies were around or minding their own business.

"Oh, I'm going to, baby," Manson whispers, finally getting himself out of his briefs, "You need to remember who you fuckin' belong to." He tugs your hair back sharply, and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. You scream from the shock of it, and wetness starts to drip down your thigh.

"Ah," you hiss, pussy clenching desperately to be filled, "Do it again."

Manson bites down your flesh to the tips of your nipples, leaving pink marks across your chest. He reaches up, letting your leg fall slightly as he slips two fingers inside you. 

You gasp again, louder this time over the beat of Rob performing Superbeast, and clutch tighter to your handsy boyfriend. He comes back up to suck your neck, nipping slightly at the sensitive spots where he marked you before.

"Fuck me, come on," you chant, “Fuck me like you did that day.” He grabs you again by the neck, dragging you in for a rough, sloppy kiss. A hard pound, and your back hits the wall in rhythm with his body. He doesn't wait for you to adjust, and you both know you don't need him to. He slides in deep, with you very ready to take him, and he pulls back easily before thrusting back in harder, the weight of his body pounding against you heightening the thrusts. His belt buckle jangles with his every movement. 

"How much do you love this cock?”

“I love it, I want it--”

“Can Zombie do this?" 

"No--"

"Could he make you cum like this?"

You whine. "Only you can make me cum." 

"That's right. Don't ever forget it, or I’ll fucking remind you again." He kisses you again, all sloppy tongue, and your hair falls forward between you two as he puts every ounce of effort into bouncing you on his cock. He thrusts one more time with a low grunt, and the pain in your scalp as he tugs again sends you over the edge into a much needed climax. He freezes too, deep inside of you, and you feel him finish.

Manson lets you down, groaning as he rubs the sweat and shiny makeup off his face. Adrenaline shooting through him from both his show and the sex, he’s spoiling for a fight as was usual in these moods. He glares at a stage tech who had been coiling ropes. “Fuck you staring at?” The poor guy looks down in terror, carrying on with his job. Yep, Ginger was right, you think with a smile. He’s never gonna change. No matter how long it’s been, he’s still the same Manson you’re stuck with.  

Manson zips up his pants again and unbuttons his restricting black stage vest. Breathless and rubbing your hands around and down your boyfriend’s chest, you pout at your ruined dress in the mirror, straps dangling down your arms. 

"Look what you did to the dress, baby.”  

“Looks better this way. Now you can’t see his name, you can just see your tits,” he smiles lazily, sucking on his bottom lip lasciviously. 

“You’re a dirty old man, always looking at my tits.” 

“What am I supposed to do? They’re tits, they’re attached to your chest, and I think you’re hot.” 

You hide your flushed smile as you turn your nose up, sighing for show. “You do realize it's not normal that the best sex we have is when you're jealous."

"Since when are we normal?" He looks at you through the mirror, tired and grinning. "And I told you. I'm not fucking jealous." 

[sinnamonfox]

~ Sean x Finn - A band AU~

There’s this somewhat lengthy AU I wrote in the beginning of May but wasn’t ready to post it. It’s more detailed NSFW than the rest of the snippets I’ve posted here and I guess I felt self-conscious about it, but.. it’s stupid? Soo fuck insecurities, here comes a dose of a smutty AU with the boys. Enjoy <3 

NSFW warning: blowjob, riding & use of recreational drugs

The Humboldt Crew has become a relatively famous alternative band among teens in Seattle's area in the last 6 years. The members are all teenage runaways, highschool drop-outs who met and connected through their same goal in life; making music (and getting high also helped in bonding). They play punk music with a hint of some softer vibes here and there. Cassidy's the lead singer, with the occasional acoustic guitar, Hannah, the eldest of them's behind the drums. Penny plays the bass while Finn, the youngest, shreds the electric guitar. 

Finn's 24, got his dreads in a ponytail with all sorts of beads in it, his left arm is covered in wristbands, has different kinds of metal rings, covering parts of his 'free piza' tattoo which isn't his only ink by any means. He's got the triangles, the vertical line on his chin, the few other lines and nonsense scattered all over his body which he got while being wasted or just because he could. He even has a full-sleeve on his left arm, it's a mix of 'cool, abstract shit' as he’d said it.

Finn's easy going, very sweet and chill with their fans, more often than not hooking up with some of them but he's got a steady fuck buddy thing going on with Hannah if neither of them get a date by the end of the night after a gig. Finn loves to fuck, just like his tattoo suggests, the post-concert adrenaline mixed with the marijuana making those strangers all the more appealing. Deep down he knows he’s missing something. The feel of belonging romantically to someone else and having a meaningful connection is something he wishes he had but doesn’t feel like he deserves it. 

Sean's a band geek, currently a senior in college at the age of 22. He's studying art, already making money out of it due to his luck, talent and having a best friend who majors in marketing. Lyla manages the advertisement, finds clients for him and is basically doing everything important accounting work for her childhood best friend, so naturally they share the income. It's a working deal between the two, helped them find a small but nice little apartment. They get graphic design commissions from small and medium-sized businesses to have their logo made, the style of their website, menus for restaurants and so on.

Sean's love life is dull, to put it bluntly. They go to college parties with Lyla and different concerts in the city so he's sort of trying to have fun, meeting new people along the way. He's bisexual and not a virgin in any sense. Had three girlfriends in the past and a boyfriend but none of them ended too well. Sean feels like he didn't find common ground with any of them, not in a classical romantic sense and not between the sheets either so they weren't long-lasting relationships. Sean was longing to finally find someone like that so Lyla, the Love Witch was on the lookout for him, 'advertising' not only his art but her best friend too whenever she had the chance, even though Sean asked her not to, multiple times.

Sean knows The Humboldt Crew's music, been a fan with Lyla since around the beginning. They get a commission from them to make different designs for their merch and their third album cover. Needless to say, he's excited to be working on that and as a friendly gesture, they even receive V.I.P. tickets to one of their shows. They get to rock out in the front row, singing along to the lyrics they both know so well with a plastic cup of beer in their hands and whoa, that guitarist is kinda hot?

Finn's a star, but one of those who don't even realize how good they are. Finn goes with the flow, he's confident and isn't afraid to be himself on stage, he enjoys the music immensely and it's showing in his behavour. He's jumping around with Penny and Cassidy, sharing grins and joyful looks, even takes off his tank top halfway through the concert to the crowd's amazement. Lyla notices Sean's interest and tells him how she's heard that he was pansexual so he's got a chance but Sean brushes it off, not believing that for a second.

She drags him backstage after the concert to meet the band. They're just as chill as they seem from afar, a very interesting crew with different personalities that somehow still found a way to work together. Sean can tell they're like a family from how they act around each other. The second Finn lays eyes on Sean from across the room, he just knows he needs to get to him so he walks up and introduces himself charmingly, flirting from the get go which instantly has Sean's cheeks go red because holy shit, this guy.

Finn picks up on it, knows he's got a chance and makes it his mission to seduce Sean because he's fucking smitten with the shy artist. Sean stammers, feeling like and idiot, especially since Finn's still half-naked with his sexy tattoos out in the open and are those nipple piercings? Lyla sees Sean's face and doesn’t need more, she scores them an invite to the band's house, where the private afterparty is held.

Of course, they get high. Finn chose to sit next to Sean, pressed to his side and is doing everything to mercilessly tease the younger to the point where he has to excuse himself and go out for some fresh air. It's not even that he's nervous, the weed and buzz from the alcohol has him in a good mood but Finn gets him so ridiculously turned on, like never before and he doesn't know what to do with it. The nonchalant touches on his thigh, his hot breath on his ear telling him he wants to see his skillful artist hands in action sometime, those pet names that make him melt and want to climb in his lap right there. This isn't like him, not at all. Sean never had a one night stand before but he was actually considering it because the guitarist is downright irresistible.

