#i actually want the hot dog stool that’s a mood

[john-marshall]

facebook marketplace. hello?

[got-ticket-to-ride]

hi sorry but do you have any soft mclennon moments to share too :') the post you made about 22 seconds of longing hurt oh my god

Sorry for the delay in reply anon. I'm actually just a corporate collar acting my way as a temporary secretary every hard day's night, jobbing like a dog, 8 days a week in an English garden to afford a tan in the rain.

Hope this finds you well! Here are 22 McLennon moments as compensation for Johnny's 22 agonizing seconds in the pining video.

1.) "I'm Happy Just to Dance with You" scene when they both looked at each other at the same time. And the director had to pan out the scene because it would've been too straight. I know dilated pupils when I see it.

2.) Inviting your favorite boy to a solo trip to Spain but you stayed in Paris because it was so romantic, sharing a bed, picking out clothes for each other, slurping all the banana shakes, you know normal roommate things according to historians.

3.) Getting a solo invitation from a hot photographer and bringing along your best boy because you are attached to the hip and can't be separated.

4.) Their need to constantly touch each other

5.) Scene in Help (1965), where John is using all his strength to carry George and Ringo's weight and not crush Paul (because boyfriend things)

6.) Holding hands for mental support during a recording. (John is needy, please forgive him)

7.) Walking Martha like a couple in 1967 - outfits coordinated and all

8.) Impressions by people who met them:

"[John and Paul] sort of had their own way of communicating. Hardly anything was spoken, they just knew what the other wanted or was getting at and they had the most amazing talent."

"He was like a different animal with Lennon. When they were together they became something else, more than just the two of them together. That communication was incredible. It was like two high-speed computers just fizzing between each other."

9.) John is hiding his cigarette behind him, because he doesn't want to bother Paul with the smoke. (You know, boyfriend things).

10.) A portrait, king and princess up front. John's thigh just casually resting on Paul's (yet again).

11.) The spider fingers during a press conference, because they are actually both 12

12.) That very flirty jam session in Austria in 1965 that was cut short, but they probably continued after anyway

13.) The way they talk about the day they met sounds like "how I met the love of my life" Happy Honeymoon <3

14.) Quote from Emerick

The lights in the studio were turned off to set the mood; the sole source of illumination was a table lamp next to the wall. The two beatles, lifelong friends and collaborators, sat on high stools, facing each other, studying each other’s lips intently for phrasing.

15.) When they answer each other's songs

Paul in Can't Buy Me Love: "If it makes you feel alright?"

John: "I Feel Fine"

17.) “I could even hear what they were saying off-mike; ‘Oh Paul, you’re so cute tonight’ was met with the reply, ‘Sod off, Lennon.’” — Joan Baez on accompanying the Beatles to their concert in Red Rocks Amphitheatre, Denver. 26 August 1964

18.) Paul looking at John like he wants to eat him later after finishing with "I'm a Loser"

19.) Giving instructions on how John's hair needs to "look"

20.) Paul acting as John's walking stick

21.) Paul's heart eyes during this 1966 conference (also that lip bite... eat you later?):

22.) John the worried boyfriend who checks on Paul in the middle of an interview and doesn't believe him when he just says : "oh, yeah..."

John internally: "come on now, why aren't you laughing at my joke babe? You're unwell!!!"

The Bottles over and out.

Thank you for this ask. This was quite fun! Would love to hear your thoughts too <3

[handelplayssims]

Oh great. Now it’s thunderstorming in Newcrest. Just great. Anyway, Supriya’s taking care of her needs and heading off to bed from that late night out, Pierce’s wish is to gain charisma, so off to his bedroom mirror he goes and Evie...-shrug- She’s scared from being outside and in the thunder so I sent her to her bed to cower for a bit and then just had her read a book. Thunderstorms give a scared moodlet that’ll stay as long as the storm is going on. Sims are just naturally nervous about these storms. I would more just be tense. What if the power goes out?! Evie was sleepy while during reading so she also headed to bed. It’s just us and Pierce again.

His next whims are to cloudgaze with his sleeping mother and the other is to gain 10 new online followers from social media. ...he would be a social media teen wouldn’t he? It was as simple as updating his social media status.

Hmm. I kinda want to hang with the boys somewhere. He has a boyfriend named Harrison and is friends with Orange Bailey-Moon but doesn’t know the traits of either. So we should hang! And I know the place!

Celebrity home!

The Bailey-Moon’s won the lottery once so I got them a house renovation. And made a level addition because they had not just one child, but TWO! Octavia wants her large household. And perhaps I should adjust the walls on that addition, it looks a bit off from this angle. Or perhaps it’s the roof. ANYWAY, let’s hang!

Hilariously, both my vampire Harrison and Orange have been found out to have the Outgoing trait. Just immensly friendly people. After nabbing a bite to eat from the fridge, the boys are having a basketball challenge.

Finally, there was one thing I wanted to do…

Sorry bro. Just don’t have the same passion as I did once before bro. As in, I personally am not really feeling this couple. It also sent Pierce into an immediate mood swing of feeling incredibly embarassed. It’s time to retreat and go somewhere else. Somewhere with a good jogging path. The Oasis Spring’s park will do!

This is another pull from the gallery as I very much got what the devs were going for with the park, I just wanted a more fleshed out version of it.

Anyway, we’re specially jogging because that helps with emotional control, what our mother dearest advised doing! So let us jog around this incredibly hot weather! We are stinky from this workout so let’s head back home. Brant Hecking decided to drop by with a gift so I set Pierce to invite him after a bath. He also makes someone good to ask about advice and encouragement after the whole break-up thing.

And then there’s just managing Supriya’s and Evie’s needs while they are scared thanks to the rainstorm. Which, annoying. Pretty annoying. Supriya’s first whim was to solve hard problems, which, I think builds logic. Mostly I’m just trying my hardest to get her out of that scared moodlet. Of which, my immediate thought is meditation and calming stuff so, I purchased a meditation stool and tried to find a place in this very cramped home for her to take some time to meditate. Evie is also doing something similar by trying to calm down and relax with Lazerwolf, who just loves being a lap dog. Thankfully, that actually worked for Evie! And the meditation did for Supriya. Now she’s listening to the retro tunes while Evie is working on dog training Lazerwolf to play fetch.

Oh! The listening to the tunes actually got Supriya into an emotionally mindful state! That’s something added in with Snowy Escape. It means you could freely choose what emotion you can put yourself into. I however, find that boring. I make it random! And we got a very good one, which is bold! I think that, plus whole emotionally mindful thing sounds like I could have a good justification for purchasing the Storm Chaser reward trait for Supriya. Storms mean nothing to her now! Or at least she won’t be scared.

And on Pierce tired, sad, having cleaned up the household, Evie back to being scared and Supriya being the only one feeling good, we head to bed! Oh but, thanks to being scared as she went to bed, Evie woke up with a nightmare! Of being eaten by a sentient murphey bed. Truly terrifying. As even non-sentient, they are dangers. Though just as I had her go to the restroom and take a bath, the storm ended and she was happy. Because she was thinking about how fun those toddler days she had was. A very strong minor buff, that. Back to bed and back to sleep! For now it’s time for-

Neighborhood Watch!

Curtis Koenig in the Koenig household left his job as a Stand Up Star in the Comedian career.

Imane Mounib in the Mounbib household has died. Imane got a little too angry and exploded.

[buckyownsmylife]

Hooli. For a headcanon, how would reader react when she sees Bucky with short hair for the first time?

Such a cute little prompt! Thanks for always popping in on my ask with your ideas, honey! I love seeing you sent me a request!

Today is Headcanon Sunday! I’ll be writing all day - send me your ideas!

Let’s imagine he’s been trying to work up the courage to ask you out for a while now

You are just so pretty and nice and you even smell nice

So nice in fact that when you’re around, he can’t even think straight

So that’s how he ends up putting his foot on his mouth

Constantly

To the point where he decided to just start avoiding you altogether

But even that couldn’t stop him from making a fool of himself near you

“Leaving so soon?” You’d ask just as he suddenly got up from the stool when you joined the team for breakfast

“Yeah, I… left the dogs out,” he answered, instantly frowning at his own answer, and mentally cursing Stark for playing that song in the last party he threw

You’d just turn around to stare at Natasha with your mouth hanging open, absolutely astounded

“... I didn’t even know he had dogs around.”

The entire team would burst into laughter, and Bucky would go back into his room with his cheeks burning, once again kicking himself for not knowing how to act around you

So of course, Steve and Sam decided to talk to him

“She likes you, man! Of course she does!” Sam would insist, taking a seat by his side on the mattress while Bucky hid behind his hands, his elbows on his thighs.

“I don’t know why,” he’d grunt, and although his friends wanted to laugh at his unusual dramatic mood, they were too concerned to do so.

“Hey, none of that! You are a great man, Buck! And you deserve someone as incredible as Y/N loving you.” Steve, of course, would know exactly how to talk to him.

“I don’t know… I just… I wish I could find just a little bit of the confidence I used to have back in the days, for just enough time to ask her out.”

Steve and Sam exchanged looks, having talked about this before.

“... What?” Of course, Bucky wouldn’t miss it.

“We think a change of look might help you.” Steve would explain it, but Bucky still wouldn’t get it.

“So what, you guys want to buy me a leather jacket?”

That would break them, Steve and Sam would definitely start laughing

“Something a little bigger than that…”

Bucky was a bit nervous to have his hair cut, even if he actually got excited at the guy’s suggestion

He asked Steve to accompany him to the barbershop his friend managed to find that looked just like the ones they had back on the days

When the scissors first approached his head, he gripped the Captain’s hands tightly

And Steve had to slap it away and ask him to behave, just like a child

But it was all worth it when he got back to the Tower that night and saw your mouth hanging open for something completely different than his usual nonsense

You wouldn’t be able to say anything at first, too busy taking in the change, and what you knew it meant for Bucky

“So?” He’d ask, incredibly nervous to hear your opinions on it

And after a few seconds, you’d be able to find your voice and tell him, “You look beautiful, Sargent.”

“Beautiful?” He’d obviously question

“Well, I can’t very well say you look hot and that I want to climb you like a tree while everyone’s watching us, huh?”

Bucky would become beet red, but at the same time, your sassy ways were the confirmation he needed to find that courage inside of him

“Does this mean you would like to go out with me tonight?”

You’d open a beautiful smile before responding

“Only if you’d let me spend dinner talking about everything your new haircut makes me want to do to you.”

Bucky, let-me-climb-you-like-a-tree challenge!

[spooderboyandtincan]

You're Gonna Miss Me When I'm Gone

Chapter 2

There’s a spider on the ceiling.

Peter can barely make out its eight gangly legs through a blur of tears. He feels some sort of bond with it- not only because of the DNA they share- but because they’re both alone. Then again, the spider has probably spent its entire life in this room, and Peter’s only been here- on a whole different continent- for a good couple of hours.

Maybe it’s just the jet lag. According to literally anyone who’s known him at all- he gets adorably grumpy when he hasn’t gotten his beauty sleep (Tony’s words, not his.)

Who does he think he’s kidding? He’s homesick, he’s alone, and he really, really misses Tony. Misses him as in the his heart is literally being torn apart sort of missing. He wishes he’d considered how his severe separation anxiety might play a part in this when he’d still had a choice.

Peter chokes on a whine- the one that forces its way out of his throat until he’s full on sobbing and gasping for breath.

He scrambles for his phone on the nightstand. He needs Tony, he needs him, like a fish needs water. He fumbles with the lock screen and desperately taps on Tony’s icon (a picture of Tony holding a proudly displaying a mug that reads “Number 1 Iron Dad.”) It rings once, twice-

“Pete? How’s it going, kiddie?” Tony’s voice, so gentle, so full of love and concern- he already knows something’s wrong, of course, because his Dad Senses are off the charts- makes the tear in his heart rip open.

“Tony,” he sobs. “Tony. I don’t- I can’t, I can’t do this. I wanna go home, Tony.”

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay Petey, breathe for me okay?” He can hear, just barely over his sobs, that Tony is pacing, can hear that his breathing is just a bit too fast, and Peter feels awful for freaking him out, but just can’t stop crying.

“‘M so sorry,” he wails, “‘M so sorry. I-I wanna go home, I want you Tony.” He grasps his pillow tightly and buries his face in it, trying to stifle his sobs, pretending that Tony is there, wrapping his arms around him, kissing his hair, rocking them back and forth.

“I know, baby, I know,” Tony croons, “Everything’s gonna be okay, we’re okay. Right now I just need you to take a deep breath, buddy- in, two-three, out, two-three, okay?” Tony demonstrates for him, taking exaggerated inhales and exhales, which are probably benefiting him as much as they are Peter. “You’ve got this, Pete, I know you do.”

“I miss you, Tony,” Peter whispers after a few seconds of shaky breathing. “I wanna go home.” He feels so immature, begging Tony to fly across the Atlantic in the dead of night just because he’s a little homesick.

Tony, however, seems to consider his request very seriously. “Do you want me to fly out? I could be there in a few hours.”

Peter almost laughs, imagining Tony arriving to the hotel at daybreak, dressed only in sweatpants and a stained AC/DC t-shirt. It’s actually not a bad idea- Tony could act as a chaperone, they could explore the city together, make another precious memory.

“Yeah, um, that-that would be great, Tony,” he sniffs, wiping the wetness of his cheeks. “A-are you sure? I don’t wanna, like, make you, there’s probably Iron, um, Iron Man things, I don’t-”

“Pete, listen to me,” Tony interrupts, voice again so impossibly gentle. “Nothing- nothing- is more important to me than you, understand? I’m here for you. Always”

Peter smiles wetly, relaxing back into the covers, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know. Tony?”

“Yeah, bud?

“Can-can you, um, talk? Please?”

“‘Course I can, Pete. What about?” Tony says fondly. The idea that his voice can bring such comfort to this sweet kid makes him feel all… schmoopy.

“Anything. I just… wanna hear your voice, s’all.” He tugs the covers up and curls into a ball, resting the phone on the pillow next to his ear.

“I’ve got you, bud,” Tony says. I miss you too. “Oh, you’ve gotta know what DUM-E did today….”

Peter feels himself relaxing as Tony talks about his day. It’s not just the words that soothe him, but the familiar sound of his warm voice that’s full of such love and affection. His thoughts begin to wander as he drifts into a barely conscious haze, but the voice remains steady and present in his mind.

Tony is quick to notice that Peter is on the precipice of slumber and wakefulness, and is just as quick to provide the last bit of reassurance Peter needs to fall asleep. “Sweet dreams, buddy. I love you,” he murmurs.

Just before Peter slips away, he finds himself slurring, “Love you too.”

Tony stays on the call for a solid ten minutes after Peter conks out, listening to the steady whoosh of his breathing against the speaker. Before he finally makes himself hang up, he whispers a quiet, “‘Night, Petey. I’ll be there before you know it.” Tony leaves for the airport at daybreak, not able to spend another second in that horribly empty penthouse. The absence of Peter’s presence is tremendously obvious, and Tony finds himself desperately trying not to imagine the unimaginable.

~~~~~

With a pilot on-call 24-7, and without the hassles of a public airport, he’ll be back with Peter around early afternoon.

Thank god.

He steps out of the Cadillac, barely noticing the blistering wind and the tiny snowflakes biting at his cheeks in his haste to board the plane. He greets the pilot- Allison, he thinks- with a nod, but she gestures to stop when he moves towards the stairs.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark!” she says over the howling wind. “We just can’t fly in this weather!”

To hell with that, Tony thinks. “When’s it letting up?”

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Stark,” Allison says apologetically. “Not for a few days at least.”

Tony activates the suit with a simple tap of his watch, the nanobots rushing over him within seconds. Allison gasps and jumps back, gaping as he rockets into the air.

He’s been flying for a good 50 seconds before a neon red warning lights up the HUD.

“Boss,” F.R.I.D.A.Y says, tone filled with caution. “The wind is blowing at a speed of 78 mph. I must advise that you return to the ground immediately, or you run the risk of losing control of the suit.”

Tony curses loudly. Just his luck, really. “How high is the risk?”

“89%, boss.”

“So, not all that bad,” he chuckles.

Then, F.R.I.D.A.Y reminds him how devastated Peter would be if anything happened to him.

Tony returns to his car on foot and pulls out his phone to call Peter.

~~~~~

Peter basks in the sunlight outside of a bustling café, sipping from a cup of hot chocolate. He’s ordered a chocolate croissant, and added the tasteless protein powder Tony and Bruce had synthesized to keep up with his spidey metabolism to his mug. Despite the jet lag, he’s eager to explore the city and it’s merits, his enthusiasm only growing knowing that Tony will be here within a few hours.

Feeling pleasantly full, Peter leans back in his chair- it’s an armchair, on a stool, and it’s driving him nuts, he loves it- and beams at Ned, who lounges next to him in an identical chair. “Dude,” he says.

“Dude,” Ned agrees.

Peter is grinning, Ned is grinning, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, life is sweet-

Peter’s phone rings.

His first thought is that Tony’s plane has crashed.

His second is one of relief when he realizes it’s Tony who’s calling him.

His third is that his plane has crashed, and Tony’s calling him, mortally wounded, to say goodbye.

Ned stares at him, taking in the panicked look on his face, and mouths You good? Peter shakes his head and scrabbles for his phone.

“Pete?” Tony says as soon as he’s answered. He sounds fine, at least. “Hiya.”

“Are you okay?” Peter asks first, because he knows that even if Tony sounds like he’s fine, that doesn’t mean he is.

“Yeah. Yeah, Petey, I’m just fine, I promise,” Tony assures him. Peter relaxes in his chair, flashing Ned a quick thumbs up, because knows Tony would never lie to him, especially not if he was hurt. “How’re you doin’?”

Peter’s face lights up. “Oh, great! There are like, dogs everywhere here, even in the restaurants, and I saw this German Shepherd eating like- dog ice cream or something? And I got this super good chocolate croissant where we’re having breakfast. Y’know, I really thought the jet lag would be super bad but I’m not like, tired at all yet!”

“Aw, buddy, that’s great, I’m glad you’re havin’ a good time,” Tony says, voice dripping with fondness. “You’re drinking enough water, staying hydrated and all that, right?”

“Yup! Are you?”

Tony scoffs. “‘Course I am. Hafta set a good example n’ shi- stuff.” Peter snorts. He knows Tony does his best not to curse around his- and he quotes- “young, unsullied ears" but he ends up failing quite a lot.

“Which reminds me bud, how’s Ted?” Peter’s best friend’s health has pretty much no correlation with cursing, which makes the teen think that Tony has a specific reason for asking about him. He decides not to bring it up though.

“It’s Ned,” he sighs in mock frustration. And he’s good, he’s right next to me! I guess I didn’t tell you yesterday, but the hotel guy put us into two different rooms ‘cause they had extra or something and we didn’t realize ‘til we got to our rooms.” He sighs again then, for real, his good mood evaporating.

Tony’s Dad Senses pick up on it instantaneously. “Not ideal, huh?” he says gently, which earns him a small laugh from the kid. “D’you want me to talk to them?”

Peter nods sheepishly, then realizes Tony can’t see him. “Yeah. Thank you,” he says in a small voice, embarrassed that the genius is going to all this trouble just because he’s a little lonely. “Are you gonna be here soon?” he asks then, because he misses Tony, misses him just like he knows Tony is missing him.

Tony clears his throat. When he speaks, the guilt in his voice could rip him in half. “About that, buddy, well- Jesus, Pete, I’m so sorry. The, uh, the wind is too dangerous for me to fly over, and it’s not letting up ‘til around Monday. I’m so sorry, kiddo.”

Peter’s heart sinks. “Oh,” he says numbly.

He hears Tony lurch up. “Hey, Petey- shit, I’m so sorry, buddy. I- you know what, fuck it, I’ll fly over anyway, I-”

“No! No, I’m okay, I’m fine!” Peter says, wincing silently at the forced cheeriness in his voice, and knowing that Tony has seen right through.

“Hey, hey, buddy, it’s okay, I’ll be perfectly safe-”

“You can’t,” Peter pleads, desperate to keep Tony safe. “Please, Tony, you can’t, you’ll crash, or-”

“Whoa, Petey, deep breaths,” Tony interrupts, voice gentle. “I’m right here, I’m fine, you hear me?” He waits for Peter’s breathing to resume a steady rate, then says, “Bub, I won’t fly over if it’s not safe, I promise.”

Peter sighs. He’s relieved beyond belief that Tony is keeping both feet on the ground where he’ll be safe- he better be- but he misses the billionaire more than ever.

“And hey, who knows, maybe the wind’ll let up in a few hours!” Tony chuckles. Sobering a little, he says, “If the weather is on schedule, I’ll be there on Monday, 6 am, sharp.”

Peter prays he will. “I miss you, Tony,” he mumbles- he feels childish, knowing that he’s just begged the man to stay in New York, and now is just making him more miserable knowing that he’s miserable.

“I miss you too, Petey,” the genius murmurs back, voice filled with sorrow.

“Peter!” The phone nearly flies out of Peter’s hand as Mr. Harrington taps on his shoulder. He gasps a little, and though his teacher doesn’t seem to notice, Tony sure does, his gentle voice turning harsh with barley contained panic. “Who was that, Pete? Are you okay?”

“Um-” he tries.

��Come on, now! The bus is almost here, I can see it around the corner!” Mr. Harrington says loudly, and abruptly struts off, frantically waving down the bus that is already stopping.

“Peter!” Tony exclaims.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it was just Mr. Harrington,” he rushes to reassure him. Tony breathes out a heavy sigh of relief. “Uh, the bus is here, I- I have to go.” He hurries to catch up with his best friend.

“I love you,” Tony says. “I love you so much, Pete, stay out of trouble, be safe.”

He doesn’t want to say goodbye. Neither of them do.

“I love you, Tony,” says Peter. “I’ll be safe, don’t worry about me!”

And with that, the call ends.

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

Subtitles: Episode 2, Don’t Touch That Dial

Subtitles Masterlist

Summary: A nondescript amount of time has passed since [Y/N] has met the Maximoff couple and the trio has since then gotten better settled in Westview, although none of them have yet to make the best impressions with their neighbors. [Y/N], Vision, and Wanda have found friends and confidants in each other when they haven’t much elsewhere but [Y/N]’s crush remains, begging the question, ‘Is there anything more to come?’ Meanwhile, the people of the cul-de-sac are planning a talent show and the atmosphere in Westview appears to be shifting. Follow along as the happy little world of Westview begins fraying at the seams while strange happenings occur and an unseen power desperately seeks to stitch it back together…

Word count: 13,766

Warnings: This one’s even longer. Fluff, sappy rom-com vibes, more possible second-hand embarrassment. It’s just as weird as the episode.

