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bensakindofmagic · 5 years ago

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Chapter Twelve

A/N: hey hey hey, have another chapter kiddos!

WARNING: swearing, SMUT (but it’s kinda fluffy???) so 18+ ONLY PLEASE, and also you fuckers ain’t ready

w/c: 5.2k (oof, grab a cuppa before you start)

Chapter Twelve

The next morning you arranged to see each other that evening, to go on your first proper date, but didn’t travel to work together. Despite the prolonged pining for each other it felt too soon to be flaunting it in front of everyone. You weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, and you certainly weren’t ready for everyone to know about the two of you. But the guys noticed the change in mood instantly: that you weren’t awkward around each other anymore and the you kept smiling bashfully at each other across the room, that you bit your lip and blushed when Ben smirked at you. It was clear that something had happened between you the night before, but they weren’t exactly sure what.

“Do you want to come back to mine after work and play Mario Kart?” Joe asked Ben casually.

Ben’s cheeks went a dusky pink and he caught himself before he glanced at you, “Sorry mate, I can’t tonight.”

“Can’t? Why?”

“Uhh,” Ben stalled before deciding to just tell the truth, “I’ve got a date.”

Gwil perked up at that and quickly joined the conversation, “A date? With whom?”

Ben was really floundering now. He was reticent to tell the guys what had happened given the way you had reacted before, but he couldn’t lie to his mates either. He opened and closed his mouth, racking his brain for something to say.

You saved him, by walking over to ask, “Are you guys good to get into position? We’re nearly ready to shoot.”

“Did you know Ben has a date tonight?” Joe shot at you.

“Always so professional,” you chuckled to yourself, but a smile tugged gently at the corner of your mouth when you glanced at Ben. “Um, yeah I did.”

Gwil looked between you, reading between the lines, and his eyes went wide.

“He won’t tell us who it’s with,” Joe whined.

“Christ Joe, you can be a bit dim sometimes,” Gwil laughed, and gestured emphatically at you and Ben as a deep blush crept up your neck.

Finally clocking the connection, Joe’s mouth fell open before he grinned, “Thank god, you two took your sweet time.”

“Shh,” you scowled, “We don’t want everyone to know yet."

“Right, sorry,” he said, lowering his voice, “I’m just excited for you.”

“So what are you doing for your first date?” Gwil effused.

You turned to Ben as he asked, “Yeah what are we doing?”

“I thought it was your job to figure that out.”

“I thought you were a modern woman.”

“I can be a modern woman and want to be treated like a princess, can’t I?”

Joe chuckled, “Best take note bud, she’s expecting you to go all out by the sounds of it.”

“I didn’t say that,” you said, the tone of your voice rising a little to express your indignance, “I’m not asking you to spend a load of money on me, I just want you to…” Your voice trailed off as you noticed the expressions of the guys — grinning expectantly — and suddenly felt a swell of embarrassment. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter right now. Time you lot got to your places.”

With a grumble they headed off and you turned to get behind the camera, but Ben gently took hold of your arm and you edged round to face him, meeting his gaze to find concern in his eyes.

“Are you okay with all this? I know you said you didn’t want to tell everyone yet and you seemed kind of uncomfortable just then—”

You gave him a soft smile and resisted the urge stroke his cheek. “I’m fine. And of course you could tell the guys, it’s not like we could have kept it secret from them for long anyway.”

“What were you going to say?” he said as a smile glinted behind his eyes and he jerked his chin.

You shrugged, gazing at the wall over his shoulder, “I was going to say that I want you to show me what I mean to you. But I thought it was a bit much to say it in front of them.”

He grinned, biting his lip, “If I could kiss you I’d show you what you mean to me right now.”

“Later,” you whispered, and turned on your heel to walk away.

The day went all too slowly, punctuated by stolen glances and concealed winks. A seeming colony of butterflies fluttered in the pit of your stomach when he smiled at you, or when you caught him staring as you went about your work. When he sat down beside you at lunch and settled his hand on your thigh under the table you had to fight to ignore the thumping of your heart in your ears. He was what you had wanted for so long and now, finally, he was yours. You struggled to keep your breathing steady when his fingers tightened momentarily around your flesh.

But despite the connection, the tension between you, it felt a little weird. Trying to navigate this new relationship in front of the guys was awkward and clunky, and you hadn’t figured out how to be a couple around them yet. You were barely a couple at all, having never been on a date together and it was only the previous day that you weren’t speaking to each other. But both of you had been wanting this for so long that it seemed as if you had hit the ground running headlong into each other.

The guys’ scrutiny as you ate was ill-masked, and they were clearly expecting you and Ben to be all over each other. Their inquisitive stares, on top of your nervous energy and the way Ben made you feel when he touched you, had basically turned you into a frenetic mess by the afternoon. You brought the guys some hot drinks while the lights were being reset and sat down beside them, grateful for the rest. It had been a busy day, given the amount of catching up you had to do from the day before.

“Seems to be going much better today, Y/N,” Gwil said, thanking you as you handed him a cup of tea.

“Yeah, we’re making good progress.”

“What a difference it makes when you’re in a good mood,” Joe teased.

Your cheeks flushed as you looked at Ben through your lashes. He smiled, warmth radiating from the green of his eyes and his laughter lines etching themselves deeply in his skin, “She’s the beating heart of this place.”

“Oh god, it’s this what it’s going to be like from now on with you two? All mushy and sappy” Joe groaned.

“You jealous babe?” you winked, “We’re phasing you out.”

He frowned, pouting, but Gwil piped up, “Either way, this is infinitely preferable to before. The pining was getting unbearable.”

“Oh I’m sure Joe will take up that mantle,” you laughed.

Ben cornered you late in the afternoon and told you to be ready by 7pm, and to dress up a bit, because he was taking you to dinner.

The knock came at the door earlier than you were expecting, but luckily you had started getting ready as soon as you got home so only had to put on your jewellery. You wore a simple body con dress with a high neck — enough to show off your curves while still leaving something to the imagination — with knee high black boots and statement earrings. Your hair fell in gentle waves onto your shoulders and your makeup was neutral but elegant. You hurried to the door, shoes clopping loudly on the wooden floor, and opened it to see a nervous-looking Ben chewing on his finger.

“Hey, I’m almost ready,” you said a little breathlessly. Your eyes wondered down as you scanned him; you’d never seen him looking so dapper. He wore a rust brown plaid suit over a black shirt, the top few buttons hanging casually open. A thick camel trench coat was draped loosely over his arm where his hand was stuffed in his pocket. Freshly washed curls fell easily on his head.

“Sorry, I know I’m early. I was so paranoid about being late I guess I went the other way.”

You gestured for him to come in while you gathered your things.

“No, it’s okay, I did the same.” You grabbed your most stylish faux fur coat that made anything look fashionable, and your clutch, throwing the coat loosely over your shoulders.

“You look incredible, by the way,” he said sincerely.

You beamed, “Thanks, you know when you told me the dress code was ‘nice but not super nice’ you didn’t exactly make it easy.”

“Well you nailed it,” he laughed.

“You know, you scrub up pretty well yourself.”

You left your apartment and found the air outside was crisp but pleasant. Ben suggested you walk as you had some extra time and the restaurant wasn’t too far away. You walked mostly in silence, enjoying the bustle of the city in the evening and each other’s company. A couple of times you thought you ought to strike up conversation but when nothing sprang to mind to say you let it lie, figuring you had all evening to chat. When you got the restaurant Ben gave the waiter his reservation details as you took in your surroundings. It looked pretty opulent, with chandeliers hung from the ceiling, red velvet seat covers and gilded, baroque-style decor.

“God, this place is fancy. I feel underdressed,” you murmured under your breath.

“You look perfect,” Ben whispered, leaning so close to you that his breath tickled the skin on your neck. He slipped his hand in yours with a comforting smile, and led you over to the table.

You sat down gingerly, acutely aware of the fact that you could not afford to pay for it if you damaged anything. Ben ordered champagne and you found yourself reevaluating the man sat before you. Even having seen his home you never thought of him as wealthy, but it occurred to you that he must have a pretty decent income given his line of work and his recent success. The whole atmosphere had you slightly on edge, and when the sommelier poured your champagne you drank it just a little too fast.

“So, finally on a proper date,” Ben said, clearly somewhat uncomfortable too.

“Yeah, um, it’s been a little while coming,” you replied, shifting in your seat but heartened by the way he scanned your face, looking for the same anxiety.

“Sorry,” he faltered, “It’s been a little while since I’ve done this.” He pulled his face into a smile that came out more like a grimace. The one you returned was genuine.

“I guess we just have to not try too hard, you know? When we first met we were friends.”

“When we first met I was trying desperately to flirt with you,” he chuckled.

You grinned, “I was trying desperately not to. You had a girlfriend back then, remember?”

“Feels like a long time ago, doesn’t it?” he mused. It did. Both your lives had changed since then.

You chatted dispassionately about which starters looked good and worked thirstily through a second glass of champagne. Conversation was drying up and you had just started to panic about what to say next when you were saved by the waiter coming to take your order.

“You’re really knocking back that bubbly,” Ben joked as he filled up your glass again.

“Dutch courage,” you smiled, hiding your embarrassment.

“Nervous?”

You nodded, “I don’t know why, it’s not like we don’t know each other and I have to make a good impression.”

“Right, it’s okay though, I’m nervous too,” he admitted, pulling one side of his mouth into a closed-lip smile.

“Maybe it’s just this place — fancy food and waiters in tuxedos, you know?”

The food came blissfully quickly, leaving little time for awkward eye-contact and jilted conversation.

The tiniest starter you’d ever seen was laid in front of you, and you bit your tongue, only offering a polite ‘thank you’ to the waiter. It was beautiful and intricate, but far from filling.

“I hope the mains are a bit more substantial,” you quipped.

“If they’re not then my stomach will be be rumbling so much it’ll be third wheeling.”

Having avoided much of the food on set later in the day, on account of your nerves and knowing you were going out for dinner, you were starving and wolfed down your food far too quickly. Ben wasn’t far behind.

