#onstage threesomes why not | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ilongfor-the-arts · 2 years

Note

god i need more kirk smut on this app.. but also more slash smut.. I NEED BOTH

ok how about, it’s the guns n roses & metallica tour 1992 and just out of fun, we‘re james hetfield‘s sister, 23 years old. and we have a huge crush on kirk, but at the same time a huge crush on slash and we really can’t decide, i mean who can?!? they‘re both a 100000/10

so after on concert they all hang out a bit, drink some and the reader sneaks away with slash and kirk after staring at them for some time.

they end up having a threesome of course, whoooooo would have thought😮‍💨

The V.I.P Room

Pairing: Slash x fem! Reader x Kirk Hammett

Warnings: smut, language, threesome, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), slight voyeurism, degradation, riding

Summary: *in request*

Word Count: 6.2k

I didn’t go to the strip club post concert to watch the dancers. I didn’t go to the strip club post concert to drink a bunch of alcohol (although I indulged occasionally). I went to a strip club post concert because I knew it would give me a chance to gawk at my two crushes while they were both totally engrossed with the performers onstage.

First, there's Kirk Hammett. He's a sweet gentleman I’ve known for ages. Who couldn't have a crush on him? He was completely appealing, a total sweetheart, but there was a smoldering spark behind his eyes that told me he meant business.

My gaze was drawn to Kirk's exposed collarbone. The top few buttons on his shirt were left open, giving an onlooker a hint as to what was underneath his clothes. I watched as he drew the third cocktail of the night to his luscious lips, his adams apple seductively bobbing as he gulped down his drink.

And then there was Slash. Slash was everything Kirk wasn’t. Slash was danger. He was sensuality in its finest form. Everything about him radiated sexual tension from his wild hair, to his deep eyes, to his relaxed demeanor that made a girls mind run wild with possibilities.

He wore nothing underneath his jean jacket, exposing his beautifully sculpted chest. Slash’s top hat hung down, his curly locks completely covering his eyes. Fortunately, they were sitting next to each other on the semicircle leather couch, allowing my eyes to move freely between them with ease.

My attention had been drawn to them the entire night. I prayed they hadn't noticed, but my mind was so spacey that I wouldn't sense if someone smacked me upside the head.

They had noticed.

They had undoubtedly noticed me.

But I hadn’t noticed that they noticed me.

If that makes any sense.

God my mind is so jumbled.

I’m rambling.

I sat at the very edge of the couch, not wanting to disturb the men's conversations. Some things were better left between individuals of the same gender.

“You want another drink sis?”

James was standing in front of the group, behind the table, taking drink orders. I averted my gaze from my crushes to meet James's. He pointed towards me, patiently waiting for me to speak. I cast a glance at my empty drink on the circular table.

Another?

I suppose I don’t get tipsy very often.

Why not?

“Sure! I’ll have another!”

I said cheerfully. James flashed me a smile before redirecting his attention towards the group.

“Alright you guys I’ll be back shortly.”

I returned my gaze to the two men. They were talking, their lips moving quickly as if they were discussing something important.

Huh. I wonder what they’re talking about?

James quickly returned with a large tray full of drinks for everyone. The club was particularly crowded tonight, which I despised. The sounds were far too loud, and the flashing lights hurt my brain. Furthermore, everyone here smells like stale alcohol and bad cologne.

The boys were no exception. If they weren’t famous they’d fit right in with the rest of the club goers. But there was something so enticing about rock stars that made almost anything they did classy. Or at the very least, extremely attractive.

I gulped my drink down, the alcohol not even rattling my brain as I was now too far tipsy to mind the taste.

Kirk was slightly more poised than Slash, with his back against the couch and his hands folded, resting between his crossed legs. Slash was completely relaxed, his posture slack, and his legs spread wide.

“Hey James!”

Kirk called. James sat on the opposite end of the couch. He cocked his head to the side, responding to Kirk’s call.

“Yeah?”

James called over the loud din of bar patrons.

“Could you run to the liquor store? Buy a bunch of shit in bulk for us. We need something good for the after party.”

James cocked a brow.

“Um. Sure I can do that… if that’s what everyone else wants.”

All the other band members happily agreed.

“Yeah why don’t you do that for us James.”

Slash chimed in.

“I’m gettin’ bored of this fucking place anyway.”

James stood, taking a long swig of his beer to finish it off before slamming the empty bottle on the table.

“Sure. No problem.”

James glanced towards me, flashing me a wink.

“Don’t miss me too much sis.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Get outta here.”

When I waved him away, laughter erupted all around the couch. James chuckled before turning and vanishing among the growing crowd.

“Hey Y/N!”

Slash called. I whipped my head to the side, unable to find Slash’s gaze under the dense mass of curls covering his eyes.

“Can we talk?”

Oh my God.

He wanted to talk with me?

What the hell.

This couldn’t be happening!

“Sure!“

I exclaimed, far too excitedly to avoid suspicion. Slash smirked as he stood to his full height, shimmying between the people and the table until he was free of the cramped space.

He walked past me and into the club's far hallway, where the VIP rooms were located.

He simply wants a quiet place to talk.

I scrambled to a stance and followed Slash, leaving the last few sips of my drink in the glass. The large top hat atop his head made him easy to spot among the thick crowds.

“Sorry.”

I bumped into someone’s shoulder.

“Sorry!”

How did Slash circumnavigate the crowds so easily?

He disappeared around the corner.

Shit!

I pushed past the last of the stray people, rounding the corner to see Slash, smugly leaning against the white wall. The music had died down. Everything was becoming more quiet, secretive, and enticing.

“What did you want to talk about?”

Being in such an intimate situation with Slash made my heart race. I stuffed my shaking hands into the back pockets of my jeans.

“Why don’t we talk in here?”

Slash pushed open one of the various doors that lined the plain walls, cocking his head to the side as if to encourage me to enter.

As much as I wanted to be in a private room with Slash, I couldn't help but be skeptical. I caught a glimpse of the luxurious red couch and marble floors, trying not to let my mind wander too far from reality.

“But that’s a VIP room. I was under the impression you have to pay for those.”

I said with a slight chuckle, trying to lift the thick tension in the atmosphere.

Slash shrugged.

“I know the guy who owns this club. He’ll make an exception for me.”

I ran my tongue along my bottom lip.

“Okay…”

My voice trailed off.

Holy shit.

What on earth was going on?

I couldn’t let my nervousness get to me. He probably just wanted to talk… right?

Holy fucking shit who am I kidding?! This is Slash I’m talking about!

“Are you alright?”

Slash asked, his tone laced with sarcasm rather than concern. I shook my head, clearing the haze from my brain.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.”

I said with a tight smile. Slash chuckled.

“It’s alright Y/N. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

I clenched my jaw, brushing his words off and making my way through the threshold and into the VIP room. I was afraid that if I indulged in a conversation with Slash, it would quickly go off the rails.

I glanced around the room.

God.

So many sexual things have happened in this room.

“Y’know Slash, I didn’t think she’d agree to this.”

Holy shit.

I turned around to see not only Slash but Kirk Hammett as well. Slash gently closed the door behind him, the loud music and banter drowning out as the lock clicked into place. They both turned in unison, two sets of eyes now on me.

What?

What in the hell was going on right now?

Slash smirked, crossing his arms over his exposed chest.

“I never had any doubts. She’s been eye fucking us all damn night. She’d do anything we asked.”

My entire body was numb. My cheeks became cold, blood draining from my face as my shoulder sagged.

I was limp.

What the hell.

This couldn’t be happening.

“What the hell is going on?”

I asked through my teeth, voice quivering meekly. Kirk laughed, rolling his eyes while he leaned nonchalantly against the plain walls of the otherwise luxurious VIP room.

“She still doesn’t fucking get it Slash.”

He stuffed his hands into his jeans' front pockets. Slash joined in on the laughter, forming a small chorus.

“What don’t I fucking get?”

I asked, still feeling as if I was completely in the dark.

Unless they meant…

No, no that’s definitely not what they fucking meant.

They were going to tease me, make fun of me a little for being so adventurous with my gaze.

Yeah.

That’s what they were going to do.

Then we'd all laugh it off and return to the table to drink some more cheap alcohol. We’d go to whoever's house for the after party and get completely shitfaced. I’d have a wet dream about them that night and wake up with a throbbing cunt. Maybe I’d get off to the thought of having both of their cocks buried inside me later, but under NO circumstances was I going to fuck them both tonight.

It just wasn’t possible.

The universe did not intend for this to happen to me. Fate doesn’t allow glorious shit like this to occur. Real life doesn’t allow glorious threesomes. That’s shit that happens in romance movies or far fetched books.

They both just… stared at me, their expressions devious. Whatever they had up their sleeve was calculated methodically.

“Isn’t it completely obvious?”

Slash asked.

No, not to me it wasn’t. My mind was running with possibilities yet I couldn’t land on one that would satisfy my question.

What the hell was going on?!

“Would you guys stop beating around the bush and just tell me what the fuck is going on!”

My tone had a hard edge to it. I was growing annoyed. My hands balled into tight fists at my sides.

Come on, I’d had it with the fucking foreplay.

Slash moved his hand slowly and silently towards the doorknob. My gaze was drawn to his movements, breath catching in my throat as his long fingers twisted the lock into place with a deafening click.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit!

I was now locked in a room with the two men I had been drooling over for the past two hours!

“Well I thought our intentions would be obvious by this point…”

Kirk spoke. My gaze snapped upwards. His voice was relaxed, far too relaxed. His body hung in the air, as if he could move rapidly at any moment. He was waiting for the right moment to execute whatever scheme they were hatching.

“But since you seem so fucking oblivious I suppose we could spell it out for you-“

Slash chimed in to the conversation.

“Hey, she’s getting agitated Kirk, why don’t you just give it to her straight.”

Jesus, were these men trying to kill me?

I’m sick of these mind games!

I could see they were getting off at tormenting me. They couldn’t hide the subtle smirks playing at the corners of their mouths.

“Basically we’re both gonna fuck the shit out of you.”

Slash spoke so calmly.

No way.

No fucking way.

I stood, my mind and body in inertia as I struggled to process the harsh gravity of what was just said.

Slash moved behind me, wrapping his strong arms around my waist and drawing me into his firm chest. The breath was knocked from my lungs in a short gasp as my back collided with Slash’s front. Kirk glared in my direction, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on Slash's movements. As he brought his lips to my ear, Slash's thick curls tickled the back of my neck while he whispered seductively against my earlobe.

“Why don’t you take your clothes off for us baby?”

My arms hung limply to my sides, my brain jumbled and unable to direct my body. Slash pressed me against him for a brief moment before gradually releasing his firm grip on my waist, his warmth leaving me in a cool wave. I kept my gaze fixed on Kirk, my eyes following him until his shoulder brushed against mine and he vanished from my peripheral vision. Kirk's heavy boots slammed against the smooth marble floors, the deep noises abruptly halting as he took his place on the opulent leather couch next to Slash.

Despite the fact that I could easily imagine the scene, I didn't want to glance behind me. My breathing was even, and my gaze was fixed on the black lines dancing in the white marble.

The shock of the situation hadn’t set in yet.

I felt numb.

A loud click echoed throughout the eerily silent room. One of the boys was smoking a cigarette.

“Come on baby. Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ all shy on us now.”

Slash spoke once more. Kirk remained silent.

I cast a glance over my shoulder at the two boys, noting their close proximity on the couch. Slash was very relaxed, with a cigarette hanging from his lips and one of his converse propped up on the glass table. Kirk tried to maintain his cool. He rested his torso against the back of the couch and spread his denim clad legs. But his demeanor had a hard edge to it, indicating that he was nervous beneath his faux calmness.

I turned my body around until I could stare comfortably at Slash and Kirk. I prayed they wouldn’t have me dance on the pole. That situation would result in nothing but embarrassment. Thankfully, they both gave the long metal pole zero attention. Their gaze was fixed on me as they patiently awaited my next move.

Slash smoked his cigarette until the bright embers faded into gray ash. He leaned forward and pressed it into the metal ashtray, twisting the stump a few times to ensure the flame was fully extinguished. Slash snatched the top hat from his head and placed it atop the glass before returning to his relaxed position. Kirk’s gaze didn’t falter. His mind was turning.

“Come on baby, how are we supposed to fuck the shit out of you if you won’t take off your fucking clothes?”

Slash smirked, his white teeth contrasting with his tanned skin. I drew my t-shirt from the waistband of my jeans and pulled it over my head, hesitantly.

The shock had now fully set it.

My heart was rushing around my ribcage like a racehorse on steroids. I didn't even try to hide the tremors in my legs. The two men were keeping a close eye on me, and I knew they'd pick up on my anxiety whether I showed physical signs or not.

I kept my eyes fixed on the floor. The moment my bra dropped to the ground, my stomach flipped, a sudden onset of nausea washing over me. It was the strangest emotion I had ever experienced. I needed to get out of this room. Yet, I wanted the situation to progress further.

After a moment of consideration, I decided my desire to get fucked was far greater than my want to chicken out. Besudes, when would I ever get the chance to fuck both Slash and Kirk Hammett?

I took a moment to breathe before slowly unbuttoning my jeans. The fabric was loose enough for it to slip down my legs without much effort. I now stood bare besides the thin fabric of my panties hiding my most sensitive area from the two men’s casual gazes.

Damn.

They had both done this before.

The men sat before me as if they were casually watching a sporting event. Their steady heartbeats most definitely did not correspond to the racing pulse throbbing within my ears. But in this vulnerable state, I began to imagine things.

My hands dropped to my sides, my mind briefly lost in thought. I'd never caught Slash or Kirk in such a sensual scene before. And there was only a thin layer of clothing between my naked body and theirs.

What would Slash’s rough hands feel like pressed against my breasts?

How would Kirk’s long fingers feel buried knuckle deep inside of me?

Which one of them moans more frequently?

Whose cock could fill me up better?

“Alright baby that’s enough undressing. Come sit on my lap.”

Slash’s relaxed tone snapped me from my daze.

Shit.

Had I been staring at the wall this entire time?

Fuck I probably looked like a total idiot.

No time for worries now.

Slash smacked his leather clad thighs, inviting me to sit. I gulped, my nervousness completely transforming into desire as I knew Slash’s hands would be on me the moment I sat upon his thighs. The heat from my face melted away, traveling downwards until it pooled within my lower abdomen.

I approached Slash, turning and gently placing myself on his lap. I tried to make myself as comfortable as possible, but the sticky leather made it difficult. I moved my hips against Slash’s pelvis, stopping with a sudden gasp when I felt his bulge growing. One of his arms wrapped around my waist, immobilizing me. Slash ran his opposite hand tenderly along the top of my thigh, his chin resting on my shoulder.