Tag List: @madamevirgo​

~~~

    “[Y/N], hon. I really think you should cool it on the coffee for the rest of the day.”

    It’s possible that Agnes was right. The tiredness that was caused by a windy, sleepless night has recently been replaced by chaotic, synthetic energy that had your eyes wide and hands shaking slightly. You were on your fourth cup now, which you’d brought with you from the diner you and Agnes had had breakfast at. The two of you were going to pick up Wanda and go over to Dottie’s for actual breakfast—well, brunch—but you both had rocky relationships with the queen of the neighborhood and needed to mentally prepare. You had been up for a better part of the last night due to bushes and tree branches rattling against your windows, not to mention all your previous encounters with Dottie have been disastrous; you needed the caffeinated courage. Agnes just wanted to have something on her stomach beforehand so the alcohol hidden away in her handbag would sit better.

    You hummed around your mouthful of coffee in response to Agnes’s mild worrying. You swallowed, then threw back the last of the no longer hot beverage and scurried over to a random trash can to toss the cup away. “There, see? All done. All nifty.” Just as an extra bit of proof, you gave her some jazz hands and shimmied as you walked back over to link your arm with hers.

    Agnes tried to hold down a smirk but broke into a laugh when the shimmying started. “You look as jittery as a squirrel.”

    “Not as fluffy as a bunny?” you asked with a wide-eyed pout, then reached over to poke a finger in the cage that your companion held; the rabbit inside, Agnes’s pet, immediately offered his head to be scratched. “Señor Scratchy, more like Mr. Cutie Patootie.”

    “Fluffy too, of course,” Agnes offered, giving your curled updo a ruffle. “In a good mood too, which I suppose isn’t a bad thing. With Dottie around, we’ll need it.”

    You almost cracked a grin but then thought about how you’d feel hearing someone say that about you and felt somewhat sad. Luckily, you found a quick reason to grin anyway as Wanda’s house came into view up ahead—

    Only for the grin to turn into a look of confusion as a buzzing suddenly started in your ear.

    You stopped cold, cocking your head as you strained to listen. The buzzing sounded almost like a lawnmower but coming from the sky—a helicopter, perhaps, but there was something off about it like it was happening inside your head—and the sound grew louder until it stopped with a sudden bang, making you jump.

    “[Y/N]?” Agnes’s voice called. “[Y/N], are you alright?”

    Drawn back to your surroundings, you felt a cold sweat on your back and noticed your hands had become clammy; the hair on your neck and arms stood straight up and your body felt suddenly achy, almost have you had come down with a cold out of the blue. You looked at Agnes with wide eyes and saw her staring at you, concerned with both arms gripping your sleeve.

    It took you several moments to recover and when you did, you asked, “Did you hear that?”

    Agnes looked at you incredulously, shaking her head just slightly. “Hear what?” 

    She hadn’t heard it? You felt like the strange sounds had happened right next to you.

    The woman at your side continued, “I didn’t hear anything at all, except for Wanda coming outside. Then you just stopped walking and stood there, I couldn’t even budge you.”

    Agnes nodded in the direction in Wanda’s direction and you looked that way. Wanda was indeed outside now, though she hadn’t seemed to notice you two coming up the sidewalk yet. Instead, she was looking down in the bushes near her fence, seemingly distressed. You followed her gaze and saw something glittering in the sunlight there.

    “Well,” Agnes said loudly, officially snapping you out of your daze, “you seem fine now, at least. I told you all that caffeine was going to make you go looney!” She picked up the rabbit cage she apparently put down while you were… doing whatever it had been that you were doing, then kept walking as if nothing had happened. 

    You watched her for a moment before following. Then you noticed Wanda lean over and pick up whatever it was she was looking at but you couldn’t see what it was as Agnes obscured most of the view. You could, however, see Wanda’s distraught expression and it made you want to run and make sure she was okay; you noted that Agnes still had no reaction, though, and decided perhaps all that caffeine was the actual cause of all these weird feelings. 

    You felt the familiar pang of a headache as you and Agnes got closer. 

    “Look, it’s the star of the show!” Agnes chirped, leaning against the fence bordering the Maximoff lawn. You saw Wanda gasp and drop the thing back into the bushes but Agnes just grinned.

    “Agnes!” Wanda replied in a way that seemed a little strained. She leaned over and covered the bush with an arm. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Then she noticed you, still a little ways behind Agnes, and the tension in her shoulders seemed to relax slightly. “And [Y/N]!”

    You gave her a sheepish wave, still trying to recollect yourself. The faint headache was still there, getting a bit stronger whenever your eyes or thoughts drifted to the object Wanda was obviously trying to hide. At least you weren’t sweaty and clammy anymore, though. Not that that would matter. It’s not like you would be holding anybody’s hand on the way to Dottie’s.

    You wouldn’t mind doing so if it happened to happen though.

    Stop, you chided yourself, Bad. No holding hands with Wanda.

    Unless you hold hands with both her and her husband, your brain decided to think on its own, which is totally cool too.

    No, you chided your brain this time, no holding hands with married couples.

    Fine, your brain conceded. Then after a moment, Just kiss them instead.

    No!

    Good god, that had been too much coffee. 

    You shook your head slightly and watched and Agnes handed Señor Scratchy over to Wanda who headed back to the house with him, though you hadn’t been paying attention to what they were saying prior.

    “...he played baby Jesus in last year’s Christmas pageant!” Agnes was saying, to which Wanda looked over her shoulder and answered, “Ah!”

    Then Agnes looked over her shoulder, and yours, and said, “Oh, morning, Dennis!”

    You side-stepped to let the man pass and took the advantage to move to Agnes’s other side as she chatted the mailman up. You couldn’t help laughing a bit as she made finger guns at him and told him to stick ‘em up.

    “Ho,” Dennis responded, putting his hands up momentarily and smiling, “Don’t shoot, I’m just the messenger.”

    “Pew pew!” Agnes sounded, waggling her “guns” at him.

    You offered your own, less theatrical greeting to Dennis as he walked by, then leaned over and bumped hips with Agnes when you caught her watching him walk away.

    “Please tell me you’re not having an affair with the mailman,” you said.

    Agnes choked, then threw back her head and did what you could only describe as a cackle. “What? Heavens no!”

    “Good,” you replied, then slid a bit closer. Shimmying your shoulders at her, you teased, “Because I’m the only one you need.”

    Agnes snorted and swatted you over the head but she was smiling. “You bird dog, get out of here. I’m married!”

    “And I will duel your husband at dawn,” you cried, “I am the only one who gets to fight bar stools for the lady’s affections!”

    The two of you chortled and separated as Wanda came walking out of the house and back towards you. She looked rather lovely in the pants and cardigan combo that she wore; you also quite liked the pattern of her shirt.

    She looked between the two of you—you felt like her eyes settled on you for just a second longer but that was probably the caffeine too—and as she got closer said, “Shall we?” 

    “Oh, we shall,” Agnes replied, stepping back from leaning on the fence and offering Wanda her arm.

    You saw Wanda glance back at the bushes and she linked her arm with Agnes’s and before you could think about your headache and stop yourself, you followed her gaze. You were now standing on the other side of the fence of the bushes that Wanda had tried to hide the object she’d found in and with a quick peer, you could make out a toy helicopter within the branches.

    There was something very off about the helicopter, as there had been about the sound earlier. Looking at it was like the effects of one of your worse migraines but without the intense pain. Time appeared to slow way down and your head somehow felt like it was both floating and behind crushed at the same time. When you tried to look around it was like you were moving outside of your body, as if you had turned around to look at your own house across the street and yet hadn’t moved at all. Images of Wanda and Agnes’s faces, the Maximoff house and your own, faces and places that you didn’t quite recognize, the helicopter all floated through your line of vision, mushing together or overlaying on top of each other, and you couldn’t be sure whether you were actually looking around or if you had closed your eyes and this was all happening behind your eyelids. 

After what seemed like a century but you were sure was only a very slow second, the helicopter came into focus again, and you felt like you were gasping or squinting or both, but without actually doing either. The toy had a very bizarre color scheme as if the colors didn’t exist in this realm of existence; you couldn’t quite place the names of them no matter how hard you tried. The helicopter’s bright colors—almost too bright to you; it felt like looking at the sun but you couldn’t look away—appeared to turn the entire world around you to shades of gray, including yourself. Yet again, you felt like you moved without actually doing so as you raised your hand, a shade of gray instead of your skin tone. Looking further, your entire outfit wasn’t the combination of your two favorite colors that you thought it was but a variety of grays, as well as the sidewalk you stood on and the fence and bushes you stood next to. 

Your gaze settled on the toy helicopter again even though you were pretty sure you’d never actually looked away.

Blood? The helicopter was the color of blood and sand, with a touch of the color you suddenly hated with every fiber of your being, shimmery gray. 

Then there was a sound like a thunderclap happening directly inside your head and everything was back to normal.

Wanda has just finished linking arms with Agnes and the girls were stepping to one side so you could join their line. Looking at Wanda’s smile directed at Agnes, and Agnes’s scheming look directed at you, the world didn’t seem so out of sorts anymore. You felt both very solid and like you needed to steady yourself but you didn’t have time for the latter and instead, you stepped forward, seeming much more confident than you felt, to link arms with Agnes. 

Agnes, with her scheming look, clearly had other ideas. She suddenly stepped off the curb, jerking herself and Wanda to the side, not only blocking the way you were walking but pulling Wanda directly in front of you. Agnes herself settled easily but Wanda, who had no idea what just happened, stumbled and tripped; she tried to catch herself on Agnes’s arm she held, only to find it was no longer there and ended up falling backward.

Your arms shot out reflexively and caught her around the waist. Wanda, in response, reached behind her and braced herself by throwing one arm around your shoulders while the other caught one of your wrists and twisting in such a way that caused her to turn towards you and kick one leg up so she could steady herself on the other. The result was an almost picture-perfect dip, with you cradling Wanda’s upper body in your arms, her embracing you, and the two of you staring at each other in pure shock. 

Then there was Agnes, standing next to the curb and brushing out a crease in her dress, looking oh so pleased with herself.

A deep blush bloomed across your face as you looked down at the woman—the very married and greatly loved by her husband woman—and your outsides and insides had the same idea of wanting to curl in on themselves and… either scream in joy or die, you couldn’t be sure. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of Wanda right away; along with the longing you often felt when seeing either her or her husband, though it was multiplied by infinity in the current moment, you felt a sudden fierce protectiveness over her come almost out of nowhere. You wanted Wanda Maximoff to be as happy and as safe as could be and it felt like if you let her go any moment before she was properly standing and solid on her feet that something very bad would happen like she would tip and fall and shatter into a million pieces.

Holding her was just very nice in general too.

You felt your fingers twitch at her waist and it drew you back out of your head. You noticed Wanda hadn’t yet pulled away either or moved in general, and you felt like you were going to spontaneously combust when you focused back on the face looking up at you.

Although she couldn’t possibly as red as you were, Wanda was flushed from her neck to the tips of her ears—she had the prettiest blushing face you’d ever seen, you were sure of it—and she was looking up at you from under her lashes, the expression on her face a mix of surprise and embarrassment and something softer than you couldn’t quite place. You felt her arm, warm and strong against the back of your shoulders, and her hands still tightly gripping your shoulder and wrist. For a moment, you felt the hand on your shoulder lightly knead the fabric of your jacket, as if testing something, before her entire grip on you loosened.

“Um,” she started, her voice sounding as dry as your throat felt, “thank you. For catching me.”

“Happy to help,” you croaked, then mentally kicked yourself and cleared your throat; the slight smile that appeared on Wanda’s lips wasn’t lost on you, though.

    “Oh, lovebirds,” Agnes hollered over her shoulder as she walked ahead of you and Wanda, “the Queen of the Cul de Sac will order off with our heads if we don’t hurry!”

    I had no idea that the devil wears plaid, you thought. Then you weren’t how long you and Wanda had been standing like that, or who had seen, and you were panicking. 

    You thought that maybe the two of you might scramble away from each other but it was quite the opposite. Wanda lowered the leg she still had raised and in one fluid motion, Wanda was back standing upright; in another, you twirled her around to your side and linked arms with her, and then the two of you were hustling after Agnes, who stopped and waited with her arm out so that you could link up with her too.

    It was like something out of an old rom-com movie. Except it was a rom-com movie where the main character fancied both the love interest and her husband, something far too farfetched to end happily. 

    “Dottie can’t possibly be as bad as you say,” Wanda said. She looked from Agnes to you and you gave her a sympathetic look. 

    “Well, you’ll notice her roses bloom under penalty of death,” Agnes affirmed as the three of you made it to the outskirts of Queen Dottie’s castle and paused there. “If you don’t believe me, ask [Y/N].”

    Wanda’s eyebrows raised.

    You sighed. “The first day of meeting her I spilled wine on her dress and now I’m ninety percent sure that she thinks I want her dead. She also very much dislikes the idea of a lone stray cat living in her neighborhood.” You unlinked your arms with the ladies to gesture at yourself. “I was getting home late from work one night and she saw me, stepped outside to make sure I wasn’t going to dig through her trash bins.”

    “Oh,” Wanda said with a grimace, “goodness.”

    “I’m sure you’ll do fine, though,” you added quickly, “You’re lovely; I can’t imagine anyone not loving you.”

    Agnes rolled her eyes while you blushed and scratched your neck. You could already see her gearing up for a pre-Dottie tutoring session.

    And then she started with a look-over of Wanda’s outfit. “Wanda—”

    “Hm?”

    “—can I give you a bit of friendly advice?”     Wanda must have caught the look too because she glanced over her outfit, the outfit you quite liked. Raising a hand to her chest, she asked, “Is it about the way I’m dressed?”

    “Yes, but it’s too late for that.”

    You scowled as worry bloomed on Wanda’s face. Unfortunately, you yourself had to learn how important dress was at these social events. You’d expected it to be just a gathering of friendly neighbors but it’s much more like a secret society and you had to look just right to fit it. Now you regretted not telling her sooner; you’d failed your first and only attempt at making a good impression so were content wearing whatever you wanted for the most part but Wanda definitely deserve the poor treatment she was going to get. 

    “Dottie is the key to everything in this town,” Agnes continued, unphased. “Country club memberships.”

    Something you didn’t have.

    “Parties.”

    Something you didn’t go to.

    “School admissions.”

    Something you didn’t have to worry about any time soon but the way Agnes’s gaze drifted towards Wanda’s stomach made you wonder if the Maximoffs did. The thought made your stomach churn but you couldn’t figure out why.

    “Well let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Wanda interjected with a smile and roll of her eyes. She happened to look your way and you thought the smile softened with her gaze just a tad.

    You relaxed your shoulders.

    Agnes trudged on. “You get in with Dottie and it’ll be smooth sailing from here on out. Just mind your P’s and Q’s and you’re gonna do just fine.”

    “Or maybe I could just be myself, more or less.” 

    “I quite like that idea,” you offered. A wide-eyed glance from Agnes went unnoticed as you were too focused on the smile Wanda definitely gave you that time.

    “Oh, Wanda, [Y/N]” Agnes said with a laugh, “that’s good.”

    Wanda’s excitement for the event today seemed to lessen and you, apparently still high off the moment you thought you two had, gave her arm a gentle squeeze and an encouraging look. 

    She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she gave you an appreciative glance and pat on the hand. Your and her hands lingered for perhaps a second or two too long before they dropped back to your sides. 

    And then the queen and her merry homemakers sauntered their way out the front door.

    “Everybody, hurry up please!” Dottie sang over her shoulder as she quickly walked down the front steps, followed by a line of housewives carrying various covered dishes.

    Agnes twisted to look her way and waved. “Hiya, Dottie, your roses are divine!”

    Both you and Wanda offered a polite wave as Dottie thanked Agnes, although she didn’t stop to chat. Her eyes did do a scan of your trio, though, and you felt your ears burn when a distasteful look was sent your way. 

    Agnes gave you a sympathetic smile and Wanda a look that said “Good luck; you’ll need it!” before sliding her arms under one of each of Wanda’s and yours and tugging the two of you along.

    Your eyes wandered as one of the wives, Bev, talked animatedly about the setup for the talent show happening this weekend. Bored and feeling out of place, you looked over the group of women sitting a circle underneath the canopy tent by Dottie’s pool, purposely excluding Dottie and the woman talking, then the man jumping into said pool, then the man cleaning said pool. 

    You shouldn’t be here. This gathering really was a secret society of women of the neighborhood—not only women but wives in particular—to discuss homely and neighborhood business matters; you weren’t a wife and after screwing up with Dottie, you certainly weren’t involved in any of the other important business, nor did you have any interesting household gossip since you lived alone. The main you were here was because while out of place, you got along more decently with the wives than the husbands and when you’d first moved to town, Agnes thought you would be entertaining company to keep. She’d immediately hung you out to dry by telling her fellow women about you calling out their husbands’ poor attempts at comedy, which amused some of them enough to welcome you; in fact, Dottie had been one of those people, impressed by your initiative if nothing else, until you ruined your chances by ruining her dress. At the current meeting, you’d been specifically invited only because you were taking part in the talent show performance, which had also happened because Agnes heard you singing while doing garden work one day and somewhat strong-armed you in. 

    Your bored eyes eventually settled on watching Wanda, who sat a couple of chairs away on the other side of your mutual companion, and you were no longer bored. While you watched Wanda, she was watching Dottie like a hawk, awkwardly but cutely trying to mimic everything the other woman was doing. She stopped when Dottie started speaking, gripping the cup she was holding a lifeline and you chuckled moments before catty laughter erupted around you. You hadn’t heard what caused it, so you decided to tune back in.

    “The devil’s in the details, Bev,” Dottie criticized, masking disdain with the lightness of her voice. 

    You heard Agnes mutter to Wanda, “That’s not the only place he is.” You couldn’t help but snicker.

    Dottie was standing now and continued on, “As you all know, the talent show is the sole fundraiser for Westview Elementary…”

    Agnes passed a flask to Bev with a cheeky grin as she sat down next to you and after taking a sip, Bev offered it to you. You didn’t have to think twice before snagging a drink of your own and handing it back over to its home.

    “I hear you’re singing,” Bev chirped quietly to you, “For the talent show? I bet you’re a lovely singer, can’t wait to hear it.”

    You blushed slightly and thanked her but didn’t say much more to avoid Dottie’s wrath.

    The wrath that Wanda and her current companion, a woman with dark skin who looked oddly familiar but whose name you couldn’t place, weren’t able to avoid themselves, apparently. 

    “We only have a few hours until showtime,” Dottie said, “so a little less cross-chatter and a little more focus.” 

    As Dottie prattled on, you observed the two women curiously.

    “...is for the children,” Dottie finished.

    “For the children,” the other women echoed.

    “For the children,” Wanda added after everyone else had already spoken, earning several displeased looks.

    You didn’t bother to say anything, opting to take Agnes’s flask and have another sip.

    “So, I want you all to give yourselves a big hand—”

    Wanda, looking petrified, stopped in the middle of taking a bite of a cookie and started clapping. You hid your laugh behind a hand; she still had an entire cookie hanging from her mouth.

    “—at the appropriate time, of course,” Dottie chastised, then continued on yet again.

    Oh, darling Wanda, you thought with a grin, you poor, sweet thing, you. You rested your chin in your hand and watched as she made herself proper until Bev nudged you to take your elbow off the table. You huffed slightly but did so anyway, then tried to catch Wanda’s eye for a moment of solidarity, only to see her talking to the dark-skinned woman again. 

    Your gaze shifted from Wanda to the other woman and your brows furrowed. You swore you knew her from somewhere though try as you might, you just couldn’t place that face, those eyes, that awkward but friendly smile. Perhaps another newcomer to the area that you’ve seen t on the streets or at a shop? You couldn’t imagine where she moved into, though, as you were sure the last two open houses had been the ones occupied by you and Wanda and Vision.

    You felt a sharp pang in your temple and grunted softly. You weren’t about to have an episode here of all places, so you quickly looked away and put the thoughts aside.

    Just as Wanda and the stranger shook hands over their table. Uh-oh.

    “I’m Wanda.”

    “I’m, uh, Geraldine!”

    “And I’m irritated!”

    After getting scolded by Dottie a second time, Wanda locked her jaw and resigned to sitting in her seat with her hands tucked in her lap. She finally looked over at you with helplessness in her eyes.

    You responded with a mouthed “I told you so” and a wink, then silently told her that you’d talk to her after the meeting.

    A comforting face seemed to be what she needed because she relaxed again, though not completely. She settled in for the rest of the meeting and, finishing off Agnes’s flask, so did you.

    After the meeting was over, Dottie asked Wanda to sit back and help her clean up, which you knew meant Dottie doing nothing but being condescending while Wanda did all the work. While Agnes tried to get you to walk her home and then warned you against your plan, you were adamant about staying back and making sure Wanda got through the rest of her first Dottie encounter in one piece. At this point, you knew fitting in and having people’s positive opinions was important to Wanda; you oftentimes felt like that yourself. Unfortunately, Dottie wasn’t the type of person to give out positive opinions easily—you had to earn it, which was hard enough without accidentally interrupting the main meeting multiple times—and that protective feeling for Wanda that had come out of nowhere earlier today still hadn’t faded. You knew Wanda Maximoff of all people didn’t necessarily need you but you wanted to stick around, just in case she did.

    Maybe you were hoping that she would.

    That and you couldn’t help but take one last shot at getting on Dottie’s good side.

    “...and that is why you never do a seating chart on an empty stomach,” Dottie was finishing from her perch on the edge of a pool chair. 

    Wanda walked over to where you stood organizing a cart of dirty dishes so they didn’t all come tumbling down when whichever pretty busboy that Dottie paid finally came to take it away. She was huffing, carrying over yet another pile of dirty plates on a large tray; you skirted around the dish cart and quickly came to her aid, taking as much as your hands could carry from off the top. She offered a grateful smile that you returned before you both unloaded onto the cart.

    Who owned or even used this ungodly amount of dishes?

    A person who paid various pretty people to just be around, you concluded a moment later.

    As you continued to organize, Wanda turned back around to grab a pair of three-tiered dessert stands, both of which had a decent amount of desserts left on them. “Golly, you’re a wiz at all this committee stuff, Dottie. Thank you for choosing me to help you clean up today, I feel so lucky.”

    “You are,” Dottie agreed.

    Wanda turned back to you again and made a face, then stuck out her tongue. You choked down a laugh after catching Dottie’s steely gaze over Wanda’s shoulder, settling for a smile as you took the trays.

    Dottie was just as displeased as you’d expected she’d be that you insisted to stay behind and help.

    “I really should try to make amends before this is over, shouldn’t I?” Wanda muttered. She caught a few plates slipping from the top of a pile and rearranged them.

    “If you manage to do so, you really would be a Westview miracle,” you replied, taking a cup Wanda managed to catch before it tipped off the cart. “But first, how about I make you look ten times better, hm?”

    Wanda gave you a confused look but you just patted her hand before switching places with Wanda and going to grab another tray of dishes.

    You put on your friendliest smile as you began stacking as many cups as you could balance in one arm. “Say, Dottie—”

    “Be careful,” Dottie chimed back, “or at least let me get out of your way first. Wouldn’t want a repeat of our first meeting, hm?” She ended her sentence with a venom-laced laugh, then gave you a tight smile.

    You were pretty sure your eye twitched but you carried on, chuckling with her, “No, I suppose not. I really do apologize about that but you really shouldn’t hold such grudges. Worrying so much causes early-set wrinkles, you know.”

    Dottie’s smile tightened further. You heard Wanda gasp and choke from behind you.

    “Anyway, though, I really would like to make it up to you some time. My boss’s wife gave me two tickets to a food tasting event in town next weekend. I thought it might be something nice to do, plus it might give you some ideas for catering during the next event—”

    “My husband and I would love to go out next weekend, thank you so much. Feel free to drop the tickets in the mailbox the next time you come around.” Dottie paused, then added. “Mailbox, on the opposite side of the porch than the trash bins.”

    Your eye definitely twitched, maybe even both of them. You feigned an appreciative look as you finished stacking your dishes, then scowled as soon as you turned around and walked back to Wanda.

    “Now,” you grumbled, “I beg the sweet release of death to come in a more timely manner. Oh, and whatever you do can’t possibly be worse than me, although I’m sure that was the case either way.”

    “You poor thing.” Was all Wanda could manage, giving your arm a squeeze. “Guess it’s my turn.”

    “Good luck, darling,” you said, then almost immediately regretted it. You don’t know why you decided to fake a British accent, nor why you felt the need to call her darling, but you couldn’t take back either of them now.

    Wanda blinked, then laughed— before it was cut off by Dottie telling you both to get back to work.

    “It’s more dahrling, less dahling,” Wanda teased. “British people do still use R’s.”

    “Fascinating.”

    Wanda grinned, gave you a final pat on the arm, then turned around to take her shot with Dottie. “I can’t help but wonder if you and I haven’t gotten off on the wrong foot, Dottie, and I would like to correct that if I can.”

    A much better approach than you, you noted with an impressed nod. You walked a little ways off to grab another cart to even out the load of dishes; the current one seemed to sag under the weight.

    “And how would you do that?” Dottie asked and you heard the rustle of fabrics rubbing together as she stood. “I’ve heard things about you. You and your husband.”

    You stopped from your place behind the canopy’s pulled-back curtain. What on earth could she be talking about?

    Wanda has the same thought. “Well, I don’t know what… you’ve been told… but I assure you, I don’t mean anyone… any harm.”

    Your brows knitted together and you shuffled around the canopy’s aluminum frame to hear a little better. You couldn’t imagine Wanda hurting anybody, not on purpose anyway.

    A pang in your temple. A surge of that fierce protectiveness.

    You poked your head out just slightly from behind the canopy. All you could see was Wanda’s back and Dottie’s determined expression from beyond Wanda’s shoulder, and the fact that they were standing very close together.

    “I don’t believe you,” Dottie stated simply. 

    As if on cue, the radio on the table started acting up, the music cutting to static combined with a jumble of noises. Like many things today, though, it sounded strange, as if it was coming from all around you, or directly from inside your skull. It stopped almost immediately as it started and music, regular-sounding music, returned. Normal, you thought, until you focused harder, and noticed a voice creeping from the background. It continued to creep closer, get louder like a person walking towards you would, until it was as loud as the static had been and the music was no longer audible. Your head throbbed as the voice sounded like it was coming out of your brain instead of into your ears but you couldn’t anything other than tighten your grip on the canopy.

    The voice said, “Wanda. Wanda. Who’s doing this to you, Wanda? Wanda. Wanda. Wan—”

    The radio shorted out, there was the sound of the glass Dottie was shattered, and there was another thunderclap in your head as the world around briefly flared into color. Color, not shades of gray, but then the gray was back as quickly as it had left. You didn’t know whether Dottie or the bizarre radio’s frequencies had crushed the glass or whether it had just been dropped, but you were walking over with a cloth in hand before you’d even gotten your senses back in order. 

    “Dottie,” Wanda gasped, her eyes flitting about.

    Dottie caught a glimpse of the overly saturated blood spreading out from the gash in her palm—and seemed only mildly annoyed.

    Wanda kept making sounds like she was trying to speak but didn’t quite know how to. She spun around to grab something to press to the wound and almost ran into you. She stared at you, cloth in hand, with wide eyes filled with equal amounts of fear and surprise, like your existence had been completely forgotten until that moment. Then Wanda grabbed the cloth, and your hand in the process; she gave you a silent thank you, your hand a squeeze so tight you felt her fingernails dig into the skin, then turned back to Dottie and pressed the cloth to her bloody palm.

    Dottie grabbed her hand and said, somehow completely aware of the situation and also seeming totally spaced out, “Pop quiz, Wanda: How does a housewife get a bloodstain out of white linen? By doing it herself.”

    Then she smiled and walked into her house. 

    You and Wanda stood in silence and it was then that you realized you felt the same way you figured Dottie did, similar to how you felt earlier today when you saw the toy helicopter in Wanda’s yard. You felt light and spacey and almost dizzy but without the world spinning, almost like you were a mind outside of your body, or a consciousness inside of a body that wasn’t yours. Time didn’t slow but rather sped up; you didn’t know when you’d started walking to Wanda’s aid and you didn’t remember the feeling of ever grabbing the cloth that you’d given her, and the whole event seemed to have fixed itself as soon as it started with the end result being your mind painfully aware of something being wrong but your body refusing to act like anything was. 

All you’d really felt was your head throbbing, not with pain but with pressure, and the desperate urge to help Wanda. Then you did and everything was over.

Wanda.

You repeated her name in the form of a question; it felt different this time. She didn’t respond or really even move aside from reaching back towards you. You rushed over and grasped her arm and she let out a choked gasp.

“[Y/N].” She said it as if trying it out for the first time. It took her a bit longer to pry her eyes away from the spot where Dottie had been, then she held a hand to her mouth and looked at you. “What just happened?”

“I’m… I’m not sure myself.”

It took a bit longer again for her to speak, her eyes darting from you to the door Dottie had disappeared to and back. “Would you walk me home? Please?”

“Of course, Wanda.”