He smokes a cigarette out there in the dimly lit backyard, alone with his thoughts, at least for a while. Finn gets worried, thinking he came on too strong or he misunderstood the signs. Sean's startled out of his train of thought when Finn joins him on the wooden bench outside. He goes to apologize when Sean frowns and stops him. "No, no! Shit dude- I'm totally into it, it's just.." He lets out a frustrated sound, the words not coming to him as he gestures helplessly with his hands as if that'd help his case. "Never done something like this, I just met you and you're hot as hell, feeling me up and- Fuck, maybe I'll just shut up." Finn's easy laughter makes him smile too because somehow, it doesnt feel like he's laughing at him. 

"Damn sweetie, ever been told you're real cute when you get all blushy?" Finn teases which just makes it worse. Tells Sean he doesn't have to do anything he's not 100% sure about and he won't make him either. Finn’s starting to really like Sean. Interacting with him feels so real, no lies and pretending. The artist doesn’t treat him differently just because he’s semi-famous. Meanwhile, Sean's touched by his patience and thanks him for being so cool, also shuffles closer to the tattooed punk because he does want it, tells him so. 

"Then what are you afraid of?" The question breezes out of Finn’s mouth, the corners quirking up from finding Sean adorable.

"Nothing." Sean whispers back before closing the distance between them and it's one of those legendary, movie-like kisses that neither of them had before, with fireworks going off in the background. One that shakes you to the core and leaves you trembling, sucks the breath right out of your lungs. Sparks fly and it turns extremely heated with Sean swinging his leg over Finn's lap, Finn's calloused guitarist fingers travel up his tshirt at the back and pull the artist closer in desperation. Finn’s tongue tests the waters, asking permission into Sean’s mouth and he gains it almost immediately. After a few minutes of making out, they're both so stupidly hard, grinding mindlessly against each other while exchanging the sloppy kisses that fill up the night air with wet smacking sounds and occasional moans from the both of them. Finn's the one to initiate continuing it in his room, ready to back out if needed but as Sean's lustfilled eyes find his, telling him to lead the way, he’s sure about what comes next.

They sneak by the others and up the stairs but they're not even fully on the second level before Finn presses Sean against the wall and their lips collide in burning passion. Sean's making needy sounds and Finn's so drunk on it, pining his wrists to the wall and massaging their tongue’s together, taking charge of the situation. Sean absolutely loves it.

Somehow, the two men find themselves in the messy room with Sean on his back on a beat-up mattress. It's a miracle they managed to get that far. Not even five minutes later they're both fully naked and Finn's sucking off the younger eagerly, his mouth proving to be just as skillful working on his cock as it was spewing out filth, his fingers are opening up the tan male thoroughly. When Sean can't take it any longer, he pulls him up by his dreads and flips them over to Finn's surprise. 

After taking care of protection and applying lube, Sean sinks down on Finn's impressive length with a long, drawn-out moan that's rivaled by Finn's sounds of pleasure and his praises. His strong thighs flex as he begins bouncing. He’s clawing at the flat, pale stomach in ecstasy because this is perfect, Finn’s length is just perfect, hitting his sweet spots without needing to be guided. Sean wants to keep it down but when Finn starts fucking up right into his prostate, he loses all sense of control and let's go of his high-pitched moans. Finn takes the opportunity to take over again and pushes Sean on his back to pummel into him wildly, his dreads bouncing with his movements, both of them sweating. Sean can't think of anything else, he only feels the way Finn's sliding in and out of him, angling his hips with such expertise, it drives him crazy.

When Sean comes, it's with a scream of Finn's name that he paints his stomach, one hand jacking himself off, the fingers on the other digging into Finn's back, holding on for dear life. He clenches around Finn's dick which sends the other over the edge as well, spilling in the condom with a loud grunt and chanting of his partner's name. Sean's heart is thumping in his ears as he feels Finn breathe raggedly into his neck in the aftermath. He also has a lazy smile on his face when the older kisses him again. They're both sort of surprised at what just happened so no wonder they're grinning like idiots. Finn chuckles into the brief, sensual kiss before gently pulling out and taking care of the mess they've made with the help of Sean.

They're exhausted, it was a long night. Finn tells Sean he should stay if he wanted to, the arm he throws over Sean's sweaty torso is nice and despite their messiness, the artist burrows closer, welcoming the hug and agreeing to the plan. They fall asleep that way, wrapped up in each other, strangers who just met a few hours ago yet it’s already had such a huge impact on both of them. The next morning, Sean wakes up earlier and yesterday’s events come back to him, making him blush. He's hugging the musician's naked body from the back which just feels so natural, as if it wasn't the first time it happened and he's known him for longer than just one night. As Sean begins overthinking, it hits him; was this really a casual hook up? Are all of them so damn hard to walk away from? He feels somewhat stupid for having those feelings but.. this man beside him seems so full of love. The way he treated his crew, how he made sure Sean was feeling comfortable with the situation, his eyes going soft whenever Sean stuttered in embarrassment of right when he released.

When those piercing blue eyes take him in after waking up, Finn starts the morning with a groggy, „Good mornin’, beautiful.” Sean’s heart skips a beat and in the next second soft lips are on his again, movements so different to the night prior. More languid and sweet, as if Finn was bittersweetly memorizing the curve of Sean’s lips before he disappears, like he’s just used to people leaving him after they get what they want. Sean kisses back with the same intensity, no rushing in the slightest. They share a lazy smile, Sean’s face is flushed and connects their lips once again, letting Finn know he has no intentions leaving just yet. 

He’ll have time to thank Lyla later.

[sonicringbond]

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 49

Well, now, believe it or not, but there are only three more weeks/episodes left of season 1 of The Journey. There will be several big changes coming once Season 2 gets underway so I’ll have a lot of work to o getting ready behind the scenes, but hopefully it is worth it. Anyway, let me stop babbling and let you dive into...

    “It’s so good!” Rosy swooned and held a hand to her face and held up the soft serve ice cream cone she had. “I love festivals! And this one is such a big party! Ooh~! Why couldn’t we enjoy this one without having to crash it Sonic?”

    “We’ll just have to blame our purple friend,” Sonic remarked, though there was little humor in his mood.

    ~I feel really bad for Sonic. He doesn’t usually let anything get him down, but Claymore the Purple really hurt his pride when we met him. That and he kidnapped Tails, Mighty, and Draw. I don’t know what happened to Mote, but I hope they’re with Draw still. It’s a shame they can’t enjoy the festival either. Tee-hee! Maybe I shouldn’t be letting myself have so much fun either.

    ~Tower Point, it’s not just a small community like I’ve mostly seen in the lands under Yolk, it’s one of the largest cities I’ve ever seen. Its name comes from all the large towers, but it’s crazy! From the cobbled roads there isn’t anywhere to go but the towers. It’s like being walled in with a spiderweb roof of bridges up above. And there are vendors and food stalls everywhere. Bands are playing in the streets and over a radio system that you can hear everywhere in the city. And the sky is full of confetti too! It’s just one massive celebration. But Sonic and I can’t enjoy it, well not as much as I’d like too. We have to face Claymore and rescue our friends. It’s such a waste of a good party too.~

    “Stay sharp kid. We’ve got company coming.”