“Stop moving.”

He demanded with a low growl. Slash’s hand moved gradually towards my core. I took a shaky breath and glanced downwards to watch his movements. My fingernails dug into the denim covering his arms, clenching hard as Slash gently felt my wetness through my panties.

He chuckled against my ear.

“My God baby, you’re so fucking wet. Does the thought of getting fucked like a whore turn you on?”

Slash mumbled raspily, his calloused fingertips finding my clothed clit. I threw my head against Slash’s shoulder, back arching away from his chest while my jaw dropped.

Slash found this extremely amusing.

“My God you’re so desperate.”

Slash dragged a finger along the inner waistband of my panties.

“How would James feel if he walked in and saw this?”

Slash raised his voice. His words were now aimed at Kirk rather than me.

“I think he’d have a fucking heart attack.”

Kirk's voice was surprisingly stable. I would assume he was nervous based on his lack of action.

But who am I kidding.

Kirk is just as much of a rockstar as Slash.

Slash scoffed.

“I’ve done my part for now. You wanna taste her while I hold her down for ya?”

Slash’s finger stopped. He tugged my panties down my thighs, and I shifted my hips to quicken the process. Slash groaned, the friction against his bulge making his cock twitch within his leather pants.

He stopped yanking when my panties reached midway down my thighs. Kirk kneeled in front of me, grasping the fabric and pulling it the rest of the way down my legs. Slash’s thick curls brushed against my cheek, his eyes anxiously watching Kirk settle between my legs.

Kirk threw my knees over his shoulders. Slash wrapped both of his strong arms around my waist, squeezing me into his chest and incapacitating me. Kirk began to drag his lips along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, sending chills down my spine as he moved slowly towards my soaking wet cunt. His mustache created a delicious sensation against my skin that made my pussy throb with anticipation. Kirk stared at me through his thick lashes, observing my pleasured expressions change as he neared my core.

He buried his face between my thighs, engulfing my swollen bud with his gloriously warm mouth. I arched my back, only to be stopped by Slash’s firm grip.

“Fuck!”

I exclaimed, clutching Slash’s denim clad arms. Kirk flicked my clit with the tip of his tongue, my thighs instinctively crushing his skull. My head fell back against Slash’s shoulder.

One of Slash’s arms released my waist. His hand became entangled in my roots, and he utilized the grip on my hair to thrust my face forward.

“Why don’t you look at Kirk while he eats you out. It’s the polite thing to do.”

I watched Kirk intently, his dark black hair standing out against my thighs. My legs shook as he mercilessly flicked my clit with his wonderfully skilled tongue.

Kirk hollowed his cheeks, the suction on my clit increasing tenfold. My chest now heaved with every strangled breath. The pleasure was consuming me, wrapping around my entire body and constricting until I couldn’t breathe.

Kirk held my thighs in place, his large hands wrapping around my plush thighs. Both of the men’s strong grips completely paralyzed my bottom half.

It made me feel helpless, small, completely at their mercy.

And I fucking loved it.

The fact that they could do whatever they wanted to me whenever they wanted sent a rush of heat to my core.

Slash placed a gentle kiss to the soft skin above my jugular.

“Look at her fucking face Kirk. Look at how fucking desperate she looks.”

Kirk glanced up at me, and I could instantly feel him smirk against my cunt as he relished in my fucked out expression. His mustache brushed against my clit, creating delicious friction that had me on the verge of cumming.

Slash held my head in place, his lips sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin covering my jugular. I released Slash's forearms, reaching for Kirk's hair and tangling my fingers in his curly roots to keep him in place.

My stomach was pinched tight, the sensation almost painful. I tried to keep my orgasm at bay, not wanting to end the delicious pleasure Kirk was giving me.

“Are you gonna cum baby?”

Slash mumbled against my neck, his mouth sucking bright purple marks into my flesh.

“Yeah… I’m gonna cum.”

My orgasm was leaking into the corners of my eyes, leaving me partially blind with desire as my release threatened to spill over the edge at any second.

“Can you cum on my face, pretty girl?”

Kirk spoke.

He fucking spoke!

His raspy tone sent me into a frenzy, the movements of his tongue not faltering.

“Yeah…”

My voice trailed off into a sigh as my orgasm ripped through me. I could only squeeze my eyes shut and increase my strong grasp on Kirk’s hair as I came all over his mouth.

I quickly became a moaning mess, my chest convulsing as I desperately tried to fill my lungs. My lower abdomen clenched as Kirk gave a few lazy flicks to my clit with his tired tongue, bringing me down from a freight train of an orgasm.

“How does she taste Kirk?”

Slash asked, stopping his attack on my neck to glare between my thighs. Kirk dragged his tongue from base to clit, tasting my juices. I groaned softly, my overstimulated cunt ready for a break (that I knew I wouldn’t be getting anytime soon).

“She tastes fucking amazing Slash. You wanna try?”

Slash chuckled.

“I’ll taste her eventually.”

Eventually?

Was he hinting at a sequel?

“Just let me fuck her first and I’ll consider us even.”

Kirk pulled away from my core, his lips and mustache shining with wetness in the low light of the VIP room.

“Be my guest.”

Kirk said, a large smirk plastered on his confident ass face. He gently sat my legs back down upon Slash’s thighs, my sweaty skin clinging to the leather. Kirk stood, flashing me a wink and smile as he made his way to the lavish red armchair at the opposite end of the couch.

“You want me to fuck you baby?”

Slash loosened the grip on my hair, allowing my neck to go limp and my head to fall back against his shoulder. His raspy tone pushed all thoughts of Kirk from my mind.

“Hm? You want me to fill you up?”

I clenched my thighs together at the mere mention of being fucked into the couch.

“I bet my cock would feel really fucking good inside your pretty little pussy.”

I sighed shakily.

“Please Slash just fuck me already.”

He chuckled, and the slight movement of his pelvis brought his insanely large and prominent bulge to my attention.

“If you say so baby.”

Slash grabbed my waist and threw me to the opposite end of the couch. My head smacked against the armrest, the brief sting of pain dissipating as I noticed Slash kneeling before me. I propped myself up on my elbows to catch a glimpse at Slash’s slow and seductive movements. His hands reached for his silver belt buckle, which he slowly undid while maintaining intense eye contact with me.

“Keep begging.”

Slash demanded, his tone stern as he tossed his belt to the side. His hands moved to push his jean jacket down his arms as the buckle clinked loudly against the marble floor.

I ran my tongue along my bottom lip, my eyes drifting along Slash’s bare chest partially concealed under his jacket.

“Please fuck me Slash.”

“Keep going.”

He dropped his jacket to the floor with a soft thud, his hands now finding the waistband of his leather pants.

“Please fuck me Slash.”

I gulped, a large lump forming in my throat.

“I need your cock inside of me.”

My cheeks flushed hot as my eyes caught the first glimpse of dark pubic hair that was now exposed. Slash continued to push the waistband of his leather pants down his legs, raising up on his knees.

“God you have such a dirty fucking mouth.”

His cock now sprung free from its confines. Slash shuffled off the couch and stood for a split second to drop his pants the rest of the way down his legs and kick off his Converse.

He now stood, fully bare, rock hard cock on full display for my hungry eyes to drink in.

Slash climbed over me, his hair draping around our faces and whisking us away to a private place where we could fuck in peace. His lust blown eyes were fixed on me, memorizing every inch of my fucked out face before rocking his pelvis forward.

I could feel his rock hard cock pressing against my lower abdomen. Slash hiked my legs around his thin waist, his swollen tip insanely close to where I desired him most.

“Please Slash.”

I begged.

“I want you to make me cum.”

I threw my arms around Slash’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer and encouraging him to make the next move.

He smirked, grasping his length with one hand and gently dragging his tip between my wet folds. The aching in my cunt had returned. I bucked my hips instinctively against Slash’s cock, hoping to quell the insane pulse of pleasure within my lower abdomen.

“Stop being so fucking desperate you dirty whore.”

Slash growled between his teeth before slamming into me. His cock stretched my walls so far that I feared I would rip in two. My body convulsed. I gasped in pleasure, arching my back into Slash’s sweaty chest.

He gave me little time to adjust. Slash pulled back before snapping his hips forward and burying his cock balls deep inside of my wet cunt. His tip instantly found my needy g spot and I moaned loudly, jaw dropping in pleasure.

My brow knit as he slammed into my g spot a second time, the wet sounds of sex erupting throguhout the otherwise quiet room. Slash viciously grabbed my jaw, holding my chin in place as he relentlessly fucked me into the soft couch.

“No baby… I want you to fucking look at me while you cum all over my cock.”

Slash’s tone wasn’t breathy in the slightest. He was confident, extremely assertive while his swollen tip banged my g spot every time he bottomed out within me.

I gave him a subtle nod, fully succumbing to his assertiveness. My breasts rocked with every thrust, the coil in my stomach tightening rapidly.

“Slash… you’re gonna make me cum.”

Slash maintained intense eye contact with me, the rapid movements of his hips not faltering.

“Cum on my cock you dirty whore.”

I came, allowing any expression to wash over my face as I released my orgasm around Slash’s thick cock.

I expected him to slow, to give me a break after his relentless fucking.

But he didn’t.

Slash drew back, his hands wrapping around my waist and flipping me onto my stomach. My breasts flattened against the soft cushions, overstimulated cunt screaming for release. The bright red fabric of the couch was the only thing visible by my anxious eyes. I wanted nothing more than to look over my shoulder and watch as Slash’s face as he fucked me. But his hand found the back of my head.

He grabbed my hair and slammed my face even further into the cushions. I screamed, the couch muffling my noises. My hands scoured for anything that could be used as leverage, eventually settling on digging my nails into the cushions.

“God you’re such a whore for me. I bet you were thinking about my cock pumping inside of you all fucking night.”

My spongy walls clenched around Slash. My entire body seized, begging for a break. But Slash’s opposite hand found my waist and pulled me back to meet his thrusts, his cock slamming into my g spot once more.

“God you love being fucked like a little slut. Your pretty cunt is absolutely dripping for me.”

My abdomen clenched, orgasm on the brink of washing over me.

“You're gonna make me cum baby. I’m gonna cum inside you.”

Slash’s cock twitched inside of me.

That sent me over the edge.

My walls hugged his cock as I orgasmed for the third time this night. I moaned loudly against the couch cushions, my muscles sore from numerous convulsions.

Slash came with a deep grunt, his hot cum coating my overstimulated walls. I groaned as I felt his release fill me to the brim.

This time, he slowed, allowing me to come down from my post orgasmic haze.

“Alright Kirk. It’s your turn with the cock slut.”

Slash pulled out in one fluid motion, leaving me with a sudden sense of emptiness. Our combined juices dripped down the backs of my thighs, my pussy clenching with desire to be filled again. I hovered over the couch, my hands pushing my torso upwards once Slash’s grasp released from the back of my head.

I cocked my head up and glanced around the room. My gaze was drawn to Kirk. He shot me an intimidating glance, his legs crossed to presumably conceal his prominent erection. Slash's weight lifted from the couch, and he began to redress himself, flashing me sensual glances through the corner of his eye every few seconds.

I locked my gaze on Kirk for a few moments, watching as the gears inside his head turned. He deliberated over his next move.

Kirk rose slowly and walked over to the couch. He stood behind the armrest, staring down at me with blown black pupils. Kirk gently cupped my face with his calloused palm, the pad of his thumb running along my cheekbone.

The way I had to cock my head almost completely backwards to meet Kirk’s gaze made me feel so… submissive.

He thrusted his thumb between my lips. I took it into my mouth, swirling my thumb sensually around the pad and hallowing my cheeks to increase the suction. Kirk groaned. My eyes drifted downwards until they caught his prominent erection straining against the fabric of his dark jeans.

I moaned against Kirk’s thumb, my mind wandering to the glorious things he could do to me with his cock.

“I’ll let you ride my honey.”

Kirk’s deep voice jolted me from my stupor. I snapped my eyes upwards to reconnect with Kirk’s sensual yet intimidating gaze.

“Would you like that? Hm? Would you like to ride my cock?”

A rush of heat ran to my core.

Yes.

I would like that.

I nodded, nearly gagging as Kirk thrusted his thumb deeper within my throat.

Kirk smirked.

“Alright honey.”

Kirk released his thumb from between my lips with a loud pop. He moved in a semicircle around the couch, his gaze fixed on me. I didn't move, nor did I look at him. I waited until Kirk assumed a position and called my name, signaling that it was time to escalate the situation.

I shuffled around until I kneeled before Kirk. His head was propped atop the armrest, his body completely relaxed as he waited patiently for me to make the next move. I inhaled shakily, the sudden control a stark contrast to the way I was thrown around just moments before.

Kirk rested his open palms against his thighs, his smoldering gaze edging me on. I instinctively crawled over him, straddling his hips, the thick leather belt digging into my inner thighs. My hands reached for the collar of his shirt as Kirk’s hands settled atop my spread legs, rubbing gentle circles into the soft flesh of my thighs. I began to frantically unbutton his shirt, gradually exposing more of his chest.

Kirk's eyes were boring into my skull, following my every move. When I reached the last button, I threw both sides of his shirt to the side, exposing his entire torso. I shifted my hips to gain friction for my throbbing cunt. The cool metal of his belt buckle pressed against my sensitive clit, sending a jolt of cold pleasure through my nerves. I sighed, the prominent bulge in his pants now teasing my entrance.

“Keep going baby. I wanna feel you around my cock.”

My hands traveled from his chest, down between our bodies, anxious hands shakily undoing his belt buckle. I yanked the smooth leather from the loops, tossing it to the floor. His jeans now the only barrier between me and his rock hard erection.

My hasty fingers undid his fly, hurriedly pulling the tough fabric down his thighs to allow his erection to spring free. The lack of underwear only heightened the desire to have him buried inside me. I tugged his pants down just enough to free his cock and give us both a comfortable fucking experience.

Kirk’s grip on my thighs tightened as I grasped his rock hard cock and lined it up with my soaking entrance. Kirk glared at me, his crushing eyes telling me he was the one truly in control.

I sunk down on him, his cock pleasurably stretching my walls. He wasn’t quite as girthy as Slash, but he was long enough to brush my g spot almost instantly.

“Fuck.”

I groaned, throwing my head back as my hips began to move instinctively against his pelvis. Kirk’s hands traveled from my thighs, to my plush hips, where he assisted me in grinding atop his painfully hard erection.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous honey. You look so pretty riding my cock.”

Kirk watched me, his eyes traveling over every inch of my exposed body. Eventually halting when he reached the place where our bodies connected. He groaned, dull nails digging into my hips. The swollen tip of his cock brushed against my g spot every time my hips slammed against his pelvis.