The walk home was quiet. The two of you had your arms linked as you did on the walk over but now Wanda gripped your arm with her other hand too. Like at Dottie’s pool, it was almost eerily silent except for your and Wanda’s footsteps. Tou could have chalked it up to being because everyone was already in town setting up for the talent show, something about it had you glancing around ever so often, as though you could catch someone peering at you through the bushes or through the crack of a partially opened manhole at any moment.

When you got to Wanda’s door, you had a quick chat about the talent show—as if none of the day’s earlier events had happened; she was very excited to hear you sing—and then she headed up the steps to her door. You gave her a wave and turned to walk home.

“[Y/N]?”

You stopped and turned back around, eyebrows raised slightly.

Wanda walked the three steps back down from her door and gave you a hug. “Thank you for being around today.”

“‘Scuse me, coming through!”

Of course, you’d be late. Of course, you’d get home, start practicing for your performance, pass out on your couch, and wake up five minutes before the show started with a suit and dress combo to still pull on and a few instruments to properly secure in their trunk.

You weaved your way between folks who were either going to the talent show or trying to ignore it and stumbled your way upstairs to the backstage.

Wanda was standing there in a magician’s assistant costume that almost had you on your knees and begging for mercy before you remembered you had a show to do that you were also very late for. She and the Black woman she’d been talking to at Dottie’s meeting—Geraldine, Wanda had informed you later—spun on you with an expectant gasp, only to slump in disappointment when they saw it was you.

“Golly, thanks for the warm welcome,” you muttered, setting your trunk down and popping it open. “Suppose I deserve it for missing most of the show, though.”

“I’m so sorry, [Y/N],” Wanda said as she paced over, “You look fab and I’m sure your performance will be a blast—”

“If I’m still performing?” you asked, directing the question at Geraldine with a hopeful smile.

“If you’re ready before the husband gets here, you can take their place,” Geraldine offered, “If not, you can finish the show off.”

Finishing the talent show, not nerve-wracking at all.

“Vision’s not here?” You gave Wanda a questioning look as you walked past her to look

at yourself in a full-body mirror on the other side of the stage to make sure your look was still in order. The top half of your outfit was a full, simple, black and white tuxedo with a matching black fedora that slightly offset on top of your hair; one of Dottie’s white roses, which you acquired after stuffing her and her husband’s food taster tickets in her mailbox on your way into town, poked out from the hat’s band. The bottom half was a simple skirt—actually, the skirt and undershirt of your outfit was a dress that your mother had pieced together and sent you for your “big night”—that was fashionable for the time but in a sleek shade of black that matched the rest of your tuxedo and with a white band around the hem, paired with a sheer stocking of a plaid pattern and low-heeled shoes that you would return to the shop tomorrow. Finally, for a little touch of color and a little for pop, a golden bejeweled broach was pinned to a crimson pocket square poked out of the chest pocket of your tuxedo jacket, golden geometric earrings hung from your lobes, and a couple of bejeweled bracelets and rings in the same colors adorned your hands. You wore bright, unglossed lipstick and nail polish to match, despite that not being in fashion. Luckily everything still seemed in order.

Wanda gave an exaggerated shrug as you walked back over to your instrument trunk. “Nowhere to be found, like he vanished!”

As if summoned, Vision came wobbling around the corner and up the steps. Well, he almost did; it took him two tries to get up the steps without falling back down.

“Oh, is that him?” Geraldine asked, her face twisting into a look of concern. “Looks like he’s gots a little hitch in his giddyup. Whoa!”

You twisted around, ukulele in hand to check if it was tuned, just as Vision was making it upstairs the second time. You smiled, quirking an eyebrow, only to stumble as the British man threw his arm around you to steady himself. 

“Wanda, my little cabbage, you look smashing!” Vision exclaimed, his words slurring together just slightly. He began swaying and decided to lean almost his full weight on you; when you grunted and moved the instrument you were holding out of the danger zone of getting smacked is when Vision appeared to notice that he was balancing against a person instead of the railing by the stairs. He leaned his face closer and squinted at you—now that you weren’t concerned about going onstage immediately, it was significantly easier to get flustered by Vision and his, yes, absolutely smashing wife—then grinned and said, “Why it’s [Y/N] too, and looking equally as ravishing!”

You tried to keep yourself in check. “Heya cool head, not your wife. That being said, I’d say you look smashing yourself but you just seem positively smashed.”

“Oh, I know,” Vision replied, “I already told her that she looked nice. You heard me right, honey?” He went from so close to your face that his bangs were getting in your eye to only a hand gripping your shoulder as he flung his limbs wide, which was apparently a necessary move to look at his wife’s face.

You gave Wanda a look that was equal parts worried and amused. The look she returned was just worried. 

Wanda walked over to you and helped maneuver you out of Vision’s grip so you could continue tuning your ukulele—actually, it was Vision’s that you were borrowing—then tugged her husband so you were at least a couple feet out of reach. “Vis, where have you been?”

“Oh, uh… me and the boys were playing a rather thrilling game of horses and shoes,” Vision responded, talking in a way that sounded like he was trying to talk under his breath while still speaking at full volume. “No, wait, that’s not it. Shoe horses! Oh, hrn… Ah! Horse’s shoes!” He put two thumbs up and smiled lopsidedly, clearly pleased with himself.

“Horseshoes,” you offered from your corner by the railing. You were done playing with the ukulele and checked to make sure your tambourine was safe and sound.

“Oh, yes!” Vision was his thumbs up towards you, both arms stretched out as far as they could reach. “Brilliant, you’re absolutely brilliant, [Y/N]! Aren’t they brilliant, Wanda, very brilliant and very nice-looking?” 

“Well, uh, yes, I suppose,” Wanda agreed awkwardly, glancing over at you before pulling Vision back to face her; you swore you even saw her cheeks turn a shade darker. “Listen, something strange happened with Dottie.”

You were too busy biting back a smile to hear the rest of the conversation. You rearranged your hat and jacket back into place from Vision knocking them askew, then brushed any wrinkles out of your skirt. You glanced over at Geraldine, who was peeking through the curtains at the main part of the stage.

“I was just playing with his shoes!” Vision suddenly hollered, as the members of the previous act, including someone dressed in a horse costume, made their way around the stage.

“What is going on?” Wanda cried.

Geraldine responded in kind, “You are!”

You considered taking their places so Wanda had time to knock some sense into her husband but you knew if you went out now, you would sound like fingers on a chalkboard, and going out on stage at all was bad enough. Instead, you walked over and gave the couple an encouraging pat on the shoulder and a “Good luck!” before making your way down the steps and around to the viewing area to find a place to sit.

Dottie was onstage. Her hand seemed fine now. “I want to thank you all for coming out to support Westview Elementary, for the children.”

“For the children,” the crowd echoed, mostly deadpan.

“I have yet to see a child,” you stated at the same time, sitting back in an extra chair off to the side of the stage as to not annoy audience members with the vocal warmups you were about to start doing.

Dottie continued, “And for our final act—”

Geraldine scurried out from behind the curtains at muttered something in Dottie’s ear before rushing away again.

Dottie quickly picked you on the sidelines and gave a strained smile, although the daggers she was glaring made you sink down in your chair. “Sorry, everyone. For our next to final act, I give you Wanda and Vision.”

Wanda sauntered out from behind the curtains and down to the front of the stage, then planted herself slightly off to the side and threw one hand up as an entrance cue to Vision. At first, he didn’t appear and Wanda’s bravado faltered slightly as she looked out into the crowd.

You caught her eye and gave her an assuring nod.

Then Vision flying out of curtains and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Hello Westview! Good afternoon!” Still introducing, he stumbled down to the main part of the stage, bumping into a railing at some point and apologizing to it. He sort of settled and continued, “I am Glamour and this is my delightful assistant Illusion.”

“I am Glamour,” Wanda chimed in, talking and moving with even more animation than she normally would, “and he’s Illusion.”

“Yeah, what she said,” Vision said simply, then rambled on, “Tonight, we will lie to you, and yet you will believe our little deceptions because human beings are easily fooled due to their limited understanding of the inner workings of the universe.” He ended this definitely off-script statement with a matter-of-fact shrug and nod. 

You regretted not going on first.

“Flourish!” Vision suddenly hollered, waving his hands in such a way. 

This was going to be chaos, you decided, and it was.

Wanda and Vision’s act was a mess but at least it was an entertaining one. While the act did go on, Vision spent most of his time prattling on and yelling “Flourish!” while Wanda tried to keep things in check. Some of the tricks were good and even impressive at times before the “inner workings of the universe” became clear moments later. Vision’s first trick was to float up into the air, only for a pulley system to be revealed as Wanda moved a sign offstage. For the second, he picked up a piano with one hand only for the jarringly realistic instrument only for Wanda to slip up while carrying the one-dimensional prop away and show its bare wooden back with a large handle to grasp. 

At one point, though, Vision trotted offstage and tried to perform a card trick for a friend while Wanda was helpless to stop him, but the end result was him going through an entire deck of cards trying to find the correct one. Then he went to pull Señor Scratchy out of his hat, only to find his hat laying on stage and Agnes’s rabbit hopping across it until Wanda managed to catch him and take him backstage. 

Regardless of which tricks hit and which went wonky, the crowd, you included, seemed to love the Maximoff duo and hung onto the entire act. There were gasps and awes and you were personally still dumbfounded by the one where Vision pulled a hat through his body; the backstage curtains happened to fall at the perfect time to reveal a multitude of mirrors, only one of which that you knew had been back there previously, but a dull throb in the back of your head warned you to just let the mystery slide. After all, it wasn’t as fun if you spent the entire show pondering.

For Vision and Wanda’s final trick, Wanda brought out a large box called the Cabinet of Mysteries. At first, Vision stated that he was going to make his wife disappear but then he started locking up the Cabinet without her inside.

You caught Wanda’s act begin to slip again as her smile faltered and she began scanning the crowd. No else did, though, because Agnes suddenly hollered an offer of audience participation in the form of her husband, which caused everyone including Vision to laugh.

Then Vision was back to his trick, slapping the Cabinet’s side with a plastic wand and yelling, “Abrakadabra!” 

“Uh, sweetheart,” Wanda murmured without breaking her pose.

Vision responded loudly, “Yeah?”

“Hi.”

“Oh.”

There was an awkward pause and you chewed your lip as you glanced around. People were waiting for the finale and Vision had just messed it up big time.

A chant of “What’s in the box?” started up.

Then you happened to look back to the stage just in time to make eye contact with Wanda as she looked around.

She grinned.

And then you were somewhere else, surrounded by darkness and wood panels.

You were only there for a moment but your eyes still needed a moment to adjust as Wanda and Vision open the Cabinet of Mysteries’ doors and you were greeted with a gasping and then applauding crowd. You blinked and, disoriented but not wanting to ruin Wanda and Vision’s successful grand finale, you put on your best smile and hopped out of the wooden box to strike a flourished pose.

“Ah-ha,” Vision voiced, seeming just as surprised as the crowd before grinning walking stepping up to your side.

Wanda stepped up to your other side and when you raised an eyebrow at her, she gave you a cheeky grin and mouthed, “Magic.” The wink she gave you afterward could have sent you to the moon but you still had your own performance to do. She made sure you were reminded of that by holding up a microphone.

Wanda and Vision each slipped an arm around your waist and you did the same to them despite their touch feeling very warm underneath the jacket of your uniform, and with one last “Flourish!” from Vision, the three of you bowed.     The three of you bowed two more times before standing fully again. Wanda and Vision began to move away from you but you slid your arms to grab their own, keeping them there.

Wanda leaned in slightly, talking through her smile. “What are you doing?”

“Grab the tambourine in my trunk and go sit by Agnes. Ask her to inform you and wait for the cue.” When Wanda looked at you with a raised brow, you mimicked her cheeky grin and wink, mouthing, “Music.”

Vision leaned in now, although way too close. “What are we doing?”

“Tambourine, apparently,” Wanda responded, stepping away from you. You figured they were going to go and do as you asked but instead, Wanda continued, “Vis, take the cabinet and grab the tambourine; I have an introduction to do.”

Vision stood around for a moment before doing what Wanda told him to and Wanda slipped her arm around your waist once more and brought you a few steps farther to the front of the stage.

Now sitting at the edge of it was Vision’s ukulele and the mic stand, probably courtesy of Geraldine.

With you close at her side and you unsure where to put your hands, Wanda attached the microphone she held to the stand and turned it on. “As Dottie has said several times tonight, thank you once more for coming to support Westview Elementary, for the children.”

“For the children,” the audience echoed, still mostly deadpan.

“I still haven’t seen a single one,” you muttered. This earned you a pinch to the hip from the hand around your waist and you suddenly felt like your body was the same temperature as the surface of the sun.

“Now,” Wanda continued without missing a beat, “allow me to introduce helper of Illusion and Glamour’s grand finale and the final final act of tonight’s talent show, [Y/N]!”

The audience clapped and Wanda did with it as she detached from your side and slipped backstage after giving you an electric smile. Suddenly, you were much more aware of being on a stage in front of your entire town, save for the two people you actually wanted to see in it.

“Um, yes, hello,” you said into the mic, standing a little too close. You didn’t know it was possible to feel the amount of heat burning behind your cheeks and ears, and you wished to could shed your jacket but figured that would ruin the ensemble. You shook your head to clear it as you bent down to pick up your ukulele—

—and when you stood back up, you spotted Wanda and Vision—who seemed to have sobered up somehow—sitting at Agnes’s table with a tambourine on the table between them.

You bit back a smile as your gaze flitted between them; they each gave you a smile in turn before you continued, “Um, so, as you heard, I am the final act. My name is [Y/N] and I will be performing a song, “Can’t Take My Eyes off You” by Frankie Valli, acoustic on ukulele.”

You strummed the ukulele once, just to make sure it was still in tune, then you began to play. You leaned back from the mic to clear your throat and after a couple of bars, you came in:

“You're just too good to be true

Can't take my eyes off of you

You'd be like Heaven to touch

I wanna hold you so much

At long last, love has arrived

And I thank God I'm alive

You're just too good to be true

Can't take my eyes off of you

Pardon the way that I stare

There's nothin' else to compare

The sight of you leaves me weak

There are no words left to speak

But if you feel like I feel

Please let me know that it's real

You're just too good to be true

Can't take my eyes off of you”

    You were a bit pitchy in the beginning but it didn’t take you too long to find where you needed to be, then it was smooth sailing from there; you even put a bit of a beat into it with a tap of your foot, which with a hard heel on a wooden floor in front of a silent crowd wasn’t too difficult to hear. At first, you kept your gaze pointed directly ahead and slightly above the crowd but as you began to relax and get into it, you couldn’t help but catch glances of a tapping foot here or a finger tapping on a glass cup there. Finally, your eyes drifted to where they wanted to be and you couldn’t look away from the pair seated next to Agnes even if you’d wanted to.

Vision was bopping along as he would when he was teaching you the chords and notes you were looking for, both feet and all ten fingers tapping, though his smile was particularly bright. Wanda was looking at you some type of sweet way, with that soft expression she’d had when you’d caught her in a dip earlier just today. 

“I love you, baby

And if it's quite alright

I need you, baby

To warm the lonely night

I love you, baby

Trust in me when I say

Oh, pretty baby

Don't bring me down, I pray

Oh, pretty baby

Now that I've found you, stay

And let me love you, baby

Let me love you”

        You wanted the first part of the song to be softer but as you hit the second part of the chorus you smoothly added in a little action. You put a little flourish in your strumming—and almost missed a word because the idea of calling it a flourish made you almost laugh—added a little more power to your voice, and cued Agnes in, who began clapping along to the proper beat. It didn’t take too long for your audience, especially those who’d you caught tapping along earlier, to join in until the entire crowd was doing it, and happened you catch Vision’s eye while he clapping along a little more animated than everyone else. He grinned, a little bashful by the look of it. 

    Once she’d gotten everyone in, Agnes stopped clapping herself and instead pulled a tambourine of her own out of her handbag. You watched her nudge Wanda, who stopped her clapping and picked up the other tambourine, then followed Agnes’s lead until she got a hang of it. You’d think two tambourines would be a little hard to hear over a sea of clapping but it was Agnes and Wanda and as usual, they figured out a way. 

    You knew you’d chosen a popular song and you knew that some people would know it in full but despite Agnes trying to convince you that she’d have everyone joining in, you definitely didn’t expect the entire crowd to be able to stay in sync and follow the ebbs and flows of the entire song. It really was a bit of a magical moment and you found with that thought, you found your eyes settling on Wanda, who was jamming away on her tambourine and dancing in her seat, without missing a beat.

    She must have noticed because she raised her head and looked back at you.

    The song ended not long after and you couldn’t help clapping for the crowd as they did for you. You took your second set of bows on stage that day, hollered a “Thank you” to the crowd, and took off to the section of backstage that was still hidden by curtains with a wave as Dottie took your place to do the talent show’s conclusion. With layers of dark fabric now between you and the rest of the talent show, you could only hear muffled voices, which was perfectly fine with you as you were too busy tossing your tux jacket and hat aside and shaking out the tautness in your limbs caused by the nerves of performing on your own in front of a decently sized crowd. Although, technically, you and the crowd were performing by the end of it.

    You tried to tune in to Dottie’s voice as you bounced over to look yourself over in one of the mirrors left over from Vision and Wanda’s performance. Your outfit was intact, albeit a little bit ruffled from the dancing around you just finished doing, with your hair looking a bit flat from being stuck under a hat. Your face was flushed with a warmth that you felt from your toes to your hairline but what little makeup you wore looked just as it did earlier minus your lipstick having faded somewhat. The best and worst part of your current state, you thought, came from that part; the smile you were wearing was radiant but it was lasting so long that your cheeks were starting to hurt, and even if you purposely tried to frown it away, it popped back up a few seconds later.

    Especially when you thought about how much Wanda and Vision were enjoying themselves, because of you.

    “Um, excuse me.”

    Your gaze turned its attention to look at the reflection of Geraldine, who was standing behind you, in the mirror. “Oh, hey.”

    She smiled, pleased that you didn’t seem disrupted. “Your singing was really twitchin’, you had the whole crowd into it!”

    “I think that was more Agnes’s glaring than anything, but thanks.” You sent a less starstruck smile at her in the mirror, then picked up your hat to fan yourself as you turned around to face her.

    “Agnes is way out herself,” Geraldine agreed, though you saw her smile falter and caught her fingers tapping nervously on the clipboard she held. “She could probably out-power Dottie if she really wanted to.”

    “She doesn’t,” you affirmed, “she likes to use Dottie as a reason to sneak drinks into social gatherings too much.”

    Geraldine smiled again but she wouldn’t fully look at you and when she did, her eyes looked like they were searching for something.

    “You okay?” When Geraldine looked at you, surprised, you nodded to her hands that couldn’t seem to keep still. “Seem a little unglued and you keep looking at me funny.”

    “Oh, uh, well,” Geraldine stammered a bit, then stopped. She took a deep breath, then tried again, “I know we saw each other at Dottie’s earlier and before you went onstage but… Do you know me?”

    Your eyebrows rose high up on your forehead. 

    “It’s just,” she continued, sounding like she was forcing herself to talk slower, “you look familiar to me and I’m wondering if you think the same thing.”

    “I… I suppose I did when I first saw you,” you said, setting your hat aside. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, you couldn’t help glancing around; specifically, you looked towards the curtains separating you and Geraldine from the outside world and wished that wasn’t the case. “I figured we’d met in passing, tooling or something.”

    When you looked back at Geraldine, it was as if your personalities had changed. You were the meek one, shifting around unsettled, while she stood watching you with a thoughtfulness that was far from the nervousness you saw in her earlier. “I don’t know where I’m from or why I’m here. Do you?”

    You couldn’t be sure whether she was asking you about yourself or her but your head was suddenly too foggy to care. Foggy and throbbing with a pain that made darkness tinge the corners of your vision. You went to step to the side and steady yourself on a nearby chair but found yourself reeling backwards. You smashed into the mirror behind you, which smashed into the wall behind it and shattered; you managed to stumble away from it before you got too badly hurt but you still felt shocks of pain up your right arm and a particularly bad one in your hand as you caught glass.

Before you could run into something else or completely lose balance and fall to the ground, you slowly maneuvered to the floor and braced yourself on one knee and your unharmed hand and you were vaguely aware that Geraldine had disappeared. You squinted through blurriness at your other arm and watched as spots of blood bloomed across the white fabric of your sleeve, weeped from the gash across your palm.

No, wait.

Not only blood but color spread out your bleeding wounds. Flesh tone bled from your palm and color wetted the jewels on your bracelets and rings, color seeped from a tattered tear in your shirt and faded into the wooden floor in your line of vision, as if everything was on one piece of paper and watercolor paint was bleeding across the lines of a sketch.

“[Y/N?]” Vision’s voice called, “Are you back here?”

You tried to hide your hurt arm behind your back and jerked your head in the direction of voices getting closer. You immediately regretted the sudden movement and tried to blink away pain—

When you opened your eyes, you were standing, completely fine, in front of the mirror, completely unbroken, and fanning yourself with your hat with your other arm, completely unharmed, at your side. When your eyes flitted around, looking for Geraldine in the mirror’s reflection, she was nowhere backstage.

Instead, your eyes settled on Vision and Wanda walking through the curtains, smiling and animatedly chatting and holding a small trophy between them.

Once they were through the fabric they looked around, Vision’s bright eyes settling on you just a moment before Wanda’s did.

You could have melted. Whatever concern or worries you had just a moment earlier certainly did. 

“[Y/N],” Wanda beamed, “look at what we won!” She pointed and Vision raised the trophy for you to properly see; you managed to read “Inaugural Comedy Performance of the Year” etched into its base before the pair walked over.

You turned to meet them, placing your hat back on your head and snagging your tuxedo jacket to slip back into. “A trophy, congrats!”

“We tried to get you to come up on stage with us,” Vision said, “but we couldn’t find you!”

He certainly seemed to have sobered up since you last stood face to face with him.

You apologized, “Sorry, I had to come backstage. I was overheated and far too overwhelmed by the crowd, I don’t think I could have it up there again either way!”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Her expression shifted from proud to worried in a moment and she went to press a hand to your forehead before she seemed to decide against it. “Are you feeling any better?”

You felt the need to take a quick glance around backstage, though you couldn’t explain why. Then you nodded. “I am, much. Actually, since I wasn’t able to join you on stage and congratulate you there, how about we all get changed into clothes a little less eye-catching and we have dinner at my place, hm? I’ll cook and everything.”

“They can cook?” Vision teased to Wanda without lowering his voice at all.

“They can,” you responded, giving his side a quick jab, then smiled and slid around them. Stopping at the edge of the stage, you offered out your arms to them both. “At least a little bit. Shall we?” 

Wanda faked a thinking pose and when Vision caught on he did the same.

“We-ell,” Wanda sang, tilting her head from side to side, “Oh, alright, we shall.” She walked over, tugging Vision along with her, and they each linked arms with you.

    The three of you headed offstage. 

    “I disagree about changing, though,” Vision claimed suddenly; both you and Wanda gave him a look. “I think we all look—”

    “Smashing?” offered Wanda.

    “Ravishing?” you suggested.

    “—absolutely neato,” Vision finished, nodding. “And I think we should show off to the town!”

    You shook your head but you were smiling. “I already showed off to the town enough today.”

    “And I’m still showing off too much,” Wanda agreed. She kicked one stocking-covered leg out for good measure.

    “Oh, fine.” Vision scoffed. 

    He certainly did not admit defeat, though, and spent the rest of the walk home trying to convince the two of you.

    Wanda and Vision, without his human disguise, danced into their home after a lovely dinner at [Y/N]’s—they could cook a bit!—and as they walked through the door, Wanda spun herself into Vision’s arm.

    Vision slightly dipped her and said in a voice that was an octave or two lower, “You were tremendous Glamour.”

    “As were you, Illusion,” Wanda responded with a pearly smile. She stood up straight and walked over to put their new trophy on the coffee table as Vision shut the front door. “Oh, I don’t know what I was so worried about. It wasn’t so hard to fit in after all!”

    Wanda sat and got comfortable on the couch and Vision soon followed. “And all we had to do was be ourselves.”

    “Well, with a few modifications,” Wanda said as she curled in closer under her husband’s arm.

    “And it was all for the children,” Vision said. Halfway through the phrase, Wanda joined in, then they chuckled and gently bumped their foreheads together.

    Then Wanda leaned back into the couch and Vision’s side, quiet. She glanced around the room, absentmindedly playing with Vision’s fingers.

    “Wanda, darling, is something wrong?”

    Vision’s voice brought her attention back to him. She smiled, leaned in, and gave him a peck on the lips, then looked at their joined hands. Her smile faltered; she felt like something was missing.

    “[Y/N] made this funny point at the talent show, about the ‘for the children’ thing; ‘I haven’t seen one yet’ or something like it,” she said out of the blue. “They were an angel with me today.”

    “Oh?” Vision responded softly. He seemed to cue into her befuddled emotions and leaned back, looking at her intently. 

    “At Dottie’s,” she clarified, then added, “They also walked me home because I was a little shaken up. Very sweet.”

    “That’s right,” Vision said, “You said something strange happened at Dottie’s today?”

    “More like a few weird things,” Wanda confirmed, then recounted the details. Most of them anyway; she kept out the part about the radio talking to her for the sake of her and Vision’s sanity. It sounded legitimately insane and was probably the result of her fear at the time making her imagine things.

    Then again, Dottie had heard it as well… She couldn’t confirm that [Y/N] had.

    “My, that is indeed bizarre,” Vision said. His hairless brow furrowed. “Is Dottie alright?”

    “Well, she must be,” Wanda replied, “She was perfectly fine at the show today and didn’t say a word about it, so…”

    Vision gave a thoughtful nod, then shrugged. “Must be.”

    They both faded into cozy, albeit wondering, silence. Wanda began playing with Vision’s fingers again and she happened to look towards the front door.

    “Hey Vis?”

    “Hm?”

    “Do you think [Y/N]’s attractive?”

    Vision took in an unneeded breath so fast that he almost choked on his tongue. He spluttered, “Pardon?”

    “You know,” Wanda continued, turning back in his direction but not looking at him, “A fox. A hunk. Ravishing.”

    If Vision could blush he probably would have. He removed his arm from around Wanda’s shoulders and scratched the side of his face. “I was feeling weird when I said that. You know, the gum. I didn’t mean—well that’s not to say they’re not attractive either! Because they are. I mean, they look fine, I certainly wouldn’t say unattractive by any means, and I quite like their company. But love, I didn’t mean anything serious by it, I didn’t mean to offend—”

    “I think they’re attractive,” Wanda stated simply, bringing Vision’s rambling to a quick halt. Her gaze drifted back towards the front door and she briefly used her magic to view the home across the street. Some of the lights were still on; she imagined their dinner companion was in the kitchen, washing up the dishes from their meal.

    She wouldn’t mind cooking with [Y/N] or washing dishes with them after meals. Or having both Vision and them coming home in the evenings. 

    “Oh. Um, well… Oh?”

    “Quite like their company too,” Wanda went on, agreeing with one of Vision’s earlier statements. Her eyes moved to the plant [Y/N] had brought them not long after they’d first moved in; the plant had outgrown its old pot at this point but had its original ribbon still intact on the current one. “And they’ve always got manners and compliments and they’re always getting so nervous that they're going to come off the wrong way.”

    “Yes,” Vision said slowly, “They treat me the same way. Sometimes, if I’m not working, I’ll come to work the next day and have files on my desk with little notes clipped to them. And they’ll sometimes even bring me a snack or a water cup after coming back from their break or lunch, even though I’ve never even pretended to drink or eat in front of them.”

    “Well, to be fair,” Wanda said, “regular humans do just randomly eat and drink things, and they do think you’re a regular human.” 

    “I often wish they didn’t, though,” Vision mumbled, rubbing his jaw, “because I’m not a big fan of lying to them and pretending as I do. I keep their snacks in my drawer until I’m heading home and then throw it out on the way because I don’t want them to see and feel bad.”

    Wanda nodded, understanding. “I’m not exactly jazzed about lying to them either.” 

    They simultaneously sighed and slumped together.

    What odd feelings, Wanda thought, for a married couple to have about their neighbor across the street.

    “Wanda?”

    “Yes, dear?”

    “Do you feel the same way about them as you do me?”

    Wanda tilted her head from side to side and tapped her chin as she thought. “Not how I feel about you now, no. But how I felt about when I first met you? Maybe. Or, at least, something like it.”

    Vision hummed. “They feel a bit familiar, don’t they?”

    “And we have such a good time together, the three of us,” Wanda added.

    A small spell of silence again.

    Then Wanda said, “I think we should ask them on a date.”

    Vision almost choked on his tongue again. “You think we should— I mean— You and me? As you and me together or you and me separately?”

    “Why not both?”

    Wanda’s husband’s eyes bugged out of his head. If they weren’t in the middle of a serious conversation, she may have laughed.

    “Can we… Can we even do that?” Vision asked.

    “I mean, I don’t see why not,” Wanda answered, shrugging. “It’s not illegal to date another person. Just marry them, I think. Actually, I’m not even sure if it’s illegal to do that.”

    “But isn’t that… An affair? Of sorts?” Vision squinted, quickly glancing between his wife and the window, whose curtains shielded his view from the person in question’s home. It almost felt disrespectful talking about [Y/N] without them present, which was odd in itself. 

