#and yeah there were some bad eggs (understatement of the century)

[1wn8ure]

I will never stop caring about the dsmp because in the age of fast media and algorithms, I will always know that the dsmp storyline was written, performed, and produced (at least 99.99%) by people who CARED

[scottfuckingreed]

It’s a Pogue Thing - Part Three

This is a JJ Maybank story

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Warnings!: swearing and mentions of abuse

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     I wake up alone. Not only without JJ, but also without Kiara. I’m confused until I smell it... breakfast? It can’t be. Throwing myself out of bed, I dress myself and prepare myself for the brightness outside this room. “Ah there she is!” John B smiles. Before I can even react. a bit of toast bounces off of my head. All I can do is shut my eyes. I’m not even a fully functioning human yet. “Thanks,” I slide my feet across the floor, all the way to the couch. “Nice sleep?” Kiara chuckles, handing me an ‘in tact’ piece of toast. “It was alright.” I shrug. Internally I feel giddy. “You looked like you were pretty deep into it,” she adds. I was. She’s absolutely right. “I bet she was,” the husky morning voice of JJ erupts as he comes out of the bathroom. “Especially after last night.” His words get linked with a wink, followed by my heart stopping. “Yeah I’m sorry about that guys...” I flash my eyes straight over to John B. I’m definitely overthinking everything. Why would anyone even think JJ and I would ever? We wouldn’t. I guess that’s not true anymore. Either way, I’m fully awake now. “I didn’t realize it would be such a dead end.” Kiara’s hand cups John B’s shoulder in attempt to comfort. The blend of pain and disappointment in his voice was radiating through him. I wish there was another way; an easier way. “We just need to look closer. I’m sure there’s something,” I lie. “Are we sure there’s anything to find at all?” I throw my bread at the jackass. “JJ!” Ki follows. “You’re just pissed ‘cause I’m being honest. I’m sorry John, but what are we going on again?” I decide to stay quiet. “It doesn’t hurt to look again-” “You guys do what you want.”

     Not fully sure why, I rush my shoes on and follow the boy storming away. I feel somewhat protective over him. It’s a strange feeling. “JJ! Wait!” I call, jogging to catch up with him. He hardly slows. The anger was pretty much radiating off of his body. “If you’re here to-” “I’m here because I agree with you,” he pauses and frowns. “Even if there’s nothing, we still have to try.” Saying those words aloud feels like betrayal. I wish I had the guts to say what I thought, just like JJ, but there’s a time and a place. And both of those were wrong in that moment. “It’s false hope.” His words are blunt. “I know,” I whisper. I smooth my hair back with my hands. “You- he needs this JJ.” As he nods, he rolls his eyes. “He’s my best friend Y/N-” “I know JJ, but you just need to be a little more sensitive.” Once again, he rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, I just can’t lie to him,” shrugging, I realize this will continue to go in circles. “Fine,” I give up. A little frustrated, I turn around and start walking back to John B’s. “Where are you going?” I turn around quickly. I can’t help but frown at him. Like a dog, I tilt my head slightly to the side. “I thought we could grab some breakfast?” “I- what?” “I can tell you’re pissed.” Wow. Is it that obvious? I guess I don’t hide my emotions very well. “We ate at John’s...” I don’t know if I want to eat with him right now. “No. I didn’t eat, and you threw yours at me. Come on,” he nods and walks away from me. That’s it? And of course I follow him. I can’t not. 

     The walk was too quiet. It wasn’t necessarily awkward, but it had the ‘do I speak now or not’ vibe. When we get to a table in a small cafe, I sit opposite him slowly. “You can’t be that mad at me...” He chuckles slightly. Then comes the smirk. I didn’t know a look could do so many things to a person. It makes me want to slap him so bad. It also just makes me smile. “I’ll buy the food?” He tempts. “Do I even want to know where you get your money from?” The top and bottom lip press together on the boy’s face. “Probably not, you’re a good girl,” he winks. 

     Food. The boy truly knows me. So once that glorious breakfast spread was displayed in front of me - those exquisite eggs, the beautiful bacon, that tasty ass toast - he was forgiven. No grudges. I don’t even remember why I was even annoyed at him. “Wow,” is all I can express. Only a very small number of things can make me speechless. This is at the top of that list. “I know, I’m amazing,” he nods with a smug look on his face. Even when he’s joking about it, he always looks incredibly pleased with himself. I wish I had his confidence... or arrogance. Which either one it is, it works for him. Which is an utter shame. 

     We both indulged in every bite. Our plates looked both new and pristine. I am entirely and completely stuffed, and yet - if someone offered it to me - I could probably eat more. Although, I would definitely be sick. “That was so fucking good,” I let out in a ‘little too sexual’ of a moan. “That’s hot,” he informs me. God he’s so annoying. “Don’t even try it, JJ,” I wave my fork towards him. My threat just causes his to smirk. “So, what do you wanna do now?” A pleading smile gleams across his face. It’s not like me to give in to such tendencies. I just cannot seem to help it when it comes to JJ. “You don’t wanna go back to your boyfriend’s?” I tease. “Not really,” he shrugs. “I need a break from all that crime shit for today.” I don’t blame him. I hate to say it, but it brings an awkward and depressing atmosphere. I do feel bad for John B, but it’s too much if it’s all the time. A break, as selfish as it sounds, is what I need for today.

      As I stand up from my seat, my eyes immediate lock to the next customers walking through the door. Topper and Rafe. All I can think to do is sit back down. Just before my body starts zoning out, I hear JJ’s voice. “What are you doing?” He laughs in confusion. I haven’t been very open about mine and Rafe’s ‘relationship’ at all. I hate to even call it that. They know that he was a dick, which is the biggest understatement of the century, and they know we had a pretty awful break up. That’s it. At least I wish that was it. 4 months isn’t long enough to heal after... him. It’s just not. He’s mentally, emotionally, and literally physically everywhere. I nod my head, hinting at him to turn around. “Ah.” Is all he says. Rafe sends an obvious smirk to Topper, before making a straight line towards me and JJ. “Hey beautiful,” my skin crawls at his words. He makes me so angry, but I struggle to find the words to say. “What do you want Rafe?” I let out in a harsh tone. I wish I could scream at him, and just call him out on every single thing, but I can’t. Fuck. “Just here for something to eat,” he raises his eyebrows and smirks, placing a heavy hand on JJ’s shoulder. He doesn’t even budge, just lets an annoyed smile spread across his face. Topper chuckles at his best friend’s revolting sexual innuendo. “Why are you such a little bitch?” JJ nudges Topper on his side. It was just a poke, but it sent Topper moving. “What did you just call me?” Topper moves back towards him. JJ shoots up out of his chair. “You heard me, I don’t think you can move much further up his ass,” I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. “Can we just go?” His eyes just stare into Topper��s, while Rafe looks proudly at his boy. “JJ...” I wrap my hand around his forearm and pull slightly. “Fine.” Just as I get the boy to move away from the scene, Rafe decides to make the comment, “Who’s the bitch now?!” As you can expect, JJ does a 180 and darts back towards the two assholes. A fist hits my ex’s face. 

“God JJ,” I raise my voice slightly at the boy, sucking in my sad emotions. If anything I’m annoyed at myself for not being to stick up for myself. It’s just so hard to see him, let alone hear his voice. And to communicate with him? It feels almost impossible. “Why are you annoyed at me?” He snaps. “I’m not, I just wish you’d know when to leave things alone,” I roll my eyes. “I’m not your bitch Y/N.” I ignore him. I know he’s not. I realise I am probably projecting my frustration out now, and taking it out on someone who is very easy to argue with. “No, you don’t even fucking listen to me.” I speed up my walk. There are several things I need to do; breathe is the first one, then probably punch something or someone, then cry. Crying sounds like a plan. Footsteps inch closer and closer behind me. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I was just-” “I know.” I stop him. If he asks that question, the question I have avoided since the break up, I will break down. Fragile is an understatement. I’m like a bird with a broken wing, or a dried out twig ready to snap. One little gush of wind and I’m done. I will break. “Did something else happen, with you and Rafe?”

flashback

I made a joke. That’s it. I was caught up in the moment, and made a joke that he didn’t find funny. I could tell. He didn’t shout. He didn’t even raise his voice. He just stayed silent. His face just dropped. He’s pissed. He’s pissed at me. There was no retaliation, solely because his friends were around. Topper was there. There were other’s there. Now there’s not. I’m fucked. 

“Look, Rafe, I didn’t mean-” “You didn’t mean it? All you do it fucking embarrass me! You always mean it!” He shouts. The rasp in his voice startles me, and instantly pushes the tears out of my eyes. I’m scared. I’m scared of him. I’m scared for me. “I was just joking around, I-I-I-I” I stutter. The words pause as I get pushed against the counter. The harsh corner stabs into my back, making me fall to the floor in pain. I sit quietened by the wind being pushed out of my body. My mouth stays wide in agonizing pain, but my scream is silent. There’s no weep. There’s not a cry. Just tears falling down my now heated cheeks. I take a deep inhale of breath. I have no strength, emotional or physical, to get myself off of the floor. I can’t... Not on my own. Rafe’s face sits in the sight of my blurred eyes, as he places himself in front of me. “I don’t know why you always do this baby,” his fingers, which were previously on harsh hands, caress my chin softly. A thumb wipes my tears. Instead of pushing him away like I should, I nuzzle my hand into his hand. I’ve made enough mistakes tonight. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. A set of lips go to my forehead. 

“Y/N...” A soft voice snaps me back to reality. That was early days. It wasn’t even bad then. I cough slightly. How awkward. “Did he hurt you?” He asks, in a tone I don’t know if I’ve ever heard JJ use. It was gentle and careful, and had meaning behind it. Despite JJ being an idiot, I trust JJ with my life. Literally. But this... I can’t tell anybody about it. Not a soul. “He broke my heart JJ,” honestly, I’m not sure if I lied to JJ or not. I don’t ever remember loving that guy. I must’ve. 

We head back to John B’s. Everyone other than Pope was still there. John was looking at the research his father gathered, and combining it with the little amount we’ve managed to find. Ki was cleaning his shitty place up. She’s way to good to that boy sometimes. Somehow, no matter how many times it gets cleaned, it’s always a huge mess. “Where did you guy’s go?” Luckily, with the long-ish walk back, we no longer look stressed. “We got breakfast,” I throw myself onto the couch. John B looks up from his pages and raises his eyebrows. “You never take me to breakfast!” He throws his hand over his heart, clearly in pain. “You’re not as good company as me John, just accept it.” “Did you pay for it?” Kiara asks. I immediately sit up, snapping my head to the boy as I realise. “You little thief,” JJ says before I can even speak. “No I-” “Damn Y/N, I must be rubbing off on you, finally.”

[poc-movie-supremacy]

The Immortal Lovers

Mortals wonder, most can’t even fathom what a centuries long relationship is like. Is it bloody, is it passionate, is it kind? Steven and Andrew hear this and laugh. Immortality with your loved one is soft. 

I hope you (especially @mousemadej) all love this fic. It was so fun to write. 

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There’s a certain softness that comes when you’ve lived forever. You end up knowing someone intimately. Your souls are so intertwined that where you end and they begin is untraceable.

The crackling of the fire and buzz from the cicadas and fireflies outside filled the room. Steven hands Andrew a cup of hot cocoa before clambering into his lap. Reflexively one hand covers Steven’s stomach while his chin rests on Steven’s shoulder. Together they quietly listen to Ryan and Shane recount one of their weird wonderful world stories. In truth, they stopped believing the story after the bloody pumpkin got involved, but they declined to tell the boys that.

