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hopelikethemoon · 5 years ago

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Birthday Interruptions (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: Birthday Interruptions Rating: Explicit Length: 1700 Warnings: Smut (slightly rough with sub/dom undertones I guess) Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set August 27th 1995. Summary: It’s Reader’s birthday.

@grapemama@seawhisperer@huliabitch@beccaplaying@rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns@gooddaykate@livasaurasrex@ham4arrow@plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn@lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut@snivellusim@lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts@synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper@awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie@swhiskeys@lady-tano @u-wakatoshii @space-floozy@cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes@findhimfives@pedrosdoll@frietiemeloen@arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour@heather-lynn@domino-oh-damn@cyarikaaa@ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl@yabby-girl@xqueenofthecraziesx@punkass-potato@coredrive@pascalesque@theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar@sabinemorans@buckstaposition@holkaskrosnou@yespolkadotkitty@fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie@jaime1110@katlikeme

“Happy birthday,” Javier whispered as he snaked his arm around your waist, curling against you. You sank back against him, your eyes still closed.

It was hot as hell in Florida — but you still chased the warmth that came from him beneath the covers. “Is that what today is?” You questioned teasingly, taking ahold of his hand and interlacing your fingers with his. “You better not have gotten me anything.”

He chuckled and pressed his lips against the crook of your neck, “Just the movies you asked for.”

“I can’t wait to make you watch Robin Hood six hundred times today.” You laughed as you reached behind you and played with his hair. “Kevin Costner at his finest.”

Javier huffed softly, “Maybe the movie was the wrong choice.”

“Considering you convinced me to give you something to buy me…” You ran your fingers down the back of his neck. “You did it to yourself, babe.”

He pressed a line of kisses along your shoulder, “Every year I tell you not to get me something and you always do.”

“And?” You tugged at his hair, before rolling onto your back so you could look at him. “I skipped your first birthday because it was like two weeks after we started this,” You gestured between the two of you. “The following year was a mess… And last year I bought that nice watch you mooned over with Steve.”

Javier dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, “Touché.”

You reached up and traced your finger down his nose, “So it was one year you told me not to get you anything.”

“I get it,” Javier laughed as he cupped your cheek and leaned down to kiss you, “I promise I didn’t get you anything but what you asked for.”

“Good.” You smiled up at him, before glancing at the bedside clock. It was just after six — Josie usually woke up closer to seven these days. “I have another gift request.”

“Hmm?” Javier arched a brow, “I can try to run out and get it—“

God, he could be so clueless sometimes. You curled your fingers around the back of his head and pulled him down for another kiss to shut him up.

He grabbed at your thigh as you turned towards him, drawing your leg over his hip. Javier groaned against your lips, his tongue darting out to find yours as your lips parted.

You trailed your hand up and down his bare chest and shoulders, trying to touch him everywhere that you could.

Javier caught the hem of your tank and drew it up your torso — breaking from the kiss long enough to toss it aside. “Can I?” He questioned, skimming his fingers over the curve of your breast.

You nodded, letting yourself sink back against the mattress as he moved over your, dipping down to catch your nipple between his lips. He lapped at the pebbled peak, before dragging his teeth over the soft flesh of your breast — sending little sparks of need through your veins.

“Javier.” You breathed out as you wound your fingers through his hair. You could feel his cock against your upper thigh, stiffening within his boxers. You shifted beneath him, parting your thighs so he was slotted between them.

His teeth scraped over your nipple and you jerked, grinding yourself against him, even with the fabric separating you. The friction was enough to make you moan, fingers tightening in his hair.

As much as you wanted to take it slow and savor a little birthday sex, you knew it was a race against the clock and a crying toddler. The only blessing was that it was Sunday. If she interrupted you now, you’d only have to wait until her nap and not until after work.

Javier sat back on his knees, looking down at you. “If I had known this was all you wanted, I wouldn’t have bought Robin Hood.” He taunted and you responded.

You sat upright until you were almost eye level with him, “A girl can want two things.” You tossed back as you reached down and cupped him through his boxers. “But right now, this is what I want, Javi.”

Your eyes lowered to his cock as you pulled down his boxers and freed it. “Fuck.” You breathed out as you curled your fingers around it and stroked it slowly, meeting his eyes. There was so much power that came from having your hand wrapped around his cock — it was a heady sensation.

Javier surged forward and crashed his lips against yours as he wrestled with your shorts and underwear. It took a moment of untangling yourselves to rid yourself of the last barriers of cloth, before he shoved you back against the pillow.

He knew exactly what you wanted.

You inhaled sharply as he curled his fingers loosely around your throat, pinning your back against the bed as his hand slid between your thighs.

“Goddammit, baby.” Javier rasped out as he worked his fingers between your slick folds. “You’re fucking drenched. Is that all from me?”

You nodded as best you could with the hand curled around your throat, but that only added to the experience. As much as you loved being in control and calling the shots — Javier could easily reduce you to a writhing mess with that little dominant streak.

Javier replaced his wandering fingers with his cock, dragging the head of his cock over your sensitive cunt, lingering right at your aching center.

“Is this what you want, baby?” Javier questioned as just the head of his cock sank into you, making you whimper for him. “You’ve got to tell me. I need to know this is what you want.”

“Please.” You gasped out, holding his gaze as you conveyed just how badly you wanted it.

Javier released his hold on your throat and clasped his hand over your mouth as he sank the full length of his cock into you. You arched up off the bed, rolling your hips down towards him.

You grabbed at his shoulders for support as he started to move; driving into you again and again, barely giving you a chance to miss him before he was slamming into you again.

He pried one of your hands off his shoulder, interlacing your fingers with his as he pressed it back against the mattress. Javier held your gaze as a slew of filthy whispers and praises left his mouth — making the heat in your lower belly burn hotter.

You curled a leg around his hips, moving with him as he filled you again and again. You were so close — chasing that delicious release that was dangling just out of reach.

His fingers tightened around your hand, his other hand gripping at your hip to hold you steady. You were right there, right on the edge. Your lips parted as you felt it start to build.

Your inner walls fluttered around his cock, seconds away from sending you crashing into oblivion and—

Javier’s pace faltered as the baby monitor on your dresser whirred to life with the sound of Josie starting to fuss.

“Fuck.” You slammed your fist against the mattress frustratedly as you tried to wiggle your other hand out of his hold. “I’ll go get her.”

“Baby,” Javier didn’t let go of your hand. “You’re going to come.” His tongue darted out over his lips. “If that’s what you want.”

You blinked up at him, drawing in a ragged breath as you nodded. “I was so close.” You complained as you shifted on his cock.

He ran his hand over your lower belly, dipping down to where your bodies were joined. “I’ve got you, baby.” Javier murmured as he rocked his hips slowly, shallowly thrusting into you. His thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing quick circles over the throbbing bundle of nerves.

You tried your best to tune out Josie — just for this moment. Just so you wouldn’t spend all morning aching with this unspent desire.

“Come on, baby. I wanna feel you come for me.” Javier urged you on, “Wanna feel your pussy come on my cock.” He shifted the angle of his thrusts, causing his cock to drag against that sweet spot.

“Fuck!” You gasped as you cupped your breasts, trying to chase that release with everything you could.

“Look at me.” Javier said roughly, causing your eyes to snap to his. “Come.”

There was something to his tone that set you off. Maybe it was the fullness of his cock, that desperate stroking of his thumb, but you were certain it was the command in his voice that sent you careening over the edge.

Javier was close behind you as clenched and trembled on his cock. Once, twice, three mores and you felt him spill within you.

There was no after, no basking in the glowing moments that followed. “I’ve got her,” Javier said as he abandoned you to retrieve his long forgotten boxers off the floor, before slipping out the door to tend to Josie.

You were left to lay in the center of the bed, your body still trembling as you tried to catch you breath. Even with the abrupt end, you were still floating above it all.

“Princesa,” Javier tsked as you listened for the baby monitor. “You’ve got impeccable timing.”

That was the understatement of the year.

You really should’ve gotten up, but all you really wanted to do was lay there and savor the last little ebb and flow of pleasure in your veins as Javier’s come leaked out of you.

“Daddy was trying to help mommy celebrate her birthday.” Javier continued, humming to her as he tried to soothe her.

You smirked to yourself as you listened. That right there was a gift and he didn’t even know it. He was so good with his daughter — doting and loving.

He didn’t do anything half-hearted, even if there were still days you feared all of this going away. You weren’t sure you wanted a world where you didn’t have this.

Them.

You rolled over and stretched out your legs.

Five more minutes of sleep and then you’d shower and start the day.

You grabbed ahold of his pillow and buried your face in it as you let yourself succumb to that post-orgasm exhaustion, coupled with exhaustion of parenthood.

With any luck, he could lure Josie back to sleep the same way that his humming had gotten you.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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daleisgreat · 4 years ago

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Getting Rowdy: The Unreleased Matches of Roddy Piper

A few months ago I covered the DVD set WWE released chronicling the ‘unseen’ matches of “Macho Man” Randy Savage. Today I continue that trend covering those lines of DVD collections with 2019’s Getting Rowdy: The Unreleased Matches of Roddy Piper (trailer). Like with WWE’s other ‘unreleased’ line of home videos, all the matches and segments featured in here have never been released on video before. With WWE already releasing a comprehensive three-disc DVD set to Piper with 2006’s Born to Controversy, that means we are getting a collection full of deep cuts here. This two disc DVD is compiled similarly to the Randy Savage set where we get original, newly recorded interviews intersperse with the archival content. The interviews are from Piper mega-fan, “Rowdy” Ronda Rousey which are mixed in with archived home video interviews with Piper for added context. There are six sets of Rousey interviews, and they are sporadically inserted throughout the collection which also features 19 matches, nine promos and 12 editions of Piper’s legendary interview show, Piper’s Pit. WWE has established that Rousey is essentially the endorsed successor to carry on the Piper legacy, with Ronda paying homage to “The Hot Rod” by rocking her version of Piper’s entrance attire and carrying on his nickname. With that in mind, having Ronda being the featured new set of interviews to draw from seems like a fitting choice to commemorate Piper’s career here and are nice ways to mix up this collection.

Ronda’s interviews are insightful on how she drew on Roddy for inspiration on MMA needing an antagonist, and how excited she was to finally meet him. I presumed she maintained a close relationship with Piper, and was surprised to learn in Rousey’s interviews here that she only met him once early in her MMA career when she got the blessing from Roddy to use his nickname and then a second time when she appeared on Pipers podcast, which was just a month shy of his death in July of 2015. Rousey went on to say one of her biggest regrets is not having a close relationship with him. There is a nice variety of the nine Piper interviews/promos included. There is a handful of the vintage Rock ‘n Wrestling era promos where Piper bellows out promos in front of a blue screen backdrop. A nice nostalgic bonus is a few vintage commercials where Piper maniacally shouts at you to purchase the latest WWE action figures. There are a few standout go-home PPV interviews here where Piper is on fire and by the end of them he got me just as fired up as Virgil for his upcoming WrestleMania match against Ted Dibiase, and on top of that is an especially intense promo with Bret Hart leading up to their WrestleMania VIII battle. There are three Roddy promos from his late 90’s WCW days, with a bewildering rant from a cell in Alcatrez and Hulk Hogan provoking Piper to cut loose on him and Bishoff in front of his son, Colt, standing out the most. These WCW promos have boisterous crowds capturing the high times WCW was riding at that time in the ‘Monday Night Wars.’

It is no surprise that Piper’s rougher, brawling style will not warrant many five star classics, but a fair amount of his 19 matches here have crowds eating up the chaos Piper is delivering. I have only seen a handful of Piper’s early NWA work before, so seeing a few more of his NWA matches unearthed for this set was a treat, and his match against Jay Youngblood is a smashmouth brawl that goes to a time limit draw, and I loved seeing Piper tag with Ole Anderson against Mike Davis and Buddy Landell. There are a lot of the big arena house show matches here that were previously televised only in local markets, and like a lot of those matches in other sets, usually feature good action until a hokey finish. That is the case here with a killer clash against Paul Orndorff in 1985 fresh into their rivalry, with the crowd going bokers for them until a double countout finish. Just as riveting is Piper’s match in this set against Rick Rude where the crowd is losing it throughout, but a lot of tomfoolery I will not even begin to explain transpires and is the catalyst for one of the strangest DQ finishes I have seen.

Piper teaming with Eddie and Blue-tista, looking like gold! Piper feuding with the nWo had the crowd on its feet! There are two matches on here against Mr. Perfect worth going out of your way to see. I know Mr. Fuji was an accomplished wrestler in the 70s, but never seen him in a match until this set where he is pummeled for a couple minutes against Piper until his fellow managers run in for the save. A lot of the latter matches in the back half of Getting Rowdy are quick TV matches with wonky finishes unfortunately, but for what it is worth, still draw rabid crowd reactions. There are two Nitro bouts included against Hulk Hogan and Randy Savage in 1998, but both bouts have several nWo run-ins that result in both matches being thrown out. I forgot about Piper’s brief 2003 run with Sean ‘O Haire, so it was nice to see those two again when Piper had a short encounter with Rikishi. The last match is an awesome impromptu bout against The Miz for $5000 of The Miz’s money, with Alex Reilly (remember him!?) as guest referee in 2011. I have zero recollection of this match, and even at a couple minutes long it was an absolute delight!

Getting Rowdy was jacked with 24 installments of Piper’s Pit, but WWE had quite a few more to draw upon from the vault with 12 more here. Some of the early ones in this collection that were a riot were where both Jimmy Hart and the Brooklyn Brawler ruthlessly provoke Roddy to giving them a a well-earned beatdown. There are a bunch in the second half of this set when Piper would periodically show up on RAW and SmackDown for a special Piper’s Pit. Two that really got me were one with John Cena where Piper does a tremendous job at needling Cena into living up to his then-current t-shirt slogan, ‘Rise Above Hate’ and another where Roddy moderates AJ Lee attempting to get back into Daniel Bryan’s good graces after costing him his WrestleMania match against Sheamus. I enjoyed this collection more than I anticipated. As I mentioned earlier, Piper was not known for his epic wrestling abilities, so I was not letdown from the wide range of match quality from the 19 matches in the set. There are a few matches that are hidden gems in here for what it is worth, but the real reason everyone should check out Getting Rowdy: The Unreleased Matches of Roddy Piper, is for the many unreleased promos and Piper’s Pit interviews. While he may not have been a five star wrestler, Piper was easily a five star entertainer, and that is readily apparent from beginning to end in this collection.

Those Piper action figure commercials are iconic, and this set is full of iconic promos I have never seen before where the Hot Rod made Virgil look like a million bucks! Past Wrestling Blogs Best of WCW Clash of Champions Best of WCW Monday Nitro Volume 2 Best of WCW Monday Nitro Volume 3 Biggest Knuckleheads Bobby The Brain Heenan Daniel Bryan: Just Say Yes Yes Yes DDP: Positively Living Dusty Rhodes WWE Network Specials ECW Unreleased: Vol 1 ECW Unreleased: Vol 2 ECW Unreleased: Vol 3 Eric Bishoff: Wrestlings Most Controversial Figure Fight Owens Fight: The Kevin Owens Story For All Mankind Goldberg: The Ultimate Collection Hulk Hogans Unreleased Collectors Series Impact Wresting Presents: Best of Hulk Hogan Its Good to Be the King: The Jerry Lawler Story The Kliq Rules Ladies and Gentlemen My Name is Paul Heyman Legends of Mid South Wrestling Macho Man: The Randy Savage Story Memphis Heat NXT: From Secret to Sensation NXT Greatest Matches Vol 1 OMG Vol 2: Top 50 Incidents in WCW History OMG Vol 3: Top 50 Incidents in ECW History Owen: Hart of Gold Randy Savage Unreleased: The Unseen Matches of the Macho Man RoH Supercard of Honor 2010-Present ScoobyDoo Wrestlemania Mystery Scott Hall: Living on a Razors Edge Shawn Michaels: My Journey Sting: Into the Light Straight Outta Dudley-ville: Legacy of the Dudley Boyz Straight to the Top: Money in the Bank Anthology Superstar Collection: Zach Ryder Then Now Forever – The Evolution of WWEs Womens Division TLC 2017 TNA Lockdown 2005-2016 Top 50 Superstars of All Time Tough Enough: Million Dollar Season True Giants Ultimate Fan Pack: Roman Reigns Ultimate Warrior: Always Believe War Games: WCWs Most Notorious Matches Warrior Week on WWE Network Wrestlemania III: Championship Edition Wrestlemania 28-Present The Wrestler (2008) Wrestling Road Diaries Too Wrestling Road Diaries Three: Funny Equals Money Wrestlings Greatest Factions WWE Network Original Specials First Half 2015 WWE Network Original Specials Second Half 2015 WWE Network Original Specials First Half 2016 WWE Network Original Specials Second Half 2016 WWE Network Original Specials First Half 2017

#Wrestling #Rowdy Roddy Piper #ronda rousey #hulk hogan #paul orndorff #bob orton #mr. perfect #Rick Rude #the miz #daniel bryan #aj lee #Randy Savage #WWE #wcw #nwa #nwo

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rough-n-randy-rando · 5 years ago

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Edd and Flow: Fondle, Fight, Flight.

It’s amazing how quickly something fantastic can settle into mundanity. The fireflies, once they’d spent their cinematic brilliance, made drunken, wafting patterns in the air, came to rest on the highest strands of the tall grass, or vanished into the sky. Now, they were Christmas lights left out too long, stray embers that never went out.

The two teens had climbed aboard the tank, Double-Dee identifying it as an M551 Sheridan, and joined the ranks of men who somehow managed to get comfortable atop one. Fortunately for them, a prior visitor had somehow gotten a school-bus bench seat up there, level with the top of the turret, a perfect loveseat crowned and buffeted by the twisted mound of earth and metal. They’d put their jackets beneath them to protect from the general dirt and grime as well as the likely stray screw or nail.

They sat close, both trying to seem casual about the situation without touching. Double-Dee was lamenting the fact that the new moon’s brilliance meant the stars were not visible. Kevin tried to cheer him up by pointing out a pulsing light far off in the distant sky, though Double-Dee, in short order, explained that it was likely an airliner, as stars don’t pulse or blink, nor travel perceptibly. The silence that followed wasn’t unpleasant, but it was silence.

In the silence, Double-Dee rediscovered his shyness and uncertainty, pulling his legs in and hugging his knees.

“This is a rather beautiful place, Kevin, very… secluded.”

Kevin perked up and nodded, standing and taking a few shaky steps along the stubby main gun of the Tank. “Yeah, I’d heard a lot about it from kids that moved to Peach Creek from Lemon Brook, they talked about it like it was Neverland.”

“I imagine this is an ideal spot for revelry and mischief.”

“Why do you talk like that?”

“How, Kevin?”

“That, all proper.” Kevin turned and hopped back onto the turret a few inches away from Double-Dee’s feet, “It’s just you and me here, no one to impress.”

Double-Dee raised an eyebrow, “What makes you assume my vocabulary is tied to some kind of need for praise and attention?”

“I dunno… just always wondered.”

“Proper speech and pronunciation is important, Kevin, it opens a lot of doors.”

Kevin squatted so that he was nearly eye level with Double-Dee. “You’re the last person to need doors opened for them.”

Double-Dee couldn’t meet Kevin’s eyes, and so focused his attention on a bicycle pedal sticking out of the earth near him, flicking it. “Achievement is no excuse for complacency.”

Kevin groaned and sat back down, also drawing his knees in close. “It’s like talking to a dictionary.”

“Well if my mannerisms bother you so, feel free to return me home.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Double-Dee mulled over a response. Was he hurt? No, not really. More than anything he was frustrated. The question, ‘what is this?’ came back into his mind. If it was a date, regardless of his own lack of experience, he doubted part of the itinerary was haranguing the other party over their choice of words. They’d shared a beautiful moment together just a few minutes ago, complete with an appreciative kiss and an embrace. They’d gone from a textbook romance to schoolyard teasing.

He decided to take the initiative and shift the momentum. He let go of his knees and slid his hand into Kevin’s, squeezing it. “Let’s start over, I’m Eddward Vincent, but you can call me Double-Dee, and… I’m enjoying this date.” He’d said it, let it out into the world, into the air, for the multitudes of insects, field mice and decrepit Russian satellites passing overhead to hear.