“That waiter is for sure judging us,” you said with serious eyes, hiding the laugh that wrinkled beneath them.

“I guess devouring the fancy food in approximately three seconds isn’t exactly how things are usually done round here,” he ventured. Looking swiftly around the room he leaned in towards you and whispered, “Shall we get out of here? We could just go back to my place and order pizza.”

Your face split into a grin and you hummed, “Not before we finish this champagne.”

He laughed and poured out the last of it into your glasses.

“To us,” he toasted, clinking his glass against yours and you both downed your drinks.

“Let’s go,” you declared, grabbing your coat.

Ben settled the bill at the door, despite your insistence on splitting it, and hailed a taxi. You were soon at his place.

“I’ll order the pizza,” he said, shrugging his coat and shoes off and grabbing his laptop. “Make yourself at home, there’s beer in fridge, or wine if you’re feeling fancy.”

“I’m always feeling fancy,” you said as you poured out two glasses of wine, well aware of the irony of it.

You put them down on the coffee table and sat on the sofa beside Ben, unzipping your boots to free your legs. Ben’s eyes were fixed on your clenched calves and pointed toes as you slipped your feet out of them. You smirked, “Distracted, Hardy?”

His gaze snapped up to your face and he grunted, “I’m totally focused,” turning his attention back to the computer screen.

You curled your feet up beside you and let your glass sit lazily in your hand as you surveyed the way Ben’s shirt strained over his shoulder blades.

“It’ll be here in 15 minutes,” he said, picking up his own glass and sitting back on the sofa to be level with you. “So, you’re feeling fancy but not that fancy?” he teased.

“I like to feel fancy in a causal situation. I want to be the most extravagant person in the room.” you winked.

“Not at all demanding then.”

That easy rapport was back and you fell into amicable conversation, laughter soon reaching your soul. You were only interrupted by a knock on the door and squealed with excitement when Ben returned with a steaming pizza.

“Now that’s my kind of man,” you cheered as he set it down on the table.

You went slice-for-slice, demolishing it far too quickly between you, while joking about stuffy waiters and tiny portions.

You worked your way through the wine after that, while discussing everything from your favourite films to childhood dreams to families and pet peeves and anything else you could think of.

“Hey,” Ben ventured in a moment of quiet, “Sorry this evening didn’t exactly go to plan. I thought the whole fancy restaurant thing would be nice, but I guess I misjudged it.”

You shuffled closer to him let your hand wander to the back of his neck. “Please don’t worry about it. I’ve had a wonderful evening. All I really wanted was to spend it with you.” You gently stroked the short hairs there, and your eyes drifted to his lips, as his did to yours. Slowly, without either of you noticing yourselves moving, your faces were inches from each other and your breath mingled in the space between you. Then his lips were on yours and it was sweeter than before. When his tongue brushed against your own you pulled away and smirked, “You taste like pizza.”

“So do you,” he purred and swallowed your giggle in kisses. His grip on your hips was firm and you were soon straddling his lap. You ground your hips indiscernibly, involuntarily, against his crotch, relishing the moan it elicited from him. He began to direct you into more pronounced movements while you grasped his jaw with both hands. He buried his face in your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and marks until he found your sweet spot and latched onto it. You threw your head back in bliss, letting him fill up your senses and the pressure between your thighs grow until you were panting. You needed him.

You pulled back hastily, taken aback by your own desperation. “Is this a good idea?”

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Ben calmly assured you.

“Oh believe me, I want to.”

“Well, then, why wouldn’t it be a good idea? You know me, you trust me,” he murmured.

You gave a reassured nod, you did trust him, and placed a peck on his lips before dismounting. Ben looked at you, confused, but you took his hand and led him to the bedroom. You turned to him once you got inside, and your arms were around him, hands exploring his toned shoulders, lips on his and hungrily, frantically, tasting his mouth. You dragged his bottom lip through your teeth. Ben stumbled a little as he kicked off his shoes and attempted to take off his socks with his feet, eventually conceding to bending down to take them off. Then he began to bunch your dress up around your waist and made to pull it over your head.

“Wait, earrings,” you announced, hurriedly taking them out before they got caught on your dress.

“I thought they were pretty,” he lamented with a shrug.

“Believed me,” you huffed, placing them on the mantelpiece, “they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

You approached him again, inches between you, and his hands skimmed your thighs, trailing up past your waist, and he pulled your dress up over your head — where it promptly got stuck on your arms. With your head inside a fabric cone you muffled, “Just tug it.” He did and it came awkwardly off. You shook your hair out and bit your lip to stop yourself from giggling, hoping you could pass it off as seductive. But Ben sniggered, “This isn’t going particularly smoothly, is it?”

You grinned as you threw your arms around his neck and reassured, “It’s okay.”

You fumbled with his buttons and all but ripped his shirt off his body. You moaned audibly at the sight of his chiselled chest, carefully sculpted and heaving with every shaky intake of breath. You attached your mouth to his collarbones, so deep and sharp, and left your mark there. You smiled against his skin in satisfaction at the groan it elicited, rumbling deep within him. He grabbed your thighs abruptly and lifted you off the ground, throwing you onto the bed. You landed hard and smiled as he crawled on top of you, like a lion stalking its prey. He looked ridiculously sexy. But far too clothed.

He trailed kisses up your chest, stopping to leave the tracks of his teeth in your flesh every once in a while. When he reached your breasts, still encased in black lace, he toyed with the edge of the fabric, pulling it a little lower and leaving a deep purple hickey just above your nipple. He moved up to your neck, licking and biting as he went. When he nuzzled his nose into your ear you squealed, writhing beneath him. “That tickles!” you gasped, giggling.

Ben pulled back and grunted, “Sorry,” the frown etched clearly into his features. Before he could reattach his lips to you, you caught his face in your hands and forced him to meet your eyes. “Stop worrying. I can see that you’re overthinking.”

When he pressed his lips to yours it was soft, a caress dripping with tenderness. He dropped his forehead against yours, allowing himself to be vulnerable, as he whispered, “I thought about this so many times. In my head it was always perfect.”

“Ben, this is perfect. It’s honest and real and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m ticklish, so what?”

Suddenly, his expression changed; in the blink of an eye a wide grin had spread over his face and his hands trailed down to your waist and he was tickling you relentlessly. You yelped, squirming away from his touch but he had you pinned beneath him. You gasped breathlessly and managed to pant out, “That wasn’t an invitation!”

When he finally relented you breathed, “Arsehole,” to which he only replied with a wide smirk.

He chuckled, “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t resist. Let me make it up to you,” putting on his best puppy dog eyes and you melted.

“You can start by taking those trousers off.”

His grin was the very definition of seduction, and he rolled off you to fumble with his belt. His trousers inevitably got caught around his ankles and you laughed as he struggled to throw them off. Finally dislodging them, he tossed them across the room with a huff and collapsed back on the bed heavily. You took the opportunity to throw your leg over his lap and straddle him again, grinding against the growing bulge there, while he ran his sizeable hands, calloused from drumming, up and down your thighs. You leant down to kiss his lips, then the hollow between his pecks, before shuffling down to face his groin. You fiddled with his boxers, slipping your fingers under the waistband, and licked your lips, ready to taste him.

You suddenly stopped, frozen.

“What is it?” he asked worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I just… I just realised I’m going to see your dick.”

He gave you a blank stare. “Yeah,” he said slowly, stating the obvious, but you watched his face change as he actually considered the reality of it for the first time too.

“Is it weird that I��m kinda nervous about it?” you ventured.

“You’re nervous?!” he said with incredulity. “It’s my dick!”

Your face broke into a smile and you couldn’t help the giggle that simmered up through your chest and soon you were laughing heartily.

“Are you laughing at me, Miss Y/L/N?” Ben protested but he was laughing along with you. With your hands resting on his bare chest you felt its rapid rise and fall as he chuckled, and you watched the way relaxation bathed his features. His eyes lay softly closed, his lips parted in a smile.

“Com’ere,” he mumbled, and you crawled up his body and gently settled your weight onto his chest. He held your face and pressed his lips tenderly to yours, feathery light. You gave a satisfied hum, the pulsing of your bodies falling into rhythm.

After that moment of intimacy, he broke the silence by asking, “Can I eat you out?”

Your head shot up. “Are you serious?”

He nodded slowly and you instantly rolled off him, taking the opportunity to unhook your bra and fling it to the floor. You spread your legs and beckoned, “Yes please.”

He shimmied down the bed, settled between your thighs, and grasped your hips tightly. With agonising deliberateness he lowered his head towards your sex. You shuddered as you felt his breath even through the fabric of your underwear, and when he placed a kiss, with the lightest of touches, over your mound, you trembled. He kissed along the inside of your thigh, right up to the place where it met your pussy, and left a hickey on your hip just above the waistband.

“Ben,” you breathed, desperate, aching for his touch. He looked up at you and grinned, pulling his bottom lip devilishly between his teeth, and letting his fingers slip beneath the elastic. He swiftly pulled them down and you sucked in a breath at the sudden exposure. The wait was torturous: it seemed an age before you finally felt his mouth on you. But when you did it was warm and sweet, as he slowly explored your folds. Every swipe of his tongue was intentional, every pause, every flick. You could feel the way he was savouring this first time getting to taste you. He had felt you before, but this was so different, this was viscerally intimate and deeply personal. His tongue found your clit and rolled against it, caressing. You gasped.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

The pressure was mounting, your orgasm rumbling slowly towards you. Just when the empty ache between your thighs had you moaning with desire, Ben slid a finger inside you, then another quickly after. He worked you to breaking point, all the while letting his free hand wander over your stomach, to your breasts and hips, and his eyes frequently darted up to your face to watch the reaction he was eliciting. You buried your hands in his hair and thrust your head back, eyes pressed tightly shut, and let a string of profanities tumble from your mouth.

“Oh, fuck Ben… that feels — fuck — that feels so fucking good.”

You felt his smile against your pussy, proud of his handiwork, and just as his pace began to quicken, as your breathing became shallower and your moans more illicitly lustful, he pulled away from you. The emptiness was sudden, the cool air against your burning pussy almost unbearable.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you whined as Ben rolled off you and reached for a condom from the drawer.

