#keep in mind leather jackets and jeans so probably blues? maybe rock? but not anything folky i don’t think

[hailthegodsong]

theories on what 70s band they’re playing as or if they’ll just be an original band not meant to be anyone

[buckybarnesdiaries]

a piece of cake

© @jamesbrnes

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Something happens at Shuri's birthday party that leads to a heated fight.

word count: 3k words. (fuck, it worth every damn word)

warnings/tags: nsfw, +18!!! angry jealous sex, let's start there. unprotected sex, oral sex (face fucking and ridding), fingering, brief daddy!kink, brief praise!kink, language, cursing, handcuffing, mention of bodily fluids, and probably i'm forgetting something else, i just lost my mind. bucky being the cutest and loving man on earth at the end.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

join the tag list here.

You had never been so quiet, but you knew that opening your mouth only could cause a storm inside the car, on your way back home. Believing you could have a pinch of luck, Bucky wouldn't notice that something was raving you mad since the moment you watched him letting another woman give him a spoon of cake. Straight to his mouth. You almost choked on your drink, talking to Shuri about how excited she was to celebrate her birthday in New York, when you witnessed the scene hearing their laughs and watching how they dared to touch his metal arm constantly. Your boyfriend was talking with some of his old friends from Wakanda, not even knowing he made friends there. He never said a word about it. Even so, they didn't have the right to flirt with him. Unless he didn't say anything about you.

But Bucky wasn't stupid. Or at least, not like you thought. Gazing you by the corners of his blue eyes, he was conscious that something was going wrong. He licked his upper lip briefly, slowly. He tasted the waters putting a hand on your thigh, which was your favorite gesture while he was driving, deriving with your fingers laced and him placing kisses on the back of your hand. But you didn't move an inch, still staring through the copilot's window with your elbow nailed there and your chin resting on your knuckles.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing”.

Your passive tone and the lie as a response caused him to frown, pulling over the car to focus on you. He turned on his seat and placed a hand behind the headrest of yours.

“Spit it”.

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow ironically, looking at him for a second. If he had to ask it was because he wasn't really seeing the dilemma there.

“I'm just tired and I wanna go home, James. That's all”.

James. James. You did it unconsciously, but he didn't take it as an innocent manner of calling him. Unexpressive, the soldier joined the highway driving faster than he used to. You had pissed him off, but it wasn't your problem. He had hurt your feelings with something he didn't give any importance to. The only thing you wanted was to take a shower, put on your comfier pajamas and go to sleep, probably you'd see tomorrow that situation differently than today and you could move on from your insecurities and the jealousy running through your veins.

You arrived at your apartment in record time, keeping the car inside the parking under the building. You removed the seat belt to wear your leather jacket and grab your purse on your feet, stepping out when you were ready. But Bucky stayed inside, just turning off the engine. He didn't have any intention of leaving it, maintaining his hands tightly gripped around the wheel. You ignored him as soon as you couldn't pretend you were just tired anymore. It was the first time something like that happened and you were having a strong desire to throw your guts up.

Three minutes later you were under the warm water with your forehead resting against the cold wall and your eyes closed. Maybe you were overreacting and the rational, mature behavior would be to go to talk with him, tell your boyfriend what made you feel upset. Sighing as you nodded two times, determined to put the cards on the table, you shut off the faucet and walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

“Oh, fucking hell!” You growled because of the scare of your life when you found Bucky already in your shared room.

He had his back supported on the wall, a leg flexed, and his hands behind himself. No expression on his face, but expecting an explanation from you. You were hoping for something from him too, maybe I don't know what I've done to make you feel like that, can you give me a clue? He just stared at you in silence, drying the pearls of water decorating your body before wearing a pair of black panties and your forgotten pajamas instead of one of his t-shirts impregnated on his scent.

“Com'ere”. Bucky whispered, stretching his flesh hand on air when you were about to go to sleep.

“No”.

Well, that wasn't the proper way to talk like grown adults. You crossed both arms on your chest, standing next to your side of the bed.

“What'd you say?” He squinted incredulous, slowly standing from the wall, pretending you hadn't uttered that word.

“I said no, you fucking punk”.

“The hell d'you think you're talking to, darling?”

“To the cretin who let other women flirt and touch him”. You replied with evident annoyance. “Why don't you go to show them your daddy's skills, uh? Sure I can find someone who respects me in the meantime”.

Suddenly, a grimace you hadn't seen before on him appeared like a thunderbolt. You weren't sure if you just made him feel more furious or if you just broke his heart. But before you could figure it out, Bucky shorted the distance between both in two fast strides and his hands gripped your throat and the back of your neck respectively, pinning you to the closest wall and tossing the lamp on your nightstand to the floor. You complained slightly —with his tongue wildly invading your mouth— because of the strength he used to put you against the wall.

You tried to push him away, to not fall into his charmings, but he made your mind blank when his fingers were firmly nailed in your ass and his body was accommodated between your legs. Your fiery provoked a bulge under his pants so painful that in every rock against your core he wasn't sure if it hurt or if it was some kind of pleasure he couldn't handle. Out of breath, Bucky attacked your neck, digging his teeth in your neck with so much passion that you screamed delighted his full name while pulling his hair. That gesture drove him insane, losing the less sanity he had at that point. With just a push, your boyfriend ripped off your shirt to strip you, in anticipation of your panties suffering the same fate.

Bucky threw you to the mattress on your abdomen, perfectly positioned to what was about to happen. He was so eager, so desperate for showing you what he was feeling that he didn't lose time taking off his clothes, just undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans to pull them down to his ankles along his boxers. You heard him spitting in his hand to use it as lube, although you were sufficiently soaked and ready for your Buck that neither of you needed his saliva. He rammed his dolorous erection into your cunt, crashing his pelvis and pressing it against your ass with all his strength, causing you to drown a loud cry in the sheets.

Tangling his fingers with yours and lacing your arms around your neck, putting all his weight onto your back, Bucky pounded you with an insanely quick rhythm, not giving you any chance to mold your throbbing walls around his length. Your pleased vocals echoed inside your room in total sync with the hits to your g-spot. Your body received with every one of them soft cramps mixed with pain and pleasure, making you roll your eyes and tear your throat.

“'S that wh— what you wanted, uh?” Bucky snarled against the back of your neck, totally gone, not giving you a break or showing any mercy.

“Fuck, no…” You replied, challenging him.

He swallowed a rough moan, wrapping his cold fingers around your throat while using the other to pull back your hair and arch your body. “Don' fucking… lie to me, doll… You wan— wanted your daddy to make you… feel desired over tho— those women”.

And yes, he was right. More or less. But you didn't expect him to react like that. Bucky was rabidly fucking you, moving the bed from its position with every angry thrust into your pussy. You knew you weren't going to last for too long if he continued impaling you against the mattress, just like that. But you both had to recognize that it was the best session of sex of your life.

“You were… fucking mad watch— watching 'em touch my arm… your arm, right?”

You whined at the brutality he used to push his hard cock beyond your limits, holding it there as he tilted your head to crash his lips on yours. Bucky devoured them until they were shiny, swollen, slightly ached because of the bit he left on your bottom one.

“If you don't tell me… the truth… I swear I'm not gonna let you come”. The whisper fell into your ear with such a raspy tone of voice, conscious of him being very capable.

“It was… your fucking fault, James. Not… Not mine”. You grunted, feeling him going a little deeper. “I di— didn't let anybody flirt with me… as if you didn't exist”.

That was the truth, but the wrong answer for him. Suddenly, Bucky pulled out his dick covered in your arousal, freeing you from any grip. A pause that only lasted the time he took to grab the handcuffs from your nightstand to place them in your wrists and secure them around the headboard. Now you were under his total control, defying him by strongly closing your legs and frowning at him, panting and sweating.

“Lemme tell you something”. Your boyfriend said, dangerously crawling over the bed till reaching your knees and forcing them to be separated, wide spread for him. “If you think I was flirting, but you didn't see… how uncomfortable I was… This situation is not my fault”.

The tables were turned as he finished his sentence, settling himself between your legs yet kneeling to raise your ass above his lap. “Not so mouthy now, are you, doll?”

You wanted to speak back, to say something after having a second to reconsider the reason why you were so angrier at him when Bucky pushed you down and rammed his dick back to the place it belonged. You forced unconsciously your hands gripped, wanting to put them on him —wherever—. As soon as he handcuffed you, your desire for touching him used to be suffocating. But you were the one who played from the start, instead of telling him how you were feeling about that situation at Shuri's party.