    ~Well, maybe not a total waste, tee-hee~♥

    ~As Sonic and I made our way deeper and deeper into the maze of towers and bridges, more and more autogolems started showing up. There were a lot that just looked like suits of armor built on clockwork skeletons, but there were also helmets with wings in the sky, and even more of the helmets with spider legs that were with Claymore when he attacked us. But none of them were going to get me! I could outrun them if I really tried, and Sonic could bash them to bits super easy! But Sonic did one better. Eeee! He held my hand to discourage them from coming after me! Ooh~! It’s so romantic~♥~

    Enthralled as Rosy was by Sonic making sure she didn’t get separated in the crowds, Rosy couldn’t help but taunt one autogolem, a Squire Legs as it stared at her with glowing yellow eyes from its black knight helmet. If it could have developed an exasperated bead of sweat, it would have as Rosy pulled down her eye lid and stuck her tongue out at it. As her free hand was being held by Sonic, she managed to get ice cream in her eye and yelped out in surprise.

    “Your rascally antics are going to make this harder than it needs to be,” Sonic warned her before pulling her into a bridal carry.

    “Eep! S-Sonic!”

    “You seem to be enjoying yourself, but I think it’s time we take things up to my pace.”

    Not wasting a moment longer, or bothering to explain to Rosy, Sonic suddenly speed off and right up the sides of a tower. His speed assured most people wouldn’t get a good look at the cause of the commotion and bouncing from tower to tower and bridge to bridge, it was impossible for the average person to keep up with Sonic. He wasn’t just bouncing about aimlessly either. Though such maneuvers would have easily confused the autogolems trying to watch him and Rosy, his destination was a massive clearing in the forest of towers.

    The city of Tower Point was not just home to seemingly countless towers and spires, but it was also the home of the Ring decrying religious group known as the Preservers. As such, most of the architecture looked as though it was fashioned after gothic style cathedrals merged with a steam work pipe system. There were several actual cathedrals mixed into the forest of towers, from their bases and peaks alongside observatories nigh everywhere, to even underground and within some of the larger towers. There was one cathedral though that was a series of towers itself, with the largest in the entire city at its center. It was that complex and the only massively open plaza in the city that Sonic aimed for.

    To call the plaza massive however, was an understatement. It was several miles wide and several more long. Canals and parks littered the venue, and the most massive of crowds Rosy had ever seen gathered in it for the Banquet of Claymore the Purple. A celebration in open defiance of Yoluku, the small planet hanging in the above watching the festivities from below the permanent red lightning bolt that arced across the sky from horizon to horizon.

    Asides from the main tower itself, the best view of the plaza was from any one of the plethora of airships that filled the skies above. Leaping between several and putting the best distance he could between himself and any and all flightless autogolems, Sonic eventually set Rosy down on the deck of a tadpole shaped one of a coral red hue.

    “Sorry, about coming aboard uninvited,” Sonic laughed off his intrusion and offered a wave to the people on the deck of the vessel. A deck that looked familiar to Rosy as it ran back from the main body to the tail of the vessel under and above several propellers and sails.

    “Hey, Sonic, isn’t this…” Rosy started, but the variety of people on the deck were all wearing badges with a wrench super imposed over a gear wheel, the symbol of the Engineers. “Uh-oh…”

    The sweat drop that ran down Rosy’s cheek and her nervous smile told Sonic something other than what his nose did. As it wasn’t itching, or hinting at a coming sneeze, he was sure they were fine, but put a comforting hand on Rosy’s shoulder anyway. “No sweat kid. A bunch of mechanics aren’t going to be much of a threat to me.”

    “We could still push you off,” one of the people on the deck warned and stood up, before stumbling back as Sonic was in their face.

    “You really, think so? You’d have to catch me first. And I don’t think you, or you, or…”

    Faster than anyone outside of Rosy, who was laughing at the display, could follow, Sonic introduced everyone on the deck to his speed. But even with his speed there were things that could surprise him.

    “…or you, or–?!”

    “Sonic!”

    It was not Rosy who called out Sonic’s name, but the young fox girl who did was nonetheless familiar to both hedgehogs.

    “Zooey!” Sonic asked in surprise. “What are–”

    Sonic never finished the question. Zooey, not prepared for Sonic was even less prepared for Rosy, who tackled her in a crazy mixture of a bear hug and full-on nuzzling session. “ZOOEY!! It’s really you! I can’t believe it! I’ve been trying to catch up with you forever!”

    “I thought I made it easy enough to follow me,” the yellow fox in the red dress stated her efforts to be found, and Sonic could only offer her a shrug and an awkward smile.

    “What can we say, these lands are a mess. Great for adventuring and running, not so much for meeting up. But what brought you to this big party, Zooey?”

-|-

    “I see,” Zooey sighed. “So, it was Mr. Gill who caused us so much trouble. And if I understand, you’re relying on him to cause even more now.”

    “Not quite,” Sonic corrected Zooey as he leaned over the deck railing and looked at the plaza below. “I’m actually going to be the one causing trouble. Think I can use my plane to do it?”

    “I’ve been using it and Tails’ X-Tornado for my races you know, Sonic. But I suppose it is yours.”

    “You’re a real pal Zooey. Shame I can’t leave Amy with you though.”

    “It’s Rosy!” Rosy corrected Sonic and earned a laugh from him. In response she puffed up her cheeks. “Ooh~! I don’t mind you using my real name Sonic, really! But we’re on an adventure! I’d rather go by Rosy while adventuring!”

    “You’re enough of a rascal without calling yourself one,” Sonic teased Rosy and made her puff her cheeks up even more. He could have easily toyed with her all day, but he knew he didn’t have that type of time and turned his attention back to Zooey. “So, think you can have the Tornado ready to launch before Sir Buckethead makes his grand entrance?”

    “It won’t be a problem at all,” Zooey sighed and earned a questioning look from Sonic and Rosy both. Their questioning eyes on her, Zooey forced a smile and explained herself. “It’s just, well… We finally meet back up and everyone is in this awful mess. I can’t believe Tails got captured too.”

    “What can I say Zooey, Sir Buckethead is more trouble than he’s worth. But you leave the rescue operation to me and Rosy, and Gill and Blister too. Though, be ready to run, things might get dicey.”

Scene 49 · CLEARED Party Crashing, to be continued

-----

ZOOEY!!

XD Yes, Zooey is back just as we reach the end. I can’t say how involved she’ll be at this point as I only have  more scenes to work with, and as of the time I wrote this, this was the only scene I had written. Can you believe it’s the 10th of March or later while you’re reading this, yet when I wrote this it was February 3rd? It’s amazing stuff.

For now though though, I’ll leave everyone waiting for Scene 50! What a milestone! I hope everyone is as excited as am =D

-----

Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – Cheers! – Tomomichi Takeoka – Final Fantasy XV Original Soundtrack

Fair Use Disclaimer

Sonic the Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement. The Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

[hunghohoseok]

Punk Rock Drummer

Disclaimer: He is actually NOT a drummer it just didn’t work out that way lol

Words: 3.8k

Genre: Smut.Fluff (if you squint)

Warnings: seeeeeex.dick piercing.tonguing panties? (is that a thing?).implied drinking.unsafe sex (stay safe my creepies).accidental voyerism

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You’ve always wanted to go to the big city, but going alone terrifies you. Your best friend tells you that her brother and his band are gonna have their big break and is inviting you to go see him in action. The thing is, you’re a sucker for a boy with tattoos.

This is part of my B.F.B MASTERLIST! Find the rest here!

Blog Masterlist

(this shit in unedited, sorry ya’ll)

You knew, you knew, you shouldn’t have messed with him. Everyone told you that he’d hurt you, but you had a type.

Asshole, asshole is your type.

Jay was his name, breaking your heart was his game. He was hot, had a lip ring, and his hair was unruly and it made your heart flutter and your insides feel a certain way. Oh, and he had a tribal tattoo wrapped around his forearm. That was the only thing you could took at while he took you in the back of his car. It was dark enough that he didn’t notice.  