“Believe me, that was not teasing.” The glint in his eyes made you clench your thighs together.

He shimmied his boxers off, now painfully tight with his arousal, and his dick sprang free. It was thick and long and you internally thanked god for blessing you with such a man. Every part of him was beautiful. He rolled the rubber on with ease and shifted his weight onto his side to look down at you. He stroked the side of your face and let his eyes dart between your own. You took a moment to reassess, to fully comprehend what was happening. This guy that you had been crushing on for so long, this guy who was smart and quick and funny and so sexy, was looking at you with all this affection, like he wanted nothing more than to take care of you, like you were all that mattered in the world. You wondered what the hell you’d done to get so lucky.

He kissed you passionately, swallowing any words but for once leaving nothing unsaid, and positioned himself above you.

“You ready?”

You grinned, “Good god, yes,” and slowly he pushed himself inside you.

“Oh…” you gasped and your eyelids fluttered as he filled you to the hilt. He stopped, taking a moment to feel you, and you saw his pleasure plastered over his features; eyes closed, head hanging, jaw clenched, lips swollen.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” he groaned. You snaked your arms up his biceps, bulging under his weight, and interlaced your fingers around his neck. He leant down to press his lips to yours and you held him close for a moment: his eyes were bright, pupils blown with lust, and his skin glistened. Just the sight of him made the knot in your stomach tighten. You sighed as he rested his forehead against yours, and pecked his lips once, twice, three times. Slowly, agonisingly, he thrust into you again. He started slow, establishing a steady rhythm that soon had you panting. He traced his fingers along your jaw and down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake before kissing them away. He shifted his weight and started to deepen his thrusts, reaching that spot within you that had you crying out in pleasure.

Ben grinned, “There?”

“There. Right there — oh my god, Ben,” you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Baby, look at me,” he said, tucking a finger under your chin and lifting it to meet his gaze. You forced your lids open and there was such intensity in his eyes, such fiery desire. Your lips hung open in a silent cry, moaning and gasping and whispering curses under your breath. You struggled to keep your eyes open but fought to hold his gaze as he quickened his pace, thrusting deeper and faster and harder. Your hands roamed over his shoulders and back, nails digging into him for some kind of traction. You began repeating his name over and over like a prayer as the pressure built and you ached for release.

He groaned your name like a curse and panted, “I’m close.”

“Me too baby,” you whimpered, your voice quivering as much as your legs. You pressed your fingers to your clit and rubbed furiously until you couldn’t take the sheer intensity of pleasure anymore.

“Ben... Ben.”

“Cum for me,” he grunted, sweat gleaming, whole body clenched.

And you did. Your orgasm was so intense it was almost spiritual. Every nerve in your body was on fire in release, and all you could feel was pleasure pleasure pleasure. You shuddered, gasped, cried, and Ben was clenching inside you as his own release hit him. You clutched his shoulders as he grasped the sheets. As your pleasure subsided you watched the last vestiges of Ben’s wash over his face. You swiped your thumb across his cheek, then his lips, and he kissed your palm before collapsing on your chest with a mumbled, “Fuck.”

You smiled, running a hand through his hair and stroking his back. Beads of sweat trickled down his neck and he buried his face in your hair, moaning.

“As much as I’m enjoying this, you’re kind of crushing me,” you wheezed after a little while, giggling.

He mumbled his apology and rolled off you with a wince, still desperately sensitive. You shifted so that his head rested on your naked chest and you pushed off the hair that clung to his forehead. You traced your index finger along the ridges in his collarbones, his shoulder and arms, feeling the muscles humming softly beneath the skin.

“You did good babe,” you purred. He nuzzled his face between your breasts and briefly took your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue and letting his teeth skim over it for just a moment. You let out a blissful laugh and pulled his mouth to yours. You hummed into him until he trailed kisses along your jaw and down to your shoulder. He nipped at the supple skin of your breast, just below your armpit, and muttered, “I can’t believe this is what I’ve been missing.”

“I guess we should start making up for lost time then.”

He smirked and you rolled him over so you straddled him again, and started warming him up for round two.

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ubernoxa · 5 years ago

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THE DARE: A Guns N’ Roses FanFic

Chapter 18: Trixy the Bitch

(Masterlist)

Taglist: @queen-crue

“Oh My God Mags it was so embarrassing,” Delilah screamed as Mags finished doing Delilah’s makeup.

“Don’t be embarrassed Delilah, Duff obviously enjoyed it,” Mags simply replied as she leaned against the wall behind her.

It had been a day and Delilah still wasn’t over what Duff did to her while she teased him on his truck. The entire time she was painting the banner that is all she could think about. She really enjoyed it, but part of her was nervous.

“What if I make a fool of myself tonight?” Delilah now whined as she sat on the toilet lid. It was the best makeshift chair they could come up with that was in good lighting.

“Don’t worry, he’ll think it’s cute,” Mags reached forward and held Delilah’s hands.

“I have no idea what I’m doing!” Mags laughed at Delilah’s explanation. Whether she was referring to life in general or relationships, it didn’t matter.

“The beauty of life is that none of us know what we’re doing. We’re just reacting to the shit that happens around us. If you’re referring to the..intimacy...part of the whole relationship, then that will come with time. Everyone has to start somewhere. Some of us start earlier than others,” Mags tone was gentle and sweet as she spoke earning a warm smile from Delilah.

“What is he expects that I started earlier?” The words were almost inaudible as they came out of Delilah’s mouth. Duff had probably had countless girlfriend before her, there was no doubt in her mind that he knew what he was doing.

“Del, I hate to be rude, but everyone kinda figures that you’re at the point where you’re just...starting...to explore this type of stuff which is COMPLETLY fine. Promise me you won’t feel pressure to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” Delilah nodded at Mag’s words.

“Ok, now let’s get going to the show. The plan is to meet the guys at their place and travel with them that way it will be easier for us to get backstage. This is a bigger venue and they are opening for Crue which has gained a bit of press lately,” Mags added as Delilah quickly followed her.

When they got to the guys’ place it was absolute chaos. What little clothing the guys had was thrown across the apartment. Mags and Delilah had to weave around the instrument cases that were scattered by the front door. At least they tried to get somewhat organized. When she saw the backstage passes tied to the various cases, Mags knew that Steff or Trixie had been here.

“Hey Mags hows it going,” Mags was immediately greeted by a tall blonde as she walked in leaving Delilah to feel very awkward. She tried to focus her attention on the mess that now covered the apartment.

“I’m doing good Stef, this is Del,” Mags said as Delilah was immediately bought into a hug. The smell of honey filled Delilah’s senses. It was relaxing. She didn’t know why, but it calmed her.

“Nice to finally meet you!” She explained before they followed her to the less chaotic living room.

“I love the smell of your perfume, is it honey?” Delilah asked.

A smile grew on Stef as she nodded. “Yes it is. Stevie adores the scent. If you want you can totally borrow it sometime.”

Stef’s and Delilah conversation was cut short as Mags spoke. “Hey, Trixy, this is Del.”

Trixy sat on the old couch barely covered in her tight white leather dress like a queen on her throne. She was a model plucked right off the runway.

Delilah wished she was a turtle that could hide back in her shell. Every inch of Trixy intimidates her. By height of her heels, Delilah knew Trixie would tower over her.

“So this is the infamous Del,” Trixy said as Delilah sat down on a chair. He tone wasn’t sweet like Stef’s. Trixy’s voice was laced with poison. She was without a doubt a King Kobra and Delilah was a baby mouse.

“The one and only? I take it Duff had mentioned me,” Delilah smiled as she sat down in a chair. She fidgeted with the peach hem of her dress that rested on thigh.

“Well more like all of the guys. They love your cooking, and from what I’ve heard I can’t wait to try some too. The banner you and Axl worked on looks amazing as well,” Steff added attempting to lighten the mood. Steff hadn’t known Trixy long, but she knew where this was going.

To say Trixy was territorial was an understatement. There were parts of Trixy that Stef loved. For example Trixy knew how to have fun and had a great sense in fashion. She also was a good friend, when it was convenient, but at least she tried.

Delilah felt all of her nerves melt away once Steff spoke. For some reason, Delilah had felt like an outcast, but now Delilah felt a lot more comfortable. She was practically apart of the GNR family.

“I’ll probably be making some tomorrow morning. It helps me wake up in the morning,” Delilah shrugged.

“Where’d you learn to draw,” Trixie was fast catching Delilah off guard.

Stef leaned back in her chair and rolled her eyes. She hated when she was right about when Trixy was going to enter her full bitch phase. She wondered if that’s why her and Axl were so attracted to each other and dating. They’re both complete ass holes.

“It’s kinda a hidden talent. I do it when I get stressed. It helps me relax,” Delilah confessed. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either.

“Oh so that’s why you and Axl drew on his wall,” Delilah felt like she was being put on trial by Trixy.

Mags adjusted in her seat and made eye contact with Steff across the couch. Steff shook her head causing Mags to relax a little. It was their signal for ‘she’s not worth causing a fight’ or ‘no don’t beat her up. This will be over soon’.

“He was freaking out, and I didn’t want him to hurt himself,” Delilah confessed again. She felt her heart begin to slowly race. What was Trixie’s problem?

“Why do you care if he hurts himself?”

“I care because he’s in my boyfriend’s band. He also is a HUMAN BEING,” Mags was caught off guard by Delilah’s tone. She had never heard Delilah raise her voice.

“Hey Del, I think Duff needs some help,” Izzy popped his head into the room in attempt to interrupt Trixie’s interrogation. With most of Axl’s girlfriends, he hoped Trixie would be gone within the next week or two.

“Yeah of course,” Delilah smiled leaving the room without hesitation. The sooner she got out of that room, the better.

“Ignore her,” Izzy said under his breath.

“She’ll probably be gone in a week or two. Hopefully you’ll be around longer....I don’t mean that sarcastically. You’re good for Duff. Plus you make amazing breakfasts,” Izzy added before they arrived to Duff’s door.

“Del you can just walk in. Trust me Duff won’t mind,” Slash said squeezing around Delilah and Izzy, and walking into his shared room.