Bucky didn't even let you kiss him, stabilizing you on top with an arm around your waist and his cold hand holding the back of your head. His hips rocked straight to your g-spot once and once, making you lose any kind of control over your body as your boyfriend didn't have any compassion, needing to find relief to his sorrowful erection by cumming inside your clenching walls. You were driving him crazy, maintaining your eye contact at all moments and almost drinking your delighted, obscene crying, aware that only him could cause you to be so dirty.

“Feels good, uh…? You like it?” Your boyfriend brushed your lips with his, depriving you of his kisses or any other touch. “Bec— 'cause you take your daddy... so damn good, baby girl… So tight… so tight you could kill me”.

“Yes, da— daddy”. You whimpered nodding your head. “Only you… can fuck me li— like that… Only you”.

“That's it… that's it, oh, fuck… fuck, doll”.

You saw him roll that pair of beautiful blue eyes to the back of his head, feeling Bucky's thighs tensing under your legs. You didn't want anything else than making him cum, after overthinking about how he felt, and not about what you witnessed. He was right, more or less. He was still being so innocent in those kinds of situations that he used to feel like a scared kid.

You suddenly fell back to reality when the emptiness sensation invaded you. Bucky pulled out his length from you again, causing you to beg in silence for not denying you the orgasm you were about to reach. But he warned you. Bucky asked you to tell him the truth and you chose to challenge him. Letting you sit on the mattress, he flexed a leg to guide his twitching cock to your mouth, not needing to tell you what he wanted you to do. You just parted your lips, receiving him without protesting, curling your fingers when he forced your limits, and positioned both hands on your head. Twirling your tongue around his base as you could, with your cavity completely invaded, Bucky provoked you a strong gag. A gesture that led to his warm seed being spilled down your throat.

“Fuck my life, baby girl!” He couldn't help but howl driven by the pleasure as you coughed and made vibrate his sensitive skin.

Just holding his dick trapped by your lips for a second, he freed your mouth, taking his time to admire you swallowing his cum and showing afterward your tongue. God, you looked so beautiful disheveled, with teary eyes and swollen lips because of the effort.

“Want me to tell you something else?” Bucky asked while cleaning the sweat in his forehead with the back of his arm, taking the small key to liberating you with his free hand.

You didn't reply, not needing to, as he rubbed your wrists to comfort your skin before lying by your side.

“Com'ere”. He whispered, yet trying to recover your breathings. Bucky wrapped you with his flesh arm, rubbing his iron fingers up and down your tense belly, creating a contrast that caused you goosebumps. “'M so sorry for making you feel like that”.

He kissed you. Slowly, passionate, tasting his own juices mixed with your saliva. Caressing your tongue with the tip of his, and no rush. You felt his digits touring down your skin, till finding your throbbing and needed clit. You weren't able to hold back a sweet moan when he circled his fingertip over your sensible pearl, gladly drinking your vocals.

“When I wanted to react… she was putting that damn spoon into my mouth. It felt horrible, doll, I promise”. He murmured, venturing his long cold finger to part your folds and sink it inside you —moaning at the fulfill sensation—. “You always save me from those awkward situations… but you were having fun with Shuri and I didn't want to interrupt you”.

You were feeling like shit, looking at him through your eyelids as he curved a second finger into your cunt and increased the pace of the pounds with his hand made of vibranium. Bucky spread some gentle kisses all around your face, ending with a tender bite to your lips.

“When you told me you wanted to go home, I felt a huge relief… 'Cause that was everything I wanted. Go home with you. Maybe watch a movie… cuddle… fall asleep on the sofa”.

“Oh, God, Bucky”. You wept onto his mouth, as soon as a third finger filled you, nailing his hand in the perfect position to be moved up and down. “I'm so— sorry, Buck… I'm sorry”.

“Fuck, no”. He let out, thrusting you harder, faster, creating a melody of filthy sloppy sounds while your moans were louder and louder. “I should stop 'em, I didn't… I didn't. But I respect you more than anything, doll… I love you with all my heart. I care 'bout you, 'bout your feelings… Can you forgive me? Can you… Can you cum for me?”

You nodded your head running out of words, seeing your boyfriend snaking his body down the bed to between your shaky legs, yet having his fingers knuckles deep inside you. “Keep 'em open for your man”.

The blow to your abused cunt provoked you a lash up to your backbone, landing your hands on his head as Bucky sank his face straight to your center. His digits fucked you savagely, while his tongue took control of your swollen pearl —sucking, licking, kissing, pulling it back—. He wasn't going to deny that pleasure to you, quite the opposite. You pressed unconsciously his face a little closer to your pussy, swinging your hips and riding his mouth when his caresses and his pushes became too much for you.

Bucky made you cum harder than ever, crying his name till you didn't have any strength and you were just a sack of bones under his expert mouth, devouring you and drinking your juices as if it was the elixir of life. And when he was satiated, you glanced at him using the tip of his tongue to trail a path up crossing your abdomen, the gap between your breasts, your throat, until kissing you again getting comfortable on top of you. It was a kiss full of love, and guiltiness, and necessity, and pure devotion for you.

“Did I hurt you with what I said?” You murmured, still enraptured by the fireworks fluttering within your belly.

“This isn't 'bout me”. Bucky clicked his tongue, hiding his face into your sweaty neck. “This is 'bout what I let happen”.

“That doesn't answer my question, Buck… I'm sorry about what I said. I was just… I feel insecure". You confessed stroking his scalp and back with your hands, lacing your legs together. “I didn't mean it. I would never try to… find someone who respects me more than you do. That's impossible. And not talking about how much you love me”.

“I love you with every inch of myself”. He swore, he promised, raising his face to look straight at your eyes. “I can't imagine a life without you”.

“Me either… Your love makes me feel alive”.

Bucky left one last tender kiss on your lips before suddenly standing up and holding you onto his arms to carry you to the bathroom and take a shower together —wash your hair, worship your body again as if it was the last thing he was going to do—.

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[hangovercurse]

In These Walls

Colson finally writes a song about you, years after your whirlwind relationship. You come to his house to confront him, only to relive your favorite memories.

Request: “Hi, i was wondering if you could possibly write something about the background for "in these walls" song. Like it's a wrong time right person situation. Maybe like they split up and get together multiple times knowing that it's true love. And in the end after hearing the song reader leaves him for good and wishes him to be happy? But you could change any part of it, it just would be really nice to have a back story for this song.”

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Adult content (It’s not full blown smut but it’s there), substance abuse, cursing, angst

A/N: I changed this request just a little bit, I hope you don’t mind. It’s the same concept it just ends a little differently. I had to take a little artistic liberty with the lyrics since some (a lot) of them were pretty ambiguous, but this is just my interpretation of the song.

A/N part 2: I really fucking loved writing this. I absolutely love this song and literally wrote like multiple plots for this. Also I was gonna keep it as the original ending but I had to do what I did (you’ll see what I mean)

Word Count: 4897

Listen to the In These Walls

masterlist

You parked your car on the side of the street, taking in the all too familiar house in front of you. As you walked up to the door, you could already hear the party in full swing. For a second your heart fell, just a little. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed his parties.

Your hand grasps the handle to the front door, opening into the once familiar entryway hall, where the two of you had first met.

You walked up to the door with Ashleigh, trailing slightly behind her. “Don’t worry Y/N, they’ll love you. They have to.”

You chuckled, “You know me, Ash. These kinds of parties just aren’t my thing. I’m much better at working with rock stars than partying with them.”

Ashleigh rolled her eyes, opening the door. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

You walked into the house, eyes wandering over the high ceilings and pristine decorations. You were slightly surprised that someone as infamous as Machine Gun Kelly had a place as clean as this.

“Kells! Slim!” Ashleigh called to two men, pulling you out of your thoughts. Your eyes landed to where her attention was focused, meeting the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen. He walked over to you and Ashleigh, his friend following behind.

“Hey Ashleigh, this must be the new assistant you’ve been talking about.” The blue-eyed boy greeted your friend and boss, his eyes still focused on you. “I’m Kells, but you can call me MGK, Colson, whatever you like.”

You smiled, maintaining eye contact, “Nice to meet you Colson, I’m Y/N”

 Your eyes traveled the house, just as they had that first day, landing on one of the jackets hung up by the door. You chuckled to yourself. Two and a half years later and he still had the same leather jacket that he had once so carelessly thrown on the floor of your hotel room.

 “Are you sure we should be doing this?” Your head rolled back, giving Colson better access to your neck. Your hands made their way to his hair, running your fingers through his locks.