Andrew skates and massages his fingers across Steven’s torso where he’s always sore. One would think the sore spots would move but not for Steven. He aches in the same places, places Andrew has memorized. Finding Steven’s sore spots, tickle spot… is as easy as breathing. If they were alone, Steven would start mouthing at Andrew’s neck. He would begin at the collarbone and make his way up to the shell of the ear. The shiver it elicited delighted Steven to no end. In response, Steven would humm happily into Andrew’s ear and use his arm to play with Andrew’s short golden-brown hair.  To show off his newly acquired strength, Andrew would pick up Steven and take them to bed. The shorter blonde would drink in the sound of Steven’s giggles like they were the freshly pressed wine in Italy.

Of course, they have company, so that’s off the table. Instead, Steven plays with Andrew’s calloused fingers as they trade stories with the self-named paranormal bad boys. When Ryan and Shane tire themselves out, the fancy boys, also penned by the paranormal bad boys, get up to wish them a good bye. By then they’re just exhausted so when they fall into the bed they just fall asleep. Steven curls his long-form around Andrew surrounding him like a blanket.

When work is over for Steven the first person he likes to see is Andrew. He likes to cup his face with his hands and rest their foreheads together. For a while, they just sway pressed together. It's nice to reconnect with your love after a grueling day serving capitalism. Steven breathes him in, the scent of earth and food filling his lungs. Right now he smelled like apple pie, Steven smiled in excitement. Andrew brushes the dirt off his apron before sinking his fingers into Steven’s hair, blue this time. He likes blue the most. It compliments outfits and makes him seem sharper like he was cut from stone. Once he dyed his hair pink though, Andrew won’t lie that he stared at Steven for a long minute before peppering him with kisses.

“Berrie baby. You smell like berries.” Andrew whispered to him one night. The world was silent as they lay together. Steven smiled sleepily against Andrew’s neck.

“Must be yummy or something,” he mused before falling asleep. Andrew thought Steven would drop the conversation, but ever since then Steven usually smells of some sort of berry.

While immortality has its benefits, there are some drawbacks. Sometimes Steven gets a little restless, he likes to go with Ryan and Shane on their demon hunts. Andrew packs him a bag and wishes him well on his travels. Stopping him was always absurd, and going with him was also insane. Andrew never was and never will be a fighter. He waits for Steven to come home instead, praying to gods he no longer beloved in to keep him safe, Adam turns out to be of great help during these times. He visits more often when Steven’s away, being a quiet rock to Andrew’s anxious mess.

Usually, he ends up ok, maybe a few cuts and bruises but generally unharmed. Andrew likes to run his hands over Steven to be 100% sure. When he gets proof that Steven’s not harmed they celebrate. A pie, usually apple, waits for them in the kitchen. Andrew feeds Steven slices as old music filters through the house.

Not all homecomings are that sweet sadly. One time Steven had been gone for two weeks. That in and of itself wasn’t odd, just unfortunate. Andrew had just finished shopping when he heard loud banging at the door. Distinctly making out Ryan’s loud calls, he made his way quickly to the door. It wasn’t Steven calling out to him, he also had a key, so Andrew was doubly nervous. What happened to Steven that Ryan had to be banging worriedly at the door?

Upon opening the door, Andrew’s heart stopped. Shane was cradling a barely conscious Steven in his arms. He quickly let them into the home, pointing them to where they should lay Steven. There was a large spot of blood on Shane's shirt and a matching evergrowing blood spot on Steven. Andrew took a deep breath so he could focus. First he checked Steven’s heartbeat and breathing. It was weaker than he’d like, gasping breaths and slower pumps, but it was there. That would have to be enough for now.

Apparently, they were fighting a demon who got a little too close to Steven. Shane and Ryan had their hands tied to notice it quick enough. When it finally caught their attention, they were too late to save Steven. He pinned to a wall by a seven-foot demon. Slowly, using its tail, it pierced Steven’s side before Ryan was able to rip him away. Shane tried his best to stop the bleeding while Ryan finished off the rest of the demons. As quick as they could, the next place they headed was here, to Andrew.

The man in question pressed his lips into a thin line. All the screams of frustration were bottled up tightly in him. He wanted to rage, at the boys, at the demons, instead, he took a few deep measured breaths. Losing his temper wouldn’t help Steven at all. Andrew directed Shane and Ryan around the house to get supplies while he examined Steven’s wound. It was about two inches deep and five inches long. The cut was a jagged little line that had mostly stopped breathing.

A tentative hand cupped Andrew’s cheek and he wanted to sob. “Hey, hey honey. I-I’m ok.” Steven gasped out. His voice was weak and stuttery. Andrew shushed him quietly, one hand on the wound the other carding through Steven’s hair. Steven leaned into the touch fully, practically purring at the contact. “Missed being home with you. Not always- not always fun being the third wheel.” Steven rambled. He started kissing Andrew’s palm almost happily. Unintentionally, Andrew’s heart fluttered at the action.

They didn’t speak much until Shane came bursting in with the medical supplies, and they didn’t talk much after that. Methodically, Andrew cleaned the wound before stitching it up. Steven tried as best as he could to minimize the pain on his face, but he wasn’t exempt from the occasional wince. Andrew noted it each and every time. He tried to be very careful, he hated putting Steven through any sort of pain. They wanted to give him anesthesia, but it was a hard commodity to come by (and sometimes a useless commodity). To replace anesthesia, Ryan and Shane each held one of Steven’s hands during the stitching.

Luckily it didn’t take too long. Andrew shooed the paranormal bad boys up to a guest room to unwind. He helped Steven to bed, slowly stripping him down before putting some layers back on him. They meandered into bed, Andrew as the big spoon for once.

Steven felt a kiss press onto his forehead. “Never leave me.” The low, syrupy voice begged him.

“Never,” Steven squeezed their hands together. Not many things in life were promised, but this? Steven could promise Andrew this. “Not for anything ever.”

Bonus:

Sunlight bathed a sleeping Steven and Simba who had curled himself into Steven’s side. Unconsciously, he wrapped an arm around his cat as he slept.

In the kitchen, Andrew softly puttered around fixing the food. Adam was there to help him, taking care of the goats, chickens, and pigs. They loved Adam, flocking around him wherever he went. It made it slightly harder to get the eggs from the chicken but he managed. He took his basket of about 14 eggs back to the kitchen.

“The animals like me more,” He teased Andrew in his ever soft voice.

Andrew let a faint smile grace his lips. “Yeah, that’s cause you indulge them.”

Adam tsked. “Excuses, excuses. What are you planning on making?”

“As much as can of anything. A few waffles, pancakes, some sausages, a few biscuits, and eggs. The boys will be starving after this ghost hunt. I’d rather cook too much than not enough.”

“You could make a large bowl of poutine.”

“Too late for that. Help me cook this all before the boys get it.”

“You sound like a prairie wife,” Adam pointed out. Andrew’s glare caused him to bark out laughing. Unbeknownst to them, their ensuing bickering about whether or not Andrew was a prairie wife woke up Steven. Shane and Ryan had already been up and found the argument incredibly amusing. They agreed with Adam, Andrew’s mothering definitely made him a prairie wife. Steven was too groggy to understand what they were saying.

He slowly blinked awake, groaning at the light in his eyes. He felt lethargic like he woke up from a nap in the middle of the day and not a deep sleep. There was a soft licking, tingling feeling on his hand. Frowning, he looked down to see Simba contentedly licking his hand. With his other hand, Steven scratched at Simba and tried to gather his bearings. Andrew’s side of the bed was cold, probably why Simba was snuggled so close to him.

When he tried getting up, a painful ache pierced his side. Looking down he saw bandages covering his side. Memories of last night flooded his brain. The fight, the stab wound, Andrew patching him back up. Steven flinched at the last memory. Andrew probably wasn’t too happy after seeing Steven like that. Unhappy would turn out to be an understatement, considering he was stress cooking. Steven slowly got up, put on a large sweater, picked up Simba, and headed out the door to find Andrew.

Half the meal had finished cooking by the time Steven found them. He watched them quietly before Andrew realized he was there. “Hey, how are you. I didn’t realize you were up.” Steven nodded at him before draping himself across Andrew’s back.

Warm hands encircled Andrew’s waist while Steven’s face was buried in his neck. A low hum raced down Andrew’s spine making him smile. “I guess you’re alright.”

“I don’t like waking up without you. The food looks good though. Good job to you and Adam.”

Andrew twisted his head to press a kiss to the crown of Steven’s head. “Go lie down, let Adam and I take care of this.” Steven would’ve objected but he was already feeling a little tired. He grabbed a water bottle as he went to lie down.

Adam and Andrew laid out all the food on the coffee table just as Shane and Ryan came straggling in. "Hey prarie wife," Ryan called. Adam snorted while Andrew glared at all of them. At Steven's confused face, Shane went over to explain it to him.

"Andrew, you are a prarie wife."

Andrew turned around to glare at his husband. "I thought we are on the same side?!"

A round of laughter rang through the kitchen. Steven readjusted himself to let Andrew sit beside him. "Do you really think I'm a prarie wife?"

Steven just giggled and kissed his husband on the side of his face. Andrew groaned into his hands. Immortality could be bloody, mean, and awful; but it was so so soft.

[staycatcher]

Cursed 001

Member: Kim Seungmin x Femme Reader (she/her) (Jisung is also in this, we love wingpeople)

Au: (Dorky/Pure) Frat Boy! Seungmin x Baddie! Reader + Unexpected Soulmate AU [in the same universe as Anguish, no need to read it though!]

Genre: Crack, Angst, Fluff? (she’s all over the place, partner🤠)

Rated 14? for too much swearing, kind-of-stranger danger, getting into mentioned kind-of-stranger’s car (don’t do what y/n did!!), suggestive themes & jokes, hangover & leftover tipsiness, cringe, promiscuous bisexual reader, nothing explicit though!! Also, Jisung is too much I’m sorry

Word Count: 4.1k

Notes: special thanks to @staytion-nine for being a bro and reading & critiquing my full shitty drafts and @strayneoculturekids & @hyunjinssmile for thinking my crack parts were good & somewhat funny way back when I wrote them ilyssssm🤗💞💛

ps, I hope you readers liked/found my easter eggs!!🥴

“Your heart began to sing, sing triumphantly as if you broke some sort of curse- Curse? Wait, hold up. Hold the fuck up. I think he’s my soulmate?! But I can’t possibly have one-”

Cursed series 1/?-  ~001~  😈🤓😳~

Growing up, not a single day passed without your single mother reminding you that meeting your soulmate wasn't going to happen for you. The odds were not at all in your favor, not her’s, not your grandmother’s and not even your great grandmother’s mom; being the youngest girl of the youngest in the family made you carry such a burden. The streak that your family had going on for generations was too strong to break at this point. It’d be a miracle and a half if you ever heard of your soulmate for a fraction of a second. You started to accept by the time you learned how to read, that a life with a soulmate was frankly not in the cards for you. 

To say you were completely and utterly blind-sighted when you met your soulmate, would be the understatement of the century. You lived your whole life with no fear or any expectations of long lasting relationships whether it’s with a soulmate or not. You lived the life you knew many people with soulmates or obsessions with commitment couldn’t live. You lived a life of freedom, focused on yourself. 

Now, it's been three months at this university; three months, and you already have a reputation that precedes you. Contrary to popular belief, you don't like the attention. Yet somehow the spotlight seems to follow you. Though, you would argue you weren’t as charismatic as you were careless. Your carelessness seemed to be your charm and charming you seemed to be.