“Duff, your girl’s her,” Slash said motioning for Delilah to enter.

“Hey,” Duff smiled as Delilah sat next to him.

“Hey, you okay?” Delilah asked pushing his hair back out of his face, so she could see his eyes. They were coated with think eyeliner as they always were when he performed.

“I’m nervous,” he quickly replied.

“Good,” Delilah coldly replied as she fixed his hair.

“Good?”

“Yeah Good!” Delilah frantically threw her hands in the air.

“It means you care. This band is important to you. If you weren’t nervous then that’s means you’re not taking the next step. It means you’re not getting big enough,” Delilah tapped Duff’s nose when she finished talking earning a small laugh.

“Yeah..,” Duff sighed.

Delilah adjusted her dress and sat on his lap, facing Duff.

“How about I make you a deal?”

“I’m all ears,” Duff smiled as he looked into Delilah’s eyes.

“I’ll be in the stage wing cheering you on the entire time. If you get nervous just look over at me and I’ll be there. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great Delly!” Duff played with a couple stands of her hair that hung freely.

“Hey Slash could you give us a couple of minutes?” Duff phrased it as a question, but Slash knew he intended it to be a Nice was to tell him to get the fuck out of the room because he wanted to fuck his girlfriend. Slash hid his laugh as he left the room. It was borderline hilarious watching Duff try to be cordial when Delilah was in the room. She had him wrapped around her little finger and didn’t even know it. He couldn’t wait until he had his own room.

“You look beautiful,” Duff said as Delilah remained sitting on his lap.

“You look good too,” Delilah could feel the nerves growing in her stomach. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her heart skip a beat.

In one swift motion Duff pulled her in and began to roughly kiss her. After a few moments, he picked Delilah up and gently placed her on his bed. She was so caught up in the kiss that she hadn’t noticed what happened. Duff climbed ontop of Delilah causing the kiss to get even rougher. Duff lost it as Delilah let a small moan escape her.

“Fuck, Delly,” Duff grunted as he continued. He stood up and lifted her dress up to see her underwear.

“Fuck,” Duff looked down at Delilah’s underwear. Duff was no stranger to a woman’s underwear, but there was something about the little bow on them.

“A little present wrapped with a bow, fuck. You’re so beautiful,” Duff returned to kissing her passionately and tapping her inner thigh. Duff smirked as he felt Delilah arc her back underneath him.

“Hey, lovebirds we gotta fucking go,” a voice from outside the door yelled.

“I’m gonna kill Izzy,” Duff grumbled as he helped Delilah off his bed.

“Wait,” Duff said as he fixed Delilah’s hair.

“Thanks,” she giggled.

“Duff we gotta fucking go! You can fuck your girlfriend later,” Delilah immediately recognized the second voice to be Axl.

Delilah was silent as Duff glared at door. He wanted to kill his band mates. He could tell that Delilah was shy and new to all of this, and his band mates announcing what he wanted to do with her with everyone wasn’t helping. Her face was brighter than a tomato.

“You okay? They’re just being dicks,” Duff reached out his hand and Delilah immediately took it.

“Does everyone have their passes?” Izzy asked holding his up. Delilah shot a confused look and he slowly walked back to his room to grab Delilah’s badge earning a Jesus Christ from Izzy. How hard was it to keep track of a pass.

“I can cram a couple of people in my truck,” Duff said as they left the apartment hopping into his truck, never letting Delilah leave his side.

“Wait here I’ll be back in a second,” Duff said before he hopped out of the truck. He walked out to someone he assumed to be the stage manager who currently directing people to unload what he assumed to be Motley Crue’s stuff.

“You Izzy?” The stage manager asked as Duff and Izzy stood before him.

“Yeah,”

“Stage crew can move your drum kit, but all other instruments you gotta carry in yourselves. Crue came late, so you get the short straw,” Duff and Izzy at the man’s words.

“Drum kit is in the red truck,” Izzy motioned towards Duff’s truck.

“Should we go help?”

“No, the stage crew roadies got it,” Stef plainly answered. She was tired of sitting in the hot truck that had limited A/C.

“Thank god because I don’t think I’d be able to move Duff’s Bass amp,” Delilah replied earning a laugh from Stef.

“Do you like him?” Delilah was caught off guard by the odd question.

“Yeah, yeah I think I do,” Delilah smiled as she watched Duff through the side mirror. Him and Axl were talking to someone while motioning towards their equipment. Part of her wondered where Izzy had gone.

“You girls ready?” Delilah nodded and hopped out of the door Diff held open for her.

Duff took his sunglasses and handed them to Delilah who returned a confused expression. Why?

“We’re opening for Motley Crue. They recently announced a tour, so the press are all over this performance,” Delilah smiled at his offer. The last thing she wanted was to end up in the tabloids or in some stupid magazine. If she did, it would look like she left for him.

She put them on and immediately stuck her tongue out at him. That when she heard the click of a camera. She turned to see a photographer with his camera pointed at the two of them.

“Come on let’s go inside,” he whispered in her ear as she followed them inside.

#guns and roses #duff mckagan #gunsandroses #axl rose #gnr #axl #guns n roses #slash #steven adler #duff mckagan / oc #the dare fanfic #the dare

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ill-go-with-that-then · 6 years ago

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ERASERMIC MODEL AU I SORT OF WROTE

On the erasermic server I'm a part of, we have a thing called Story Time, where people can tell a story to whoever’s around, mostly in real time. This is one I did for @sraye96, who was having a bad day and wanted a model au.

Shouta hates models.

Unfortunately, as one of the principle photographers for the country’s fastest-growing fashion magazine, Plus Ultra, dealing with models is one of life’s regular little annoyances, like the subway being too crowded, or his favorite coffee shop running out of cinnamon rolls before he arrives. His agent, Nemuri Kayama, has assured him that this is temporary, a necessary stepping-stone for his career before he can move on to more interesting work, for news and travel magazines. Something real.

But in the meantime, models. They’re not all bad, Shouta supposes. Some are there to do a job, same as him, in and out of his studio with a minimum of fuss. But those are few and far between. For the most part, the models are whiny, demanding, critical, and rude. And the more famous they are, the worse it gets.

So when Kayama calls him, ecstatic because Hizashi Yamada is on his way to the studio, Shouta genuinely grimaces. Yamada is a rising star, having him on the cover of their magazine will benefit everyone involved, especially Shouta. But he can’t work up any enthusiasm for what’s surely going to be a long, difficult day.

“What are his demands,” he sighs into the phone.

“Demands?” Kayama echoes, like she has no idea what he could be talking about. Shouta pinches the bridge of his nose, willing himself not to snap at her.

“You know what I mean. What brand of water do I have to keep perfectly chilled? What zero-calorie snacks should I buy? Am I allowed to talk to him directly? Do I have to look at him through a mirror?”

He can practically hear Kayama roll her eyes. “As a matter of fact, he didn’t say anything about any of that. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be easy to work with? And even if he isn’t, this will be such a boost to our careers that I’ll drive him over some fancy bottled water myself, okay?”

Shouta slumps forward. Kayama isn’t usually the type to embrace a fool’s hope, but he knows that when something seems too good to be true, that’s because it is. And if Yamada hasn’t been unreasonable yet, that just means whatever’s to come is going to be all the more unpleasant for it.

Shouta sets up the studio himself. He could probably have an assistant, if he pushed, but he doesn’t have time to train anyone and after dealing with models all day, his tolerance for bullshit is at a personal low. He’s setting up a light and cursing all of his life-choices, when he hears a soft voice from behind him. “Hey.”

It shouldn’t startle him as much as it does. But he hadn’t heard anyone enter the studio, let alone the irritating entourage that usually accompanies a popular model, so finding himself suddenly not alone shocks him enough that he wobbles on the ladder. His panicked attempt to self-correct just makes things worse, and time slows as he plummets backwards. He only hopes he’ll kill whoever caused this, as well as himself.

But he never hits the ground. A strong pair of arms grabs him beneath the shoulders, holding him steady in the air, his feet still balanced precariously on the ladder’s step. “Whoa! That was a close one!” A voice says, near his ear. Shouta’s heart is pounding too hard for him to reply, so he just blinks helplessly as he feels himself lifted upwards, back into a position that lets him grab hold of the ladder and pull himself the rest of the way standing.

“Sorry about that!” says the voice, as Shouta quickly climbs back to the safety of the ground. He turns around, not sure whether he’s about to thank whoever it is for saving him, or scream at them for startling him in the first place.

He ends up doing neither. “Who the hell are you?” he snaps, not sure why this person is in his studio fifteen minutes before anyone is scheduled to arrive. Shouta’s never had a model show up less than thirty minutes late, and someone as famous as Yamada probably won’t be here for hours. So whoever this guy is, he has some explaining to do.

The guy blinks at him, surprised. “Uh… Hizashi Yamada?”

Shouta looks the guy up and down. His clothes are nice, well put-together, but casual. His hair is tied up in a messy bun, and his glasses are thick and nerdy. He looks more like an IT guy than the type that usually hangs around models, but Shouta supposes he can’t judge. “What, did he send you or something?”

The guy smiles nervously. He looks awkward. It’s cute. Shouta would think about asking him for coffee, if he weren’t some sort of model groupie. “Uh, no? I mean, I guess? He’s me?”

Shouta stares. The guy smiles a little wider, still looking nervous, and suddenly it’s obvious. Of course this is Hizashi Yamada - the trademark green eyes that Shouta would have bet his camera were photoshopped are blinking at him owlishly from behind the ugly glasses.

Oh well. It had been a good dream. Shouta hopes that when all this is over he’ll be able to get a job as a department store baby photographer, but he isn’t counting on it.

“Am I too early?” Yamada says, breaking the silence.

“Yes.” Shouta speaks by reflex, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from slapping a hand over his mouth. Why, why does he always make things worse. “I mean, I’m still setting up. Don’t you need to do… makeup, or whatever?”

Yamada relaxes slightly. “Yeah, I brought some stuff with me. It’s supposed to be a natural look, right? I can do that myself.”