After that, he seemed to call you less, and you tried to call until you called one too many times and his phone was out of service.  

“He had ONE tattoo and you fell for him?” Your best friend Yejoon handed you another tissue and sniffed into softly.

“Maybe.”

“Why do you do this to yourself?” She asked softly.

The thought of your best friend worrying about you made you cry harder and she wrapped you into her arms and leaned you both back on the couch and you ended up falling asleep on her chest.  

After this one, you’re done, you say to yourself.

“Soo, guess what?” Yejoon leaned on the table in front of you and you looked up from your homework.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Yoongi is having a show.”

“Okay? He always has shows.” You turned your eyes back to your book, determined to read this chapter.  

“Buuuut,” she grabbed the book and closed it. Before you could complain, she put her finger on your lips, “It’s at the Bangtan Ballroom. Tonight.”

Your eyes widened. The Bangtan Ballroom holds around 500 people, and it’s in the heart of the city, where you love to go – not alone though. Yejoon doesn’t like big crowds and a fast-paced environment, so she would always refuse. You both have heard too many bad things about the city, and she took them to heart. They scared you too, lowkey, but you couldn’t help but want to go.

“You’re kidding!” You grabbed Yejoons arms and jumped around the coffee table. “Oh my God, I’m so proud of him!”

Yejoon smiled widely at you, “Me too! And guess what?” She pulled to lanyards out of her back pocket and waved them in your face.

You screamed and started jumping up again, Yejoon joining in until a hard knock from under your apartment floor made you stop in your tracks. You both giggle and she pushes you from your guys living room to her bedroom and she made a b-line for the closet.

“Gotta look good for the other bands. I could meet my true love tonight.” She pulls out a short red dress, puts it up to her chest. “Or a quickie. Same thing right?” She threw the dress back in the closet and dug once more. “Though, I don’t think Yoongi would like it.”

“How is your brother by the way?”

“Bugging me every second, ‘When are you coming to see us? You got any friends who need jobs? Know anyone single?’ I swear, if he asks me one more thing, I'll shut down a cell tower.”

“He’s single? What happened to Suzy? I thought they were ‘in loooove’.” You made a heart around your face and Yejoon threw and shirt at you.

“That ship sailed after they moved to the city for Yoongi’s band. She ‘couldn’t handle the pressure of having a famous boyfriend.’”

“Hardly, they had just formed! They were inseparable during high school.”

Yejoon finally picks out a pair of pants and takes off the ones she currently wearing. “Yeah, well I told him she was bitch from the start.”

You grinned and made your way to her closet and tried to dig out the dress she pulled out earlier.  

“Hot.” You open your mouth to reply and you see her twisted in front of the mirror. She had put on the shirt she threw at you; it was cropped and off one shoulder and you couldn’t see..

“Are you not wearing a bra?”

“Of course not, it wouldn’t be easy otherwise.”

“You really out here tryin’ to be a hoe, huh?” You snickered.

“You’re just mad that my tits are small enough to be a hoe.”

“Oh, fuck off.”  

She laughed at you as you went to your room to get ready.

“I put on the worst bra.” You were grabbing your side, trying to shove the metal piece back into it. The dress was tighter than you thought and it wasn’t helping.

“Dont’cha wish?” Yejoon gestured to herself, and she ended up wearing tight black pants and a cropped tank top.  

“Oh shut up,” You mumbled. You guys had finally made it to the ballroom and it was packed to the brim with bodies, already drunk and dancing to the music playing through the speakers. As you guys finally made your way to the back, you flashed you VIP lanyards and they let you guys though.  

“He said it was the door at the end of the hall..” Yejoon murmured to herself as people, you assume other bands pass by and she couldn’t help but stare. Taking her arm, you made your way to the last room and knocked on it and a gruff voice welcomed you.  

“Come on in!”

Yejoon pushed her way past you and you heard a gruff voice say, “Speak of the Devil.”

“And she shall appear. You were talking about me?” She leaned on Namjoon, the drummer, while he was sitting on the couch. He may have been clumsy off stage, but on stage was a different persona, grabbing the crowd's attention. With the slow beats of his base drum the crowd would hush and be at his mercy. As of now, he was at Yejoon’s attention. He sat up straighter and grinned and she tilted her head in feigned ignorance.  

“Ya, get off him.”  

A low gruff came from behind you that made you jump and turn around. Yoongi had looked different since you’ve seen hm. Granted that was 3 years ago at your high school graduation. Instead of short, spiked, black hair, it now made its way a little past his eyes and bleached His eyes were sunken in and closed halfway into a glare directed at his sister almost falling into his drummer's lap. He stood straighter now, you quickly noticed. He was at least a head taller than you and his once smooth face now had piercings; many adoring his ears, one on his eyebrow, and two small hoops on either side of his bottom lip. Out of your peripherals, you notice he’s wearing a turtleneck. Not very comfortable, you think, he’ll be sweating and that’s not a turtleneck.  

A soft black ink adorned his neck and down towards the collar of his shirt which you now see is a shirt with an unfamiliar logo on it. You don’t think much of it because your eyes go lower and see that he is covered in tattoo’s all the way down to his fingers. As the hands wave in front of you, you soon realize that he was trying to get your attention.  

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?”  

“What?”

“I asked you if you wanted to sit. You seem out of it.” He gestures to a loveseat and you sit down softly. Everyone else had broken off into their respective conversations and you feel out of place now. Yoongi plops down next to you and he leans back and put his arms on the back of the sofa.

“So, how’ve been? You look good.”

“Oh! Uh, thanks, thank you.” Your hands try to drag down the fabric of your dress, and after a few tries you give up and set your hands in your lap. “You look good too. These past few years have been good to you.”

He laughed, “I could say the same about you.” His tongue peaked out and swiped across his lip and you breath hitched.  

“Um, s-so do you like the city?”  

The blond makes a face and he shrugs a bit, “It loses its touch after a while. Too fuckin’ loud honestly.”  

“Really? Ah, I’d love it.”

“Why?”

“I once drove with my parents through the arts district as a child. It was so beautiful, the lights so pretty, and people were talking and having fun and I just want that experience, ya know?”

You looked at him and he had a small grin on his face.  

“What?”

“Nothing. Why don’t you just go?”

You hummed and leaned back on the couch. “It’s all so new. And I've heard some rough stories about the city so I don’t wanna go alone. Yejoon doesn’t like coming so.”

“She doesn’t like anything fun,” he laughed. You smiled at him and became more apparent to his arm that was on the back of seat was inching its way towards you. It’s hard to ignore the heat of his arm on you and involuntarily shiver.

He moved his body closer and whispered so only you could hear, “Well, if you want, I can take you.”  

Taking in a sharp breath, and glanced at his neck piece. You have never seen Yoongi like this. He was never a childhood crush of yours and you sure as hell wasn’t one of his.  

Well-

There was one time, in high school. Yoongi and Suzy had come down to visit and you had been spending the weekend with Yejoon and her family. In the middle of the night you had to use the bathroom which happened to be past the guest room, so no, you were not peeping and you want to make that clear. Hearing a soft groan, you stopped, half asleep, in front of the door and peeked into the light shining though the crack of the door.  

The image permanently seeped into your brain was one of Yoongi, thrusting wildly into Suzy from behind. With her head covered by a pillow, all you could see was Yoongi. How sweaty he was, how he would roll his hips before thrusts, and his abdomen – you had no idea that he worked out. Suzy’s moans were quiet but you could tell she was trying so hard to keep them that way.  

You didn’t realize how long you had been standing there until Yoongi’s eyes bolted up and you swore he made eye contact with you because he grabbed his lip in between his teeth and thrusted faster into and when you heard Suzy get louder, you finally came to your senses and scurried off to the bathroom.  