“Fuck Kirk… you feel so good.”

I mumbled, my open palms holding my torso upwards by resting atop his pectorals. My words sent Kirk into a frenzy. He braced his feet against the couch, thrusting his hips upwards to meet the changing movements of my pelvis.

My juices were lubricating his cock, dripping down his length to ease the upwards thrusts of Kirk’s hips.

I squeezed my eyes shut, neck falling limp as I allowed Kirk to take full control of the situation. My thigh muscles grew sore, the slight pain adding to the growing sensation of pleasure building within my core.

“Fuck Kirk. I’m gonna cum.”

Kirk sighed.

“You look so pretty honey. Cum all over my cock.”

My lower abdomen was tight, ready to release all over his length. I moaned loudly, walls clenching around Kirk as I came.

I threw my head backwards, exposing my neck for Kirk’s hungry eyes as I fell into an overwhelming state of euphoria. His cock twitched within me, releasing his hot cum moments after I orgasmed.

I came down quickly, Kirk’s hips faltering before he finally relaxed agaisnt the plush couch. My eyes fluttered open, catching sight of Kirk’s sweaty face and lust blown eyes.

Our chests heaved in unison as we became accustomed to the wonderful sensation of post orgasmic haze.

“Good job you two. I loved the fucking show.”

I threw my head over my shoulder, catching sight of now fully dressed Slash sprawled out upon the armchair.

“Now let’s get back before James sends a search party for his whore little sister.”

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goongiveusnothing · 8 months

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his ego won't let him stay close to anyone.

Or maybe everyone that's close to him eventually shows there true colors and just wants to use him to boost there careers, or maybe it's because all of Harrys friends are getting married or in committed relationships, having babies. Harrys getting older and so are his friends things change priorities change it's a part of life. Harry sacrificed a big part of his life to have the life style he lives. His priorities are touring, making money building a brand, his friends chose a different path. I think some of you need to stop being so critical.

If you still have people in your life from childhood your one of the lucky ones, some of us don't we made sacrifices and that ment cutting people loose that wasn't meant for part of our journey doesn't mean we are damaged, or can't have committed relationships. Geeesh

Or maybe everyone that's close to him eventually shows there true colors and just wants to use him to boost there careers

and harry doesn't use them? he has literally tried to surround himself with victoria's secret models and other celebrities like the gerbers or nick grimshaw and the primrose hill gang and the people from his movies, he's even tried to name drop his own former band mates for clout.

and what do you think james corden and ben winston and brad the trainer use harry for? his company? you don't think brad is living off "all the pussy" he's gotten from being near harry? are you that naive? xander literally bragged about how he could harry into a threesome with some girl, and harry was cool with that. harry even tried to get some dude laid onstage and it turned out he then started messaging children online.

sacrificed a big part of his life lmao. like he's lived in a war zone. if you can stay friends with anyone as rich as he is, that's on you.

his priorities are making money, his brand that he gives no shits about, and touring for the money. yeah. i wonder why nobody around him likes him.

if you're a multi millionaire celebrity and you can't keep any friendships apart from the people you pay for work and then perhaps potential work collaborators like taylor russell, then that is definitely a reflection of you. his fans can be butthurt about it all they want. they know his friends suck ass and his personal life seems like a disaster. who the fuck would want to hang out with the azoffs, xander, ben winston, james corden, and brad at every turn? it definitely reflects on him and his fans know that.

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eisforeidolon · 2 years

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Previous question ends with the fan telling this joke: Well you know how they call relations with three people a threesome and with two people a twosome? And now you know why everybody calls you handsome.

Jared: [pointedly looks at his hand] I like it [sniffs hand, audience ewws]. Uhh, next question!

Jensen: No, let's dive into that a little bit.

Jared: [makes cut gesture] Let's not, let's not.

Jensen: Let's - I just wanna get a handle on that.

Jared: Were we in Palm Springs?

Jensen: Oh-kay.

Question: [Aside about Surprise Arizona.] We are all here and we're melting and fawning over you guys -

Jared: He is handsome [points back at previous fan]!

Question: You are way more better looking in person than you are on tv, just so you know.

Jensen: He looks terrible on camera.

Question: So my question is, who out there - musicians, actors - do you find that, either you've already met or you would like to meet that you would fawn over and maybe fanboy over?

Jared: I think for me, more often than not, because I've worked and been around a lot of actors and actresses that I really respect and admire, for me it's more musicians. Like I met Eddie Vedder and embarrassed myself and was like, 'Aw, man.'

Jensen: [nodding] Yes, he did.

Jared: So I think maybe for - I don't watch tv a lot, but I listen to music all the time, and so maybe the relationship that some of y'all have with us where we're kind of always background noise? You know like, 'Oh, I'm doing the dishes, I'll throw this on' like we're in your home. So being a big fan of tv shows and rewatching movies over and over again - you watch them in your bedroom, you watch them in the kitchen, you watch them in the living room, so it's always like a soundtrack to your life? So I think the soundtrack to my life is literally soundtrack, or you know, music. So probably musicians, like if I met Dave Grohl, I'd probably freak out. Like Thom Yorke or something.

Jensen: Yeah, I'd probably agree with Jared, I'm thinking like who would I go and watch and be in awe of, and let's see when was the last time I did that? And it was when I saw Robert Plant play. I was just like [exaggerated expression of openmouthed astonishment]. Everybody else around me was like jammin' out and I'm just like [makes expression again]. He probably saw me and was like, 'Weirdo.'

Jared: But handsome!

Jensen: [laughs] I will say you reminded me of something when you said you're better looking in person? Which I don't agree with you, but thank you. Um, someone who we actually saw in real life and [to Jared] I don't know if you, we didn't touch on it too much, but I just remember going, like [offended], 'Come on!' Jared Leto -

Jared: [gets look of realization] Oh yeah!

Jensen: - is like, grossly pretty in real life. Yes. Like I mean the guy is like [gestures] he's pretty but in real life you're like, 'You're not real.'

Jared: Yeah, it doesn't make any sense, deal with the devil. And also -

Jensen: And he's 50! And he looks like he's 22! Jerk. I'd slap him if I had the opportunity.

Jared: Margot Robbie. We saw Margot Robbie at the Scream awards when we were presenting to Kripke years ago and before she'd done Wolf of Wall Street - she'd done something but she wasn't yet [quote fingers] Margot Robbie Margot Robbie. And we had just presented and then she was coming onstage while we were going offstage, it was like, 'Hey, this is-' 'Hey, nice to meet you.' We both were like, 'My god she's, there's nothing wro-'

Jensen: Flawless.

Jared: She's a pretty flawless-looking human.

Jensen: I saw, I was at some weird event and I happened to walk, literally brush shoulders with Cindy Crawford. And this was like, maybe five years ago. And I was just like, 'Stop it.'

Q: So you do have those people that when you see -

Jensen: Oh, sure.

Jared: Sure, yeah.

Q: Because we see you all as superstars and -

Jared: Go on.

Q: there are those times that we just [unintelligible] oh baby -

Jensen: Oh yeah. I remember looking at Cindy Crawford as she's walking by and in my head I was like, 'Stop staring, stop staring, stop staring, stop staring.' And in reality, I was like this [intense tracking stare].

Jared: And she was like, 'That guy's weird ... but handsome!'

#SPNPHX 2022 #J2 gold panel #long post

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belovedindierock · 2 years

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Music For Independent Ears / Doves touch down at the Fillmore; more indie picks

by Kimberly Chun, SFGate

June 13, 2001

Lost And Now They're Found Manchester's Doves rise from the ashes

Watching the UK band Doves bound into Bimbo's this spring for their first show in SF, it was easy to imagine that vocalist/bassist Jimi Goodwin, guitarist Jez Williams and his twin, drummer Andy Williams, are as innocent and unsullied as their name. The threesome rough-housed and took snapshots of each other in the Rat Pack splendor of the club's main room before they finally got onstage for the sound check.

"We're all really chuffed. It's the best hall we've done, this," enthused Jez Williams, 31. "We've managed to sidestep all the toilets, the really horrible toilets in America, and we've gone straight to 600- to 1,000-capacity venues."

Tucked into a wood-paneled corner of the bar hours before the show, Williams seemed like just another nice bloke on holiday, eager to talk the afternoon away. The capacity crowd had yet to pour in to hear his band's moody psychedelic pop, crammed with fresh yet familiar hooks, Pink Floyd-ish ambiance and Fine Young Cannibals-style grooves.

Tonight, Wednesday, June 13, Doves return to the Bay Area for a highly anticipated performance at the Fillmore, flying on the good word-of-mouth following their powerful, focused set at Bimbo's.

But contrary to appearances that night, the Manchester veterans of the acid house/Hacienda scene have been around the block and back. As the dance music group Sub Sub, the trio scored a top five UK hit in 1993 with "Ain't No Love (Ain't No Use)" and subsequently spent the next few years trying to work themselves out of their "faceless 12-inch" dance music oblivion, as Goodwin has put it. After working on tracks with guest vocalist such as Tricky and Bernard Sumner of New Order for a second album, they lost all their tapes and equipment to a fire in their Manchester studio about four years ago.

"It happened on mine and Andy's birthday," Williams recalled. "To go out at 4 in the morning, and there's just a total meltdown, all the gear, all the tapes everything -- it was tragic." Picking Up Themselves Up By Their Guitar Straps

They decided to start all over -- playing guitars and drums alongside samplers and lap tops -- as Doves, which shares its name with a type of ecstasy and its Cinemascope sound with artists such as Talk Talk, the Specials and Scott Walker. Holing up in New Order's concrete, windowless studio space in northern Manchester, the band dreamed up last year's album, Lost Souls.

"It was quite a claustrophobic way of working because we didn't see much daylight for two years," Williams said. "I think it helped the sound as well, because we were basically trapped in this bunker and also lyrically a lot of things on that album are about escapism as well."

Passing around soundtrack compilation tapes during the recording of Lost Souls, they concentrated on bringing "a filmic edge to it, but with a band, not necessarily with computers. We were thinking of sonically building textures...and sort of hypnotic melodies," Williams explained. "It came very much from dance culture." Flying Solo

So how do Doves fit into this brave new world of British pop -- one that had them up for the Mercury Prize last year, against their old friend and collaborator Badly Drawn Boy (Damon Gough)?

"We're all pretty suspect about things like that," said Williams with a laugh. "I understand why media concoct these kind of movements. It doesn't do any harm, and I get asked about Coldplay and Badly Drawn Boy. It's just that I don't think we are a part of anything. We're in Doves world, really. Doing our thing, y'know."

June 13: Doves with the Webb Brothers and Erlend Oye from Kings Of Convenience; the Fillmore, 1805 Geary, SF; 9 pm; $21.50; (415) 421-TIXS or (415) 346-6000.

#Doves #Doves uk band #doves band #doves music #San Francisco #Fillmore #SF Fillmore #San Francisco Fillmore #concert #live music #i was there #sfgate #indie music #brit pop #british pop

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lorata · 2 years

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Okay, so I have this absolutely CURSED headcanon for the Victor!Creed AU that is deeply horrifying, but once I thought of it I can NEVER forget it.

Callista couldn't figure out why Creed's face looked so familiar when she first opened his file. It's only after she sees a photo of Creed and Alec's parents for the first time and realizes she once propositioned one (or both) of them at a peacekeeper's gala that she kinda goes "Ah. Oh No."

Calli, wierdly frozen: "Ah, are those your parents, my dears?"

Creed and Alec: "Uh, yeah? Do you know them?"

Calli: "...One could say that."

Creed and Alec both consider it the most traumatizing moment of both their lives, which is saying something

the idea of Callista shooting her shot and inviting hot Peacekeeper Joseph AND his hot wife home for a threesome at the annual Peacekeeper's Gala is so deeply funny to me that I have not been able to answer this ask, I've just left it sitting in my inbox to inflict psychic damage upon me every time I randomly scroll past it

the only thing about the concept as outlined above that's NOT true is the part where she'd be anywhere close to embarrassed about it, so it would be more like

Calli: oh THOSE are your parents, I thought I recognized them Creed/Alec: recognized them from where? Calli: very good genes, your family, you should be proud Creed/Alec: RECOGNIZED THEM FROM WHERE

(meanwhile, at home at the Seward residence:

Adora, after Creed wins and he and Callista are onstage together on TV: hey do you remember the time Joseph: p l e a s e)

#lorata answers #anonymous #you know who you are #but i will pretend i do not #for the sake of the tag #we must be killers: tales from district 2

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vickyvicarious · 4 years

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Some Leverage thoughts

Hardison stays up all night when he gets into a game, even otherwise is a bit of a night owl. Parker tends to stay up late but has the ability to fall asleep any time anywhere at will. Eliot can sleep whenever if needed but likes to wake up at the crack of dawn; luckily he only sleeps like 5 hours a night so he doesn't need to miss out on too much time with them in the evening. They do sleep in though so he gets annoyed at them wasting the day away.

Sophie and Maggie are good friends who would most definitely enjoy having a threesome together but it won't happen as long as Nate is the third party and Sophie isn't going to do it without him now they're together, so... sigh. What a shame, they'd have a great time. They have discussed this over wine resignedly but with great affection.

Sterling is an excellent cook. Nate lets this slip at some point, probably via commenting that he prefers Sterling's version of [x dish Eliot made]. They all silently agree never to let Eliot know.

Parker likes putting stuff in her hot chocolate. This can range from stuff like caramel, mint, butterscotch... to stuff like peanut butter, hard-boiled eggs, hot sauce.

Nate doesn't do anything for his son's death anniversary. On his birthday he usually gets drunk and maudlin and vaguely religious but he refuses to do anything special for the day he died.

Sophie regularly visits her acting troupe and gives them advice both onstage and in life. She gives them all her personal cell phone number.

Eliot doesn't save contacts in his phone, just memorizes the numbers of everyone he needs to talk to.

Parker cannot hold a conversation of any length on the phone without doing gymnastics/parkour or she finds herself unable to focus.

Hardison likes exercising for a number of reasons including: defying geek stereotype, lookin' good, it's a thing to do while listening to podcasts or watching trashy TV, and it warms his heart to know he is capable of putting Chaos in a headlock from which he would never escape.

Eliot would make mixtapes for the team if he didn't know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they would all mock him for eternity. Still, deep in his heart the impulse lives on.

Hardison has assigned a superhero alter-ego to every member of the team but none of them care enough to sit down and listen to him explain who he chose and why. (Eliot gets excited about it eventually but only after a lengthy amount of trolling.)

One year they all go apeshit on April Fools day. No one even remembers why they did it but they are all too scared to ever attempt celebrating the day again.