Shouta raises an eyebrow, too surprised to say anything. If this guy ruins the shoot because he thinks he’s a makeup artist, it’s Shouta who’s going to get the blame. But it’s not like he can argue - he’s in deep enough already. “Whatever. I’ll be ready to go in ten minutes.”

Yamada shoots him a thumbs up, hitching the black duffle bag over his shoulder a bit higher and heading towards the dressing area at the back of the studio. Shouta finishes setting up the lights while he’s gone, then eyes the set critically. He’d staged it with a particular look in mind, flashy and modern, not really suitable for the man who’d shown up. Still, with Yamada already here it’s too late to change much. There’s just enough time to switch the backdrop to a warmer color and swap out a few props to make things a little softer. That’s barely done before he hears Yamada walk up behind him. “Good to go? I brought a book if you need more time.”

Shouta searches Yamada’s open expression for any signs of a taunt, and finds none. “We’re good. Make yourself comfortable.”

Yamada does as he’s told, dropping himself down on the set and looking utterly relaxed. “How do you want me?” There’s no hint of flirtation in his tone, but Shouta nearly blushes anyway.

“These photos are for an interview, right? About you?” Yamada nods. “Okay, then stay casual.” Yamada nods again, leaning back against one of the props and looking thoughtfully at the camera. This is the tricky part. Shouta knows the kind of shots he wants, he just has to figure out how to get them. “Tell me about yourself.”

Yamada smiles a little. The shutter clicks. “That’s a very broad question.”

“Something dumb,” Shouta clarifies. “Ugliest thing you used to wear in high school.”

“Okay, wow!” Yamada throws his head back in a laugh. The shutter clicks again. “You’re coming right for me, huh? How do you know I can answer that?”

Shouta hums. “Everyone hates how they dressed in high school. Give it up.”

“You got me,” Yamada grins. “I had a crop top that said Work It in pink sparkles, and I wore it everywhere. Now you answer.”

“My school had uniforms,” Shouta says blandly, snapping a photo of Yamada’s annoyed face. “But outside of school I only wore black.”

Yamada’s face lights up, delighted. “That’s amazing. Did you have an eyeliner phase?”

“I don’t know you well enough to answer that,” Shouta says, taking a few more pictures.

“Something to look forward to,” Yamada says brightly, and Shouta grins. His shoots are rarely this productive. Usually by now the model would have demanded a cigarette break, or a fizzy water, or some member of their entourage would have broken something. But Yamada is professional, moving here and there whenever Shouta asks him to without a word of complaint, answering all of Shouta’s questions in a way that makes it seem like a conversation, rather than like Shouta is some kind of photograph-producing robot.

He can see why Yamada’s star is rising so fast. He’s a pleasure to work with, on top of having a face the camera loves.

After a while, Shouta calls for a break. He flips through what he’s got so far as Yamada walks over, out from under the heat of the lights.

“Are the photos not good?” Yamada asks, taking in the way Shouta is frowning at his camera.

“They’re good,” Shouta admits. “But they’re missing something.” Yamada just looks at him, like he’s waiting for Shouta to say more. “This shoot is supposed to show the real you,” Shouta says, not used to someone actually listening to his explanations. “It should be personal. The shots are good, but they’re not deep. It would be better if we could show people who you really are.”

Yamada pauses, considering. “Can I go get something from my car?”

“Sure,” Shouta nods, hoping desperately it’s not going to be drugs. But when Yamada comes back, he’s carrying a guitar case.

“I love music,” he admits as he opens the case and takes out an acoustic guitar. It’s old and cheap, clearly well-used, and Yamada starts tuning it as he continues. “I never intended to be a model. I wanted to be a musician, or a DJ, something like that.”

Shouta can’t resist quietly taking a few pictures, not wanting to interrupt. Yamada looks so different like this, softer, happier. More like himself. The crumbling brick wall of the studio is a better backdrop for this than Shouta’s flashy set. “There’s still time,” Shouta says, hoping the lighting by the window is good enough that he can capture the wryness of Yamada’s smile.

“Sure,” Yamada shrugs, fingers brushing over the guitar strings. “Should I get back on the set?”

Shouta shakes his head, not wanting to ruin the moment. “Play something. Whatever you like best.”

Yamada smiles, leaning back against the wall and strumming a chord. Then he starts playing in earnest, fingers flying over the strings, some complicated piece of music filling the air. He’s good, far better than Shouta expected, and for a moment he’s so distracted by the music that he forgets what he’s there to do. But only for a moment. As good as the music sounds, Shouta is a visual person, and the peaceful, pleased expression on Yamada’s face is the stuff photographer dreams are made of. Shouta does his best to capture it, swapping out filters as subtly as he can, not wanting to be a distraction.

Eventually, the song ends, and Yamada looks up, surprised. Like he’d forgotten where he was, who he was playing for. Shouta captures that, too. “Was that okay?” Yamada asks, tentative for the first time since he’d arrived.

“Let’s see,” Shouta says, walking over to his laptop. He plugs the camera in, downloading the photos quickly. He can hear Yamada walk up behind him, and though his personal policy is to never let the models see any photos before he’s retouched them, Shouta will make an exception this time.

Yamada breathes out, like a sigh of relief. “These are really good.”

He’s right. As rough as they are, Shouta can already tell they’ll be excellent, probably the best photos of his career so far. The light from the window is perfect, illuminating Yamada from the side, making him look ethereal, but the rough bricks behind him keep him approachable. The only way to describe his expression is content, and there’s absolutely nothing fake about it. It’s real.

“Yeah,” Shouta nods. “I think we got it.” Surprisingly, he feels a flutter of disappointment. For once, he wishes the shoot had dragged on a bit longer. He probably won’t get the chance to work with Yamada again.

“You’re really talented,” Yamada says, still looking at the screen. “I usually can’t stand pictures of myself, but these are… I like these.” He looks up at Shouta, smiling. “Can I steal you? Make you my personal photographer? I’m told everyone has a price.”

Shouta hesitates. It wasn’t a flirtation, necessarily. And getting involved with models is a bad idea, the worst thing you can do in this business, but-

But if he lets Yamada walk out that door, he’s going to regret it forever. “I like coffee.”

Yamada’s smile widens, blooms over his features, pretty enough that Shouta wishes he was still holding his camera. “Don’t sell yourself short, hold out for dinner at least.”

“Dinner then.” Shouta can’t stop the corners of his lips from quirking up, ruining the his casual tone. “With further negotiations to follow.”

“I like the sound of that,” Yamada grins.

#erasermic #maizawa #I have kind of a backlog of story time fics #including a sequel to this #if anyone is interested?#my ramblings #my writing

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justastraightupmess · 6 years ago

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@snw-cnvs

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<div id="container"> <div id="bar"><i>muses</i></div>

<div class="tab"> <input type="radio" id="tab-1" name="tab-group-1" checked> <label for="tab-1">LUKE</label> <div class="content"> <center><h2><i> —*&; Luke </i></h2></center> <center><h3><i> active // shipping status: 1/3</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/rcabdng.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/ZLFn3q1.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Luke <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Lou, Lulu <br> <b>—DOB.</b> 18th may (20 yrs old) <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> bi-curious <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i> Adopted; unknown <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b> english, spanish, japanese. <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> studying // part time mechanic. <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> Black <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> Blue <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 185cm 6'1 <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b> Fit well toned <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b> none <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b> high <br> <b>—LIKES.</b> drinking, dogs, problem solving <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> bullies, obnoxious people <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b> Sarcasm. So much sarcasm. Usually he's pretty reserved and polite, gives the impression he was raised well. But the more you get to know him the more he'll loosen up. He's pretty kind and selfless, but because of his big size and typically nuetral expression he gets roped into fights a lot.<br>

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> Luke was adopted by a loving family when he was 6 months old. He’d pretty much always known he wads adopted as his parents looked different to him. But he knew they loved him and never had an issue with it. <br><br>

Although his family was loving, he was put under a lot of pressure. They lived in a small town where everyone knew everyone and you couldn’t get away with anything. His parents were very religious and a little bigoted, which didn’t sit well with him but he never spoke out against them. He was expected to get good grades and behave himself. Which he did. He was always putting pressure on himself to be a good son, feeling like he owed it to his parents for choosing him. He was never top of the class or outstanding in any particular field, but he was always up there. <br><br>

As much as Luke loves his parents, when he turned 18 and it was time to start his next phase of life, he moved away, far away to study. He works part time as a mechanic, having learnt the skills from his father, and studies the rest of the time.

<br><br> MORE TBA

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<div class="tab"> <input type="radio" id="tab-2" name="tab-group-1"> <label for="tab-2">ANDREW</label> <div class="content"> <center><h2><i> —*&; ANDREW </i></h2></center> <center><h3><i> active // shipping status: 1/2 </i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/uKtLeI0.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/FvioeVW.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Andrew Svensson <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Andy, Drew<br> <b>—DOB.</b> 19 years old <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> (closeted) homosexual <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i>English // Swedish // Spanish <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b>English // Swedish // Japenese (adequately) // Spanish (somewhat) <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> bass player in a band // convenience store // cafe <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b>blonde. <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b>green <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 167cm. <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b>He's in shape, goes for runs to exercize, but is still a little on the lanky side. <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b>N/A <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b>high <br> <b>—LIKES.</b>Music, coffee, books, quiet peaceful places, cats <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> Bullies/rude people, big dogs <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b>He's SUPER socially awkward, he doesn't really get sarcasm most of the time and takes things at face value. He struggles make friends. He's typically very honest, to the point of being blunt and sometimes unintentionally rude. Doesn't mean any harm deep down though. Just a bit of an awkward guy. <br>

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> When Andrew was 6 years old his mother left him and his father. Andrew was of course sad because of this, but at the time was too young to properly realize what had happened. A few years later when he was 9 his father remarried. Then a year later, 10, his step-mother gave birth to his little sister and brother, twins. <br><br>