Kevin felt like someone’d struck the base of his spine with a cold lead pipe. There it was. Why was he surprised? Had he not just spent half a day working up the courage to even speak coherently to the boy beside him? Had he not given himself heat stroke just trying to outrun his anxiety, his fear, to be around him? They’d kissed, more than once, of his own free will. He’d even set the time and date for this… date.

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s hot out.”

“You’re sweating profusely.”

“You’re right…”

“There’s no one here to impress.”

Kevin turned and saw Double-Dee suppressing a laugh. He couldn’t help but grin.

“There’s no one here period, and I still feel like I’m, I dunno, breaking the law.”

Double-Dee watched Kevin for a moment then shifted in closer, laying his head on the other boy’s shoulder.

“Well, other than possibly trespassing, I don’t think anything we’re doing, or have done, constitutes malfeasance.”

“I don’t mean-”

“I know what you mean. I admit I’m a tad trepidatious about this as well.”

“You’re giving me a headache with all the wordsmithing.”

Double-Dee laughed, loudly, embarrassingly, and covered his mouth.

“What’s so funny?”

“Wordsmithing, I’m impressed.”

Kevin pressed his fingers into Double-Dee’s ribs, making him laugh heinously, squirming to escape his grasp.

“Kevin, p-p-please, s-stop!”

“Or else what?”

Double-Dee slipped his hand under Kevin’s armpit and kneaded it, causing him to spasm and pull away. Double-Dee, however, kept up the pressure, and soon the two were practically grappling. Kevin gained the upper hand and scrambled into the dominant position, a leftover from Freshman wrestling. The two were panting, chests heaving, sweat matting hair and glistening on foreheads. It was all rather sensual.

Kevin had Double-Dee pressed to the turret, holding him by the wrists and clasped close to the chest, laying stomach to stomach, legs entwined.

“This is… a particularly uncomfortable… position” Double-Dee panted.

“You give?”

Double-Dee answered by licking the tip of Kevin’s nose and laughing, though offering no further resistance.

Kevin couldn’t think of a witty retort, so he likewise licked Double-Dee, from the ridge of his Adam’s Apple to the underside of his chin. He felt the other teen shudder and tense under him. He then felt Double-Dee’s legs slip out and wrap around his waist. The laughter had faded, and now it was just their labored breathing. Small quakes wracked their bodies, every pleasurable neurochemical they could produce, in the unhealthy and copious levels inherent with adolescence, flowing through them.

They kissed. Kevin released Double-Dee’s wrists and propped himself up on his elbows. Double-Dee’s hands, now freed, explored under Kevin’s shirt; slithering across his chest; around to his back; nails trailing just enough to elicit a hiss; then an exploratory delve beneath his beltline. More shuddering breaths. More sweat. More lips. More tongue.

Voices, close and loud, cut off the journey to second base, the two laying still, listening.

“No way.”

“Swear to God, fifty yards.”

“You can’t even count to fifty.”

“Don’t need to count to throw.”

Kevin swore under his breath, sliding off Double-Dee and tugging their jackets off of the bench.

“I know that voice” he whispered, “Erick Monroy, certified asshole.”

Double-Dee, still trying to collect himself from the ruins of his passion, straightened out his beanie and rolled onto his belly, mirroring Kevin’s movements.

“You have some prior experience with him?”

“Broke his nose, Baseball, caught him square in the face with a fastball that went wild.”

“Wonderful, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you, especially in such a compromising situation.”

The two rose to their hands and knees, hidden from view by the earth and metal mangle. Kevin peered over the top of it, to gauge the distance and get a look at the opposition. Erick was in the lead, six-pack in one hand, cigarette in the other. Shaved head, crooked nose, built like a brick shit house, it was him alright. In total, he had about four cohorts, all of them a full head taller than Kevin and similarly built. He didn’t have to smell them to know they’d been drinking ever since school let out for the summer; their voices loud, slurred; their steps clumsy and snaking; belches punctuated every other three-word sentence. They were about thirty yards away and closing.

They’d never make the treeline, let alone the bike beyond. They were in the boonies, the badlands, the closest house was a mile away. The options were few, the outcomes unfavorable. Then there was Double-Dee to think about.

“We’re gonna stand up and walk away like they’re invisible.” Kevin put on his leather jacket, Double-Dee following suit, and the two carefully clambered down.

“I feel as though this plan has more than a few flaws.”

“It’s the only plan, I just made it up, it’s gonna be flawed.”

Kevin helped Double-Dee down and the two started walking towards the direction of the bike. Brisk, unhurried, unbothered. Then bother closed the distance.

“Hey!”

Kevin slowed his own pace but hissed at Double-Dee, “Keep walking, I’m right behind you.”

The crash and crunch of grass being thrashed by drunken steps; throaty ‘urp’ and ‘brep’ half-burps; swears and groans as alcohol sloshed in bellies, in brains, in bottles. Bother arrived.

“I can’t believe it, ‘Beanball Barr’, my old friend from Peach Creek.”

They were close, but still trailing.

“I’m talking to you, Barr!”

“He’s talking to you, B-buh-Barr!” One of the goons loped in close, coming from the right, reaching out towards Kevin.

“Double-Dee, run!” Kevin leaned into a shove, catching the first kid high, pitching him back headfirst. The rest of them were taken aback, buying Kevin and Double-Dee enough time to clear the distance to the trees. Bottles and insults sailed after them, but they were poor missiles, with even poorer aim. The winding path through the thicket, a slog littered with landmines of glass, jagged cans and used condoms, breezed by in the teen’s flight. Then there was a crunch, and Double-Dee cried out.

“What’s wrong?” Kevin fumbled with the small flashlight at the end of his keychain and shined it on Double-Dee. He was leaning against a tree, blood on his hand.

“My foot, I cut it on something.”

Kevin crouched and inspected the other boy’s foot, grimacing when he saw the trickle of blood coming through the shredded sneaker. He clamped the light in his teeth and daintily removed the shoe. Double-Dee groaned, bracing himself on the tree.

He spoke through the flashlight between his teeth “there’s no glass in the cut, you’re gonna need stitches… here.” He fished the bandanna Double-Dee had given him the night before from out of his pocket and fashioned a crude bandage, binding the wound. He stood and wiped the blood on his jeans. “Can you walk?”

A bottle sailed through the air and shattered.

“Barr, your ass is mine!”

“Screw it.” Kevin squatted and tugged Double-Dee onto his back, then took off running.

In the dark, on treacherous ground, with an extra 130 pounds on his back, Kevin managed a quick pace. His main advantage over the posse following him was sobriety, though they remained within shouting and throwing distance.

“You’re a headhunter AND a Queer!?” Erick had halved the distance, a lumbering shadow among shadows. “I’m gonna enjoy this even more!” He reached out suddenly from the darkness and grabbed hold of Kevin’s hair. Immediately, his face made acquaintance with the back of Double-Dee’s hand and released his grip.

“Swing away, Double-Dee!” Kevin slowed and scanned the area, able to discern a few shapes in the dark. Their tail had scattered, gotten lost in the pines. “Home free.”

They emerged out onto the gravel path, discovering a beat-up sedan at the mouth near the road, likely Erick and his gang’s ride. Kevin lost a bit of his steam now that escape was just a few feet away. He set Double-Dee down at the edge of the path and retrieved the motorcycle. The pair donned their helmets and prepared to ride.

“Wait just a moment, Kevin.” Double-Dee dismounted and limped over to the sedan, crouching near the wheel. He withdrew what looked like a lipstick tube from his fanny pack and set to work on the lug nuts, the device emitting a high-pitched whining sound.

“Double-Dee, come on, we don’t have time for this!”

Satisfied, he made his way back to Kevin and hopped on just as their pursuers cleared the trees. Kevin offered up a one-finger salute, and was surprised to see Double-Dee join in. They sped off, a cloud of dust and gravel in their wake.

“What did you do to their car?”

“A rapid removal of essential parts.”

“Like what?”

“Come about and you can see.”

Kevin thought on it a moment, then throttled down, swinging the bike around in a lazy arc.

“If they run us down, I’m blaming you.”

“I doubt very much their anger is so great that they’d attempt murder, of all things.”

The sedan laboriously exited the gravel path, fishtailing once it hit asphalt, and barreled down the road towards the pair. Kevin hit the throttle and swung the bike around quickly.

“Wait, look!”

Kevin looked over his shoulder and watched as the sedan’s left-side wheels came flying off, the car screeching to a halt in a shower of sparks that lit up the area like a signal flare.

“No way!”

Double-Dee slapped the side of Kevin’s helmet three times, “NOW would be the appropriate time to leave.”

They’d rode to the boundary of the badlands, where Lemon Brook’s orchards, farmland and rails gave way to the open, unplanned, wild countryside of Peach Creek. Pukwudgie Service Station, a 50’s holdover that was a beacon of neon and blazing halogen flood-lights, sat right on the boundary line. Inside, truckers and stray motorists could get a hot meal, cold drinks, a shower, useless trinkets and, should the worst come to pass, first-aid kits.

A sympathetic waitress in the 24-hour diner section of the stop let the two teens use the break room to treat Double-Dee’s foot. In the light of a cheap flashlight, surrounded by darkness, against weak, pale moonlight, the wound had seemed worse than it really was. Kevin’s prognosis, made in the heat of the moment and with danger at arm’s reach, was only slightly off. The cut was long, but it was shallow. Kevin washed and sterilized the wound like he had been taught in the Boy Scouts, one of the only things he cared to remember from that dismal experience. Double-Dee numbed and sutured the area quickly and efficiently; three stitches across the center and a bit of derma-bond to seal it up. Just like his mother had taught him.

“You’re… pretty good at that.” Kevin was winding clean gauze in a figure-eight pattern over the wound.

“Mother would make me practice on pig skin.” He noticed the apprehensive look Kevin gave him, “It’s the closest to Human…” The look didn’t improve. “Well now I just seem strange instead of impressive.”

Kevin smiled and taped off the end of the gauze, “I’m impressed, don’t worry.”

A knock came at the door, the waitress, Laura, poked her head in.

“Hey kids, the next shift is due in about a half hour, you’re more than welcome to rest up in a booth, but if they catch you back here it’ll be on me.”

She closed the door behind her, and the two sat in silence. Double-Dee spoke first.

“I don’t know how your prior dates have gone…” They both laughed. It was a good laugh. An honest laugh. A tired laugh. “But I have to say that this is the best I’ve ever been on.”

Kevin took it all in. He had just finished dressing a wound sustained while fleeing a rival with a vendetta against him. They’d sabotaged a vehicle, possibly endangering the lives of the occupants. They were sitting in the breakroom of a diner in the middle of nowhere, covered in a bit of blood, a bit of dirt, a bit of sweat.

“This is the strangest date I’ve ever been on, for sure.”

“I look forward to the next one.” Double-Dee extended his hand, Kevin taking it.

“So do I.”

An hour later, they pulled into the cul de sac, the loudest thing for miles around. Kevin pulled into his driveway and dismounted stiffly, helping Double-Dee off. The two walked arm and arm across the street to the Vincent house, a bit of the romance gone as Double-Dee hobbled along with difficulty. They came to the door and the two stood a foot or so apart, feeling eyes that weren’t there upon them. Double-Dee moved to return the leather jacket, but Kevin waved him off.

“Hang onto it, and the helmet, save me the trouble of remembering to bring it along next time.”

“Next time, yes.” A pause. Always a pause. “How about in two days, five, and we can leave from here.”

“Uh, yeah… cool.”

“Very.”

Before the dreaded pause could reassert itself, Double-Dee pecked Kevin on the cheek and went inside.

Kevin stood at the doorstep for a moment, smiling, then walked back across the street towards his house. He noticed the lights were on and braced himself for what his father would say. Irresponsible, unaccountable, don’t you know there are drunk drivers out, and no call, who’s blood is that, why are you covered in dirt? Inside, though, he found his father passed out on the couch, still dressed as he had been when he’d left, surrounded by paperwork, a half-drunk beer on the coffee table. The TV was on, the news, it was about the war, the forever war, but only briefly, they don’t want people too upset or they’ll change the channel.

He draped a thin blanket from the hall closet over his father, turned off the TV and switched off all the lights. In his room, he stripped everything off and collapsed, dirt and all, onto his bed. Sleep was coming, deep sleep, well-earned sleep, and so he said the magic words before he was lost to REM cycle.

“I look forward to the next one.”

Read the full story in Sequence HERE

#Kevedd #fanfiction #ship #slashfiction #lgbtq #youngadult #fandom #writing

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ravenvsfox · 6 years ago

Text

The much requested Rockband AU Chapter Two! (Coming soon to an AO3 near you)

The bleached hair doesn’t match his skin tone. His shirt is too big for his shoulders, and it slips to one side or the other so that he keeps having to tug the neckline up to his throat, but Andrew’s already seen the white raking down his shoulder, the scars worked into his skin like sequins and thread.

Neil reminds Andrew of the foster kids he used to live with, the hand-me-downs pulled over stunted identities, oversized cuffs dragging their feet down when they tried to run, bruises on wrists under oversized sleeves.

He can’t help the way his eyes keep skirting back to Neil, like he’s the only frequency in all the static of the crowd that’s coming through clearly.

He thought maybe if he was sober that the bubble trapped in his throat would burst, but it’s so much bigger now that he’s choking on it.

Neil is tossed back and forth with the rest of the crowd, but he stands out; there’s something in his eyes that makes them visible from the back of the stage. He glows like neon, white hair and white scars, glinting piercings in his nose and ears, stud flashing in his tongue.

Andrew throws himself at his drum-kit like it’s a punching bag, and the tempest of the crowd roars back at him. Kevin tries to skid sideways into a solo, but Andrew keeps playing, falling into a brand new tempo, a gallop that Kevin can’t keep up with. The sounds grate, sparks fly, and Andrew would be feeling it, if he were high, the discord would make him laugh and laugh.

It all sounds intentional, and Kevin’s sweating when he plays chunky chords and stinging vibrato, ad libbing his way back to the chorus. Andrew lets him do what he wants. It doesn’t feel worth it to sabotage their set. He can feel distraction setting in like winter.

When he’s at his lowest, sober and dried up, he feels sick, all stuffed up with no sense of taste. He can tell from the textures and the sense memory what the flavours are supposed to be, but he can’t feel anything.

The song ends in lyrics that Kevin yells more than sings, and Andrew smashes the cymbal a few times until it matches his heartbeat. The crowd erupts in applause, hollering so loudly that he can’t hear himself anymore.

He looks back at Neil, like scratching an itch, and finds him grinning at the ceiling, caught up in the adrenaline and a high that Andrew can’t parse, booze or pills or euphoria.

Their eyes brush. Neil slicks his sweaty hair back with both hands and pops his tongue between his teeth, silver winking. Andrew just barely raises an eyebrow. He throws his drumsticks on the ground and they clatter between mic stands and cables as he leans forward to swipe the flask from Nicky's back pocket. He jolts, his guitar swinging away from his body when he rounds on him.

“Thought you were staying sober tonight?” he hisses.

“Changed my mind,” Andrew says, unscrewing the flask. Their fans are laughing, heckling affectionately, shouting their support when Andrew knocks back most of the whiskey.

His stomach is empty and so are his chest and his head, so when the first shot hits his stomach, his whole body burns. He holds the back of his hand to his mouth while he waits for a buzz to take. Nicky hands him his sticks back and wrestles the flask away.

“Someone thought now was a good time to pre-game,” Nicky says into the microphone. “The good news is,” he laughs, “there’s a bar on your left, and we’re all in this together.” He raises the flask and the crowd laughs and clinks glasses.

Andrew hits the snare angrily, and it makes a sound like a startled snake.

“Listen up,” Kevin says, more strict teacher than bassist in a rock band. The houselights are wound down to nothing, and his face is hollowed out by the crossbeams of blue spotlights. “We’re gonna play a song called ten times faster.”

“A song for all you lovers out there,” Nicky jokes.

“Not quite,” Aaron says, lazily retuning his guitar.

“More like, a song for when you’re tripping balls and you hit the fucking ceiling.”

“It’s about escaping,” Andrew corrects. He says it low, away from the microphone, but he could swear that Neil’s head snaps towards him; his gaze climbs up the stage and takes Andrew by the shoulders.

He says, ‘I know what you're after

we’ll do it in the dark, call it natural disaster’

you’re out for blood, I’ll draw it ten times faster

if my teeth are bared you can’t call it laughter

top floor, I’m too high for you to catch, uh

I’m running out so this is never gonna last, your

not catching up, ‘cause now I’m ten times faster

The whiskey is blood-hot on his tongue, but the lyrics burn hotter. He can’t touch them without recoiling. They were rotting inside of him before he wrote them down. The crowd tries to ingest ideas that they don’t understand, and their bodies spasm like they’re rejecting a transfusion.

Letting Aaron bow his head over his guitar and streak through the chords he wrote to accompany one of his breakdowns is one of the ugliest things Andrew has ever allowed to happen.

He thinks about putting the words in Neil’s mouth and it makes his fists clench around his sticks.

He kicks into overdrive until his wrists strain and sweat gets in his eyes, and then he hammers his way through the line up of drums, looking for a crash big enough to punch his eardrums out, to shriek with feedback and blow out the sound system.

The song screams to a close, fans clap and call for more, Kevin drinks vodka from a plastic tumbler, Nicky keeps curtseying to get the audience to laugh. Neil peers up at them with his shirt falling down all over again, grey fabric patched with humidity and spilled liquor.

Andrew thinks, bleak, flushed down to his wrists, I brought this on myself.

_______

Neil finds them when they’re hefting their equipment out from a backstage platform to the parking lot. It’s an assembly line of passing and loading that Andrew stays apart from, sitting sideways in the front seat of the van with his feet kicked up on the door, smoking from the clear, petite bong that Nicky usually keeps in his cupholder.

He meets Neil's eye for a second, then viciously ignores him, slipping the bowl out by its stem to clear the smoke. It’s too much for one hit, and it spills out of his mouth, fogs his vision, sits down on his chest so he can’t really focus on anything but the high.

Neil’s saying something to Nicky, hopping down out of the loading docks to help them.

“You were good,” Neil says, closer now, “without the drugs.” He has this pointed look on his face, those viciously blue eyes are street signs that Andrew can’t read.

He puts the bong down behind him, focusing hard, and when he looks up, whatever usually holds his tongue isn’t there anymore. “Ah, but I don’t want to be good, Neil,” he says, thin laughter like syrup drizzled over everything. “I want to see how badly I have to play to be kicked out of the band. It’s a game I play.”

“I don’t believe you,” Neil says, angry, defensive on Andrew’s behalf. “If you really wanted to, you’d pull one of those knives.” He nods at Andrew’s unassuming black armbands, heavy with concealed blades. “Trash the place.”

“Oh,” Andrew says. He doesn't want to laugh again, but the weed makes him overly conscious of the way his mouth works, and of Neil's mouth, and of what they are and aren’t to each other. “He thinks because he’s been watching for a minute that he knows who I am.”

“No.” Neil’s brow twists. “I’m trying to figure out why someone with your talent isn’t living up to your potential. You could play stadiums with that talent, I mean, your—the stage presence alone—Andrew?”

He hops out of the car and slams the door to overcompensate for the way he stumbles. The high softens his joints and the ground bucks up and tries to pull him close. “Hmm. Rather not.”

“That’s crazy,” Neil says, following him. His shoes are scuffed and his shirt is coming untucked and that tongue piercing, that red split of his mouth—

“Don’t really like that word,” Andrew says, feverish and unstable, his whole body a balancing act gone wrong. Neil’s starting to look like a smoky mirage, a fantasy who doesn’t know how to be one.

“I don’t care what you like,” Neil says, impatient, and Andrew tips his grin up to the dusky sky, on the edge of panic, feeling the drugs make everything huge, feeling himself get smaller.

“That’s what they all say.” He stops short, on the edge of the parking lot, cold air buffeting against the heat of the drugs, both trying to find purchase in his addled brain. Neil comes around to face him, and when Andrew steps forward, he steps back, maintaining the pocket of space between them. Something in Andrew’s chest gets crushed flat like a soda can. “For someone with no identity, you seem overly interested in mine.”

Neil’s face contorts. He’s so easy to read when he’s caught off guard. That, or the drugs make Andrew think he can see things that aren't there. “I’ve told you who I am.”

“No, no, no,” Andrew replies. “You’ve given me a first name, and a debt, and a conflicted childhood, but you don’t sound like you’ve meant a single word of it.”