#leverage #headcanons

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messykingofcamp · 3 years

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Numbers 30-40 for the 4:02 a.m. meme!

30.) Are your choices fated or of your own free will?

pHEW, what a question. I honestly can’t decide. I think that I’m one of those people who have free will but just choose to ignore it at the end of the day. That is because I do not trust my own free will. At least I could use “my choices are fated” as an excuse for eating too many cracker jacks and listening to Remains of the Day in my spare time, or using drive-ins as a fun little substitute for Tinder. (Don’t judge me here, every guy on Tinder always wants to go boating or mountain climbing. I am a student, I have a paper due Monday and need a quick dicking down, I do not want to go to a pancake house with you.)

31.) Do you have a hunch about how you’re doing to die?

Oh God, I have honestly no idea. I couldn’t tell you all on here because I am in the dark. Maybe some under-planned onstage stunt work if I make it onto Broadway? That sounds really impressive, which is why I don’t think it would happen. I’m honestly terrified of dying in a really embarrassing or underwhelming way, like falling and hitting my head on the washing machine. I just wouldn’t want anyone to find me because then they’d know I was a clown and got killed by a washing machine. I can see it now. One policeman would say: since he’s a clown, was the washing machine part of his act? The other one would say: No, he was just doing his laundry. Disappointment Vine would play in the background, my dad would hang his head, it would be very messy.

32.) Do you believe in star signs?

Ha, I don’t think so but I have to admit, they are pretty great with being able to sound exactly like you. I looked up what my star sign is, and it said “If you were born on August 8th, you are a Leo who’s good at arranging things.” That is super off, I can’t even arrange a threesome without someone getting sick or forgetting to get tested. Astrology girls are great though, I am here for their aesthetic.

33.) How old do you have to be to be considered an adult?

Why do I feel like this is one of those questions that tricks you into sounding like a pedophile? Adults are 18 and older, but according to my Grindr bio, I’ve been 18 for maybe 3 years.

34.) Was your childhood happy?

I would say that my childhood was happy enough. Sure I probably weighed more back then compared to what I do now and I was lonely enough to always be talking about Newsies on Wattpad, and there was that whole weird era where my dad would pretend like he didn’t know his son who talked about Newsies on Wattpad was gay. But hey, could be worse. Being gay in a small town is tough, and I was lucky enough to have an accepting enough family and some good friends.

35.) What are you missing from your life?

Well right now everyone is stuck inside their houses because of the coronavirus, so I am missing being outdoors. I love my time indoors as much as the next guy who has unlimited access to early 2000’s era reality show reruns and a good supply of warm milk, but I miss how things used to be. I still have to take Fangs to see a Broadway musical, and I haven’t had a Pop’s hot dog in months which I could really go for. And hey, I’d never actually show my face at B*** M***** again but I Veronica and I could have at least walked past it on our way to another store.

36.) Have you met someone who had a similar personality to your own? Did you get along?

Honestly, I can not say that I’ve ever met someone with a similar personality to me. I think that Veronica and I can sometimes have similar senses of humor and Fangs and I both have a crackhead type of social media presence, but even then, we’re still so different. I can’t say what I would think of someone who is similar to me. I don’t think I would know how to respond in that situation.

37.) Do opposites attract?

To be honest, I don’t think that being opposite or being similar has anything to do with attraction. I’m attracted to the man who pumps my gas, but I wouldn’t actually ever want to date him. It’s just a shallow thing. But relationship wise? Different ballpark. If you’re too different from someone, that can kill the vibe quickly. If you can never agree on anything then you probably shouldn’t be together. But hey, what do I know? I’m not super experienced here or anything, it’s just what I’ve observed.

38.) Is your life what you expected it would be four years ago?

Love life wise? Not at all. Four years ago I was still in that phase everyone has in middle school where they think they’re going to find the perfect guy and have this endgame relationship, so you never expect you’ll end up with the guy you joined a cult with. But honestly, what I have now is better because it’s the realest relationship I’ve been in. Back then, I also never thought I’d get the chance to put on so many productions at RHS and yet here I am. I know those productions always ended in tears and the Greendale drama department has an entire groupchat to call us cringe, but I still do have good memories of working on those musicals. I don’t regret doing Carrie or Heathers. They needed to happen for me to get to Hedwig, and then to get to college where I can hopefully put on a stage production without something insanely bad happening during it.

39.) Do you know what you want out of life?

I was going to go with a quick joke answer and just say “d*ck”, but my followers don’t want to hear about all of that. So I will try to answer this one seriously. If there’s one thing I really want to have in my life at this point, I would want to keep pushing boundaries in some way. For a gay theater kid who produced cringe content while he was in high school, I surprisingly did not do a lot of boundary pushing outside of my play productions. It’s not even something I knew I could do until I did Hedwig. Defending Hedwig wasn’t about the variety show. Every LGBT kid at RHS knows what it feels like to be pushed out of spaces because people feel uncomfortable. Sure it’s not outright homophobia, but it kept happening with Mr. Honey and we all knew it.

40.) What makes a person “good?” Are you a “good” person?

What makes a person good? I can’t say, but I like to think that I’ve been a good person. Certain people like Moose and the butcher from Lidl might say differently though.

#thank you for your contribution Betty #if anyone seriously reads this keep in mind that I am missing either a right or a brain cell #clown on computer

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ohblackdiamond · 4 years

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little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 11 of 29)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14 part 15 part 16 part 17 part 18 part 19 part 20 part 21 part 22 part 23 part 24 part 25 part 26 part 27 part 28 part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Paul and Gene confess the truth to Ace and Peter.

There were a few things Gene hadn’t exactly thought he’d live to see. One was the fall of Communism. One was decent oil prices. One was Paul Stanley attempting to shove Ace Frehley bodily into the doorframe.

At least, that was what it looked like Paul was trying to do. Gene hadn’t gotten out of the car nearly fast enough to catch it all, hampered by the car lock he’d thoughtlessly left on and the milkshake he’d been in the middle of (they’d picked up Dairy Queen on the way back from the boutique). By the time Gene got to the front yard, Paul had Ace by the shoulders and was screaming obscenities.

By the time Gene got to the front porch, Peter had yanked Paul away from Ace and had one of his arms locked behind his back. Paul was trying to trip Peter, one foot twisting behind Peter’s ankle as he leaned back against him. Ace stepped forward, trying to pull them both apart, only Paul’s fist flung out and nearly connected with his jaw. Peter, meanwhile, was still screaming.

“You crazy bitch! This isn’t your house! This is his house!”

“It’s my goddamn house!”

“You got some nerve! You think ’cause you fucked the guy you’ve got a right to his place?!”

“Pete, let go of the girl! C’mon and calm down! Both of you!” Ace yelled out.

“Ace, you lousy son of a bitch!”

“Hey, hey, we barely know each other—”

“Stop it!”

Gene wrenched away Peter’s grip on Paul’s arm, relying more on weight and suddenness than strength. Peter immediately went for Gene instead—Peter was a much smaller guy, but meaner and still more savvy, for all that it had been years since he’d been in a fight—but Gene grabbed him before he could. Paul just barreled over to Ace as soon as he was free, pinning him against the door, standing on his foot to keep him in place. Ace looked like he was torn between being bewildered and bursting into laughter.

Peter didn’t fight off the grip much, which surprised Gene. Maybe even he realized that a skull fracture on the cement front porch would be like setting fire to KISS’ ticket sales. Gene held him there, barking at Paul as he did.

“Leave Ace alone!”

“Leave Ace alone? His credit card’s in my fucking door!”

“Let him alone! Let him alone right now.”

“Gene!”

Paul hesitated, then backed off from Ace. As soon as he was halfway sure Paul wouldn’t jump back on him, Gene let go of Peter, who whirled on both of them.

“We’re not trying to steal Paul’s shit! We just wanna know what the fuck is going on here!”

“We—” Gene started, only to be interrupted by Ace.

“Where’s Paul at?” he said quietly. Gene’s head snapped towards Paul, praying he’d read the look in his eyes. Praying he’d realize he couldn’t blow it. Peter already hadn’t believed him once. There was no way—there was no sense in trying again.

But that wasn’t all of it. Even if somehow Ace and Peter believed Paul, what good could they do, anyway? The two of them would just screw everything up worse. It wasn’t a thought borne out of practicality; it was self-righteous, maybe even selfish. Part of Gene wanted to keep being the only one who knew.

It turned out that it didn’t matter what Gene wanted. Paul just glared back, snapping out his answer before Gene could even try to stop him.

“I’m right here, you idiot!”

Ace stiffened up, eyes widening slightly.

“What?”

“I’m right here! I’m Paul!” Paul waved his hands in the air in front of him, up and down from his head to his chest.

“Don’t—”

“Shut up, Gene! I can handle this!”

“You—you’re crazy,” Peter snapped. “That’s the stupidest bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

In contrast, Ace looked almost nervous. It was an out of place expression on his face. He glanced around, from Gene to Paul to Peter, before finally settling back on Paul, studying his face hard enough that Paul broke eye contact. Ace exhaled.

“You kind of look like him, yeah, but Paul’s not a girl.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Paul rattled out. “Gene, are you gonna vouch for me or what?”

“This is a—”

“Why the hell should we believe you on this, Gene?” Peter again. “You must think we’re fucking idiots! Running around with this chick, making up all sorts of fucking stories—who’s to say Paul ain’t lying dead in the fucking bathroom right now?!”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Paul had reached for Peter again, like he somehow thought contact would clarify everything. Peter stepped back, brushing away his hand. “I’m right here! I never went anywhere! I-I can prove it to both of you!”

“You got at least two really good proofs you ain’t him, and they’re hanging right off your chest right now, you—”

“Pete.” Gene’s voice surprised even him. “He’s telling the truth.”

“Would you—”

“Peter!” Ace, much louder than normal, before quieting down, almost as if in apology. “We got this far.”

“They’re both lying!”

“Give it a minute, yeah? Give it a minute.”

Peter rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Ace continued, giving Gene a cautious glance before turning his focus back to Paul.

“There’s something bad wrong with you, I can tell that much,” he said. “Course, there’s something bad wrong with Paulie, too, but—"

“You’re one to talk, Ace,” Paul snapped. Ace didn’t look perturbed in the slightest.

“I mean, he’s a Capricorn and real neurotic and shit.” Paul let out a disgruntled sound at the comment, one Ace ignored as he continued. “Could you do something for me?”

“You tried to break into my goddamn house and now you’re—”

“Walk around.” Ace held up his hands. “’M not gonna do anything. I just wanna see.”

Paul made a face but walked to the opposite end of the porch and back, hands straight at his sides. Gene watched. He thought he knew what Ace was getting at—he hoped he did, at least. Paul’s stiff, straight-backed gait wasn’t much different than it had been before this mess had started. Gene hadn’t really noticed prior, consciously. It was just another peculiarity. The same actions and characteristics transposed onto the wrong body, giving him away—if you knew where to look.

Ace, apparently, did. That off-putting insight was finally going towards something worthwhile. Gene shifted, oddly uncomfortable.

“You walk more like a guy. And you didn’t try to kick us in the nuts.” Ace pursed his lips in contemplation. The rest of his expression was unreadable. “Doesn’t mean anything by itself, but…”

Paul was starting to look a little hopeful. A little eager. He stepped in closer to where Peter and Ace were standing, as if he were about to reach out for them.

“Ace, I can prove I’m Paul! Ask me something. Ask me anything. Go on!”

Ace shrugged amicably, turning his head.

“Pete, you got anything to ask her?”

Pete looked irritated that Ace was turning Paul’s demand on him. He took a second to consider, looking at Paul warily. Gene waited, wondering what question Pete would pull out.

“What’s my cat’s name?”

“Mateus. You didn’t even name him. Lydia did.”

Paul had answered almost in an instant. Peter blinked, but shook his head.

“You could’ve gotten that just from reading the magazines.”

Paul let out a curse.

“Then ask me something else. Ask me about—Jesus, I don’t know—"

“The dick-measuring contest.” Ace’s voice was soft and absolutely devoid of humor.

“What?”

“Who won the dick-measuring contest?”

“Jesus, Ace, I…” Paul’s face went red. Gene bit back a wince, not sure if it was on his own behalf or Paul’s. “That’s… that’s so fucking embarrassing, don’t—”

“And tell me who got second and third and fourth.”

“Ace!” Oh, God. Paul was actually squeaking. It would have been endearing in any other situation. Gene searched Ace’s expression, as bland and out of it as usual, for even a twinge of pity or amusement or anything, but there was nothing. He wasn’t going to let him out of this. A little uncertainty rose from somewhere in Gene’s stomach as Paul finally admitted, “Okay, okay! Peter won!”

Ace’s eyes got huge again, mouth forming a tight oval Gene had seen maybe four hundred times onstage. Paul had probably seen it more than that. Actually, Paul and Peter both in all those idiotic threesomes. Why that was still sticking in his craw, Gene didn’t know. Beside him, Peter’s mouth was wide open. Ace looked like he was trying to answer back, but Paul started rambling into a response before he could.

“Well, we all knew he was going to win! The only one we hadn’t seen before was Gene’s!”

“You—”

“You want the placements? You were second! I was in third, and Gene was in fourth, and then I said it wasn’t fair since no one was hard, and you two had the fucking Loch Ness monster for dicks anyway and—”

“Holy fucking shit.”

Ace and Peter both looked scared as all hell for a few seconds. Peter reached out, almost cautiously, touching Paul’s shoulder like he was afraid it was going to dissolve into ash if he dared grasp it. Gene thought at first Peter was just trying to make sure Paul was still solid, until Peter tugged at his collar. Gene stiffened on weird automatic, but Paul seemed to realize what he wanted, undoing the bow and pulling down the sleeve, exposing a droopy bra strap and his tattoo again. Peter stared at that bright red rose like it held all the secrets to a number-one single, tracing up and down it with his finger before pulling back.

“That’s why you were trying to show me,” he said softly. “That’s what you were trying…”

“That’s it, all right.” Ace was peering in, too. “It isn’t like Paul’s, it is Paul’s. I ought to know. We got our tattoos the same day.”

“Paul,” Peter said, staring as Paul tugged up his sleeve and retied the bow. “Paul, I… fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Pete—”

Peter hesitated visibly. Then he wrapped his arms around Paul in a tight hug.

“I thought—I thought Gene had stole your girl!”

“I know—”

“I thought you’d lost it! Run off and had a nervous breakdown! I… I had no idea you were right… Paulie…”

Paul hugged him back after a few seconds, clearly overwhelmed. Relief looked like it was flooding his face. It made Gene’s guilt feel all the heavier, there, clotted somewhere beyond the back of his throat. He felt slimy, somehow. Slimy for not considering Paul’s family, for not considering Paul’s relief at being believed by his bandmates. Slimy for the part of him that had liked being the only one who knew. That felt like it was for the best. What did he know about what was best for Paul? Paul looked happier now than he’d seen him this entire time.