Colson’s teeth nipped at your neck, ripping a small whine from your lips. Colson smiled against your skin, mumbling, “Why shouldn’t we?” His hands reached for your shirt, pulling it over your head, and returning his lips to your exposed skin.

You suppressed your moans as best as you could as he moved lower, his lips sucking at your nipples. “I mean, technically you’re my boss.” Your hands pulled on his hair as he nibbled on the sensitive bud. “And if Ash found out she’d fire me on the spot.”

His mouth moved lower, pressing sloppy kisses to your stomach. “Then we just don’t let her find out.” He smirked, unbuttoning your jeans, and pulling them down your legs, smiling at your lacy light pink panties.

 Your eyes dropped to the floor as you recalled that night, the night everything changed. The night you had fallen head over heels in love with the man in the leather jacket.

You laughed at the memory. Hindsight really is 20/20.

You stepped further into the house, nostalgia hitting you at every corner. As the extent of the party came into your vision, you spotted Dre in the middle of the floor, dancing with a bottle of Jameson in his hand, no care in the world.

 The party on the tour bus was in full swing when you and Ashleigh finally got on. Dre and Irv were in the middle of the floor, dancing and jumping with a group of girls around them. Rook and Slim were in the middle of a drinking competition, with Baze judging.

You looked around the room as inconspicuously as possible, searching for the man whose arms you had woken up in that morning. Your eyes met his as Ashleigh handed you a cup with who knows what in it, but you were too distracted to thank her.

Colson was sitting on one of the couches, a girl on his lap and a drink in his hand. His free hand was wrapped around her waist as she whispered something in his ear, pressing a kiss to his neck. His eyes, however, were trained on you.

Against your better judgement, you downed whatever was in the cup, feeling the burn of the alcohol in your throat. You met Colson’s eyes again, a smirk on his face.

You walked over to Ashleigh, grabbing another drink. “What’s gotten into you?” She laughed. “You never drink.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding the real reason you were eager to get drunk. “It’s our night off, right?” You laughed, raising your cup before drinking it.

 You stayed on the outskirts of the crowd, trying to find the blue-eyed boy that you came to see. Your heart was racing as you leaned against the wall, suddenly anxious about what you were here to do.

As you searched the crowd, you saw Rook sandwiched between two girls in typical Rook fashion.

 “Hey Kells, have you noticed something going on with Y/N?” The shorter boy got his friend alone, concern in his eyes.

Colson shrugged, unbothered. “Not really, why?”

“I dunno man, she used to never drink or smoke or any of that shit. Now I don’t think she’s been fully sober for like a week.”

Colson knew what was going on, but he couldn’t exactly tell Rook about it, Rook liked you too much for that. “I haven’t noticed anything. Maybe she’s just getting more comfortable with us. She’s probably fine.” He fed his friend lies, hiding the fact that you were trying to impress him.

To your benefit, it was working. Colson found you much more attractive when you weren’t so strung up all the time, and he made sure to tell you that every night when you were under him.

Rook sighed, “I mean, maybe. She just never seemed like this type.”

 You hadn’t been to a party like this in months. After everything that had happened, you’d been trying to get clean. You’d been officially sober for 15 months.

Realizing that Colson was probably outside or preoccupied with someone else, you made your way to the bathroom further in the house, the one no one really knew about or bothered to use.

 You’d been rushing around for the last few hours making sure everything was ready to go and as soon as you thought you could relax, Colson disappeared.

You were about to get onto the tour bus when Slim told you. You sighed in frustration, realizing you would have to find the man before anyone could leave.

You made your way through the venue and towards the greenroom that the boys had trashed earlier that night. You walked across the room towards the dressing room door, seeing as Colson wasn’t in the room.

You had been in the dressing room with Colson dozens of times, you never felt the need to knock. No one did. So, you thought when you walked in, you’d find him changing or packing his things up. Instead, you found him in a much more… compromising position.

The girl was on the counter, head thrown back and eyes shut in pleasure. Colson’s head was buried in her neck as he slammed into her. When he heard the door open, his head shot up, your eyes connecting. In that moment, all of the feelings you had for him left your body.

“Everyone’s on the tour bus and waiting for you so we can leave. Join us whenever you’re ready.” Your voice and expression were emotionless.

“Y/N wait.” Colson called as you turned and walked out the door. “Fuck.” He grabbed his boxers, pulling them on and rushing after you. His hand grabbed your arm, stopping you and turning you towards him. “Y/N please, it’s not-“

“What it looks like? Funny.” You shook your arm from his grasp.

“Don’t get all mad about this.” Colson pleaded.

“Why shouldn’t I get mad about this Colson? We’ve been sleeping together every night for what, three weeks now? How many other girls have you had between then and now?” You kept your voice even, not showing how much you were hurting inside.

Colson rolled his eyes, “C’mon Y/N, you know that shit wasn’t serious.”

You bit your lip, nodding slowly. “Yeah, of course it wasn’t serious for you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Do you have any idea what you do to people?” Your voice finally raised, “You make people feel so special for a little while, and then just when they think they have something real with you, you take it all away from them.”

Colson stood there, stunned. He wasn’t expecting you to be this upset. You continued, “And I knew when I met you that this would happen, I knew this was the kind of person you were. I guess I got so caught up in you I didn’t realize how stupid I was being.”

You studied Colson’s face, searching for any sign of a feeling in him. “This is ridiculous. I’m fucking ridiculous. I can’t believe I ever thought you and I would work out.” You let out a bitter laugh. “I told myself that even if it took forever,  that me and you would be together, but I guess you didn’t feel the same way.”

 The bathroom was clean, like most of the rest of the house. It was ironic, you would think that a band of boys would have a house that looked trashed, but these boys seemed to like the clean.

You took a look at yourself in the mirror, hands resting on the counter in front of you. You took a deep breath, calming your nerves. “You can do this, it’s just Colson.”

 “You can do this, it’s just Colson.” You told yourself, looking at his contact in your phone. You’d run out of options at this point. You were desperate.

You clicked the call button, hearing the phone ring before the familiar voice picked up. “Y/N?”

“Hey Colson, it’s me. I-uh- I hate to do this but I really don’t have anyone else to call.” Your heart was beating a mile a minute as you collected your thoughts. “My roommates kicked me out and I don’t have anywhere to go. I know we didn’t end on the best note, but I’m desperate.”

“You can stay over here.” He didn’t question you, didn’t even hesitate.

“Thank you.” You sighed, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

 You made your way back through the house, hoping Colson would have rejoined the party-his party- by now. On your way you stopped at the door that had become all too familiar for you. Your door.

You took a deep breath, reaching out and turning the handle, pushing the door open. He hadn’t changed anything in two years. The same orange comforter covered the mattress, the same decorations hung from the walls. The only thing he had changed was the lamp, which you two had broken during your time here.

 “Any luck?” Colson asked, pushing the door open.

You sighed, pushing your laptop away from you. “No.” You frowned. “No one is looking for a roommate and no one is renting anything within my budget.”

Colson sat on your bed, a sympathetic expression on his face. “You can stay here as long as you need. But if you need help looking, I’m always willing to help.”

“Thanks Cols.”

Over the last week that you’d spent at his place, things seemed to get better between you two. The feelings you once harbored for him seemed to have disappeared, and now you were content with being friends.

“Of course.” He smiled, his hand reaching out and rubbing your thigh.

Ok, your feelings for him were gone, but even you had to admit he’s the best guy you’ve ever been with.

“If you need anything, I’m here.” His smile was very suggestive, as was the emphasis he put on “anything.”

You leaned towards him, face very close to his. “Anything?” You whispered seductively, a smile spreading on your face.

“Anything.”

All it took was his voice and the look in his eyes for you to connect your lips. His were so familiar to you yet seemed like a distant memory.

He moved your laptop off the bed, climbing over you, his knees on either side of you.  Your bodies moved in perfect sync with each other, both needing the other’s.

And that was the start of the best 6 months of your life.

 You leave the room, a shiver running up your spine at all the memories Colson and you made in there with the lights off. You start making your way to the kitchen, deciding to move around the crowd and sneak through the hallway, passing the open garage door, where more partygoers were dancing around Colson’s purple Aston Martin.

 The breeze flew through your hair as you flew down the street, a joint in your hand.

“Are you gonna tell me where we’re going?” You looked over at Colson, a smile on his face.

“Nope. It’s a surprise.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a hit and blowing the smoke in his face. “A surprise at 2 in the morning?”

He chuckled, glancing over at you. “I’m sorry, is there something you’d rather be doing?”

“I can think of a few things.”

“Well maybe we can try some of your ideas when we get there.” He smirked and you laughed reaching your hand out the window.