A groan tore out from your throat when as stretched over to snatch your boots. Jelly legs hobbling all over the place as you scrambled to tug them on, stubbornly not zipping down the zipper which only made it harder for you in the long run. Once on, you trudge on forward, not giving a shit if things were inside out or not, all that mattered to you was going back to sleep in your own bed. You have to remain careful though. You don’t want to go too fast and have stomach acid erupt out of you in aggravation, ruining the Sorority’s carpet and your morning. So, you watched each and every wobbly step as you did your best to navigate your way out of the crowded, trashed halls of the post-party filth. Fortunately, it seemed you’ve risen before anyone else, no conscious creatures for you to deal with. 

The clock struck six o’clock as you strut down Greek row, your steps more firm now, waking you up more with each step. However, waking up meant more hangover symptoms, though you weren’t exactly sober. You made it about four more clumsy steps down the sidewalk before a car slows down next to you. This has happened to you more times than you can count, but never when the birds were fucking chirping. You huff out in irritation, walking faster, thus, less firm as you tried to remain calm. 

Who the hell pulls up to you when it’s fucking sunrise?! Unbelievable. 

You only make it two more steps before the right next to you. Even though you tell yourself not to, your head swivels to look at the driver on instinct. He looks vaguely familiar, you’ve seen those cheeks somewhere but his name is lost on you. You acknowledge him with a questioning look as he rolls down the window.

“Want a ride?” He offers like you’ve known him for ten years and your pets were best friends. You were expecting a catcall but his voice was full of awkward sincerity and a bit of reluctance that couldn’t be faked.     

“I thought chivalry was de-ad.” You choked, giving a nudge with your words to test his sincerity.

“I thought you liked girls more and don’t believe in it anyway.” He dished back. Okay, fair. This guy’s a real one. 

“Touché... Ohhh what the helll-” You huffed, “I’ll take it.” You vaguely recognize him and he seems to know you too so what can hurt; that’s at least how you look at it in the buzzed moment. 

His unimpressive car comes to a smooth stop, you hear the doors unlock and you sluggishly yanked the door open and groan as you slide in, kindly ignoring the mess because you’re not much better. 

 “Did you not party last ni’?” You blurted, looking over at him with a dry smile. As you do, you can really take him in. His dark, messy hair and his cute over-expressive face, topped with a pair of doughy cheeks. Despite the cuteness, there’s not a doubt in your mind this is some frat boy on the college team, though you’re not even sure what team is in season right now. One thing was for sure though, his guns were proudly out of a cut out muscle-t like a living, breathing fuckboy starter pack. Infuriatingly, he pulled it off, he looked too attractive for this time, on the weekend especially. With all that being said, he seriously looks like the kind of guy that should be as fucked up as you are right now. And yet, here he is, behind the wheel looking as sober as a slice of bread.

“Nah,” He starts, getting his foot off the brake and turning back into the road, “me and my soulmate stayed in ‘cuz coach is making practice earlier than usual.” 

Well, that train left the station. “Ahh, that-that's too bad.” You heard yourself pettily trail off. 

“Nah, ‘zall good. I think coach is taking it out on us ‘cuz his wife found out he’s doin’ drugs and gambling again-“

“Do ya have any friends like you?” You blurted out again. 

“Huh??” 

“Do ya got any friends that do things like this?” You grumbled, resisting the urge to facepalm at yourself. Fucking hell, Y/n.

“That go to practice this early? Yehh. The whole fucking basketball te-“ 

“No!” You hiss, head pulsing, his voice is too goddamn loud. “Gentlemen!” clarifying and sulkily leaned your head against the cool window. 

“Ohhh!!~” Then he belts out laughing like a blaring fire alarm, making your entire brain rattle.

“Shhhh!” As you turn to glare at him, you realize your turn was coming up. “Wait!! Turn here!!” 

He hissed and stepped harshly on the breaks. “This one?” 

“Yeah!!-“ it was already too late when you unnecessarily clarified, so he had to turn around and go turn in again. Thank god the streets were dead at this date and time. You’re sure he broke at least four traffic laws.

“Shit, man!! You can’t say that and then expect me to make the turn, I got too excited!!” He was beaming, far too excited for your dumb question and not at all concerned about his chaotic driving. 

“What the fuuck?!?! You’ got a soulmate-“

“No, dumbass!!” He whines like you just missed the best play in the whole game, too bad there aren’t instant replies for day to day conversations. “I have a bro who we’ve been trying to get laid.~” And now he makes the turn, good job buddy. 

“Okay, two stops from now you’re gonna turn left.” It is then that you realize the last part of what he just said. “Huh? Li-like frat bro?”

“Yeah, dude. He’s so pissy I don’t think his hand is doin’ it for him anymore.” The dude laughed at his own joke, elbowing you in the side. Normally you would have joined in and punched him but for some reason, your little fucked up heart started to warm up hearing about this cute frat boy.

“Ahhhh.” And then you laughed a little too late, his wingmanning ass didn’t notice.

“Yeah! And he says books are better than pussy so that’s how we know he’s becoming a lost cause. We’re placing our bets that he won’t get it on until he finds his soulmate.” 

“What a swee-eetheart.~” You hiccupped with dazed eyes and chapped smile. You had to admit, you were endeared. You never heard about a dorky, innocent fraternity boy before, and you never would have thought that it would appeal to you.

“Is it this one or the next one?” 

“This one. So whoo’z this friend of yours-“ Unfortunately you were caught off by a ringtone blasting at the fullest volume making your brain wail in pain, for the second fucking time this morning. 

He just snickers. “Sorry, gotta answer this… Yuh~?” You just huffed and closed your eyes, deflating a little bit. 

“Seungmin?!?”

For some unknown reason, that name made you jolt back up into your seat. ‘Seungmin’, why does that sound so familiar?! 

“Well, speak of the devil!!~” He got too excited and looked at you, and gives you an over-enthused wink. You’re assuming this is the frat bro. “Your car won’t start??~~” This dude, you still don’t quite remember the name of, was really playing this up. For possibly the same unknown reason, him talking to this dude has your full attention. Normally you’d eavesdrop half-heartedly but this time your whole heart started to beat a way it never has before, begging you to soak up as much of this half conversation as possible. 

“Of course I’ll drive my wittle brother!!~... -fuck off a few days totally does count!!- Whatever!! Anyway, fair warning, I became a fucking uber this morning, I’m driving this girl too so prepare yourself!!... Shhh, it’s not a joke! And she’s really hot; make sure your heart and dick are ready.” 

You were about to beat this dude before you vaguely heard the muffled voice on the other line chew him out for you. You couldn’t hold in your smile before you realized; even though you were abnormally giddy, now is not the goddamn time to meet this kid. You looked like you were run over by three different military-grade vehicles and you’re more than sure you had lipstick marks from last night smeared in various places all over you. But most importantly, you were in a limbo of drunk and hungover. You needed way more rest and sustenance before you should interact with anyone of importance. You opened your mouth to scream at him but you were cut off yet again. 

“...Yeah, yeah. Anyways, I’ll turn around now, just for you.~ I’m pretty sure we’re close to her dorm but who cares how late I’m gonna be for practice! I’m making shit happen! See ya in a sec, muah!” If you weren’t high key starting to panic, you would’ve laughed at this dude’s unending ridiculousness. There is no way in hell you’re gonna meet this familiar stranger‘s friend that he’s setting you up with at six fucking a.m. in a frankly disgusting state.

“Do not turn around or I swear to fucking Rupaul-“

“No can do, bro. Besides, you seemed interested in him so why not!?! Be grateful! I’m gonna have to run double the fuckin laps cuz a’ this.”

‘“Why not’?!! I just got outta’ a stranger’s bed and I’m still drunk and somehow hungover too and my dorm is just around the corner-“

“Listen; bros before hoes. Frat legacy.” And with that, he chuckled as he turned the car around for the second time today. You take back the gentleman comment you gave him earlier, he’s a pile shit. 

“I’m gonna fucking jump out of the car-“ you groaned with a bluff, tugging at your smeared face and he smugly locked the doors before you could finish. “Cmonnn!~ It’s too fucking early for this shit, man! Why didn’t I just keep walking or just stayed-“

“I'm doing you a favor!~”

“Dropping me off when and where I asked you to is doing me a favor! That’s literally why I’m in your messy ass car that smells like rancid fuckin’ cheesecake in the first place!!”

“Hey, now you’re just being mean!”

You groaned and glared out the window, opting to ignore him now. This argument had you sobering up. This just really wasn’t it. You resisted the urge to pull down the mirror and see how bad you really looked but, you would rather not know how bad it is. Knowing your past morning afters, you’ve looked a hell of a lot cuter every other time. 

It seems like you’re just gonna have to grin and bear it and let this one go. There’s plenty of bitches in the sea. Bitches that never made you heart skipped like this before- and without you even meeting them-

All you could think about how embarrassing and fucked up this whole thing he’s pulling is as you glare at the passing sidewalks and cars parked at the side of the roads. You wish the passing textured and crumbly neighborhood sidewalks could swallow you up. It’s not often that you felt so burdened at an awaiting social encounter these days. You hated this.

“And we’re here!!” He stops and proudly puts the car into park. “Okay, Siri, call ‘Noodle Bitchass’.” 

The fuck-

-“I’m sorry. I didn’t get that. Would you like me to search the web for ‘Nude space app’?”-

“Ughhhhh. Fuck you!! I said, ‘Call~ Nooo-DiLL BiiiiTCh AAAssss’~~!!!”

 -“Okay. Calling Noodle Bitchass nerd emoji, middle finger emoji in medium tan’.”- You were about to cry in shocked laughter but the guy answered too soon so you had to snort into your hand and curl in on yourself. 

“Yah!! Han Jisung!!” Holy mother almighty, his voice is pure sunshine and honey. Your body slowly uncurled back up on its own. Fuck, okay it’s on speaker. Shit, I can’t even breathe, can’t make a sound.

“We’re here, man.” 

“Hhhhh… she’s not still with you is she?” Is it possible to be attracted to a voice? I think I’m attracted to a voice. 

“Hell yeah, she is! Suck it up, bro. You’re already making me late and she’s fine~!!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Jisung-“ Oh, good lord. Him swearing really just--

“Get in or I’ll leave you here and set her up with Innie instead.” You just heard the guy sigh and the sound of a facepalm, you’re guessing, before the line went dead. And finally. You could finally howl with laughter, or perhaps it was more like manic screaming in infatuation.  

You have never, in all your years of living felt like this because of a person. Is this what it feels like to be whipped? Fuck, fuck, fuck- It’s like I’m at a concert- but not really and-

You were still in the thick of it when a door ripped open. When you reflexively looked over, all the air that was left in your lungs pathetically wheezed out of you like a sad balloon. 

Then the sensations all hit you.

Wow, okay the drunkenness and hangover is gone? I feel good? I feel alive, I feel the cool late autumn air? I feel feelings; feelings I’ve never felt before? You were light as a mother fuckin’ feather and astounded as all burning hell. You were openly experiencing so many intense emotions, something that hasn’t happened in so many years. 

At that moment your mouth and his gawk right open at the exact same time, not that the two of you noticed. Without any volition, your eyes immediately drown in the other. Okay, he’s actual artwork? He was dressed so cute like he was ready to take some cute aesthetic photos for a dumb little blog. Oh god, he smells like a cup of tea in the forest after it rained?! That’s so specific- but. He smells so lovely. 

His hair was pure angelic fluff and his skin was a light, silky caramel. You watched before your tired, dry eyes, the caramel in his cheeks rise into the purest shade of pink and his eyes widening into adorable little saucers. When they met yours, they were sparklier than any ring on any finger; you swear to god herself, you felt electricity crackle in your veins like wood to the fire.  Your eyes couldn’t pull away, you felt like a giddy little kid again. Whirling with excitement and curiosity as you looked at him all bundled up for the late fall weather. Your heart began to sing, sing triumphantly as if you broke some sort of curse- 

Curse?