You couldn’t make eye contact with either of them the whole weekend. Yoongi never mentioned it, so you felt less like less of a pervert. Your own little secret.  

All that is coming back to you as he gazes softly at you. Glancing over to Yejoon, she’s too engrossed in a conversation with Seokjin, the singer and another one of Yoongi’s friends, to pay attention.  

You felt soft fingers on your chin, “Over here, Dollface.”

“Uh, I don’t, uh,” He grinned at your stuttering, and set his hand on your uncovered thigh.

“Tell me if I'm being too forward but,” he got even closer and whispered in your ear, “you look delectable in that dress.”

You felt a shiver down your spine, this one obvious to him, and he chuckled.

“All right guys, you’re on.”  

And just like that, he was gone, along with the rest of the band. You finally had a chance to take a breath and Yejoon took your hand to lead you backstage to watch.  

The only thing you could pay attention to though is Yoongi. The way his fingers lazily strummed the cords of his base guitar all while looking sexy. The crowd recognizes this as well, due to them chanting for him to take his shirt off.

He indulges.

The intricate linework on his chest and back makes you drool, and you hope no one saw that.

After the show, you, Yejoon, Yoongi and the rest of the guys went to a late-night sushi bar, the perks of the city.

There was laughter, drinking, yelling, and you had completely forgotten about Yoongi’s proposition earlier. But as you guys were leaving, Yejoon having been drunk, you were worried about how you guys would get home. She was in no condition to drive, and you had a few drinks and weren’t going to risk it.  

That is how you ended up in Yoongi’s car sitting in the passenger's seat while Yejoon softly sings to herself in the back.  

“Y/N, Y/N,” Yejoon leaned forward to your headrest, “d’ ‘u feel as good as I do righ’ now?”

“No, not really,” you laughed at her and she gazed at you, or at least you think it was at you. It could’ve well been the door handle she was looking at. Her eyes were glazed over and you she abruptly blew a strawberry at you and melted back into her seat.  

You guys had finally made it back to your apartment without a hitch and you and Yoongi (mostly Yoongi) lugged the singing drunk girl back into your guys home, and safely in her bed.  

Yoongi waited in the living room while you helped Yejoon out of her clothes all while she tries to grab your face and tell you how much you love her.

When you finally make it out, Yoongi is on the couch scrolling on his phone. You don’t know how he makes something so mundane look so alluring.  

“Thanks. I appreciate it. She’s a handful sometimes.”

“Oh no problem,” he stands and makes his way to you.  

“So,” you don’t make eye contact with the blond while you talk. “It was an amazing show.”  

“Thanks. Was I, uh,” Hearing him stutter made you gape at him. He was gazing softly at you and scratched his neck. “Was I out of line, back there in the green room?”

You wanted to say no immediately, but you had to think about it. Did you let him because you wanted him to, or because the ink on his arms? Yoongi was nice and from what you heard from Suzy, a grumpy but soft human being willing to make you happy in the most subtle ways. As you think back, you remember in middle school he’d give you his lunch because your family couldn’t afford it. Your first day of freshman year he stuck to you and Yejoon all day, making sure you got to your right classes safely. When he left for college the summer after, he let you and Yejoon hang out in the basement with him and his band every practice – something he claimed he hated.

You felt your chest warm up and you reached out to him. “I liked it.”

“Oh,” his face was flushed and you couldn’t tell it was from the alcohol, “cool, cool.”

He interlocked your fingers and neither of you moved for a minute. You glanced back up at him and you guys slowly made your way towards one another until your lips touched softly. That was all it took for Yoongi’s hand to leave yours and find its way to the back of your head and deepen the kiss. His other hand was on your back and yours interlocked behind his neck.

As the kiss got more intense, his tongue ran across your mouth and you stuck yours out to taste him. His mouth wrapped around the muscle and sucked on it and you couldn’t help but moan.  

He released your tongue, “Yoongi, please.”  

“Yeah?” He bent down and grabbed the back of your thighs and you jumped into his arms. Yoongi walked to the couch and settled between your legs. “Tell me what you need, Dollface.”

Your legs had to stretch apart to accommodate for his body and your dress began to roll up. You tried to pull it down, but Yoongi grabbed your wrists and put them above your head.

“Tell me.” His voice was gruff.

“I-I need you, Yoongi.”

“To do what?”

You groaned, “Touch me.”

“How Dollface? You have to be specific.”  

You groaned again and lifted your hips. You felt his growing bulge against your panties, which were now free for him to see. He took both of your writs in one hand and dragged his other hand slowly down your body to your heat and rubbed a finger over your panties and a moan makes your way out of your throat.  

“Oh? This is what you want?”  

“Yes, please.”

“Oh, well, I do aim to please Dollface.” He let go of you and moved his face toward your center. His tongue prodded at you and you hissed. Yoongi thrusted his tongue in you as far as he can, making your panties go with him and he made his way to your clit, soaking your panties as you squirm under his touch.  

“More pleeeeaaase Yoongi.”

You could hear a soft chuckle and before you knew it, his tongue was directly against your pussy, thrusting in and out while his thumb was rubbing against your clit in quick circles. Your moans got louder and you realized that no matter how drunk she is, Yejoon hear and that makes you cover you bite on you hand.  

“Let me hear you baby.”

“But - haa – she's gonna he-aah!”

Yoongi took your clit into his mouth and flicked it around with his tongue and your felt a growing heat in the pit of your stomach.

“Faster please.”

Your toes began to curl and you tried to spread your legs as far as they could go and he release your clit, spreading your lips to see how pink and wet you are.  

“Let go Dollface, cum on my tongue, please.”

Hearing his plead made you moan behind your hand and seized your clit again. He moaned into you and the rubber band snapped in the pit of your stomach and your legs shook and you hand left your mouth and onto Yoongi’s head, gabbing and pushing him closer as you ride out your orgasm.  

He finally pulls away and kisses you hard, shoving his tongue in your mouth so you can taste yourself. You feel his hands come to the neck line of your dress, trying to pull it down to look at your breasts. When it wouldn’t budge, he groaned a “sorry” into your mouth and before you could ask, you heard a loud rip.  

“Yoongi! This was Yejoon’s.”

“I’ll buy her a new one,” he sat up and made a mental picture of how wrecked you look. Chest red, a pretty black lace bra pushing your breasts together, the bottom of the dress rolled up to your waist, and your pussy on show or him. “Take it off.”

You sit up all while keeping eye contact with Yoongi. His lip was in between his teeth and starts to take off his shirt and you couldn’t help but drag your hands across his inked chest.

“You like these?” He smirked.

“Mhm.”

“I like these,” Yoongi squeezed your breast and leaned you both back down to latch his mouth on your nipple while his hand rubbed the other. “God, they’re so pretty. You’re so beautiful Dollface.”

You could feel yourself blush at the compliment, not that you could tell. “Please, I need you Yoongi.”

Your hands started unbuttoning his jeans and he grabbed your wrists again. He started rubbing himself against your center.

“I saw you, you know.”

“W-what?”

“All those years ago, when I was home.”

“Oh God Yoongi, I-”

“You liked it, huh? Liked how good I was fucking her? How she couldn’t keep quiet while I took her over and over?”

You whimpered and moved your hips with Yoongi, “Please.”

“I knew you were there, I just couldn’t help but show off. It made it so hot knowing someone, you, were watching me.”

He reached into his pants and pulled out his hard cock and he stroked himself a few times. You looked at his red tip and you saw a silver ball at the top. Oh God, his dick is pierced, oh god, oh god-

“You want me Dollface?”

You nodded fast and he rubbed he tip against your clit. You felt your hole clench around nothing.