“I can’t convince you of the truth if you don't want to believe it,” Neil retorts. His piercings are like scattered silverware. His lies curl so prettily in his mouth that Andrew thinks, I could suck you until there’s nothing left but honesty.

“I’m tired of this conversation,” Andrew says definitively. “You underestimate how many times I’ve been lied to.”

“Josten,” Neil says. Andrew cocks his head, sluggish. “Neil Abram Josten. I’m a singer. I don’t like you, or understand you. That’s all you need to know.”

“It’s mutual,” Andrew says, meaning it. He hates the way Neil looks and acts and the way the two never match up for long enough to create a clear picture. “Your obsession with performing is already grating.”

“Your indifference is infuriating,” Neil replies. “We’re even.”

“We’re not,” Andrew says. It’s dangerous, how much he’s starting to feel. All the colour he’s putting in his voice is sticky and saturated on the roof of his mouth. “You were floundering and I stopped you from drowning, remember?”

“Do you want me to say thank you?” Neil snarls, that fascinating, hair-trigger temper. He fists his hand in his own shirt and Andrew tracks the movement, off-centre, hazy, when Neil yanks the collar down to expose the vicious blue brushing from where Andrew hit him with the guitar. The scars slither into the window of exposed skin, and Neil seems to realize all at once what he’s doing. The shirt bounces back, wrinkled.

“If you think I needed to be saved from the back of a bar with my pockets full of cash, then you don’t really know what drowning looks like.”

Andrew grabs him by the scruff of his shirt, that grey slipping neckline that he’s been eyeing all night. He trips them both back a couple of steps, losing his balance, but Neil must think he’s being intimidated, because he grabs Andrew’s wrist hard.

The tattooed word yes stares back at him from beneath the dramatic slope of Neil’s jaw. “Au contraire,” he says, and he’s smiling, but he can’t pry the seriousness from his tone, or his hands from Neil’s chest. “Everything I do is from underwater.”

“Then what exactly is it that you think you can do for me except slow me down?” Neil asks, forcing himself away from Andrew’s grip and stumbling into the patch of sidewalk right before the curb becomes open road.

“I gave you a spot in our line up, but that won’t keep you alive,” Andrew says. “I’ve heard there are people out for your blood. Or was that another lie?”

Neil ignores his last question, shoulders rising. “Are you threatening me?”

“So touchy,” Andrew teases. “I’m doing the opposite, actually. If you’re with us you’re with us. No one can touch you.”

Neil’s eyes flicker over him, brows pulling further and further together. “You’re offering—what? Protection? Before you even know what I’m dealing with?”

“Your monsters don’t scare me.”

“Yours do,” Neil huffs, looking out at the blinking, spinning, beeping cityscape. “But okay. Deal.” He can tell from Neil’s face that he’s not really taking him seriously.

“Hey! Stop running off!” Nicky calls, out of breath, jogging towards them from halfway across the parking lot.

Andrew wasn’t even aware of covering that much ground. His fists go loose at his sides. He can’t tell if it’s the pot or Neil’s devastating presence that’s scrambling everything into pieces.

“But that’s his M.O.,” Andrew calls back, and Neil snaps him a burning look, the crack of a match, the miracle of a flame.

“Well cut it out,” Nicky says good-naturedly, rolling to a stop in front of them. “I wanted to hear what you thought of the show while the adrenaline’s still fresh.” He leans down to Neil’s level, hands on his knees like he’s talking to a child, and Andrew shoves him back without thinking.

“You guys are better than me,” Neil says frankly. “I don’t know how I’m going to fit into your sound.”

“Oh fuck off,” Nicky says, at a measured distance now. “You’re a natural, like Andrew. And you’re obsessed, like Kevin, so there’s no way you’re not going to fit in. Now please can we get in the van, I packed a new bowl and I’m jonesing.”

“Where are we going now?” Neil asks carefully. Andrew can see the way he’s chafing in the Annapolis air, like he’s having an allergic reaction.

“Home,” Nicky says. “South Carolina.”

Neil nods jerkily. Andrew squints through the fog of his high, and he can see for the first time that Neil’s pretty drunk, he’s just been holding it in the pocket of his cheek and talking through it.

“How long is that drive?”

“Not long if you’re wasted,” Nicky says, and the energy of his excitement tips against Neil like a flame and sets him going. Andrew watches Neil smile through bitten lips and accept the refilled flask. “If we get you drunk enough can we hear those golden pipes of yours again? No one ever does karaoke with me.”

He’s steering them back through the parking lot, encouraging Neil to drain the swampy mixed liquor he’s put together from the drinks fans bought him. He always has this way of getting you where he wants you without you knowing it was his idea.

Neil sways forward like he’s grooving to music, his cheeks pink from the cold and alcohol. “I’ve never done karaoke before,” he says.

“You’re killing me,” Nicky complains. “What sort of sheltered fucking town did you crawl out of?”

Neil hesitates, and Andrew’s filterless mouth curls. “Baltimore,” he guesses. “One of his big bad secrets.”

“Oh shit!” Nicky exclaims, shoving Neil a little by the shoulder. “Less than an hour from home. You know, I can talk to Kev and we can totally drop in—“

“No,” Neil says, quick and harsh as a pulled tooth. “That’s not my home.”

“You don’t have one of those, right?” Andrew says. Neil’s eyes flicker towards him.

“Right,” he agrees, all the fight sapped out of his voice. Andrew looks out at the sleek shape of his van, the fogged up windows, Aaron and Kevin haloed by the yellow interior lights. He doesn’t know why, but his chest is a kicked in drum.

“We’ll make you one,” Nicky says gently. “Did you know that SC is famous for its peach pie? Doesn’t get homier than that.”

_______

Nicky nurses his bong from the back seat of the van as soon as they get back on the road. The water bubbles, and he deftly lights close to the side of the bowl to keep the burn steady.

Andrew slouches in the middle seat, watching the low light exaggerate Nicky’s hollow cheeks and tease moving pictures out of Neil’s mouth when he sucks on his tongue piercing.

“It’s still cherry,” Nicky says hoarsely, and passes to Neil, who crooks the base against his knee and leans down to smoke.

His ashy hair brushes his downcast eyes, and Andrew shakes his head so that he doesn’t keep watching him.

“You shouldn’t be smoking,” Kevin calls from the passenger seat. When Andrew looks up, he’s twisted around in his seat to look at Neil, pupils too wide open to be natural.

“Forgive me if I don’t take advice from the man who choked me out today,” Neil says, smoke spilling out around his words. Andrew inhales.

“It’s not advice,” Kevin snaps. “It’s an order.”

Neil laughs, mean. “Nice try. I’ll follow your ‘orders’ when you prove you’re a worthy leader. Hasn’t happened yet.” He bows his head to take another hit.

“Andrew,” Kevin says imploringly.

“Uh uh,” Andrew scolds. “He said no.”

“No one takes this band seriously at all, do they?” Kevin says. He looks so perpetually disappointed. His talent is withering, and Andrew will only ever do enough to keep it alive, not to see it bloom.

“Ding ding ding,” Andrew says.

“Hey, I care, Kev,” Nicky says. “Ausreißer is like the second best thing in my life.”

“What—“ Neil starts.

“Don’t ask,” Aaron says, not looking away from the road.

“My fianc�� Erik. 6’2” German supermodel. Swimmer’s body, blue eyes. You know my type.” Nicky winks at Neil, and Andrew’s lip curls.

“I didn’t know,” Neil says. His expression whispers that he’s even more uncomfortable with Nicky’s flirtation.

Nicky waves him off. “Fans don’t know much about us. Some don’t even know I’m related to the twins. Makes it easier to be kind of shitty if they don’t even really know our last names.”

“I suppose that’s not an option for you anymore, Josten,” Andrew says, loopy, the orange glow of the pot keeping him half distracted. Neil looks at him with those paint-spill eyes, and Andrew feels stupid for the way his feelings are talking over his thoughts.

“Good thing I have nothing to hide,” he replies.

“Oh, I hope that’s not true,” Nicky says.

“It’s not,” Andrew says. Headlights outside flash and fade over the three of them huddled in the back seats, crashing waves of bright white.

Andrew wants to take Neil by the scars, like reins, and pull him up short. He wants the whirring behind Neil’s eyes to stop so he can take the tape out and unspool it.

“Can we talk music now?” Kevin says impatiently. “I want to figure out some backing vocals now that we have a lead.”

“Yes,” Neil says immediately. “What’s the plan?”

Andrew tunes them out. The air is still heavy with smoke. He’s not wearing a seatbelt, so the van is tossing him a little, his seat bucking, engine buzzing in his feet.

He watches Neil drape himself over the back of the empty middle seat to look at Kevin, both of them talking about harmonies, using sound affects and hand gestures for time signatures, cocked towards each other like two loaded weapons caught in a stand off.

Andrew wonders what makes someone so obsessed and so detached at once.

He wonders if the flip and burn of his attraction to Neil made him do something stupid like tie himself to a runaway train.

The van cracks down the highway, and South Carolina charges towards them. He wonders if either of them will flinch before impact, or if he’ll hit home head-on like he always does.

________

They skid into Columbia before the sun’s all the way up, but it’s already steaming hot. Andrew squints at the familiar shape of the studio from the parking lot. It’s an obnoxious sunset orange building with graffiti around the side that says ‘no more monsters’. Underneath, someone’s spray-painted a rabid looking wolf in a circle with a bar through it.

Andrew waits to feel the roar and snap of anger, but his temple pulses with a headache, and he’s unmoved.

“Welcome to Palmetto Records, home of Ausreißer,” Nicky says, beaming. “And Foxes, if you’ve heard of them.”

“Foxes as in the girl group on the radio?” Neil asks incredulously. He looks a little grey and burnt out, hair raked back and shoes kicked off. He didn’t sleep all night, like he was proving a point about privacy, or he was insistent on keeping Andrew aware and preoccupied until sunrise.

“Their guitarist is Matt Boyd,” Kevin corrects.

“Nice dude,” Nicky says.

“But you sound nothing like them,” Neil says. “How can you even be part of the same label?”

“That’s not really how labels work,” Aaron says. He’s looking out through the windshield like he doesn’t want to go inside.

“We’re multi-genre,” Kevin says airily. “But we don’t really interact with them anyway.”

“He doesn’t,” Nicky says, rolling his eyes. “I like them. Dan’s kinda icy, but she’s a catch, Matt’s lucky. Allison’s a bitch. Renee’s definitely the best. Do what you will with that.” He rests his hand on the door handle and taps his fingers, jittery.

“Are they here a lot?” Neil asks. “Will I meet them?”

“You’re stalling,” Andrew interrupts.

Neil doesn’t even look at him, just sighs and reaches down for his bag.

It’s clear that he thinks this is the end of the road. The nebulous space in their lives between streetlights and chains of shared cigarettes could evaporate as soon as he crosses an official threshold.

Andrew can see the crease between his dark brows, his squared shoulders, the fingers pinching his belongings as if he’s getting ready to run with them.

Neil moves to open the door, and without thinking, Andrew says, “Wymack does not turn away talent.”

“He might turn it away if it’s attached to an idiot,” Aaron mutters.

Neil ignores him, and his mouth twitches in Andrew’s direction. “Talent? I thought you were difficult to ‘wow’?”

Andrew looks away. His head hurts.

“Come on, freaks,” Nicky says, pushing at Neil’s shoulder until he pulls the door open, dropping his shoes out on the pavement and stepping into them.

“Paperwork first, studio second,” Kevin says. “Don’t touch the equipment until you’ve read the contract.”

“This is all moot if your manager doesn’t want me,” Neil says, shouldering his bag and squinting against the pale morning sun.

“Whatever,” Nicky says. “We want you. Bad.”

“Don’t speak for me,” Aaron says.

“Debatable,” Kevin says.

Andrew says nothing.

They trudge towards the backdoor, and Andrew pushes past them to punch in the code. They push into the air-conditioned hallway, dark grey walls against pale flooring.

He watches Neil react to the curve of the hall opening up into an orange and cream waiting room with leather couches, hallways forking in every direction, recording studios peering out from behind glass.

Neil’s eyes are wide, his shirt is still stained, tucked into jeans that are ripped up too high to be intentional, and his hair is fried, red bleeding into yellow. He looks the same way everyone looks when Wymack baits them into Palmetto, damaged and bribed, desperate for an out.

He also looks like he doesn’t trust the decor, like he felt safer in the claws of a crowd of strangers or the teeth of a hangover than he does in this quiet, tidy atrium, with four people between him and the exit.

“What did you drag in this time?”

Wymack stands sideways in the doorway with a hand on the wall, like he was passing by when he spotted them.

“We found a singer,” Nicky announces, grinning.

Wymack grimaces. “No.”

Nicky’s face falls. “Come on, boss.”

“We’re not making any more changes to the line up, Hemmick, no matter how much you want to bang them.”

“But Kevin worked out great! Kind of.”

A shadow passes over his face. “Kevin’s different.”

“This is Wymack,” Andrew tells Neil. “You are nothing to him until you’ve proven yourself to be useful.”

“You’re not nothing,” Wymack says sharply, addressing Neil directly. “I just don’t trust these fuckers as far as I can throw them.”

Neil’s eyes narrow. “Neither do I.” Wymack quirks a smile, doubtless picturing Neil trying to punt someone twice his size any distance at all.

“You should sign him,” Andrew says. Wymack steps further into the room, crossing his arms.

“You’re vouching for him? I don’t know if that should be a warning bell or a glowing review.”

Aaron snorts.

“He can sing,” Kevin chimes in. “He needs work, but I’m willing to put in the time if you are.”

Wymack raises a brow. “You’re all in on this? That’s new.”

“They’re desperate,” Neil says. “But I’m not. So if you’re going to interrogate me for much longer, I’ll go ahead and hitch a ride back to Virginia.”

“Oh he’s one of you, alright,” Wymack says tiredly. “You got a name?”

“Neil,” he says, swallowing. “Josten.”

“Neil Josten,” Wymack repeats. “You know what Ausreißer means?”

He shrugs, listing, “outlier. Runaway. Wild shot.”

“Right. Does that sound like a group that I have any control over?” he asks. His eyes are narrowed but his mouth is turned up, unthreatening.

“I think you think you do. You have their names written on some papers in a drawer somewhere, and you think that means you own them.” Neil’s expression is wild. He’s trying so hard to get out of a trap that he’s hurting himself.

“All I own is the nameplate for that office,” Wymack gestures behind him at a door that’s ajar halfway down the hall, “and the mini fridge in studio two. Sprung for it myself.”

“You’re the boss,” Neil says flatly.

“That’s what they call me,” Wymack agrees. “I open the door for people. They walk in or they don’t. Their call. Do you want in?”

“Depends. Does the door lock behind me?”

Wymack rolls his eyes. “You’re going to be a problem, aren’t you?”

“He already is,” Aaron says.

Wymack looks back and forth between them, vaguely amused. “Are you even legal, kid?”

Andrew watches Neil hesitate. “I’m twenty-one.”

“Well, come on in. Let’s get you someplace to sing.”

_______

Wymack leads them to the main recording studio, and as soon as they’re inside, Aaron drops his heavy backpack, and Nicky collapses into the wheeled leather chair in front of the control board.

“Alright.” Wymack jerks his thumb towards the live room. “Get in there. Sing me something pretty.”

“Can I make a request?” Nicky asks sweetly.

“No,” Neil says easily. He abandons his duffel and crosses the threshold towards the sealed off equipment, propped up microphones, and heaps of wires. “I know what I want to sing.”

He worries his tongue stud briefly, pulling the mic down to his level. He looks so washed out in the harsh overhead light, but it’s not bad on him. He’s too athletic and cocksure to look sick.

“Now?” Neil asks. his fist is clenched at the base of the microphone, and his gravity is clipped to that point.

“Unless you’re waiting for some sort of divine intervention,” Wymack says, “now would be good.”

Neil breathes in. Andrew doesn’t.

He starts singing one of Andrew’s songs, but he’s pitched it higher, trussed it up in that crystal clear tone he’s got, and thrown in candied pieces of ornamentation.

Just like the first time, his shoulders relax, his neck arches, and the music wanders out of him like it’s looking for victims, like it’s stronger the more people it absorbs.

Andrew’s so gutted, so trapped, that he almost doesn’t realize that it’s the song they were playing when he first spotted Neil, when he was playing a character, drunk and lost, skulking around for things to steal.

They’re both completely sober now, and Neil is incredible when he’s glass-clear. His voice expands and expands, and he’s so close to the microphone that his lips whisper across it.

Andrew’s words aren’t ugly when Neil sings them. He makes his crumpled papers into airplanes. He sets the studio on fire. Andrew looks away, and it’s like pulling a hand off a stovetop and losing half his skin.

Wymack is easing back on the couch, smiling, and Nicky’s spinning laughing circles in his chair. Kevin’s gone perfectly still like he does when he’s reading Andrew’s lyrics for the first time. Aaron’s leaning all the way forward, head propped on his hand, focused.

When he turns back to watch Neil’s cracked face, heart pounding, he wonders how someone with such tough, impenetrable skin can sing like he’s being bled.

#I'm having fun and andrew is NOT #andreil #aftg #the foxhole court #tfc fanfic #rockband au #mine #drugs tw #abuse mention #alcohol tw

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madelainesvixens · 6 years ago

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AFTER MATCH SURPRISE | JOAVIN

This is a repost from a prompt I received back in November...and accidently got deleted a few minutes ago. Why am I allowed on a computer again?

It’s been a few months since Joaquin had been back to Riverdale and the young Serpent hadn’t left the campsite more than five times. School had started again but Joaquin didn’t sign up. He thought about it, returning to school and attending Riverdale High with Toni, Sweet Pea and Fangs but that meant possibly crossing paths with Kevin in the halls and he couldn’t face Kevin after what he did.

So he spent his days by the river, guarding the campsite alongside his fellow Serpents. Now that the Ghoulies had claimed the majority of their territories, they had to watch their back closely.

As the weeks went by, Sweet Pea and Fangs became more and more worried about him. He looked thinner and not in a healthy way. He was quieter too and isolated himself a lot. His friends had a doubt Kevin was the center of Joaquin’s depression but neither of them dared bringing up the topic the touchy subject that was Kevin Keller.

Until Monday night.

“I think you should talk to Kevin.”

Panic flashed on Joaquin’s face. “I can’t.”

“Why’s that?” Fangs asked.

They were sitting on one of the old couches on the campsite, talking about everything and nothing around a beer when Fangs dove into the one-who-shouldn’t-be-named subject. He, Toni and Sweet Pea had drawn straws and Fangs had been the lucky one to draw the short straw.

“He’s mad at me and he has a new boyfriend.”

Joaquin took a sip of his beer, obviously biter about the new boyfriend situation. While it hurt to see Kevin ben happy and love-y with someone else, he couldn’t blame him. After all, Joaquin had told the Northsider he would never come back to Riverdale. It wouldn’t have been unfair to tell Kevin to wait for him in case he’d come back.

Fangs shrugged. “So what?”

“He’s in a relationship with someone, I can’t waltz into his life like a ghost from his past and ask to take me back.” Joaquin shook his head, scoffing. “And, he hates me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.”

On Thursday, Joaquin went to Kevin’s wrestling match and waited for him outside the door of the locker room after the match. It took a lot of convincing from Fangs but he got Joaquin to leave the campsite and go talk to Kevin.

Hood over his head and hands buried in his hoodie’s pocket, Joaquin stood nervously, bright eyes hopeful every time someone would open the door and come out.

Minutes passed and soon Joaquin realized it had been an hour since the match had ended yet Kevin still hadn’t come out. For a moment, he wondered if he had missed his exit but then, the door opened and Joaquin’s mouth was suddenly dry and his heart was pounding so hard in his chest it seems like it was in his ears, and he found himself holding his breath. Kevin froze and waited there for a moment, surprised.

The two teenagers stared at each other for a few seconds, unable to speak.

“Hey.” Out of all the things he could’ve said, ‘hey’, while appropriate to say greet people, was a bit too formal considering how they left off last fall.

“Joaquin.” Kevin’s voice was thick and you could feel the pain in it. He wasn’t expecting to see the Serpent ever again so it was a hell of a shock to come face to face with him after his wrestling match. “How long have you been back?”

Joaquin looked down, knowing Kevin wouldn’t take his answer too well. “The riots.”