Peter let go after awhile. Paul’s arms hung in the air for a second before Ace realized they were out for him. Their hug was relatively brief, Ace looking weirded-out by the entire prospect.

“Shit, how many inches did you drop there?”

“Three or four.”

“You’re shorter than Peter now! Not by a lot, but…”

“What the hell happened? Did you wanna be a chick?” Peter blurted it out of nowhere, expected and inevitable.

“No!” Paul nearly yelled it out. “I got cursed, okay? The girl that did this, she—she’s supposed to come to Studio 54 every night. I’m trying to find her. Get her to take this off of me.”

“Who? Who did it?”

“Some girl. Not—not a celebrity, just some girl.”

“Paulie… why didn’t you tell us?”

“I tried to! Yesterday! You just blew me off!”

“You were yanking down your clothes! What was I supposed to think?”

“I tried—”

“Why didn’t you tell us when it happened? We could’ve helped you! We all could’ve helped you.” Peter got quieter then. “You didn’t have to just stick it all on Gene.”

“I didn’t,” Paul mumbled. “He figured it out on his own.”

“How?”

“The tattoo,” Gene said. Paul shot him a relieved look. Ace looked askance, chewing on his lip.

“Do you wanna tell Bill now?”

“God, no. Bill’s got enough problems.”

“He’d keep it quiet. Y’know how he is, that guy could’ve stopped Watergate.”

“We’re hoping to get it resolved before we’ve got to tell anyone else,” Gene said. “If Bill knew, he’d postpone the tour at minimum.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Ace exhaled. “Okay, Paulie.”

“Okay?”

“There’s more to it than what you just said. We’d all better sit down for this shit. You gonna let us in?”

“Your card’s still in my door.”

“Oh. Yeah, it is.” Instead of pulling it out, Ace pushed it in further between the jamb and the door, jiggling the knob as he did so. The door fell open. “You gotta get better locks sometime. C’mon, girlie.”

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley #ace frehley #peter criss

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mychemicalficrecs · 4 years

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Do you know of any good poly fics? It can include members from other bands.

hiya! any poly fics (no waycest pls)?

I hope you don't mind me answering these together. Tbh the only other band I read occasionally is FOB, so most ships on this list include Lindsey and/or Jamia! I didn't always include every ship each fic is tagged with (especially if there are 'sub ships'), but the main one should always be included.

Polyfic

Whatever a Moon Has Always Meant, Whatever a Sun Will Always Sing by melusina, Frank/Jamia/Gerard, 7k, Explicit. "Maybe I want you to steal my boyfriend. Or. . .I don’t know -- borrow him?"

All That Shit Seems To Disappear When I'm With You by gala_apples, Frank/Patrick/Mikey/Pete, 26k, Explicit. Frank’s been attracted to Mikey for awhile, a feeling that he’s kept carefully to himself. Other people don’t have the same compulsion for secrecy. On the first day of school there’s a short angry boy standing at Frank’s locker, condemning him for making Pete’s life hard. September quickly turns into a month of bad decision making as Frank, Pete, and Patrick deal with Mikey not feeling the same way they do. Except, that’s not true. After all, none of them have actually asked Mikey his side of things.

Love: The Package Deal by jjtaylor, Frank/Gerard, Lindsey/Gerard, Frank/Jamia, Lindsey/Frank/Gerard, 30k, Mature. Gerard gets a special kind of amnesia. Frank gets to reexamine his idea of acceptable relationship structures. Lots of people fail to communicate effectively, but they all sure remember how to kiss.

Backstage Blowjobs by mistresscurvy, Lindsey/Frank/Jamia/Gerard, 9k, Explicit. Gerard should be thinking about the last show of the fall tour. Instead all he can focus on is Frank's mouth.

Fuck the Snow (Repeat as Necessary) by mistresscurvy, Frank/Gerard, 6k, Explicit. "Remind me why we came to New Jersey in January to practice rather than staying in L.A. where it's warm and not, you know, snowing," Ray says, staring out the front door at the white flakes coming down.

Went Out Looking for the Rainbow by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone, Lindsey/Jamia, 13k, Explicit. When a stressed out Jamia shows up at her front door, Lindsey decides what they need is a weekend away.

A Light to Burn All the Empires by Arsenic, Frank/Mikey, Frank/Mikey/Pete, 32k, Explicit. Mikey and Frank are outed. There are, as one might imagine, repercussions.

With Words I Thought I'd Never Speak by brynnmck, Frank/Gerard, Lindsey/Gerard, 11k, Explicit. It's like being with Lindsey has switched on some sort of current inside him, and when he gets up onstage it comes crackling out, lighting him up, sparking off the sweaty upturned glowing faces of all the kids out in the audience, and he couldn't shut it off if he tried. And Frankie is, well, Frankie, only turned up to eleven, somehow, flailing all over the place like a downed power line, leaving a trail of blissed-out destruction in his wake. And his face in Gerard's crotch.

A State Of Orange by gala_apples, Frank/Mikey, Frank/Gerard, 20k, Explicit. Being a halfling in a red state can sometimes cause issues for Frank Iero. He’s the weakest at Jett Clement High School, and probably the entire state (not counting the meal plans). His moods are oddly stable, as much as he tries to be mercurial. And being able to withstand the sun for up to twenty minutes only allows him more time to be forced into chores. Still, his parents are insane if they think he’s going to be happy about their decision. Frank doesn’t want to move to a Mixed state. How is he supposed to get great friends? How is he supposed to find great food? How is he supposed to have great sex? But Frank doesn’t have a choice. He’s New Jersey bound for the next year, if not longer. He’ll be surrounded by tame vampires who have been nagged out of a sex drive, and humans he’s not allowed to eat. Mixed states suck. Lucky for him, not every person in Jersey sucks.

Just because you're pregnant... by greedy_dancer, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Jamia/Gerard, 998 words, Explicit. Written in the First Lines Meme, for the prompt: how about a Frank/Gerard phone sex story? :D which became a Jamia/Frank/Gerard story instead.

Blueprints For Building Better Boys by dear_monday, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Ray/Mikey, 7k, Explicit. "Eight years ago," Amanda begins, "Dr. Monae and myself began work on the ArchAndroid project. By the time they were ready, we'd designed and tested everything, right down to the cybernetics and the synthetic organs. Two months ago, we switched them on for the first time." Frank, Gerard, Ray, and Mikey are the ArchAndroids. Frank's got a faulty personality circuit, Gerard's primary memory chip is kind of temperamental, there's a bug somewhere in Mikey's speech protocol, and Ray's anger response lags like a motherfucker. They're also the world's most potty-mouthed robots, although with any luck there won't be any occasion for the world's press to find out about that. Written for Bandom Reverse Big Bang @ livejournal.

In the Morning by greedy_dancer, Frank/Jamia/Gerard, Frank/Jamia, 21k, Explicit. Threesomes don’t normally happen to Gerard, especially not repeat threesomes with the hot new punk couple in town, but it’s not like he’s going to complain. It’s only a bit of fun – what else could it be? And yet… if it’s really that simple, why can’t he bring himself to tell Mikey about it?

Give Me a Reason by mistresscurvy, Lindsey/Frank/Jamia/Gerard, 38k, Explicit. July 2007. Frank is fucking stoked for the next tour. This one will be the best ever, because his wife's gonna be with him the entire time. They've been married for less than six months, and he still can't fucking believe he got to marry her. This summer is going to rock. But life never happens as he plans.

Neon When You Come and Go by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone, Frank/Jamia/Gerard, Frank/Jamia, 21k, Explicit. All Gerard wanted was someone other than his mom doing his hair.

Work Husband by the_ragnarok, Frank/Jamia, Frank/Gerard, 7k, Explicit. “Oh, honey,” Jamia says. “You think I don’t know you? You’re like a puppy, you need someone to play with you or you start chewing the furniture and peeing on everything.”

#fic rec list #polyamory #frank/jamia/gerard #frank/patrick/mikey/pete #lindsey/frank/gerard #lindsey/frank/jamia/gerard #frank/mikey/pete #frank/ray/mikey

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merdibbenj · 5 years

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I am a kaylor/gaylor blog. I made this blog so I don’t mess up my kaylor aesthetic on my main. I’m also avoiding tons of hate 🤣 But hear me out fam.

The /kaylor troll/metacritic sabbotage event on 8/31 made me curious about Nina Nesbitt. Keypoints:

She’s such a random person to be on the troll anons and on twitter. If the kaylor troll event is connected to the Bottom and Scooper they wouldn’t just use a random person Taylor hasn’t interacted not even once in the last years and Nina has a long term bf btw. Sus. One key point how Nina might have been chosen that I can think of is an anon before. I’m active with kaylor and I recall reading an anon from a mutual turned anti as the kaylordom refers to her /more of a person who questions things which is not a bad thing/ about a girl with pink hair kissing Taylor in London. I have not looked up Nina Nesbitt before the kaylor troll/ back then I thought it was Ruby Rose. This was when? Start of the year? A lot of people had pink hair. Why her? Ruby Rose would be a better choice/ they had recent photos together. Hayley Kioko would be an even better choice/remember the onstage grinding 🤣. Actual lesbian jesus and the snake queen. Instead Scoopy Jokes chose someone I haven’t heard of. Super sus.

Have we stopped and think why this happened? Are we, tumblr kaylors and twitter kaylors that much of an impact to their lives that they sent bots to attack us just to rock our ship? Cuz le bottom is desperate when contract is ending? Taylor and Karlie wouldn’t go bankrupt if we stop shipping. They wouldn’t break up if we stop posting about them on the internet. What our opinions on this situation doesn’t matter to the bottomline. Then who were the attacks for? Metacritic is for Taylor cuz girl gets hurt by critics. The anons and tweets doe. Who are they trying to affect by exposing Taylor hooking up with Nina and Karlie hooking up with everybody after an alleged breakup? Uhhhh, Taylor and Karlie. 🤦‍♀️ If they really broke up, exposing those activities would hurt the possibility of them getting back together and fixing their rs.

What’s there to gain if they wouldn’t get back together from an alleged breakup? Uhhhh a multimillion bearding contract? Uhhhhh satisfaction of Winning? You fckd up $300M everyone knows your dumb ass won’t be earning it back cuz she’ll record them again. this isn’t just business it’s personal. Taking back one thing Taylor likes other than Karlie, control.

Sus sus sus. Botts sending anons here and there then they just stop? Either scoobie and shaggy developed a conscience or they won. They exposed them in an uncontrollable way. Idekk maybe this is part 1 of their plan😭 Just suspicious all over 🤔

Full disclosure, I don’t buy all things this person said 100% cuz threesomes and orgies and prostitutes and fucking someone dressed as your ex /hello/ doesn’t scream like the gal pals I love. I put my foot down there. Periodtttt.

I don’t have any sources like the big blogs. I don’t know if Karlie fckd everyone and if Taylor really fckd Nina but here are coincidences I found. Take off the tinted lover glasses we kaylors have for 5 mins and consider these coincidences I found in the last couple of hours.

Who can volunteer an explanation for this easter egg now that we have the album out? This can be coincidental. Song context of Love Letters is about moving on from someone.

Remember when Taylor used salute to me I’m your American Queen for Karlie’s American Dream line? Nina lives in London, I don’t think that the whole London Boy is writen about her/ its still sarcastic/ but this coincidence in the line stick with me I’m your Queen like a Tennessee Stella McCartney. Something happened in Tennessee. 🤔

How many times was blue mentioned in Lover? We know it’s Joe’s favees. But posting this coincidence before album release. She’s a swiftie but she’s never posted anything 13 related before this.

Nina wrote a song in NYC 2017 called black and blue. She’s playing that song while wearing the Lover palette 🎨 check how their album turned out. The post before is also a random throwback of them. Coincidence.

This coincidence. Sing Daylight with me, Side Stepping Into Monday Like and let it go. This maybe the mother of reaches 🤣 however it sounds like an inside joke about misheard lyrics.

I can do part 2 cuz there’s a ton. I feel like I fell down another rabbit hole again. I know kaylors have great experience with 🕵🏻‍♂️ check the timeline yourselves. I’m not sure when they broke up but it looks recent. Afterglow makes sense and the tweet about Tay sabbotaged PR premier is consistent with this narrative. Maybe they broke up. Is Tay rebounding or did sis cheat? The implication and Kar’s reaction. 🤦‍♀️🤔💔

#kaylor #gaylor #taylor swift #nina nesbitt #karlie kloss #naylor

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cinemamablog · 4 years

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Ruin Valentine’s Day: Watch a Movie

Five Valentine’s Days ago, the film adaptation of Jason Robert Brown’s break-up musical The Last Five Years hit VOD platforms. My then-fiance and I watched it, since we both enjoy musical theatre. (In fact, we formally met onstage, in our high school production of You Can’t Take it With You, though I like to remind him that we were chorus members in Bye Bye Birdie together, back when he wouldn’t give me the time of day.) It was an uneventful viewing experience in our living room; Adam liked it, I thought it was just okay and missed Sherie Rene Scott in the lead role of Cathy.

Unbeknownst to me, across the city from our downtown duplex, two of our theatre-loving friends (also a couple, though less settled into their now-defunct relationship) also watched The Last Five Years to celebrate Valentine’s Day. (It’s like theatre kids are drawn to potentially drama-inducing situations or something.) I think it’s safe to say it was not an enjoyable evening for either of them.

I love how movies can affect different people based solely on their current relationship status: they can trigger lovers’ quarrels in a fragile relationship and can stick a metaphorical finger in your open emotional wounds, bringing all that bloody baggage up to the surface. What better way to celebrate love on the one day of the year devoted to nothing but? Some feel-bad romances are beyond obvious: Blue Valentine, Marriage Story, and of course, The Last Five Years. (The movie starts with the break-up, people. You aren’t going to have fun.) Instead of dwelling on these well-known bummers, I present to you, five less-obvious movies, ranging from lesser-known indies to arthouse classics, guaranteed to ruin your Valentine’s Day:

1. Celeste & Jesse Forever (2012), Lee Toland Krieger

Celeste and Jesse Forever is a bittersweet movie about trying to move on from your best friend and romantic partner. You would expect a romantic comedy starring Rashida Jones and Andy Samberg wouldn’t break your heart, but guess what? I literally cry every time I watch this movie. Samberg’s delivery of a particularly cruel line always sticks a very sharp, pointed object in my heart and twists it. If Adam and I ever get divorced (god forbid), I’m pretty sure our lives will follow the exact trajectory of this movie, minus a dramatic element or two.