 Your plan didn’t work as well as you thought, as the entryway to the kitchen was just as crowded as the one closest to the living room. You squeezed your way through, trying to find someone you knew who could tell you where to find Colson.

 The club was dark and smoky. You had been drinking with Colson for about an hour when you made your way to the dance floor, stumbling over your shoes and shooting Colson a smile. You had asked him to dance with you, but he insisted he was fine watching you.

You used to hate the feeling of so many people so close to you, but since touring with Colson you’d grown accustomed to it. You didn’t like the feeling of foreign hands around your waist, however.

You knew they weren’t Colson’s, his hands were gentle, these were rough, gripping your hips too tight. You reached down, trying to push them off of you, turning around to face the stranger.

“Hi beautiful.” The guy was a few years older than you and he smelled overwhelmingly of alcohol.

“I’m not interested.” You smiled kindly, stumbling away from him. His hand wrapped around your arm, pulling you back to him. With the high alcohol content in your blood, you couldn’t muster up the strength to push him off.

“You’re just gonna walk away from a man like that? I said hi beautiful.” The man’s grip was harsh, and you winced as it tightened.

“And she said she wasn’t interested.” Your chest lightened when you heard Colson’s voice.

The man looked up at Colson, realization hitting him. He let you go, raising his hands up in surrender. “Sorry man, I didn’t know she was your girl. Maybe if she wouldn’t dance like such a slut, I wouldn’t have thought she was single.”

Colson took a step towards the stranger, pushing you behind him. “Excuse me?” He questioned, head tilting.

“Your bitch was the one dancing like sh-“ He was cut off by Colson’s fist connecting with his jaw, sending him to the floor.

“Colson!” You squealed, stepping backwards.

“Don’t ever talk about her like that, or any other girl for that matter. Motherfucker.” Colson moved away from the man, turning to you, and taking you in his arms.

“You didn’t need to do that.” You said softly, wrapping your arms around him.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I know, I just couldn’t stand to hear him talk about you like that. Needed to teach him a lesson.” You nodded into his chest before backing away and taking his hand.

“C’mon, let’s get outta here.” You led him out of the club before security had the chance to throw him out.

 As you made your way through the crowd you caught a short glimpse of a familiar red jacket.

 “Cols?” You questioned, looking at yourself in the full-length mirror, his red jacket wrapped around your naked body. The man you’d been sleeping with for the past 5 months hummed in response, glancing over at you with a smirk on his face. “Why haven’t you ever written a song about me?”

You thought it was an innocent question. Even though you wouldn’t consider what you were doing a “relationship,” you two had been through enough shit together to warrant a song about it.

“Do you want me to write a song about you?” He questioned, his eyebrow raising.

You shrugged, looking away from the mirror and walking towards his place on the bed. “I just figured; you’ve written so many songs. None of them have been about me.”

He smiled, pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling him. “I can work on something.” He bit his lip, taking in the view of you on top of him.

 You pushed through the crowd, trying to find the jacket again. After pushing through too many drunk rappers than you should ever have to, you saw him. He looked different from the last time you saw him, but he was still Colson.

 “Babe,” Colson’s head was propped up by his elbow on the bed so he could face you. You looked over at him, your face still glowing from your last high. Colson took you in, the way your hair fell on the pillow, the way your makeup was slightly smudged, the way the light hit you just right, making you look like an angel.

“I love you.”

You froze at those three words, your breath catching in your throat. You were racking your brain, trying to figure out when you guys went from friends with benefits to this and you couldn’t find one. You thought you were just having fun; you didn’t realize how serious things had gotten for him.

“Don’t say that, Colson.” You whispered, your mind traveling back to the night in the greenroom, when you swore you’d never let yourself be so vulnerable in front of him again.

“What?” His face scrunched in confusion as you sat up, bringing the sheet up to cover your chest. “I mean it.”

“Well then don’t mean it.” You said, climbing out of the bed and pulling your red panties up your legs, throwing your shirt on.

Colson sat up, watching you with sad eyes. “What are you doing?”

You sighed, turning to face him. “I’m sorry, Colson. I thou- I thought we were just having fun. I didn’t realize you felt.” You paused, taking a deep breath, and choosing your words. “I didn’t know you felt like this.”

His face turned to hurt, almost anger. “What the fuck do you think we’ve been doing for the last six months, Y/N?’

You bit your cheek, trying to keep a clear head. “I’m sorry Cols, I didn’t mean to lead you on I just didn’t realize what we were doing was that serious.”

“Are you serious Y/N? You think I just let all the girls I’m hooking up with stay at my house for six months? Do you think I go on drives to the middle of nowhere at 2 am for just anyone?”

“I don’t know,” You were trying to suppress the tears that were pricking your eyes as you realized that all the signs had been in front of you, and you had ignored every one of them. You had led him on worse than you’d ever thought possible. “I’m sorry, Colson, really. I don’t-“ Your head was spinning, and you couldn’t form a coherent thought, much less a coherent sentence.

Colson had brought his hands up to his face, palms pressed against his temples. “God I’m so fucking stupid.” He mumbled to himself. “You know I didn’t sleep with anyone else after what happened in the greenroom? I couldn’t think about anyone but you. Y/N I would give up everyone- hell, I did give up everyone- for you. No one matters to me but you.”

It was like he was pleading with you at this point, begging you to love him back. The breaks in his voice and his sniffles told you he was crying, but you couldn’t feel anything. The world around you had gone numb, and it was all you could do to grab the rest of your clothes and walk out of the room.

“I have to go.” You whispered, wiping your tears, and looking at him one more time.

 The last time you had seen the man in front of you, he was absolutely shattered. Now, looking at him, he seemed happy. You admired him as he laughed at something someone said, taking in the shape of his jawline that once was home to a number of your hickeys.

As if he could feel you looking at him, he turned his head, his eyes connecting with yours immediately.

 It wasn’t until months later that you sorted out your thoughts. For a while you had pushed down all the memories and feelings you had about the situation, but after 3 months passed you realized how unhealthy it was.

You were spiraling, your memories being replaced with alcohol and drugs. It wasn’t until you were lying on the floor of your tiny apartment and wondering where you were that you realized just how bad you’d gotten.

You checked yourself into rehab a week later, getting help for your addictions and your mangled thoughts. You were finally able to understand your emotions and why you left.

It was two months later that you realized you had loved him too.

 Colson’s happy demeaner sunk completely when he saw you, the gleam in his eyes disappearing.

 “C’mon man, you can’t stay in there forever.” Slim knocked on the door, jiggling the locked handle.

Colson sat on the floor in your bedroom, a match in one hand and a cigar hanging from his lips. His eyes were red and puffy, his throat raw.

The first 2 months without you were the worst. He hadn’t realized he could feel so strongly about someone, and as soon as he came to terms with his feelings you left him. He finally started to pick himself up, but he could never let you go.

He tried to move on, he really did, but no one made him feel like you. And the way things ended between you didn’t leave any room for resolution.

He lit the match, lighting the cigar in his mouth. He inhaled the smoke, letting the flame burn itself out in his hand until he was left in the darkness. 

  You nodded your head towards the front door, asking him to meet you outside without words. He nodded, putting on a fake smile to say goodbye to the people he’d been talking to.

It was dark outside, so you stood under the streetlight outside his house. You dug your hands into your jacket pockets, biting your lip. Images of him flashed through your head as you waited for him. When he finally came out of the door, you sent him a small, sad smile.

“Hey.” You tried your best to not be awkward, but there wasn’t much you could do.

“Hey.” His eyes raked over you, taking in the changes two years had made on you. You had done the same thing, so you couldn’t complain.

“I heard your song.” Your voice was softer than you wanted it to be. You wanted to be strong but standing in front of him brought back all of the feelings you’d been trying to overcome. He nodded, looking down. “It’s really good.”

“Thanks.” His eyes wouldn’t meet yours, and you couldn’t blame him.

“Listen Colson,” You took a breath, “I’m not here to try and get you back or anything. I just couldn’t stand to have all that shit out in the world and not resolve it.”

He nodded again, still looking at the floor. “Yeah, yeah I get that.”

“I’ve missed you.” You whispered. “I missed you as soon as I left.” You were hoping for any sign of acknowledgement from him, but you got nothing from him. “I got pretty bad after I left. I started doing all this shit to try and forget about all the shit I put you through, and I had to go to rehab. I got clean, I got help with all of it. And I realized you deserve so much better than me.” You felt tears forming in your eyes.

“That’s why I never.” You had to pause, leveling your voice. “That’s why I never came back.”