Kevin’s eyes widen. The riots? Those happened months ago.

The brunet furrowed his eyebrows, adjusting his bag’s strap over his shoulder. “You said you were never coming back.”

“I know. But, I got a call from FP saying he needed my help to make Fangs disappear after he was accused of murder.”

Kevin almost scoffed. Of course FP was behind Joaquin’s return. The raven haired boy obeyed to his every wishes and commands. He might be their King of whatever but that doesn’t mean Joaquin had to jeopardize his life for him - again.

“Midge,” Kevin informed.

“What?”

“The girl who died. Her name was Midge.”

The locker room door opened behind them, another wrestler leaving, and they paused. He patted Kevin on the shoulder, congratulating for putting that asshole Joffrey to the floor before leaving.

“Can we talk?” Joaquin looked around. “In private,” he added, still not comfortable being out in public.

“I told Moose I’d be meeting him at Pop’s-”

Joaquin didn’t come all the way from the Serpent’s campsite to be brushed off by Kevin. He came here to talk to him so he will talk to him.

“It’ll take a few minutes. Please, Kev.” He looked up at Kevin trough his dark lashes and Kevin couldn’t say no to those pretty, pleading eyes.

A buzzing noise came from Kevin’s pocket. Kevin pulled it out and saw a text from Moose saying he had to reschedule because he was meeting with his RROTC buddies instead. He swallowed thickly and sighed. Moose was allowed to see his friends, the rbunet didn’t have a problem with that. The things it, it wasn’t the first time Moose chose his RROTC buddies over him and although Kevin always say it’s fine, he was hurting inside.

“Okay.”

The two left Riverdale High in Kevin’s truck and went to Kevin’s house. His dad wasn’t home so no one would bother them, it was safe. Instead of heading up to Kevin’s bedroom, they sat in the living room.

The Keller’s couch was small so they were sitting very close to each other which made Joaquin more nervous. He had this whole speech planned but now, being so close to Kevin, all words seemed to have vanished from his mind and he didn’t know what to say.

Joaquin held his breath, apprehending what he was going to say, knowing it would bring up horrible memories. “I know what I did was fucked up but I got caught into it. I didn’t willingly participate cleaning up the murder. I had already seen the body on the floor, ditching FP would’ve costed me my jacket and the Serpents are the only family I have. When we found Mustang, I was terrified. FP was behind the bars and I was on my own. I didn’t know what to do. So I fled to save my ass.”

Pausing, the Serpent looked up at Kevin, trying to gauge his facial expression but the brunet’s face was difficult to decrypt.

“While I was away in San Junipero, there wasn’t a single day where I didn’t think about you. There wasn’t a day where I didn’t pick up the phone and almost called you. I dialled your number once and you picked up but, the second I heard your voice I hung up because I couldn’t do this to you. While it would’ve pacified my loneliness and warmed my heart to hear your voice, it would’ve caused you pain and I couldn’t do that to you. I caused you enough pain. I remember the hurt on your face when I got into the bus. I’ll remember that look for the rest of my life. I never wanted to hurt you, Kevin. I swear it wasn’t my intention.”

While Joaquin was talking, Kevin had to look away in order to stay emotionless. Although he was mad at Joaquin, his heart was still weak for him. He hadn’t healed perfectly from their breakup, it would be so easy to fall back into the Serpent’s arms but Kevin had to resist the the charm of the snake.

“When I first touched here my first thought was you. I wanted to go to your house and run back into your arms because I missed you so fucking much when I was away. But, I couldn’t. I had obligations elsewhere. Fangs is my best friend and he needed me. I had to control my impulses. Then, there was this big fight with the Ghoulies and the Serpents needed my help dealing with the aftermath and the fall down of the gang so I stayed.”

Minutes passed and Kevin was still quiet. He hadn’t said a words since they left the school and it was starting to kill Joaquin. “Now, you know everything. Love me. Or, hate me. But, please, say something.”

“And, it never crossed your mind to tell me you were back,” Kevin said bitterly.

Guilt settled in the raven haired boy’s stomach and he looked down. “I saw you during the riots. When you and those Northsiders punctured the Serpents’s tires at the Wyrm. I almost went to you but I decided it was best for me to stay out of your life.”

Right now, Joaquin reminded him of Betty. He’ll admit that it dangerous and reckless to go into the woods at night when there was a killer on the loose but she had no right to go to his dad behind his back and tell him about the night cruising. He get that she was scared for his safety but he wasn’t a child who needed protection anymore.

“I’m perfectly capable of making my own decision, Joaquin.”

“That’s not what I said-” he defended but Kevin cut him off.

“Then why did you chose for me!” Kevin yelled in frustration, standing up from the couch. “So what if I get hurt in the way? I’ll pick up the pieces and deal with the consequences.”

His outburst took his ex boyfriend by surprise; he had never seen Kevin acting like that. The brunet closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths to compose himself and sat back down next to Joaquin.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out at you,” Kevin apologized. “I understand that you were trying to save me from another heartbreak but have you ever thought that maybe being away from you was causing me pain too? I know it’s been months but I can’t forget about you, Joaquin. I don’t think I ever will.”

Then, Kevin moved his hand over Joaquin’s and the older boy was shook for a second. Joaquin glanced down at their hands, a small smile tugging at his lips as he flipped his hand over, lacing his fingers with Kevin’s. Was this Kevin’s way to say he accepted his apologies? Before he could say anything, Kevin squeezed Joaquin’s hand, clearing his doubts.

#joavin prompts #joavin #joavin prompt #Joaquin DeSantos #kevin keller #riverdale prompts

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vanillaflavour81 · 6 years ago

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I love your writing so much!!!! Could you do '8:Do you hate me' for the angst/fluff prompt?

8. “Do you hate me?”

It happens after wrestling training. Kevin is a bit late, and so he is the last one to walk out of the locker room, and he isn’t prepared for Joaquin suddenly standing in front of him. Same old blue shirt, leather jacket, the bluest eyes Kevin has ever seen and that damn hair, which Kevin always loved to run his hands through while kissing. Kevin draws in a deep breath and stares at his ex-boyfriend. What is he doing here?

He can see that Joaquin is nervous. It’s the little things that probably no one else notices, but Kevin does. The way Joaquin gulps, making his Adam’s apple bop, the way he does that little half smirk thing, that way he fidgets with the sleeves of his jacket until he finally slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans.But Joaquin isn’t the only one who is nervous. Kevin can hear his own blood rushing in his ears upon the sight of Joaquin in front of him. And he doesn’t know what to do or what the hell he can say. He wasn’t prepared for feeling like this just because Joaquin is here and they are all alone. Avoiding Joaquin had been easy. They met during the escape from juvie, but everything was such a chaos, that they didn’t even talk. Kevin just stared at Joaquin and muttered, “Joaquin?” the same time as Joaquin whispered, “Preppy?” But then Archie bumped into Joaquin, sending them both to the floor of the delivery truck and Kevin got distracted by Reggie and so their moment ended before it even really began.After the escape, Joaquin had to hide away for some time, and that meant he was in the Serpent camp down by the River. Not exactly a place Kevin went to. And so the weeks went by without them running into each other even once. Kevin still thought about Joaquin of course, but he told himself that it was no good. Joaquin would probably leave again, why should he stay?

He tried to distract himself with school work, a new project for drama club, spent more time than ever exercising for wrestling…but still, Joaquin was on his mind.

Kevin decided that he needed to forget about his ex again and the best way to do it was probably to get closer to someone else: Moose, the almost boyfriend he already got. So he sought Moose’s company repeatedly. He invited him over to his house, spending hours making out on Kevin’s bed, and it worked at first. During those hours Kevin didn’t think about Joaquin…but then one day he was in the middle of an intense make-out session with Moose, and suddenly his mind conjured up a picture of Joaquin. It freaked Kevin out. What kind of person was he? Thinking about someone else while making out with Moose! He pushed Moose away and sat up, his head in his hands.

“Kev, what is wrong?”“Nothing…I.. sorry I just can’t… I can’t do this.”Moose left, and Kevin kicked his chair in frustration. And two days later he ended things with Moose for good, knowing full well that he had lied to himself when he thought he was over Joaquin.And then Joaquin walked into Riverdale High School with his Serpent friends, officially a student now too, and Kevin’s world flipped once again. But they avoided each other, not even daring to so much as seek eye contact. Until today…

And now they are facing each other in front of the locker room, and Kevin is still staring at Joaquin, too shocked to say anything. Joaquin bites his lip, and for a moment Kevin fears that they both don’t have the guts to address the other. But then Joaquin clears his throat and looks straight into Kevin’s eyes.

“Kevin, do you hate me?”

Out of all the things in the world, this is not what Kevin expected the first words between them to be.

“What? No of course not!”

It’s a heartfelt response, too loud for the empty hallway, but Kevin is just so shocked that he can’t keep his voice down or care whether anyone else will hear or whatever. He could never hate Joaquin…never! Even when Joaquin had just left town, Kevin didn’t hate him. He was sad yes and a bit angry sure, but he had never hated him.He feels the strong need to let Joaquin know, and so he just continues:“I hated that you were gone, and how much I missed you, and how lonely I was. And I hated how much I worried about you, and how much I wanted to call you or text you but knew that it was no good and that I shouldn’t do it…I hated that you were still on my mind whenever I tried to find someone new. But that’s it. I never hated you. I just hated that I had lost you.”He hasn’t even realized that he started crying, only when a tear reaches his lips and he gets the salty taste into his mouth, does he acknowledge it.He bites his lip and looks at Joaquin, and he sees tears streaming down Joaquin’s face too, his eyes even lighter now that he is crying.“Oh.. Preppy. I am so sorry for leaving you behind. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. And I am so sorry for keeping things from you and for lying and for spying on your dad…and just for being a really horrible boyfriend. I wanted to make you happy, but I didn’t know how, and I am so sorry.”It’s the most emotional speech he has ever heard coming out of Joaquin’s mouth, and it hits Kevin hard.“But you made me happy! The happiest I have ever been was when I was with you!”

Maybe this is the truest thing Kevin has ever said. It’s something he knew in the back of his mind but chose to ignore for his own good. Because what good what it do to admit that the only time you were really happy, was when you were with someone, you would never see again? But of course, things are different now that Joaquin is back in his life.

Kevin can see the wonder in Joaquin’s gaze, and it hurts almost physically. How can Joaquin think that Kevin hates him? How can he think that he didn’t make Kevin happy? And Kevin can’t take it anymore. He grabs Joaquin’s jacket and pulls him into his arms, hugs him tightly and the familiar feel of Joaquin in his arms, the smell of his hair gel and the leather jacket and traces of cigarette smoke, all too familiar, makes him cry even more.

He cries because of what they had and lost. He cries making up for all the time he didn’t allow himself to cry, when he lay awake and worried about Joaquin, wondering where he was and if he was safe…if he was still alive.

He feels Joaquin shaking slightly in his arms and feels the wetness of tears, where Joaquin buries his head against Kevin’s shoulder, and it’s comforting to know that Joaquin feels the same way, that he too is breaking down in Kevin’s arms. They stay like that for a long time, both not willing to let go. And gradually the tears stop and they just hold each other, enjoying to be so close again.“You made me happy too, Kevin. I never thought I could be this happy, but you proved me wrong. I would give anything to make you feel that way again too.”Kevin pulls away slightly so he can look at Joaquin. Joaquin’s eyes are red from the crying, but he still looks so beautiful that it takes Kevin’s breath away for a moment. Instinctively he reaches out and cups Joaquin’s cheek, and he knows that he wants that too. “I have a feeling that you are already making me happy again.. and maybe I will be even happier if we go to Pop’s now and drink a milkshake together.”

Thank you so much for the prompts! And thank you for the kind words! I am so glad that you like my stories! ❤

You can find my current Joavin prompt list here. Just send me an ask with any combination of numbers (and if you want it to be smut, just let me know haha). You can also send me your own prompts. I love writing Joavin stories!

Tag list: @inspiredbynewt @love-joaquin-and-kevin @rik-raq-jo-gonzo1186@mebeingateenager

#joavin #joaquin desantos #kevin keller #southside serpents #riverdale

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thecrotchhand · 7 years ago

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health class >:(

-ug

-did somebody say rick of suicide

-”ooh, there’s a laser!” -student teacher

-good ways to manage stress- “punching a hole through the wall”

-”do you have a long-term goal?” “dying”

-”we should deport justin bieber back to canada”

-”if you say you're gonna do something, then do it" "i'm gonna kill myself ;))"

-"i'm busy singing Africa by Toto" *off-key singing continues*

-"when you lose weight, where does it go?" "it goes to weight heaven"

-the guy next to me started playing Africa quietly from his phone

-"i'm talking to bowl cut. just kidding chris. i love you." "...i'm getting a haircut."

-"you don't lift to get swole" -st

-"that sounds not good for you" "i'm gonna try it"

-"during pregnancy, the women in here are gonna need more folate, iron, and calcium" "no, i'm gonna need a coathanger"

-"liar liar pants for hire"

-"is eustress good stress or bad stress?" (long silence) "it's good stress! yay!" -st

-good ways to relax- "11 hours straight of anime"

-"everything's gonna be ok" lmao good joke

-"precipitation... wait i mean perspiration. it still counts, it's raining from your body."

-ways to manage depression- "kill yourself :D"

-help the teacher (flynn) has been yelling at us for the past five minutes

-uh oh she said damn it's gettin' wild

-she went back into her office after and all of a sudden we hear a quiet "oh, happy Wednesday"

-"is it possible to have an abortion 700 weeks late?"

-"what's the r-word we talked about?" "rawr XD"

-"what does autonomy mean?" "it's like grey's anatomy but for cars"

-alcoholism is a good sims trait

-guy: sneezes

guy's friend: "god bless... america"

-”what do you say to your sibling during an argument?” "you should've been aborted" “no”

- "your personality might be kind of boring" "like a potato!" "yeah"

-"what does down to earth mean?" "it means you're like the lorax, you speak for the trees"

-"he was happy?" "yeah! put him working with me and larson for ten years and... we fixed him!"

-the student teacher generally has a habit of sarcastic yaying and it entertains me

-"jason (chris) move your head" "just throw a rock at it, it'll move"

-someone was trying to come up with weird phobias and someone suggested genital herpes

-"sir you've been diagnose with hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia " "aahHH"

-"if someone comes up to you and says a mean word, you're gonna be upset" "hey sam" "what" "fuck"

-"i found a big circle"

-"*cough* flynn"

flynn, out of nowhere: "i heard that"

-"have you guys seen cabin in the woods?" "wait, the one with the cabin in the woods?"

-:(

-"let's say you don't have a gun" "pft, not in america"

-we were talking about miscarriage and cody goes "fetus... deletus"

-examples of anger- "when mcdonald's doesn't have ice cream"

-video from the 80's: "depression isn't talked about"

-a seal saved this guy's life and he just: 'ah yes it was all because of god' ¿¿¿???

-80's commercials are the weirdest shit

-yepperdoodles

-"...gonna get addicted to xanax"

-"you guys all did a really good job on your tests" "i got a C" "i got a D+" "yeah there wasn't a single person i was not happy with"

-"you say you see really good scores, but what i'm seeing is a D"

-examples of compromise- "i got a D+, but i feel i deserved an A, so let's meet in the middle with a C" "but what do i get out of it?" "if he passes the class, you don't have to see him anymore"

-"oh no my one feeling"

-"what are some ways to resolve conflict?" "killing yourself"

-"put away the candy this is health class"

-(talking about conflict) "...then the fire nation attacked"

-(softly) "yo what the heck dawg"

-"if they started a rumor-" "kill them"

-"when i was-" "a young boy"

-"you got two more weeks with the student teacher, then you get me back" *high pitched screaming*

-"they never broke out, and then one of them broke out"

-"wrestling uniforms are skimpy"

-(across the room) "hey man, can i touch your butt?" "i don't mind, dude"

-"let's say my wife is going to leave me and i'm... celebrating! oh wait"

-"they're fat and skinny, they're white, black, pink, purple, and orange-" "trump"

-"listen, idiotface"

-"do you think... the government is hiding the cure for cancer...?"

-i love government conspiracy theories during health

-"i... declare... bAnkrUptCY"

-"are we watching a movie?" "maybe if we're lucky it's the ring and it'll kill us"

-lmao i don't need drugs to feel numb

-"aww, flynn, we know you're drinkin' a bottle in the back room" "yeah, just look at ya, why wouldn't i?"

-The Weed™

-"weed stops your sperm from being produced correctly" "perfect, it's birth control too"

-"weed might shrink your... parts" "i think i'll just stick to meth"

-"weed might give you a special needs child" "it's wilson 2.0!"

-"i'm gonna be a drug dealer but not a mean one like a nice, happy 'eyy, wanna buy some drugs? :3'"

-oh no, grandma's growing weed in the basement

-"ahh, the weed's on fire"

-"guess that's how they caught the drug dealers. the deer were high"

-teacher: "ooh, i just sounded like yoda: don't smoke The Weed™"

-"hey, where can you buy a still? asking for a cousin"

-"raise your hand if you want to watch hentai"

-this guy keeps responding to people with "yes, my child?"

-"they put aborted fetuses in vaccines" "oh honey no"

-"how do you keep yourself from getting sick?" "stop breathing"

-examples of painkillers- "cocaine"

-"i know elvis presley is still alive because the king never dies"

-biggest drinker in our grade: "am i gonna be an alcoholic?" class: "you already are"

-c o m p r o m i s i n g p o s i t i o n

-"trick question, i am hentai"

-"what would you do... if i said i could put you in your own hentai"

-"you're gettin' a hole in your nose oh my goodness"

-"depression" "nope" "wait... depression"

-"I can't remember the happiness i felt before drugs" "i can't remember feeling happiness at all"

-"oh you're back! just in time for meth"

-"oh my garage"

-"lotta meth in that town" "nah just incest"

-"it kills your brain cells. which some of you can't afford (staring directly at the class alcoholic)"

-"why do dentists have the highest suicide rate?? probably because everyone hates the dentist, i dunno"

-"that's accusations" "uuuuuhh no" "oh"

-"oh my gads. you got some meth?"

-"in the puss!" "terms" "sorry. vag!"

-"there's a pretty good chance that drug came out of someone's anal cavity" "that's why i don't do heroin"

-"hey, whose buttocks did this come out of?"

"i'm gonna go shoot myself with some dog food, brb"

-"oh my chicken pie"

-"i've been told we're gonna draw a penis"

-help they're genuinely discussing giving babies steroids

-"most of the female reproductive cells are useless" "just like my brain cells"

-the teacher keeps referring to developing babies as "little rat" and "alien creature"

-"if you eat my period snacks, i will eat you"

-*chiming* "is that santa??"

-"what's the only fluid that doesn't go to the baby?" "water" "no" "air" "no" "earth" "..." "fire"

-"you're supposed to snort those calcium pills" "don't snort the calcium pills"

-"mr. o'reilly, when'd you miss your period?"

-"is it true you puke the day after you get pregnant?" "no, if you puke the day after, it's from the alcohol the night before"

-fetus = jumbo shrimp

- i too, am a very sad lookin' heart

-"no, you cannot throw up your baby"

-"now that we've taken the baby home, we need to figure out what to do with it" "flush it down the toilet"

-"if you wear a hat all the time, all your hair is gonna fall out and die" "ha ha kevin, you're gonna die"

-"since i was 14. and i'm 112"

-"big dumb"

-"what do you want to be when you grow up?" "dead"

-"my parents say: 'hey... whatcha doin' with that 24-pack?'"

-"did jeffery dahmer's mom love him?" "hope not"

-"ohh i love the smell of babies *sniff sniff*"

-"they can be found in places that are... places"

-"why are there rotting apples under here?" "no you gotta let those ferment"

-"what's something you lose by age 3?" "hope"

-the guy in front of me had marvel porn on his phone????????????? hentai hulk's bright red ass is permanently ingrained in my mind

-"what am i supposed to do to live 2 more years? wrap myself in bubble wrap and eat brussel sprouts?"

-"for every 10 pounds overweight you are, subtract 1." "-50"

-"you're wearing a flamingo shirt, you're no one's favorite"

-"you don't snort viagra"

-"how do you feel about having guns in our home?" "how do you feel about how quickly i'd use it to kill myself?"

-"hey, 2 seniors walking down the hallway! wanna give her your papers?" "outta my way. hey! get back here and gimme your papers, ya bums."