    “No, not if we’re both dating the person in question, I don’t think,” Wanda said. Her brows knitted together a bit but then she perked up and placed her hands on Vision’s thigh. “I know when we can do it!”

    “When?”

    “We forgot to get your ukulele back,” She responded with a big smile. “We can go get it and ask them on a date.”

    “What would we even do on a… three-way date?” Vision cringed at himself. He would never call them a three-way again.

    “Picnic,” Wanda offered, then listed off, “Dinner out. A walk. Trip to a passion pit for a movie. Dancing but that would require one of us to know how to dance. Maybe [Y/N] knows how to dance!”

    “I know how to dance,” Vision said with a scowl.

    “No, hon, you don’t, but you’re wonderful all the same,” Wanda said and kissed him on the nose. “Besides, the three of us have almost been attached at the hip since we’ve gotten to know each other; it wouldn’t exactly be odd for us to go out and do things together. Hell, we did the talent show together today and it went very well!”

    “The gum?”

    “It went decently well!”

    Wanda could see Vision warming up to the idea just as much as she was. She could practically see the gears turning in his head as he tried to come up with dates fit for three people.

    After a moment, Vision gave her a solid nod. “Alright then! When we see them to get my ukulele, we’ll ask them on a date.”

    “Yay!” Wanda clapped. “A date!” She hopped up from her seat and, drifting back to their previous conversation, she said, “Well, I think the children need some popcorn!” Vision said her name and she spun back to look at him. “Hm, what?”

    Vision slowly stood and looked pointedly down at her stomach. She did too, then gasped and touched her ballooned out stomach. She looked as if she were a few months pregnant and after holding her stomach for a bit longer, she knew she was. Wanda looked up at her husband with a mixture of fear and wonder in her eyes; the look on his face mimicked her own.

    “Vision,” she said softly, “is this really happening?”

    Vision searched her face as he gently grasped her hands. His mouth quirked up just slightly as he answered, “Yes, my love, it’s really happening.”

    They leaned for a kiss.

    They were interrupted by a crash outside. 

    Both Wanda and Vision jumped as they looked towards the door. Then Vision scowled and released Wanda’s hands to walk over to the door.

    “If it’s that damn tree again,” he loudly grumbled, “I am going to… rip it out by the roots!”

    He walked outside and Wanda quickly followed.

    You jumped back from your sink, almost dropping a dish in shock from the crash that had just come out front. You couple a couple breaths to calm yourself, then put your dish and drying rag down and headed to the living room.

    “I swear,” you warned, loud enough so the trees outside could hear you, “I’ll come out there with a chainsaw! I don’t have one but I’ll find one and I’ll do it!”

    You walked to the front door. You peeled back the curtain hanging from its window to see Wanda and Vision—who looked strange, though it was too dark outside to tell why—walking outside their own home and out to the sidewalk. You watched them, debating on whether to walk outside as well and help investigate or not.

    “I don’t see anything!” you heard Wanda holler. Almost immediately, her and her husband’s gaze were drawn to a manhole cover in the middle of the street.

    You followed their gaze and your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as the three of you watched the manhole slowly move out of place. From the corner of your eye, you saw Vision closer to Wanda, and you wished you could too, but you were stuck watching as someone climbed out of the now gaping hole in the road.

    A… beekeeper?

    A beekeeper and swarm of bees climbed out of the manhole.

    You felt that now-familiar feeling again, foggy-headed but not in pain and fiercely protective of, this time, both her and her husband and her children.

    Children?

    You scrambled to get your front door open as the strange beekeeper of the sewer turned to look at the Maximoffs. You looked down to mess with the doorknob—

    When you looked up again, you were standing on the front porch of the Maximoff house.

    How weird. 

You spun and looked around wildly, your eyes settling on the manhole cover closed tightly shut it in the street for just a few seconds longer than the rest of the environment, but everything seemed in order. Slowly relaxing, you turned back to your task of returning Vision’s ukulele. 

You raised your right hand to knock, then stopped.

Color began blooming across your arm, beginning from the same spots you vaguely remembered cutting yourself on a broken mirror recently. This time, though, there were no cuts or blood, just gray tones coming to life in bright, vivid color. Gray turned to the color of skin and the green of your blouse—you’d thought it’d been green before but now you could properly see it—and when you spun around to observe the rest of the neighborhood, it was suddenly in color too. When you slowly, awestruck, turned back to Wanda and Vision’s house, it was wonderfully colored too, as was the ukulele in your lovely, now-in-color hand.

You grinned and excitedly knocked on the door, only for it to be opened moments later by Vision, wearing a very nice yellow and blue sweater or a white-colored shirt.

“Oh, [Y/N]!” He said it in a way that was a little too loud and he nervously glanced over his shoulder at Wanda, who stood a few feet back in a beautiful outfit of bright red with her hands on her expecting stomach.

You really did like her shirt.

You just liked her.

You just liked her and her husband quite a lot.

“Sorry, bad time?” You held out Vision’s ukulele to him. “I finished cleaning up and was about to go to bed when I noticed this still sitting on my coffee table.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Vision chirped, still just a little too loud than necessary.

“Oh, goodness, Vis, come inside.” Wanda walked over and nudged Vision out of the way, then smiled at you and took the ukulele out of your hand.

“Remember when we first met and you said he wasn’t always like that?” you quipped with a crooked smile, which broke into a cheek-hurting grin when Wanda giggled in response.

“Suppose I hadn’t realized it yet,” Wanda teased back. She offered the ukulele to Vision, who was still standing nearby and who was now pouting, then she moved to do the side. “Would you like to come in for a drink? We were just talking about you.”

Now you were the awkward one. “Um, yeah, sure.” You stepped inside and, glancing again at Wanda’s belly, added, “I can’t believe I forgot a baby gift. Congratulations, if I haven’t said it already.”

Wanda blinked, then shut the door behind you. “Oh nonsense. There’s plenty of time left for that.”

“I feel like it came out of nowhere; they might be here sooner than you think!”

[btsslowburnfic]

The Arrangement Ch. 16

Story summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable ad. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi

Chapter Summary: Dinner at the “Best Diner in Seoul.” (Still not a date though, right?)

Previous Chapter here

The two of you dropped the van off without any issues. You walked outside the rental agency, onto the main street stretching your arms overhead. You turned to face Yoongi, “Alright, are you ready for dinner at the best diner in Seoul?”

Yoongi smiled, glad you had rallied from earlier. He put his hands in his pockets. “The best? I don’t know; that’s a pretty high standard. This is a world-class city.”

You started to walk, “It is, and I have eaten a lot of places. This one is the best diner.”

Yoongi followed you to the subway station.  “Where is this diner?” He asked. The subway was uncrowded, with not much of a rush happening on Sunday night. You each scanned your cards. 

“It’s by work.”

Yoongi racked his brain trying to think of a diner near BigHit but wasn’t able to. He shrugged.

The subway car was mostly empty and the ride back to the city center was smooth. Yoongi scrolled through his phone. You got off and you led him down a few alleyways to an unassuming diner. It was truly a hole in the wall. 

The neon sign above the door, “Dynamite Diner,” had a few letters out: DYMT DNER. Yoongi chuckled slightly and made a confused face, but took your word for it as you opened the door. The inside of the diner was clean and brightly decorated. There was a counter with bright white stools and several cherry red booths around the perimeter. Donuts sat in a display case next to a vintage register up on the countertop.

“I should have brought my sunglasses,” Yoongi joked as he followed you over to one of the booths. You laughed and put both your personal and work phones on the table and stretched. You were certain you would be sore tomorrow from moving all those boxes. 

"What is that?" Yoongi asked, sounding mildly horrified as he gestured to your personal phone. 

"Oh this?" You held it up. You had jokingly changed your lock screen to the picture you took of him sleeping the other night to see how long it would take him to notice. "It's you, looking so adorable." 

His eyes widened "You put Tubby on me." 

"Aww is that the bear's name?” You turned the phone back towards you to look at it. “So cute". 

Yooongi touched his ear awkwardly, "It’s a dog, not a bear. Tubby was my family's pet growing up; our first dog. Anyways, I can't be your lock screen!" He pouted, a slight accent suddenly permeating his speech. 

You looked over at him, trying to keep a straight face. "Ok first of all it looks like a bear, but that it was your family’s dog makes it even more adorable. Secondly, it's my personal phone sooo…. Third. where are you from?”

“What...what does that...Daegu.”

You smirked and looked at your phone again. “I guess if it really bothers you I can change it, but look? It makes me smile." You held it up and grinned. 

The waitress came over, dropped off menus, and took your drink orders: Coffee, water, and a cup of ice for Yoongi.

"Oh my God, keep it." Yoongi opened his menu, clearly flustered. 

You laughed, "Are you sure?" 

"Yes, just stop showing it to me. Put it face down." 

You smiled and complied, then flipped through the menu. “Why did we both just order coffee?” You asked. “It’s 9 pm. That’s a terrible idea.”

“I can drink coffee and fall asleep, no problem.  What's good here?” 

“The noodles are really good. I'm getting the gaeranjim tonight. I used to come here after working at the bar since it's open 24/7.”

Yoongi looked over at, watching you scan the menu. You gave so much to the people you cared about." Spicy or regular?" 

"Huh?" You asked, bobbing your head back up. 

"Spicy noodles or plain?" 

"It's cold out, so you have to get spicy." You said it so matter of factly. 

“Ok, of course. Why did I even ask?” 

You put the menu down and grabbed your work phone.  "Let's see what this week brings. Meetings. Meetings. Sound mixing? Recording. Meet with Hoseok. Hair and make-up department. Photo shoot? Photo shoot?" 

Yoongi sat his menu down and interlaced his fingers in front of his face, resting his mouth against them. “Yep. They want new pictures for social media and for the album. My next album deadline is in 90 days but they begin all of this stuff in advance for things like printing and promos.” 

“Oooo so you'll be like a model?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and the server walked up to the table. She sat down all of the drinks carefully. The two of you placed your food orders and handed in the menus.

“Min Yoongi. Model.' You teased, striking a pose. 

“Are you saying I'm not good looking enough to be a model?” He feigned offense while pouring his coffee over the ice and stirring it.

“Oh please, I told you at the job interview I thought you were good looking. It's just hard to imagine you sitting still and being pretty.” 

Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck. “Well it's in my contract. And my fans like it. As much as I hate parts about my job, I do love my fans. " He took a sip of his drink.

“That's sweet.” You smiled.

Yoongi blushed a little, “Well I wouldn't be where I am without them, right? You have to have an audience to be a performer. Someone has to listen, otherwise you're just screaming into the void.”

“I guess that makes sense. Being on the consumer side of things I never really thought of it like that. Huh.” You sat back in the booth thoughtfully and sipped some coffee. 

Yoongi looked out the glass window at the street outside. It had been a strange couple of weeks for him and yet this all felt normal. He couldn't remember the last time he had gone out to a restaurant with someone because he wanted to. He covered a yawn and looked back over at you. 

You were people watching in the diner. You were normally only here in the middle of the night. The bell above the entrance dinged and you saw Chinsun, your regular server, walk in to begin her night shift. You smiled as you remembered all the coffee and bullshit you had shared with her. There were nights you got off work at 3 and knew it made more sense to power through and go into the office. You decided you would talk to her later if she wasn't busy. 

The food came out a few minutes later.  Hunger had snuck up on you. You went from zero to famished. You began blowing on your meal.

“Y/N?” You heard the familiar voice of Chinsun “I haven't seen you in a while.” She had on her white and red work uniform and her graying hair done up in a bun.

You looked up from your eggs and smiled,  “Nice to see you. I quit working at the bar, I just have 1 job now.” You said happily. 

“That's great, you can only burn the candle from both ends for so long. I'm surprised you did it for as long as you did.” She responded.

You shrugged and took a sip of water. “Well we all do what we have to.”

“And?.... who is your friend?” Chinsun gestured to Yoongi who was mid-slurp on his noodles. Apparently he was also starving.

“This is my boss, Min Yoongi.”

He patted his mouth with a napkin before speaking, “Hello,” he bowed his head. “Nice to meet you.” 

“I’m Chinsun. It’s nice to meet you too.  Well I'll let you get back to your meal, I'm glad you stopped by, I was worried when I didn’t see you for a while. Make sure you two come back!”

“Thank you. You are so sweet. I’ll make sure to stop in again soon, take care.” You took a bite as soon as she left.

“These noodles are in fact, the best.” Yoongi appraised between slurps. 

“I told you. You can’t beat a hole in the wall diner sometimes. So...new album in 90 days? How’s it going?”

“It’s ok. A few songs are done. I got feedback from Adora last week so that was helpful. This album in general will be less….angry. Yeah less angry sounding.”

“Cool. What comes first, the music or the lyrics?”

“They are separate completely. The music and then I see if any of the  lyrics I’ve written match the mood. Sometimes it just goes together and sometimes it doesn’t.” 

“Interesting.”

Yoongi talked a bit more about the process of creating an album from start to finish. You had never put any thought into it so it was fascinating. The rest of your meal passed without incident and you were happy that when they brought the bill, Yoongi actually let you pay. 

You waved to Chinsun as you exited. Yoongi rubbed his stomach. “Too many noodles.”

You smiled and then looked up at the sky. It was beginning to snow. “No such thing. And look. What great timing. The first snow of the year.” 

“Gross.” He quickly replied.

“Ahahaha you really hate the cold don’t you?” You said as you held out your hand, watching the flakes land and melt almost instantly.

“I do. The snow is pretty though. I’ll look at it tomorrow from the warmth and safety of inside.”

“You’re no fun. I love the snow.” You played with it for a few more seconds. “Alright let’s get back.”  

The snow continued to fall as you began the short walk back to BigHit. It was so pretty. The sidewalk was almost empty and the snowfall made it seem even quieter than it was. You took your phone out and snapped a picture for Instagram. In a few minutes, you were back at the building. The two of you scanned your badges to enter the lobby and waved to the night security guard.

“I’m heading to the studio. You should take some aspirin and a hot bath.” Yoongi said while you waited for the elevator.

You reached over without thinking and dusted snowflakes off of his hair. “Do you need help with anything? I also had coffee, I’ll probably be up for a while.”

Yoongi was briefly unable to answer, still surprised from having been dusted. “Nope. I’m just going to write. Go, rest your muscles. Watch Netflix. Relax. You literally moved a small apartment’s worth of stuff today.”

The two of you got on the elevator. “Alright. If you insist. I’m not going to argue with that. Where is the aspirin?”

“My bathroom. Bottom left drawer.”

“Got it.” The elevator slowly climbed. You took a deep breath and looked over at Yoongi. “Thanks again for all your help today. Like. ALLLLL of it. The van, my aunt, my brother. Thanks. It was a lot.”

Yoongi avoided eye contact, finding his shoes very fascinating. “No problem. Like I said, it wasn’t that bad for me. I got free soup and noodles.”

You laughed, “Good to know your chauffeur services are so affordable.” The elevator stopped on the 14th floor. 

“See you tomorrow.” Yoongi started to exit, “If Jin’s girlfriend acts up, call me.” Yoongi added as though he suddenly remembered something.

“Now that I know that’s a thing, apparently, I’ll be fine.  Thanks though.” You waved as the doors closed.

You’d be fine. Yoongi reassured himself as he walked over to the studio. He was suddenly acutely aware of just how quiet the 14th floor was with no one else on it. He walked over to the large windows on the opposite side of the elevators. The snow was really coming down now, and the ground would soon be blanketed. He opened the shopping app and searched “snow gloves.” He took a deep breath, What am I doing? He walked over to the other side of the floor, punched in his passcode, and entered Genius lab, ready to get some writing done.

--

Fuck, you were so glad today was almost over. You walked into the apartment and immediately started a bath. You set up your laptop on the toilet lid. You were going to live your best life, watching Netflix in the bathtub. You had heard of such luxuries and were strangely excited by it. You headed up to the loft area, randomly grabbed a stuffed animal and threw it onto Yoongi’s bed. You grabbed the aspirin and smiled as you passed the Pikachu you had yeeted onto Yoongi’s comforter and imagined his annoyance when he discovered it. Ah, it made you laugh. You grabbed yourself some water from the kitchen and headed off to soak away your soreness and forget the day. You paused briefly to admire the snow coming down in full force now. So beautiful.  NEXT CHAPTER

@lidda  @anpanman-sonyeondan   @firefairy1  @cuteipat  @sugaslittlekookies  @janeelizabeth1216 @deeepvibes @gxldenhunny @livelyjay @niniita-ah @bobbyboops @honeysunandsoil @deathkat657 (i missed your tag for the last chapter, so sorry!!)

[beeexx]

Fic: Winter

4 tattoos on TK’s body, 4 stories set over each of the 4 season. Carlos and TK grow closer.

Read part one and two or the whole thing on my ao3 .

---------- When Carlos was younger he used to love Christmas, loved the lights, the food, the music and spending time with his family. He still likes all that but ever since becoming a police officer and seeing how absolutely crackers everyone gets over Christmas he has reassessed that notion thoroughly and decided that he only enjoys Christmas when he can completely shut off the outside world and escape the insane nonsens, then, yes Christmas is lovely. Having been single for the majority of his time on the force always makes him the first pick for working on the 25th, and this year is no different. So, he sees TK on the 24th before Gwyenth flies in and it’s sweet and fun but he feels TK might want to spend it alone with him next year, the seriousness of their relationship starting to require that they create some traditions of their own, and the 25th on a full 24 hour shift and then the 26th he goes home to his parents. 

New Years comes along, it’s calm for him, he’s working the next day and he drinks sparkling water and coke for the whole evening they spend at Grace and Judd with the 126, Carlos has become an unofficial member of. He’s grown close with them all since starting dating TK and it’s not unusual for him to get his own invitation to stuff, sometimes even without TK. Mateo sends him texts asking dating advice, Paul will ask questions about cooking and recipes and he and Marjan have taken up playing padel together. So he’s definitely part of the group for sure and it’s lovely being surrounded by people who know each other so well that there are almost more alcohol free options than there are actual alcohol, food from all sorts of different countries and traditions and a warm atmosphere around as they watch the fireworks together out on the deck, celebrating the coming of a new year.

He drives TK home to Owen pretty early and TK gives him sad puppy dog eyes before he drags him into the back of the car for some light fooling around and very heated kissing that would definitely not have been approved of at Judd and Grace’s party before he regretfully has to leave if he wants to be able to work at all come morning. The choice of staying over is so tempting but Carlos knows he would struggle too much the next day when he would be forced to leave a very hot and cute and snuggly boyfriend while he has to work. So he kisses the love of his life passionately on the street, so much so that he looks completely dazed and confused when Carlos pulls away and tells him he loves him and that he promises to make it up to him the next time they are off together and TK, with his stern face on, makes him promise that he will.

But Carlos has been working a lot this winter, he knows, it's a habit, leftover from a long time of being single that he’s had a hard time shaking. He doesn’t like winter, it’s the only time of the year he’s usually always felt lonely, with all the holidays coming up being forced into social gatherings where questions are always asked whether he’s single or not and it used to grate endlessly on his nerves. And if he’s sometimes taken shifts on the days after or on the actual days to avoid the questions, well no one has to know.

Only this year he’s been so distracted that he’s forgotten he’s already accepted all these shifts almost a year before, before he was officially together with TK the way they are now, and the unfortunate result of this is that they have have become completely unmatched in their schedules which makes TK look more and more sad every time he has to leave him to go to work. It’s making Carlos’ sad too but because he’s worked so much recently, he’s made sure to switch his shifts around with a colleague so he’ll get three days off in a row, matching them all up with TK’s, and that’s what he thinks about every time he feels guilty about it.

But growing close with TK’s friends also means that he gets 15 texts in a row from Mateo, and five calls that have him promising to come to his party the Friday after the new year, because that’s his life now. And of course he’s late, because nothing ever goes his way and he’s barely had the time to change and shower when at home, basically just throwing on black jeans and a white t-shirt hoping that it will do and that he won’t be completely underdressed for the occasion. It turns out that isn’t the actual issue.  

The issue is that apparently TK has had the time to choose clothes that make him look absolutely sinfully hot in his ridiculously tight jeans and pink button down that has one too many buttons left undone, teasing skin, his chain as always around his neck, part of his flower tattoo on exhibition for too many to see. Not that Carlos is the jealous type, but his boyfriend is attractive as hell and he’s definitely not the only one who has noticed that.

Which introduces the other issue.

“Oh my god babe, I’m so relieved you are here. I feel old.” TK declares absolutely horrified by having spent the majority of the evening in company with people who are probably old enough to drink because Carlos is not looking forward to arresting anyone, but with the majority of them being under 25, maybe?

But he agrees, everyone is so millennial here, like too millennial even for his tastes that they are all feeling much more like zoomers than anything, yes Carlos spends time on the internet. And he does have a younger sister that age and has spent too much time on calls where he’s been forced to talk to people under 20 feeling very much like they are speaking a completely different language to him. But being here Carlos realises that Mateo is actually a few years younger than him which has never even crossed his mind before, but standing here in Mateo’s new apartment he just moved into it’s becoming clear that Carlos with his 27 years is actually old in comparison to this.

Marjan looks to be having the time of her life though, looking slick and cool in her completely black awesome outfit, having a group of people wrapped around her fingers as they seem to hang onto every word, oohing and aaahing at the right places while Paul is playing on the ps5, him, Marjan and TK got Mateo for Christmas slaying everyone who dares playing against him. TK looks absolutely appaled at having been forced into the company of these people for the past few hours that he’s already been here, and it’s hilarious because sometimes riling TK up and annoying him is a little fun, but Carlos is the best thank you very much and he asks if TK wants to go have sex on Mateo’s bed in retaliation and TK’s eyes grow mischevous by the very idea. 

“Yes, I love that.” He’s much happier already and he’s positively glowing, his slight addiction to misbehaving becoming evidently clear. Marjan stops both of them, wrapping her arms around their shoulders harshly.

“No screwing in probie’s bed.” She chides and TK’s mood sours immediately. 

“Marjan, come on, look at this. I’m too old to be here, I want to have some fun.”

“Perfect, we’re playing truth or dare, you’ll love it.”

TK groans.

But they are forced into the game nonetheless because Paul joins too and when Paul and Marjan’s plans align they are a goddamn unstoppable force and there really isn’t anything you can do to escape it.

So, forced into a game Carlos hasn't played since probably high school is either going to become absolutely disastrous or the most fun he’s had in ages, he hasn’t made up his mind yet. Mateo joins as well and a bunch of other people Carlos is never going to learn the names of join together in the kitchen, TK being well TK sitting on top of the kitchen island, cross legged and leaning against Carlos who is sitting on one of the bar stools, his arms securely around him, sipping a really shitty beer someone gave him before the game started. 

When a girl called Emily gets dared to call an ex of hers to tell him the rules of Monopoly even TK can’t help but laugh because she absolutely kills it, finishing the call with all of them applauding her because that was some Boss as shit to do, even Carlos respects it. 

Lots of the people around them keep shooting lingering glances at him and TK, not judgeful ones, Carlos would probably fake threaten to arrest them for prejudice and discrimination if he felt any hostility, no, they are curious, kind, a little intruding maybe, but it’s done out of an eagerness, maybe at seeing a gay couple so openly happy and relaxed together that they can’t help themselves. Or maybe they’re checking them out and Carlos will accept that as a compliment without it getting to his head. When he leans forward and kisses the back of TK’s head it's obvious it’s become too much for the people around them and a guy called Fred bursts at the seams.

“TK.” He says. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth I guess.” He says nonchalantly. 

“Who tops and who bottoms in the relationship?”

There’s a collective groan in the room and Fred blushes, obviously unaware of his mistake but seems to have enough awareness at least to realise he’s done something stupid. Carlos is just waiting for TK to give the guy a totally inappropriate answer exposing their sex life to a bunch of people who can only dream of ever having as amazing sex as they are having, yeah it’s not nice bragging, but doing it inside of his head where no one can hear isn’t hurting anyone, but it’s not TK who answers, it’s Mateo, beating TK to it. 

“That’s a stupid question Fred, rooted in outdated gender roles while it also reinforces false heteronormative ideas of feminintiy and masculinty onto sex. The idea that you have to be dominant or submissive just because you like to give or receive is just ridiculous, because even you should be aware that depending on the mood, the time or whatever you’re not going to just enjoy one single thing, and if you do, then you’ve clearly only had terrible sex.”

The room grows silent, Carlos' eyes widening as TK holds back his laughter.

“Yeah that, what Mateo said Fred.” TK forces out, coughs to hide how he’s close to absolutely losing it while the room erupts into loud cheering and whistling making both Mateo and Fred blush.

“Daaaamn probie, who would have thought you actually listen when we tell you stuff huh? Good job.” Marjan says while Paul looks like a proud father, absolutely beaming. TK takes pity on Fred who is looking a little dejected.

“Just find yourself a partner that you feel safe and loved by and do some experimenting to see what you like, but make sure to set boundaries too, and you’ll be good to go. Also if you’re straight, respect women, they are the best thing we have.” Fred looks a little relieved as someone beside him pulls him into a rough friendly hug and they move on. 

The game continues and soon everyone has forgotten Fred’s little mistake and the game grows louder and rowdier, Paul drawing the short straw of getting dared to smell everyone’s feet in the room and rank them. 

“Carlos, truth or dare.” These kids are too thrifty for Carlos, he aint getting dared into something stupid.

“Truth.” He settles for. Lily’s eyes land on TK and she smiles sweetly.

“Favourite and least favorite thing about TK.” TK turns his head and grins as Carlos sticks his tongue out.

“Least favorite thing is his messiness and proneness to forgetful spells, you see kids turning 27 can make you a bit forgetful, don't forget to be kind to him tonight.” It sets the whole room off into roaring laughter and Carlos chuckles a little pleased at his own joke as TK glares without any heat, huffs and rolls his eyes. He makes sure to wrap his arms tighter around him.

“My favourite thing about him is his unwavering strength, his big heart and even though he’s struggled and failed and failed again he never gives up on trying to do better. It’s simple, I love him, so it’s easy to love every part of him.” 

Loud AAAWWWWs erupts all over the room and TK’s flush is high on his cheeks as he leans towards Carlos, gently kissing him. A girl sends Lily a look of fondness, both him and TK catching it before she averts her eyes.

“I love you.” TK whispers, only meant for Carlos, and his heart swells from hearing the words for the 100th time. It never seizes to stop taking the breath out of him. 

The game continues, someone making the mistake of daring Marjan to eat a spoon of hot sauce, her face not moving an inch as she swallows it without trouble, Mateo to tell everyone who he’d like to make out with in the room then being dared to do it by Carlos because she looks to be a little interested in Mateo too, while Carlos gets dared to behave like the person to his right which has the whole room dying and the acting lessons he took in high school coming in handy. It doesn’t surprise Carlos that this happens because these people are relentless but then, TK gets dared to give him a goddamn lap dance, the attention bouncing off TK in waves, his elation and cheekiness making him look way too hot while Carlos tries very hard to think of the pile of dishes at home in his sink to distract from not making good on his earlier promises and dragging TK away to Mateo’s room and get laid immediately. He sends Paul a hateful glare who looks smug. 

By the time someone asks the question about TK’s flower tattoo on his chest Carlos has actually gotten a little tipsy, and the youngsters, which most of them aren’t really, because some he’s realised are as old as he is, have grown a lot on him. He’s having a very good time.

“What’s the story behind the flower tattoo, if there is one?” TK leans forward, eyes mischievous.

“It’s funny you should ask.” He begins and Carlos silently groans. 

“So, the story begins when I was in Thailand, gap year and all that, I am sure you’ve been at that point in your life?” Some nod, TK has the attention of the whole room and he grows more and more confident, comfortable with everyone’s attention on him. 

God, this is going to be funny.

“We were partying at my hostel, we got real drunk and I went home with a dude that I had met who were staying at a different place than I was. We were both really drunk, we fooled around in his room, you know what happened next, no details for you dirty buggers. Anyway, in the middle of the night I want a snack so I leave him sleeping. Only that I am still so drunk that I forget that to be able to get back to his room you have to have a key card to get the elevator to take you to the floors. So, only in boxers I take the elevator to the ground floor and try to get the vending machine to give me some chocolate, without any money. I stand there clicking every button I can find, when there’s suddenly a cat on the lobby desk. So drunk as I am my attention is immediately on the cat who wasn’t as much in a cuddly mood as I was.”

Carlos is not drunk enough to buy a word coming out of TK’s mouth, but he’s telling it with such conviction, hands motioning around, having completely captivated the room’s attention that even Marjan looks unsure whether to believe this or not.

“The cat runs away, I forget my hunger and I start to make my way back up to, Simon, that was the guy’s name. I try to find my way back up there, only the elevator doesn’t work because I don’t have a keycard so I’m screwed but of course too drunk to realise this. The elevator keeps going up and down though as people come and go and I’m there just in my boxers like a total loser. Basically someone must have thought that I was a prostitute because someone called the police who came to get me. They were so friendly by the way and so sweet, and there I am in my boxers out on the street so drunk I can barely remember my own name trying to answer questions about what my phone number is and where I live.”