Wait, hold up. 

Hold the fuck up. 

I think he’s my soulmate?! But I can’t possibly have one-

That’s when your entire body began to heat up in question. None of this made sense to you. 

How is this possible? How is this fucking possible?! The only thing your brain seems to produce in reaction is unending, spiraling questions. For each and every one of them, whether rhetorical or not, you didn’t have a sensical explanation or possible answer. This didn’t make any sense, it went against everything you ever knew to be true. 

You couldn’t have a soulmate, your maternal lineage fucked that up for you, it was what you were born into without a choice. A perpetual heartbreak, something that started out as merely coincidental to grow into a family burden that carried on precariously. How can it be that for generations, the youngest daughter in the family never got to meet their soulmate until now, until you? You were on the brink of a fucking existential crisis. 

Seungmin seemed shocked as well, though leagues and leagues below the ballgame you’re dealing with right now. He looked shocked; appearing delightfully surprised. Shocked as if he wasn’t expecting to be surprised with a present on a random and unimportant Wednesday, not shocked as if he just broke a generations-long family streak. 

Before you can continue these heavy ass thoughts, Jisung blasts out an interruption yet again.

“I CAN’T FUCKIN’ BELIEVE THIS!! I THOUGHT I WAS JUST HOOKING UP MY BOY AT ASS CRACK IN THE MORNING!! BUT NO!! I FUCKIN’ FOUND HIM HIS SOULMATE!! AND IT’S Y/N OUTTA ALL PEOPLE!! Y/N?!? SEUNGMIN?!? THE UNIVERSE REALLY PAIRED THESE PEOPLE TOGETHER?!? OUT OF-” 

“Jisung, shut the fuck up.” To your surprise, it was Seungmin who interrupts ‘Jisung’ and not you, as he gets the rest of the way into the messy car. His put-together ass looks completely out of place in this shitty car, it made you try to hold in a smile as closes the door with barely restrained enthusiasm. 

Before he turns back, you force yourself to face forward and try to calm the hell down and calmly reassess the situation. 

Alright... You met your not plausible-soulmate, out of all places in time and space, in the car of a kinda-stranger who offered you a ride home in the early-ass morning after getting laid at a sorority party. 

Okay. Great. This is great.

You cleared your throat and tried to remain cool. “O-okay, awesome. Where ar-are we heading to first?” Okay, that wasn’t entirely cool but maybe you can blame it on literally everything else wrong with you in this situation. 

“I don’t know, man. I deadass wanna just skip practice altogether and-” Jisung was interrupted by the sound of a camera’s shutter. You instinctively whip your head around towards the sound, only to be met with Seungmin camera-handed. He has the fucking nerve to take two more in the time it took for you to whip around. 

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?” Your voice ripped out of you, croaking out like an enraged toad. He then takes the final picture as you’re screeching at him. This just kept getting richer and richer. First, Jisung’s bullshit, then life-altering realizations that you broke some sort of generations long streak of not having a soulmate, and now your seemingly miraculous soulmate taking unexpected, embarrassing photographs of you in the worst state you’ve ever been in?

“Taking your picture.” He grinned with a shrug, no guilt or shame to be seen nor heard. You could not hold in squawks of disbelief. His pride and excitement seemed to only grow at your bewilderment, he had the nerve to do a precious ‘hehehe’, the kind that little kids do after they steal a cookie from the jar. 

“Give me that!” You sneer as you go to savagely rip it right out of his perfect hands. However, the two of you seemed to be matched in more ways than one; neither of you would budge, equally as strong as the other. 

“No way! You’ll delete them!!” 

“Yeah, exactly!! ‘No way in hell will I let you keep pictures of me like this!” 

“‘No fuckin’ way will I let you delete them!”

You gritted your teeth. “Then let me take pictures of you!!!” And then you can sneakily delete-

“Yeah and then you’ll delete yours.” How the fuck did he know-

“Seungmin, just give her the goddamn camera so I can drive and drop your hormonal asses off before coach murders me.” 

There was a raging fire in Seungmin’s eyes as he slowly and painfully let go of his forsaken camera so you could tentatively take it. Upon retrieving the camera your fingers accidentally grab unto Seungmin’s. Resulting in a little static shock zap, startling you and heating up your cheeks immediately with a jerk and a hiss. Seungmin reacted similarly, blinking like pink dust blew into his eyes to land on his cheeks. Your hand yanks it back towards you before you even realize it. Jisung was far too excited to watch this drama unfold right before his wide eyes. 

 If this was a normal day for you you’d jump to delete those humiliating pictures of yourself immediately, looking nothing short of the cheshire cat. But this was evidently not a normal day in any sense of the word, so, what you did was unlike you. You huffed out a breath to encourage yourself before slowly raising the camera to your dominant eye and focused the lense as best you could. 

At least I can photograph how irritatingly handsome he looks at this hour. 

You took the first picture, zooming in on his now grouchy, but still stupidly handsome face. Then you zoom out as far as possible, hoping to take in this entire scene in front of you, his angry posture in an adorably preppy outfit, this messy, disgusting car and how out of place he looks in it.

“Only two more.” Seungmin huffs with an eyeroll and by some divine power (perhaps the same divine power that made this odd miracle happen in the first place), you clicked fast enough to get some of that petty behavior visually documented. You pressed down twice, sadly that was your limit you agreed upon.

You didn’t even look at the pictures you took nor the ones Seungmin took so that you wouldn’t be tempted to delete them. It felt like you were committing a saintly act; as if simply taking his picture like you said you would, without deleting anything made you pure and free of sin. Perhaps this twisted reality of somehow defeating the ancestral odds had you feeling undeservingly self-righteous.

“You better not delete yours either.” You sneered once more, before jabbing the camera back into his sweatered chest. This time you were determined not to turn around again, you couldn’t risk him taking any more pictures. You also aren’t entirely sure you could handle seeing his stupid perfect face once more. This was an outrage and this was your way of protest. Also, an unspoken miracle, but enough of that.

You swiveled your head away from Jisung and Seungmin, fully leaning into the cool window and began to count the street lights and stop signs. As the grueling seconds ticked by the more concentrated you tried to be. Soon enough the concentration turned sleepy and before you knew it, you were knocked out. All your adrenaline fueled energy depleted.

All through your protest-turned-snooze, Seungmin couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. He couldn’t help but find it endearing how you could be an absolute riot only to pass out three minutes later. It hurt how cute he found you, no matter how scandalous you seem to be. You seemed so genuinely shocked, it made him want to cry. And he’s also fairly certain that this isn’t new to you, you not only partied all night and regularly. And judging from the markings on your skin, you might’ve done a little bit more than party last night. In fact, it might’ve even enticed him, might’ve gotten him a little hot under the collar. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that he already whipped and he hasn’t even caught your name.

[thirsttrapholland]

A Matter of Taste

Pairing: Tom Holland x Black Reader

Summary: You’re at Tom’s place for the first time and there’s only one thing on your mind.  

Warnings:  Again, a little suggestive but mostly fluff.

Word Count:  1521

A/N:  Just a little extra something to thank and welcome everybody following me.  I’m already close to my next one hundred. Shocked.  I appreciate all the kindness and encouragement I have received on this blog.  

I was "inspired" by that plate of food Tom posted. I was like I'm sure it tastes good, but that is the driest looking food I've seen in a while. Then Tuwaine commented what I was really thinking.

You and Tom hadn’t been seeing each other for long and it was the first time you had been alone together at his place.  You appreciated how lived in the place looked; it was neat but not too perfect.  Despite the amount of time that Tom spent travelling, he and Harrison had still managed to make it seem like a home.  Pillows and blankets were strewn across the sofa which made it look like a comfortable place to settle in and watch tv or take a cozy nap.  The shelves were loaded down with knick knacks, toys and family photos.

You picked up a picture of a young red headed woman with a dark-haired little boy sat on her lap.  “Is this your mom?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.  She’s really pretty.  And I suppose this is you?”  You squinted your eyes and brought the old photo closer to your face.  “Of course it’s you, look at those ears.”

“Hey.”  Tom exclaimed while looking mildly insulted.

“Aww.”  You put the picture back on the shelf and rubbed Tom’s shoulders.  “Don’t take it the wrong way.  You and your ears were adorable.”

“I’m still adorable.”

“And so modest about it too.”

Tom laughed as he grabbed your hand.  “So, since this is your first time here, would you like the grand tour?”

You’d been offered tours by guys before.  “This isn’t one of those tours that’s going to begin and end in your bedroom is it? Cause we’re not there yet.”

Tom dropped your hand.  “In that case I don’t have anything to show you.”  He managed to remain straight faced for about three seconds before a grin split his face.  “I’m kidding. Where would you like to start?”

You didn’t even need a second to think about what you wanted to see first. “The kitchen.”

“Alright.”

“So,” you began while starting to look around.  “You got a spice rack around here somewhere?”

“No.”

“We’re not off to a good start here, Thomas.”

“I don’t have a spice rack, but I keep things in here,” he said while opening the cabinet above his head.

You came closer and looked inside.  “Hmm. You’ve got some good stuff in here; better than I was expecting, honestly.”

Tom stood behind you, hovering over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it. Tabasco, chili powder, cumin, paprika, garlic powder, rosemary, sage. This isn’t too bad.”

“I feel like I’m being tested somehow and I’m not sure I’m passing.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“So, this is a test then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Is this what you normally do when you’re in someone’s home for the first time? You just march into the kitchen and start rummaging through the cupboards? Is this some sort of strange American courtship ritual?”

“I’m just trying to see what the spice situation is like. A preview of what to expect when I come over for dinner.”

“Is that a fact?  Because I don’t recall ever inviting you over for dinner.”

“But you will.”

“A little presumptuous but I do admire the confidence.”

You smoothed back the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead and let your fingertips trail down the side of his face before lightly tapping his cheek.   “So, you have absolutely no plans to get me over here, light up a bunch of candles, cue up your slow jams playlist and make me dinner?”

Tom blew out a stream of air and dropped his eyes from yours.  “Nope.  Not at all.  Thought had not crossed my mind.”

“You’re so good at so many things.  It’s almost endearing what a terrible liar you are.” You raised up onto your tiptoes to take a better look at what was in the back of the cabinet.

“Do you need a boost?” Tom offered.   “Can I get you a stepladder?”

You glared at him out the side of your eye.  “I know you’re not trying to make short jokes.”  Tom was a whopping five inches taller than you and determined not to let you forget it.  

He held his hands up defensively.  “I just want to make sure you don’t miss anything.”

“I’m doing fine.”

“Besides, if I don’t make my short jokes with you who else am I gonna make them with?”

“You must know some toddlers.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious.”  He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.  “Seriously though.  Suppose you were conducting your little kitchen inspection and I had nothing but salt, maybe some pepper and a crusty old jar of mayonnaise.  Then what?”

“Oof,” you said while shaking your head. “That’s a rough one.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s like my granny used to say.  Sometimes you just gotta throw the whole man away and start over.”

“Are you actually saying you’d never see me again if you don’t like the way I season my food?”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” You shrugged your shoulders. “No man, no matter how gorgeous, is worth putting up with a mouth full of bland food.”

A cocky grin spread out over Tom’s face as he rested his hands against your hips and started walking you backwards.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said echoing your statement from earlier. He continued advancing on you until he had you backed up against the refrigerator.  