-"it's not just the genitals that transfer STDs" "left calf"

-"what if they got an STD some other way?" "drinking sprite"

-"...serial monogamy-" "cereal is for mornings"

-"...trading sex for-" "chicken nugget"

-"you wanna try sex wearing a hazmat suit, go ahead" "don't kinkshame me"

-"STI: spaghetti time infection. it's an epidemic"

-"g- ross"

-"AIDS didn't come from sex with a monkey" "it's definitely about sex with monkeys"

-"what kinds of drugs do i need if i have AIDS?" "nothing, you wanna die"

-"do you know what they do to get rid of genital warts?" "chop your dick off" "mix wart cream with water and drink it"

-oh no they found out what they do get rid of genital warts

-"they shove a q-tip in your penis" "iiiiii'd rather die"

-"is that what tinder is? swipe right if you want crabs?"

-"i would suggest not setting your genitals on fire"

- "your penis doesn't do tricks"

-"do you have a driver's license? *nod* "do you have a car?" *nod* "are you a big boy?" *unsure nod*

-"i know it's only the last day but i will make you suffer for every last minute" "then i'll just do what i always do *sleeps*"

-our resident alcoholic was washing the board and people were jokingly flirting with him so he tied his shirt into a bikini and continued washing so the teacher docked him points for it. don't worry he was already failing

#quotes #notes #class #american school #american schools #meme #wtf #out of context quotes #offensive humor #i wouldn't be surprised if our class is the one that causes our teacher to become an alcoholic

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sending-the-message · 7 years ago

Text

Anglerfish by coffinstuffer

Coyotes will sometimes lure domestic dogs out into the woods by playing with them. A single coyote will approach the dog, ears forward, tail up, acting friendly as can be. It may even roll on its back and expose its belly in a show of submission, to draw the dog into a bout of mock wrestling. Gradually, the games will push farther and farther away from home. Deep into the forest. That’s when the rest of the pack appears. Clusters. The dog’s new friend becomes its executioner as the pack begins to attack.

It’s not uncommon for lonely children to bond with imaginary companions. They invent invisible friends to pass the hours away with. It is considered a typically harmless behavior, as long as the child understands the ultimate difference between fantasy and reality.

I’ve often wondered about the correlation between invisible childhood friends and later mental disturbance. I wonder what the statistics of suicides and disappearances might look like, when juxtaposed against the incidence of imaginary friends and what age someone stopped seeing them.

The first invisible friend I can remember was named Kevin. He was a little boy just like me, if not a few years older. We used to play together on the beaches of Lake Michigan. Building sand castles, collecting rocks and splashing around in the water.

Kevin liked to swim a lot more than I did. He’d dog-paddle out far into the water, giggling and urging me to join him. I tried a few times, but whenever I swam more than ten feet from the shore, my mother would call me back. Kev and I played together almost every week from my early childhood until I was nine and my family moved farther inland.

I didn’t even realize that Kevin wasn’t a corporeal person until years later. I made some offhand comment to my mother about my old lakeside companion. She seemed confused, and said there were never any other children when we went to the lake. I would laugh and talk to myself. But there was no Kevin. At least, not that she ever saw.

Hyenas can mimic human laughter. There is a lot of African folklore about evil spirits that can imitate the voices of loved ones to draw you away from the village.

These stories might have been fairy tales, but they served a very real purpose. The people who survived were the ones who didn’t follow strange sounds in the dark.

I met Polly a few weeks after my family moved into a new house, in an area with dense forests and narrow roads. Rural Michigan might as well be the Canadian tundra. We were farther north than Toronto. Though the summers were pleasant enough, the winters got bitter cold.

I don’t know for a fact that I was the only one who could see Polly, because she only ever came around when I was alone. But once or twice, she seemed to disappear into thin air, which makes me think she wasn’t made of flesh and blood.

Polly was… weird. She made me nervous from the second she walked out of the woods. Maybe it was her bare, dirt-covered feet, or her wide, glassy-eyes. Even at ten years old, I knew that other children weren’t supposed to just appear like that. She shouldn’t have been wandering around in the middle of nowhere without an adult.

She always wore the same thing. A faded, floral dress, with her straw-colored hair in two messy braids. She never offered any explanation of where she came from or where her family lived, beyond just pointing back into the woods. She said they didn’t live far. They had a cabin out there.

I didn’t believe her.

But I was bored. No other children lived within walking distance. So Polly and I would kick a soccer ball around, and climb trees, and play cowboys and pirates. She always wanted me to come to her house. She said she had a lot of fun games there, but I wasn’t allowed to leave the yard.

Polly was predictable, at least. She was always waiting for me after school, regardless of the weather. When it got too cold out, we played up in my attic. I was alarmed by her lack of boots or winter clothing at first. But she always just shrugged and said the temperature didn’t bother her. She did try to get me to come outside with her sometimes. She’d say I didn’t really need a coat either. She said that if you stayed in the snow long enough, you’d stop feeling it.

At the time, I wasn’t certain she was trying to harm me. She was confused, lonely, and desperate for a friend. But at the back of my mind, a nagging voice told me she didn’t have my best interests at heart. So I never did follow her out into the elements without proper protection.

Sirens are an ancient idea. Creatures that take the shape of gorgeous women, or whatever their prey would find most enticing. Creatures that sing so beautifully, they can bewitch any listener. Creatures that are such effective predators, their prey doesn’t notice the trap until their ship has been dashed to bits on the rocky shore and there’s blood in the water.

My family moved just a little outside Detroit when I was about thirteen. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot of stories about what the city is like. What a ghost town it is. I’ve even heard it compared to a post-apocalyptic wasteland. But you have to understand, it was a pretty gradual descent from the 60’s until about 2000. In the early 90’s, it wasn’t in the terrible state it is now.

My parents and I moved into a relatively nice apartment complex. I went to the nearby middle school, and it was fine. I didn’t make friends very fast, but I also wasn’t scared for my life or anything.

Robert introduced himself a few days after we finished unpacking our boxes. He was fifteen. A tall, skinny black kid with a buzzed head and a thousand-watt smile. He said he lived down in one of the basement units, though I never saw it. His father drank a lot, and didn’t like company. We would sometimes hang out at my place, but it was kind of cramped, and my mother was usually home. So Robert and I spent a lot of time on the roof of the building.

It was terribly exciting. I remember the way my heart used to skip and flutter when we stole cigarettes from the corner store, or slipped a forty into our baggy jeans. On cool autumn nights, when Robert and I would lie back on a blanket and look at the stars, my skin would get inexplicably warm. I’d feel strange and fuzzy all over, and it was more than just the watery beer.

He talked to me a lot about how he wanted to be a pilot. He’d always dreamed of joining the Air Force. His dad said it was a stupid idea. They don’t let faggots in the army. I’d never heard that word before. Faggot. It felt heavy, and dirty, and also thrilling in the same way that everything about Robert was. When he cupped my face in his wide hands and pressed our lips together, it was like the hormonal floodgates burst open and I was suddenly hungry in ways I’d never experienced.

I started to suspect Robert was not real when I saw him fall nine stories into a dumpster below, and get up again without so much as a scratch on him. I decided to ignore all better judgment, because I wanted to keep kissing him.

We only lived in that Detroit apartment for about eight months. By the end, I was well and truly in love, and when Robert whispered that there was a way we could stay together–I almost listened. But I didn’t want to step off the roof. I was scared. I knew it would hurt. When I refused, Robert became despondent and disappeared. I didn’t see him at all the last three days I spent in that building.

Versions of skinwalkers and shape shifters appear in most cultures.

It’s a terrifying idea. Being hurt by something that looks like a friend. Danger that seems harmless. Wolves in sheep’s clothing.

I can’t help but wonder if something as old as humanity itself might be the thing these legends sprang from. Perhaps these stories are warnings of some primal memory. A creature that looks like a person, but absolutely isn’t.

After my parents split up, my mother and I went to Ohio. She had a sister there, just a short drive from Columbus. We all lived together in a trailer, along with my five-year-old cousin Becca.

I was sixteen by then, so I was often left to watch Becca after school and on weekends. I didn’t mind it too much. It wasn't like I had other friends. She’d fill in her coloring books while I did homework, then we’d go outside.

There was another little girl next door. Tess. She and Becca loved to run around together, racing up and down the dirt roads, playing tag. Whenever they’d go too far off, too close to the parkway for comfort, I’d call them back. Becca usually listened, but Tess always seemed reluctant. I didn’t think a whole lot of it.

One day, when I was a little too engrossed in reading a comic book and not watching the girls closely, I heard a shriek.

“Tess! Watch out!”

I looked up just in time to see a semi-truck blasting past, not even slowing down as it ran little Tess right over. My jaw dropped. Panic shot through me. Sure, she wasn’t my kid, and I hadn’t even been directly tasked with watching her, but this was still ostensibly my fault.

I was on my feet, ready to run to Mr. Callhun’s house to borrow his phone and call the police.

But Tess was still standing there. Completely unharmed. She skipped off the road, giggling and whispering into Becca’s ear. Becca still looked a bit shell shocked, but smiled and hugged Tess close.

My stomach twisted. It was terrible to see from the outside. One of those things trying to get my baby cousin.

When I got close enough, I grabbed Becca’s wrist and tugged her away. Tess eyed me. Cold and calculating. Unlike any of them had ever looked at me before.

Perhaps I’d gotten too old. The whimsical thinking of childhood had given way to suspicion and fear. Perhaps it could tell that I’d caught onto the game. Perhaps it was angry I could even still see it. Most people my age couldn’t.

“You leave Becca alone,” I said firm as my cracking pubescent voice could muster.

“Or what?” Tess smiled at me. I’d never noticed how sharp her canines were. How mean those overgrown, dirty fingernails looked. I hadn’t taken the time to get a really good look at her until that moment.

“I’ll hurt you.”

“Adam!” Becca began trying to struggle out of my grasp. Obviously embarrassed.

Tess had started to back away, still smiling. She probably knew I couldn’t do anything to her. But maybe I’d get someone who could. A priest or a rabbi or something.

“Becca.” I kneeled down to be at her eye level. “Look at me. Tess isn’t real, OK? Real people can’t get run over by a truck and live.”

“Let me go!” Becca wailed, pushing at my hand ineffectually, trying to squirm free.

“Becca. Please. It’s important. You can’t play by the road with Tess anymore. She wants to hurt you.”

Becca broke down into ugly tears. Face bright red. Windpipes constricting to form unholy shrieks. I sighed, picked her up and carried her back to the trailer. She cried herself out and fell asleep on the couch.

When her mother got home that night, I told her Becca was playing way too close to the road and wouldn’t listen when I said it was dangerous. I hoped that was enough to warrant keeping her inside for a while.

It wasn’t more than a few weeks before Becca stopped talking about Tess. When I asked, she said that Tess had gone away. I took comfort in the fact that I hadn’t seen her around either.

Anglerfish are grotesque creatures. Ugly, with long fangs and dull eyes. But in the depths of oceanic trenches, they can hide in the shadows. The only visible part of them is the glowing ball of light that sprouts from an antenna at the top of their head.

They advertise salvation, the only source of illumination in the pits of despair. But any creature that takes the bait meets a sticky end.

I still see them every now and then. Little old ladies begging for help across a busy street, right when the light is about to change. Pretty strangers at bars who are far too aggressive in urging me to have another drink. Lonely hitchhikers that ask to travel to places the GPS will never find. But don’t worry. They know the way.

I’m not sure what they are. I can’t be the only one who notices them. After all, most of us had the ability at one point. We just grew out of it. Perhaps we shed it as a survival mechanism.

Perhaps I’m one in a million. A kid who got stuck with a genetic allele that should have been bred out generations ago. Perhaps my existence is purposeful, and I’m a new evolution when it comes to defending ourselves against the strange and bitter unknown.

I can only say one thing for sure. Keep a close eye on your children when they start to tell you about their new invisible friend. Chances are, that friend is not friendly at all.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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winedwords · 8 years ago

Text

Adam| Gasoline 2/2 |Cole

Title: Gasoline 2/2

Words; 10,104

Warnings; smut

A/N: repost from the old blog

"I hope you know what you're doing."

God fucking damnit, this was a redeye and I hadn't slept yet. If I heard someone say that to me one more time I swear to god, I will break some faces. It was a fourteen hour flight from Seattle to Tokyo and I was not gonna sit here and be lectured for those fourteen hours by some asshat who wanted to Monday morning quarterback my decisions. I whipped my head around with a snarl, ready to verbally disassemble the dude who'd dared to comment on the events of a couple weeks ago.

The words died on the tip of my tongue once I made eye contact with the man who spoke.

Kyle O'Reilly.

The current Ring of Honor World Champion, former best friend of Adam Cole, and by all reports, one of the most genuine people I hadn't met in the locker room.

I guess I was going to get to know him really well on this flight based off of the stoniness of his face and the last available seat on this end of the plane being the aisle seat next to me. The window seat had been taken by an older gentleman in his 60s, who had promptly fallen asleep in his seat well before take off.

"I've been asked that a lot lately and it's enough to give a girl a complex."

The corner of Kyle's mouth tilted upwards.

"I don't doubt that. I'm Kyle," he said as he extended a large, calloused hand to me. I looked to his face, to his hand, and back again before I reached out to shake his hand.

"(Y/N)."

The world champion nodded his head in acknowledgement before releasing my hand and swinging his carry ons into the overhead compartments. Karma really was a bitch, wasn't it. I did what I felt I needed to do to help the Motor City Machine Guns win, and the universe just wanted to keep throwing shit at me.

"I get why you did it, y'know."

I almost jumped out of my skin. Somehow, for such a large man, Kyle was able to settle into the seat next to me and buckle up without me noticing. I really needed to get out of my own head before we touched down in Tokyo. The boys needed me sharp for this tour with New Japan, we were going to be in Bullet Club's backyard.

"What?"

Kyle shook his head. "The thing with Cole. I get it. Anything to get an edge and the upper hand right?"

I turned to him and gave a weak smile. "Yeah, that's what I keep telling myself too."

The silence was thick as the jet engines kicked into gear and we slowly started heading down the runway. My head bowed as my thoughts travelled back two weeks, my lower lip caught between my teeth.

The start to the show was not going well.

Bullet Club was in the ring, holding it and the show hostage. The Young Bucks, the Guerillas of Destiny, and Adam Cole cut an imposing set of figures, with the former world champion pacing the ring like a caged animal and a microphone in his hand. I hadn't chewed on my nails in years, but since the show the week prior, my nerves had been taken out on my cuticles and tonight was no different as I stared at the monitor in the private dressing room.

The Machine Guns hadn't let me out of their sight, accompanying me pretty much everywhere. I love those two more than my own family, but I had to draw the line when they were trying to follow me into the women's locker room. They'd taken my protests as a challenge and asked Nigel to arrange for our own locker room. Nigel, having a soft spot for me, didn't question the request and happily ordered for a Machine Guns dressing room.

"Last week was a fluke. The Motor City Machine Guns aren't good enough to be the tag champions. They aren't good enough to carry Bullet Club's bags, hell they're not even good enough to carry my jock strap." Cole pauses, for a couple beats, to soak in the crowd's reaction.

"And then, what really kills me, is they send in (Y/N) to interfere in Bullet Club business," he scoffed. "They send in a woman to attempt to neutralize the greatest stable of all time, a woman who has to resort to underhanded and shady means to help her team screw The Young Bucks out of their titles. Titles, that without interference, would still belong to them and to Bullet Club!"

Adam stopped his pacing, turned to face the ramps, and leaned over the ropes, a menacing sneer on his face and practically spat his next words. "(Y/N), you're gonna come out from the back, you're gonna come into this ring, and you're gonna apologize to Matt and Nick for costing them the match. You're going to apologize to the Club for costing us gold and you're going to apologize to me, (Y/N). You're going to apologize for this bruise on my face, you're going to apologize for your actions, everything!"

In our dressing room, both Alex and Chris were on their feet, fuming mad. I stood as still as stone, the cuticle of my left thumb caught between my teeth and my right arm hugging my body. I figured it would be best for me to chew on it instead of admitting to myself that my hands were shaking.

"How fucking dare he?! He interfered in the match first!" Chris ground the words out through clenched teeth. Alex nodded tensely in agreement, "You wouldn't have had to go as far as you did if he just didn't come to ringside."

I said nothing. For as much as we talked about the events of last week, they didn't have any idea that I wanted that kiss as much as I did. They knew of my infatuation with Adam Cole, hell, they knew of that weeks before this whole mess had occurred. They just didn't know how deep this ran. How every night since that fateful show, I had woken up, wet and aching, with Adam's name at the back of my lungs and the phantom sensation of his lips on mine. No, they didn't know and they couldn't know.

"We're waiting, (Y/N). We're not leaving this ring until you come out."

Fuck fuck fuck this is not good. Adam was a stubborn man and he was used to getting his way by throwing his proverbial and literal weight around. The fans had paid good money to come see a wrestling show, to see their favorites compete in matches, and to have a good time. They didn't come here to listen to Bullet Club whine and lick their wounds in the ring.

It was as I was thinking, that the camera panned to the announce table, where Kevin Kelly, Steve Corino, and Nigel McGuinness sat. Nigel, that lovely Englishman, looked dead into the camera and spoke, "(Y/N), sweetheart, I know you're in the back, watching this. You don't have to come out here, we'll get secur-"

Shit, Adam had overheard and rounded on the announce team. "Don't you say it Nigel! You've been soft on (Y/N) since she got here. You've been helping her duck justice from the Bullet Club!"

Out of nowhere, there was this surge of fire in my belly, and I was so angry. I'd had enough of this. Quicker than the Machine Guns could react, I was out of the dressing room and down the corridor like a shot. I could hear their faint shouts behind me, but I knew I'd be at the gorilla position long before they could catch me. Those who were in the ring were the only Club members stateside, thank god. Cody and Hangman were in Japan up to no good with Omega.

As soon as I was at the guerilla position, I attempted a smile at Mike, the sound guy. It came off as more of a baring of teeth based on the paling of his face. "Mike, lovey, I need you to cue my music so I can stop that shit in the ring."

Mike nodded quickly and hit the lights and music for my entrance.

I could see in the monitors that Adam's, and indeed all of the Club's, attention had snapped back to the ramp at the first couple deep baselines of my entrance music. A quick cursory fluff of my hair, snatched the proffered microphone from a particularly eager gopher, and I stepped through the curtain.

Damn that pop was loud. I grinned at the crowd, if just to mask the surprise on my face at the intensity of the cheers.

"You really didn't have to do all this or bring all your friends if you wanted my attention, handsome. You know I will always make time for you, you just had to ask nicely."

Well that was sassier than I was hoping. Certainly sassier than what the Bucks were expecting. Matt's jaw dropped in a comical fashion and Nick's eyes widened to almost bugging out levels. Adam's expression was thunderous, a tic developing along his clenched jaw. I couldn't see a reaction from the two Guerilla brothers, but I wanted to blame that on their face paint. "Oh c'mon now, Cole. You had so much to say earlier. I just can't imagine what's got you so quiet, especially since I'm not down there to keep your mouth occupied."

And there it was, my mouth spewing shit before my brain had a chance to catch it. The audience roared in approval. Adam's face split into a shark like grin, all teeth and bad intentions. "Well, sweetness, why don't you get your fine ass into this ring so we can talk about this like adults, instead of you hiding on the ramp."

His strut screamed of confidence as he sat on the second rope and pushed the top rope up with little effort, an invitation into the ring with Bullet Club. The head of the American chapter waved his arm enticingly towards the ring. To the outside observer, he was the picture of charm and charisma.

I shook my head with a husky giggle.

"See handsome, that's not how I do things. I want you to have my total and undivided attention," I crooned lasciviously. "It'd be hard to do that while trying to avoid the super kick party that I know I've been invited to. I rather like where everything is on my face."

Adam let go of the of the ropes, snarling, "Don't get cute. You have to be held accountable for your actions, (Y/N), everything has a consequence."

"See Adam, I think you're looking at this the wrong way. 60% of the things that happened last week were business decisions. The other 40%? That was all personal, bay bay, and I wouldn't mind a repeat performance." I dropped my microphone onto the ramp with a wink, and hightailed it through the curtain as I saw Adam's eyes darken.

My mouth was going to keep getting me into trouble, in more ways than one.

I was jostled out of my thoughts by O'Reilly's elbow into my arm.