He bit his cheek, finally looking up to you. “And I know that not everything was my fault. We both made mistakes but after hearing your song I couldn’t just not tell you that.”

“I, uh, I shouldn’t have released that song. I didn’t mean to hurt you with it or anything.” You shook your head.

“You didn’t hurt me. I mean, it sucked to have that be the song you wrote about me, but it was honest. I think I would’ve been more hurt if you wrote me something dishonest.”

He smiled softly at you, “I mean, it wasn’t completely honest. I definitely didn’t write about all the shit I put you through.” You let out a soft breath, almost like a laugh. “I was an asshole when we first met. You didn’t deserve that shit. You deserve someone who’s gonna treat you right and not try to change you into someone you’re not.”

You smiled at him, a real smile. You went to thank him when he spoke again, “And I just wanna say that I really did love you, and I still do. I think I always will, at least a part of me. But I know it’s never gonna work out, I’ve accepted that. With all our history, it’d just be too toxic. For both of us.”

You nodded, “I love you too. I didn’t realize it until so much later, but I loved you then and I love you now.” You let out a breath. “But I agree, like I said I just wanted to lay this part of my life to rest. Finish it once and for all.”

Colson nodded. “Goodbye Y/N.”

You leaned off the streetlamp, “Goodbye Colson. I hope you find happiness; you deserve it.”

Watching you walk away for the third time, knowing it would be the last time, just didn’t feel right. The battle between his head and his heart was intense, but he knew if he didn’t chase after you now, like he should have all those times before, he would never get another chance.

“Y/N, wait!” He jogged to meet you at your car, grabbing your waist as you turned to face him. Without thinking, he pressed his lips against yours. It wasn’t hungry, or needy, or angry. It was sweet, and passionate. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. You didn’t realize just how familiar his lips would feel, even after 2 years. It felt like coming home. When he pulled away, you looked up at him through confused eyes.

He pressed his forehead against yours, hand still on your hip, the other reaching up to touch your cheek. “I’ve watched you walk away from me too many times to let you do it again.” You smiled softly, biting your lip out of nerves. “Honestly, I don’t think I’m ever gonna love anyone else but you, and I can’t lose you, not now that I’ve got the opportunity to get you back.”

You turn your head towards his hand, pressing a small kiss to his palm. Looking into his eyes you saw a different Colson than the boy you knew two years ago. He was still Colson, but he was older, more mature, and so were you. He wasn’t pleading with you, he wasn’t begging you to stay. He was asking if you would. And in that moment you realized just how much you wanted to. 

You closed your eyes, taking in a breath. “I’ve never loved anyone else but you.” Your voice was a whisper, the words you said were only for you two to hear. You opened your eyes, staring into his as you continued. “And if you still want me, I’d really like to start over with you.” 

Colson smiled, his forehead pressing against you as he nodded. You giggled, and he pressed a kiss to your lips. “I’ve always loved hearing you laugh.” He whispered. You pulled him closer to you, capturing his lips in yours and tangling your hands in his hair. 

When you finally let him go, you reached up to wipe your lipstick off the corner of his lips, resting your hand on his face and trying to convince yourself this was real. “You wanna come inside?” He whispered, head leaning into your hand. 

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

[phykios]

honesty and promise me part 6 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

Ah, the age old question: what to get for the guy who has everything and also when you’re trying make up for the fact that you actually missed his birthday entirely while spending as little money as possible?

“Where the hell are you taking me?” Percy asks as they wait their turn to disembark. “I haven’t been to Staten Island in ages.”

Annabeth has never been at all. She knows there’s a handful of Greek revival buildings in the Historic District, but she’s never had a car to get there, or the stomach to get on the ferry. Percy had practically climbed onto the bow, his own personal reenactment of Titanic, arms thrown out to the wind, while Annabeth attempted to keep her breakfast down.

Having spectacularly flamed out last week in Philadelphia, she can’t let Percy’s birthday go without some sort of commemoration. The Staten Island Ferry is just part one. “All in due time,” she says, checking her phone for directions. They still have a bus they need to board, and Annabeth is getting sweaty in her leather jacket. Thank God Percy volunteered to carry the backpack with all their gear; otherwise, when this jacket comes off, it’s going to smell worse than his tights at the end of a long day.

Like a magnet, his gaze is glued to the strips of the bay he can spot through the bus windows, his head resting on his chin, a soft, serene smile lifting his lips. All the tightness, all the stress he’s held in his shoulders the last few times she’s seen him, it melts away at the sharp, salty tang of rust and sea air which suffuses every corner. She doesn’t even mind that he isn’t looking at her. 

Hand in hand, finally, they get off the bus, and walk to the overlook. Slinging the backpack off his shoulder, he sets it down at his feet, eyes fixed on the strip of shoreline which can be seen, even all the way over here. “What is that?” he breathes, shielding his eyes against the glint of the sun on the water.

“That,” says Annabeth, “is the Staten Island ship graveyard.”

Still stewing in her guilt over how she missed his birthday--despite the fact that he didn’t even tell her--Annabeth decided to swallow her pride and ask for help. It took an inordinate number of coffee orders and one instance of her actually getting down on her knees and begging, pleading to their long friendship together and swearing that Annabeth would never use this information for evil, but she had finally wheedled the secret out of Thalia: Percy’s greatest love, after the ballet, was sailing. Ship construction, naval battles, maritime history, they were, according to Thalia, the only things which could entice Percy to actually set down the tights and “get some frickin’ sunshine for once in his life.” Annabeth hadn’t believed her, until Thalia had dug up an old photo which had never been posted to his socials--and Annabeth had certainly scoured them for long enough, she would have recognized it had she seen it before--of Percy, on a glittering, jewel-like sea, a rope wrapped around his fist as he leaned over the side of a sailboat, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide in a graceless, unrestrained joy. 

“Back in the eighties, there used to be over four hundred ships down there,” Annabeth says, coming up beside him. “A lot of it’s been scrapped or sold, but there are still maybe a hundred or so boats, including the USS PC-1264, one of the--”

“One of the two predominantly African American crewed Navy ships from World War II,” he interrupts, eyes light. “No way!”

“Yes way,” Annabeth grins, unzipping her jacket. The midday sun beats down on them, the air sticky and heavy, and she needs this thing off, pronto. “And, there’s a ship that was supposedly the command post for the General Slocum disaster.” Not that she really knows what that is.

He whirls around. “The Abram S. Hewitt is there? Holy sh--”

His jaw drops. His eyes bug out. 

Part two of his present was the ship graveyard. Part three is the outfit.

Annabeth, one hand on her hip, slings her jacket over her shoulder with the other, the leather hot against her bare skin. She has chosen to forgo a shirt entirely, wearing nothing but her nicest pair of black jeans with the thick suspenders and a shiny, red bra. And yes, she had Thalia touch up her hair, five inches of curls lopped off on one side, undercut sharp and severe. 

“I thought we could have a picnic here,” she says, a smile curling her lips without her permission. “Then, if you want, we could do some light trespassing? See the ships up close?”

Percy swallows. He breathes in through his nose, shuddering. “Sure,” he whispers, hoarse. “Sounds good.”

Dropping to the ground like a rock, studiously not checking her out, Percy unpacks their picnic, laying out the blanket, something blue, old, but soft Annabeth had knitted in a fit of pre-finals’ anxiety in college. Annabeth had hinted the night before that he should make them some food, as no one could make a grilled cheese like Percy, and she sure as shit wasn’t going to buy them some prepackaged, tasteless garbage. 

Percy’s sandwiches, just like the man himself, are stacked: thick, sourdough slices (which she suspects he made himself), bacon, turkey, apple, tomato, lettuce, avocado, mayo for her but none for him. She’d always been under the impression that dancers needed to watch what they ate, endlessly in pursuit of some unattainable ideal of beauty. Nope. Percy eats everything and anything he can get his hands on, high carb and high protein and high everything else. It makes sense, she guesses, for someone who basically has to bench their own body weight daily. Every inch of him is tailored for power and velocity, to propel him out of the grasp of gravity--rabbit food just isn’t going to cut it here. 

Munching down, he maneuvers himself into a number of splits and stretches, unable to give up his routine for a single day. “When I was probably thirteen or fourteen,” he says, halfway through a tirade of reminiscence, “my dad took me and Triton and Kym to Cyprus, for some family bonding time.” He rolls his eyes. “You can probably imagine how well that went. Most of that trip was… well, Cyprus was definitely the best part. We went to Kyrenia Castle, which has this amazing museum that holds one of the oldest known ships in the world. Like, this thing was operational during the lifetime of Alexander the Great, and it sank about a mile away from the harbor.” He takes a heroic bite, chewing with his lips firmly shut.