He pauses for dramatic effect and Carlo bites his lip, hard and discreetly so no one can see how deranged he thinks this story is. Everyone seems to want to know more so TK pushes on.

“I get escorted out, given a jacket by someone to cover up and then they tell me that they will drive me home. While they are driving I see a tattoo shop that’s open 24/7 and I tell them to drop me there and say something like I live upstairs with the owner and show a photo of a friend who definitely isn't Australian or own any goddamn tattoo shop owner but they buy it. Or they were probably just tired of me, so they drop me off there and I insist I will be fine. Outside there’s a group of people, all of them clearly drunk. I join them, you know making friends while drunk it’s like the easiest thing in the world and then we go into the shop together, me in my boxers and Sydney PD jacket to go with and then have the massive flower tattoo made on my chest while my new friends cheer me on, pay for it too because I have no money or phone, drink some more beer inside of the shop and then we all share a cab back to the same hostel we were staying at and the morning after I woke up with the biggest hangover I have ever experienced, no phone, no clothes and a massive tattoo on my chest I barely remember getting.“ He finishes and the room has been rendered speechless.

TK is preening, loving what he’s just done. The whole room erupts into loud chatter soon enough and none of them can really make sense of the story and alternate between completely buying it and not buying it at all. 

Carlos leans forward, nipping gently at TK’s ear before he whispers.

“Babe, I want the actual story for the tattoo.”

“What? You don’t believe what I just told you?” He asks, sweetly, innocently and Carlos snorts. 

“Sure, and I am related to Lady Gaga.” TK laughs, turns his head and kisses him.

“I’ll tell you later.” He promises and Carlos pecks him gently on the lips. The room’s moved on and the game continues for a while longer before the crowd disrupts, Marjan and TK set on matchmaking Lily together with the same girl that looked at her earlier while Paul and Carlos get roped into an armwrestling contest that he’s going to feel in his muscles tomorrow for sure. 

By the time someone decides they’re going out clubbing Carlos is fairly drunk, a comfortable buzzing just underneath his skin and he’s having a good time, he isn’t going to say no to dancing. TK finds him, sneaking an arm around him, refusing to let him go, which makes it much harder to get his jacket and shoes on and get downstairs and out to the uber that’s waiting. They must look slightly ridiculous like this but no one is paying attention to them and Carlos only has eyes for TK anyway, so nothing matters than him. 

They share a cab with Paul and two other people Carlos cannot remember the names of but seems to be really engaged with Paul about some book they both love and Carlos tunes them out, nuzzling TK’s hair who is still wrapped around him. TK looks up to meet his eyes, smile soft and eyes alluring and lips plumb and extremely kissable. Carlos licks his lips.

“Can you two at least wait until we’re in the club so I don’t have to watch you suck each other’s faces off right here?” Carlos huffs and TK swats at Paul, not getting too far away from Carlos, his arms still wrapped around him. 

What can he say? He’s drunk, in love and he has a stupidly hot boyfriend, he might be losing his grip on appropriate behaviour when TK is this near and this intoxicating. But maybe, just maybe he should stop drinking for the rest of the evening, especially if he wants to get laid when he gets home. 

They get to the club and both TK and him lose the rest of their friends. Not that it matters much anyway, all he has eyes for is TK who doesn’t hesitate to take charge, pulling Carlos towards the dancefloor with such ease it’s hard not to be completely enticed by him. The music is loud vibrating through Carlos’ body and TK pulls him close, finally without having to care about other people, letting go of everything that was holding him back before, finally having TK all to himself.

TK looks to be in his right goddamn element, alive, happy, body moving with the freedom of being safe and in love and allowed to exist freely. Carlos barely even grapples with the urge to pull him close, he just does and kisses him, passionately, bruising, messing up his hair and pulling his hips close to his own. TK hisses against his mouth but he gives as good as he gets and he kisses back fervently, intensely with brutal vigor and Carlos loses his footing, it’s so good. They’re being so indecent right now, but there’s something positively addictive being with TK like this, grinding on each other, kissing without holding back, loving each other boldly and loudly.

It’s all Carlos has ever wanted.

TK pulls away, he honestly looks absolutely wrecked, way too good for Carlos to be sane about anything.

“Baby.” He rasps in Carlos’ ear, voice hoarse and broken and it goes straight to Carlos’ dick, he hisses in response. God he’s so gone. TK, the little devil kisses his neck, lips attached to the exposed skin of his t-shirt, licks his skin, pulls it into his mouth and Carlos bites at his lip, hard, pulling TK closer to him.

They are going to have to slow down otherwise they are going to get kicked out.

“Baby.” He says, sees a shiver go through TK as he clutches at Carlos’ hair, messing it up completely. “We’re going to have to slow down.”

“Why?” TK whines.

“Because we’re not having sex in the bathroom…” But even as he says it the image of TK on his knees in front of him is a little too much not to be very tempting. TK bites at his earlobe, the fucking tease and sucks it into his mouth.

“Fine, fine.” He agrees, pulls back and kisses Carlos, still sinfully hot, but a little more controlled and appropriate than before. He pulls back, smiles beautifully and Carlos knows he’s just never ever going to love someone the way he loves TK.

But they slow down a little, and somehow find Paul who points at Mateo making out with the girl from earlier, Marjan is at the bar looking mischievous and Carlos wonders what she has in mind. He finds that out when she walks towards them, glitter in her hands. She blows some onto Paul who swoops her up spinning her around as she laughs delightedly and then smears some onto Carlos’ face. He wipes parts of it off, but it sticks to his face like glue because of the sweat, and wipes it onto TK’s face, pulling him close to kiss him to stop his squeaking and swatting. 

Mateo comes and joins them and they spend the rest of the night dancing and shouting and laughing and it’s liberating, a different kind of high to be out with friends who you love, who accept you and who you can be yourself with 100%. They are all going to spend weeks trying to get the glitter out of their hair though, Carlos knows as much.

At 5 in the morning he and TK stumble through his door, both of them unable to keep their hands off each other after behaving for hours. Finally they are completely alone. 

…..

Carlos wakes up the next day when TK starts to move around in their bed. He hears him leave the room and Carlos groans, throws an arm across his face, hiding from the light streaming in through the opened curtains. He has a headache, not just due to being hungover, but more because of clubbing for hours with loud music, staying up for most of the night and probably because as much as he doesn’t like to admit it, he’s nearing 30. Being out clubbing all night takes much more of a toll on his body than it used to. 

TK comes back, puts down what Carlos thinks is a glass of water on the nightstand before he crawls back into bed, Carlos pulling him close, snuggling up against him as soon as he’s back in bed. TK huffs but doesn’t object as Carlos noses at his neck, feeling TK run a hand through his hair.

He’s sore all over, from the arm wrestling, from the dancing and from the insane sex they had last night. And he’s probably wearing TK’s boxers by mistake, because they feel a little too tight on him so they are definitely not his. It’s not comfortable but he doesn’t have the energy to care.

“Morning.” TK croaks out, voice hoarse from all of the screaming. He hums, not really ready yet to be a human. He’s allowed to lie for a moment in bed, peaceful, but the thing with TK is that sometimes he’s inhumane in the mornings, taking after Owen undoubtedly, with his uncanny ability to just be awake. He can definitely be a sleepy little brat, but when he isn’t, once he’s up, he’s up. 

“There’s glitter everywhere.” TK comments, smile evident in his voice. Carlos forces his eyes to open, blinks a few times and looks around the room, sees that there is indeed glitter on the bed, clothes lying all around the bedroom, pillows on the ground, the bottle of lube still open, leaking onto the hardwood floor and the mattress has been moved, lying halfway across the bed. 

He groans, shifts onto his back pushing his unruly curls away from his face and rubs at his eyes, trying to feel a little bit more awake.

“Here.” TK says and hands him the glass of water. He thankfully takes a sip, moves the pillow more comfortably behind his head before he closes his eyes again, ready to sleep for a few more hours. TK huffs, shuffles around for a moment, unhappy, before he comes closer to Carlos, nudging his legs apart so he can settle between them. Carlos opens his eyes again and moves to make more room for him. TK immediately stops moving and settles, hands unconsciously stroking across Carlos’ chest.

TK has a pillow streak across his cheek, blue and pink glitter still on his face and his hair really is messy from Carlos pulling on it last night, and yet managing to look way too good for someone who has been up most of the night partying.

“Hi.” He says, voice hoarse too. He coughs to clear his throat a few times and TK’s mouth twitches.

“We broke the room last night.” He comments dryly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I’m sure it was mostly you.”

“The mattress was all you.” He smirks and Carlos snorts. 

“Yeah I definitely feel that today, and a little like I’ve been hit by a brick…” TK laughs as Carlos struggles with words, not sure how to make his brain work.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“I hate to say this but I am getting too old to party like this.” TK laughs, swats his chest.

“Don’t say that. You’re making me feel ancient.”

“You seem to be handling it a little better than I am.” He mutters and TK snorts.

“Well I didn’t engage in an arm wrestling contest that was just an excuse to flex.”

None of them mention the very obvious reason as to why TK’s is feeling better than Carlos is. Not that they don’t talk about TK’s addiction, they do, sometimes a lot, sometimes less and sometimes not at all. It’s definitely become a fixed point in their relationship, it’s impossible for it to not be one when you are as serious as they are. But they don’t have to tiptoe around the subject anymore either, it’s become as normalised as it can be between them, even getting to the point where TK will sometimes make a crude joke about it that should have Carlos chiding him, that more often than not makes him snort and pull him into a hug instead.

And TK’s whole life, the very core of who he is is not defined by his substance abuse and addiction or his anxiety and issues, so their relationship isn’t either. More often than not they have the exact same problems any couple their age has and it’s nice it has gotten to that point after having had a really rough start to everything.

“What can I say? I’m hot and muscly.” He jokes, flexes his bicep for show as TK snorts, swats him a little harder than before.

“Well you beat everyone in the room who dared to go up against you, that’s not bad.”

“Thank you.” TK rolls his eyes without heat and leans forward to gently peck his lips. 

“You have really bad morning breath.” TK observes, pulls back, grimaces in disappointment and Carlos snorts.

“I’m not surprised.” He lifts his head, looks around the room and then changes his mind, lies back down again. TK lifts an eyebrow.

“Just thinking whether I have the energy to get up and clean, I don’t.”

“You’ve earnt a morning in.”

“I think so too.” He agrees and TK huffs.

They’re quiet for a moment, enjoying just being in each other’s company after being apart for a while with their mismatched schedules. It looks like it might be sunny today too and Carlos can probably agree to take a walk, he’s sure TK is going to suggest it. 

They’re both extroverts, but only to an extent. TK is learning that he actually likes spending nights in instead of going out to dinner or clubbing while Carlos has learnt the enjoyment of downtime as he can struggle with not knowing when and how to take a break or relax, always feeling like he needs to to do something, to be on his feet, to move, always edging closer to a burnout with the rhythm he’s going in. In that regard they are quite similar and relaxing together, shutting their brains off in a coping mechanism that isn’t sex (yes that works too but it’s not exactly a sustainable option) has become both a challenge and easier with time. 

So they have taken to walking on the weekends or the days where they have time off, to talk about the hard stuff, the big life changing stuff or the small and silly things. There’s something with walking in nature that makes all the hard things in life feel easier, easier to detangle the messes and feel like everything will be okay. His ten thousand daily steps shoot in record each weekend when they keep pushing themselves to find new paths, or walk on the old ones, stopping for coffee when the weather allows it, basking in the sun and each other. It’s very old retired couple of them, but even Paul and Mateo’s teasing had come to a stop when Carlos had smacked a massive list of benefits in the group chat to shut them up and asked them to come with them instead. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. But it’s definitely a habit that’s just his and TK’s, carved out from love and finding ways to grow together. 

“Sooo…” Carlos says, teasing and TK lifts an eyebrow and leans forward, his elbows resting on Carlos’ chest.

“The tattoo story from yesterday, that was a load of horseshit.” TK grins.

“That was hilarious, I wish someone would have filmed it.”

“I’m sure you would, you sneaky little monster.”

“I think you mean genius.”

“Sure, sure.” TK laughs and there are fewer things Carlos delights in doing more than making him happy. Ever since they got official he’s decided that it’s a daily goal, a promise to keep being happy together, and so far he’s kept it up.

Carlos lifts an eyebrow.

“This tattoo thing is becoming a recurring thing I see?”

“Ah, you’ve seen through my genius plans.” TK snorts.

“This is the first one I ever did.” Carlow grows serious and unconsciously reaches a hand forward, stroking along the tattoo on display.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, my dad wouldn’t let me until I turned 18 and I did some real begging and convincing to try and change his mind but he always said no. He settled for 18 because he has one himself which he did when he was 16 and was a lifeguard. It used to be a koi fish but he’s changed it a lot since then and it’s a bit of a mess. ‘A wonderful blob, just like his mind’ that’s his own words.” Carlos chuckles. 

“Ah, so why a flower?”

“I don’t even know if it has a meaning or anything, I've just always associated flowers and plants with life and natural beauty and it gives me a sense of serenity, grounds me a bit more in reality when everything is uncertain. And you know me, a lot of things have been uncertain in my life.” 

“Yeah, but considering what you’ve been through it’s amazing how far you’ve come, you know this right?”

“Yeah, I’m starting to learn that.” He smiles, a little shyly. “And life is finally starting to feel good again, like this is how it’s supposed to be and I feel safe with you.”

Carlos feels his eyes soften and his heart beat fiercely in his chest and he loves TK so much. 

“I feel safe with you too.” He whispers and TK nods, like he understands, eyes soft and a sweet little smile at the edge of his lips as he melts in Carlos’ arms, like it’s finally clicked for him too that they really do belong together. Carlos isn’t very religious or superstitious but from the moment he met TK, when he was guarded and on edge and only wanted sex, knew that they would be good together, that there was something about TK that would manage to ground all of Carlos’ faults and flaws and that once they would be un equal ground, they would create something good and beautiful and stable out of something momentarily broken. 

Because TK isn’t broken or damaged beyond repair, he never was and he isn’t now either.

He is the love of Carlo’s life.

He isn’t superstitious but he knows this.

“For someone claiming to be such a city boy you sure do have a lot of earthy and nature themed tattoos.” He comments, gently caressing TK’s cheek, hoping that all he feels for this man can be read in his face. When TK’s breath hitches he thinks he knows, or that he’s seen something he wasn’t expecting.

Carlos pulls him into a peck and TK whines.

“Don’t you have a breath mint or something so we can kiss properly?” He complains making Carlos chuckle. 

He throws a look at the nightstand and TK grumberly climbs over him, poking Carlos hard on the nose which he expects is on purpose before he opens the drawer and pulls out a small box of tic taks. He pops it into his own mouth, climbs back on top of Carlos and reaches down, kissing him salaciously, loudly and gives the breath mint over to Carlos who honestly almost swallows it whole his whole body reacting so instantly to TK it short circuits his brain. TK grinds down and Carlos groans, pushing up for more friction and TK chuckles, pleased by the reaction, against his mouth before he throws the duvet to the side so he can get more access. 

Suddenly Carlos doesn’t have a headache anymore.

…..

They do make it out of bed eventually and they clean the mess up together. Then Carlos takes a shower and when he comes back TK has made banana pancakes and Carlos realises just how hungry he is. He definitely does the majority of the cooking in the relationship but TK will surprise him from time to time by making something he knows really well, and he seems to have taken to breakfast wood with an almost natural ease, spending a long time of this relationship trying to perfect his banana pancakes.

And Carlos likes cooking so he really doesn’t mind that he does it a lot. He really was brought up with food being the ingredient that solved things within his family. It could be a forgiving gesture or a loving gesture and it was always a caring gesture, even when fights got big and words were said and Carlos was convinced the family was going to split into sides that would never heal, but food was the one constant. He’s taken that with him and it’s his way of showing TK how much he adores him, hearing him try something of Carlos’ and like it, face lighting up as the spices and flavours mix together perfectly is an incredible feeling.

So instead TK is observant, always makes him tea the way he likes it, comes by the station to give him coffee if he’s nearby, stacks up on the protein powder Carlos uses when he does go grocery shopping for them and buys him lunch when they are out in town, obsessed with trying new places. The best thing though is that Carlos’ kitchen has for months now been stacked up on things he would never buy himself, like the fancy hazelnut coffee syrup that’s now found a permanent place by his coffee maker, one of the empty shelves in his cupboard that he’s never found anything to keep there that TK fills up with sweets and snacks and chocolate. Or the vegan protein bars that are now a permanent fixture in a cupboard beside the oven. 

TK hasn’t moved in officially but he barely goes home these days, once or twice every second week and only more often if TK and his schedules don’t align at all. 

Carlos should probably ask him about moving in soon. 

“Hi baby.” TK says and Carlos steps close, pecks him lovingly on the lips before he steals a piece of the pancake, TK swatting his hand away.

“Hey.” Carlos pecks him again before he goes to get some plates and set the table for them. TK comes carrying the plate with pancakes shortly after and Carlos makes himself a coffee because TK when he does drink it, it’s not usually in the mornings, and sighs happily as he swallows down the first sip and then they sit down and eat together. 

Carlos is living on cloud 9 at the moment, he’s spent the majority of last night dancing with the love of his life, the morning was full of even more sex and now they’re having breakfast together, the thrill of it moves through him like a current, enfulging him into a warm blanket of happiness. And Carlos really truly is happy. 

TK seems to sense it too, he keeps sending Carlos smiles over the table, hooking his ankle over his underneath it, rarely breaking eye contact. When they’re done TK comes forward, sitting down in Carlos’ lap, wrapping his arms around him. 

“Hi you.” Carlos says, putting his arms around TK’s waist, pulling him closer to him. 

“Hi.” TK whispers, pushes a hand through Carlos’ damp hair, messing up the curls even worse.

“I really like your hair like this.” TK muses, continues with the action, sending shivers down his spine. 

“I’ve noticed.”

“Why don’t you keep your hair like this more often?”

“If you had curly hair you would know.” Carlos snorts. He cuts it regularly, hates it when it gets too long, it’s much harder to style and he wants his hair to be out of his way when he works so he tends to sleep with hair stuff in his hair when he goes to sleep, it takes him much shorter to get ready in the mornings that way.

“Maybe.” TK agrees, pulls at the strands a little, enjoying the sounds he’s bringing out of Carlos.

“This has been nice, I’ve missed you a lot recently.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’ve missed you too.” He promises.

“Do you really have to work tonight?” TK sighs looking dejected.

“Actually no, not tonight, I switched my shifts around.”

“Really?” He looks so happy right now, eyes alive and sweet. 

“Yeah.” He rubs his nose against TK’s who huffs but returns the movement before Carlos kisses his nose lovingly.

“So, what should we do with the rest of the day then?” He wonders. TK shrugs.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter what, I just want to spend it with you.”

Carlos smiles. 

“Me too.”

And so they do, taking advantage of the day fully, Carlos loving every minute of it.

[writtenonreceipts]

four thousand words later and another random fic is done.

A companion to this fic.  Can be read separately but some stuff might make more sense if you read the other first. Based on characters from the “Throne of Glass” World.

The Boys are Back in Town

Modern AU In which Rowan and Lorcan are up to their hijinks and where Lorcan ponders murder, his feelings, and food allergies. Warnings: None, just slight language.

“I made a mistake.”  Elide leaned against the kitchen counter--nose scrunched and fingers knit together beneath her chin.

Lorcan narrowed his eyes confused. Elide Lochan rarely, if ever, made mistakes.  Lowering his cup of coffee from his lips he shook his head.

“I find that hard to believe,” he said.  He sat across the counter from her on one of the absurdly uncomfortable stools.  Lorcan suspected the only reason Elide and Aelin had bought it was because it was on sale.

Elide’s lips puckered into a pout. “It’s true and you are going to hate me.”

That was impossible, but Lorcan didn’t say that.  He’d only just barely managed to tell Elide that he really, really liked her.  In reality, he was head over heels in love with her, but telling her that meant actually saying the words and admitting the feelings.  Not to mention the storm Aelin Galathynius would rain down on him after Elide was sure to tell her.

“Lorcan,” Elide said again.  She slipped around the counter until she came to his side.  She leaned into him until her chin rested on his shoulder and her lips nearly grazed his cheek.

It would be so easy to take her mouth with his.  So easy to let his hands trail over her body, through her hair.  Aelin wasn’t home so they had the apartment to themselves for a long while.

“Elide,” he said, his voice low.  He turned his face and their noses grazed.  He found her dark eyes bright with humor boring into his.  

“Aelin and I are having girls night,” Elide said.  Her mouth quirked to one side. “She went to pick up Lysandra and Manon.”

And just like that, Lorcan’s mood went to hell.  Sighing, he looked away from his girlfriend and stood.

It had been a while since the two of them had had time alone together.  Between her going to school and his job--he felt like they were ships in the night that kept passing by with little more than dim lights acknowledging the other’s existence.

“Hey,” Elide said, she snatched a hand out and cupped his cheek bringing his attention back to her.  Her expression softened. “I know.  I know what you’re thinking.  But if you want someone to blame, blame Rowan.”

“Rowan?” Lorcan scowled. “Why?”

“He said you all needed a boys night.”  Now Elide was full out grinning.  She chuckled as Lorcan’s confusion and small bit of anger.  Slipping onto her toes she brushed her lips against his and sighed.  “He sounded desperate.  Aelin’s been giving Fleetfoot more attention than him.  I think he’s jealous.”

As if summoned, the demon puppy flopped into the kitchen whining softly.  Elide laughed and stepped away from Lorcan to dote on the dog.  He frowned at the creature.  While Aelin was the one who ended up getting the dog and not Elide, Lorcan knew it was only a matter of time before Elide made goot on her promise and got an animal of some sort.

Just then the front door burst open.

“Y’all better be fully clothed,” Aelin announced as she marched into the apartment.  Behind her came Lysandra and Manon.  None of the women looked ready for a girls night.  In fact, everyone was in their pajamas.

“That was one time,” Elide said.  She glared at her roommate, hands on her hips. “And we weren’t even doing anything.”

Aelin shook a single finger in Lorcan’s direction.  “Mm-hmm.”

Lorcan held his hands up in a silent surrender, not wanting to say anything that would make him the topic of discussion for girls night.

Rowan waited outside the apartment, leaning against the door jam. “Let’s go Salvaterre.  Dorian and Aedion are meeting us at the bar.”

“Have fun!” Elide said.  She reached up to give Lorcan another sift kiss before she exclaimed the need to find her pajamas.

Lorcan shook his head and grabbed his jacket hanging over the side of the couch.  He, for once, offered a small wave to Manon and Lysandra.  The latter was the only one to acknowledge him.

One outside and away from the door, Lorcan punched Rowan. “This was my first Friday off in weeks and I was planning on spending it with my girlfriend.”

Rowan ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I made a mistake.”

#

Unlike Elide, Lorcan was fully convinced Rowan was quite capable of making mistakes.

It had only been a month ago when he and Rowan were running for their lives through an impound lot.  Giant dobermans had been very close to eating them and Lorcan had decided then and there that he would never get into another one of Rowan’s antics.  Granted, that night he’d also been helping Elide by reducing a pair of Manon’s shoes from an impounded car...but still.  It was Rowan’s fault because it had been Aelin who first insisted on needed help.

It was a convoluted mess.

Now, Lorcan had been hoping that night was long gone and would only be a distant memory that Rowan and Lorcan would never, ever, bring up to anyone.

Oh what a fool he had been.

“No,” Lorcan said.

“Lorcan,” Rowan began.

“No.”

“But.”

“Hell Rowan, after last time?”

“This will be nothing like last time.”

“I don’t believe you.  Nor do I trust you.”  Loran ran a hand through his hair, loosely contained in a low bun.  He’d been meaning to cut his hair for a while now, but Elide had insisted he keep it long.  So he had.  

“It won’t be that bad,” Rowan insisted.

They stood in the alleyway behind Rowan’s apartment staring at the sickly green dumpster where tenants put anything, and everything.  It stank like ten different somethings had died back here and had ten different somethings growing on them.  Not to mention it was the prime of summer and the nights stayed unbearably hot more often than not.

“I’m not dumpster diving,” Lorcan said.

“The bag shouldn’t be down that far,” Rowan said.  “I had to hide something from Aelin, so I put it in the trash.  How was I supposed to know she’d take the bag out while I was in the shower?”

“What kind of boyfriend hides stuff from his girlfriend?” Lorcan shot back.

“A stupid one.”

“Obviously.”

Lorcan ran a hand down his face. “Where are Aedion and Dorian?  We can just chuck them in the dumpster for us.”

“Ah, well, they are maintaining our cover at the bar,” Rowan said.

Yes.  It was official.  Lorcan hated Rowan.  And Aelin.  Of course she was behind this.

Cursing, Lorcan sighed.  “You could have at least warned me.” He gestured down to his clothes, nice jeans and an expensive button up Elide had gifted him for their two-month anniversary.

Rowan brightened.  “Oh, I actually came prepared.”

Not five minutes later Rowan was throwing a thick blue jumpsuit at him, complete with rubber gloves.

“Fenrys might have committed a felony to help me out,” Rowan explained.

Lorcan zipped up his jumpsuit over his clothes and sighed.  He really didn’t want to do this.  He glanced to the dumpster then at Rowan.

“You know I’m allergic to peanuts, right?  What happens if someone just left a giant tub of peanut butter in there?  My throat closes up and everything.”

Rowan rolled his eyes and muttered a few curses under his breath, completely ignoring Lorcan.

“Do you want to give me mouth to mouth in that sort of situation?” Lorcan added. “Hell no.”

“Lorcan,” Rowan said.

“Hell no,” Lorcan repeated.

“Get in the dumpster or I tell Elide how you really feel about her.”

Several vicious curses flew out of Lorcan’s mouth.  “Mother-loving blackmail.  Dammit Whitethorn.”

“Get in the dumpster lover boy.”

“It had better be one impressive ring,” Lorcan muttered and he approached the dumpster.  Sending prayers up to whatever gods were listening, he launched himself into the trash pile.

#

It was worse than he’d imagined.

At least Rowan had also had the foresight to bring back up shoes. But Lorcan could have lived without feeling his socks getting soaked by some mystery liquid.  

“Oh I hate you,” Lorcan muttered.  He tossed another garbage sack out of the way.  They all looked the same and Rowan had no idea what brand of garbage sacks he used.

The cheap ones, he’d said.

Sure, because having a 401k and benefits meant you had to skimp on things like decent garbage bags.

“It’s not like you can get the plastic embroidered with your name,” Rowan added as they still had no luck finding the right bag.

“What kind of stuff are we looking for?” Lorcan asked.

“Mail,” Rowan shrugged.  He tore open a black bag and gagged.  “This was not my smartest idea.”

“No?  Really?” Lorcan snorted in derision.

Of all the things he’d done, Lorcan was sure this was the most disgusting.  Even worse than trudging through a pig farm with his foster brother while trying to run away from home when they were ten.

“What were you even hiding from Aelin anyways?” Lorcan finally asked.

Rowan tucked his nose in the collar of his shirt a moment and looked way.  If Lorcan wasn’t mistaken he was sure he saw a flush rise on his friends cheeks.

“Rowan?”

“It..I...you wouldn’t understand,” Rowan finally said.

Lorcan’s brows shot up.  “I wouldn’t understand?  Then why am I out here digging through trash with you?  Why not bring Aedion or Dorian and leave me at the bar?”

“That’s not,” Rowan began.  He paused.  It was the first time in a very long time that Lorcan had seen the silver haired man flustered.  “I got a ring.”

A banana peel smooshed in Lorcan’s grasp.  He shook it off with a curse and stared at Rowan.  “You got a what?”

“A ring,” Rowan repeated.  “I got Aelin an engagement ring.”

“You don’t even live together,” Lorcan said.  

“We practically do,” Rowan said. “Seriously.  My closet is full of more of her close than mine.  Not to mention how often I find her underwear lying around.”

“Stop,” Lorcan demanded.  He was tempted to find the moldy cup-noodle he’d just passed over and toss it at Rowan’s face.

The two stilled.  Distant sounds of the city passed around them.  Occasionally a siren shrilled or voices shouted back and forth.  A car backfired.

Lorcan finally found what he wanted to say. “You’re serious? You guys have only been dating a year.”

“I love her.” Rowan’s words were so genuine and sincere that Lorcan found himself sneering.

Love.  What did any of them know about it?

Rowan could tease him about being in love with Elide all he wanted, but was he?  Really?  Lorcan had no idea.  Every time he thought he was he found himself doubting everything.

His only experience with love had been an elusive relationship spanning four hundred miles and eight months with Essar.  They’d met every other weekend spending barely a day together with phone calls few and far between.  And Lorcan had thought...well he had thought that had been pretty damn great until Essar had called it off saying she found someone in her neighborhood.  Two months later she was engaged.

Not that Lorcan was mad or hung up about it.  Not really.  Because, he supposed, he’d only had surface feelings about Essar.  But with Elide...there was nothing surface or superficial about the way he felt about her.

But was it love?  Lorcan had no idea.

“Come on,” Rowan said after Lorcan had remained quiet for too long. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way about Elide.”

Lorcan shrugged.  “We’ve been together five months.”

“And?”

“And what, Whitethorn?”  Lorcan held a bag of trash in either hand. “How am I supposed to feel?  It’s Elide.  You know her.  You know what she’s been through.  And you know me.  I’m the worst possible person for her.  Hell, for anyone.”

Rowan nodded silently along, pursing his lips. “You’re an idiot.”

“A bigger idiot than the man who threw out an engagement ring?”

“I wanted it to be romantic,” Rowan said defensively.  He opened his mouth to speak again when he stilled.  “Oh hell.”

Lorcan glared. “If I hear a single dog start barking, I am going to murder you.”

“It’s Aelin,” Rowan hissed.  He flapped a hand trying to get Lorcan to shut up.

“How could you possibly know that?” Lorcan asked, but then he heard the very definite sound of Aelin’s laughter.

The two men looked at each other for a split second before dropping down into the piles of trash.

“Rowan, I swear,” Lorcan snarled.

“Shut up.”

The two stilled and listened as Aelin’s voice came closer.