“I do,” You took hold of his forearms to keep your grounded while his middle finger entered you slowly.

“Oh, so easily,” he pumped a few times before adding another one, it going in easier than the last. “Jesus, okay. You want my cock this bad Dollface?”

“Just do it!” The plea in your voice made Yoongi smile this big gummy smile and you felt the heat in your stomach again. He lined his cock up to your entrance and the pressure of his cock stretching you made you clench.

“Ah, fuck,” He sighed as his hips met yours.

“C’mon, fuck me.”

“You asked for it Dollface.”

He dragged out his cock and thrusts back in and didn’t stop until you had a pace you both agreed with. Your moans were like a lullaby to his ears and he wanted the extended version. He groaned at the pleasure he was giving you and rolled his hips to hit your g-sot. Your moans got louder and high pitched and the sound of his skin slapping your made you push back harder.  

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” You reached out to Yoongi and you caught a glimpse of one of his tattoos. It was a rose wrapped in thorns. So simple and bright red, but you loved it. It seemed soft and the thorns made it seem too dangerous to touch. Looking back at him, his lidded eyes were staring you down and you couldn’t help but keep eye contact with his as he fucked you.

“Please, make me cum.”

“Oh I will,” he gruffed.

His fingers found your clit and he rubbed as fast as he was thrusting and you squeezed around him feeling your orgasm coming.  

“Oh, fuck I’m close.”

“Fuck yes, cum for me Dollface. I need it. Squeeze my cock, squeeze it.”

With his words, he made you came around him, tightening your muscle and your mouth was formed an ‘o’ in a silent scream.  

A groan hit your ears and Yoongi’s thrusts were stuttering off tempo and he pulled himself out, pumped once, twice, and the third stroke set him coming across your stomach.

“Ah shit.”  

Only the sounds of your harsh breathing was heard and he fell softly on top of you and wrapped his arms around your limp body.  

“So,” he finally said after a few minutes, jolting you awake, “still want the tour of the city? I think it could make a great date.”

You smiled at him and he leaned down and gave you a kiss.  

“I think I'd like that.”

[ubernoxa]

The Dare: A Guns N’ Roses FanFic

Chapter 32: The First Aftershock

Story Summary: A stupid harmless dare, that’s all it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be something they would do, and never revisit. For Delilah, little did she know that visiting the strip wasn’t going to be a one time thing when she made the choice to accept the dare. Life is full of choices. Some choices can mean absolutely nothing, while others can change your entire world. Delilah had heard many rumors about the Sunset Strip or Devil’s Strip. Teenagers would whisper stories about how the Devil walks the streets of the strips without a care in the world. It was known as a place untouched by God. After years of hearing rumors about the Devil’s Strip, Delilah wants to see it for herself. Thus a Dare was born.

Chapter Summary: Drew publishes the article, and the first aftershock occurs.

Author’s Note: Well...here goes nothing. Sorry for the shorter chapter.

Masterlist

Taglist: @gingerspicetalks @str4nge-haze @queen-crue

The office was filled with the chatter as Drew read through his article one last time. He pat himself on his back as he found his golden ticket. His chance to truly make a name for himself. Maybe one day he might actually leave this trash no name magazine article company, and work at Rolling Stone.

“Hey, good luck today Drew!”

“Thanks Jerry, good luck to you too!” Drew never let the smile escape his lips. He submitted his article this morning and ever since there had been murmurings of some newbie writer finding the new it story. Only one hour ago his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he overheard some of his coworkers whispering about his article possibly not only making the cover page of the magazine, but being the cover article.

“Drew can I speak to you in my office?” Drew’s head shot up the moment his manager said his name. Drew practically bolted from his desk when he heard his manager summon him to the office. This was it, he was going to make the cover page!

Once Drew closed the door, he was met with an entirely different situation.

“What the hell is this?” All confidence left Drew at his manager’s words.

“My story,” Drew quickly replied while trying to keep his ground.

“No, your story was about the struggle of making it big on the strip and who the unsung heroes were. Not an article about a bunch of sluts and whores,” Drew tried to steady his breath as he was being lectured by his manager.

“You said find the sorry, so I found it.” Drew’s manager let a sigh escape him as he took off his glasses.

“What happened to the article you showed me a couple days ago about these same women? Drew this article is slander,” his manager sounded defeated as he spoke.

“Not if it’s the truth,” Drew replied earning some cuss words from his manager.

“I just..Drew, I’m not speaking to you as a manager, but as a friend. This has caught a lot of...attention. If you go through with it, there is no turning back,” his manager’s voice was sharp as he spoke.

“I don’t know why you brought this up? Do the higher ups not like it?” Drew sassed back.

“No, they like it...You’re going to make enemies when you post this. You’re going to ruin these girls’ lives,” His manager messaged the bridge of his nose as he talked.

“They told me this, they let me interview them. I didn’t force them to take those photos,” Drew snapped back.

Drew’s manager went silent for several moments before he broke the silence, “Fine, I will let you present this article. I will sign off on publishing it, BUT you have to tell me this isn’t personal. This article is all business and is not motivated by anything else.”

“Nothing personal, just business,” Drew shrugged back. No lie had ever come off his tongue so easily. Mags was going to pay for lying about having his baby. He wanted to make sure her world was destroyed just like she tried to destroy his.

———————————

Duff couldn’t have propelled himself up the stairs faster. Delilah had teased him the night before about a home cooked meal and a present, and he couldn’t get him mind off of it.

“Where the hell is he in a rush to?” Axl groaned as he dragged himself up another flight.

“Delilah told him last night that she had a surprise for him,” Slash mumbled as he followed the red head. All Slash wanted was a quiet night sleeping in an actual bed, but he wasn’t getting that tonight. Duff had practically begged him to spend the night on the couch in hopes that she would have sex with him. Little did Duff know that the present was a new banner, and not sex.

“Ohh Jesus Christ,” Axl mumbled under his breath earning some chuckles from Steven and Izzy.

“Atleast we’ll get some sort of home cooked meal,” Izzy said thoughts of Delilah’s cooking filled his mind, but his thoughts disappeared when he entered the small apartment. The stench of a burnt dinner still lingered in the air, suffocating him.

“Did Delilah burn something?” Axl whispered as he went to investigate the kitchen. He couldn’t remember a time when she had. Izzy followed him right at his heals missing the scene in the small living room.

The small living room was filled with their girls sleeping on the floors or couches. Delilah had cocooned in one of Duff’s blankets. Mags was right next to her fast asleep with her head on Delilah’s side. Tonya and Stef shared the other couch in a similar position. Upon first glance everything seemed normal, there was no cause for concern for the dark of night hid their smudged makeup and tear stained cheeks.

“They look cute don’t they,” Duff smiled at Steven’s comment. It had only been a couple weeks, but it felt like ages since he had seen her.

“Is that a new banner?” Duff asked, smiling at the purple banner that hung above the rotting couch. It was a soft lilac with their logo painted on in a deep purple. It looked screen printed or done by a professional, god she was talented.

“Yeah, Del must have made it,” Steven said before placing a kiss on Stef’s forehead and picking her up bridal style heading to bed.

“Burnt?” Axl nodded at Izzy’s words as he looked at the blackened lasagna. Izzy began to poke around the lasagna to see if any of it was edibles. Axl would have been lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to Del’s cooking.

“What the hell?” Izzy picked up a magazine page that was ripped in half.

“Maybe they used it for painting or some shit...to keep the paint from getting on the rotting floor?” Axl shrugged disassembling the lasagna hoping to find an unburnt layer. Relief passed him as he did and cut a piece out of the center. He was going to get a home cooked meal after all.