I hissed and rubbed the sore spot, but my retort was cut off by a stewardess with a kind face asking, "Did you want anything to drink honey?" I stumbled over my words, my face flushing bright red, before I was able to stutter out, "W-water would be great, ma'am."

Kyle's stare was indecipherable. Even after the stewardess handed me my water, he was still studying me.

"Do I have something on my face?"

He shook his head. "I'm sure you're exhausted of people questioning you. I just want you to know that Cole's been mooning after you for fuckin' years." The words struck me like an actual blow to my stomach and I almost choked on the water I was sipping, but Kyle continued.

"I think since the ladder match with Gail Kim down in TNA. I remember watchin' it with him and he practically had hearts in his eyes. I'm honestly surprised he hasn't made a move on you sooner. He's not gonna take all that's happened lightly. I want you to be ready for the shitstorm that's waiting for you when we touch down."

"What?!" God, I was so eloquent.

Kyle responded with a small, wry smile. "You forget, I practically lived in the dude's pocket for years. I know him better than anyone. He's been a little obsessed with you for as long as I can remember."

I blinked at him, the words being slow to process. Kyle, who must've seen the gears turning in my head, was patient and waited for the words he could sense coming.

"That match with Gail was almost six years ago. There's no way he's been carrying a torch for me that long."

The champion gave a rather uncharacteristic snort. "You've interacted with him enough to know that he's like a dog with a bone when he wants something. He's not going to stop chasing you, (Y/N), he's got this idea of you in his head. He was already hard up for you before you knocked him out, which was fucking awesome by the way, the highlight of my week, but he's not going to let you go now."

Given my interactions with Adam and the rest of Bullet Club over the past two weeks, the implications of Kyle's words sunk like a stone in my chest. I must have telegraphed everything on my face, Kyle appeared a bit panicked and was quick to rush out his next words.

"Look. I'm not trying to scare you. I just don't want you going in blind, because you seem like a good girl. I don't think Adam has it in him to intentionally physically hurt you. Hell, the way he's been acting these past two weeks, I think he'd do just about anything for your attention."

I had prided myself on being one of the most cerebral people in this business, watching nothing but tape of potential opponents and allies, getting a read on who to trust and who wasn't worth the tape on their hands. This business was one based off of politics and manipulations of the human condition. It only took me getting burned once, when I first started in this business when I was 18, to learn that there was a game afoot and you either played that game or the game played you..

I'd known before the title match the risks, or I thought I did. I'd known the potential repercussions of toying with a flirtatious Adam Cole, a man who could be considered vindictive on his best day and downright vengeful on his worst. I had no clue what to expect from a seriously infatuated Adam Cole.

"So what would you recommend I do, champ?"

Kyle appeared pensive and he ran a hand over his face. He wasn't the only one who felt that this entire situation was surreal. "I guess it depends on you. "

That was a curveball and I blinked. "What do you mean it depends on me?"

"What do you want with Adam Cole?"

Goddamnit, he just stated that as if it was such an easy question to answer.

"You ask that as if it's so simple," I scoffed.

"Because it is for him, (Y/N). Simple I mean. When he wants something, he does everything he can to take it. And once he has it, he's like a kid with a new toy. It's his and no one else can play with that toy, even if the toy is just sitting on the shelf collecting dust. "

Its during this speech that I can feel my face heating with indignation and my fists were clenched in my lap. Kyle holds up a hand and stops me before I can even open my mouth.

"Let me finish before you tear me a new asshole. I'm not sayin' its right, cause it's not. What I'm tryin' to say is he's a possessive fucker and a lot of people don't know it because he covers it up by being as charming and charismatic as possible. Once he knows he's got his hooks into you, it's over. I know Cole like the back of my damn hand and he wants everything from you. He's gonna take and take and take, until there's nothing left. So what. do. you. want."

O'Reilly's gaze was too intense for me to make eye contact. I turned my head back to my hands, which were tightly folded in my lap to stop them from shaking. His words were like an angry swarm of bees and I had to choke down the rising fight or flight response. This was not me. I was not a reactive, emotional person. I made lists, I plotted for things that might not happen, and I had contingencies plans for my contingency plans. I didn't panic, I didn't get blindsided, things like this don't happen to people like me.

My moniker, the Most Dangerous Woman in the World, wasn't because I could outwrestle or outmuscle the competition. It was because I was prepared for everyone, in one way or another. Except this.

What did I want?

I sure as shit wanted orgasms, that was a given. A girl could only get by so long with the help of her battery operated boyfriend, when she's waking up at all hours of the night completely out of her mind and in need of a change of panties. Sex with Adam had the potential to be mind blowing, if the assorted ring rat tales were to be believed.

But did I want him? He was a bit of a hothead, overly flirtatious, egotistical, and prone to double-crosses. He was arrogant, acerbic, and had a severe dislike of any authority other than his own.

On the other hand, on the rare moment where he thought no one was looking, he'd seemed years younger, less guarded, and downright playful, especially around the Bucks. Where he was carefree and quick with a joke. Where his shoulders relaxed and his eyes crinkled at the edges when he laughed. That was the Cole I wanted, but I don't think I could get one without the other.

"I don't know what I want."

Kyle nodded, sensing that the conversation about Adam Cole was over. He reached into the seat pocket in front of him and produced an iPad. "Wanna watch some Netflix? I haven't started Stranger Things."

I practically beamed and nodded my head enthusiastically.

The remaining thirteen hours of the flight went by quicker than I'd like to admit, interspersed with episodes, naps, and happy chatter about what we'd be doing in our downtime during the two week Japanese tour.

Landing in Japan, saying goodbye to Kyle, and getting to my hotel had been a blur. When I had left Seattle, the sun had just set, nearing almost twilight. As soon as we had landed, it was late evening. Jetlag was a bitch, and all I wanted was a soft place to sleep. I must have looked a sight, all rumpled clothes and bleary eyes, because the matronly woman at the front desk told me as she was giving me my room key that she would be having a complimentary cup of tea and soup delivered to my room. She smiled and returned my hasty bow of thanks.

Now it was just an elevator ride to my bed for the night. It felt like the doors took a century to close and I almost cried with relief when the doors began to close. The elevator doors were close, so close to sealing and taking me to my ninth floor room when a hand stopped their progress and a too familiar male voice chuckled, "Almost missed it!"

My grandmother had a turn of phrase she would always tell me when I was small, something that never rang truer than it did now: speak of the devil often enough, and he shall appear. And there he was, looking like effortless sin in black sweatpants and a Bullet Club shirt, his hair swept up and away from his face in a messy bun.

The grin on Adam Cole's face spread to almost Cheshire proportions as he sauntered alone through the doors when he saw that it was just me in the elevator. "Well, well, well, it's my lucky day. Who knew it would take me a flight around the world to get you alone, sweetness."

Electricity shot up my spine as the doors closed and the temperature felt like it had spiked. "Look, not that you don't normally get my motor running, handsome, but I just got off a 14 hour flight and all I want is the bed waiting for me in my room."

He kept silent giving a casual glance at the directory of floors as he was moving towards me, my words clearly brushed off. For every step he took towards me, I took a step back, and it wasn't long until my back met the wall of the elevator.

Ding.

Adam was quick to crowd himself around me, his left arm caging me in, palm against the wall near my head, and his right wrapping around my hips to pull me in closer. His arm around my waist put every nerve ending on edge. It was the skin on skin contact of his wandering right hand finding just the barest sliver of skin exposed by my shirt that made me give a small whimper. The look in his eyes quickly shifted to something dark and heated at the sound and the fact that I made no move to extricate myself from his grip.

Ding.

"You wanna know what I think (Y/N)?" He leaned down to murmur into the skin at the base of my jaw. His mouth trailed along my jawline, the sensation of his breath and his facial hair caused my breath to quicken. "I think you want this as much as me. I think you can't get what happened two weeks ago out of your head. I think you want to know what it's like for me to make you scream my name."

He was so, so, so close and so warm. Body heat was practically radiating off of him as I began to feel sweat bead at my hairline. His lips were just an arched back away and the combination of his proximity and cologne were making the pink fog I had come to associate with his nearness come over my brain.

Ding.

"I think you like to hear yourself talk, Cole."

His chuckle was dark and the sound was like a bolt of electricity directly to my core, causing me to clench my thighs together to quell some of the growing pressure.

"That might be true, but I'm right, aren't I?"

I didn't get a chance to respond because he roughly pressed his mouth against mine. The intensity behind his kiss startled me and my mouth opened with a gasp. Ever the opportunist, Adam took the chance to sweep his tongue across mine and I had to anchor myself by grabbing his broad shoulders because I had lost confidence in my knees ability to keep my upright. Any misgivings I had had following my conversation with O'Reilly went out the window as I pressed back with my tongue enthusiastically. I'd be damned if I didn't give as good as I got.

I had never been so happy for the front desk taking my bags to my room.

Ding.

His left hand went from braced against the wall of the elevator to grabbing my thigh and hooking my leg around his slim waist, all the while his mouth never stopped moving against mine. Once he was satisfied with the knowledge that I wasn't going to immediately remove my leg from his waist, his left had returned to my ass, and with a firm squeeze and lift, he pressed himself up against my hips. I was glad for this wall and for him to be supporting some of my weight because I would have collapsed at the feel of his cock through our clothing.

Hard. Long. And given the amount of confidence Adam had, likely thick.

He was going to wreck me if this ever... no, when the inevitable finally happened.

Ding.

I bit his lower lip a little harder than I intended to at the first press of his hips against mine. The answering groan was almost pornographic, his hips pressed even harder into mine, and he began to grind. It felt like fireworks were going off when the hard ridge of his cock rubbed just the right way through my leggings, catching the little bundle of nerves between my thighs. I was practically mewling as he pulled his mouth away from mine, his hips never stopping their grinding motion, and began to press his mouth against my neck and collarbone.

Ding.

"God, the fuckin' sounds you make," Adam growled into the skin of my neck, making me shiver. "I've thought about this for a long time, sweetness, and you feel and taste so much better than I could have ever imagined."

I wasn't confident in my ability to form words, and they went completely out the window when Adam began to alternate between nibbling and sucking at the junction of where my neck met my shoulder. My hands went to his head and I pushed him away just far enough to issue a muttered warning, "No hater marks."

His only response was a devious smile and he went back to nibbling and placing open mouthed kisses along my neck.

Ding.

His right hand had become adventurous and had snuck entirely underneath my hooded sweatshirt and shirt. The touch of his hand along my spine caused me to arch into him with a whine and my nails dug into his scalp. Adam's hip bucked in response and he pressed his lips back against me, with what sounded almost like a purr.

My traitorous brain began to whirr. He liked his hair pulled, he responded to my nails digging into his scalp, he seemed to like me biting a little harder into his lip... Did he like a little pain with his pleasure?

Only one way to find out. I let my hands down towards his neck and then I dragged nails across his shoulders, hard enough that I knew I was going to leave behind little red lines.

My hips at this point were rocking against Adam's of their own accord, causing sparks of pleasure to fire along my nervous system. He thrust hard enough with his hips in response to my nails on his shoulders that my right foot left the ground for a moment.

"Don't do that again unless you want me to fuck you in this elevator."

The intense promise was muttered against my lips and I felt a bolt of exhilaration through the pink haze. That sounded so damn promising...

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open while we were embraced and a young, lanky bellhop, having not looked into the elevator yet, began to push his cart into the small space. The noise of the cart cause the two of us to look up at the same time towards the source. He looked up, made eye contact with the two of us, and grew red faced. I'm sure the position we were in was practically scandalous, hair mussed, his hands in compromising places, and my leg hooked tightly around his waist. The unfortunate bellhop was stuttering out an apology when I disentangled myself from around Adam, sidestepped the embarrassed young man, and dove out of the elevator to what I hoped was the hallway to my room.

I'd lost my cool. The pep talk I had given myself on the plane went down in flames as soon as I had met those too-blue eyes. Any resolve I had had to resist and be strong in the wake of Adam Cole's advances turned to dust. This was entirely unacceptable and quite frankly, made me doubt myself if I just turned into a puddle of goo whenever the former champion got into my personal space.

I could hear Adam calling my name as I hurried my way through the corridors, thankfully having found my room purely by mistake. I fumbled with getting the room key into the slot, the sounds of Adam calling my name in the hallways serving to further agitate me. The door finally opened and I swung myself inside, closing the door rapidly behind me.

The door had been shut for less than a couple seconds and I was crumpled on the ground of my hotel room, hand down the front of leggings and rubbing furiously against the slick little bundle of nerves between my legs. Given the state Adam had worked me into in the matter of a couple minutes, it only took a couple rotations of my wrist and I was coming apart with a broken sob of his name.

Morning came entirely too soon, and I woke in a foul mood as the sun hadn't even risen yet. I was jetlagged and exhausted and holy shit I looked like something out of a horror movie. I had deep purple smudges underneath my eyes, swollen red lips, and my neck looked like I had been attacked based off of the multicolored bruising I had on the right side of my neck and collarbone. I stomped out of the hotel bathroom and threw my suitcase open with a screech. Thank god this business had taught me how to cover bruises and jetlag with artful layers of cosmetics.

Bzz. Bzz.

Alex S.: You up? We're gonna grab breakfast and coffee before heading to the arena. Meet in the lobby in 20?

Me: Yeah. Meet ya'll down there.

I grabbed my go bag with my valet gear and paused in the hotel mirror to painstakingly apply a coat of matte red liquid lipstick.

My boozy aunty Eleanor, may god bless her southern heart, always did tell me that the best way to handle a problem was to put on some expensive lipstick and attack it. Once satisfied with my lipstick, I smirked in the mirror, and sashayed out the door.

Today, despite the rough start, was going to be alright.

Breakfast went off without a hitch, Chris and Alex were honestly rays of sunshine. It didn't matter what happened the night before, what kind of mistakes I may have made, they were always cracking jokes and constantly trying to out-clown the other. They'd said nothing about the amount of artfully applied concealer to my undereyes or the extra large quad shot espresso drink I had ordered in broken Japanese, even if it was clear that this wasn't all jetlag related.

I didn't pay too much attention during the van ride to the arena, or even the settling into the dressing room at the arena, I was content to just sip on my ridiculously large and sweet coffee. It wasn't until a production assistant came around with the night's card. It was when the assistant handed me the copy of the card that my mood soured again.

The universe just really, really liked fucking with me.

First match of ours on the Japanese tour?

Motor City Machine Guns, Kushida, and Yoshitatsu vs. Kenny Omega, Adam Cole, and the Young Bucks.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

"Erm, you okay, (Y/N)?"

Chris looked legitimately worried about the way my face had tightened up with irritation.

"Don't worry about me Chris. Just wondering when karma is gonna stop fucking with me," I muttered as I handed over the card to the man. It took him a second of reading down the card and then his face went stony.

"Wanna bet money that Cody is gonna be ringside? Hangman has a match against Evil."

I grimaced. "I fuckin' hope not. I haven't watched much tape on him since he left the 'E. I don't know what I might be working against."

"You'll be fine. You're one of the best damn women in the business today and we've got the utmost confidence in you." Alex called from the shower stall. "Where are we on the card?"

"We're match three, 20 minute time limit. We're on in two hours. So make yourselves pretty guys."

There was no time to think about why Adam kept getting thrown into my path. Getting match ready, even if I was only valeting tonight, was a painstaking process and we all had our own little rituals that needed to be adhered to. The makeup and taping of wrists and ankles were the easy part. It was the strapping on whatever scandalous valet outfit I deemed necessary. If I were actually in a match tonight, my gear would never by this revealing or risqué, due to the risks of malfunctions, but part of being a valet was to support your people by any means necessary.

So that meant we were honeypotting it up tonight. Thank god I had packed a wide variety of options. There was this strappy hot pants and bustier number that would be perfect with my over-the-knee boots for occasions such as this. I normally didn't need the red lipstick and the suggestive clothing to feel confident in high intensity situations, but given that I'd already lost my proverbial shit in the past twenty four hours, I wasn't going to be taking any chances.

The two hours passed entirely too quickly and we quickly found ourselves in the ring, with Alex's old Time Splitter tag partner, Kushida, and the Bullet Club Hunter himself, Yoshitatsu. We'd had just a couple of seconds to attempt to strategize over the noise of the crowd when the Bullet Club theme hit the speakers.

"Bullet Club f-f-f-f-for life..."

The crowd popped when five figures appeared at the ramp. Omega, Cole, the Young Bucks, of fucking course being accompanied by the American Nightmare, Cody.

Of all the tours to have left my brass knuckles at home, I thought, as the five men made their way towards the ring. Eight man tag action was going to be chaotic and awareness of my surroundings and the ring would be key, especially with Cody lurking at ringside with me. The five men were sizing us up in the ring, with varying degrees of interest. Nick and Matt were yelling and jeering, complete with crass hand motions. Cody seemed dispassionate and sized us up, his handsome face sent in a deep scowl. Adam had let his eyes wander over the four men in the ring before stopping on me. I could feel the hot caress of his eyes as they cased my body from head to toe pausing long enough to make me flush on my red painted lips. He'd stopped at the bottom of the ramp, chewing intently on the gum in his mouth. Once he'd seemed satisfied, he rounded his way to Bullet Club's corner.

It was Omega who had caught me off guard.

I'd known that he was an intense character, but catching his stare was like catching the stare of a mad scientist who had found a particularly interesting subject to dissect. I maintained the eye contact without flinching, when I was really trying to suppress a shiver at the clinical look, and he'd cocked his head with a smirk. He'd seemed satisfied with the fact that I hadn't backed down. He was the first to break eye contact, like he hadn't just been sizing me up.

It was as the members of Bullet Club were climbing into the ring that Alex began to nudge me towards the ropes. He'd seemed to notice that Adam had had his eyes trained on me. "Stay safe out there. If you have to get involved, make sure the ref ain't lookin'."

I nodded, walking with a little added swing to my hips towards the ropes. The heat of Cole's eyes on my back ratcheted up in intensity, I didn't need to look behind me to know that.

It was as soon as I was off the apron that the bell sounded to start the match. It was going to be Kushida starting off against Nick. They locked up and I was quick to start tracking the motions of the other Club members. Yoshitatsu, as the Bullet Club Hunter, had given us advice that really was invaluable: it's not necessarily what's in the ring that you need to worry about, its who's outside the ring.

Cody seemed to be conferencing with Kenny and Adam at ringside. The discussion itself was intense, with Adam reacting negatively to whatever Cody was saying. His entire body seemed to clench up and I could see the tic in his jaw from my end of the ring. Kenny seemed thoughtful and impartial, appearing to take into account both of the men's words. I didn't have to think long about what they were discussing when Cody pointed. At me.

Adam snarled and took a threatening step towards Cody. Matt put a hand to Adam's chest to stop him and Kenny stood and studied the second generation wrestler for a beat, before shaking his head and dismissing whatever it was that Cody had suggested. Cody scowled, clearly unhappy that neither of the two Club leaders were interested in his plan. Cole had seen me studying the episode in their corner and shot me a wink.

Through the course of the match, Cody didn't stop stalking in the Bullet Corner. He couldn't sit still and was full of nervous energy that it put me on edge. He was working himself up and it wasn't going to turn out well for someone.

It came to a head when all eight men began a brawl in the middle of the ring. Cody and I had made eye contact and a slow, cold smile spread across his face as he began to stalk towards me. He was taking advantage of the distraction of the mayhem in the ring to directly disregard what he'd been told to not do. My boys were going to be of no help, as they were busy trading punches with the Bucks. So I did the best I could do in this situation: run.

It didn't matter how low the heel on these boots were. It didn't matter how fast my mile was or high my endurance was. Cody had nearly a foot of height on me, so every two steps of mine, was one step for him. He was gaining fast and my lungs were burning from the effort. I had maybe twenty seconds before the second generation wrestler was in striking distance.

I didn't see that just around the bend, Kushida and Adam Cole had come out to the floor. I didn't see Adam gearing up for a superkick on a prone Kushida, because I had turned my head to check for Cody. What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion.

I had rounded the corner at full speed, as Adam was starting his super kick. Kushida, whom was in front of me, had some sort of freakish sixth sense of what was coming, and ducked out of the way.

Which left me running, full tilt, into a super kick.

The pain in on the left side of my jaw and face was blinding and I dropped like a ton of bricks to the floor, the right side of my head clipping just along the barrier on my way down. My ears were ringing and my vision was out of focus so I couldn't tell you who cupped my face so tenderly and was saying something to me.