The stark contrast of the cold steel against your back and Tom’s solid warmth against your chest was enough to make you a little light headed. You still hadn’t gotten used to being so close to him and to say that you were more than a little affected by the proximity was the understatement of the century.

“First of all, you’re ridiculous.”

“Now wait a minute–”

“But luckily for you I find a little ridiculousness to be wildly attractive in a woman.”

“Oh yeah. Lucky me.” You playfully rolled your eyes at him. “That doesn’t explain why you’ve got me pressed up against your refrigerator.”

“I was getting to that.”  Tom’s hand slowly slid around your hip and settled firmly on the curve of your ass.  “So, you think I’m gorgeous?”

You could feel your face grow warm as you recalled what you had said. “That’s not really what I said.”

“That is actually exactly what you just said.”

“I was speaking in generalizations.”

“Right,” Tom said, clearly not believing a word that was leaving your mouth.

“Or you know, I didn’t mean you specifically. I was speaking of some hypothetical gorgeous man.”

“I see.”  Tom picked you up and spun around with you his arms before depositing you on the countertop.  “So, you don’t think I’m gorgeous?”

Looking at the delicate splash of freckles across the bridge of his nose and the playful light in his big brown eyes and gorgeous didn’t even begin to describe what you thought about him.  “I mean, you’re alright.”

“Alright?”  He put his hands on either side of your hips and leaned in close.  He nuzzled against the side of your face, placing a line of soft kisses down your neck and across your exposed collar bone.   “Is that the best you can give me?”

You snaked your hands around his neck and threaded your fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck.  You drew him closer to you, your lips slowly descending upon his.  

The kiss was soft and tender to start but didn’t take long to turn into something more.

There was a hint of desperation in the way he gripped your hips; a hunger in the way he licked his way into your mouth.   As you nearly devoured each other a tiny itching in the back of your mind reminded you that this was the first time the two of you had really kissed.  There had been chaste, hellos and goodbyes; tentative, gentle, barely there.  

But this was a kiss.  

Tom didn’t just kiss with his mouth; he kissed with his entire body. The hand on your jaw, the arm around your waist.  The way his whole being unabashedly crowded into every inch of your personal space.  By the time he finally let you go, you felt, breathless; overtaken and almost dizzy but in the best way possible.  

Tom rested his forehead against yours for a moment while he tried to catch his own breath.  “So, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should skip dinner altogether and the first meal I cook for you should be breakfast.”

“You make a pretty good breakfast?”

Tom shook his head. “Not really.”

“Your bacon?”

“Kind of chewy.”

“Toast?”

“Quite often burnt.”

“Eggs?”

“Not very well seasoned and usually runny; and not runny in a good way.”

“Well how is cooking breakfast for me going to be any better than cooking dinner?”

“I just think if I’ve gotten far enough to be cooking you breakfast, you’re not really gonna care what it tastes like. You’re probably gonna be preoccupied with something else.”

The truth of the matter was that Tom could serve up boiled chicken and dry unrinsed rice and he would still have you wrapped around his finger.

“Well, there’s always takeout.”

[quinzelade]

Making One’s Bones (chpt 3)

Chapter List

--

Porter Gage is in a pickle. Nuka-World needed a new boss and some woman just killed her way to the top. But a pre-war Mafia boss on the theme park's throne? Well...at least she'll have experience.

--

Domesticity

--

“Hey, it's your main man RedEye here, sending out some big congratulations to our brand new Overboss! That's right—if you haven't heard, Colter is toast! He's worm-food!”

Gage peered out of the window for what felt like the thousandth time that night, only half listening to RedEye’s voice blaring out of the radio in the background. He scowled as he caught himself doing it again, staring down onto the makeshift fortress that was Nuka Town. He was acting like the boss's mother, checking if she was back safe.

“—can't wait to see what our new leader has planned. At least...can't be any worse than Colter, right? Right?”

Gage knew his concern lay solely with his own neck—if the plan failed again, he was a dead man—but he was still irritated with himself. He stomped across the room, turned the radio off, and dropped heavily into a nearby armchair. It creaked under his weight, but held, and he folded his arms, glaring at the nearby door.

Any second now she’d walk in like he’d told her to. Tell him she didn’t fuck up everything up, that she was staying to sort this place out. Not that there would have been anything to sort out if Colter had just stuck to the fucking plan in the first place. Nuka World: an unstoppable force ready to take over the wasteland.

Trust Colter to fuck it all up.

Well, Gage thought idly, crossing his legs and then uncrossing them again. Not like he’s a problem anymore.

It surprised him how little he felt over the matter, but Gage supposed he’d made his peace with the situation a long time ago—anger was a hell of a stimulant after all, and Colter had brought this place to the very edge. Even now it might be beyond saving, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try with the new boss...if she ever returned.

Gage closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. She’d bailed the second his back was turned. It was the only explanation for her absence, and meant he was a dead man.

He glanced up as the door opened, half expecting to see Nisha and the other bosses at threshold, ready to slice his guts out. Instead, there stood Bossanova, looking just as revolting, but with a drying stain of blood on her clothes. In her arms was a bundle made of plastic sheeting, tied up with old rope.

Gage jumped to his feet. “Where the fuck have you been? I told you to meet me here!”

Bossanova raised her eyebrow at him—or where her eyebrow would have been, if she had any—and regarded him like a back-talking slave. “I give the orders, Gage, not you. Do you have any eggs?”

“I—what?” Her question caught him off guard. “Yeah, in the cupboard. Mirelurk.” He stared at her as she dumped her parcel on the floor, walked over to where he’d pointed, and began rooting through. He was thoroughly unsettled now.

“I give the orders, not you.”

He’d heard a similar phrase from Colter, a counter to every bad decision he’d ever made, except coloured with a few choice swears. The words were enough to twist Gage’s stomach with rage. This was a mistake. This was a fucking mistake. She was another Colter, and he’d just put her straight into power like some fucking—

“Sit down,” came Bossanova’s voice, and Gage snapped back to reality. She was standing at an old counter, cracking a large egg into a pan set over a portable camping stove.

Gage stared at her as she worked, before finding his voice. “Where have you been?”

“Sit down,” she repeated.

Gage didn’t move. Finally, she turned her head and looked at him. It was a strange expression—not angry, or even threatening—but still a look that told him plainly he needed to sit his ass down right-fucking-now.

Gage sat.

“Thank you,” Bossanova said, smiling a little as she cooked. Gage had to admit whatever she was doing smelled good, and within minutes a hot plate of white mushy stuff was placed on the table in front of him with a mug of steaming coffee next to it. Still, Gage hesitated, glancing at the boss's withered hands, and she laughed, catching his eye as she splayed her fingers out to him.

“Nothing’s fallen off, I promise.”

Despite himself, Gage chuckled, but didn’t eat. She sat down opposite him, tucking into her own food, apparently oblivious to Gage’s lack of appetite.

“Boss,” he said after a few seconds, “Where have you—”

She raised a hand and he stopped, a surge of annoyance coursing through him. He rose up, clenching his fists, and snarled, “I’m not your fucking dog. Give me an answer!”

Slowly, she tilted her head up to face him, and smiled a benign smile. “I’ve been playing meet and greet with the leaders of this motley crew.”

Gage stared. “You...you already talked to them?” He had to credit her for initiative at least.

“Almost all of them. Didn’t get a chance with the Operators. Still, I thought it would be sensible to size them up, and offer the same opportunity.”

Damn right it was sensible, he thought. Maybe she wasn’t so bad a choice after all. 

Gage scowled. “You could have told me.” He tensed his jaw, aware he sounded like he was whining, but she would have saved him a whole lot of hassle by keeping him informed. “I’m here to help you. If I’m not in the loop—”

“You’re here to help yourself,” she replied, sipping her own coffee without breaking eye contact. “I picked up on enough in the arena. If I fail, you die. Which is why we’re having dinner. I want to know who I’m working with first.”

Gage snorted. “Raiders.”

She gave him another one of her odd looks, and slowly he sat down again. He didn’t know what to make of her. She was sharp and seemed to know the game, which was good. But the secrecy...Gage chewed on his tongue. That could get him killed.

“So...” Bossanova said after a moment. “I get the sense this little scheme, whatever it is, isn’t quite working out the way you wanted it to.”

Gage groaned, putting his head in his hands. “Understatement of the fucking century,” he muttered, his head pounding just thinking about the mess he’d been in for the last year.

“Tell me what went wrong.”

Gage rubbed his eye, suddenly feeling very tired. He hesitated, then let his hands fall into his lap. Shit, where to begin?

Gage leaned back in his chair, still ignoring the plate of food in front of him, while Bossanova regarding him with mild interest, waiting for him to speak while she slowly ate. He frowned, searching for the words, and then said, “You may have noticed our former Overboss, Colter, was a fuckin’ asshole.”

Bossanova’s cool demeanour slipped as she suddenly choked on a forkful of whatever she’d just put in her mouth. He watched her for a moment, perplexed. If Gage didn’t know better, he’d say she was trying not to laugh. The thought alone made him want to grin, but he fought back the urge, keeping his face blank. He had no intention of getting buddy-buddy with her.

Acting like he hadn’t noticed anything, Gage went on. “And that’s me being nice. Ended up being poison for the entire operation.”

“What operation?” Bossanova wheezed, still coughing a little.

Gage sighed, shaking his head. “Well...Christ, how do I explain this? Nuka World...shit, Nuka World was the dream.” He turned his head, staring out of the open windows wistfully, even though the town and the rolling landscape beyond was obscured by darkness. “A fortress with enough raiders to rule the region—best goddamn idea I ever had...and the riskiest.”

“Risky because of all the raiders?”

“Sorta. It’s not so much the numbers, but more what makes the numbers. We got three separate gangs in this place, as I’m sure you noticed when you went to play meet and greet without telling me.”

He couldn’t keep the resentment out of his voice, but Bossanova seemed unmoved. She nodded, pausing with her fork halfway to her lips. “The Disciples, Operators, and the Pack?”

“Yeah.” Gage ran a hand through the short mohawk that was his hair. “You also might have noticed the traders on your little detour around the park.”

“The ones wearing the slave collars?” Bossanova said. Her voice gave away no opinion on the presence of slaves, which Gage took to be a good sign. Most people who hated slaves got all high and mighty over it. He had a tendency to shoot such people.

“Yeah, those assholes,” Gage said. “They were the reason we needed three gangs in the first place. See, Nuka World used to be a trading hub, and the little bastards were dug in like ticks. Hired guns protectin’ them, with shitloads of ammunition and medicine to boot.” He grinned nastily. “But three gangs, man. Lotta raw firepower. We won in the end.”

Bossanova considered this. “But there were survivors?”

“Well, yeah. Someone has to do the shitty jobs we don’t want to. One of the perks of being a raider, see?” His smile widened. “Hence the collars. Any of them cause trouble, stray out of bounds—fuck, any of them just pisses one of us off and bang—they lose their heads.” Gage shifted in his seat. “‘Course, they ain’t too happy about the change in management, but screw ‘em.”

Bossanova perked a non-existent eyebrow. “So far so good then?”

“At the time. But once we’d stormed the gates...things went downhill fast.” Gage stared at a point somewhere over Bossanova’s shoulder, anger twisting in his stomach like bloatfly maggots. “Colter got lazy.”

“Ah.”

“He decided Nuka Town was more than enough for all the gangs—nevermind what he fuckin’ promised them,” Gage growled, the hot rage seeping upwards like bile. “I tried to tell him there ain’t enough room for three gangs in this one section of the park, but he wouldn’t listen—didn’t care that things were turning into a mess all around him.”

Bossanova’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of mess?”