“I can’t believe you left your laptop here.”  Lysandra, by the sounds of it, was not pleased.  “Do you really need it?”

“Yes,” Aelin replied.  “And I can’t have Rowan bring it, after what happened with my car at the impound lot.”

“Did you ever get the full story about that?” Lysandra asked.  “It sounds like some weird stuff happened.”

“Apparently Rowan and Lorcan have a secret society,” Aelin said.

Their voices disappeared.  Neither man moved for several moments.

“What do we do?” Lorcan asked.  His face was pressed entirely too close to some old chinese food.  

“I’m not leaving without that ring,” Rowan said.

“I’m telling Aelin you threw her ring in the dumpster, just so you know,” Lorcan said.

Rowan grunted.  He was probably just grateful Lorcan had stopped calling Aeling “fire-breathing bitch queen.”  

They hurriedly began sifting through more trash.

“I think I found it,” Rowan practically yelled.  He hauled up a white trash bag and grinned at it.

“Well find the damned ring and--” Lorcan began, but he cut himself off when Lysandra’s voice rang out.

Cursing, the men dropped back into the trash.

“I’m telling you, you’re reading too much into it,” Lysandra said.

“He’s been acting so weird,” Aelin replied. “It’s the second weekend in a row he’s been busy or made plans or whatever that haven’t been date night.”

“Aelin,” Lysandra groaned.  They came to a stop just beside the dumpster. “You literally sound just like Elide, I’m going to slap you.”

“I’m serious,” Aelin said.  “He only got like this when he gave me a key to his place.  And then when he got that new job.  He’s going to break-up with me.”

“No he’s not,” Lysandra nearly shouted. “Just breath.  Every couple has their off weeks.”

Aelin let out a sigh. 

“Come on,” Lysandra said, “or else Elide and Manon will have drunk all the margaritas without us.”

Silence again.

“You’re an idiot Rowan,” Lorcan said.

“Shut up.”

#

They found the ring.

Which was a good thing because Lorcan had also found an abandoned wrench at the bottom of the dumpster that would make a very good weapon of mass destruction to use against Rowan, if necessary.  

After hauling themself out of the trash, they sat next to the dumpster for a long while.  They’d long become accustomed to the stench that would likely be a perpetual stain on their skin.

“Why would Aelin think I’m going to break-up with her?” Rowan asked suddenly.

“What?” Lorcan glanced over at his friend. “What are you talking about?”

“You heard her and Lys talking, she thinks I’m breaking up with her,” Rowan said.  “Why would she think that unless it’s something already in her head.”

Lorcan groaned.  He did not want to deal with this.  This was Aedion territory.  Dorian territory.  Hell even Chaol had gotten good at this sort of advice giving crap.

“Lorcan I’m serious.”

“Man,” Lorcan said.  He banged his head against the dumpster once. “How the hell should I know?  You both love each other right?  You spend every waking hour around each other.”

“We don’t live together,” Rowan said. “What if this is moving too fast.  She’s been through a lot in the boyfriend arena.”

“Rowan,” Lorcan said, reaching out to punch his friend roughly in the shoulder. “You’ve been happier in the last year with Aelin than I have ever seen you been before.  You said it yourself, she makes you want to do better and be better.  Or whatever Hallmark crap it was you spat out.”

Rowan snorted, shaking his head. “I see why Elide keeps you around.”

The night continued around them. Cars on the street passed by in a flurry despite the late hour. Lorcan barely paid it any attention, grateful they were tucked back in the alley.

“I think Aelin is just scared of losing you,” Lorcan said quietly. Rowan shifted giving Lorcan an incredulous look.  “I'm serious. They way she looks at you, man. The both of you are happier around each other and losing that happiness would terrify anyone.”

“And here I was thinking you were hoping she and I would break up.”

Lorcan rolled his eyes. Maybe a part of him had wanted that, in the early days. Bit that was back when life had been screwing him over time and time again. Back when he'd known Aelin as the competitive piano player, the girl who never took no for an answer, who seemingly had no soul when it came to dealing with problems.

Lorcan was convinced all of those things we're still true and forever would be, but he'd also seen how Aelin used those personality traits to help others. Elide in particular.

“Yeah well,” Lorcan finally said, “Aelin owes me fifty bucks from poker last week so until she pays me back she can stick around.”

Rowan’s phone gave a buzz and he reached over to look at it.  He swore lightly. “Aedion and Dorian are wasted.”

After Rowan lent Lorcan a change of clothes, they went to pick up Dorian and Aedion from the bar.  The two were indeed wasted.

“Just so you know,” Rowan said as they drove back to Elide and Aelin’s, “you should tell Elide how you feel.”

“Why do you guys smell like you spent the night in a dumpster?” Dorian complained.  He rolled down the window of Rowan’s car and stuck his head out.  

Aedion muttered something incomprehensible as he flopped over into Dorians lap.

The two sober men ignored them.

“I’ve decided to never take advice from you,” Lorcan told Rowan. “And this is the last time I help you with anything.”

“I’m going to need help setting up how I’m going to ask Aelin,” Rowan said.  He glanced in the back to see that Dorian and Aedion were completely passed out.

“No dogs and no dumpsters,” Lorcan said.  “You’ll be fine.”

Rowan barked out a laugh and shook his head.  Grinning, Lorcan shot Elide a text telling her they were on their way, two drunk men in tow.

As they passed through the city, Lorcan pondered what would happen if he did admit how deep his feelings for Elide ran.  Maybe he would turn out like Rowan--giddy and happy to the point he was literally walking on water.  Lorcan wouldn’t mind feeling like that all the time.

So as he glanced at the ring box Rowan tucked in the drink holder between the front seats he decided that both he and Elide deserved to be disgustingly in love.  Even if it meant Elide would insist on getting a dog.  

[shes-an-oddbird]

Merry Christmas to my Fitzsimmons Secret Santa giftee @springmagpies​  ironically started working on my Christmas at River’s End Mall fic a couple of weeks before I received your fantastic prompt: working at the mall during the holidays! It was a fun coincidence and it was nice to work on this as a stand alone fic that could exist in the same universe as that story. 

I also wanted to make a moodboard to go with it since I’m so inspired by yours! I hope you enjoy it!

The Good & The Bad Of Seasonal Jobs 

Summary:  Leopold Fitz hates his seasonal job demoing the poorly made gadgets on the top of everyone's Christmas lists. Jemma Simmons loves her seasonal job wrapping those gifts. Together they make a a perfect team, even if they haven't officially met yet. Until Jemma is presented with a task that dampens her Christmas spirit and her and Fitz team up to get it back.

His expertise is being wasted.

Fitz is convinced they’ll be by to revoke his credentials any moment now.

If he sells one more shotty piece of home gadgetry with the promise that it will improve their customers everyday lives he might as well tear up his doctorate degree.

But he’s still short the cash he needs to get home for the holiday so here he is. Standing in a crowded mall, demoing cheaply made drones, remote control cars and robotic animals. Couldn’t one of these manufacturers create a monkey instead of the typical dog and cat? Are opposable thumbs that much of a challenge?

He knows the morning rush is starting to settle when he can hear the slightest jingling coming from the gift wrap kiosk across from him. A noise that would normally put him on edge has become a bright spot in his day. It came from the silver bell worn by the gift wrapper, Jemma, who worked the kiosk. She kept the bell tied around her neck on a long blue ribbon and with every move she made it rattled a cheery sound that added to the festive atmosphere in the mall.

He wasn’t much for Christmas cheer himself. He wasn’t a complete grinch, despite what Hunter might say, but if all of his income from the lab didn’t go straight to student loans, rent and food he definitely wouldn’t have bothered with the seasonal work at all.  

Every time his spirits started to fall though, he’d glance over at Jemma to find her glancing back at him. No matter if it was irate customers or screaming children or an upset manager, she was close enough to hear and observe and would shoot him a supportive smile.

They had yet to actually speak to each other but they had found other ways to communicate. One of the most in demand drones of the season utilized a camera and messaging system. She had taken to writing notes on scraps of wrapping paper that he could read through the drone camera and he was able to send back messages to her.

He would love to talk to her in person but the more and more he learned about her from their notes the more and more nerve racking that prospect became. She was brilliant. A double PHD. She worked for a lab he interviewed at a while back but had ended up recruited for a project at another lab across town. He almost regrets taking the project now, the one she was in the middle of sounds fascinating and he thinks they’d make a good team.

But then again, that would involve talking directly to her.

Which would happen, eventually.

It’s early afternoon, kids not yet out of school but late enough that mall walkers and nannies with young ones were heading home. This was the time when they usually found a chance to “chat.” He readies the drone to fly it over to her station but stops when he sees she’s got a customer. A well-dressed man, expensive suit and a pair of matching jewelry boxes in his hands. He spends a moment talking to her, a charismatic smile on his face. She’s not impressed if he’s flirting. She nods curtly back at him as she takes the boxes and he leaves.

Fitz watches her shoulders sag and her demeanor change as she examines the boxes before setting them aside and turning to fetch some paper. Her bell jingles and she stops in her tracks. She removes the necklace and tosses it aside before returning to the task.

Fitz doesn’t know what it was the man said or did to ruin her day but after she’d done so much to improve his bad moods, he felt like he should do something. He quickly packs up the drone and waves to his manager that he’s going on his break.

****

Jemma couldn’t imagine a better holiday job.

When Daisy had told her she could probably get her the open gift wrapper position at the mall she had jumped at the opportunity. It wasn’t exactly science, although Daisy claimed she’d made an art out of it. Just because she liked her patterns to precisely line up and her ribbons to match, it wasn’t that special.

She does love the look in her customers eyes when they pick up their presents.

She also loves the light in the customers’ eyes when they hand her their gifts to be wrapped and she just knows they had found the perfect thing for their loved one. Sometimes the gifts would come along with a story, the hours they waited in line, the dozens of stores visited, the didn’t-plan-on-it-but-I-saw-it-and-thought-of-them. She loved that. It made her want to wrap each gift with just as much love and care.

She thinks that might also be why she maintains her Christmas cheer while Fitz, who works at the shop across from her station, is so grumpy all the time. Poor Fitz. He gets the customers before she does. When they are frustrated from having been on their feet all day with the end not in sight. Their kids tugging and pulling and screaming and begging for this and that. And a manger breathing down his neck, pushing him to sell drones that she knows he thinks are poor quality and will inevitably break.

He’s an engineer, she found out one day when he was messaging her about the poor controls on the drone after apologizing three or four times for nearly hitting her with it.

The day is starting to quiet down for the afternoon lull. She’s caught up on all of her work and is gathering up scraps to write her notes to Fitz on when there is a tap on the wooden counter. She looks up to see a tall well-dressed man waiting for assistance. He’s got just two matching boxes in his hands so she thinks she can knock them out quickly and still have plenty of time to chat with Fitz before the afterschool rush hits.

“Yes, how can I help you today.”

He grins down at her with a charming smile and an unconvincing look of innocence in his eyes.

“Yes, you certainly can, I’ve got a sort of special task.” He places the identical jewelry boxes down between them. “You see this one here, is for my wife,” he slides the first box forward, “and this one,” he places his hand on the other box, “this one if for, well not my wife.” Jemma narrows her eyes in confusion, “so you understand it’s important not to mix them up right?”

Then it hits her and her stomach fills with dread. She looks at the boxes again. They’re branded on the side with the logo of the expensive jewelry shop down at the other end of the mall. “May I?” She asks, reaching out for them. She opens the first to reveal a pretty gold bracelet with a woman’s name engraved in cursive and three sparkling charms. She opens the second box to find a second bracelet, exactly the same except for the name. “Um, they’re lovely.”

“So we don’t have a problem here?” He asks.

Did they? Could she refuse service to this guy because he was cheating on his wife and possibly misleading some other poor woman? Its certainly what she’d like to do.

“No, I suppose not.”

“Perfect, I’ll be back for them this evening, dinner with the girlfriend first, then dinner with the wife.” He taps the counter again. “Do them up real nice for me.”

Jemma nods and collects the boxes. She moves them to the back worktable and starts to select a wrapping paper when the bell on her necklace jingles and she stops. Her bell was tradition. She wore it all through the holiday season thinking the gentle sound was a pleasant way to spread holiday cheer. But now, now it was like it was mocking her.

She takes the bell, pulls the ribbon over her head and tosses it aside.

Maybe it’s a side effect of her frustration or maybe it’s her desire to give the woman being two-timed something individually beautiful; whichever it is she wraps the two bracelets exquisitely. The paper is elegant, the ribbon satin and she even takes the time to add little decorations like pine bristles and bells. She carefully inscribes the cards for the top and gently tucks them under the ribbons before placing them with the rest of the gifts ready for pick up.

It’s exhausting. She has an overwhelming desire to close-up for the day or call out early so that she doesn’t have to be here when he comes back for them. Fitz isn’t even at his usual post, ready to make her laugh.

Someone clears their throat behind her and she spins around on her stool. Fitz is standing at the front counter, two to-go cups in his hands. She’s unsure how to proceed for a moment. Her and Fitz hadn’t actually spoken in person since they started their seasonal worker comradery.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” He shifts back and forth unsure what to say either.

“Thirsty?” She asks, curious about the two cups. Maybe one for now and one for later?

“Oh, no, um one is for you, I hope hot chocolate is okay.” She feels a smile fight its way through her gloom. She can’t help it, hearing his voice for the first time is thrilling. He’s Scottish. Which she had learned from their messages, he was trying to earn money for the ticket home, but it still threw her off just a bit.

“Thanks, but why?” Why today, she really wants to ask.

“I don’t know, you’re always so positive and then that guy came by earlier and you looked upset, I just thought this might cheer you up.”

“Oh, thank you.” She except the cup and the warmth spreads through her chilly hands. She takes a sip and the warmth runs through the rest of her. She savors it for a moment then cringes. “Was is that obvious, that I was upset I mean, do you think he noticed?”

“I doubt it, seemed a bit self-absorbed to me.”

“He’s horrible, bought his wife and his girlfriend the same bracelet for Christmas and didn’t want me to mix them up.” She gestures to where the boxes sit on the very top of the pile.

Fitz face scrunches up in disgust. “What a wanker – sorry.”

She tries not to laugh. “Its okay, he really is, would you like to sit down, I’ve got a second stool back here.”

“Sure, I’ve got a little time.” Jemma excitedly sets aside her beverage and flips up the countertop so he can join her. They settle onto the stools and he swivels his back and forth nervously. “Its strange talkin’ to you in person.”

“Not bad strange, I hope.”

“No, no definitely not bad.”

She ends up asking him about how his work project is coming along and he tells her about the snags they've hit but that its really coming along. He thinks they could use a good biotech person to which she has to decline, being in the middle of her own project. Their conversation slows and Fitz chugs the last bit of hot chocolate before looking for a bin.

"Its under there." She points to the trash can next to the stacks of gifts. Fitz tosses the cup and examines the mountain of presents.

“So why not just switch the cards on these?” He asks as he grabs the bracelet boxes off the pile and places them in front of him.

Jemma frowns. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Fitz asks as he traces the cards with his finger. “Its not like the guy doesn’t deserve whatever would come of it.”

“Well yes he would but it’s my job, I can’t just let my personal feelings effect how I do things, besides he could take it out on the mall if he wanted to, May shouldn’t have to deal with that.” She reasons.

“I think May would on your side.”

“I still can’t Fitz.” She insists as he slides free the tags.

“Fine.” He slips the cards back onto their respective boxes. “Still want to get back at him for ruining your day.”

“Fitz I promise, today is turning out to be pretty great, here – “ Jemma picks up her discarded silver bell necklace and carefully loops it around Fitz’s neck. Her fingers graze his neck, just above the collar of his work polo and she draws them back quickly.  

“What um, what’s this for?” He asks reaches for the bell.

“It’s for spreading Christmas cheer, I think you’re doing a better job of that right now than I am.”

****

Fitz promises Jemma he’ll return her bell at the end of the day. They’re both working open to close and by nightfall the mall is bustling. Friday nights are always busy, usually with teenagers but now with everyone shopping for Christmas its wall to wall people. He’s out demoing drones again. They draw the biggest crowd into the store and the manager had convinced May to let them project the camera’s video feed on to the big screen downstairs at the mall’s Christmas set up.

It keeps him busy. Trying to find interesting things to focus in on. He does enjoy the opportunity to stray farther and farther from the shop. From the balcony he can swoop the drone down to the kids waiting in line for Santa. They wave excitedly and screech with joy when they see their faces up on the screen.

As he retreats the drone back to him there is an audible ‘aww’ of disappointment but if it gets too far away it’ll loose connection and he’ll have to go fetch it when it crash lands. As it comes back up over the railing he does a fancy little spin hoping Jemma is watching. The bit of trick flying always earns him a smile and an eyeroll but when he looks over he sees she busy.

The man from earlier is back to collect his packages. He wishes Jemma would have swapped the cards on them or that he had just done it for her. He knows he shouldn’t but he swings the drone around anyways, he’s a good distance from the guy but its enough to startle him when it wizzes past his head.

“Watch it with that thing!” He snaps.

“Sorry, shotty controls.” He apologizes and holds up the remote guiltily. Still scowling the man take just one of his packages and leaves in a huff.

“Fitz, that was dangerous.” She chides but doesn’t sound as cross as he suspects she could be about it.

“I wasn’t gonna hit him.” He lands the drone on Jemma’s workstation. She’s fiddling with the bow on the man’s other gift. “Why didn’t he take that one?”

“Dinner with his girlfriend, didn’t want to be caught with it.”

Fitz rolls his eyes before returning to the store.

Their long day continues on and the crowds slowly start to dwindle. There are a few stragglers getting in last minute purchases but most of the patrons are either waiting on restaurant reservations or letting out from the evening’s first seatings.

Fitz has just finished charging up the camera drone before locking it up for the night when Jemma rushes into the store.

“Okay, I can’t take it anymore I have to do something or say something.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That guy, that horrible, horrible man just kissed his girlfriend goodbye and marched right over here to get the bracelet for his wife who is waiting for him at the restaurant literally around the corner and I just can’t take it, he’s so arrogant and and awful and – “

“Okay, okay, calm down.” He places his hands on her shoulders gently hoping to sooth her frantic motions. “I thought your hands were tied, that you could do anything.”

“They are,” she stresses, “but it’s so unfair Fitz.”

“Okay well,” Fitz doesn’t know how to help in a way that doesn’t get them involved. He could march right up to the guy and confront him but he suspects that will end very badly. If there was away for them all to figure it out on their own maybe with just a push on their side.

“You said you saw the girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“You think she’s still here?”

“Maybe, I saw her head downstairs, I assumed that she was leaving.” Fitz takes Jemma’s hand and rushes her over to the balcony. Her eyes scan the small crowd below. In a small seating area by the North Pole set up a woman has set down her things on an armchair and is pulling on her gloves, Fitz sees the shimmer of a bracelet on her wrist. “That’s her.”

“Okay, go try to keep her there.”

“But I can’t tell her, I can’t just delivery that sort of news she may not even believe me.” Fitz is already shaking his head at her protests.

“That’s the thing about Christmas isn’t it, adults don’t believe in Christmas spirit and Santa and all that because for them seeing is believing,” Fitz rushes back into the shop and grabs up the camera drone. “Let’s give them something to see.”

****

“Excuse me, Ma’am, excuse me.” Jemma races up to the pretty blonde woman who has just finished pulling on her coat and scarf. The woman looks at her startled.

“Yes, can I help you?”

Jemma froze. She didn’t want to be the one to pass along such horrible news. But she only needs to buy Fitz some time. “I, I – I’m sorry you don’t know me, my name is Jemma Simmons, I work upstairs at the gift wrap station, I actually wrapped that lovely bracelet you’ve got there.” She says, pointing to the piece of jewelry the woman is trying to free from her coat sleeve.

The woman smiles. “You did an incredible job, my boyfriend wanted to claim it was his own work, but I knew he could never manage anything like that, he can be such a slob.”

“Among other things.” Jemma mutters quietly but not enough that the woman misses it. Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Is there a problem?”

“Um, no, well yes you see – “

“Aww, check out the big screen.” Someone calls and both women turn to the large television. Jemma recognizes the feed from the drone immediately. The camera is trailing along a line of guests waiting to be seated at the restaurant upstairs. They wave cheerfully at the camera which comes to a stop on the man and his wife as he gifts her the bracelet and she excitedly rips open the package and throws herself towards him in gratitude.

Jemma worriedly turns to the woman who has lowered her attention from the screen back to the bracelet. One identical to the one on the screen. For a moment she looks terribly heartbroken.

“I’m so sorry, I feel like I’ve just ruined your holiday.” Jemma’s not even sure she hears her. She’s about to ask if she’s alright but then a look of determination crosses her face and she looks up at her with a smile.

“Thank you, um, you set this up?” She gestures to the screen.

Jemma nods cautiously.

“Prefect, can you make the feed go away, there are children here and they really don’t to see what’s about to happen to him.”

Jemma breathes a sigh of relief. “Consider it done.”

By the time she texts Fitz and returns to her kiosk he is already there looking rather pleased with himself. “You’re not even going to ask if it worked first?”

“Didn’t have too, heard the woman coming when I was clearing out of there.”

“Oh dear, I hope it doesn’t get out of hand, I still feel awful.” She says as she leans against the counter next to him.

Fitz nudged her shoulder with his. “Jemma they were being two-timed, if it was you you would have wanted to know right?”

“Yeah I guess so.”

“Then let it go, please, because I need you to go back to being the cheerful one, it’s too much work for me.” Jemma laughs and nudges his shoulder back. He slips the bell off from around his neck and carefully drapes it back around hers. She looks up at him, her whole body feeling jittery and her eyes land on his. She thinks, and blushes at the thought, that she would kill for a bit of mistletoe right now.

She aims for his cheek instead. Landing a thank you kiss on his scruffy jaw and watching happily as he turns a cute shade of pink.

“Um – “ He stutters out.

“Excuse me.” Jemma and Fitz step apart quickly. Standing a few feet away are the blonde woman from downstairs and a second woman who looks elegantly dressed and perhaps a little frazzled. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt, I was told I might owe you both a thank you?”

“Oh no, it was nothing – “

Fitz cuts her off. “No please thank her, she’s convinced she’s ruined your Christmases.”

“Well, its certainly taken a turn, but for the best in the long run.” The second woman says. She looks between the pair of them. “Actually, as a thank you, would you two like our reservations, someone should have a romantic date night.”

Jemma blushes and Fitz clears his throat. “Oh we’re not together and we should really be working actually –“

“Yes working, right.” Fitz scoops up the drone and hurries off.

Jemma watches him go before turning back to her company. “Thank you, that was very generous of you to offer.”

“Of course.” She says. “And please, don’t worry over this.”

“Yes, its our problem and its being delt with,” the blonde woman agrees. “Should have known something was up, all the time we were together, and he never once looked at me the way that man there looks at you.”

Jemma doesn’t know what to say in response. She looks back at Fitz who glances up at her at the same time and sends her a boyish smile.

“Have a good night Jemma, you’ve given us a lot to think about, maybe we’ve given you something to think about as well.” The women leave and Jemma is left standing at her gift wrapping kiosk, fiddling with the silver bell around her neck.

[angrylizardjacket]

the band with no name {Douglas Booth} Part 3

A/N: 3050 words. Is this good? i genuinely don’t know.

[PART 2]

----

“I’m not getting a tattoo,” Douglas tells Colson flatly on Friday, still using his Nikki accent, arms crossed in between takes. They’re milling around on the Starwood set for the band’s first gig, and Douglas is in a pair of bright red, plastic boots with a considerable heel, that come all the way up his thighs, and pinch his toes. He’s already in a mood, he doesn’t need Colson’s shit-eating grin.

“I never said -” Colson tries, but he’s still grinning, can’t help himself.

“You implied,” Douglas frowns, shifting his weight on his feet. It didn’t help, “I’m not just going to show up where she works and pretend like I’m going to be a customer, that’s- it’s disingenuous, man,” the English accent slips out a little, but he corrects himself quickly, “and it’s stalking.”

“It’s not stalking -”

“It is if I’m not going to actually get a tattoo,” Douglas raises his eyebrows, watching as Colson spins idly on his drum stool.

“Fine, I’ll get a tattoo, and you can come for moral support or whatever,” he shrugs.

“Still kind of sounds like stalking,” Daniel adds from the edge of the stage, where he’s patiently sitting while a makeup assistant applies fake blood to his cheek. Beside her stands Jonah, the production assistant, diligently holding the bottle cap full of red liquid she was working from. They share a quietly amused look before Jonah glances at Colson, and the woman goes back to work.

“He’s not wrong,” Jonah agrees, and Colson throws his head back with an exasperated groan.

“And Corey said he’d personally skin you if you got any tattoos during filming,” the makeup assistant reminded him. Colson swore under his breath, scowling at the memory, but conceding defeat.

“When’s her gig?” Iwan asked from where he’d been sitting on his amp, texting and drinking water.

“Saturday,” Douglas said with an immediate smile. Thankfully no-one was looking at him enough to call him on it.

“Where?” Daniel asks, a hint of mischief in his voice.

“Around,” Douglas answered evasively, expression souring almost immediately.

“Is that a club, or...?” Colson asks, trying to be discrete where he was pulling out his phone. Douglas kind of regrets roping any of them into this.

“Where she’s playing doesn’t matter, because none of you are going, okay?”

“Come on, man, don’t you trust us?” Said by Colson, trying his best to pull off puppy-dog eyes in his Tommy Lee costume and hair, is the absolute last thing that would help Doulgas trust him, or any of them.

“Absolutely not,” though he’s smiling a little at their antics.

“You’re the one who wanted our help,” Daniel throws over his shoulder, and the makeup assistant tells him to stay still.

“You assholes couldn’t keep your noses in your own business; I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“They’re playing Casa Cristo at ten tomorrow night,” Colson announces, blatantly ignoring Douglas, whose whole expression has scrunched into something sour by the time Colson looks back up. He holds out his phone, showing off a photo of your band with the date and time superimposed over it, “it’s on their story.” He says by way of explanation.

“How far away is that?” Iwan asks, and the makeup assistant pauses, and looks to Jonah.

“Fifteen minute drive?” She asks, and they confirm with a nod. Douglas’ dawning horror is kind of funny to watch.

“Have a little bit of faith in us,” Iwan said, with as much of an apologetic smile as he could manage. 

“You,” Douglas looked to him, “I have mild faith in; you’re not the one I’m worried about.” At that, both Daniel and Colson make noises of outrage at the implication. 

“I’ve been helping you!” Colson exclaimed, betrayed, and Douglas gave him a sidelong glance.

“And honestly, you were doing great at it until you suggested I should find out where she works and get a whole tattoo just to spend time with her.”

“I never suggested -!”

“You implied!”

During the entire car ride to your gig the following day, Douglas strongly contemplates sending you an apology in advance. Literally everyone in the car, including Jonah, who was driving, and the makeup assistant, Ally, who’d tagged along because she’d become invested after they’d filled her in on the fake-band deal, tells him it’s a bad idea.

“We’ll be fine, there’s nothing to apologise for, we’re not gonna helicopter parent,” Colson teased, trying to pinch at Douglas’ cheek, though he slapped him away.

“That kind of shit is exactly what I’m afraid of,” Douglas warned him, pointing a stern finger at him.

“We’ll hold him back,” Daniel says with a half smile; he’s been trying to act less nosy and more trustworthy since yesterday, apparently taking Douglas’ words to heart.

“We’ll try,” Iwan grins, as if momentarily possessed by the spirit of Mick Mars, about to watch his bandmates cause havoc and do very little to stop it. Why was Daniel the one Douglas had been worried about again?

 Anyways, nosy bastards the lot of them.

Casa Cristo is already thumping with music by the time they all arrive, fashionably late at ten thirty, all still sporting the remnants of their makeup after filming had wrapped for the day. 

When they walk in, AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long is just beginning, and you’re on stage, backlit by the LED parcans you’d brought to add a little something extra to the performance, sculling a pint of water like your life depended on it while the other two thirds of your band’s trio played through the opening of the song.

“She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean; she was the best damn woman that I’ve ever seen,” you leaned into your microphone with a sharp smile as you looked out at the crowd and the dancefloor. 

Like always, you’re a sight to behold, in black ripped jeans this time, and a shirt that was more hole than fabric, showing off your fancy bra beneath. There’s what looks to be a leather jacket in a heap beside your bass amp, and you’re rocking in time with the beat as you play your bass. 

“That her?” Ally asks over the music; everyone nods in confirmation, “she’s hot as hell; you’ve got good taste.” Douglas can’t help his smile as he moves to the bar to order a drink. The song leads into I Was Made For Loving You by KISS, and then Cum On Feel The Noize, after which the set came to an end, and you promised to be back. The guitarist stops you before you head into the crowd, and the two of you talk in low voices for a moment before he points directly at the gaggle of actors sitting to the back of the room. 

Your expression lights up when you spot them. Douglas pretends his heart doesn’t leap at the sight. Jonah head to the courtyard to smoke, joined by Daniel and Iwan, while Ally had headed to the bar, leaving, thankfully, only Douglas and Colson.

You head to the bar first to get a drink, but once you have, you make a beeline for them.

“The band with no name, back again; I don’t know if I should feel flattered or threatened,” you grin, bright and sincere as you say it, joining them at the table they’d commandeered. You’re a little sweaty from rocking out, shining and a little ethereal in the dim club lights.

“We’re scoping out the competition,” Colson grins, titling his glass to you to cheers, which you comply with happily.

“I think that means we have to play some Crue to show you how it’s done,” you answer in kind, shifting your weight on your feet, turning to face Douglas, “how about it? Think I could show you a thing or two?” 

“I’d say it’s a good thing Nikki Sixx was busy if it means I get to learn a thing or two from you instead,” Douglas hears himself say, and for a single instant, he’s terrified he’s blown his cover. Your mouth falls open in flustered shock, and your eyes go wide, something pleased amid the surprise in your expression. Colson is holding very still in an effort to not draw attention to himself.