Andrew is welcome at his home, his step-mother has always treated him well, but when he turned 18 he chose to move out. His parents worked a lot, and even when they weren’t he was expected to take care of the twins a lot. His father works as a high up in a pretty well off company, and he expects good things from Andrew. So he always felt a bit pressured when it came to grades and the like. Andrew’s family is also very religious, because of this he never felt comfortable coming out to anyone, not even himself fully. All of these reason encouraged him to leave. He loves his family, but he needed some space and freedom. </div> </div>

<div class="tab"> <input type="radio" id="tab-3" name="tab-group-1"> <label for="tab-3">LEVI</label> <div class="content"> <center><h2><i> —*&; Levi </i></h2></center> <center><h3><i> semi-active // shipping status: closed </i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/b004Pto.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/22VlJI6.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Levi Fay <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Levy, Lev<br> <b>—DOB.</b> 15th August (20 years old) <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> Pansexual/romantic <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i>Demigod - half greek (god) // half american/english <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b>english, french <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> studying <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> Sandy blonde <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> Blue (changes a lot) <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 180cm <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b>Athletic <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b>none <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b>fairly intelligent <br> <b>—LIKES.</b>Fashion, trends, flirting, love, styling himself & others <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> fighting, getting his hands dirty <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b>Sarcastic, blunt, affectionate, loving, short attention span, obnoxious, self-involved <br> <h2><i>—*&; Abilities</i></h2><br> <b>—LANGUAGE:</b> Ancient greek/latin & French <br> <b>—AMOKINESIS:</b> Has some control over many degrees of control over love, lust, beauty, etc. though on a much smaller scale than his mother. Can attract the opposite gender when he walks by, also has magical control over clothes, makeup, and jewelry, much like the other Aphrodite kids.<br> <b>—CHARMSPEAK:</b> Charmspeaking is a rare type of hypnotism ability that chosen children of Aphrodite possess. A type of hypnotism or persuasion in which it allows the speaker to convince someone else to do or get whatever they want. The strength of the command depends on the tone and the emotion of the charmspeaker's voice, as well as their skill with it. Charmspeak can be negated through a number of ways; people with strong wills or intentions are unaffected, if someone is aware of a persons ability to charmspeak, then it will have a reduced effect, and beings of the same gender tend to have some resistance to charmspeak.

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> <br> Levi lived alone with his father in his early years. He seemed to always get himself into some sort of trouble, when teased for either his girlish looks or "girlish" likes (such as clothes, dolls, makeup etc) he wouldn't take it quietly and would fight back. Not to mention his ADHD meant it was very hard for him to sit still in class. All this time he never understood why he was so different, it didn't bother him that much but he did wonder why. Until he turned 7 years old and was found by a satyr, then after a long talk with his father, taken off to camp halfblood. He learnt who his mother was; Aphrodite, and everything seemed to now make sense. Levi loves staying at camp halfblood, and would stay there year round but he feels bad for his father. He was already abandoned by his lover (Aphrodite(, then dumped with a kid, he couldn't bare the thought of him being left alone. <br><br>

The more he grew and learnt about what is was to be an Aphrodite kid the more he came into himself. He felt more at home and more confident expressing his interests and likes, now with no shame.<br><br>

He somehow managed to make it through school (not with the best grades). His goal is to study fashion, though it's a little hard avoiding monsters. The older and more powerful he gets the more he attracts. And so he is spending more and more time at camp. </div> </div>

<div class="tab"> <input type="radio" id="tab-4" name="tab-group-1"> <label for="tab-4">AKITO</label> <div class="content"> <center><h2><i> —*&; Akito </i></h2></center> <center><h3><i> semi-active // shipping status: multiship</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/4CQS9E9.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/6GXex4l.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Akito <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Aki<br> <b>—DOB.</b> Unknown (350+) <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> Genderless (can assume whatever gender he pleases, typically male) <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b>demiromantic // pansexual <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i>Kitsune <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> >n/a wanders from place to place looking for fun and food <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> white <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> yellow <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 168cm <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b>petite, but well toned muscles. <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b>none <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b>high <br> <b>—LIKES.</b>having fun, playing tricks, foxes, forests, nature, food, worship, strong or powerful people, respect <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> dogs, cities, rude or offensive people, weak people <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b>on the surface he seems friendly and easy going, but it's only a facade. he wants to have fun and play around, being still young in kitsune terms, however he is prone to mood swings and if not shown respect he will lash out. he himself can be pretty disrespectful however, unless he sees you as stronger/more powerful than him. all in all a bit of a brat <br>

<h2><i>—*&; Abilities</i></h2><br> <br>

<b>SHAPESHIFTING:</b> He is able to tranform from his usal form, a (currently) two tailed fox into a human being, either male or female though he usually prefers male. <br> <b>TEETH & CLAWS:</b> He has sharp teeth and claws which he can use to inflict damadge if he wishes.<br> <b>FOXFIRE:</b> He is able to create flames, though as he is young they are not too large and he isn't as skilled at controlling them.<br> <b>ILLUSIONS:</b> A new ability of his, he doesn't have great control over it yet but he is able to create small illusions for a short period of time.

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> <br> When he was young he lived with his mother and father and siblings, growing up having the time of his life, playing around the forest with his family. However the happy times quickly came to an end when most of his forest was destroyed in a fire. He was separated from his family and never found them again, not knowing if they are alive or dead. <br><br>

From here he began wandering from place to place, searching for somewhere to settle down and call his own. He’s still rather immature and has a lot to learn, though with the passing years he grows in intelligence, strength and ability. </div> </div>

<div class="tab"> <input type="radio" id="tab-5" name="tab-group-1"> <label for="tab-5">JAYLEN</label> <div class="content"> <center><h2><i> —*&; Jaylen </i></h2></center> <center><h3><i> semi-active // shipping status: 1/3</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/Q8fScc2.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/0oeLusL.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Jaylen <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b>Jay <br> <b>—DOB.</b> 22nd November (22 years old) <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b>Pansexual/romantic <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</b>(half-vampire) Irish//English mix <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b>english <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> Student - studying nursing <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> Amber orange <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> Light brown <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 183cm <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b>Fit, keeps in good shape. mesomorph. <br> <b>—OTHER.</b>Has very sharp canines. <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b> none <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b> Average <br> <b>—LIKES.</b>Dogs, helping people, his job, socializing, meat <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> Vampires, rude obnoxious people, bullies <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b> Jaylen is super friendly and kind to everyone. He's a bit of a dudebro, he likes to have fun rather than be serious all the time. He's very empathetic and finds it easy to amkes friends<br> <b>MENTAL DISORDERS.</b> Mild depression <br> <b> WHEN DIAGNOSED.</b> 19

<h2><i>—*&; Abilities</i></h2><br> <br>

<b>Strength/Speed:</b> He's stronger than the average human, though because he refuses to drink blood he isn't at full strength, if he was he'd be superhumanly strong. The same applies for his speed and jumping abilities.

<div class="tab"> <input type="radio" id="tab-6" name="tab-group-1"> <label for="tab-6">ADONIS</label> <div class="content"> <center><h2><i> —*&; Adonis </i></h2></center> <center><h3><i> active // shipping status: 1/??</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/hNOtVZO.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/Jse5jY5.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Adonis Kyknos Hinode <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> 21<br> <b>—DOB.</b> 23rd September (21 years old) <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> bisexual <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i> greek demigod<br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b> english, japaense, ancient greek/latin <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> studying to be a doctor // part-time model <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> strawberry blonde <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> amber/gold <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 5'8 <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b> athletic <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b> none<br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b> high <br> <b>—LIKES.</b>helping people/healing people, daylight, sunrise, archery, music <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b>nighttime, violence <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b>He’s very dedicated, and diligent, a hard worker who takes his responsibility and commitments seriously. Generally a kind hearted person, he wants to help other's. He's pretty easily emabrrassed. Though kind he won't put up with mean or rude people. <br>

<h2><i>—*&; Abilities</i></h2><br> <br>

TBA- healing, singing, accurate shot, harnessing sunlight

<div class="tab"> <input type="radio" id="tab-7" name="tab-group-1"> <label for="tab-7">INDIGO</label> <div class="content"> <center><h2><i> —*&; Indigo </i></h2></center> <center><h3><i> active // shipping status: ??</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/O4UFgdk.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/UZPNvh9.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Indigo <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Indy <br> <b>—DOB.</b> 27 <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> homo(demi)romantic // pansexual <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i> <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b> <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> Owns a bookshop // (verse dependent) <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> Faded grey-blue <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> Ahsy black <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> tiny // 5'5 <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b> on the thin side<br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b> ear<br> <b>EXTRA.</b> mole on left cheek under eye <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b> average <br> <b>—LIKES.</b>books/reading, quiet <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> being touched without permisson, rich people, rude people <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b> A little sassy, has a bit of a temper, but once you're on his good side he's good to you. <br>

<h2><i>—*&; Bio</i></h2><br> <br> Looks super pretty and young, baby face af, but it actually 27 and is actually 80 yrs old at heart. Had 0 fucking time for any of you honestly. Just leave him along with his books and let him be happy. <br><br>

Highkey was the child of an affair with some kind of ?? important person?? royal/diplomat/politician??? who knows not fking me. Mama was sooooo pretty that papa just could not resist a quick fuck or two, or three, or a lot of fucks. Was kept a secret for the first few years of his life until mama died. Taken to rich whatever he is papa’s place and oh no he has a wife :/ Was Not Treated Well. Ended up being kicked out when he was 17. Highkey lived a very VERY shitty life from then on. But honestly he was kinda glad to be gone. Also lowkey sold himself to get by bc ya gotta do what ya gotta do sometimes when ur penniless and homeless :/ not like papa was in any contact with him or giving any mulla. Finally when he was abt 24 papa found him and was like, i rlly wanna see u, pls give me a chance etc etc. Honestly he was at the lowest point in his life, he didn’t expect anything, but he lowkey did and just hOPEd for once something would go right for him. Papa arrived and asked him to sign a non-disclosure agreement and never speak of who was his papa. Also offered him a lOT of money for it. <br><br> That one hurt. Hurt him deep. But he was like :))))) give me ur money, i’ll sign, and literally nEVER show ur face to me again bitch. Now he runs a lil book store bc he’s always loved reading and now he can read whatever he wants when he wants :’) </div> </div>