Gage rubbed his forehead with his knuckle, the headache flaring up again. “It was little shit at first: heated tempers, arguments, the occasional shooting. Y’know, stuff you can laugh off over a beer afterwards.” Gage shrugged. “Got worse over time, though—people started finding excuses to turn on each other, and that’s when it really got nasty, even for raiders.” He lowered his hand and looked at her. “If somethin’ ain’t done soon, there might be no coming back from it.”

“You have three gangs under your control,” Bossanova said coolly, looking extremely unimpressed. “Get to it.”

Gage glared at her. “I ain’t got shit under my control—Colter did. And as I already said: lazy asshole.”

“Well now he’s gone. What’s stopping you?”

“Leading ain’t my thing,” Gage replied, shrugging. “Not got the presence. I prefer to...advise.”

Bossanova gave a mirthless laugh, her black eyes glittering. “Oh, I see. So you’re just going to paint the bullseye on my back instead?”

He bristled with indignation, sitting up straighter in his seat. “I’m just tellin’ you it how it is. Would you rather I bullshit you?”

She didn’t respond. Her attitude was starting to piss him off, but in all honesty, he couldn’t blame her. She’d been dragged into this without any choice. Then again, the fact she was comfortable giving a raider shit made him feel slightly hopeful about her competence.

Gage scowled at her for a moment longer, then settled back again. “I mean, yeah, I won’t lie...not making myself a target is part of the reason you won’t see me stepping up an’ runnin’ things, but not all of it. I got experience in gangs—the knowhow to keep us both alive. My talents are best put to use helping a new overboss get all this shit under control. You get me?”

“A raider with talents,” Bossanova said scathingly, forgetting her food for a moment and folding her arms. “Wonders never cease. What sort of talents would you say you have, Gage?”

He crossed his legs, staring her out. “Aside from being a good shot and having a foul mouth?”

The corners of her lips twitched.

“I've run with gangs nearly my whole life,” Gage went on. “I know how they think, what they're after. And I know how to use that to your advantage.”

“Tell me about the gangs,” Bossanova said, her tone business-like, her gaze sharp. Gage felt like he was being interrogated.

“Well…” Gage bit his lip, wondering how best to keep this short. “You’ve met them already, haven’t you?”

“I know, but I’d appreciate the insight, since it’s one of your talents.”

He shot her a withering look. She wanted information on them? Fine. “The gangs here ain’t nothin’ like the ones back in the wasteland. They’ve got strong leaders, they’re organised, and they all fuckin’ hate each other. Took a shitload of effort to stop them fightin’ for five seconds, never mind getting them all on board with the plan.

“The Disciples are run by Nisha—those are the crazy bastards wearing the masks. Love blood and violence—got a particular fondness for skinning people.” He suppressed a shudder, having witnessed Nisha’s handiwork far too often for his liking. “Nisha can have her reasonable moments...though that’s been less and less lately thanks to Colter’s bullshit.

“Then you've got the Operators, the guys with the suits under the armour—look a lot cleaner than everyone else. Spoiled rich kids, but doesn't mean they ain't ruthless killers. If you can impress Mags, she'll listen to you, and she knows how to rake in the caps.”

Bossanova nodded approvingly at this.

“And finally there’s the Pack. I'm not sayin' they're savages, but...well, shit.” Gage shook his head. “ They're savages. I don't know how Mason keeps them on a leash. They dress in bright colours and bones because they think it makes them look intimidating, like animals do or whatever.” He paused. “I think it makes them look fucking stupid.”

To his surprise, Bossanova laughed. She grinned at him. “Glad we agree on something.”

Her laughter rose his spirits a little. She had to cooperate for this to succeed—his life was on the line if she didn’t. Gage nodded. “All the gangs need is someone to lead them. You just gotta show 'em you're the right woman for the job.”

A long, uncomfortable silence followed these words.

“And why,” she replied slowly, her tone pleasant and yet somehow dangerous, “would I want to lead this disaster?”

Shit.

“Well, why not?” A jolt of panic shot through him. She’d seemed interested a second ago, even warming to the idea. “Just give it a chance, okay? You might even have a little fun.”

“Fun?”

“Oh come on.” He stared at her in disbelief. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this after all, otherwise she wouldn’t be asking such a stupid goddamn question. “You take whatever you want, from whoever you want. Anybody has a problem with that, you cut 'em down. You telling me that doesn't sound like even just a little bit of fun to you?”

Bossanova pressed her lips together as if trying to stop herself laughing again. After a second, she allowed herself a small smile. “A little.”

Gage disguised his sigh of relief with a chuckle, his heart still beating nervously. “At any rate, if you leave now, that won’t go down so well. But if you’re gonna trust me on anything, trust me on this: I’m in it just as much as you are. There's already some blamin' me for supporting Colter all this time, including Nisha. This shit needs to work out, because if it don’t, both of our heads are gonna be on sticks. I like my head where it is and I intend to keep it there. You get me?”

Bossanova said nothing. She stared intently at him, making Gage feel like he was being analysed somehow. He was half expecting her to go back to communicating through taps.

After a few long seconds, he tried again. “So, what's it gonna be? We doing this together or not?”

She studied him a moment longer and then said, “So you’re that desperate you’re willing to place all your bets on the first waster that comes along?”

Gage raised his eyebrow. “You saw all those bodies in the Gauntlet, right?”

Bossanova nodded.

“Well then. Pretty obvious you ain’t the first. Lotta folks got fed to the Gauntlet and the arena—but the difference is you were the only one to make it out alive. Way I see it, surviving means you got what it takes. Or at least the potential. We need someone who can get shit done. Make real progress. That’s you.”

“I see.”

Bossanova returned to her plate of food and silence reigned.

Gage stared at her. He had the strange feeling he’d just passed some sort of initiation—as though all of her questions had served to size him up, to see if he was suitable for his position. But that was ridiculous. Nuka World was his idea. She couldn’t run the place without him.

More to give himself something to do, Gage pulled his own plate towards him, poked it awkwardly with his fork, and began to eat. Turned out it was still just egg, even if it looked like shit, but she’d done something to make it taste...different. Most likely the reason was ‘not being burnt to a crisp,’ but he suspected she’d added something too. Hopefully not poison.

Gage considered this for a moment and then shrugged. If she was trying to kill him, at least it tasted good. He continued to eat. Out of the corner of his eye, Gage saw her wince, but he didn’t care. Raiders weren’t known for their table manners.

“This is fine food,” Gage said with his mouth full, spraying egg everywhere, before swallowing and then picking up his coffee, slurping noisily from the mug. 

“I’ve had a couple of centuries to practice,” she replied delicately, setting her fork down onto her empty plate and watching Gage eat with an expression of alarm.

“Pre-war?” he asked, deciding to play along for now. She needed him whether she believed it or not. Otherwise, she’d end up like Colter.

“Yes, pre-war. I used to run a gang of my own before the bombs fell.”

“Oh yeah?” Now this piqued Gage’s interest, He’d heard of pre-war raiders, but no one who really ran with them. Shovelling the rest of his meal into his mouth, he looked up at the boss and said, “What was that like?”

Bossanova pursed her lips, drawing them up to her nose cavity as her brow furrowed, her cheeks moving from side to side. It took Gage a moment to realise she was wrinkling her nose—except she didn’t have one anymore. She flicked a piece of wayward egg off her arm, before leaning forward with a smile. “Back in my day, there was a bigger law presence. If you got caught, you could be locked away for the rest of your life. No hope of escape. Maybe even execution. So everything we did, we did it subtle. I intend to run things similar here.”

Gage burped and leaned back in his seat, coffee cup to hand. He’d visited enough cities to have an idea of what she was talking about. It was the reason most raiders stuck to smaller settlements. “The others won’t appreciate a quiet life, boss. You don’t give them what they want, they’ll kill you.”

She rolled her eyes. “They’ll get their blood and power, and whatever other itch they need to scratch. But that’s all they’ll get, and they’ll probably thank me for it too. I'm aiming higher than Nuka World.”

Gage blinked, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He frowned and lowered it. “Don’t run before you walk, boss. You need to sort this place out first.”

For some reason, she seemed pleased with his response.

“I like the way you think,” Bossanova said, draining the last of her coffee, and looked at him with a slight crease in her brow. “I’ve never had much faith in raiders, but you seem...” She set the cup down, her eyes suddenly distant.

Whatever he seemed, Gage never found out, because the wooden lift outside the window rumbled to life, and ten seconds later, Nisha rose into view. Out of instinct, Gage picked up his gun as he rose to his feet.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Bossanova said lazily, “I invited Nisha for a quick meeting.”

Nisha paused, staring around the room, before spotting the empty plates. She gave a soft laugh. “Never took you for a ghoul fucker, Gage. Can’t say I’m surprised, though.”

Bossanova stood up too, her hand on the hilt of her sword as she smiled. “I want to talk to you about a young lady that followed me from your hideout.”

Nisha didn’t move, but her mouth thinned slightly. “What lady?”

“Tall; muscular. Wore your uniform, smelled like a diseased molerat.” Bossanova shrugged, while Gage felt a pang of unease. “I use the term ‘lady’ generously. She decided to attack me.” A pause. “Did you know about it?”

His stomach tightened as Nisha’s mouth thinned so much it disappeared. He’d expected some resistance, but this far already?

Nisha said nothing, giving a sharp shake of her head. Gage relaxed a little. He knew her well enough to see she was being truthful.

Bossanova’s smile no longer reached her eyes. “I returned the favour.” She bent down, not breaking eye contact with Nisha, and picked up the plastic sheeted bundle she’d brought back with her. For the first time, Gage noticed a dark liquid was dripping steadily out of it.

Ah fuck.

Bossanova tossed Nisha the bag, and Nisha caught it by the rope. She pulled out a knife—causing Gage to grip his gun just that little bit tighter—and cut the bonds free so she could peer inside.

There was a long, quiet moment. Then Nisha began to laugh. A true, hearty laugh. She glanced up at Bossanova, wearing a wicked grin. “Looks like our little overboss knows how to get her hands dirty.” She threw the bundle at Gage’s feet and said, “I didn’t send her. I’m not that stupid. Lower your damn gun.”

Gage ignored her but stole a quick glance at the package by his feet. A severed head had rolled out from the plastic wrappings. He blinked at it, and directed his gaze back to Nisha, lost for words.

Nisha, on the other hand, was not. She looked at him, the corners of her mouth teased into the meanest of smiles, and said, “Seems you might deserve a second chance.”

“No.”

It took Gage a second to realise who had spoken. Both he and Nisha turned to stare at the boss.

“I’m the one giving you a second chance,” Bossanova said, her hand gripping hard at her sword hilt. All benignity gone, her gaze was cold and hard. Gage bit the inside of his cheek to suppress his grin. “If you say you didn’t send anyone, then I’ll allow a free pass this once. But keep your people under control. Now get out.”

Nisha laughed again. It was hard to tell what she was really feeling under the helmet, but her smile looked genuine at least.

“So, Gage found someone with a pair of balls.” She gave a short nod and folded her arms. “Good. Maybe you’ll shape up after all.”

Bossanova didn’t reply. Nisha turned and left, still smirking to herself.

Gage waited until the rumble of the wooden platform faded before letting out a low chuckle. “Nice work, boss. She knows not to fuck with you now. Might even respect you for it.”

“Do you think she sent the assassin?”

Gage considered the question, then shook his head. “Nah. Nisha ain’t stupid, like she said. She’d kill you given half the chance, but only if there was somethin’ to gain. Ain’t nothin’ to gain killin’ you now, boss. If she thinks you aren’t working to her benefit though, that might change.”