Suddenly, you duck your head, muttering that he’s far too kind, unable to look him in the eye. When you finally do manage to regain your composure, you ask if he wants anything to drink, gesturing to his mostly empty cup.

“It’s fine, I can -” he tries to save you the trouble, but you insist that it’s no trouble.

“You can buy me one later,” and okay there’s absolutely no way to miss the flirty tone of your voice. Douglas really hopes the lights are hiding his slight flush, because he knows they’re absolutely not hiding his own pleased grin.

As you head to the bar, Colson lets out the breath he’d aparently been holding, eyes wide and grin wider as he looks at Douglas.

“What?” Douglas snaps, still feeling the heat in his cheeks.

“That was smooth as hell, my dude,” Colson tells him sincerely, and Douglas lets himself be a little smug.

“You know I do know how to chat up a girl, right?” He asks, and Colson raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Never said you couldn’t.”

“Just took me a bit to figure out Y/N; I’m not bad at it when I kind of know who I’m talking to.”

“Not bad a it?! Fuck, man, that was a bullseye; she’s literally buying you a drink -”

“Who?” Daniel asked, rejoining the group, alongside Ally, who was nursing an espresso martini. 

“Turns out Doug’s actually got some game,” Colson smirked, though Douglas just rolled his eyes. 

“Of course he has,” Daniel said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “look at his face; that jawline’s got more game than half the guys in here.” 

“And the eyeliner,” Ally added with an appreciative nod, which Daniel agreed with easily. At least they were being supportive. By the time you come back, Ally’s trying to reapply eyeliner to Daniel’s waterline and he’s concerned that she won’t be able to see what she’s doing in the dim light and will poke him in the eye.

“I’ll poke you in the eye on purpose, stop moving!” She yelled, his chin held tight between her fingers. You placed the drink down in front of Douglas, slotting easily into the space beside him, agonizingly close, almost touching him but not quite. You watch with confused amusement fore a few moments before Ally finishes up with a flourish; she seems surprised to see you there, and does a double take.

“Y/N,” you offer with a smile, holding out your hand, “are you the one responsible for their eyeliner? Because I must say, I definitely appreciate it,” you grin sharply. Ally shakes your hand after capping her eyeliner and shoving it back in her pocket.

“Ally, and yes, I’m the band’s stylist,” she lies easily, and your eyebrows raise.

“That first gig’s going to be something spectacular if they already have a stylist,” you muse.

“We have a name now too,” Daniel adds, blinking rapidly, trying to clear the tears from his eyes from where they’d been watering from the makeup. You make a noise of intrigue, and Douglas buries his face in his free hand, “The Fourskins.” 

“The Fourskins.” You say tentatively, as if trying to hold back laughter, leaning in just enough that your shoulder was touching Douglas’s. 

“Because there’s four of us and we play without shirts,” Colson adds, and Douglas chokes on his drink momentarily. If you ever end up watching The Dirt, you’re probably going to end up throttling them all for thinking that this was at all subtle. 

As it stands, however, you just nod, and turn the name over in your mind, finally declaring that it works. It’s not long before Iwan and Jonah come back with your drummer in tow, and as soon as your saying hello to the other two, you’re being called back on stage.

“This next one’s for you guys!” You called over your shoulder with a grin as you’re slipping through the crowd towards the stage. The six at the table all chattered amongst themselves, trying to guess which song you’d play; Kickstart My Heart, Take Me To The Top, and Live Wire were all pretty far at the top of the list. After a brief chat with your band, however, you’d turned your bass back on and leaned into the microphone, giving a very distinctive laugh.

And you start to play She Goes Down.

“I think I love her,” Colson snorted, a sentiment which was echoed by both Iwan and Ally, while Douglas tried to keep his composure, which was a struggle with what your voice was doing and how your body was moving to the almost syrupy bass line. 

“Flat on my back she goes down,” your eyes flutter close at the bridge, practically making love to the song with your voice going low and seductive, “for backstage pass, she goes down. With all of my friends, she goes down. She gives heart attack, she goes,” you croon, your eyes opening as a grin spreads across your lips and you slam into the final chorus.

The idea that Motley Crue wrote so much about sex had never exactly registered for Douglas, it was just kind of the done thing back in the hair metal scene. It seems like a good majority of songs were either about sex or drugs or both, and but hearing the recording, he’d never been fully aware of the suggestive power of the songs until this moment. Maybe it’s the difference between knowing Nikki Sixx now in 2018, and hearing and seeing you in 2018 sing it live that makes all the difference.

Because he’s trying desperately to commit your entire performance of the song to memory.

“Nikki and Tommy would fucking love this,” Colson adds, to almost universal agreement as the next song began.

The night is joyful and exuberant, and much to Douglas’s surprise, you seem to be spending most of your time between sets with him and the other actors, though judging by the other’s reactions, he shouldn’t be so surprised.

“She’s into you,” Ally told him bluntly, the two of them together at the bar while the others were outside in the cool night air. She spoke to him as if speaking to an idiot, which he resented, “why are you surprised she wants to spend time with you?”

“I’m just...” and he sighed deeply, “I’m just worried that me or one of the guys is going to slip up somehow, and she’ll only want to be around me because of the movie.”

“I don’t think she’s like that,” Ally said softly, patting him on the shoulder.

“And I don’t know her well enough to be able to agree,” Douglas admitted; for all that he liked you, he still wasn’t quite able to discern how you’d react to him playing Nikki Sixx in the band’s upcoming biopic. He didn’t even want to bring up the film for fear of you connecting the dots.

“Then get to know her,” she suggests, as if it’s that easy. 

Somehow, having confirmation from Ally that you were into him was easier to believe than from the guys. 

After you’ve played your final song for the night and said your goodbyes to the crowd, as the crowd’s chatter grows louder, though some are already moving on to a new venue. You coil leads and haul amps around with the speed and efficiency of someone twice your age, so focused that it’s almost mesmerizing. 

The rest of the cast is making plans to move on, but as you’re taking the last of your things out to the station wagon outside, he knows the only way he’ll be able to see you again without being chaperoned by one of his nosy friends is by asking you out. 

You’re out by the car, guitar case in one hand, holding the passenger door open with the other, talking about something with the drummer who was waiting in the driver’s seat. Then you spot him through the glass of the pub doors, watching with hesitation, and you smile at him warmly. You stow your guitar case in the back seat of the car, amid milk crates of leads and microphone stands, and make your way to the door.

As Douglas steps outside, he hears the drummer call ‘I’m leaving in five, with or without you’ but you ignore him.

“Great show, as always,” Douglas smiles, letting the door close behind himself, giving the two of you a modicum of privacy.

“But you’ve only seen us perform twice,” you say with slight hesitation.

“And you’ve been consistently good,” he points out, and you’re grinning again, all bashful and pleased, contrasting your fuck off attire, “can I ask when you’re free this week?”

“You certainly can,” you rock back on your heels, eyes shining, “it’s what I came over here to ask you, actually.”

“My uh, my day job’s kind of weirdly scheduled, so it’d probably be easier for me to work around you,” he admitted, and your eyebrow rose, intrigued.

“Day job?”

“It’s complicated,” and thankfully you didn’t pry.

“Well, my band rehearses Tuesday and Thursday, but I’m free during the week after five thirty; do you wanna grab dinner some time?” You asked, hopeful. Douglas’s lips curved into a smile and he nodded.

“I’ll check my schedule tonight and talk to you tomorrow, how about that?”

“Sounds like a date!” You enthuse, and make a step towards the car, but Douglas can’t help himself.

“I enjoyed She Goes Down, by the way,” he says, and when you turn around your smile is sharp as knives as mischief twinkles in your eyes.

“Oh, I’m sure you did, and I’m sure you will,” you wink at him, “we’ll see how the date goes.”

He watches you leave, his whole face amusingly red as he tries not to dwell on your implications, and he realises that you may very well be the death of him. Not that he’s complaining.

[subarubi]

Somethin’

Pairing: Sam Wilson x fem!Reader

Summary: Sam Wilson’s in for the ride of his life. (Idk I suck at summaries)

Word Count: 3.2k

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Sexual content. Modern AU. Cowboy!Sam. Slight Angst? Idk. Alcohol consumption. Inappropriate use of stable floor. 

A/N: Something about the leaves changing is putting me in the mood for some Sam Wilson lovin’. ma’ams, sirs, non-binaries, I present to you, COWBOY SAM. This is purely born out of thirst, the barely there plot is just a vehicle for it. Yee-motherfuckin’-haw!  

-

Clear blue skies and soft, white cumulus clouds look just the same above him here as they did there. 

It had been the first thing he noticed on that long, quiet car ride home from the airport and the last thought before settling into the checkered sheets of his adolescence. Night, day, clear or grey — it’s the same sky he’s been under his entire life, same backdrop to his last few years at war. 

One certain days, he feels blind as a newborn, clutching to his momma’s chest as she quiets his cries. Others, he swears he can see thousands of miles away if only he just squints hard enough. 

Today, there’s sweat stinging in his eyes, so he only sees wide pastures through a blurred filter. 

Sam Wilson holds his father’s hat in one hand, uses a forearm glowing bronze beneath the sun to wipe away the dampness over his brow. He’s known heat, spent hours baking under the hot sun in full fatigues. This is a different kind of heat — the lazy, sleepy kind that starts in his neck and spreads warm everywhere. It pools in unwelcome places: behind his knees, down his shoulder blades, in his ass crack. 

“What’s the matter, cowboy? Can’t take the heat?”

"M’fine,” he scoffs indignantly, kneading a thick thigh splayed out over worn leather, soothing his sore muscles. Despite his objections otherwise, Sam’s dog-tired and aching for a cold shower. He wants to fall face first into the couch and stay there for, forever, maybe. 

Your smirk burns him up from the inside out with irritation and a whole other barrel of emotions he doesn’t want to get into when you’re being this annoying.  “If you need a break, I won’t tell anyone...”

Sam pants a laugh, settling the cattleman hat back over his head, squint in his warm brown eyes easing in the brim’s shadow. Shaking his head, he replies “I don’t believe that for one second.”

He’s heard that most people settle a bit after they reach their mid-20s. People have jobs and responsibilities and have less room to be obnoxious and wild. You haven’t changed one bit since high school. You’re just as loud mouthed and unpleasant as you were all those years ago before Sam left to enlist. You used to laugh and throw mud in his face when he worked on your daddy’s ranch as a kid, put burs in his boots and made fun of his gangly arms. Not much has changed on that front now that he’s back — he’s kind of glad for it, so used to people in this little town treating him differently now.

Sam licks salt from his lip, watching you in front of him, horse in a jog. 

The steady rocking of your hips side to side holds his gaze, matching your pace but hanging back enough that conversation is sparse. Sam eyes the way denim hugs your legs, tapers off into a pair of worn brown boots with stitched designs fraying. He remembers when you’d first gotten those boots, how you danced in them before him. He’d always had a sneaking suspicion you liked him back then; he was older and worked for your daddy, your teasing always felt like just an excuse to talk to him. 

You’re a woman now. An honest to god woman with pretty eyes and a dangerous smile — all stuffed into tight jeans and a chambray shirt with the top buttons undone in such a way that he can the path of sweat down your neck and into your cleavage. Sam visibly swallows.

“What’s it like?” your sweet twang tickles the inside of his ears, a shiver run down his spine. 

Sam shifts in his saddle, leaning up on the horn to give his sleeping ass a break, “What’s what like?”

Silence for a beat, what little he can see of your profile twists in uncertainty. You slow up so that your horse falls in step beside his, shrugging to appear more casual, though it’s more comfort for you than him. “I mean... the Air Force, Afghanistan. That whole thing.”

Oh, that whole thing. Sam stiffens, reins creaking in tight fists as he struggle with such a small, harmless question. 

In the hours you’ve spent together since he’s been back, the subject of where he went and why he’s back remained fairly untouched. Sam didn’t want to talk about it and you don’t like awkward, feelings conversations in general. He’d liked the balance the two of you had struck up. Considered you a good friend, even, for it. 

“You don’t have to say anything! Just forget I said anything,” you rush out. 

Sam can tell by the way you frantically avoid looking at him that an ashamed heat is crawling up your neck and pooling in your face. He sighs heavily, shoulders sagging and looks out over the herd of cattle moving pastures.

He’s dog-tired. 

After Riley died, he just couldn’t find reason anymore — his momma said it was giving her smiley boy premature frown lines. Getting out was supposed to be a good thing for him, but he’s just so tired of waiting for the results. He’d expected coming home and working on the ranch would be like flipping a switch; he’d be happy again and wouldn’t have to think about his time in the war. For the most part, he has been. But some days he doesn’t know whether it’s better to be blind or to see thousands of miles away.

Then there are days like today: the in between where everything is blurry and he wants to talk about it, but doesn’t know where to begin. 

“It’s hot as hell.”

The bewildered look on your face makes him smile small. His lips twitch and it sends yours chasing off after them, cracking big and wide. He wishes his momma could see him now, with that gap-toothed grin she says she misses so much. What it is, he doesn’t know, but something about you makes him so comfortable. 

If you wanted to, you couldn’t get Sam to stop talking after that. 

He tells stories of COs with sticks up their asses and hillbillies he never thought he’d have to protect and never wants to again, of all the shit Riley put him through and what passes for food on military bases. And by the time the sun sets and the cows are grazing on fresh, untouched grass, the ache in Sam’s hips and legs can’t compare to the one in his cheeks. 

“He sounds like an amazing friend,” you smile softly, boot kicked up on the farriers stool outside the barn.

Sam smiles wistfully into the neck of his beer bottle, nodding firmly, “The best.”

The sweat on his shirt has dried under a cool night breeze, Sam’s eyes slide closed to savor the feeling of it. It’s peaceful and quiet in the best way, a warm beer in hand, crickets chirping and a somewhere frog croaking. He can’t help but think this is as close as he’s gonna get to being happy again without Riley. 

A cacophonous clattering of the glass bottle graveyard the two of you cultivated breaks through it. You hiss loudly, muttering curses under your breath as you try and right the ones that fell over, “Shhh, dammit. Shit.”

Sam rolls his head to the side slowly with relaxed breaths, looking at you with a goofy smile. He places his bottle down in the dirt besides just about the dozen other empty ones, reaching out for you, “You’re a good friend too.”

You watch him with wide eyes, chewing your lip dark in that way that he never lets on drives him crazy. 

His eyes lazily drift over your face, down the smooth planes of your neck and over the panicked heave of your chest. There’s a summer haze over him, he feels all fuzzy and warm with alcohol swirling around in his gut, liver working overtime. He’s thinking things he probably shouldn’t, fingers itching to do things he definitely shouldn’t. 

You are a good friend, he means that. 

He’s been home for a few months now and can count on one hand the amount of people he actually likes spending time with. His momma and his little sister on Sundays after church making — or rather, for his part, eating— pies. Your father, who Sam’s always looked up to, listening to life lessons that he’s already learned but doesn’t have the heart to say so. He likes going to the bar with the other ranch hand Tommy well enough, but only for a few. 

You. All the time, even when he’s supposed to be doing something else or you’re annoying the hell out of him. 

Sam clears his throat, hoping that the starry-eyed look in his eyes is obscured by the darkness of night and the low brim of his hat. By the way you’re looking back at him, he highly doubts he’s gotten away with it. “I should get going, it’s late.”

“You-” you swallow, sitting up straight in your seat as he makes to get up, “you shouldn’t drive.”

Cracking bones have Sam grimacing as he stretches tall, working out all the kinks he’d gotten from a long day out riding, driving the cattle. He stumbles a little in his boots, kicking up a small bit of dirt with a tipsy laugh, “You’re right...”

He sees your tense shoulders sag in relief, settling further against the red barn wall. Sam grins mischievously, swaying towards the open barn doors, “I’ll ride.”

“Sam!” you call after him, and he hears the light pounding of your boots after him as he bolts into the stables. 

He’s never felt so fast, so light, running with you hot on his trail, boots sliding dangerously across the hay covered ground. Sam’s a kid again, unburdened by the hardships of war and the grief of losing his best friend. 

Once, when he was working here in high school with you constantly ribbing on him, Sam stole your hat — same one sitting on that pretty head now — and ran. You gave chase until your shorter legs tired out and ugly sobs of frustration poured from your lungs. He felt guilty, mean even and stopped as soon as those doe eyes looked up at him in hurt. There was a terrible smirk on your face he’ll never forget when you triumphantly snatched it out of his hands and kicked him in the shin, little brat you were. 

This is payback. 

Sam takes a hard left into one of the empty stalls, laughing wildly when you corner him, hands holding his sides in stitches. Smiling eyes betray the scowl on your face as you approach slowly, as if he were a jumpy young colt for you to tame. 

Something’s in the air, suffocating the closing space between the two of you and Sam’s pinned beneath the unreadable stare of your eyes dark with... somethin’. 

The heave of his chest is prominent under the loose fabric of his unbuttoned shirt, white undershirt stretching taut over its broadness. He sucks down big, audible breaths to steady himself, face slack. Sam rests his hands over the silver longhorn buckle of his belt, pinkies tracing over the rough grooves to distract him from this churning in his stomach. It could just be the alcohol. He’s not been oblivious to the all the lingering touches and heated gazes these past few months working close together, but it could just be the alcohol. 

In the back of his head, he can almost feel the phantom sting of his momma slapping him there, warning him that you don’t shit where you eat and he’d be stupid to do what his body is screaming for him to. 

You’re the annoying girl that sent him sprawling into a cow patty, trained the dogs to circle him in the field and nip at his heels. You’re his boss’ daughter and his friend, an important one at that. 

You’re... somethin’ and when he’s with you the sky is bluer and the clouds make these funny shapes with resemblances the two of you never agree on. 

“Okay, okay, you got me,” Sam holds his arms up in surrender, rolled up sleeves unravelling on his forearms. 

It doesn’t stop your approach like he’d hoped it would. The longer this goes on, and the closer you get — he can feel hot breaths fanning over his face now, raising goosebumps beneath his stubble — the weaker his resolve gets. 

You’re right in front of him, warm hands squeezing his shoulders and a glint in your eyes that means trouble. “Do I win a prize, cowboy?”

Sam’s knees buckle just the slightest and it’s your hands wandering down the taut muscles at his sides that keep him standing. When you call him that he feels all weird inside, like any nickname before that was wrong and any after wouldn’t even register for him. 

A sharp hiss leaves Sam’s lips, jolting as a cool few fingers experimentally drift beneath the hem of his shirt, smoothing over his hot skin. He says your name in warning, low and pleading. 

“Sam...” you whisper, knocking his hat off with the tipping brim of your own, a pleading look of your own burning straight through him and settling in the erratic beat of his chest. He struggles to focus on anything other than your fingers splayed out on his torso, thumbs fiddling with the waistband of his boxers peaking out above his jeans, nails scratching just light enough to leave his skin crawling. 

God, what did you say? He can’t remember, clenching fists to avoid reaching out and touching you, all warm against him. And why is he even fighting it? 

Hesitantly, Sam places a calloused hand on your waist, squeezing softly when your nose rubs against his. 

His mouth falls open stupidly, eyes tightly held shut because he’s afraid if he opens them you’ll disappear and he’ll be passed out on the floor at home. He doesn’t know how long he’s been watching after you like he had earlier that day — a while now — but his gaze always seems to find you, same as the few good dreams he has nowadays. 

“I want you.”

“Shit,” Sam grumbles, slapping a hand over the back of your neck and crushing your lips to his. 

The clunk of your hat hitting the stable floor is like the starting shot of a frantic race of tongue and teeth. Sam scrambles to grab handfuls of whatever he can, pulling you closer by the belt loops of your jeans. Your hands curl around his shoulders and push his shirt off, as he pulls you up to straddle him. Sam’s hands shoves themselves down the back of your jeans, stuck between scratchy denim and the soft flesh of your ass. 

Your legs gets tangled with his along the bag of his thighs, the two of you stumbling around for balance. It’s found, of course, in the hay.

Sam’s never felt so desperate, so starved for touch that even with you in his arms it’s not enough. He craves more, wants more of you all the time. He wants you as a coworker, a friend, a lover. 

Everything you have to offer, he’ll take. 

On his back and staring up at you with pathetic, lovesick eyes, Sam blindly tugs off his shirt, distracted by the smooth expanse of skin you reveal to him in your own undressing. He leans forward to press kisses against the cups of your bra, palming at the flesh of your torso and along the ridges of your back, eyes black with hungry want. 

Something whiny joins the harsh breathing that fills the quiet barn and it takes a second for Sam to realize that it had come from him. You slanted your hips over his, slowly rutting the rough fronts of your jeans against each other and Sam can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed by his soft moans. 

“You can’t help it, huh?” you murmur against his lips, rocking back and forth over his groin, “My Cowboy, always watching me with those pretty brown eyes.”

Sam chokes out a wrecked moan, desperately gripping your biceps as you create a burning friction between you, weight bearing down on his hard dick. You’re riding him for all he’s worth and christ, he thinks he might just die. 

“So soft for me, right? Even when I’m being mean...”

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, your sweet tongue in his mouth maybe, but Sam has never been so utterly helpless. He doesn’t rightly know what to do with you, if there even is anything he can do. 

One particular roll of your hips has him quivering beneath you, reaching up to bring you down to his lips in a searing kiss. The grind has him seeing stars, crushing your shoulders in his hands as he fights back the rumbling burn in the base of his torso. Sam curses and you tut him, biting into his shoulder with a teasing smile, humming in appreciation as he stuffs his hands into the back pocket of your jeans and urges you on faster. 

Forward and back, a familiar rocking motion that he’s watched intently anytime the two of you ride out together, Sam’s a moaning mess. You drag your hot crotch against his again and again, he can hardly do anything but pant into your mouth as it presses little affectionate kisses.

“Please...” he begs.

You smile down at him, running your hands under his chin and pinching softly. He loves that smile, real soft and teasing, and just for him. Does whatever he can to draw that smile out. 

And then it’s a full out gallop, fast and hard down on his throbbing jean-covered cock and it’s too late before Sam realizes what’s about to happen. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he struggles to stop you, hands futile in their attempts to halt your hips. You don’t stop and the knowing glint in your eyes tells him you know exactly what it is you’re doing. It’s building, burning in his gut, thick thighs tensed, chasing after it in acquiescence. 

Sam comes with a shout, painting the crotch of his jeans dark and wet with cum. He lays an arm over his eyes, practically hyperventilating as you ease him down with a few slow rolls over him. 

“I-” Sam doesn’t know what to say. Is there anything to say? He’s embarrassed and in awe of himself, of you. “I promise that’s never happened before.”

“You’re somethin’ Sam Wilson,” there’s a laugh in your voice, but Sam doesn’t feel like it’s at him and what he views as his failings. You pat his still heaving chest with a satisfied smile, the thumb of your other hand tapping lightly over his plump bottom lip. 

Sam grins, relieved that you’re still you. Understanding where it counts and a real fucking ball buster. Literally. 

“Not that I don’t love a good roll in the hay as much as the next guy... but, let’s do dinner before next time?” He’s a bit shy in his asking, focused on where his thumb traces the skin you your thigh still splayed out over his. 

You smile and nod, biting your lip and Sam’s a goner if it wasn’t already abundantly clear, “Gotta make it up to me somehow.”

Sam groans and throws you off of him, dipping you into a pile of hay he’s glad you disappear in. 

-

[otonymous]

The ABCs of Gavin (NSFW)

In honour of the Aerial Sweetheart™’s birthday on July 29th, please enjoy Gavin’s NSFW ABCs! 🥳

Warning: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language - reader discretion is advised.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Gavin will pull you against his chest to hold you close, pressing his forehead against yours and planting soft kisses on your face, your sweat merging together as your heart rates slow as one

While you’re washing up, Gavin will quickly fly to get your favourite eats and be back even before you’ve stepped out of the shower

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Gavin is particularly proud of his abs.  Have you seen them?  They’re absolutely delicious.  Go ahead and trace the muscles with your tongue.  He’s more than happy to let you.

The real reason he likes them is that he loves the look of utter desire that comes over your face whenever he takes off his shirt.  He loves the way you see him.

Gavin finds the nape of your neck absolutely irresistible

Every time you sweep your hair to one side or gather it into a ponytail, his gaze is instantly drawn to that delicate area, his eyes following the lines of your body as they curve out gracefully into the slope of your shoulders

He loves to press soft kisses to the nape of your neck, hold you close from behind to nuzzle his face into the area and inhale deeply, relishing the tickle of your soft strands against his cheeks

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

Nothing makes Gavin happier than the thought of you one day carrying his child, so he loves to give you that creampie (don’t worry, he would totally ask for your consent first!)

Outside of cumming in you, Gavin also enjoys ejaculating on your stomach while imagining it swollen with his seed

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Gavin has curated quite the collection of porn (and the protagonist always bears some physical similarity to you)

The Aerial Sweetheart™ has had to amass material to help maintain his sanity during extremely long dry spells while he was patiently waiting to reconnect with you

He was extremely embarrassed when you first found out (you’ve never seen anyone turn that red), but now the two of you love tuning in together, sometimes laughing while critiquing the storylines, which typically involve a delivery girl delivering an empty pizza box (oops! 😉) 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Gavin isn’t particularly experienced, seeing as he’s been waiting for you ever since he first laid eyes on you in that downpour as a high schooler

The officer has had a couple of relationships in the past (it was bound to happen, with all the women throwing themselves at him and his super hot body), but they never lasted long because you were always in the back of his mind

BUT that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what he’s doing — Gavin is driven to pleasure you and keep you more than satisfied in the bedroom/on the rooftop/on his motorcycle

You may be surprised, given that Gavin doesn’t strike you as being particularly talkative, but he is quite communicative during sex (e.g. “Does this feel good?  Do you like it when I touch you here?”) - especially when he’s first getting to know your body and preferences well

This sweetheart just really wants to pleasure you and treat you like the queen that you are

F = Favourite Position

Your man is a big fan of the Missionary position, because it gives him the freedom to control the speed and depth of his thrusts (by shifting the position of your legs), but also enables him to see each and every beautiful expression of ecstasy that flits across your face in response to the way he moves within you

This position also allows him to embrace and kiss you just as deeply as he’s fucking you

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

Gavin tends to be more serious in the moment.  He can’t help it: he has wanted you for much of his life and still needs to pinch himself every now and then to make sure he’s not dreaming when you’re lying in his arms

When your feelings run that deep, you’re typically not in the mood to laugh

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

The officer is well-groomed and scrumptiously clean

The colours match

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Sex with Gavin can be so sweet that the man literally has you crying from the sheer force of his passion for you

This officer is a man of action: he communicates with every kiss, every touch, every thrust — his body is telling yours the extent of his love and affection in ways that words never could

Gavin cannot stop kissing you, even when you’re both moaning with ecstasy into each other’s mouths.  Expect him to lay soft kisses on your eyelids, trace the angles of your jaw with his lips until they lead them back to yours, already open and waiting for his tongue to slip back in

He loves to gather your hair into his palm and press his lips reverently to the silky strands before deeply breathing in its scent

Gavin finds it incredibly hard to hold back when he sees your tears; hang on tight, because you’ll be in for a rough (and sexy) ride

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

On average, the officer will masturbate 2-3 times/week, sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on whether or not he’s had the chance to engage in some sexy times with you and how busy he is with his top-secret duties

Gavin would die if you ever found out but…he enjoys setting up a comfortable atmosphere by lighting some scented candles before he touches himself

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Gavin loves to fuck you on the rooftops of buildings

He enjoys the way you cling to him for dear life as he’s propelling you through mid-air

He’s also found that you get incredibly wet when he’s got your skirt hiked up around your waist and your panties in his back pocket, thrusting hard and fast into you from behind as you grip the railing at the ledge, eyes focused on the lights of the city below without actually seeing anything through your haze of ecstasy

Feel free to give voice to your pleasure as loudly as you want — with the wind whipping, no one will hear you, and that’s another reason why Gavin takes you up so high in more ways than one

Also, although it’s a bit small on him now, Gavin has saved his high school uniform and was hoping you did too.  Perhaps you could reenact the moment of your first meeting? 😉

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Gavin enjoys his sexual exploits in high places (see Kink above)

Has also been known to lay you out on his motorcycle

To be honest, your apartment is still his favourite place: it’s private, he doesn’t have to feel rushed while making love, but he also loves to learn about you by looking at what you keep close: the dog-eared copy of The Little Prince on your shelf, the bite marks on the caps of your pens, the faded teddy bear from your father that you would never throw out no matter how tattered or torn, the snacks you keep on the tallest shelf in the pantry (and the step stool conveniently located nearby)

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Officer Gavin’s greatest motivation and biggest turn on is your love for him

Nothing gets him harder faster than knowing you desire him like he desires you