2. Nymphomaniac: Vol II (2013), Lars von Trier

If you thought Volume I was graphic, just wait until you get snuggled up together to watch Volume II. Unless you’re super freaky (more power to you), this movie might turn you off from touching for awhile. The tales that Charlotte Gainsbourg’s character tells of her sexual escapades manage to get darker with each encounter, ranging from unhealthy affairs and threesomes to straight-up sadomasochism. For a movie about sex, von Trier manages to repel the audience from the very act itself. I’ve yet to see the infamous abortion scene that only made it into the Director’s Cut, but it’s on my bucket list. Maybe next Valentine’s Day?

3. Take This Waltz (2011), Sarah Polley

Take This Waltz is an exploration of whether the grass is really greener on the other side. The possibilities of a passionate affair intrigue and conflict the protagonist, played by Michelle Williams, despite a comfortable and loving marriage with her big-hearted husband, played by Seth Rogen in a rare, vulnerable dramatic performance. But unfortunately, “comfortable” can also translate to “boring” if you’re of a certain temperament or long to explore the more spontaneous side of your personality, and it becomes clear that Williams’ character is not comfy, but bored. Will she satisfy her lust for life by leaving her husband? Can a long-term relationship withstand a flight of fancy? Or are some longings better to ignore, as spontaneity can become your new comfortable in the blink of Leonard Cohen montage?

4. Lovesong (2016), So Yong Kim

Lovesong is the story of two women, former best friends and one-time lovers, played by Riley Keough and Jena Malone, struggling to reconnect at Malone’s wedding to a man. If you adore Jena Malone like I do, you’ll be pleased to know she plays a lead part in this movie, rather than the supporting roles to which she’s usually relegated. (The woman’s got star power, so why does Hollywood so often keep her out of the spotlight?) That’s probably the only thing that will please you about Lovesong though, because the film doesn’t provide its characters with easy answers, dooming them to a life of “what if?” after missing their chance at love years ago.

5. The Night Porter (1974), Liliana Cavani

Probably tied with Nymphomaniac: Vol II for the title of Darkest Movie on this list, Cavani’s The Night Porter tells us the story of a Holocaust survivor who encounters her former Nazi lover and tormentor years after the war’s end. They fall back into their roles of victim and keeper in a sick and masochistic romance. A film about trauma, Stockholm Syndrome, and the undying legacy of war, The Night Porter’s story of re-connection and dependency gives a fascist twist to the typical storyline of star-crossed lovers.

#lists

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lovedinapastlife · 5 years

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Riverdale 3x16 - BIG FUN

BUGHEAD IS BEAUTIFUL~

Oh damn this episode is surreal in a way I’m not entirely comfortable with. But it’s exciting! Everyone’s looking forward to moving on from the craziness of dead bodies, breakups, and…drug trades. Amidst college and running businesses and stuff. Obviously. Normal high school stuff. Kinda reminds me of the nostalgia for season one.

Was the opening Mr. Musical Theater’s big number? Shucks, I wanted more of a sampling. This was mostly talk-singing, which…I’ll take. Kinda like the awkward rocking in the hallway haha.

Lili wearing green makes her eyes pop and my heart go poof. Similarly to Jughead’s adoring fuzzy feelings, I’m sure. DANG. They’re in HIS room now. Are they staying together?! Yay!

Aw I kinda like the idea that Betty and V would help Cheryl look and feel her best after being tossed over (ish)

I love the intros. “Bro it up. Two single straight dudes” like wow.

Chainsaw line is iconic, especially when moving to cut to the title. You think Kevin was subtly trying to dig at Cheryl for forcing him to cater to her?

LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR - another theme of this season

Betty rolling her eyes is amazing.

I love that the girls choreo’d their own fanciness. I liked Cheryl’s batch better but tbh I didn’t enjoy the dance-off and it’s hair-whip noises. Maybe it was so hyped in the behind-the-scenes videos that I found myself cringing at the octopus moves? And Toni’s batch wasn’t in sync so it was that much more awkward to watch. But I did love the “SHUT UP, TONI!” and look B+V exchanged afterwards. Yeah just gonna say up front this episode react is probably not gonna sit well with Toni stans.

Hiram dropping dramatic family stuff and racking up a bill at the Five Seasons. Who would’ve thought he’d be the one to instigate that divorce, right? Veronica cries almost disturbingly well. I’m not sure why she’d want them to be together after the assassination attempts and affairs and general shenanigans, but hey—it’s Riverdale.

Oh god is Betty the only one who notices the death-blue drinks and scary Gargoyle Pig person? These kids are stupid. I did catch Sweet Pea/JD with his slurpee which made me happy. FREEZE YOUR BRAAAAAIN~ Judge away the whole party, Betty. They tend not to be great luck in this town.

“Brainiac?!” Did she just call Reggie that?! HA. Oh geez I hate Evelyn (but I love her flouncy scrunchie and graphic shirts) and I hate Kevin and their stupid cult and drugs. Why can’t brownies ever be normal on a teen show?! Also, HI MIDGE!

I do love the idea of throwing a party to take ownership of Sisters of Quiet Mercy. If only it wasn’t so cult-y. Why are there people in swimsuits in the drowning tub while Archie jumps over them? Also, drugged-up dancing got some good Kevin hip waggles and some yikes s1 arrogant Reggie vibes. But Veggie is on again for 30 seconds? Okay then.

Jughead eating in the background as Betty side-eyes the circle share is such a glorious mood. Aw and then hugs for V. I am LOVING this side-eye mood. How did people not know Archosie was happening when they were always in the practice room, at each other’s houses, and walking in the halls together? So much awkward is happening that the cringe levels are through the roof. Kevin’s hand on his heart was so over-the-top. I kinda loved it? And I’m surprised V didn’t have more of a reaction to the Archie stuff, tbh, even if she’s got bigger things on her mind.

Oh no Toni’s got a solo and it’s here for the color of blood. Literally. Is she pointing at their crotches? Ugh her stripping musical threesome was so insulting it made my stomach churn. They just tried to make it seem like Sweet Pea wants something deep and yet he’s ready for a random hookup again? Peaches hasn’t even had any lines or anything to do but stand around looking smug. They’re trying so hard to make Toni sexy and it’s just feeding the lesbian/bisexual slutty stereotype. Can this show do hookups? Ever? There’s been no sexual/attraction buildup to this “threesome” (honestly Toni hasn’t even been a good friend to SP lately) and there was no fallout afterwards either! She was just like, “COME STRIP ONSTAGE WITH ME and this other person you’ve never talked to but beat the shit out of you one time. Oh wait no I’m good with my clingy yet complimentary ghost gf, you two have fun byeeeee”

Jughead and Betty flirting makes me feel slightly better

OH GOD NO KANGS. At this point the bile I’d been suppressing was legit in my throat. Like, why does attraction/love have to be tied to something awful 90% of the time in this show? Kevin and Fangs could’ve been a cute couple if they built up their connection beyond two lines over the course of two seasons. But no. Cult psychedelic weirdness over Midge, just like Moose and Kevin. Maybe even over Joaquin. DO WE NOT LEARN? I’m not even gonna start with the Farmies.

Archosie scene. Fun spin dance, but I still think they’re cute paper cutouts of nothingness at this stage.

Oh, of COURSE Weatherbee joined a cult. Loser.

I love Cheryl’s Heather Chandler vibe and scrunchie. Good call about making Toni test the tea for poison. Aw, I kinda wanted to see Ghost!JJ.

I have basically a folder full of stills of this scene and narrowed it down to these. Aw baby Jug, Betty understands better than anyone what he’s going through. When Betty was trying to get Jughead to look at her I legit felt emotional. And then they were beautiful. Forever. WE FINALLY GOT THEM DANCING! Oh and on his knees! Proposal vibes! I might’ve watched this scene EIGHT BILLION times for the eyes and hands and general endless soulmate love vibes. Like, this scene made the episode for me. They were so emotional and invested and harmonized like angels and I needed that in my life so thank you, universe. I hope Cole and Lili get to do amazing scenes like this together in the future because it was beautiful.

Ch*ni kinda interrupted my mains with their totally different vibe and zero choreography, even though they did sound lovely. Neither of them have changed their behavior to make their relationship work internally, whereas Bughead are sick of the external forces of the town trying to destroy their childhood icons/innocence and bonding over their love for each other despite their familial madness. I need a Bughead exclusive soulmates cut. Thank you.

Haha um...I think closing the drug lab in general would be good? Maybe not during the musical when Betty might be vulnerable again (and the rest of Riverdale) but hey...it’s entirely possible it’s emotional and not logical of me to say that ;) Sheriff FP seems extremely unbothered by mobile drug labs in town so why should we be, right?

HIRAM! SAY IT LIKE IT IS! I love that he called out Veronica’s shock over Hermione trying to have him killed. Twice. How rude.

I actually really liked Cami’s interpretation of “Lifeboat.” It’s pretty, but I’m not sure it added much to her story? Same with her attempt to have her parents go to opening night together. Maybe that song is more of an overarching theme for her story this season. Ish? But she also distances herself from people? Mehhhh overanalyzing Riverdale hurts my brain. And then her ploy to have one last happy memory is just them not looking or talking at each other and she feels worse. Ouch.

Why is there so much old stereo equipment in their house? I know they worked at a garage/scrapyard, but I didn’t see any speakers? I care too much about set dressings but whatever. Poor FP is dealing with hazards of being on the job. Gladys had hilarious delivery like, “Oh nooooo. Drugs. That’s terrible.” Also, she’s totally drinking beer in front of him, a recovering alcoholic. Classy. And also telling. Jughead and Betty are just side-eyeing in the background.

Did Cheryl send herself all those roses?! XD I did think the “blot” moment was cute but I still don’t understand what’s changed. I don’t even know if Veggie is a thing. Probably not. Okay then. Did love Reggie looking in the handheld mirror totally in-character though.

I KNEW THEY’D BURN THE PLACE DOWN ONE DAY! Omg the puns. The fire extinguisher. The kiss—oh oh my. Arson and tender body touching. All right. I’m down. Do they have a car now? Is Bughead gonna live in it? I cannot handle their passion in the best way possible.

The finale choreography was terrible. Oh my god was that cringe. I mean, couldn’t we at least get them looking at each other for a sec like the adorable Bughead moment of holding hands? Or someone helping V when looking at her parents? I get that they’re entreating the audience to be better (like Betty’s speech a billion years ago), but it didn’t hit the mark with me for some reason. My expression was mostly a mix of the Jones’. Was it just me, or did everyone onstage look like they were in some range of pretending really hard not to feel uncomfortable?

HI CHAD! The cult is terrifying. Also, if all the psychos are there, why aren’t Alice and Polly in attendance? The woooooorst. Was no one else inclined to clap like a normal person? Evelyn in general was interesting, trying to earn her father’s approval and everyone’s trust, but it’s usually so messed up on drugs and stuff that I don’t quite enjoy her scenes. Everything with the Farm is usually deferred, which annoys me, but we’ll get our answers soon, I’m sure. I want more Chad. I’m curious if the buildup is gonna pay off ^-^

And people are going through windows next time?

I really wanted the “hell” line from Heathers when Bughead came back from burning stuff down but I will live. Okay. Put our bids in for next season’s musical now and how long it’s gonna take us to get a promise/engagement ring on Bughead. Thank you.

#riverdale react #riverdale reaction #3.16 #3x16 #riverdale #BIG FUN

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grandtheftaristotle · 5 years

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So I watched Heathersdale

Okay…some notes…

Thank GOD they got Kevin to sing more, he’s the best singer by FAR

The rest of them were ok

Archie on the other hand…oof

KJ, I’m sure you tried

“Just two single straight dudes doing some theatre” Reggie…why you gotta specify straight like that 👀

Why did they feel the need to change the Candy Store lyrics tho

And don’t give me that ‘it was censored for broadcast’ crap either cause Toni was LITERALLY about to have a threesome onstage

Side note: it cracked me up that she went through all that, those two were half undressed and she was just like ‘lol nope’ and ran offstage and LEFT them there

Like I would pay good money to see what happened once she’d left the room

“I invented red. I AM red.” Cheryl…honey…

Cheryl kinda bugged me during this episode ngl

I mean, most of it; Seventeen was FLAWLESS

I really hate that they had Jughead sing for this episode, but when he and Betty sang to each other…

I swear to God, I have never cared more about Bughead than I did during that one song

Add in Choni duetting and getting back together and that song was *chef kiss*

(I don’t even care for their individual voices or anything, it was just the perfect combination of ships and music and adorableness and Cole being a decent singer that I legit almost shed tears)

Also, the image of two 20 year old high schoolers making out inside a car in front of flaming wreckage that they themselves set fire to could pretty much sum up this whole show

Fight for Me was p cute too; I was impressed that they made it fit with the characters to some degree

“You’ve lasted longer than I thought you would” - my feelings about Archosie in a nutshell

I’d write more but that’s all I can think of rn

#next post: QUESTIONS #riverdale #riverdale spoilers #big fun

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ohblackdiamond · 4 years

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little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 9 of 29)

Gene woke up late the next morning to Paul’s head resting against his chest. Paul’s right hand was dipped underneath his boxers again in his sleep—Gene bit back a rueful grin at that, getting up out of bed as carefully as possible, trying not to wake him up. He got dressed—on top of the CBGB attire, he’d bought a regular pair of jeans and a collared shirt at the boutique, among a few other things—and left the room, digging around the main area of Paul’s house until he found the phone book. From there, he dialed a bakery. They didn’t deliver, of course—but they would for Gene Simmons.

Less than half an hour later, he returned to Paul’s bedroom with a white paper box and a glass of milk.

“Morning, Paul.”

Paul grunted a bit, kicking off the covers.

“Morning.”

“Don’t get up. I got you breakfast in bed.”

“You—” Paul started, then shook his head, reaching over the bed for his wallet on the nightstand. His shirt hiked up with the movement, exposing one bare hip and a few small moles. The boxers, as always, were barely hanging on. Might’ve held up a little better if the drawstrings weren’t untied. “Lemme pay you back. You’ve been buying all my meals lately.”

“Don’t say that until you open the box.”

Paul did. There were only four regular glazed doughnuts left. Sprinkles and scrapes of chocolate against the corners and bottom of the box were the only intimations of the rest.

“Gene! Did you—were there twelve in—”

“Were is past tense.”

“Gene!”

“It’ll be fine. We’ll be back on tour in a few weeks. I’ll lose all that weight jumping around onstage.”