Bossanova nodded but didn’t reply, her rigid, hostile stance deflating as she sank into a chair. Maybe it was the light, but she looked a little pale. Gage decided not to question it. What the fuck did he know about ghouls? Instead, he took advantage of her silence and quickly outlined the needs for the park. The power had to be brought back on, but before they could do that, there were other sections to be claimed, each dangerous in their own right.

When he finished, she just sat there, staring at the opposite wall. Gage frowned. “You listenin’, boss?”

“Yes,” she said, still not looking at him. “Sounds like a solid plan to me.”

“Then why you giving me the cold shoulder?” The accusation slipped out before he could stop it. Gage readied himself for the shit he was about to receive, but she simply shook her head and smiled.

“I was just...thinking.” She paused, and then said, “I noticed you didn’t put your weapon down during our little meeting with Nisha. Thank you for defending me.”

Gage shrugged. He couldn’t claim credit. “I was saving my own skin, boss.”

“I know you were. But I appreciate it all the same.”

Gage frowned. She sounded sincere, but why?

She seemed to know what he was thinking. “So long as I work to your benefit, you’ll keep me breathing.” Bossanova smiled. “I trust your need to stay on top, and I trust your judgement of the park, but I don’t trust you about anything else. It’s as good a place to start as any.”

He stared at her. None of what she’d just said made a lick of sense to him. “I’m extendin’ your life expectancy. What else is there?”

Bossanova shrugged. “Many things.” She stood up and walked over to the severed head, nudging it back into its plastic nest. Then she picked the whole thing up, strode over to the window, and threw it out. “My trust needs to be earned.” There was a distant thud, followed by a string of curse words and a splash. Bossanova looked at Gage. “Up to you if you want it.”

Annoyance rushed through him, but he bit it back. She was trying to be cryptic, and he wasn’t going to stop her. So long as she got the park up and running, he didn’t give a shit about anything else. He waited for her to sit down again and then asked, “So...how did meeting the bosses go?”

“Well enough,” Bossanova replied with a yawn. She stretched in her seat and met his eye. “Mags and her brother want money, and that’s what I do best. I’ll seal the deal with them tomorrow. Mason wants someone to bully him around—I can provide that, too. Nisha wants blood...that may be more difficult. I’m in the habit of killing when it serves a purpose, or when someone crosses me. Not for fun. But we’ll see.”

Boring, Gage thought, resisting the urge to roll his eye. Then, before he could stop himself, he asked, “So why didn’t you kill Nisha? Disciples wanted back alley justice.” Gage held her gaze. He had to know. It felt fucking important somehow.

“Petty revenge won’t get this operation started. Nisha and her gang needed to be put in their place, but I could do that without killing her. There’s a delicate balance, and upsetting it isn’t in my best interests. Or yours.”

Gage stared long and hard at her. He felt a small spike of respect needle at him, but he pushed it away. She was pragmatic, but that didn’t mean shit. Their eyes met again, and he realised from the placid smile she was thinking the same thing.

“Get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

--

Gage woke to breakfast.

Not that he knew it at first. The plate of eggs—Christ, the boss liked her eggs—and something Bossanova called “brahmin bacon” had been served with a jab to the ribs, jolting him from his sleep.

He hadn't questioned what it was or why it had been given to him—a hot meal was a hot meal after all—and he tucked in enthusiastically. But like steam rising from a fresh cup of coffee, the concept drifted to the forefront of his mind.

This was breakfast. Gage stopped, fork halfway to his hanging mouth, and stared at the wall.

“God help me, boy, I will teach you table manners if I have to beat them into you,” Bossanova said, flapping an old rag in his general direction. “Shut your trap. I don’t need to see what you’re chewing.”

Gage clamped his mouth shut, swallowed, and then said, “This...this is breakfast, isn’t it?”

An amused smile flickered across Bossanova’s lips. “That’s traditionally what the first meal of the day is called, yes.” She hummed and continued to cook, the pan making a pleasant sizzling noise as she worked.

Gage stared down at the meal she’d made for him, as if trying to scry some great universal truth from the yolky mess. He let his fork fall back to his plate with a clatter. “What the fuck is this?”

Bossanova looked over her shoulder and raised a non-existent eyebrow. “As you so succinctly put: breakfast.”

Gage rose to his feet, sending the plate spinning. It shattered, scattering god knew what all over the floor, and he glared at her, his stomach lurching in a way he didn’t like at all. “You know what the fuck I’m on about. Who makes this kind of shit anymore? Breakfast? What’s your damn game? You’re supposed to be the boss, not making...whatever the fuck this is.”

Bossanova frowned. “It’s bacon and eggs. If you don’t like it, starve.”

She turned her back on him and flipped the slices of meat in her pan. The humming returned a few seconds later, though slightly strained. Gage stared at the ties on her apron—where the hell did she get an apron from?—clenching and unclenching his fists. This was stupid. The whole thing was stupid.

Breakfast.

The last time he’d had breakfast, he’d been twelve years old. A few hours later, the raiders came calling. And just like that, he’d slipped away.

Fucking breakfast.

Gage scowled at Bossanova and dropped back onto the sofa with a heavy flump. She didn’t turn around again until she finally moved from the stove. Her face was impassive as she stepped neatly over the ruined remains of his own meal, and sat down opposite him. He tried not to watch her as she ate, but within minutes his stomach rumbled. He frowned, staring anywhere but her, well aware of her eyes boring into him.

“Hungry?” she said eventually.

“No.” Gage said to his knees. His stomach betrayed him by rumbling even louder.

“Clean up the plate, and I’ll make you some more.”

His head snapped up to look at her. “Why the fuck—”

“Because I’m not an animal, Gage,” Bossanova interrupted, her gaze as sharp as her tone. “And when I get the opportunity not to live like one, I take it. Since we’re partners in this, I extend the courtesy to you. If you’d rather I treat you like the rest of the feral rats crawling all over this camp, say the word. Otherwise, pick up your damn mess.”

Her ferocity caught him off guard, and he leaned back into the sofa, eyebrows raised. “Feral, huh? Sounds like you got a grudge, boss.”

“I’m pre-war. I can’t help but judge by Old World standards.” She ate another mouthful. “Besides, you agree with me, otherwise you wouldn’t be in the position you are. Most of them are stupid, with no self control. No smarts. You’re different. Doesn’t take much to see who the brains behind the operation is.”

“Flattery is nice,” Gage shot back, feeling on edge again, “but don’t think it’ll fucking soften me. Because it won’t.”

“I know it won’t. That’s why you’re smart.” She finished her food and stood up. “So, do you want a second round?”

Gage glanced at the broken plate on the floor. Like hell he would pick it up. “No. I’m good.”

Bossanova shrugged. “Suit yourself. Grab your gun. We’ve got business with Mags.”

--

The Operator’s hive buzzed with activity as Gage and Bossanova strode through the front door of the Parlor. Thick red curtains lined the walls over a dimly lit, richly furnished room. Little tables were dotted around, complete with tablecloths and chairs, and dusty rugs covered the scratched wooden floor.

As they moved into Mags and William’s inner sanctum, Gage spied the—what had William called it?—chandelier he hated so much.

Gage rolled his eyes. Fragile and for show. Just like Mags’ ego.

The head Operator was sat at the end of a long table, her fingers locked together in contemplation as she stared down her prey. Her brother stood in her shadow, waiting to strike.

The place was far too clean for Gage’s liking. But for what it lacked in threatening decor and body parts, it made up for in smell. He appreciated not having to test his gag reflex, unlike every tense visit to Nisha.

Bossanova scanned the room, her face a mixture of approval and indifference. Whatever her “pre-war standards” were, the Parlor didn’t quite match up.

Mags laid her hands back in her lap and slowly got to her feet. Like her base, she was cleaner than the average raider, her blonde hair styled intricately, her features unmarked and distinctly beautiful. She reminded Gage of the posters of movie stars still clinging to the crumbling walls of city ruins. Her brother was more nondescript, with greying hair swept out of his face and a trim beard. But still.

Clean.

A real raider got their hands dirty. Gage worked hard to keep his features blank as Bossanova marched ahead. Whatever he thought of them, they knew how to make money.

“Overboss,” Mags said sleekly, her gaze sharp. “I wondered if we’d been forgotten, what with Nisha and Mason receiving private audiences on your first day.” She gave a nasty smirk. “One would think you were playing favourites.”

“I cut the head off a Disciple and put Mason in his place.” Bossanova folded her arms. “And now I have the chance to speak to you without risk of interruption. Take that how you want.”

Mags glanced over her shoulder at William. Her expression betrayed nothing, but Gage knew better.

He waited.

An Operator appeared at Mags’ side as if he’d stepped out of thin air, two glasses and a dusty green bottle in hand. He set them down, opened the bottle with a dull ‘pop’, and poured out the blood red liquid within. The Operator handed the first glass to Mags, the second to Bossanova. He shot Gage a withering look and then left. Gage didn’t give a shit.

Bossanova stood with her glass, watching Mags. Only when Mags drank did Bossanova follow suit.

Good. At least she’s expecting trouble.

“You know this place will struggle to accept a ghoul.” Mags paused, and eyed Bossanova over the rim of her glass. “What would you do if I addressed you as ‘ghoul?’ Hypothetically, of course.”

Bossanova’s smile remained fixed, but something dark flickered through her eyes. “I’d slice off your pretty little nose and feed it to Mason’s Pack.” She sipped her drink. “Hypothetically, of course.”

Mags raised an eyebrow. William, on the other hand, stepped forward and said lowly, and calmly, “I’d tear your head off first.”

“No doubt,” Bossanova replied. “Won’t get your sister’s nose back.”

William turned to Mags. They stared at each other for a moment, and then William returned to his place.

“Feisty one, aren’t you?” Mags drained her glass and sat down, waving her hand at a nearby seat for Bossanova. Bossanova remained standing, staring down at Mags. Gage chuckled, earning himself a sharp glare from William.

Bossanova sipped her drink, and smiled. “Word on the street is you’re good at making money.”

“Good?” Mags set down her glass and crossed her legs. “We’re the best.”

“That’s what I like to hear. So prove it.”

Mags frowned. “Pardon?”

“Prove it. Show me your outfit. Your schemes.” Bossanova finished her glass and placed it carefully on the table. “I’m Old World, honey. In my day, making money was my specialty. So let’s see what you have to offer.”

If Mags took issue to being called ‘honey,’ she didn’t show it. Instead, she sat up a little straighter. “I have some knowledge about pre-war gangs. Which one were you in?”

“Cosa Nostra.”

Whatever that meant, Gage didn’t have a fucking clue. Apparently Mags did, though, because her eyes widened. She glanced at her brother, who looked equally surprised, and then back at Bossanova. “Rank?”

“Boss.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Bossanova shrugged. “Does it matter if it’s true?”

Mags laughed. “Would certainly add a pinch of romance to this whole mess.” She leaned back in her chair. “And if you are what you say you are, you might be just what we need to get things rolling again.” She paused, and then said, more to herself, “Mafia…”

Gage frowned. Now that word he knew.

“Get on my good side and I might even tell you about it.” Bossanova gestured for Mags to stand. “How about you give me the grand tour?”

Mags stood without argument; without a hint of ill grace. Gage suspected later, when she came to her senses, she would rage over being ordered around her own base, but right now her sculpted features were filled with intense intrigue.

“Follow me, Overboss.”

Gage learned more about Mags’ operations in the next hour than he’d ever suspected or even cared to know. Most of it he understood—the basics of the schemes, including Lizzie Wyath’s ‘persuasion’ experiments. But when Bossanova started to talk technical about money—something Mags lapped up—he tuned out. The Operators were brought into the fold to run their complex scams, not teach them to Gage.