“Is that Duff and Del?” Izzy motioned towards the cover of one of the trash magazines that he’d see by the checkout line.

It was, there was no denying it. On the cover of a magazine was Delilah lying on Duff’s lap with his hand up her floral dress.

“The real stories of the strip: the drugs, sex, and whores of an up and coming Rock & Roll band,” Axl mumbled as he read the title on the cover out loud. He shot Izzy a confused look once he finished reading it out loud. What the actual fuck?

“Wasn’t this article supposed to be about how they helped us or putting them in a good light? A feel good story type of thing?”

“That’s what I was told,” Izzy watched as Axl began to clench his fists, and breathe deeper.

Izzy was sure of one thing, Drew was going to pay for writing this damn article.

Izzy watched as Duff picked Delilah up bridal style and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead. Izzy contemplated on showing Duff the article, about the reason for Delilah’s tear stained cheeks. He didn’t. He was going to, but as he saw Duff’s tired face covered with the joy of having Delilah in his arms again, he couldn’t do it.

————————-

Cold, that was the first thing Duff noticed when he woke up the following morning. He sighed as he tried to fight the sunlight that was prying his eyes open. He eventually gave in. His heart sunk when he wasn’t welcomed by Delilah’s cinnamon smell or her cute giggle. He shrugged assuming that she must have just began to make breakfast.

Duff leapt out of bed and immediately headed for the kitchen trying to see if Delilah had begun to make breakfast. He walked into the small kitchen hoping to see Delilah, but the kitchen was empty. The usual smell of bacon and eggs or pancakes that usually filled their apartment has been erased. He sauntered his way into the living room to be greeted by an annoyed Slash and Axl.

“Where’s Del,” Duff pulled Axl and Slash out of their discussion as he spoke. Part of him wondered what the hell they were bickering about, but at the same time he was more concerned about Delilah.

“Don’t know, she left with Stef, Mags, and Steven like a half hour ago to go to the store or some shit,” Slash replied taking another sip of his drink.

Axl just shook his head and hid a laugh as he lounged on one of the torn up couches. He couldn’t believe that Duff was bale to sleep through the fight that had happened between Stef, Steven, and Mags not even an hour ago.

“Why?”

“Have you read the article yet?” Axl shot back in a cocky tone.

“What article?”

“The one that fucker Drew James wrote,” Slash’s blunt tone caught him off guard. While Drew hadn’t discussed Slash’s sex life as much as the others, he was still pissed at the comments Drew made about his love of snakes.

“No you’re not gonna watch me fucking pee on it you jackass because that’s a damn violation of my personal privacy,” Mag’s voice echoed through the small apparent as she stormed in. She flung the door open, practically throwing it off his hinges. Slash and Axl went silent the moment Mags walked into the room, curious to see how the scene would unfold.

“No, but I have a right to know if it’s your pee or not!” Steven shouted right back.

“Oh my ducking god Steven! You think I’m going to stoop that fucking low??” Mags shot back.

“Hey hey hey, Steven. Breathe okay breathe,” Delilah held onto Steven wrists while trying to hold him back from following Mags. Stef and Tonya bolted past the two of them to help Mags.

“Del”

“Steven, please,” Delilah’s voice was no louder than a whisper. She was a lost for words for how to calm him down, but after Stef and Steven’s fight this morning she knew that she was the only one with hope of calming him down. The only problem was that she had no idea what she was doing.

“Del, that bastard got her pregnant,” guilt was tearing Steven apart as tears began to cascade down his face. He continued to torture himself with blaming himself. She met Drew because of his band, because of him. She wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for him. He couldn’t protect her and it was all his fault.

“Shhh shhh shhh,” Delilah pulled him in for a hug as she tried calming him down.

“Del, is she pregnant with that bastard’s child?” Delilah couldn’t answer, all she could do was pull him in tighter for a hug.

She mumbled, “I’m sorry” before she let go of him and walked towards to moldy bathroom that was at the end of the hall. Duff remained frozen as Delilah hurried past him rushing down the hall towards the bathroom.

“Delly,” Steven turned towards Duff’s soft wine that Delilah had clearly ignored. Duff’s eyes never lingered from Delilah as she ran into the bathroom.

“What the fuck is going on,” Duff turned towards his band.

“Drew fucking James,” Axl tossed Duff the trash magazine with the infamous article in it.

Duff’s heart stopped as he saw the cover of the magazine. Under any other circumstance, he would of loved to see a photo of Delilah lying on top of him. Her smile and the look in her eyes would have melted his heart any other day. The longer he looked at the photo the angrier he became. He looked at his hand that had bunched up Delilah’s dress, so he could grab at her underwear. If this was any other girl with him on the cover he would have shrugged it off, but this wasn’t any other girl. This was Del, and this photo made her look like a damn whore.

[brn1029]

Get those tin foil hats ready to go!

The 10 greatest conspiracy theories in rock

By Emma Johnston

In a world where fake news runs rampant, rock'n'roll is not immune to the lure of the conspiracy theory. These are 10 of the most ludicrous

Conspiracy theories, myths and legends have existed in rock’n’roll for as long as the music has existed, stretching all the way back to bluesman Robert Johnson selling his soul to the devil at the crossroads in exchange for superhuman guitar skills, fame and fortune.

There are those who believe Elvis Presley and Jim Morrison live on, others who think the Illuminati control the world through symbolism in popular culture, and plenty of evangelical types with their own agendas trawling rock and metal songs for secret messages luring the innocent to the dark side.

Let us take a look, then, at rock’n’roll conspiracy theories ranging from the intriguing to the ludicrous, as we try to separate the truth from the codswallop.

Lemmy was in league with the Illuminati

Few men have ever been earthier than Lemmy, but one conspiracy theorist claims that the Motorhead legend didn’t really die in December 2015, instead “ascending into the heavenly realm” after making a “blood sacrifice pact” with the Illuminati.

A “watcher” of the mythical secret society some believe are running the world – despite evidence that is at best flimsy, at worst straight from The Da Vinci Code author Dan Brown’s discarded notebooks – told the Daily Star: “Lemmy signed up for the ultimate pact – he signed his soul to the devil in order to achieve fame and fortune.”

While we can only imagine what the great man would have to say on the matter, there’s one word, in husky, JD-soaked tones, that we can just about make out coming across from the other side: “Bollocks.”

Paul McCartney died in 1966

As you might expect from the most famous band that has ever existed, there are enough crackpot theories about The Beatles to fill the Albert Hall. From John Lennon’s murder being ordered by the US government, who, led by Richard Nixon, suspected him of communism (the FBI actually did have a file on Lennon, but the story is spiced up by the man behind murderlennontruth.com, who apparently believes author Steven King was involved due to, uh, looking a bit like Mark Chapman) to Canadian prog outfit Klaatu being the Fab Four in disguise, there are plenty of tall tales more colourful than a Ringo B-side.

The most enduring, though, is the notion dreamt up by some US radio DJs that Paul McCartney died in a car crash in 1966 and was replaced by a lookalike. They came to this conclusion having studied the cover of Abbey Road – McCartney’s bare feet on the zebra crossing apparently symbolising death, while others found “evidence” in the album’s opaque lyrics. There were a lot of drugs in the 60s.

Gene Simmons has a cow’s tongue

It’s easy to see why all kinds of far-fetched stories sprung up when Kiss first took off in the 1970s. The fake-blood-spitting, the fire, the demon-superhero personas – middle America clutched its pearls and word spread that these otherworldly weirdos’ moniker stood for Knights In Satan’s Service. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

It was Gene Simmons’ preposterous mouth that got the nation’s less voluminous tongues wagging though. So long and pointy is his appendage, and so often waggled at his audiences (whether they asked for it or not), that eventually the rumour spread around the world’s playgrounds was that he’d had a cow’s tongue grafted onto his own. The bovine baloney is, of course, bullshit, but Simmons has admitted it's one of his favourite Kiss urban myths.