“Cool.”

He swallows. “Very cool. I love really old ships, but you can imagine how few of those are still left, and not just because we haven’t found them.”

Annabeth feels her neck heating up, despite the shade they sit in. “Well, I hope these ones are old enough for you.”

“Oh, these are incredible--don’t get me wrong! I had no idea there was anything like this so close to home. Who needs Cyprus when you have Staten Island?” He grins, placing his sandwich down, throwing his arms in a stretch.

“I know it isn’t Tokyo or Moscow or anything…” she trails off, self-conscious even as she doesn’t actually ask the question that’s on her mind. 

Shamefully, she has found that she still thinks about what Will had said at his apartment over a month ago at this point: Percy Jackson, boy toy of the rich and famous. But if she actually asks, it will make her look like some totally jealous girlfriend or something, like she honestly cares about Percy’s past sexual conquests.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t. 

He’s just led a really interesting life, and she wishes she could relate. That’s all. 

“It’s not,” he agrees, bending his back with an audible pop. “It’s better.” 

“Really? A little ship graveyard is better than the sites of Tokyo?”

“I didn’t see any sites in Tokyo,” he said. “Mostly just Mittie’s hotel room.”

“Mittie?”

Percy looks at his sandwich, suddenly very interested in the crust. 

“She’s someone important, then?” 

Silence. 

Annabeth laughs to break the tension. “Okay, I'll bite--who’s Mittie? Another model?” 

Taking a small bite of sandwich, he chews, methodical and deliberate. He swallows, clearing his throat. “Margherita Savoy.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell. “Who?”

“Princess Margherita Elisabetta of Sardinia.” 

Her mouth drops open a little. “A princess?”

Percy shrugs. “Technically. The throne of Sardinia doesn’t exist anymore, obviously, but she’s big into the money and the titles and stuff.”

A princess. A fucking princess. “But she lets you call her Mittie.”

He looks a little constipated. “She didn’t… until she took me to Tokyo.” 

“Oh,” she says. Because what else is there to say? She’s certainly no princess. 

“She was nice,” Percy says, softly. “You know, eventually. Once we got to know each other.”

Her phone is hot in her pocket, like it’s preemptively searching Google for pictures of Margherita Elisabetta of Sardinia, downloading them all so Annabeth can scribble all over her face like a bad high school movie. “A pretender?” She scoffs, exaggeratedly, her fists tight against the grass. “Talk to me when you get a real princess.” 

His ears go red. “Um…” 

No way. “No fucking way.”

“Look, Eugenie was just kinda pissed when Triton broke up with her, and so she just thought that we’d have some fun.” 

“Oh my god.” She says, looking at him in something like horror. And telling herself at least it wasn’t her distant cousin Madeleine. 

“It was only for like a week or two,” Percy protests. “We went to a club in Berlin she knew Triton liked to go to so he would see us and get annoyed.” 

“A princess dated you because she was pissed at your brother?”

“Only twice,” he says, casual, like any of this is normal and not absolutely insane. “Eleonore is one of Kym’s friends. And she’s technically, like, an archduchess, not a princess. But I don’t know. A couple of his other girlfriends wanted to get back at him, and I was in Europe and available, so we just…” He trails off. She can hear the ellipsis, hanging hot and heavy over them, each dot dropping like a stone. What is this, fucking Mamma Mia? 

“When was the last time this happened?” she asks, not really wanting to hear the answer.

He rubs a hand over his mouth, gaze unfocused as he thinks. “Um… not since the week after Frank left, I think. Mittie wanted to go to Bora Bora but she didn’t want to go alone, you know?” 

“No, I meant,” she pushes through as her stomach flutters, tight and uncomfortable, “girls using you to get back at your brother.” 

His face falls, just a bit. “Oh. Last year, I guess.”

“Who was she?” And where is she so Annabeth can punt her off a building?

“Calypso Atlas.” He sighs, wistful, with more reverence than he had given any of the princesses, and Annabeth’s stomach flops, different from the flutter. Painful this time. “She actually liked me.” 

“Everyone likes you,” she says, faintly. Maybe wearing the leather jacket is giving her heatstroke.

“You know, they really don’t. Not how it counts, anyway.” He picks at a blade of grass, rubbing it between his fingers. “Most of the girls who wanted to use me to get back at Triton only did it because they knew how much he liked to bitch about me--the ‘half-breed bastard.’” He rolls his eyes, huffs a laugh. “And even Kym’s friends didn’t actually like me. Like, yeah, they’d fly me all over with them, but they didn’t want to be seen with me. Mittie and I were on and off for years, and she gets photographed constantly. I’m not in any of them.”

Annabeth thinks she might actually be sick. 

But he doesn’t stop. “It wasn’t so bad when they went around saying that I was a dancer with the Paris Opera, because I was, and I was proud of it. But it wasn’t… I don’t know. It wasn’t like with Frank, whose family does have a ton of money, but who only ever dated me because he liked me.” He picks another blade of grass, tearing it between his fingers. “Calypso, though. She was different.” And he smiles, a little.

“How?”

That smile grows wider. “She just called me one day, out of the blue, and very publicly asked me to be her date to Milan Fashion Week after she and Triton broke up and he immediately turned around and got engaged. She was super up front about it, didn’t try to sleep with me or anything, even though I know she was friends with some people and probably heard about my various talents.” 

She knows exactly which talents he means. He winks at Annabeth, ironic and self-conscious, and she forces out a little laugh, as though the idea of him going down on someone else is charming. 

“But then we actually had a good time together, and a few weeks later, she called me up again, and again, and again, until eventually she introduced me to her father--which was a hell of an experience, let me tell you. The Atlas family puts the Olympianides family to shame as far as dysfunction goes. But it was nice, in its own way; if I’d ever asked Mittie to introduce me to her dad, she’d have laughed in my face.” 

“Sounds like you were pretty serious,” Annabeth manages.

“That was the problem.” He looks away, towards the sea. Always towards the sea. “She wanted to leave Paris, travel the world. And she wanted me to go with her.” 

“To leave the Paris Opera?”

“To leave ballet entirely. I just…” He holds the silence for a moment, lost in the fog of reminiscence, the mist of possible futures long since dissipated. Sighing, he shakes his head. “I couldn’t do it. So, in March, she went to Dubai, and I started making calls back to New York.”

“You broke up with her this year?”

“She broke up with me,” he clarifies, turning back to her. “It was all very romantic. I always left my comp at the box office for her. She didn’t come to my show, but she showed up at the stage door the day before she was set to leave, telling me that she had an extra ticket with my name on it. I turned her down.” And then he looks her in the eye as he says, “I don’t regret it at all.” 

She swallows, her face flushing, tongue numb as she searches desperately for something to say to that. “Atlas, you said her family was? It sounds familiar.” 

“Oh, you’re probably thinking of Zoe Atlas,” Percy says, easing off for the moment. “You probably know about her because she and Thalia were archenemies in boarding school. Or maybe girlfriends? I have yet to get a straight answer.” Annabeth’s eyes nearly bug out of her head. Thalia, in boarding school? What? “But I like Zoe. She’s an activist, and absolutely hates her father. Like I said, there’s a lot of dysfunction. And she came to my first show way back when, and she wasn’t even weird when I dated her sister when we ran into each other in Paris. So that was nice.” 

“She went to your first show?” What in God’s name is up with these one-percenter families? It’s like they all overlap in one big incestuous slurry. And as the daughter of the Chases and the Pallases, she tries not to think where she might fit into that. 

“Thalia brought her. Her first not-date. It was Thalia’s first ballet ever, too. It… it meant a lot.”

“What show was it?”

He smiles, wistful. “The Nutcracker. I was one of the kids at Clara’s party. Most scared I’ve ever been. When I got out backstage after intermission, Thalia was waiting for me with my mom. She punched my shoulder, called me ‘Kelp Head,’ and told me I did great. Then I hugged her,” he says, snickering. “She punched me again.”

Annabeth laughs, huffing through her nose. “Good to see some things never change.”

“That’s our Thalia for you--looking out for everyone, even when it kills her inside.” He glances at her pointedly.

It’s her turn to share. 

Annabeth’s mouth is dry, like sandpaper.

She grabs her backpack, pulling out a sketchbook and a pencil. Beside her, Percy sighs, deflating a little.

Annabeth flips open a new page, and starts drawing. 