One thing he did notice was how at ease Bossanova seemed around Mags. Well...not quite at ease. Her subtle, guarded demeanour pleased Gage—she was taking this seriously.

No, Bossanova seemed in her element. Mags responded in kind. She even let Bossanova into her private quarters to show her the latest plans she was putting together. At one point, he thought he saw Bossanova’s hand reach out and take something off a desk, but it happened so quick, he couldn’t be sure. Mags and William didn’t notice, though, and carried on showing Bossanova around. By the end of it, Gage was half expecting Mags to announce their fucking engagement. Instead, the two women stared each other down.

“I hope you can follow through,” Mags said with a curt nod. “Would be a shame to replace you after such a promising start.”

“Likewise.Thank you for the tour. I think our money is going to be in good hands.” Bossanova inclined her head and turned to Gage. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Gage matched her step as they strode from the building. Unable to resist it, he stole a quick look back at Mags and William. They were muttering to each other, not paying any attention to him. There weren’t any smiles, but there weren’t any frowns either.

Gage breathed a sigh of relief. Bossanova had bought them some time.

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

A Bump in the Road: Chapter 1

Summary:  Your life is perfect. It’s everything you want it to be and more... until a series of events makes it crumble around you. However, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel and it comes from an unexpected source. Pairing: Bucky x Reader Warnings: Swearing (as always) Word Count: ~2,253 A/N: @just-some-drabbles This is for JSD’s Rom-Com challenge. It’s my first time writing something for this genre and I hope you all enjoy it!

Masterlist // Next Chapter

You had your interview today. It was a huge opportunity for you and you’d woken up early; way before your boyfriend, Austin, had even stirred. You gave him a kiss on the cheek but he was so dead to the world he didn’t even twitch. You smiled down at him and took a moment to appreciate the life you’d built together. You’d moved in nearly a year ago to an apartment on the north side of New York City, but everything was still a roller coaster. Austin often worked late into the day, earning enough money to make up for the much smaller amount you currently made. He was busy and you did your best to support him, waking up early to make him lunches and having dinner ready before he got home. You only had the one part-time job, so time wasn’t an issue for you and you loved cooking anyway.

Today, though, you focused on yourself. You spent extra time in the bathroom, getting your makeup just right and taking special care with your hair. By the time you were satisfied you looked gorgeous. You took the time to scramble up some eggs and make some toast, not wanting to stop for food on the way. You glanced at the clock.

Yup, right on time, you thought to yourself, smiling a little. You were determined to make today perfect.

“I’m leaving for the interview, babe! Have a good day!” you called down the hallway, earning only a garbled “Good luck” in response. You smiled, chuckling a little. You were surprised you got a response at all; He was always grumpy and nonverbal in the morning.

It was early- the sun was barely up- but people were already bustling up and down the street. Shops were opening and people headed every which way on their journey to work. You unlocked your phone and started playing some music through your headphones before pulling up directions to the building they’d told you to come to for the interview.

It was only a few stops on the subway, then a short walk. Nothing too horrible, but you’d have to go into Manhattan, which you hated. That was part of why you’d given yourself so much time; If there was an unexpected delay or if something went wrong, you wouldn’t be late.

The subway was packed, as always, but you made it onto your train and arrived safely at your stop a short while later. You emerged from the subway station, realizing only at that moment that it looked like it was going to rain (and soon, by the looks of those clouds).

You watched in horror as a thick sheet of rain made its way down the street, straight towards you. You ducked into the nearest cafe, cursing yourself for not checking the weather or thinking ahead enough to bring an umbrella.

Still, you had some time and getting a cup of coffee definitely wasn’t the end of the world. The building was close by and, if need be, you could make a run for it. You’d get a little wet, but it wouldn’t be too bad. You decided to hold out to see if it got a little less horrible first, though, and enjoy your coffee in the warmth of the shop in the meantime.

To your delight, it let up only a little while later. Your coffee had barely even cooled down enough to drink.

You grabbed your jacket, threw it on quickly, then grabbed your purse and made a hasty exit from the shop. You pulled your phone out and were so engrossed in bringing up the directions that you didn’t have time to dodge the man that was storming out of the shop you were walking past, phone jammed angrily to his ear.

“Listen, punk! I didn’t sign up for-”

You had just enough time to look up at the noise before he bowled into you, knocking you to the wet, cold ground. It felt like getting hit by a brick wall. As if that weren’t enough, your coffee had been shoved from your hand and spilled down your entire front, ruining your shirt completely and soaking you with hot coffee.

You looked down at yourself in horror. You didn’t have time to go back home and change. You had time, still, but not that much. You started panicking. You had to get a new shirt.... and oh, fuck, pants, too. The coffee had stained those, too (not to mention they were soaking from landing in a puddle.

“Is this really happening?” you asked, barely holding it together. “This can’t be happening,” you said incredulously.

“Oh, hell, I’m so sorry,” he said, demeanor changing in an instant. “Call you back, Steve,” he said absently to the person he’d been on the phone with. He ended the call and shoved his phone in his back pocket. He extended a hand which you took reluctantly. You had to get a change of clothes, and fast. Your blood froze when you realized. Did you even have enough money for a completely new outfit? You racked your brain, thinking. If you were careful with what you bought, you’d probably still have enough for bills and groceries this month, but-

“Miss?” the man who’d knocked you over asked hesitantly, leaning down slightly so he was eye level with you. You blinked, realizing he’d been talking to you while you’d been lost in your own head. It was only then that you really looked at him and you swore you stopped breathing.

He was stunning. Steel blue eyes bored into yours, concerned frown on his face. His short dark brown hair was styled nicely and you had the overwhelming urge to run your fingers through it; it looked so soft. You realized you were staring and quickly avoided his gaze, dusting yourself off self-consciously.

“Sorry, what?” you asked, distracted. As pretty as this man was, you had to figure everything out before your scheduled interview time, which was looming closer by the second.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes roaming you up and down for any injuries.

Was that a Brooklyn accent? It sounded like a Brooklyn accent. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you said. It wasn’t technically a lie. You weren’t hurt, but you were about to have a meltdown. “I, uh, really have to go. I’m in a rush,” you said distractedly. It was harder than it should have been to turn around and walk away from him, but you had things to do. With one last look at him you turned and started jogging away, purse clutched under your arm, jacket held over the worst of the coffee stain.

“Wait! Please!” you froze, surprised, as his hand closed gently around your arm. You turned and eyed him up and down suspiciously. You were suddenly aware of how much bigger he was than you. You’d taken some self defense classes, but he looked ripped. You didn’t like your chances if he ended up being a creep. Once you’d stopped, though, he let go of your arm and gave you an apologetic look. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have- Uh, please let me make it up to you,” he said earnestly.

“What do you mean?” you asked, genuinely surprised. Chivalry from a random passerby? In New York City? In 2017?

“Let me pay for the dry cleanin’, or-” he looked at your soiled white shirt and grimaced. “-Or just replace it altogether. That was completely my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was goin’, and-”

You were... pleasantly surprised. That was a kind offer. However, you didn’t have time to put your clothes through dry cleaning and didn’t want to just take money from a stranger.

“I’m sorry, I really am in a hurry. I have an interview in-” you checked your watch and let out a strangled cry “-45 minutes! I have to go buy new clothes and-”

“Let me take you shoppin’. I’ll pay for all of it,” he said seriously.

You gaped at him, taken completely off guard. “Are you for real right now?” you asked, looking him up and down like he was some sort of alien.

He nodded earnestly, waiting for your answer.

You bit your lip, weighing your options. Somewhere between thinking about how much time you had left and how much money you had in your bank account you hit Fuck It.

“Alright, but let’s hurry, please,” you said, nodding to him. His smile was radiant and you felt your cheeks heat under his gaze.

“Thanks, Doll,” he said as he took your hand and pulled you down the street. You realized only then that he had a glove on his hand and it felt... surprisingly hard underneath. A prosthetic maybe? You knew you should have been more upset about a stranger holding your hand, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Barneys? You’re taking me to Barneys?” you asked, staring up at the huge luxury department store in shock.

He shrugged, looking between you and the store. “It was close by and I hear they have nice clothes.”

You scoffed. That was the understatement of the century. “You know how expensive they are, right?” you asked, eyeing the people who went in and out of the store warily.

He chuckled and pulled you along, into the store. “I think I’ll be ok, but thank you for being worried about my financial well-bein’,” he said, stopping to look at the directory. “Women’s... women’s...” he mumbled as he scanned the sign. “Ah, floor five. Let’s go,” he said, stepping onto the escalator. You shuffled along behind him, eyes roaming the department store as you went up the levels. You didn’t even dream of coming in here. If you had that much money to spend on clothes you’d put it towards savings instead.

“What time is your interview?” he asked, glancing at his watch.

“10:15,” you said, nervousness returning at the mention of the looming deadline.

“We’ve got time, but it’ll be close,” he said easily, stepping off the escalator onto the fifth floor. “Let’s get this done and get you out of here and on your way,” he said, letting go of your hand to start searching through racks of clothes. You started searching, too. It was only a few minutes later when he popped up between shelves of clothes, an elegant white blouse in his hands.

“Here, how about this?” he asked, holding it out to you.

“It’s perfect,” you said, admiring it. He even got the size right and he didn’t even have to ask.

“Just some pants now, then?” he asked, eyeing your stained pair guiltily.

You hummed your assent, moving to the other side of the floor where they kept their bottoms. You found a passable pair within a minute or two, thankful for all of the nice clothing options.

“All set?” he asked, surprising you again. Man, he was good at sneaking up on you.

“Yeah, seems like,” you said, holding up the pants a little for him to see.

“Let’s go pay, then,” he said, nodding his head towards the escalators.

You nodded, suddenly a little sad your time with him would be over soon. He was a gentleman, something you didn’t see a whole lot of nowadays. Although you convinced yourself your eyes were playing tricks on you, it almost seemed as though he was having similar thoughts, frown creasing his brow.

Ten minutes later you’d paid for the clothing and changed in the store’s bathroom, throwing the tags and soiled clothes into the trash. You had to admit, the shirt did look great on you. He’d chosen well.

You went back to the front of the store where he said he’d be waiting and, to your surprise, a taxi was waiting at the curb for you. He beckoned you over, opening the door for you.

“You look great. You’re gonna kill at that interview, Doll,” he said, smiling at you. You felt your cheeks heat again and gave him a small smile back.

“C’mon, you’re gonna be late,” he said, gesturing to the cab. “I’ve already paid for wherever you need to go, and Albert here has promised to get you there quickly.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“Go!” he said, smiling widely at you.

He was right. You were going to be late. You slid easily into the cab and buckled your seat belt as he closed the cab’s door.

It was only once the door shut that you realized you hadn’t said thank you. You spun in your seat as the cab pulled off of the curb. He was still on the sidewalk, watching your taxi as it went. He seemed surprised that you’d turned around, confusion clear on his face. You smiled and mouthed “thank you” very clearly and he broke out in a smile.

It only hit you once you turned back around. You hadn’t even gotten his name.

The light had turned green and your eyes widened in horror. You rolled down the window and stuck your head out and yelled “What’s your name?!”

He’d turned to walk away but at the sound of your voice he turned around again. Even as the cab took you farther and farther away you could see the smile on his lips. He opened his mouth and said something, but you couldn’t hear it. He was too far away and the sounds of the city drowned him out.

Then, the cab turned the corner and he vanished from view.

Chapter 2

This series is finished, but if you want to be tagged in my other fics, check out this post! Sorry, but responses to this post asking to be tagged will be ignored, so send me an ask or like one of the taglist posts!

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