Warmsafefeelsgoodwarmsafe

I'm not sure if I leaned into their hands and pressed a messy kiss to skin and slurred, "S'okay. S'okay. Happens."

The hands were ripped away and everything went dark.

I woke up two minutes later, bound to a stretcher, a C-collar firmly around my neck, and surrounded by medical staff. Alex and Chris' faces swam in my vision and I had to summon the effort to mutter, "Get the fuck back into the ring ya dipshits. 'M fine."

Their faces broke into grins, were they grins?, and then their faces disappeared as I was rolled to the back to be checked out by the trainers.

I couldn't tell you who won the match. Hell, I couldn't tell you how long I was in the trainer's room, being poked and prodded. I was cleared of a concussion, but it certainly didn't feel that way. The migraine I had was pounding in rhythm with my heart beat, my jaw was swollen and tight, and my hand was soon to be frostbitten from holding the ice.

I'd never been happier to see Chris and Alex burst through the door, sweaty and concerned. I could see the two of them grappling with their desire to wrap me up in a hug and their concern with injuring me further.

"Y'only get to hug me all sweaty like this once guys. Y'fuckin' reek."

They shook their heads in tandem and soon enough, I was wrapped up in a sweaty group hug on the trainer's table. We stayed like that for a couple moments, Alex mumbling, "You scared us taking that kick, (Y/N)."

Chris murmured his agreement, "You just went limp. We thought Cole had killed you. Though I don't think I've ever seen him so freaked out before."

"Wait what? Walk me through what happened, because I don't remember much of anything between taking the kick and then finding myself on a stretcher to the back."

Chris and Alex moved away just enough so that they weren't crowding me, but kept their arms over my shoulders and waist prospectively.

"I saw you take the kick, while you were running from Cody. You went down and down hard, I think you caught your head on the barrier?" Alex said, looking a little pale.

Chris nodded, adding, "Cole looked terrified, (Y/N), when he saw that he'd caught you with the super kick. He almost took off one of the medic's heads when they were trying to get to you." Chris' eyebrows arched, implying that he'd caught on to what was going on.

I shook my head, and then groaned at the motion. "Can we just go back to the hotel, guys? Ya'll need a shower and I need my bed."

45 minutes, a van ride, and two helicopters imitating men later, I was safely ensconced in my room. A hot shower left my skin pink and feeling a little more human. I had pulled in my normal sleeping clothes of an oversized Machine Gun's shirt and a pair of plain boyshorts and had curled up in bed with my phone.

Three new messages.

Alex: Let me know if you need anything.

Chris: If you need anything, text me before you text Alex. He took a mean powerbomb from the top rope.

My heart felt like it grew three sizes too big. I don't know what I did to deserve these two, but damn it I wasn't going to complain.

The third message was more concerning to me. I didn't recognize the area code, though a quick search of Google told me it was Japanese.

Unknown: Its Omega. Please, if not for anything but my sanity, talk to Cole. He's moping. I don't want to deal with his moping anymore. 850-555-1234.

My eyebrows disappeared into my hairline. How did Kenny Omega get my number?

Me: How did you get this number?

The three little dots on my phone mocked me as the man took his sweet time responding.

Unknown: Does it matter? Your boy is upset. Fix it.

Me: He's not my anything and he's surely not mine to fix.

Unknown: You so sure about that kitten? I'm handling Cody, you need to handle Cole.

I caught my lower lip between teeth and pondered my response. I didn't even get the chance, as Kenny had texted back before I had the chance.

Unknown: Fix it with Cole. The Club will owe you a favor. Within reason, of course.

Goddamnit, Omega had made an offer that the political animal in me couldn't resist. The thought of the head of the home chapter of Bullet Club owing me a favor? That was too tantalizing to resist, even if it meant potentially putting my soul on the line with Adam.

Me: You've got a deal Omega. Pleasure doing business.

I had pulled up a new message and punched in what I was told was Adam's number already by the time my phone had buzzed to tell me Omega had messaged back.

Me: Adam? It's (Y/N). Are you okay?

I quickly thumbed over to Omega's message before I psyched myself out by staring at the screen waiting for Adam's response.

Unknown: I knew I would like you. Don't be a stranger, kitten.

My face flushed red at what was surely a compliment from the notoriously enigmatic man. I was about to type in my reply to Kenny when my phone lit up and buzzed with text message after text message. Adam had replied and with a vengeance.

A. Cole: Where are you? I need to see you.

A. Cole: I'd never intentionally super kick you. You have to know that.

A. Cole: Please, where are you

A. Cole: I'm gonna kill Cody

Adam had never seemed like the type of man to blow up a woman's phone. The text notification at the top of my screen told me everything I needed to know.

Unknown: He's also drunk. Have fun kitten.

Goddamnit. I swiped back to Adam's message.

Me: Handsome, hurting Cody isn't going to change anything. Where are you at?

It wasn't more than 30 seconds before I got a reply back.

A. Cole: Bar downstairs. Can I see you?

I paused. I had a proven track history of not having any willpower when a sober Adam was around. Who knew what kind of havoc an inebriated one would cause. The cons almost outweighed the pros of inviting him up to my room, but that favor from Omega...

Cole didn't give me any more chances to think about the game plan.

A. Cole: Please sweetness

A. Cole: I feel horrible bout what happnd, I just want to know yore ok

Oh boy, he was really drunk. My traitorous fingers typed my room number before I got a chance to deliberate.

Me: 948

A. Cole: Thank you, I just need to kno your ok

I groaned and thumped my hands against the mattress. Why do I do this to myself? I looked like I a hobo in this oversized tshirt and with my wet hair tied into a messy bun. hopefully he'd be too drunk to comment on how tired I looked. Adam Cole was hell on a girl's quality of sleep.

It felt like it had only been seconds when I heard the rough knocks at my door. I gingerly got out of bed, when I realized how bare my legs were. Too late to go back now. It wasn't long before I had crossed the small hotel room to open the door.

"Ada-"

I couldn't even get the two syllables of his name out my mouth before the tall brunette man had crossed the threshold of my room and wrapped himself around me, his head in the crook of my neck, arms tight around my waist. The smell of his cologne was almost overpowered by the scent of bourbon.

"I'm so sorry, I'd never hurt you like that, thought I killed you for a couple minutes when you didn't get up," he slurred the words into my skin. "I was so scared."

I guess drunken words are indeed sober thoughts. I wrapped my arms around him as well, letting my hands rub his back as I hushed him.

"Its fine. Accidents happen all the time. If I wasn't able to take a super kick, I shouldn't be in this business."

He shook his head and pulled away just enough to look down at me. "No, it shouldn't have happened. I'm going to end Cody next time I see him." As he spoke his words, his grip on my waist grew tighter and tighter. The grip on my waist was tight, but Cole kept leaning his weight into me and I didn't know how much longer I could hold him.

"Come sit, and I'll grab you a glass of water."

His head had returned to my shoulder and he shook his head stubbornly, his facial hair rubbing against the bruises he had caused the night before. "No I like this."

Apparently alcohol made him more obstinate.

"Please handsome? You're kinda heavy."

He'd stumbled backwards, almost losing his footing, in surprise. I made sure to try to keep my hands on his arms to attempt to steady him. "Sorry..."

Fuck, he thought I was mad. His lips had curled downward into a frown and his brow was furrowed into a frown. Omega's texted words bounced around my brain to fix it.

"I'm not upset. I just don't think I can support your weight for a long period of time. If you come sit on the bed, I'll grab you some water, and we can talk."

He perked up, some light returning to his eyes. "Can I touch you? I promise I'll be good."

"Keep it clean, handsome, and there shouldn't be a problem." I guided him to the edge of the bed. "Just sit here for a second and I'll be right back."

I walked to the bathroom to grab a cup of water and when I had come back, Adam Cole was passed out in my bed, underneath the covers.

Of fucking course, because my life could never be simple. I wasn't cold hearted enough to push him out of my bed, he'd just had a match earlier and he was likely sore from bumps. That at least was my not selfish reason that I was telling myself. My id was practically crowing at the thought of Adam Cole laying next to me in bed, even if he was passed out.

I shook my head in resignation as I set the glass of water on the night stand nearest to Adam. Well, if you can't beat them, join them. I shut the lights off, and crawled into the queen sized bed with Adam. I didn't realize how tired I was until I had gotten underneath the sheets. I was asleep by the time I had ensured that there was a little space between our two bodies.

I'd woken up, four hours later, from a dreamless sleep overheated and feeling constricted by something. I'd tried to move away, but the something that had wrapped me up tightened its grip.

That something was apparently an octopus disguised as Adam Cole. Somewhere in the course of what was a nap, not actual sleep, we had begun spooning. Cole was behind me, his left arm wrapped underneath me and hand cupping a breast, the other banded over my hips entirely too close to my panty line. He'd thrown his right leg over both of mine and hooked me in tight. Which explained the hard cock pressing into the flesh of my ass and I felt the sudden, uncomfortable slick between my legs and my nipples tightened to pebbles at our positions.

I froze in my motions and my mind whirred against the incoming Adam Cole induced pink haze. I had to get myself out of this and I just didn't know how, as his body was wrapped rather tight around my own.

"I can practically hear you thinking, sweetness. Stop it and go back to sleep," the brunette man murmured into my neck, beard rubbing against the exposed skin of my neck and his right hand absentmindedly drawing figure eights on the skin above my panty line. The motions made me shudder and I gasped, "I can't when you're doing that."

The right hand froze in its motions.

"I'm not going to lie, I like the sound of that."

His right hand began the figure eight motions again, lazily tracing from my bellybutton towards my panty line. His left hand, not to be outdone, began alternating between caressing and squeezing my left breast. I whimpered and pressed my thighs together to get some sort of friction for the ache growing at the junction of my thighs.

"God you are so responsive," he mouthed into my neck, placing openmouthed kisses into the skin there. "Makes me wonder what kind of noises you'll make when I make you cum."

The hand on my breast pinched my nipple just hard enough to make me cry out and push my hips back into Adam's. He groaned at the sudden thrust of my hips back at him and I was quick to roll over and feverishly press my lips against his. I started to pull at his shirt and he moved away just enough to pull his shirt off and fling it off to an unknown part of the hotel room, before his lips returned enthusiastically to mine.

One of my hands secured themselves in his hair, which had broken loose from the bun that he'd tied it into and the other had settled onto a well defined pectoral. His hands had dipped into my panties to cup my ass. It was a particularly tight squeeze of my cheeks that made me hiss into our kiss and dig my nails into his scalp and chest.

Adam pressed my hips into his with his hands as he bucked, then stilled.

"This is your chance to back out if you don't want this to go any further," he choked out against gritted teeth. "Say the word and I'll leave, otherwise I'm going to fuck you into this mattress until the only word you're capable of is my name."

I shook my head, and leaned into to whisper against his lips, "I want yo-"

I didn't even get the words out before I had been pushed onto my back, his lips working aggressively against mine, his hands sliding my panties down my legs. I assisted by kicking the boy shorts to the floor his left hand hooked my left leg up and his right hand went to the pink slick between my thighs. The first touch made the two of us groan.

"Fuck you're so wet..."

Two fingers dipped inside of me, making hooking motions until he found the spot. I mewled at the first press of his fingers, and he grinned wolfishly, before setting to work with his hand, his mouth back on mine.

I could barely participate in the kiss, because his fingers were fucking magic. His thumb provided just enough pressure as it swiped over the bundle of nerves just above the slick opening of my pussy and the two thick fingers inside of me weren't thrusting, but pressing consistently in some rhythm only known to him against that one spot that made me shudder. The tension in my lower abdomen was growing at an exponential rate.

It took just a couple more moments of his efforts before I was shuddering and gasping my release, the walls of my pussy grasping at his fingers greedily.

Adam continued his ministrations with his fingers until I was keening and thrashing, but had pulled back to stare at me in wonder.

"Holy shit sweetness, already?"

My hands shot to his wrist to try to push him away, "T-too sensitive."

He nodded and pushed back to discard of his sweats. "I'll take my time with you later, but right now I need to be inside of you."

The revealing of his cock was almost enough to make my eyes bug out of my head. It curved to almost touch his belly button and holy fucking shit he was thick. It was enough to make me gulp and wonder if it was too late to call this off.

"Are you on the pill? I'm clean, tested two weeks ago and haven't been with anyone since the test."

I shook my head, still weary of his size, "Implant. The pill sucks on the road."

He didn't see my trepidation, and moved himself between my spread thighs. He rubbed the head of his cock over my pussy, stopping to pay extra attention to my clit and then he thrust into me, hips meeting hips.

I yelped and hit his chest with my hands. The intrusion was too large and sudden to be pleasurable, with the tip of his cock touching my cervix and my walls burning with pain at the stretch. He stilled and was shaking from the effort to not move.

"Holy fuck I'm sorry. I thought you would have loosened up after you came... Shit shit shit," He mumbled his apologies into my breasts, his breath torture against the stiffened peaks. The shock and pain caused by his cock decreased after a couple moments, which left the uncomfortable sensation of being skewered by a flag pole and of being too full.

I pushed my hips up against his, breath catching in my throat at the sparks of pleasure the simple movement had caused, my walls fluttering around his cock. Adam whined at the sensation and began shallowly thrusting. Stilled, it was almost painful to have him inside of me, but moving? The heavy drag of his cock caught every little sensitive hidden area inside of me and I was panting at the sensations.

It wasn't long before I was rocking against those shallow thrusts, but it just wasn't enough. Adam's arms were braced on either side of his body, his head resting against my breast looking downwards at where we were joined. It wasn't enough, it wasn't what I knew it could be. I took the initiative and grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged at his head to look at me. He groaned at the sensation of his hair being pulled, but lifted his gaze to meet mine.

The pupils of his too blue eyes were blown out completely, barely a sliver of iris left visible and the look of him trying to restrain myself was enough to make me bite my lip and bear down on his cock.

"You're gonna fuck me into this mattress Adam. I'm not gonna break."

His mouth dropped in relief.

" Oh thank fucking god."

He pulled almost all the way out and snapped his hips back to meet mine. I keened and he did the motion over and over again, leaving me to just grasp onto his shoulders and wrap my legs around his hips for grounding. The slight change in angle had left me breathless and allowed Adam to slide even deeper than he had already been.

It was when the headboard of the bed began to thump against the walls that he began to talk, and fuck was he filthy.

"Fuckin' thought bout this for years. How you would feel..."

I was mewling and writhing at every snap and roll of his hips.

"So fuckin' tight and good and hot, like you were made for me."

The tension was building again and I was helpless, the ability to speak anything more than a broken sob of his name and asking for more having left me long ago.

"Y'look so beautiful under me and I'm never gonna get enough of this," he growled, his pace picking up even more, the slap of his hips against mine setting a brutal tempo.

I was so close, so so so close.

"You're mine now, (Y/N). Tell me you're mine."

My head was thrashing, the words unable to leave my mouth.

Adam bared his teeth, balanced his weight on one arm, and let a hand reach down to rub the bundle of nerves just above where we were joined, never breaking tempo.

"Fuckin' say that you're mine, (Y/N)."

The tension broke, and I keened to the universe, "Yours!"

Little black spots littered my vision as my body shuddered uncontrollably in pleasure. The spasms of my walls around his cock brought him roaring to his own climax.

His body fell against mine, his cock softening inside of me, and he murmured victoriously,

"You're all mine now, and I'm not letting you go."

#adam cole imagine #adam cole fic #adam cole smut #repost from the old blog

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writing-in-riverdale · 8 years ago

Text

twin andrews part 4 | jughead x reader

part one:https://writing-in-riverdale.tumblr.com/post/158708863703/twin-andrews-juggie-x-reader-an-im-hoping

part two:https://writing-in-riverdale.tumblr.com/post/158896154168/twin-andrews-part-2-jughead-x-reader

part three:https://writing-in-riverdale.tumblr.com/post/158929430293/twin-andrews-part-three-jughead-x-reader

part five: https://writing-in-riverdale.tumblr.com/post/159487616565/twin-andrews-part-5-jughead-x-reader

a/n: wowie lil nuggets we’ve reached part 4 im having a lil happy dance over here! im so overwhelmed about how much you guys are liking this series so im more than happy to get busy making parts as long as you’ll are loving it so let me know!!🥂👱🏻‍♀️💛🤓💐🌈💚🌻ps: if you’ve missed a part click on the masterlist in my blog ✨

♕

“ugh i hate calculus with my whole heart” i mutter flicking through my text book pooping a few gummy bears in my mouth. it was free period so Betty, Kevin and I decided to try and study for a calculus text tomorrow.

my brother and he’s team mates were also here with veronica and jughead sitting off to the side taking in everyone’s conversation. i catch him glances at me which cause me to smile and fiddle with the ends of his jacket

reggie was going on about his theories on who killed jason and everyone was getting pretty fed up with his antics

“it couldn’t have been a jock-” i groan closing my book “reggie can you just stop! jesus christ” he turns in his seat smirking at me.

“well well well my little vixen what’s gotten into you-” i roll my eyes “im trying to study and i can hear is your idiotic voice so it’d be wonderful if you just shut the hell up!” i smile sweetly the room snickering at my response.

“terribly sorry my lady- please continue working” i curse under my breathe turning my attention away from reggie and toward the brunette leaning against the far table, a smirk drawn on his face, i give him a wink causing his chest to shake as he laughs

my attention is brought back when reggie bellows jugheads name, i move out of the chair and over to reggie, “seriously?” he ignores me and continues to interrogate jughead

“what was it like suicide squad? when you shot jason?” “you didn’t do stuff to the body right? like after?”

i turn to jughead awaiting his response “its call necrophilia reggie, can you spell it?” he replies emotionless. he’s arms folded across his chest

“come here you little punk” reggie launches himself over the couch and rushes up the jughead not before archie jumps in front of him pushing reggie in the chest away from the two

i sigh relived that my brother was protecting him even though they weren’t the best of friends right now

everyone stands “boys” veronica warns touching chuck on the arm, i look at her puzzled at how snug she was being with yet another jock

i push past moose and grab reggie by the shoulder “would you just stop for a minute-?” i spit annoyed at the air head “leave him alone” i warn. he pushes up his selves glancing from me to jughead to my brother and then back to me.

“wait is that jugheads jacket your wearing princess?-” my brother shoves him once more “god just shut up reggie”

“what do you care Andrews?”

he glances quickly to me before back to reggie “nothing just leave him alone”

i smile small at my brother but it’s short lived as reggie speaks “holy crap”

“did you and donny darko kill him together? was it some sort of pervy blood brother thing?”

my brother shoves the raven headed boy, jugheads eyes going wide stepping away from the table and outstretching his arms shielding me from the two. i push past his arms and place a hand on Reggies chest “walk away”

anger flashes in his eyes “no can do princess” and with that he grabs my brother and throws him into the vending machine the glasses smashing, arms around me waist tug me back and i try and fight it until i realise it was jug.

Chuck and Jughead are up trying to pry the two apart as they wrestle on the ground Reggie getting one solid punch to my brothers eye before giving up the fight and letting Chuck drag him up holding him against the wall to stop him from causing further harm.

i move toward him anger moving through me like a tidal wave, “don’t you ever speak to my friends like that ever again- and i swear if you lay another hand on my brother i will make sure you cannot reproduce got it?” i sneer and he wink at me “god i love it when your mad” a flick switches and i punch him right in the eye.

he tries to break free from chuck as i continue to hit him annoyance taking away “you little jerk” i yell being lifted off the ground and dragged out of the room by the beanie wearing brunette

he walks me over to my locker as we see the principle enter the room walking away with the two jocks “i can’t believe him” i mumble slamming my hands against the locker

“hey don’t let him get to you” he places his hand on my shoulder and i exhale loudly “yeah i know- i don’t get how you can deal with it jug- what he said was totally out of hand and im sorry-” he shakes his head “don’t worry about it i seemed to have both andrews in my corner anyway”

i smile down at my feet “did you and archie make up last night?” he shifts on his feet “uh- no no we didn’t we just talked and yeah” i sigh “will you ever?” he shrugs again “i don’t know- i want to tell you it’s just” he clears his throat “it’s fine jug, ive got practice ill see you tonight at the rally?” he nods “yeah”

“(y/n) wait-” i turn and face him “will i be getting my jacket back anytime soon?” he chuckles, my eyes widen i had totally forgotten that i hadn’t returned it to him since he gave it to me last night “my bad” i shrug off the jacket and he shakes his head

“no no- keep it for now- it’ll give me an excuse to see you again-” i blush but continue to remove the jacket “i have practice so ill be in my uniform so it’ll just be in my locker so please take it, the game can be your excuse”

he reluctantly takes it from me and places it in his locker “i don’t think ill ever be able to wear it again, you wore it too well so now it doesn’t look as good on me anymore” he gives me a smug smile “yeah yeah whatever jones, i love that jacket on you-”

“see you tonight” i yell to him as i walk myself toward the girls locker room, great a whole period of my two favourite people; Cheryl Blossom and Veronica Lodge.