Each sketch delivers a challenge: bringing order to the whole through design, composition, tension, balance, light and harmony. Sometimes, buildings spring to life on the page, fully formed. Sometimes the page stays blank, an empty pencil.

Pencil to paper. Letting whatever wants to come out, come out. “My mom invited me to lunch one day,” she says. Her eyes follow the line of her pencil, ninety degree angles and symmetrical shapes. “I had moved to New York like six months before. Single girl, in the big city, to follow her dreams.” She’d gone to boarding school in New York before that, but it wasn’t the same as picking out her apartment and taking the train to the Manhattan skyscraper her office was held in. Sometimes she’d walk down the street, feeling like she was smack dab in the middle of Sex and the City, which she and Piper use to watch in secret, huddled under the covers in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. “Unfortunately, my mom didn’t love my dreams.”

“She didn’t approve of anarchist architecture?”

Annabeth’s laugh is hollow. “She thought I should have been charting some new path in business for a woman. But not in a feminist way. In, like, a capitalist way. But architecture was not really negotiable for me. And once that became clear, she had her own expectations about that, too.” 

Annabeth has always been a prideful know-it-all. If all her mother had wanted from her was ambition, they probably could have made it work. Annabeth wanted to reshape the skyline, she wanted her name on buildings that would last and impress. 

But even Annabeth couldn’t do that in six months. 

“She wanted the best schools, the best companies, the best projects.” She sighs. “I was lucky to find a job in New York that wasn’t just carrying coffee.” She had gotten a bigger offer from a more well-known firm where she had interned one summer, but it had been for an assistantship, heavy on the assistant. Her eventual Junior Architect label hadn’t been great, but it had been something, being a rising star at a smaller firm. It seemed like a good fit. “I did not make my mother proud. I… she lived in New York, and I lived with my dad all over.” 

Percy frowns. “Your mom didn’t have custody of you?”

“My mom didn’t want custody of me,” she laughs, bitter. God, it feels weird to tell someone else this. Piper and Leo and Luke knew, obviously, but they had witnessed it all firsthand. Telling someone else, out of the blue… Well, Percy had divulged his tragic backstory without complaint. It’s only fair that she does as well. “I mean, my dad didn’t either. But when it became clear my mom wasn’t an option, well, there we were. He stepped up as best he could. That wasn’t always a lot, but when compared to my mother, he seems like a perfectly involved parent.” 

“Are you trying to make my parental situation seem more reasonable?” 

“Is it working?”

“If you ever meet my dad, we can compare notes.” He shudders at the thought, playfully. “So, what happened with your mom?”

“She made her displeasure known.” Annabeth sighs again, shading a corner. “I mean, she’s always made her displeasure known. I wasn’t getting good enough grades, I wasn’t in the right activities, I wasn’t going to get into the right school, yadda yadda yadda. But for a long time… I don’t know, it at least seemed like she was worried about me.” She thinks of the Eta party, of the man in the brown suit, tutting about Athena Pallas’s druggie daughter, and scowls. “My mother has always had an all or nothing outlook. If I wasn’t the best, I might as well be nothing. But the thing was, this time I thought I was making real progress. And when she invited me to lunch after six months in the same city, I thought she would see that.” 

She had not. Because to Athena Pallas, having a daughter who was an architect instead of an executive Vice-President on her way to CEO, having a daughter at a small but growing architecture firm instead of the best one in the country, was like having a daughter who was drunk in a gutter somewhere. 

And Annabeth had realized as much that lunch. 

All her work was never going to earn her mother’s love.

And suddenly, she wasn’t sure what work had been her’s and what had been her mother’s ambitions. 

She’d started crying. In the cafe and right now, on Staten Island, with Percy. “I’m sorry,” she sniffs, wiping her nose on her arm. “Wow, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He reaches over and wraps an arm around her, gently, rubbing her shoulder, and she more or less crumples into his side. “It’s fine. Take your time.”

Her arm, still free, keeps moving. The drawing takes a shape that she can’t quite name yet. A tree, maybe, in a box. A window to another world, possibly. She spills tears on the paper.

“She disowned me.” Her thin line trembles, before righting itself. “I ran out of there. I stumbled into the first tattoo parlor that didn’t smell like piss, and got my owl done.” She brandishes her left arm, the grey shape blurry and faded against her elbow. She had had a stuffed owl as a little girl, her protector against the spiders in the closet. “I cut off my hair, got my eyebrow pierced, found a club, and just… had a rough couple of days. Got really really drunk that night.” Like, too drunk. Crying on the floor of a filthy bathroom drunk. “Thalia found me under the bathroom sink, took me back to her place, helped me kick the hangover the next day, and that was that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Annabeth says. And most of the time, she isn’t. She wipes her eyes, smudged makeup getting smudger.

“Your mom sounds like she sucks.”

“She does.”

“What about your dad?”

She sniffs. “What about him?”

“You just haven’t really mentioned him. What’s he like?”

Shrugging, she wipes a tear from her cheek. “He’s a history professor.”

“And?”

“That’s about it.”

“I mean, do you like him?”

She shrugs again. “Sure.” There was a lot to like about Frederick Chase. “I haven’t really spoken to him in a while.”

Mouth in a sympathetic twist, he brushes the curls from her eyes, a gesture so sweet it makes her heart pound. “You should call him,” he says. “I’m sure he misses you.”

Her phone burns in her pocket, heavy with the weight of unread texts. “Maybe.”

“Do you want to change the subject?” he asks.

“Please,” she blurts out, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “God, please. Let’s go back to your cute backstory. Tell me more about your first ballet. I want to hear all about the time you were in the Nutcracker.”

Percy fishes out a napkin from somewhere, handing it to her. Grateful, she blows her nose into it, wet and disgusting. “I hate to tell you this,” he says, “But I have been in the Nutcracker, like, fifteen times.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he nods, “It's the big moneymaker. Have you ever seen it?”

“It's a holiday classic,” she scoffs, a little wetly. “Of course I’ve seen it.”

He snorts. “Like, for real, or the recorded one they play on Netflix with Macaulay Culkin?” 

“I've seen it live! My dad lived in San Francisco when I was in high school. They have a fancy ballet there.” She’d seen it as a little kid in NYC, she thought, too. Maybe when her parents were still married, or her mother was still willing to take her for Christmas. 

“Would you be willing to see it again?”

“Like, for real,” she parrots back at him, “or the recorded one they play on Netflix?”

“Ha ha. I mean for real.”

“I mean… maybe if they switched things up a bit.” 

“It's a classic!” He protests. “I mean, it isn’t like we do the Balanchine everywhere, every time. But… it's a classic.” 

“I’m sure the dancing is fine.” Annabeth says. She remembers going with Luke in Boston and thinking it was nice, but also hoping Luke would kiss her at the end of the night, so she hadn’t really paid attention. “But they get to design a land of magic and sweets and fairies, and every time the costumes and the sets are just, like, pink glitter and white gauze mixed with weird racial stereotypes. There’s no imagination.” 

“Well, okay then.” There’s something in his smile, in the turn of his head that she can’t quite identify. “What would you do?” he challenges.

She holds his gaze for a moment, looking into those eyes that almost reflect the color of the sea around them. Her eyes feel a little puffy still, but he doesn’t look away. Then, without breaking away, she flips open a new page in her sketchbook. 

“Space,” she says. “It needs space.”

“Outer?”

“Negative. Lots of space for dancers to move around.” Her pencil scratches over the paper, familiar blocky shapes springing to life. Doric fluted columns split the wings, because of course. “It’s Christmas, so we want color: no sterile, snowy landscape. We know it’s all frozen over--we don’t need to see it again. Obligatory Christmas tree here,” she sketches a crude triangle off to one side, approximately along the golden ratio, “and a big fireplace in the center, preferably a functional one.”

“You know there was this dancer in the nineteenth century that died because her costume caught fire, yeah?”

Annabeth tilts her head, capitulating. “Fair point. We’ll raise it up on a pedestal, keep it out of the way.” She draws a little platform beneath it. “But color is key.” Up above, she draws a pediment crowning the proscenium. She scribbles in the empty space, a placeholder. “Everyone knows the story, so you lay it out up here, episodes merging into each other from start to finish.”

Percy peers down at her page, his chin perilously close to resting on her shoulder. She can’t draw like that. “Kind of reminds me of the Parthenon.”

“You’ve been?”

He nods, his hair tickling the side of her face. “Couple of times. I thought you said you wanted color, though. The Parthenon’s all white, isn’t it?”

“Not originally,” she says. “Do they not explain that on the tours?” 

“Um…” Sheepish, he looks away. “I, uh, I’m not always great at listening.”