“If you don’t gain even more,” Paul grumbled, eying Gene up and down, shaking his head. He hadn’t gotten out of bed, as requested. He reached for the box and set it on his lap, taking a doughnut and carefully leaning over the open box as he ate it, to keep any bits of sugar off the covers. Gene climbed into bed beside him. “You… you really think we’ll be back?”

“We’ll be back.”

“But what about that groupie?”

Gene reached over for a ninth doughnut. Paul swatted his hand away irritably.

“Easy. We’ll call up Studio 54 beforehand. Have the owner tell all the doormen to be on the lookout for her, give them her name and description. We tell them to get her straight to the VIP lounge as soon as they see her, because Paul Stanley wants her.”

“That makes me sound like a creep.” Paul dragged a finger down the inside edge of the box, gathering up the chocolate on his finger. He licked it off absentmindedly. “And then the doorman tries to take her directly to me, only he can’t find me because he’s not looking for—"

“Okay, how about this, we say you and I want her, but you’re too shy, so if they’ll just take her to me instead, that’ll be perfect.”

“Too shy, my ass,” Paul snorted. “Gene, you’re the one that won’t do threesomes.”

“You all act like it’s a badge of shame.”

“It kind of is.” Paul took the last bite of his doughnut, and reached for another. “You take six or seven up to your room and you only make it with one of them at a time.”

“Who told you that?”

“Peter.”

“How would he know?”

Paul shrugged.

“He said you invited him up once. He thought you were trying to, y’know, offer up an orgy, and—”

Gene could feel his face start to flush.

“He’s making shit up. I was just trying to hide him from Lydia. He grabbed a girl and spent the whole time in the bathroom’s Jacuzzi.”

“Uh-huh.” Paul’s eyes were gleaming a little. “Why don’t you, though?”

“Why don’t I what?”

“Have orgies. Or threesomes. Whatever.”

“It’s too impersonal.”

“Too impersonal? I thought you were just too square.”

“I’m not square, it’s just a preference,” Gene protested, but Paul didn’t seem like he’d let it go, not unless he turned it on him. “Well, why do you do it?”

“I don’t. I’ve never done an orgy.”

“Really?” Gene tilted his head. That jarred feeling was back, the same one he’d gotten when they’d been in the car and Paul had casually thrown out Warhol’s name. The same one he’d gotten when Paul had tried to come on to that bartender. There was just… just such a disturbing disconnect between the sight and sound of the chick sitting next to him on the bed, and the knowledge of who she actually was. A girl that didn’t act or talk much like a girl at all, one on one—well, why the hell should he? Paul’d said it last night; he wasn’t actually a chick. Not in any way but physical. It was like sticking a Mr. Goodbar in a Hershey’s wrapper, except… no, no, that… that wasn’t quite it, either.

Gene wasn’t really getting rattled. Not over Paul. Not even if he had gotten Paul off the night before. Actually felt him clench up against his hand, felt his whole body just tighten up those seconds before release. Paul’s legs writhing and shifting against the mattress with every movement of his hand, those sharp, high sounds and rambling curses as he got closer and closer—someone, maybe Sweet Connie, maybe Peter, had told him one that Paul screamed through sex like he thought it was a private concert, and he’d never quite believed it, not until he’d heard him.

Last night shouldn’t have been as good as it was. He hadn’t seen a damn thing in the dark. He hadn’t even gotten off. It ought to have felt like a wasted night, or at the very least, like he’d only done Paul a favor. But—it didn’t. It didn’t feel like that at all. Paul had seemed to fit against him, soft and warm. There was something vulnerable to him, something that had been there as long as Gene had known him and probably longer. Something he’d never been close enough to touch before.

He'd touched plenty last night, he thought dryly. He didn’t need to kid himself into feeling like he needed more. Paul was still looking at him, dark moppetish eyes fixed on his face. What had Paul even been talking about? Orgies. He’d been sitting on the bed, eating doughnuts, and talking about fucking orgies.

“I thought you’d like having a bigger audience.”

“God, no. Orgies are too much pressure, unless you’re high off your ass.” Paul pushed back his hair with his free hand. He was making steadier progress on the doughnuts than Gene had really expected out of him. The second was more than halfway gone already. “But threesomes… threesomes are nice.”

Gene rolled his eyes. Paul didn’t seem to notice, poking another bite of the doughnut into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he continued. There were bits of icing sugar smeared on his face.

“Back when me and Peter’d share a room, early on… we’d be lucky to bring one girl back after the show. If we had a threesome, we wouldn’t fight over her.” Paul laughed. “And she’d think she was getting the real rockstar experience. It sounds stupid, but it worked. I kind of think that…”

“What?”

“It gets you to let your guard down, I dunno. Or it used to. You never let me talk about it before.”

“You didn’t have tits before.”

“Is that it?”

Instead of answering, Gene tried again for another doughnut. Paul batted his hand back in response, but this time, Gene touched his wrist. Paul didn’t pull his hand away, just looked at him, almost expectantly.

“Gene?”

“You’ve got icing on your face.”

“Oh.” Paul wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. “Did I get it?”

“No.”

“Now?”

Gene shook his head and leaned in, just to see what he’d do. Paul, less oblivious than Gene had hoped, just stuck the remainder of the doughnut in Gene’s open mouth.

Paul spent some time later that morning playing his answering machine messages. He’d exhausted the tape over the last week of not picking up the phone, apparently. He didn’t ask Gene to leave when he played the messages, which surprised him, just let the tape keep running while Gene finished off the milk. The box of doughnuts ended up on top of the dresser as Paul made up the bed. Gene watched him do it, leaning up against the wall.

His own messages. Bill’s. Sean’s. A couple from Peter, one from Ace, a couple from various promoters. One from Paul’s therapist. Paul didn’t really react with anything but resignation to the whole slew, not until a little girl’s voice piped in from the machine.

“Hi, Paul! This is Ericka!”

Paul’s head jerked up, and he stopped making up the bed, hand frozen on the sheet. The message continued.

“I got the souvenirs you sent! And the letter! Honey says you’re supposed to come visit before you go on tour!”

“Honey?” Gene asked, but Paul didn’t respond. He was staring at the answering machine.

“I wish you could visit more. I tell everybody at school you’re my brother, but they always say I’m lying. We should take pictures! Could you take pictures with me and the makeup? Then… then I’d have proof!” A pause. “I have to eat dinner now. I love you! Call me back!”

Paul stopped the machine after the click of the receiver.

“Honey’s my dad,” he said finally. “It’s what my mom calls him, so I guess it stuck.”

“Ericka thinks you’re her brother?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t know about Julia.” Paul’s tongue was peeking out from beneath his pursed lips. His jaw was tensed and tight. “Some of the assholes doing our publicity wanna let that story out. Use a seven-year-old kid to make me out to be some big hero of an uncle. All I do is pay her private school tuition and visit three times a year.”

“Paul—”

“I don’t want that for her. I don’t want her finding out like that.” He straightened the sheet and started on the comforter on top of it next, pulling it back into place. “Julia just… well, you remember. She dumped Ericka on my parents like… like she didn’t give a fuck.”

Gene did remember, vaguely. He remembered Paul rambling about the baby, rambling about how his dad was on the warpath with him, threatening to throw him out of the house if he dared knock a girl up. He remembered telling Paul not to get worked up over it. Paul had said something acrid (“please, your mom wouldn’t kick you out if you assassinated Nixon”) and that had been the end of it.

He hadn’t really thought about Paul’s family over the last three days. He’d thought about KISS and, of course, he’d thought about Paul, but he hadn’t considered much past that. A little shame was tugging in from somewhere in his gut. Paul would lose out on a lot more than his money if he stayed like this. He’d lose out on his relationship with his niece.

“You care about her. Your parents care about her. That’s what matters.” Gene paused. “She’s wanted. She knows that.”

“Yeah.” Paul looked away. “I’ll write her a letter.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Gene, I’m not gonna go quiet on her. That poor kid’s been waiting for months just to—”

“You won’t have to go quiet on her.” Gene moved from his spot against the wall, reaching over and retrieving a pillow from the floor. Guilt was propelling him to do things he’d never bothered with in his life. Up to and including helping make up the bed. “Tonight’s the night we get you back to normal.”

“That’s what we were hoping yesterday.”

“This time yesterday, we only had a description. Right now we’ve got her name and the nightclub.”

“Gene, there’s—there’s just no guarantee—I… I’ve gotta be realistic here.” Paul picked at his t-shirt. “Maybe we get her today, or tomorrow, or next week. Maybe we don’t. But I can’t keep setting myself up every day like… like some kid waiting on a package. It’s too much disappointment.”

A thought occurred to Gene, out of nowhere. It was so stupid, so appallingly obvious, that he almost didn’t want to give it voice. He put the pillow on the bed, then reached over, tugging Paul’s sleeve. Paul turned around to face him, slowly.

“Paul, listen. Why do you think Carol’s started to go to Studio 54?”

“Because she’s a groupie. Because that’s where the biggest names are.”

Gene stuck a finger against Paul’s mouth on weird impulse. His lips were dry and slightly chapped. Paul looked a little startled, but he didn't flush or back off.

“Wrong. She’s there because she thinks you’ll be there.”

Paul flicked Gene’s finger away.

“That’s a gamble.”

“It’s a damn good gamble. What do you bet she doesn’t even know if what she did worked? You’ve got to think—what does she know about you, really?”

“She knows I had a seven-inch—”

“She knows you like nightclubs and discotheques. Those are the only places outside of a concert she’d ever see you.”

“Mary-Anne asked if it worked.” Paul said it slowly. Realization was dawning on his face, immediate as an onstage spotlight. “Remember? She knew Carol had done something to me. I don’t think she knew what, but—"

“Exactly.”

“Carol wants to see me.”

“Yeah.”

“Not half as much as I wanna see her.” Paul grabbed the phone, handing it to Gene, then scrambled around in the nightstand.

“What are you looking for?”

“My address book.”

“Who am I calling here?”

“Steve Rubell. The guy that owns Studio 54.” Paul was yanking everything from spare film canisters to pocket dictionaries to a couple tubes of K-Y jelly out of the nightstand in a bid for his address book. “Tell him I don’t care if she’s on Neil Diamond’s arm when she comes in. Tell him—just like you said earlier. Tell him you and me both want her in the VIP lounge tonight.”

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

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Creighton chapter 2

He raises an eyebrow. “Never say never.”

I turn to Morty and Jim. “My contract doesn’t say anything about agreeing to something like that. Getting engaged is serious business, and you can’t make me.” I might sound like a petulant child, but I’m dead serious.

Jim, who puts off a fatherly air as opposed to Morty’s slimeball vibe, smiles at me.

“Sit down, Selena. I think we can all come to an agreement here. You want what’s best for your career, don’t you?”

I take a deep breath, shoving down the urge to scream again.

“Yes. That’s all I want. What’s best for my career, and this can’t be it.”

“We’ve been in this business a lot longer than you have, darlin’. You need to trust us. We’re not going to steer you wrong.”

Patronizing. There it is again.

Morty starts carrying on like this is a done deal. “It’s fucking perfect. JC, during your last song of the night, you’ll call Selena up onstage and drop to one knee. People will eat that shit up.”

“You can’t do this!”

All three men look at me, and their smiles send chills down my spine.

Holy. Shit.

“Deal with it, Wix,” Morty says with a smug smile. “This is happening, or you’re on the first bus back to the trailer park. Maybe we’ll even let you keep the diamond when it’s all over.”

Nothing I can say is going to change a thing right now, so instead, I swallow back the protests I want to scream and speak as calmly as I’m able. “This discussion isn’t over, but I have to get to practice.”

My head reeling and stomach churning, I pull my trucker hat lower and head for the door without waiting for a response.

“Let’s take that one from the top again,” I call out to my guys in the band.

I want to apologize for wasting their time today, but I don’t because then I’d have to explain why—and I can’t. But it’s impossible to concentrate on the music when I feel my dream slipping away. What won’t I do to save it? Can I go through with this farce? Everyone has a line, and I’m not sure where mine is.

But that’s not a question I’m going to be able to answer right now, so I’d better freaking focus. We have a new song that we want to add to the set list, and if we can’t get it together, we’re all going to look like idiots at the next show.

I study the guys, and am once again thankful that Homegrown didn’t screw me over on this front. My band is an amazing crew, and I’m lucky to have them. I could have ended up with a bunch of washed-up has-beens, but I got seasoned musicians with serious talent. Shocking, right?

The bitterness I feel toward Homegrown is ridiculous. It’s so hard to reconcile the fact that I have them to thank for giving me a shot to live this dream, and now they’re demanding I fall in line or sacrifice it. How is that fair? I guess it’s lucky that I wasn’t raised to think life should be fair. And besides, I’ve had my share of good fortune—if I didn’t win Country Dreams, I’d still be serving up deep-fried pickles at the bowling alley.

And Gran might still be alive, the voice of guilt whispers in my brain.

“Selena, what the hell? You planning on singing anytime soon, darlin’?”

I jerk my head around, shaking the thought from my mind as the guys silence their instruments . . . several bars after my cue.

“Sorry. I was a million miles away.”

“You need to take a breather, hon?” Lonnie, my drummer, asks as he spins one stick.

“Nah, I’m good. I just need to get my head back in the game.”

The guys look at each other, and suddenly I wonder if there’s something I’m missing.

“What?”

Darius, my bass player, finally speaks. “You getting homesick thinking about being away on Christmas Eve? Because we’ve all decided we’re catching flights home on our own dime right after the show. You should do the same.”

He’s talking about our show in three days, the one that will finally get me onstage at Madison Square Garden in New York City. Talk about a completely different universe. Little old me from Gold Haven, Kentucky, opening for country’s bad boy on a stage only slightly less impressive to me than the Opry itself. I just hope I don’t develop stage fright.

I consider Darius’s question. I’m a little homesick, but not because I want to go home—because I don’t really have a home to go to anymore. The only family I had that mattered is six feet under. My first Christmas without Gran is going to be brutal. My first everything without her has been tough, so why should this be any less painful?

Maybe I deserve the pain. Maybe I earned that pain.

But wasting this opportunity isn’t going to bring her back or absolve me of the guilt I’m carrying. Nothing will.

“You ready, Selena?”

I shake it all off as best I can—JC, the record execs, my guilt—and straighten my spine, standing taller in my worn-out boots.

“I’m ready. Let’s take it from the top.”

The rest of practice goes well because I force myself to stay firmly in this moment, firmly in the music. Singing my songs, even on this practice stage, is enough to finally drag me out of the dark place I’ve been sliding into.

As we pack up the gear when practice is finished, I check my watch. I’m headed back to Mick and Tana’s for dinner, and then home to pack for the two shows we’ve got before our extended break. First stop Philly, and then the Big Apple.