♕

after what seemed like the longest hour of my life the bell finally rings ending the period and i give a silent prayer as i now have an excuse to put as much distance as i possible can before i launch myself at veronica for breaking a thousand girl codes.

my head was aching from listen to her trying to tell Betty how she realised she did was wrong but she wasn’t the only one involved and that apparently she was being a ‘good’ friend and ‘protecting’ betty because cheryl would’ve gone in if veronica didn’t.

im almost in the clear until i hear the all to familiar voice calling out my name, i bring my hands to my mouth and scream into them before slapping a smile on my face and turning to face the raven haired girl.

“okay so i understand your mad at me for what happened between me and your brother and I just want to apologise” i pause before i answer trying to think of ways to place it nicely.

“look ronnie i wouldn’t have given a crap if you hooked up with my brother okay he can date and kiss whoever the hell he wants but when you add my girl to the mix that’s where i draw the line, you knew how betty felt- you both did yet not one of you thought to yourself maybe i shouldn’t smash b’s heart to smithereens” i smile sarcastically

“if your goal was to piss me off to the point where i actually can’t stand to be near you then congrats you’ve done that. im annoyed and hungry so quite frankly don’t approach me until ive calmed down because i swear i will take you down and i really don’t want to make an enemy out of you”

i move past her and make my way to my locker to grab a few things before heading home to change and prepare for the rally tonight it’s supposedly forecast to flash flood but for some wack reason they’re making us cheer in the pouring rain. yay school spirit

“hey andrews”

“oh for fuck sakes can’t a girl just be left alone!” i complain turning to see the smug look of Reggie Mantle, black eye and all. “not in the mood Mantle shove along go find another cheerleader to torment.

i begin to walk out of the school reggie still hot on my heels “but your my own and only vixen i swear” i furrow my brows at the boy and ignore him as i begin my journey home

im almost at my house when I realise reggie still trailing behind me “jeez reg what are you walking me home?” i complain trying to pick up my pace “we aren’t in school anymore you can leave me alone and stop acting like an asshole”

“oh c'mon (y/n/n) i thought we were past this” he complains stopping at the gate to my house “guess we aren’t” i say enthusiastically giving a thumbs up for encouragement before slamming the front door and flopping onto the couch.

the front door opens and closes but im too tired and grumpy to move so i stay out sprawled out onto the couch “why is reggie outside our house?” archie asks moving my legs so he could sit down.

i sit up and take the apple from his hand “reggie who?”

♕

“you ready for tonight?” i ask the blonde girl fiddling with my hair as we start the walk toward school

she nods her head and to swinging her blonde pony tail “im actually really excited- my first pep rally as a river vixen” she giggle spinning around in her uniform

“well miss betty cooper you were made to be a cheerleader, us vixens are lucky to have you” i encourage her attempting to calm the nerves i know she has.

“thanks (y/n/n), im so glad your back” i wink at the blonde “so am i- i did really miss you a lot, seems like everyone’s life just sort went on with me” i smile sadly.

we enter the locker room and my good mood seems to have diminished completely “ronnie!” Betty calls to the raven haired girl gesturing her over so we could walk out onto the field together

“looking good ladies” veronica compliments offering me a small smile, i decide to return it “we good?” she questions and i take a second to respond “yeah lodge we’re good”

she smiles placing both hands on our shoulders “now should be go and show some school spirit” her grin wide and preppy cheerleader tone on point “lets go!” i return the enthusiasm throwing up some spirit fingers.

we rush onto the field bouncing on the balls of the feet and get the crowd up and alive, it was pouring down and we were soaked as soon as we stepped foot onto the field. the bleachers filled with umbrellas to shield themselves.

the mayor steps up to the podium and gives a small speech dedicating the rally to the late jason blossom before introducing josie and the pussycats and the river vixens to start their performance

the music starts and we launch into the routine all eyes on us as we swish around our skirts doing a few flips but mostly choreography from one miss blossom. i grab my poms and start catching jughead staring right at me, it throws me off but i mange to get back into the groove a blush covering my face

we finish our routine and coach runs across the stage and introduce the almighty riverdale bulldogs. they break through the banner my brother at the front of the group wearing jasons jersey. i freeze sickness washing over me, i turn instantly to see cheryl turning white before catching my gaze and bolting off the field.

betty & veronica rush off the field following her but i decide against following them and walk toward my brother whom was amongst the crowd talking to one jughead jones

puzzled i jog over smiling brightly as i approach the two “whatcha talking bout” i ask smiling shyly at the brunette, i bump hips with my brother “nice way to spook everyone arch” i tease and he just shakes his head

“so?” i raise my eyes brows glancing between the two awfully chummy “uh arch just apologised and well im going to give him a second chance” jug speaks playing with the back of his neck

i smile to myself jumping up and down before launching myself into jughead, he stumbles but wraps his arms around my waist holding me up before setting me down “thank you” i mumble into his ear before turning and punching my brother playfully in the arm

“about time you big idiot”

“ow!” he exaggerates rubbing his arm “oh stop being a baby” i roll my eyes at him the boy laughing at the sibling banter

“Pop’s?” i ask the two and they nod i start walking and the lag behind “c'mon what are we waiting for!” they laugh and share a glance before jogging to catch up to my long strides

“can i ask yous something” archie asks me as we start our short journey to pop’s “shoot” i tell him adjusting my gym bag on my shoulder before jughead removes it from my slinging it on his own shoulder

“what’s with you two, why have you been wearing jughead’s jackets are yous like a thing or-?” i giggle glancing at the brunette next to me who decides to stay quite

“it was pouring down on the way over from the dance, i was cold so he leant it to me and i wore it to school the next day to return it. is it really that big of a deal?”

he shakes his head “not that it’s really any of your business anyway right jug?” he looks at me wide eyes glancing between his best friend and his little sister “i mean yeah”

i laugh at his nervousness and push open the door to Pop’s spotting B & V already sitting in a both toward the back, i don’t wait for the boys i just continue down and slip in next to veronica

“ladies” i smile at them and betty turns in her seat looking at my brother and he’s best friend, i realise instantly and cuss under my breathe “they don’t have to seat sorry my bad” she shakes her head and speaks out to the boys as they wait for permission to join us”

“you wanna join us?” they both share a smile “only if your treating” jughead comments walking over and sliding in next to me placing his arm along the back of the booth

i watch as my brother does the same sharing a glance of respect with betty then laughing at something veronica said as we all sit cozily in our booth waiting for our food to arrive engrossed in our own little world.

i feel jugheads arm drop slowly resting on my shoulder causing me to wriggle closer to him sharing a smile with the brunette before returning back to the conversation

last nights drama had fizzled away, friendships mended and on their way to being so for now we sit happy and content wonder what tomorrow brings and in this moment i smile this, this was home.

-🌹

TAG LIST AS PROMISED: @smadrat @natalieroseg @isak-lovelies @lena-lightwood @xbobaaa @savygabby

#archie comics #riverdale #riverdale imagines #riverdale fanfiction #jughead jones #jughead x reader #jughead jones x reader #jughead jones imagine #jughead #archie andrews imagines #archie andrews x reader #archie andrews #betty cooper #veronica lodge

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closetofanxiety · 8 years ago

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50 wrestling questions

I answer these burning questions here, below the cut:

1. What got you into wrestling?

I don’t really know. I’ve gone through three phases of being a wrestling fan in my life. The earliest was probably just because all the other kids in the neighborhood liked wrestling, and I was a people-pleaser even then, so I wanted to fit in. I remember the older kids like AWA or NWA because they were “real,” while us littl’uns thrilled to the exploits of Hulkster Hogan in the WWF. I like nothing else that I enjoyed as a child, not the movies or the TV shows or the books or whatever, so there was something about wrestling that stuck with me.

2. What is your favorite wrestling promotion?

ECW, if I’m being honest. A lot of that stuff has not held up well, but I got into it at the perfect age, when a lot of my friends were getting into it, and I have very fond memories bound up with ECW. For better and for worse, the most influential American wrestling company of the last 30 years.

3. Favorite male wrestler of all time?

Gorgeous George, but if we’re talking about people who were alive when I was alive, then Dusty Rhodes.

4. Favorite female wrestler of all time?

The Fabulous Moo- no. I don’t know. I don’t have the background in Japanese grappling that would allow me to make an informed answer here. Women’s wrestling in the USA was pretty terrible between the mid-1950s and the mid-2000s, and I mostly know American stuff. Let’s say Gail Kim, though.

5. Favorite current male wrestler?

Joey Janela

6. Favorite current female wrestler?

Su Yung, obvs

7. Favorite theme song?

"Psycho Killer,” when that was Ciampa’s theme song. One of my favorite wrestling memories is Americanrana ‘16, when the PA system died and the crowd sang the song a capella for his entrance. If we’re talking songs written specifically as wrestling entrance music, then Steve Austin’s music. With Shawn Michael’s “Sexy Sexy Boy Ooh La La” or whatever it’s called as a close second. That song makes me laugh every time I hear it.

8. Least favorite theme song?

I hated Ballz Mahoney’s ECW theme song, it just encouraged the worst meathead elements of the crowd, and it always heralded a crummy match. For wrestling-specific theme songs, Lana’s, while new, is almost unbelievably shitty. It’s like incidental music from an episode of “Night Court” where they go to a jazz club.

9. Favorite gimmick?

Gorgeous George, which is still being imitated to this day. Again, if we’re talking about people who were alive when I was alive, the Road Warriors. They were almost 100 percent gimmick, and they were massive stars for years. They were the only non-WWF guys us WWF-loving kids would buy action figures for, because their look was so good.

10. Least favorite gimmick?

It’s hard to choose from all the racist and gay-hating gimmicks that have been used over the years. By sullying the image of the immortal Prince Rogers Nelson, fucking Velveteen Dream is making an impressive run for this designation right now.

11. Best entrance (either their usual entrance or a special one, like a Wrestlemania entrance)?

Again, Gorgeous George had the best entrance of all time, it was 70 percent of his act and it made him a fortune, and everyone has copied it since. In terms of more recent stuff, I liked the Sandman’s entrance. It was 90 percent of his act. Pretty much everything Sandman did except his entrance was so-so to terrible, if we’re being honest.

12. Best Undertaker Wrestlemania match?

The one where he got his ass beat by the savage god Roman Reigns

13. Most overrated?

The Undertaker. I acknowledge that he made a massive, unthinkable success out of a truly ludicrous, sub-Memphian gimmick, but he was never a real draw, and I was never a big fan of his at any point in his career. Maybe no one in WWE history benefited more from protective booking, where he was always billed as an unstoppable, supernatural monster even when he had a mid-life crisis and decided he wanted to be a motorcycle man instead.

14. Most underrated?

Pretty much anyone who had their entire careers, or the bulk of their careers, prior to the 1980s and the attendant explosion in wrestling’s popularity. It’s hard to properly rate someone like Nick Bockwinkel, when so much of his best work was done in the 1970s, let alone Gorgeous George or Buddy Rogers. Of guys since then, I’ll say Ted DiBiase, who is fixed in the public mind as the cackling rich guy caricature, but who was a phenomenally talented wrestler who could effortlessly pull off being a charismatic babyface or a cheating, despicable shitheel. Ted’s Mid-South run is amazingly good stuff.

15. Have you ever been to an event? If so, which one?

I have been to many pro wrestling shows. Last year I averaged three per month, which is, I’ll have you know, Too Much Wrestling Shows. My mother took me to my very first one, and since she died when I was five, I must have been very young indeed. I remember almost nothing about it, except that Bob Backlund was there.

Since then, I’ve been to a lot of ECW shows, including the 2000 Living Dangerously PPV with the famously hideous New Jack scaffold bump; many WWE shows, ranging from Raw and Smackdown episodes to house shows to Backlash 2003, where Goldberg met the Rock in the ring FOR THE FIRST TIME ANYWHERE; and lots and lots of indie shows, which are my favorite. I’ve sort of limited my show-going this year to Beyond Wrestling, Blitzkrieg Pro, and Northeast Wrestling, and I don’t go to all of their shows.

In the late 1990s and early 2000s I used to go to shows with big crews of friends, but these days it’s usually me and one or two other people, or sometimes just me. It turns out most people my age are not down to drive to West Warwick, R.I. to see Zack Sabre Jr vs. JT Dunn! I enjoy it, though, it’s been a nice thing to have in my life at a time when there isn’t much else going on.

16. Who has the best merch?

The Young Bucks have something for every aesthetic.

17. Do you own any merch?

Yeah, I mean, too much. T-shirts, 8 x 10s, DVDS, loads of old wrestling magazines. I have a Young Bucks foam “Too Sweet” hand. I have a little plaster sculpture of AJ Lee where she’s a zombie, because WWE Shop was selling it for five dollars. I’m a disgrace, as a grown adult man.

18. Best nickname?

"The American Dream” Dusty Rhodes.

19. Worst nickname?

I’ve always thought “The Cerebral Assassin” was the dumbest goddamn nickname. Is the assumption here that assassins are typically stupid?

20. Best mic skills?

Bobby Heenan. He could do screaming and angry, he could do calm and menacing, he could do blustering and funny. He had the timing of a professional comedian and the verbal dexterity of the Midwest’s best used car salesman. People hated this man so much that a member of a Chicago crowd shot a pistol at him.

21. Most annoying?

All-time: The Ultimate Warrior. Currently: Bray Wyatt.

22. Most attractive male?

Roman Reigns. The WWE is leaving money on the table by having him wrestling in a shirt/vest and long pants.

23. Most attractive female?

I really like Hikaru Shida’s complex aesthetic, which combines “hard-hitting Japanese wrestling” with “elaborate theatrical strangeness” and “Hey, check out my ass.”

24. Favorite faction?

The first two incarnations of the Four Horsemen. If pressed, I prefer the Flair/Arn/Tully/Windham lineup.

25. Worst faction?

It’s easy to pick one of the five million here-and-gone WWE factions like the Union (ugh) or the Social Outcasts or the League of Nations, but they didn’t really last long enough, or have enough of an impact, to be truly wretched. Same deal with, like, the Aces & Eights: they just stunk up TNA, which was already bad to begin with. The answer is the nWo, from January, 1998 onwards: until that point they had been the most compelling thing about American wrestling, but after that they became a bloated, tedious, airtime-gobbling monstrosity that helped drag WCW down into depths it never recovered from.

26. Best ring gear?

Su Yung and Penta El Zero Miedo. I like the spooky stuff.

27. Who do you think would be the nicest in real life?

I’ve had very few interactions with wrestlers beyond the standard “Hey, great match, how much is that DVD,” but among those I have had more substantive encounters with, JT Dunn, Swoggle, Gangrel, Su Yung, and Santana Garrett stand out as particularly nice. I’ve also heard people from all walks of life praising Little Guido as the nicest dude around, and universal praise is vanishingly rare in pro wrestling. I like to imagine Kevin Owens is a good egg.

28. Who would be the rudest in real life?

Like anyone else, I’ve Heard Things, but I haven’t had a really bad encounter with a wrestler beyond this one guy who works local indie shows and who is a rude chud in real life. It seems unfathomable to me that Matt Riddle is the kind of person I’d want to share a cab ride to the airport with, but maybe that’s just the strength of his brand working.

29. Favorite heel?

The Dudley Boys in ECW. I legitimately hated them, and bought tickets in the hopes of seeing them get their asses beaten.

30. Most hardcore?

I bet the real answer to this is like the answer to the great “Who is the most legit tough guy” question that everyone asks. Like, it’s someone we’d never suspect. It’s not Nick Gage, it’s Eva Marie. That woman has seen some shit that would turn your hair white, I bet. I honestly don’t know the answer to this. Probably a guy in Japan who blew himself up in a volcano.

31. A wrestler you could beat?

At wrestling? Absolutely none of them. Eva Marie would destroy me, Goldberg style. It’s like sports: the worst fucking guy on the worst fucking NBA team would beat the best pickup player in your town by a hundred points in a one-on-one matchup. Once-a-monthers who have office jobs and still wrestle in singlets and are 30 pounds overweight could put me in a coma without breaking a sweat. But what about ... trivia regarding papal history? Ah, now the worm has turned, Eva Marie! You’re on my turf now.

32. Best story line?

Have to agree with Tape Machines, it’s the Freebirds vs. the Von Erichs

33. Biggest missed opportunity for a story line?

The WCW Invasion angle didn’t work for a lot of reasons, and some of those reasons were probably beyond WWE’s control, but holy shit did they bungle what could have been a gigantic machine that spit out money.

34. Worst story line?

I can’t pick just one. The 1990s were an absolute golden era of terrible storylines, from Cactus Jack getting amnesia and thinking he was a sea captain to the terrible saga of Katie Vick. I’ll say the Chuck and Billy storyline, because it somehow managed to be insulting to people who had never heard of wrestling in their lives.

35. Which wrestler should turn heel?

Matt Riddle. I mean, I guess he is a heel, in the sense that his act today is the exact same as it was when he was breaking into the business in 2015 and was hated by indie audiences. He hasn’t done anything differently, but the smug choads from the Internet Wrestling Community have decided he is their savior because they can chant the syllable “bro” in public.

36. Which wrestler should turn face?

Kevin Owens. I’d love to see what he could do as a fearless asskicker with witheringly sarcastic putdowns on the microphone.

37. Who would be the worst to room with?

If you’ve ever had close friends or relatives with drug problems, you know the answer to this is Jake Roberts. On a more lighthearted note, sharing an apartment with the Ultimate Warrior would have been a mindbending ordeal, since he was pretty much like that all the time.

38. Who would be the best to room with?

Candice LeRae is a former professional baker, so as a fat guy, I would be very happy to be the person she tests out new cakes and stuff on. But most contemporary wrestlers are people obsessed with the gym, video games, and meal prep, so calibrate your roommate expectations based on those parameters.

39. Who would be your best friend if you were a wrestler?

I like to imagine it would be Kevin Owens, and I would constantly joke about him betraying me like he always does with best friends, until finally he’d stop responding to my texts. AND THEN I’D KNOW.

40. What would your job be in a wrestling promotion?

I would be styled as “Engagement Director for New & Emerging Media and Content Outreach,” and my job would be taking tickets at the door, applying wristbands to people old enough to drink, and keeping my fucking mouth shut when the wrestlers were hanging around.

41. Favorite wrestling podcast/Youtube channel?

AIW’s “The Card is Going to Change” is the best wrestling podcast in the world. I recommend it to people who don’t even like wrestling, mostly because it’s three dudes telling picaresque tales about restaurants getting trashed and bizarre exploits in northern Ohio. Their recent episode about being paid to put on a show for a child’s 10th birthday is amazing. My favorite wrestling YouTube channel currently is Rassle Reel, which is constantly uploading obscure shit from the 1970s and 1980s.

42. Favorite finisher?

Mr. Perfect’s Perfectplex, a thing of artistic beauty

43. Least favorite finisher?

The Pedigree

44. Favorite match?

Taz vs Sabu at Barely Legal in 1997

45. Favorite PPV?

I’ll always have a soft spot for the first Survivor Series, which is the first PPV I ever watched (we didn’t order it; the neighbors did, and a bunch of us crowded into their den to watch). I don’t know if the first Starrcade was technically a PPV, but that’s one I can watch over and over.

46. Guilty pleasure wrestler?

I don’t like the concept of guilty pleasures, but if we mean which wrestler do I like that some vague critical consensus insists I should hate, I’ll say Honky Tonk Man.

47. Favorite submission?

THE KATA HA JIME, otherwise known as the Tazmission.

48. Most entertaining to watch?

Randy Savage

49. Best spot?

Anyone spitting mist into the unsuspecting eyes of their foes

50. Who do you most respect?

I respect you, booker man.

#wrestling #questions

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