Supertramp predicted 9/11

The Logical Song may be Supertramp’s calling card, but one man in the US stretches common sense to the limit having come to the conclusion that the artwork for their 1979 album Breakfast In America gave prior warning of the terrorist attacks on New York on September 11, 2001.

Look at the album cover – painted from the perspective of a window on a flight into the city – in a mirror, and the ‘u’ and ‘p’ band’s name appears to become a 911 floating above the twin towers, while a logo on the back features a plane flying towards the World Trade Center.

So far, so coincidental, but when our intrepid investigator falls down a rabbit hole of Masonic interference, strained Old Testament connections (“The Great Whore of Babylon – Super Tramp”), and the title Breakfast In America reflecting the fact that the planes crashed early in the morning, things get really tenuous.

It’s fair to say it’s unlikely a British prog-pop band had prior knowledge of the terrorist attacks 22 years before they happened. But maybe Al Qaida were really big fans.

Stevie Wonder can see

Stevie Wonder is a genius. That fact is not up for dispute. The soul/jazz/funk/rock/pop legend was born six weeks prematurely in 1950, and the oxygen used in the hospital incubator to stabilise him caused him to go blind shortly afterwards. But his love of front-row seats at basketball games, the evocative imagery in his songs, and the fact that he once effortlessly caught a falling mic stand knocked over by Paul McCartney (who, let us reiterate, did not die in 1966) has caused basement Jessica Fletchers to muse that he’s faking his blindness as part of the act.

Wonder himself, a known prankster, has great fun with his status as one of the world’s most famous vision-impaired musicians. In 1973, he told Rolling Stone: “I’ve flown a plane before. A Cessna or something, from Chicago to New York. Scared the hell out of everybody.”

Dave Grohl invented Andrew W.K.

When Andrew W.K. first broke through in the early 2000s, dressed in white and covered in blood, his mission was serious in its simplicity: the party is everything. He took his message of having a good time, all the time, to levels of political fervour. But rumours of his authenticity have been doing the rounds from the start.

Reviewing WK’s first UK show at The Garage in London, The Guardian’s Alexis Petridis wrote: “One music-biz conspiracy theory currently circulating suggests that Andrew W.K. is an elaborate hoax devised by former Nirvana drummer Dave Grohl.”

As time went on, the theory gained traction – Grohl was believed to be the mysterious Steev Mike credited on the debut album I Get Wet. And as W.K.’s style changed over subsequent records, and his own admission that there were legal arguments over who owns his name, whispers began that he wasn’t even a real person – he was a character, played by several different actors, an attempt to create the ultimate Frankenstein’s frontman.

"I'm not the same guy that you may have seen from the I Get Wet album," W.K. said in 2008. “I don't just mean that in a philosophical or conceptual way, it's not the same person at all. Do I look the same as that person?" The jury is out, but if this is a great white elephant concocted just for the sheer hell of it, we kind of want this one to be true.

Jimi Hendrix was murdered by his manager

An early victim of the 27 club, the death of Jimi Hendrix was depressingly cliched for a man so wildly creative: a bellyful of barbiturates led to him asphyxiating on his own vomit, according to the post-mortem. But in the years following the grim discovery at the Samarkand Hotel in London on 19 September 1970, a different theory was offered by the guitarist’s former roadie, James “Tappy” Wright.

In his book Rock Roadie, Wright claims Hendrix was murdered by his manager, Michael Jeffery, who he says force-fed his charge red wine and pills. The motive? He feared he was about to be fired and was keen to cash in on the star’s life insurance. One thing we do know for certain is Jeffery won’t be able to give his version of events, as he was killed in a plane crash over France in 1973.

The 50th anniversary of Hendrix's tragic passing was "celebrated" with the release of Hendrix and the Spook, a documentary that "explored" his death further and was described by The Guardian as "a cheaply made mix of interviews and dumbshow dramatic recreations by actors scuttling about flimsy sets in gloomy lighting." Sounds good.

Courtney killed Kurt

Courtney Love is no stranger to demonisation from Nirvana fans. When Hole’s second album, the searing, catchy, feminist, witty, aggressive, vulnerable and unflinchingly honest Live Through This was released, days after Kurt Cobain’s death, rumours almost immediately started up that Love’s late husband wrote the songs. That was insulting and sexist enough, but nowhere near as damaging as the conspiracy theory that Love hired a hitman to kill Cobain amid rumours they were about to divorce.

After Cobain’s first attempt to take his own life in Rome, the Nirvana frontman was eventually convinced to go to rehab following an intervention by his wife and friends. He ran away from the facility, and the private investigator hired by Love to find him, Tom Grant, eventually became the source of the idea that Love and the couple’s live-in nanny Michael Dewitt were responsible for Cobain’s death shortly afterwards.

His claims, made in the Soaked In Bleach documentary, include the notion that Cobain had too much heroin in his system to pull the trigger of the shotgun, and that he believed the suicide note was forged.

People close to Cobain (and the Seattle Police Department) have refuted the theory, including Nirvana manager Danny Goldberg: “It’s ridiculous. He killed himself. I saw him the week beforehand, he was depressed. He tried to kill himself six weeks earlier, he’d talked and written about suicide a lot, he was on drugs, he got a gun. Why do people speculate about it? The tragedy of the loss is so great people look for other explanations. I don’t think there’s any truth at all to it."

The CIA wrote The Scorpions’ biggest hit

Previously synonymous with leather, hard rock anthems and some very questionable album artwork, West Germany’s Scorpions scored big with Wind Of Change, a power ballad heralding the oncoming fall of the USSR, the end of the Cold War, and a new sense of hope in the Eastern Bloc.

In a podcast named after the 1990 song, though, Orwell Prize-winning US journalist Patrick Radden Keefe follows rumours from within the intelligence community that the song was actually written by the CIA, as propaganda to hasten the fall of the ailing Soviet Union via popular culture.

“Soviet officials had long been nervous over the free expression that rock stood for, and how it might affect the Soviet youth,” Keefe is quoted as saying. “The CIA saw rock music as a cultural weapon in the cold war. Wind of Change was released a year after the fall of the Berlin Wall, and became this anthem for the end of communism and reunification of Germany. It had this soft-power message that the intelligence service wanted to promote.”

It's a convincing theory, but one that is disputed by Scorpions frontman Klaus Meine: “I thought it was very amusing and I just cracked up laughing. It’s a very entertaining and really crazy story but like I said, it’s not true at all. Like you American guys would say, it’s fake news."

There are satanic messages in Stairway To Heaven

The great comedian Bill Hicks had something to say about people searching for evidence of devilry in rock’n’roll: “Remember this shit, if you play certain rock albums backwards there'd be satanic messages? Let me tell you something, if you're sitting round your house playing your albums backwards, you are Satan. You needn't look any further. And don't go ruining my stereo to prove a point either.”

The memo didn’t get through to televangelist and stylus ruiner Paul Crouch, who in 1982 attempted to scare the Christian right into believing Led Zeppelin’s Stairway To Heaven was stuffed with demonic meaning, and that played backwards it revealed the following message: “Here’s to my sweet Satan/The one whose little path would make me sad, whose power is Satan/He will give those with him 666/There was a little toolshed where he made us suffer, sad Satan.”

Guitarist Jimmy Page, of course, is no stranger to the esoteric, making no secret of his interest in occultist Aleister Crowley and the attendant magick, and there were even rumours the band made a Faustian pact to achieve fame and fortune. But hiding messa