I shrug my bag over my shoulder and feel it vibrate with a text. Fishing my phone out, I see one from Tana.

TANA: I thought you said you weren’t doing it!!

I quickly tap out a reply.

ME: ??? are you talking about?

Tana’s response doesn’t hit my phone until I’m climbing into my car and firing it up.

TANA: JC. The engagement.

I called Tana as soon as I walked out of Homegrown and drove to practice. The number of f-bombs she dropped during that conversation was impressive. She almost beat out Mrs. Finchly, Gran’s next-door neighbor, when the repo man came to take her shiny new convertible because her winnings at bingo weren’t covering the payments.

Before I can type out a reply, my phone rings. Tana.

“I’m not,” I answer.

“Um, honey, have you seen Perez Hilton? Because there’s a picture of JC at the very top, and he’s buying a fucking engagement ring. He’s nothin’ but smiles.”

What? No way. No. Way.

“That’s impossible. They just—”

“Hang up the phone and google it, Selena. It’s there. It’s happening. They’re going to corner you into it, and they’re not wasting any time. You need a plan.”

“A plan?”

My brain spins, attempting to latch on to any idea at all, but I’ve got nothing. Nothing but the vision of me standing onstage at Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve celebration, the words “go screw yourself” popping out of my mouth when JC pops the question.

My career will be over. My dream will be dead.

Tana is right; I need a plan. Because boarding a bus home isn’t going to be part of my future. I might be a lot of things, but a failure isn’t one of them.

Christmas Eve, New York City

Bored.

It’s not a safe state of affairs for a man like me. Bad shit happens when I’m bored. I have a tendency to dabble in hostile takeovers when I need something to get my adrenaline pumping. Or I’ll go out and pick up three women, and introduce them to each other in the filthiest way possible.

Judge me all you want; I don’t give a fuck what you think about me. Because I own half this town, and the other half isn’t worth having.

You can check the crotch of my Gucci suit pants for yourself. Not even a hint of a bulge at the thought of a foursome. Threesomes are passé, but it’s a sad situation when even a foursome can’t get my dick interested.

Because I’m fucking bored.

I shove out of my chair and stalk to the window of my tower. You see that down there? Fifth Avenue and my city. We’re just south of the park, which means the holiday lights are everywhere.

I fucking hate Christmas. Just one more holiday that reminds me of things I’d rather forget. But enough of this shit. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I hover my thumb over the screen. I’ve got hundreds of numbers I can call and have a chick on my dick in less than fifteen minutes, even on Christmas Eve. Again, I wait for some sign of action in my pants, but I get nothing.

My dick must be broken. There’s no other explanation for it—except that I’m bored with my options. I know I’m getting repetitive, but bad things happen when I get bored. My past is littered with mistakes that arose from situations like this one.

But you know what? I’m in the mood to make another mistake. It’s time to grab my suit jacket and find out what kind of trouble I can get into tonight.

Christmas Eve, New York City

I’m giving myself a man for Christmas. Yes, a man.

I can do this. Really, I can. I think. Maybe.

From just inside the door, I scan the fancy hotel bar, looking for a likely prospect. The warmth of the whiskey I drank at the after party buzzes through me in a happy hum. I needed more than a little liquid courage to talk myself into this plan. I think it’s safe to say that this is my first rodeo.

And of course, I had to choose something way out of my league. But who knew the hotel bar would be so dang fancy? The Rose Club at the Plaza. Fifth Avenue, New York City.

I stifle the urge to check the carpet for any traces of mud that might have fallen off my cowboy boots, and wonder if it’s the first time a Kentucky girl in honest-to-God shit-kickers has stepped into this joint. Although, these boots are part of my stage costume, so the fringe and rhinestone-encrusted leather is a heck of a lot nicer than the worn-out ones I left in my cubby on the bus.

The bluish-purple glow coming from the ornate domed light fixtures makes it look like someone dunked the whole room in grape juice, giving the bar a kind of otherworldly feel. One look at the handful of folks in here tonight makes it clear that these people are from a completely different planet than me.

But I push aside the comparison and venture closer to the shiny wooden bar. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to need another shot of that liquid courage.

I slide onto one of the velvet bar stools, absolutely aware of the fact that my tiny jean skirt is riding up my thighs. A man in a suit one stool down is eyeing my legs while he swirls the liquor in his glass. I can’t tell what color it is, because everything takes on the unnatural shade of the lights.

I’m grateful for those lights. Something about the color is mellow and sexy, and it gives me the guts to follow through with my plan.

My Christmas list may be short, but it’s certainly specific. One man with enough cockiness and a smoking-hot body to take my mind off the grief stalking me tonight.

I snag the drink menu and flip it open. It lands on exactly the page I need. American Whiskey. The best damn kind there is. My jaw drops when I read the prices.

“Holy shit. Sixteen dollars for Jack Daniel’s? What the hell? Did Jack rise from the grave and make that mash himself? Holy . . . damn.” My voice carries, and everyone in the room, including the bartender in his snazzy suit, turns to look at me.

The guy one seat over must take that as some sort of invitation, and slides onto the velvet stool next to me. His smile is as smarmy as his words.

“I’ll buy a pretty girl a drink.” He jerks his head toward the bartender. “Put whatever she wants on my tab.”

Well, that didn’t take long.

I drop my gaze quickly, and the paunch straining the buttons of his dress shirt quickly disqualifies him as having the smoking-hot body on my Christmas wish list. But maybe this is a situation where beggars can’t be choosers?

I’ve never been much of a barfly, but the few times I’ve ventured out after shows with the guys, it seems like I always get these business types who spend a little too much time on the road, and none of it hitting the hotel gym.

Resignation filters through me. Maybe this is as good as it gets? One thing is clear, even through the warmth of the whiskey—this is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.

“Thank you, but I think I’m a little lost tonight.” I flip the menu shut. “I should probably just get back to my room.”

The label put me up at the Plaza as a goodwill gesture for doing the show on Christmas Eve; otherwise, I would never drop that kind of money on a hotel, even if I had that kind of cash to spare—which I don’t.

He lays a hand on my arm. “How can you be lost, when I just found you?”

The line is cheesy, and I’m not even sure it counts as a line. But either way, I’ll be better off with some room-service dessert and a pity party for one.

I slide off the edge of the stool, but his grip tightens before his hand lands on my leg, sliding up my skirt almost instantly.

“You can’t go yet. We haven’t even gotten acquainted. Just let me buy you a drink. I promise I’ll make it worth your while, sweetheart.”

Chills of ick run through me at his touch, and I struggle to slide out of his grip, but he’s got me trapped. Apparently he thinks I’m a hooker, but my skirt isn’t that short.

Reaching down to pry his hand off my leg, I dig my nails in, but he just squeezes tighter.

Seriously, world? This is what I get when I try to have some harmless fun? Not. Fair.

I yank at his hand and open my mouth to tell him to let go when a rough, deep voice curls around me.

“I’ll thank you to take your hands off my wife.”

In one swift move, the unwelcome hands touching me are gone, and the man is stumbling off his stool. My gaze jerks from the handsy guy trying to catch his balance, and darts over my left shoulder.

Another guy in a suit. Except instead of being on the slippery side of fifty and overweight, this man might just be God’s gift to women. Or maybe just Saint Nick’s gift to me in the form of a rescue? Because, holy wow. Dark brown hair falls perfectly over his forehead, and his cheekbones could have been carved by one of those Italian master sculptor guys.

A hint of recognition tugs at the edges of my whiskey-soaked brain as his dark eyes burn into mine, as if daring me to play along. I don’t know what his game is, but for him . . . I might just be willing to try it.

The sexy man in the suit lifts a hand to my hair and smooths a lock between two fingers. His dark brown eyes never leave mine. “Darling, I told you that the picking-up-strangers game to make me jealous was for New Year’s Eve, not Christmas Eve.”

The other guy backs away another step, and the memory of his touch is fading just as quickly as it came. It’s like watching the laws of nature play: the beta male bows to the alpha, and the sexy man in the suit is one hundred percent the alpha dog in this situation.

Whatever pheromones he’s throwing off have me shifting on the velvet bar stool and leaning closer to him without thinking. It’s a million times better than the thought of getting up close and personal with Handsy. I reach down to rub my arm where the jerk touched me, and a red mark has already appeared.

Alpha Dog doesn’t miss my move. He lays a possessive hand on my shoulder and speaks to Handsy in a low, dangerous growl. “If you don’t want to be still picking up teeth next Christmas Eve, I’d suggest you pay your tab and get the fuck out of here before I lose my temper. You don’t ever put your hands on a woman who clearly isn’t interested.”

Handsy apparently doesn’t recognize the alpha yet. “She came in here looking like she was trolling for a man. She was fucking interested. Maybe you should keep a leash on your woman if you can’t control her.”

I open my mouth to tell him I was most definitely not interested, but Alpha speaks first.

“I suggest you walk away while you’re still able.”

Alpha’s expression must be even more dangerous than his words, because Handsy snaps his fingers at the bartender, who slides an embossed leather folder down the bar. Apparently he’s been listening to this whole exchange as well, because he’s grinning smugly.

Alpha slides an arm around my middle and pulls me back against his solid chest. It’s everything I can do to stop myself from purring and rubbing up against him like a tabby cat in heat.

What is coming over me? I’ve never reacted like this to any man before. I should want to shower off the other guy, but instead I just want to get closer to the leader of the pack behind me.

Handsy flips the folder open and fumbles for his wallet.

Alpha Dog clips out, “Make sure you leave a good tip.”

The other man is counting out bills, and Alpha Dog’s thumb begins to rub a path back and forth across my stomach, just below my breasts. With every stroke, I press more weight back against him as all the nerve endings in my body seem to come to life at once.

His chest rumbles with his words. “Two hundred should be sufficient. It’s fucking Christmas. Don’t be a cheap fuck, you prick.”

I bite my lip to hold back the giggle welling up inside me.

Handsy shoves two hundreds inside and flips the leather folder shut before stumbling off his stool.

He takes three steps, and Alpha says, “I sure as hell hope you haven’t forgotten to apologize to my wife for being a dick before you go.”

Handsy pauses and stiffens. “Sorry, ma’am. I apologize sincerely.”

My belly shakes with silent laughter, and Alpha squeezes me tighter.

“Something funny, sweetheart?”

I’m debating whether I should disentangle myself from his hold to face him when he takes the decision out of my hands and drops his arm. He pulls out the bar stool next to me, unbuttons his suit jacket, and sits.

I expect him to turn and start explaining what just happened, and why the hell he rescued me and then pretended to be my husband, but he just holds up two fingers.

“Bushmills 21 for the lady.”

The bartender hops to it, nodding before he grabs a tall bottle from the top shelf.

“I’ll have a double shot of Jack,” I say, correcting him.

The bartender freezes and looks from me to Alpha Dog.

My sideways glance reveals him shaking his head. “She’ll have the Bushmills. We’re expanding her palate.”

I look at him and open my mouth to object, but get distracted by his profile. The man is beautiful, from his dark hair and equally dark eyes to his black tie tucked into a matching three-button vest. My eyes drop lower to the bulge in his suit pants. I swallow and remember exactly why I’m sitting in this bar tonight.

It hits me like a splash of slush from a cab on my boots. I know exactly who he is, because he doesn’t look all that different from the cover of Forbes that Tana had at her house a couple of months ago. I still remember the headline: KARAS CRUSHES COMPETITION.

Well, he certainly crushed the competition tonight. The rush of nervousness I was already feeling builds. The Selena gives herself a man for Christmas plan is suddenly alive and well again.

But how do I do this? I’ve never propositioned a stranger in a bar, let alone a billionaire. Or is this already a foregone conclusion, and he’s just waiting for me to catch up to his agenda for the evening?

“We’re expanding my palate?” My words come out breathier than I intended.

His full lips slide into a lazy, yet predatory smile. “In this respect, and I’m hoping a few others before the night is over.”

Oh. My. God.

I sure hope I know what I’m getting myself into.

Fuck me.

That’s what her glossy siren-red lips are saying, and I don’t think she has a goddamn clue how edible she looks sitting perched on that stool. She shifts, and the rhinestones at her neck, ears, and wrist flash purple in the trademark light of the Rose Club—light that’s more accustomed to reflecting off diamonds than costume jewelry.

She drew my eye when she stepped through the door because she looked so utterly out of place. But I haven’t been able to take my eyes off her because . . . Fuck. I have no idea. I’ve had my fair share of beautiful women, but this one’s a completely different breed. Not the trained purebred type of woman who crowds this place, tittering and looking for her next meal ticket.

No. One look at her, and I know she’s untrained and innocent. She’s not the kind of woman who is going to be angling for a handout, and the absolute lack of motive behind her actions is more alluring than I would have guessed. The way she instantly played along and never shied from my touch. Hell, she leaned into me, wanting more. She’s rare, and I’m the kind of man who appreciates that quality more than most when it comes to choosing a woman.

And then there’s the fact that she’s sitting in this bar on Christmas Eve with no ring on her finger—not sure how the dumb fuck missed the lack of that little accessory. It tells me she’s as alone in this city tonight as I am.

Boredom is now the last thing on my mind. This innocent girl has managed to eradicate every trace of it.

I make my decision instantly. She’s mine tonight.

The bartender, Aric, according to his nametag, sets our whiskey down in front of us.

“Please let me know if I can get you anything else, Mr. Karas.”

I wince as he says my name. I expect her demeanor to change immediately, for greedy claws to come out and spear into me.

Instead, she eyes the lowball glass in front of her. “How much is that drink gonna cost me? Ten dollars a swallow?”

I barely hold back a groan at the word swallow, because, fuck, I’m a guy, and I’ve already been picturing my dick in her mouth.

“Not a thing, sweetheart. I wouldn’t let a woman drink alone, and I sure as hell wouldn’t let her pay for her own drinks.”

I wait for an objection, but instead she lifts the glass and sniffs its contents.

“Kinda smells like . . . candy?”

“Caramelized toffee and dark chocolate.”

Her lips press against the rim, and she tips back a swig. Fuck. Her throat works as she swallows the liquor.

I want to taste it on her lips. Hell, I just want to taste her. I lean in, not even totally conscious of my movement, but urged on by the need to sample my favorite Irish whiskey from her, rather than from the glass.

But she freezes, and so do I.

Her brown eyes widen. “Holy horseshit, that’s some good stuff.”

My chest shakes as a chuckle breaks loose. “Damn straight.”

Her mouth curves into a grin as she lifts and sips again. This time she swallows more, and my dick pulses against the zipper of my suit pants. I want her on her knees, those wide brown eyes staring up at me as I cup her jaw and thrust my cock between those lush red lips.

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