<div class="tab"> <input type="radio" id="tab-8" name="tab-group-1"> <label for="tab-8">DANTE</label> <div class="content"> <center><h2><i> —*&; Dante </i></h2></center> <center><h3><i> ❝ quote or something can go here any kind of length looks ok!! but it depends on <b>you</b>❞</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/uhI5OMB.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/lbBeWSS.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Dante (goes by Dee mostly) <br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Dee, Dan<br> <b>—DOB.</b> 19 years old <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> bisexual <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i> eh <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b> eh <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> basically just a rich boy <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b>dyed platinum blonde <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b>green, appears almost aqua <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 5'10 <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b>Very atheletic, well definied muscles <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b>three silver rings on his left ear <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b>high <br> <b>—LIKES.</b> drinking, smoking, partying,having fun <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> his dad, being at home <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b>Pretty friendly and easy going, always joking around and rarely serious. <br>

<div class="tab"> <input type="radio" id="tab-9" name="tab-group-1"> <label for="tab-9">Ezra</label> <div class="content"> <center><h2><i> —*&; Ezra </i></h2></center> <center><h3><i> ❝ quote or something can go here any kind of length looks ok!! but it depends on <b>you</b>❞</i></h3></center><br> <img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/6bb1917ee668d58c2e888e7fe8f90641/tumblr_o4oiqnRA5l1u4r8r1o1_100.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0; margin-left:30px;"> <img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/6bb1917ee668d58c2e888e7fe8f90641/tumblr_o4oiqnRA5l1u4r8r1o1_100.png" style="border: 10px solid #ffffff; outline: 1px solid #f0f0f0;"><br> <h2><i>—*&; General Information</i></h2><br> <b>—NAME.</b> Ezra Flynn<br> <b>—NICKNAME/S.</b> Ez <br> <b>—DOB.</b> 26 <br> <b>—GENDER.</b> male <br> <b>—ORIENTATION.</b> eh <br> <b>—ETHNICITY.</i> caucasian <br> <b>—SPOKEN LANGUES.</b> english <br> <b>—OCCUPATION.</b> high school teacher <br> <h2><i>—*&; Appearance & Personality</i></h2><br> <b>—HAIR COLOUR.</b> light brown <br> <b>—EYE COLOUR</b> amber <br> <b>—HEIGHT</b> 4′11 <br> <b>—BODY BUILD.</b> tiny, little muscle, thin <br> <b>—TATTOOS + PIERCINGS.</b> none <br> <b>—INTELLIGENCE.</b> average/high <br> <b>—LIKES.</b> teaching kids, an occasional drink, <br> <b>—DISLIKES.</b> BULLIES he will fight every bully ever. some of this kids in his classes tbh. his height <br> <b>—PHOBIAS.</b>n/a <br> <b>—DISPOSITION.</b> friendly, welcoming, helpful. will scold you if you misbehave though. <br>

TBA </div> </div>

</div>

<div id="credit"><a href="http://palsrph">palsrph</a></div> </body>

#here u go then #i wish u luck

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emorysinclair-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Friends & Family || Spencer & Emory

Tagging → @thespencerxevans Mentions of → Uriel Sinclair, Caden Sinclair, Sage Sinclair, & Diarmid Sinclair Time Frame → January 25, 2017 Location → Spencer’s Place & Restaurant Notes → Prelude to Spencer meeting Emory’s parents.

Spencer had no idea what made her agree to go with dinner with Emory and his parents. Not that she didn't want to meet them. It was something new in their friendship. Emory had become her best friend and someone she shared all her secrets with. Granted most would have expected it to be a female, but she always got along better with the opposite sex. All she was told was they were going to some fancy dinner and she would have to dress up. That didn't phase her, she had a big closet full of gowns she had worn to events. Going with something more form fitting, she was fixing up her make up and hair when she heard a knock at her door. Slipping on her heels she went down to open the door, finding a very dashing best friend, standing there. "I still have five minutes. You can't rush perfection." She teased, opening the door wider for him to come in. "Did you want a drink before we go?"

Emory arrived at Spencer's place at the time he told her he would. Granted it was earlier than they had to be at the restaurant. The male wasn't sure how long she'd take to get ready and being a stickler for time, he always planned extra time into anything when it involved others getting ready. His mother had a habit of taking a while to get ready. His father saying it was the southern belle in her that demanded she be fashionably late. When Spencer opened the door, Emory gave her a gallant smile. "Hello, gorgeous. You ready?" he drawled. He followed her into her place after she told him not yet. "Nah. I'm fine." The male wasn't in the mood for alcohol, nor was he thirsty.

Spencer let her eyes rake over the blonde. He always seemed to look dashing in what he wore. "No even water?" She looked over at him. "Okay," she sauntered into the powder room, she had a few touch ups to do with her makeup, spritz a little perfume on before she sauntered back into the living room, seeing him standing there. "Do I look good?" She twirled for him. Spencer probably over dressed a little, but she was meeting his parents and wanted to make a good impression. "Anything I should know about what not to do?"

Emory shook his head no. Watching as she disappeared down the hall. He stayed in the place she'd left him, placing his hands behind his back as he calmly waited with his eyes closed. When he heard her voice, he looked in her direction and smiled. "You look beautiful," he assured her. Emory rubbed a finger along his jaw line. He was clean shaven and his hair was cut shorter. "Um. Nah. Just be yourself. My parents are pretty laid back, so you really don't need to try too hard." Emory pointed his thumb towards the door. "Shall we?"

Spencer let a sly smile etch into her features when he called her beautiful. She could always take a compliment. "You look rather handsome." She let her eyes rake over him. He would have heads turning tonight. "Good. I can do laid back." Spencer looked from him to the door. "I am ready." She went to fetch a more dressy coat to wear out, she has no desire to freeze. "I orderd car service for the night." She locked the door behind them.

Emory smirked. "I know," he confidently replied to her calling him handsome. He waited for her to grab a coat. Emory hadn't bothered brining one since he figured he wouldn't be outside long enough for it to matter. The male shot a perplexed look at the woman. "Why'd you do that? Not a fan of my truck," he jest. Emory had intended on driving them to the restaurant where they were meeting his parents.

Spencer couldn't help but roll her eyes at him. It was a typical Emory response to her complimenting him. She would do the same thing. She looked over at him. "Why, because if we decide to have a drink or two, neither of us are getting behind the wheel." She started towards the elevator. "I have no issue driving with you. Your truck I don't mind. Tonight is about style." She glanced over her shoulder at him with a sly smile on her features, stepping into the lift when the doors opened.

Emory pressed the down call button once they reached the elevator. "Well, I'm afraid I'll be letting you down. Since I won't be drinking tonight," he informed her. "Although you are more than welcome to." He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he waited for the lift to arrive, while he looked over at her.

Spencer looked over at him curious. "Why aren't we drinking tonight?" She didn't want to drink if he wasn't. It didn't feel right. "We can still at least show up in style. Don't take this away from me Emory." She wrinkled her nose at him.

Emory shook his head. "Not we, me. I'm not drinking tonight. That doesn't me can't. My parents are against drinking if that's what you're wondering." The elevator dinged its arrival and Emory gestured for Spencer to enter, then followed her in. Pressing the button to the first floor as he spoke, "I'm just not in the mood is all." He shrugged his shoulders. Not wanting to get into it, or talk about how he wasn't that big of a drinker before he moved to Denver. The male then added, "And I won't take it from you. If you wanna ride in a car, we can ride in a car." He had no qualms giving Spencer what she wanted. All he wanted was for the girl to be happy, so if this made her happy then so be it.

Spencer shook her head in return. She would feel awkward drinking if he wasn't, regardless of what his parents thought. Though, she wanted to leave a good impression. They were important to him, so they were important to her. "I can go a night without drinking." She would leave it there. She stepped into the elevator. She nodded. "I do want to ride in the car." She didn't do it often, and tonight sounded like the best time. "I will owe you later." She bumped her hip against his. "Is everything alright?"

Emory furrowed his brow at her. "Yeah. Everything is fine. Why'd you ask that?" He found himself puzzled by her question. The man knew he hadn't given anything away. At least not with his face. Over the years he'd become exceptionally good at schooling his features. His twin often said it was the only lie Emory was capable of keeping.

Spencer studied Emory's face. He was an army man and knew he had to have certain discipline. She had older brothers and knew when things were off, even if they said otherwise. She wouldn't press it. "You know you can always talk to me, right?" She smiled at him, the lift door opening and she made her way into the lobby. "Like I am always come to you. What best friends do."

Emory stuck his hands back into his pockets, as he shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, I do. And if I need to come to you with something I will," he assured her. He left off the fact that he just didn't believe his problems were something she could, should, and in some cases was allowed to handle. Emory knew she cared, and he trusted her to an extent, but he couldn't help the side of him that felt as if all that could one day vanish. It seemed to have done so with his brother, and Emory could honestly say there was no human he'd ever been closer too, after all the two had shared everything since even before birth. "But right now, let's focus on making my parents love you. Though I'm sure they will," he smiled at her, "You have any last minute questions?"

Spencer nodded her head at him. She didn't how how much she believed him, but she wasn't going to pressure him. She knew over time he would eventually open up to her. One day he would trust her completely. "Of course your parents are going to love me. What is not to love about me?" She smirked, "don't answer that. I will hit you." She headed over to the lobby door. "What not to say to piss them off." She looked over at him.

Emory chortled as he followed her out of the elevator. "I wasn't going to say anything," he promised. "Hmmm," he thought as he stepped ahead of her to open the door for her. "Remember my dad is Scottish. He's proud of that and hates being mistaken for anything else. If you're ever not sure how to answer a question, be honest or say you don't know. My mom can spot a lie a mile away, and appreciates candor." As they approached the car waiting the driver opened the door for them. As Spencer entered on the side closest to the curb, Emory walked around and let himself in the vehicle. "Oh and be nice to the wait staff. You'll see what I mean when we sit down with my parents."