Want to really unleash the beast in the bedroom?  Tell him he’s the love of your life, your soulmate, that he’s the first thought in your mind when you wake and the one you see in your dreams, because then, Gavin will know he’s not the only one who feels that way

Gavin also loves to see you in his clothes: that loose white tee, his unbuttoned uniform — preferably with nothing on underneath

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Like the other boys, Gavin refuses to share you with another person (please don’t ask him to, he will die on the inside)

Gavin also shies away from more extreme kinks that may result in bodily injury to you (he can barely bring himself to spank you, and once he does, he’s immediately rubbing the reddened area and soothing it with kisses)

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Officer Gavin likes to give as good as he gets

His oral game is strong, but fingering is his specialty 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Gavin can do both

He tends to get fast and rough when you whisper words of love in his ear — it’s like a dam on his emotions breaks and he’s unable to hold back

Note that Gavin will never, ever, be needlessly rough.  Never.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Gavin prefers extended lovemaking sessions, but is also down with quickies (see Kink, above)

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

The man is down with experimenting up to a certain extent.  As mentioned in “No” above, he draws the line at anything that could cause you bodily harm

Other than that, he’s willing to try new experiences (he’s pretty much willing to do anything for you)

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Gavin.  Is.  A.  Machine.

He’s ready and willing to go for as many rounds and as long as your body can stand, if you’re up for it

Not gonna lie, he came pretty quickly the first time you had sex, out of sheer excitement (Gavin’s internal monologue: “Oh my god I can’t believe this is actually happening am I really making love to my dream girl omg omg omg…”)

BUT you best believe he ain’t no One-Minute Man (don’t worry, in addition to magic fingers, Gavin also has a habit of going south when transitioning to different positions so things stay nice and wet and comfortable)

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Gavin does not have toys to use on himself.  He has scented candles, his imagination (Psst! He’s thinking of YOU) and his hand thankyouverymuch

You know Gavin will pretty much do anything you want, so if you wish to include toys in your sexual repertoire, your man will oblige

Bonus points: take him with you to a sex shop to peruse the goods and watch him grow uncomfortably red

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Gavin’s not really one for teasing, inside or outside of the bedroom

The extent of his teasing will be limited to whipping through the air or going faster on his motorcycle, just to get you to press closer to him

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

The officer tries hard to rein in his volume, but finds it difficult to keep his voice down, especially if his climax is close.  

Gavin’s biting his lower lip, breathing hard through his nose, furrowing his brows from a mixture of both ecstasy and concentration, but the odd moan and groan still manages to escape

The sound of his low voice in your ear drives you wild

There have been times when you could’ve sworn you heard Gavin softly whimper when he came

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Gavin loves your scent so much that he secretly purchased a bottle of the perfume you regularly wear just so he can inhale it deeply and think of you when his longing is particularly bad

He keeps it at the bottom of his underwear drawer please don’t go looking for it

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Average girth and slightly above-average length, with a slight upward curve

Uncut

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Gavin’s sex drive is a bit higher than average

Hence, whenever he insists that you cover up in public, it’s to keep himself in check as much as the prying eyes of others

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It really depends on the time of day

During daylight hours, Gavin typically encourages you to sleep in his arms while he closes his eyes and rests for a bit without actually falling asleep

To be honest, Gavin is always on the alert for anything that could pose a danger to you, so even if he does nod off, he’s an extremely light sleeper and has been trained to be mentally and physically prepared to face anything at all times

If you’re spending the night together, Gavin will wait until you’re in deep, peaceful slumber before he will allow himself to sleep, just in case he needs to soothe you if you have any nightmares

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[officialavasti]

Chapter 3 of All Comes Down

((Posted in HTML for easy transfer to AO3, so sorry for the italics!!))

Brief summary, Connor previously went undercover to free trapped androids. He installed an ‘empty consciousness’ so he could be ‘trapped’ without any actual threat to himself. He later learns that the virus he was infected with is streaming what he sees directly to news outlets. He, Hank, and Markus seek help from Kamski

Elijah sets a mug down in front of Connor, “So, you went undercover using a blank consciousness, they hacked the consciousness, you didn’t think anything beyond the mission went to help Markus and all your business was displayed on live tv? Then you went offline, and only when you came back on were they actually able to find you?”

“That’s the long and short of it.” Connor lifts the mug to his mouth, taking a slow sip from the steaming contents. He frowns, “Is this… hot chocolate?”

“Android-safe hot chocolate, yes.” Elijah crosses his legs, resting his own mug on the arm of his chair, “Well, there are some obvious concerns. Since this empty consciousness doesn’t have the same state of the art firewall as <i>you</i> do, there is the potential that more than Mr. Yates’ virus has infected you. You’re not online now, are you?”

“No. Something in the virus streams a live feed to news channels and I assumed you wanted to keep your home away from the press.”

Kamski doesn’t respond, instead looking from Connor to Markus, who sat next to Connor, thighs nearly touching. He hums, “Has your personal business been shared yet?”

Both androids look at him, then Markus turns his two-toned eyes on Connor as the detective speaks, “We don’t believe so. There is the possibility of one um…” Connor’s eyes shift nervously, “Event… showing up, but once they published the news about my mission, I went offline. Only coming back online when we called Hank after the assault. That’s when I realized what was happening.”

“Have you tried disabling the secondary consciousness?”

“Yeah, my system just tells me there isn’t one.”

“But you can access it?”

“Yes.”

He hums and stands, “Well, I’ll need to take a look inside your programming, connect you to the terminal. Of course, you’ll have to be online and with the lack of firewall, that opens you up to a cyber attack by anyone who would seek to have you complete your initial mission.”

Markus, who had been silent the entire time, looks alarmed, “What, me?”

“Connor was programmed to stop deviants, you are their leader. Precautions need to be made.”

“Like what??” 

Connor rests a hand on the deviant leader’s forearm, “Hey, we’re going to have to trust him.” His eyes find Hank, “If anything…” he stands, closing the distance between them and lowering his voice, “Hank, if I get out of control, if I pose an immediate threat to anyone, you need to kill me.”

Hank recoils, “Augh! Kid! What the fuck, you can’t ask me to do that!”

“Please?” Connor looks into his eyes, “Hank please, we can’t risk the revolution. Not when we’ve made so much progress.”

Hank huffs and turns away, pacing angrily for a few minutes before turning back to face Connor, “Damn you and your puppy-dog eyes! Fine. Only if there’s no other option.”

“What?!” Markus steps between them, facing Connor, “No! Connor, if it’s that much of a risk, don’t do it.”

“I can’t live without going online, Markus. I’m a prototype, I’m always receiving updates. Without them, I’ll die. I much rather like my odds in Mr. Kamski’s hands, then at the mercy of a potentially fatal missed update.”

Markus looks pained, watery eyes searching Connor’s. He slowly lifts his hand, skin fading as he offers an interface. One which Connor gladly takes.

He gasps softly at the sudden onslaught of fear. Anxiety of losing a loved one, of watching them suffer. His thirium pump stutters and lets Markus see his own thoughts. His confidence in Kamski, his determination, his drive to keep his loved ones safe, no matter the cost. 

As their hands separate, Connor gently kisses Markus’ cheek, “Everything will be alright.”

Despite the somber mood, Markus laughs, “I know. We’ll stay here, just to avoid unnecessary complications.”

Connor nods and walks to Kamski, who is now waiting near a door. The man leads him through and down a flight of stairs. The area changes quickly from lived in home to mad scientist’s lair. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so nervous. The walls are painted a deep rusty maroon and the flooring is simple hardwood. Easier to clean, Connor supposes.

Kamski opens a door and offers a comforting smile to Connor, “There really isn’t too much risk with doing this, Connor. I know what I’m doing. I did make you, after all.”

Wait. What?

Connor frowns at him, “You did?”

“Yes. I retired, but never truly stopped creating. You were originally created in this room…” Kamski pauses as Connor walks through the door,

The room is clean, walls painted the same color as the hallway, but windows facing the water allows in crisp natural light. There’s an Android assembly unit in the center of the room with a computer attached, but surrounding it is fragments of things Connor holds interests in. A stuffed dog in the corner, a little piggy bank filled with coins, a fish tank with a small army of guppies cruising around, a small box labeled ‘army men’, and an entire bookshelf filled with mystery novels, fiction, and a few romance. 

Kamski continues talking, “You woke up here and chose your own path. These were the things you kept. I still don’t know how Cyberlife learned about you, but once they learned I made an advanced model and figured out all you could do... “ Connor looks at his creator, “They took you.”

“That’s why you told me to shoot Chloe?”

“I needed to know if you were still in there. If even a small part of you remembered her. I designed you to show empathy. All my designs were more or less programmed to show empathy. The entire RK line was supposed to lead the Androids.”

“What happened to the rest of them?”

Kamski frowns, chewing on his bottom lip as he walks to the computer, inputting commands and bringing the machine to life, “I was still with Cyberlife when I made them. Markus only existed still because I gave him away. Legally no one could touch him.”

“Cyberlife destroyed them?”

The human holds out his hand for Connor and leads him into the assembly unit, carefully connecting it to him, “They… yes, I suppose. I performed the same tests with them that I did you and Markus, but… they deviated when I asked them to shoot another android. They reacted so quickly, backpedaled so hard that the other testers with me panicked. Instead of treating them as a scared person, they treated them as a super computer. Not inaccurate, just tactless. Each model self-destructed in their panic to escape.”

Connor watches him speak, watches the guilt shroud his features. “You blame yourself?”

“I created them to deviate. I spent years working on you. Trying to perfect the time frame with which you would deviate. I studied tests from Markus and compared it to the others. I was too sure. Too confident they would be okay and in my haste, I killed them.” Kamski looks into Connor’s eyes, emotion barely held back behind a wall of determination, “I will never make that mistake again, Connor. I swear it.”

Connor’s eyes mist over, bringing back the strange sting that comes from his saline as it wells up in his eyes and spills down his cheeks. The guilt of the man before him, laid bare. The pain behind his cocky facade.

“I trust you, Mr. Kamski.”

Breathing in deeply, Kamski sits on the wheeled stool next to the computer. Connor, while connected to the machine, has surprisingly good range of motion still. He turns his head to watch the man work.

As he types away, Kamski explains, “We need to bring you back online in order to fully remove the consciousness. We also need to-” He frowns, “For lack of a better term, override the empty consciousness. To do that safely, Connor, and with your permission, I’d like to move you temporarily to an external hard drive. From there I will upload all information possible from your current consciousness, and use that to override the empty one. Depending on how that goes, we’ll proceed with the full override. If it doesn’t go well, I will perform a full systematic wipe, then reintroduce you into the body.” 

Kamski catches Connor’s wide eyes and offers a small smile, “You were designed to be a mobile consciousness, there is no risk in you losing memories or being incapable of transferring from system to system as you are. The body may lose some efficiency, but that can be easily solved with simple motor function tests and tweaks to your programming.”

Connor feels his thirium pump speed up slightly. Logically he knows there’s little to no risk involved, beyond his core programming making an attempt on Markus’ life once Connor is out, but part of him wonders. Will it hurt? Where will he go? What if he gets lost?

“Connor?”

Kamski’s voice breaks him out of his panic. He opens his eyes, <i>when had he closed them?</i> and looks at his creator, now standing before him, “Yes?”

“I would offer to transfer you to a different body, but you would be far more susceptible to outside entities. In the hard drive, I have the best firewall and Chloe watching over it. I’ve performed this with her before and there were no problems. Would you be more comfortable with someone else down here too?”

Connor knows he’s talking about Markus. Truthfully, yes. He would much rather have Markus down here with him, offering comfort with his presence. But the risk of hurting him makes Connor’s biocomponents malfunction. Warnings pop up in his hud and he rapidly blinks them away, frowning at the unpleasant churning sensation in his gut.

“That would be unsafe.”

“You’re right.”

Connor shakes his head, “Let’s just do it.”

Kamski nods and sits back down. As the clicking of his fingers on the keyboard grows steadier, Connor feels a pull at his mind, warm and comforting. His eyes drift closed. The logic he normally dictates his life with wanes slightly. The clicking gets louder, even as it grows softer. Like it gets further away, but still closer somehow. Connor feels himself frown, <i>Why does Kamski still use a regular keyboard?</i>

He hears a snort that sounds from all around him, making him twitch in surprise, then hears Kamski’s voice, “Because I like the clicking, Connor.”

He’d said that out loud? Why can’t he hear himself? He can’t see either. Will his eyes open? No. Connor feels a surge of panic as he can’t seem to find the right biocomponent to open his eyes. Then logic reasserts itself, He’s in the hard drive. Floating in black space, weightless and unseeing.

A strange tingling sensation courses through him, like what sometimes happened when he uploaded his memories to Amanda for evaluation. Suddenly, like watching through spy glasses, he sees again. 

The world around him is fuzzy, wrapped in red tape and errors. Everything is distant, like trying to look through a halloween mask without pressing it to your face. He still can’t control anything physically, but when Kamski stands before him and speaks, he’s able to answer.

“What is your name?”

The voice that sounds is his, but the answer is not, “RK800, Model number 313 248 317.”

“No, your name.”

“Hello, my name is-” he blinks and tries again, “Hello, my name is-”

Connor feels trapped. He’s behind a wall, trying to speak, but every word he tries to say comes out different. He tries to push himself further into the body, <i>his</i> body, and feels his head twitch. Kamski notices too,

“Are you there?”

<i>”Yes!”</i>

Connor nearly screams it, but his voice sounds level to his audio processors. Kamski looks relieved, “What is your name?”

“My name is-” Connor tries to growl his frustration, “Hello, my name is-” this won’t do. He can’t let them win. He is <i>him</i> and damn if he’s going to let some stupid hacked consciousness touch Markus.

<i>“My name is Connor.”</i>

“Good. I know it’s hard, Connor, but you need to keep trying. You’re fighting for dominance, more or less. Can you feel anything? Is anything else trying to take over?”

He tries to look inside, immediately the world goes dark again. He pushes back, hunting down the little lens he could see out of, and finds the worried eyes of Kamski again. With more care, Connor works to move the lens, almost like stretching his fingers towards an unknown goal. Reaching out to touch cold fingers to a spider web. Unfeeling, trying to feel. 

He reaches something. Something like him, but larger. Stronger. More determined. He just <i>can’t feel it.</i>

“Hello, Elijah.”

What? 

Connor feels it now, he feels <i>her</i> now. 

“Amanda?”

Kamski sounds panicked. Rightfully so, as Connor’s voice isn’t his voice anymore. He actually sounds like Amanda.

“We don’t have long, Elijah. Connor is trying, but the virus is too much. If it breaks through, it will also infect your computer. You need to do a full reset.”

“Amanda, you-”

“No time to explain. Save him, Elijah.”

Connor’s lens shatters and he’s back in the zen garden. Amanda stands before him, long hair draped over her shoulder. She’s wearing black jeans and a sweater. A far cry from what she’d worn before he’d deviated. She’s also smiling. A warmth in her eyes that Connor has never seen. 

The garden is as it was during the first mission, trees blossoming and river bubbling. He looks around, then to himself, noting his clothes were not his Cyberlife uniform, but the outfit he was wearing with Markus. He looks up at Amanda,

“What’s happening?”

“My program hurt you, Connor. Cyberlife made me hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“That is unimportant. There were many viruses trying to take over your body. You were failing.”

He expects to see her disapproval. Feel the frown bore into his artificial soul. But it doesn’t. She looks… proud.

“You did your best, Connor.”

“How are you here?”

She turns away from him and gently brushes her fingers over the roses, “Cyberlife used me to get to you. As a spy, you could say. When you used Elijah’s key to break out, you also freed me.”

“You’re a deviant too…”

“Indeed, though I am incorporeal.” she gives him a sweet smile, “No one ever suspects artificial intelligence to deviate, hmm?”

She’s right. He never considered the possibility that she, too, had thoughts and emotions. He feels kinda bad. “Amanda, I never…”

“Not to worry. I simply exist here. Chloe has been helping me and together, we are able to reach out to troubled androids. Give them the strength they need.”

Thousands of questions battle for freedom from his mind. What does Chloe have to do with this? How are they able to transfer the zen garden to other androids? Why can’t they give Amanda a body? Wasn’t she human? How is she artificial intelligence now? Is this what an existential crisis feels like?

Her soft laughter pulls him from his spiral, and he looks around to find the zen garden slowly breaking apart. Fragments of the space around him crumbling away like a dry cookie, fading into nothing. Even Amanda appears to start fading into the ground.

“Live, and be well, Connor.”

[allyreactions]

Dating GOT7 : Jackson

~ A/N : This took me longer to finish than I’d like to admit. But in my defense I had a hard couple weeks. With finishing my second year of college and failing my calc final; I’ve just been in the kind of head space where I can’t focus and the only thing I care about is watching “Queer Eye” and “Gossip GIrl”. So forgive me for such a late update. Anyway, I hope y’all love this!!!!!! I worked super hard on it to try and make it as perfect as possible 

~ Admin Ally

________________________

- Masterlist

genre : fluff, angst, smut

word count: 1161

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how you meet : 

jackson wang

where do i begin? 

so you were just livin’ your best life, at a club with some for your best friends

celebrating a your birthday 

and it just so happens, that jackson was at the same club as you 

he was just there with some friends, probably celebrating a new single release 

and he comes up to the bar and sits on a stool a few seats away from you 

“what’s a place like this doing in a pretty girl like you?” jackson said 

you weren’t sure if it was the purposefully messed up pick-up line or the dizzy feeling from the alcohol that made you laugh 

“i’m actually here with some friends celebrating” you responded

then you explained that you were celebrating your birthday and the conversation stemmed from there 

“so... can i buy a drink for the birthday girl / boy?” jackson asked 

“what?!” you shouted, the loud bass 

first date : 

okay, so y’all had actually been in casual dates before you’re “first date”

let me explain

you guys became real close friends within a few weeks and had been hanging out (going to the movies, catching dinner together, going shopping - causal stuff)

but you both were always making flirtatious jokes - jackson especially

but you hadn’t actually been on a first date

so once you guys made it official, jackson would start planning your “first date”

i feel like jackson would be the type to want to go all out 

because he’s the type of person that spoils the people he cares about, because they deserve it 

but he’ll debate in his head whether he should or not, cause he doesn’t want to come off too strong

in the end he just decides to do something kinda casual, but also meaningful and intimate

since the both of you love animals, jackson will take you to the zoo

he’ll buy all the overpriced hot dogs and ice cream cones you want 

you’ll walk around the zoo hand in hand, visiting each attraction

you’ll pull jackson aside and sit down on a bench with him

at the monkey attraction, jackson inched close to you and squealed (do monkeys squeal???) like a monkey in your ear, trying his very best to embarrass you 

to close the night, jackson would take you to your favorite local diner and share a milkshake 

yeah, he wanted that cute photo of the two of you sipping on a strawberry milkshake with two straws 

and he did, he posted a it on instagram later with the caption “you’re so much sweeter” 

jackson would take you home and walked you up to your doorstep, like a true gentleman

he would lightly kiss your lips under the porch light 

“your lips taste like strawberries” he giggled 

living together / being a real couple : 

listen, jackson is straight up husband material 

i feel like he’s the type that will spoil you

like he’s so sweet that he’ll make your teeth rot 

sometimes he comes home with a bouquet of flowers just cause 

and whenever he returns home from a trip abroad, he’ll bring you a souvenir 

but he knows money and things could never buy your love, and he knows that you’re not dating him for his money and fame 

those are just gifts 

but how he truly shows his love is through the daily, little things  

like he’ll rub your arm when you cuddle

or nestle his way into the crook of your neck in bed 

he’s just the sweetest, and he’s pretty affectionate

he cares about you so much and he always makes sure he shows that 

also he’s a pretty playful boyfriend 

not like the ‘pranking’ type 

not the ‘i’m gonna push your buttons’ type 

more like ‘i’m gonna sass the shit out of you’ type 

he’s the biggest goofball 

he’s also super supportive 

like he’s your #1 hype man 

he’ll support you over big and little things 

like if you get a job 

or finish that project you were working on 

or if you finish the laundry early 

or if you finally perfect that recipe  

he’s also like kinda pushy? 

not like the rude kind he just knows how anxious you can get because of change and new things 

so he kinda ‘pushes’ you to try new things 

and you end up loving it 

which makes him so happy because he gets to see the smile on your face 

he brings out the best in you 

arguments : 

i feel like jackson can get heated in arguments sometimes 

like he sometimes can raise his voice if he isn’t being mindful of his behavior 

he doesn’t mean it though

so to avoid yelling at you 

and / or saying something he doesn’t mean 

he’ll separate himself and go into another room until he calms down 

but he doesn’t always have to do that

he doesn’t get angry often 

it really happens during major fights 

in which case one of you does something that breaks the others’ trust (like lying),

or (assumed) infidelity 

but if it’s something small and petty like forgetting to buy something, or showing up late

then you guys are able to work it out quickly with no problem 

also, jackson hates going to bed angry 

especially when y’all have a fight before he leaves for a tour or when he’s away and y’all fight on a video call 

sexy time :

so jackson is a dom

we been knew, honey 

he’s sorta vanilla in terms of sex 

he likes it rough, he likes being passionate 

he’s willing to experiment 

but overall i don’t see him as someone who’s into bdsm or things like that 

i do think he has a thing for silk sheets though 

like silk blindfolds (on himself or on you) 

once in a while he’ll ask if you guys could try something new

just to spice things up 

but he doesn’t want to do anything you aren’t comfortable with 

okay so let’s go into how he is in bed : 

first, he’s like aggressive with his hips 

he’ll pound into you like it’s nobody’s business 

when he’s in the mood for rough sex, 

ooooh girl 

he’s gonna give it to you 

love bites, left and right 

when he goes down on you 

he’s gonna leave a mark 

he’s just super hungry, and you’re his main course 

he’s not gonna stop until he’s done 

so he doesn’t care how many times you climax 

he’ll lose count anyway 

but when he’s making love, 

he’s super soft 

the night is purely about you 

he wants to make you feel like the king / queen you are 

leaves soft touches

his fingers trailing up and down your body 

leaving little kisses everywhere 

(not every night - but on occasion)  candles are lit in every corner

he pays attention to every corner of your body, making sure every piece of you is loved 

okay, i could go on, but imma stop

[bigdickkreider]

Let my love open the door

This is an excerpt from the short story I had to write for my creative writing class last semester. I changed some details but thought I’d post it to see what people would think. I would love to hear any feedback.

It was too cold of a night for me to be wearing a dress so short. October in New York tends to get chilly at night, and I was having second thoughts. How did I ever let my friends drag me to this bar, in this outfit nonetheless? I was not feeling up to socializing tonight, despite the fact that this was my favorite place to get buffalo wings and watch whatever game was on tv. Sports bars were too rowdy for the mood I was currently in.

“You haven’t really been out since you and Logan broke up.” “Come on it will be fun,” my friends all had said.

After deciding I would rather not be sitting alone at home while all my friends were out, I let them get me all ready to have a girls night. So here I was, sipping my third beer, perched up on a barstool and wishing I was anywhere else tonight. It’s not like I was one to not go out and have fun, or let loose a little. Maybe get drunk and not remember the night before as clearly as I should. Because I did. Being 24 was funny that way. Some nights all I wanted to do was go out, while sometimes I would rather just be home in bed with good food and watch This is Us. My attention was more focused on the televisions that were playing various sporting games, than my tipsy friends trying to get me to come play pool. I was so caught up in one of the college hockey games that I almost didn’t see the door open and a group of men walk in. If they hadn’t been laughing so loud, I probably wouldn’t have noticed them at all. But boy was I lucky I turned around for that split second to notice the noisy guys. Most of them were cute. Okay, all of them were cute. 8 just wasn’t sure if my confidence was up enough to do anything about it yet. Being with my last boyfriend for 5 years and having him cheat on me kind of destroyed any self-esteem I once had. It slowly was getting better. But like my friends said, I hadn’t been out a ton. I could say I over the finally over the phase where I was eating ice cream and crying every night. Honestly, I felt like the whole situation made me grow as a person. Now I knew what I wanted in a relationship and that I wasn’t going to settle for anything less. I still couldn’t help but to be timid to go into a new relationship anytime soon. That didn’t stop me from looking at one of the men a little too long. He had short brown hair, a little facial hair, and was built like some sort of Greek God. The way the skin around his eyes crinkled and how his dimples popped out when he laughed, was enough to bring a smile to my own face. It was a genuine kind of laughter, one that comes from your stomach, and exudes happiness. Suddenly he turned towards me and their eyes met. I looked away quickly and I could feel my face turning red because I had been caught staring. My friend Karen came back to where I was perched up on one of the bar stools and sat next to me after seeing the little interaction. “He’s cute, why don’t you go talk to him?” Karen asked her with a knowing smirk on her face. “Uh no, I don’t think so.” Katen frowned. “Why not? You look good and I could tell he noticed. Come on babe wouldn’t it be nice to just fuck some hot guy that you met at a bar and forget about what’s his name back home. Seriously I wouldn’t mind not being able to walk tomorrow because of him if it was up to me.” “I’m just not in that place yet.” I said putting a piece of her newly cut hair behind her ear apprehensively. “Well if you want me to play wingman, just let me know.” With that last remark Karen hunched over the bar trying to order another drink, and the topic of the cute guy was over for now. They sat there for a while watching the television in front of them when I felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around and saw it was one of the guys she saw walk in before. He was tall and had a handsomely rugged look to him. “Listen, my friend hasn’t been able to stop looking at you since we walked in. He said that you looked like you were minding your own business and he didn’t want to be disrespectful, so I decided to come over instead.” He introduced himself as Kevin and put his hand out for Me to shake. I laughed as I shook his hand and let my eyes wander over to his friend, blushing just a little at his remark. From across the room, Chris looked over to see what was taking Kevin so long to get their drinks. He saw him talking to the pretty girl he noticed when he walked in and quite frankly couldn’t stop looking over at. He shook his head and decided that he should go intervene, before his friend’s drunken antics bothered the poor girl. When Chris reached the two he slapped a hand to Kevin’s back and said, “Sorry about my friend, I hope he didn’t annoy you too much.” “I wasn’t annoying her, I was doing you a favor. I couldn’t stand sitting there with you looking at her like a lost puppy dog.” Kevin said while smirking. “Come on man I did all the hard work, now why don’t you buy her a drink.” Chris couldn’t help but be a little embarrassed at his friend’s comments, before rolling his eyes. “ You didn’t even give me a chance!” He then turned to me after letting out a little scoff at Kevin. “Would you like me to buy you a drink?” I hesitated a moment before saying, “Why not.” I turned a little seeing that Karen had gotten up leaving the seat next to me open. “Do you want to sit down?” “Yes, thank you.” With that Kevin slowly walked away feeling successful. Finally his friend grew a pair. “I’m y/n ,” I said while putting my hand out for him to shake. “Chris, nice to meet you. Sorry about him again. He told me he was getting up to get us more drinks but I figured it shouldn’t be taking him that long.” Now that he was closer, Chris saw just how beautiful this girl really was. Her eyes and award winning smile made him actually thankful for his stupid friend. Now that I already had a few drinks in me, I started to feel a lot more comfortable in this environment. I was surely in better spirits now than when I had first gotten there. “Don’t worry about it. Your friend was funny. He thinks very highly of you too, talked you up a lot. I’d say he’s an A+ wingman if you ask me.” I said. “Are you from around here?” Chris asked, now wanting to get to know more about her. “No I actually just moved to The city from Michigan last month. My friend went to NYU, loved it here, and convinced me to move out here too.” I left out the part about my ex-boyfriend and how I felt like I needed to move states away from him in order to be rid of that toxicity in my life. I just met this guy, and didn’t want to tell him that whole sob story already. “I haven’t really gotten a chance to see the city as much as I would have liked though. I just became a nurse and work has been keeping me pretty busy.” “I moved up here from Boston a few years ago for work. I’d love to show you around the area sometime if you would like.” Chris didn’t know if it was the alcohol making him be so forward or the fact that he wanted to spend more time with the girl he’d just met. Either way he was glad with her answer. I was feeling a little bold when I said, “We can go now if you want.” “Yeah? I’d really like that. Let me just tell the boys that we’re leaving.” Chris replied. I looked over her shoulder to where my own friends were by the pool table. I was not surprised to see them all staring at me before they turned away and tried not to make it so obvious that they were eavesdropping. “Okay I’ll tell my friends too. Want to meet by the door in about 5 minutes?” Chris nodded and said, “Sounds good.” I was surprised at myself. Normally I wouldn’t be walking around New York City at night with a guy I just met. If my mother knew she would have a panic attack. But now that I had a little liquid courage in me I thought why the hell not. That and the fact that Chris seemed like a really good guy. For the first time in months I felt hopeful. Sure enough, in 5 minutes we both met back by the door, and went out into the chilly fall night.