#don't worry that's just a hungry puppy he smells hotdogs probably

[charming-doodles]

Dannymay Day 28 : Campfire

Obligatory Gravity Falls reference

[yyyeahduuude]

there's a moon on

Pontius x reader - first date sorta thing - he lives in his truck. he's cute. just a drabble. nothing serious.

He picks you up in his truck - beat up, a little old, the inside is filthy and littered with CDs and a pair of shoes and what looks like a cut up shirt, and it reeks of weed. But he's a guy, and he's Chris, so you aren't surprised, and you don't even care, especially with the way he smiles at you, some hair that won't stay behind his ear falling in front of his eyes. You have to force yourself to not move it away.

He's all shy as he says hey and you're confused by the lack of usual confidence he has, but you grin and pick at a hangnail.

"Hey," you say kinda quiet, matching him, not sure what to say or do, heart thumping harder.

"I don't know how you feel about hotdogs, but.. I'm kind of a big fan."

You laugh and it's a soft, little thing, but it makes him happy, and he grins in that cute, puppy-faced way he does. "Hotdogs are kinda my thing," you tell him, and it's a lie, they are not your thing, not even close, but you can stomach it.

"Rad."

You grin at each other, both faces a light shade of red, too many nerves, and the sun going down over the hills.

-

Two greasy bags of hotdogs sit on the dashboard, another greasy bag of onion rings with them, and you're driving around, looking for a good area to sit and watch the city, but you've done it before, too many times, honestly, and you just want to be on a couch with him in a dimly lit room and watch a stupid movie and maybe, like, kiss him.

"Chris... let's just go to your place. I don't mind," you try to convince him, and you notice how awkward he gets after that, how he tries to find a way to play it off like it doesn't affect him that you suggested it.

"You see, uh..." he makes a face and some sound and you just stare, confused and hungry, and he does his signature, lips pursed and eyes cute. "We're kind of in my place."

"... I mean your house, Chris," you keep it slow, trying to understand, since you know his humor is fucking weird. He chuckles.

"Yeah, I have one of those homes on wheels."

It clicks and you tilt your head and try to gauge if he's okay with the fact that he lives in his car, and once you know it doesn't bother him, you're smiling back and you look around the small cab of the truck and nod. "Can you give me a tour then?"

You can see him physically relax, shoulders hunch some, knows you don't give a shit, and he doesn't know why he was worried about it in the first place. You aren't exactly the epitome of luxury.

"Precisely four square feet of room. All utilities included, except sewage, of course. Stunning views, as you can see," he motions out across the valley you're looking over, lights shining, and you laugh, nerves acting up again because he's standing so close to you, smells wonderful, weed and some cologne he probably stole from one of the guys too long ago.

"Cheap rent, I'm sure," you say, and he smiles again.

"Let's just say... the landlord has a thing for me," he makes another face, and your heart swells with how animated he is, so full of life and the beauty of that type of person that wants to fill other people with it.

"They aren't the only one."

He lets out a little 'oooh' and you laugh too high pitched for your liking, and you're blushing some, and he can tell, and he's grabbing your hand and pulling you to the back of the truck where he pops open the back glass and lets the tailgate down.

He sits next to you and then hops right up and gives you a sheepish look and rushes to go put a CD in and grab the food, and as he's walking back, you can hear Johnny Cash coming through, sad and lonely, and you know it' something recent. Not what you listen to, but you don't care. Chris is so pretty as he sits next to you, everything falls away and you watch as he takes an onion ring out and dangles it in front of your face, and you laugh again as you take it from him.

It's kind of awkward, everything between you two - awkward but so nice and juvenile, like a first date at fifteen or something, two clueless kids trying to find that avenue into existing with each other.

He tells you about living in his truck, about all of the places he's slept, the not-so-incredible incidents he's had to endure. He tells you about the guys and about his childhood, how much he loves metal. He shows you his barbell, shows you his thongs, you laugh at each one and ask him to do a fashion show for you, but he gets shy and responds with a "I don't get frisky on the first date, ma'am."

You tell him about your childhood pets, what brought you out to the city, the song that's getting to you most at the moment. You tell him how nervous you were to come out with him tonight, how you didn't know why he had asked you. You tell him about your favorite thrift store, he asks you to take him. But you don't tell him how you don't like hotdogs.

When he drives you back home, you sit there for a second, his hand holding onto yours in a loose, comforting grip, his calloused fingers brushing over your own. Neither of you speak, Johnny is still playing through the radio, and you think about how that was the best damn hotdog you've ever eaten.