Spencer followed beside Emory listening to what he had to say. "Dad is Scottish and proud." It wouldn't be too hard to remember that. "Honesty, that can't be too hard." She was pretty honest in the first place. She also wasn't afraid to voice her concerns. "Candor. This is all good to know." Spencer climbed into the back of the car. "I am always nice to wait staff." She didn't think it was necessary to be rude. She looked over at Emory. "They are going to love me. Promise." She smiled.

Emory shook his head. "I don't mean your typical nice." He shifted himself to get more comfortable in his seat. Informing the driver as to where they were headed before turning his attention back towards Spencer. "I'm sure they will. I'd just rather you be certain they'll like you. And well for you to like them." Family was extremely important to Emory, they were the first and last thing he thought of every day. And once you became apart of what he considered to be his family, you were in it for life.

Spencer couldn't help but laugh. "Of course you go straight there. When I am out, I am polite and nice with waiters. I have been to a lot of functions and events." She knew to treat everyone with the same respect no matter their position. "You don't have to worry about that." She leaned back in her seat. "I don't see why I won't like them. They raised you after all, and you are my best friend." She smiled at him. Emory had to know he was stuck with her for life now.

Emory shook his head, not bothering to correct her a third time on what he truly meant. She'd see when they sat down. He smirked when she declared, that she'd like his parents based on how he turned out. Emory wondered, "What do you imagine my parents to be like?"

Spencer raised a brow at him. She was clearly meeting something. She was sure they would find out soon enough. The brunette had to think about answering this. "Why am I afraid that no matter what I say it's going to be the opposite?"

Emory chuckled at her hesitancy. "It's not a test. So if you're wrong it's fine. I'm just genuinely curious, who you think my parents are?"

Spencer pursed her lips. "I can see your dad being the funny one. I would like to think the Scottish are like that. Always a good joke after a few drinks, but I'm sure I wouldn't understand him. I can see your mom being the protective one in the family. Always making sure everyone is taken care of. I could be totally wrong though."

Emory gave Spencer and amused look as she began to describe her idea of what his parents were like. He laughed when she said, she wouldn't understand him. "Sorry to disappoint you, but my faither is actually pretty serious. He's nice and likes to have fun, but I think his sense of humor sucks. My mom is a bit of a mother hen. She definitely makes sure everyone is taken care of. Though I'd say both of them I guess are protective in their own ways." He rambled on. "Any other ways you imagined them?" he questioned. Emory hadn't told her much about his family, so he found it intriguing what her thoughts were.

Spencer nodded her head when he explained his family. At least she wasn't completely wrong on all accounts. "Does your dad have no sense of humor?" She was curious how the night would go. "She is protective of her three boys. I don't blame her, though I am sure the three of you are protective of her." She crossed her legs. "You want me to guess again? Am I going to meet your two other brothers?"

Emory nodded his head. "Yeah he does. He's just doesn't tell jokes or anything. He can never get the punch line right." He chuckled. "My ma don't need protecting. That woman can handle a four gage and cook meatloaf at the same damn time." The brunette shook his head as he thought about his mother. The woman was a real peach, but tough as nails and definitely didn't take anything from anyone. "Yes, I'd like you to guess again. Its interesting to see what you think." Shrugging one of his shoulders before he continued, "Not tonight. Maybe one day in the future. You'll probably meet Cade before you meet Uri, since he and I haven't really been talking lately." Emory didn't offer up anymore information regarding his brothers. It was hard for him to be fighting with his twin.

Spencer thought for a moment. "Well if it makes him feel any better, I'm not that great at jokes either." She laughed. "I can picture her giving you boys a run." She smiled. She wondered what it would have been like growing up with Emory. "You want me to fail at this. Do you enjoy me guessing wrong?" She shook her head at him. "Did your mom ever sing to you guys when you were kids?" Her mom used it. Spencer didn't talk much about her. "You know, you'll have to meet my dad the next time he comes into town." She was sure he would come soon. "Cade soon. Uri, not so soon." She knew Uri was his twin and something happened, not all the details though.

Emory shook his head waving his hand out in front of him as he held in a laugh. "No. I promise I'm not. I'm just genuinely interested in your thoughts." Upon hearing her other question he nodded his head. "Yes. Both her and my dad sing. My ma sings when she's cleaning or cooking mostly. She was in the choir at church. My dad sang us to sleep when we were little, or when we were going hunting. My parents are really into music." Emory glanced out the window and could see they were getting close to their destination. "Sure. I'm fine with that," he agreed to meeting her father. "I'd love to mee the people who had a part in making you who you are."

Spencer raised a brow at him. "I hope you are telling the truth." She knew he was, it was more about teasing him. "Does this mean you can sing?" If both his parents could, there was a chance Emory could have a nice voice and become her karaoke partner in crime. "My mom used to sing to me." She smiled faintly remembering it growing up. "I think we might have something in common." She glanced out the window for a brief moment. "You hunt?" That didn't seem to surprise her, being a southern boy. She smiled. "He will love meeting you. Ha! I think I'm the only crazy in the family."

Emory smirked at the woman. "You still haven't told me any of your other thoughts." He scratched the back of his head. "Personally, I don't think I'm that good of a singer. I like to sing upon occasion, but I don't think I've got much of a voice," he told her honestly. The brunette smiled as she mentioned her mother singing to her. Assuming it was a happy memory for her. The male gave her a bewildered look. "Do I hunt? I feel like you just asked me so I breathe," he laughed at his own comparison. Emory loved hunting. Although when he did he made sure to use all of the animal he killed. It wasn't something he did for sport. "Why do you believe he'll love meeting me?" The car had exited the freeway, and was one the streets.

Spencer hummed. "Maybe I am trying to take your mind off of me making more assumptions of your parents." She teased. "I don't want to have this idea of them in my head and have it all wrong." She nodded her head. "You know there is only one way to find out if you are a good singer or not." A smirk toyed on her features. She cocked a brow at him. "Don't give me that look." She poked his shoulder. "I have never gone hunting before. I would probably suck at it." She chuckled. She wasn't sure if she could bring herself to actually kill an animal. What if it was Bambi's mom? "Cause he likes to meet people who are important to me." She shrugged her shoulders. "I rarely bring anyone home to meet my family. It is who I am." She wondered if they were getting close.

Emory let the guessing subject drop. His brow furrowed as a perplexed look came upon his face, "And what might that be?" He had an idea of what she might be hinting at, but the man wasn't entirely sure and hoped he may be wrong at his inclination. "Oh I can give you whatever look I want. Them's fighting words you just through at me," he teased. "Maybe one day I'll take you on one of my hunting trips. Let you shoot a duck or something." Emory raised his brows and nodded his head. "Oh, I'm important, am I?" He held a toothless grin upon his face. When the car came to a stop, his grin transformed to a smile. "We're here."

Spencer had a wicked grin that etched into her features. He had to have some idea where this would be going. "I think you should come to karaoke with me." She nodded her head adamantly. "Pffft, bring it on Sinclair, I could easily kick your ass." Most likely not, with all his training, but she would at least put up a good fight. "One day. I would have to kill Donald Duck. Or one of his nephews?" She was half teasing. "You are important. The best friend title and all." She looked out the window when the car stopped. "Seems we are." She wasn't sure why she was suddenly nervous.

Emory shook his head while swinging his hands back and forth in a crossing motion, "Naw. I'm good." He rolled his eyes at her insistence that she could kick his ass. The man knew she couldn't, but he'd never want to hurt her, so she'd prob win only because he'd be holding back. The driver opened his door first, Emory looked back at her before getting out. "Fine, no duck hunting for you if you're going to name them." When he stepped out, he told the driver not to worry about Spencer's door and that'd he'd get it. He walked around the vehicle and opened it for her, reaching his hand out for her to take. "You're important too. Otherwise, I'd have brought Nev along instead," he teased. Knowing how the joke ruffled her feathers.

Spencer had a feeling he would react that way to the karaoke idea. "Well you can at least come with me and let me know how awful my voice is." She teased. She also knew Emory would let her win if they were to ever get into a fight. He was nice like that. She laughed. "What, you're not supposed to name them? I thought you were." She watched him get out of the car looking over at her door when it opened and his hand was reaching in for hers. Spencer climbed out of the car and she deadpan at his comment. "You know I was going to comment on how nice you were being, but nope, have to make a comment like that. Always trying to hurt my feelings." She pouted.

Emory threw his head to the side and laughed. Looking back at Spencer with a huge grin on his face. "You're not nervous anymore now, are you?" he asked. He'd only said it knowing it'd take her mind off her growing nerves, which he was easily able to read off her. He stuck out his arm, grabbing her hand and making her take it. "No, you don't name them. Then you can't eat them. Like imagine if someone handed you a cheese burger and said 'That's Betsy. She was a good cow.' Would you eat it?" He lead the two of them into the restaurant towards the maitre d'.

Spencer shrugged her shoulders. "Part of me will be nervous until I actually meet them Em." This was important to her. Emory was....well Emory and having his parents accept her was crucial. "See, but I would end up naming them. I don't want to have on my conscious that I ate Thumper or something." She would at least give it a try, having to remember not to name them. "Betsy is always a good cow." She smirked at him, walking beside him towards the restaurant. "If his name was Emory, I might," she teased. Her hand squeezed him. "Don't let me make a fool of myself, okay?" She looked up at him with concerned eyes.

Emory gave the maitre d' his last name when they asked if the two had a reservation. While they were looking his name up, he turned his attention to Spencer, giving her a reassuring smile. "Relax. I've got you. My parents will love you. And if you say something stupid, I'll just laugh and say inside joke." Emory pulled Spencer along as the maitre d' led then to their table. The two were the first to arrive, so the table sat perfectly empty awaiting their arrival. Another staff member came to assist, their chairs were pulled out, napkins placed gently on their laps, before they were introduced to their waiter. "Welcome Mr. Sinclair and madam, my name is Jill. I'll be your server this evening. Did the two of you wish to order drinks or appetizers while you wait for the rest of your party?" Emory smiled politely, "Please Jill, call me Emory. No need to be formal. I'm fine with water for now," he looked over at Spencer, "You want anything?"

#spencer evans #Friends & Family #//guess who is going through her drafts

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