God. It’s so endearing. What the hell. She kisses him on the cheek, enjoying the way he flushes lightly. “Me either.” He is so fucking handsome. “But no, the original Parthenon, all those white statues, they were painted. Ergo, color.” 

He blinks, momentarily stunned. “Wouldn’t--uh, wouldn’t that distract from the dancers? People would just be staring at the ceiling.”

“Then… it’s only lit up before and after the show. During the show, you turn the lights down, bring the focus back down onto the stage.” She considered it. Something she’d worked on for a production once, a fashion show Piper had done at Pratt. “Or, you set it up so the colors are mostly lights. Lights that shine through during the snowflake dance and when Clara rides off with the prince. But then you also get the white for the frosted look. But, they’re still too pink, so I don’t think some color variety is bad.”

“So, not to kill your vibe,” Percy says, pulling back a bit, “but I gotta say, I don’t see how this is that different from the billion other Nutcrackers out there.”

She glares, lips pursed. He’s trying so hard not to laugh. Dick. “The set is only half the problem,” she says. “You'd need to redesign the costumes, too.”

“Tell you what. Why don’t you come see my show in December, and then you can tell me all about how you’d fix it.”

“Me and every tourist in New York at Christmas time?”

He nods, like he was expecting it. “Then come to my current one. September isn’t Christmas, so it’ll be a lot less crowded.”

“I don’t know,” she grimaces, sketching a star in the corner of the page. “I don’t really think I’d fit--'' Fit in with those people like the ones from the Eta awards, who thought not being her mother’s lackey was the same as being in rehab.

“Annabeth.” Percy takes her drawing hand, lifting it off the page entirely. The pencil is caught between them, an ineffectual barrier to the sweet, rubbing thumb on the mound of her palm. “I want you to come to my show. I’ll leave you a ticket. No one will care what you look like, I promise.” He stares at her, baby seal eyes in full effect.

Fuck.

“As long as you leave me a ticket,” she says, weakly. “I mean, I wouldn’t be able to afford a good seat.” The lie slips out, easy as anything. She can’t help it.

He smiles, soft and warm and way too inviting. “And in the meantime,” he says, softly, you can come with me tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“I’m going to my parents’ for dinner. It’ll be just my mom, Paul, and my sister. They’d love to meet you.”

“I can’t,” she replies, immediately, almost without thinking. “I’ve got--I’ve got work to do.”

She doesn’t. But boys don’t bring girls like Annabeth home anymore. She isn’t meant to settle down. She’s meant for grimy bars and ship yards. She'll leave it to the princesses to be brought home.

He deflates, just the slightest bit. If she hadn’t had so much up and personal time with his naked chest and the movement of his shoulders, she probably would have missed it. “Maybe next time, then?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, not entirely certain if she means to follow through. “Maybe next time.”

[darkistheday]

Dark is the Day

Chapter 2

Read on Ao3

The ashen water that flowed deep in the crevices of the Darklands had a way of making you feel like you were wading through sludge, and it soon began to take its toll on them. Jim was clearly exhausted. Hisirdoux wasn't sure if the power of the Amulet had faded from Jim's lack of energy, or if he had drained it with his magic. Either way, he didn't think Jim had much strength left in him.

"It's just a little further," Hisirdoux said, hoping his encouragement could have some impact on the boy.

"I... I can't," Jim said as he fell to his knees. Hisirdoux quickly reached out to grab his shoulders and stop him from falling further into the water. "I'm sorry..." Jim leaned against Hisirdoux, his full weight suddenly against him.

"Jim?"

No response. He must have passed out.

Hisirdoux shifted his weight around to get a better grip. He sat there in the water holding Jim for a moment to catch his breath. He'd have to carry the boy the rest of the way now, which he wasn't really looking forward to. But while he crouched there contemplating this, his attention shifted to the physical sensations of the moment. Aside from the wet and the cold of the water seeping into his clothes, he could feel the warmth radiating off of Jim's body. It was such a foreign feeling, seeing as how the creatures of the Darklands were either hard, cold, or slimy. Jim's skin gave where he held it, soft and thin, it almost seemed as if he could feel the blood rushing underneath. Hisirdoux felt almost transfixed, the push and pull of Jim's breathing against his chest, the almost burning warmth of the boy's face against his neck. He was really warm, almost too warm.

Hisirdoux reached a hand up to feel Jim's face. Putting aside his curiosity of the experience of touching another human this way, his limited knowledge was telling him this wasn't normal. It was likely Jim was more than just exhausted. Hisirdoux pushed aside his selfishness to explore the moment further, and lifted Jim up out of the water. He'd get Jim to the safety of his little hovel, where he could get him dry and comfortable. There was no way he was going to let the only human he'd seen in nearly a millennium die like this.

~~~

Throughout the years there had been times Hisirdoux would leave the trolls for days, weeks, or months at a time. The last 100 years or so had been the longest stretch he'd ever spent away from them. It had been rough. In-between hunting, cooking, and anything else he had to do to survive, he had slept a lot just to avoid dealing with anything else; his feelings, his loneliness, his boredom. He started the years off excited, he would often make things for himself; jewelry made mostly out of bones and crystals, paper for drawing and making notes, leathers for clothes and bedding. He'd even managed to carve a lot of intricate tools and weapons out of horns. Despite all he had managed, in the end he had to admit to himself he needed the company of the Gumm-Gumm's. As dull and obnoxious as they often were. He'd even missed talking to Dictatious about his half-baked theories.

He had found an incredible spot for all of these activities not long after he and Gunmar's army had settled where they were now. There must have been a long dead tree of some sort, who's roots had twisted around a softly glowing, champagne colored crystal. The middle of the root had hollowed out, possibly by a steady stream of water that once flowed through it. It was great protection from the creatures of the Darklands, as well as a warm place thanks to the energy of the crystal. He'd filled it full of everything he had managed to make over the years, as well as keeping it stocked with clean water and rations. If there was ever a time he had thought the whole excursion was pointless, it was replaced now by his overwhelming gratitude for its existence.

How he'd managed to get Jim inside, along the rest of the dark ravine, up the craggy cliff that led to the opening in the root, was a blur to Hisirdoux. He had been entirely too focused on the task at hand; get the boy warm and safe. He removed Jim's shoes, socks, jeans, and blue jacket, bundled him with his softest leathers and laid him down next to the crystal. Hisirdoux usually slept in the deepest part of the root, where the crystal's light barely reached, but this seemed like a better idea since it would be warmer. Once he had Jim settled, he changed out of his own wet clothes.

Then he tore into the place he kept his rations, suddenly realizing how incredibly hungry he was. There wasn't much left of his stock, but there was at least enough to tide him over for now.

Turns out, it was a thousand times easier, and faster, falling down into the ravine to his home away from the trolls , than it had been to climb up to where they lived. It might have been at least a day and a half since he'd eaten anything. Starvation would usually have his mind focused solely on food; kill, gather, prepare, cook, ration. He figured the excitement of finding another human temporarily distracted him. He looked over at Jim sleeping as he nibbled on what was left of his rations.

It wasn't a dream.

The only reason he knew for certain it wasn't, is because he spent a long time dreaming of something like this. At first his fantasies were about escaping the Darklands, but that idea faded from him a long time ago. Now, if he found himself daydreaming about anything like that, it was about some faceless figure, maybe hunting, or exploring with him together. These daydreams were always comforting, predictable, perfect. The reality felt strange and terrifying.

Once he finished eating, he got closer to Jim to check on him. He knelt down beside the boy, who seemed to be struggling to fight the effects of his fever. Hisirdoux wished he had something more to help him, but he himself rarely got sick, so trying to figure out if there were any remedies that existed in the Darklands was never a priority. He could only hope Jim was strong enough to fight this.

He felt the boy's forehead again, it was damp from sweat and still warmer than he thought was normal. He let his fingers trail up to push aside the boy's bangs. Wandering further, his fingers trailed through the boy's hair, pushing more of it off to one side, and resting them around Jim's temple. The boy stirred slightly, only enough to move his head in the direction of Hisirdoux's hand where it then cradled his face.

Then Jim muttered something about his mother.

Hisirdoux didn't quite understand the feelings that suddenly stirred up inside him, other than the fact that they seemed unpleasant. He backed away from Jim, and shifted his attention to the rest of his dwelling. He'd have to find more food for them both to eat once Jim woke up, so he decided to prepare for a gathering mission.

He put some supplies in a small pack. There were some things he had in mind to get, such as some herb-like plants that grew nearby. He didn’t know if they had any medicinal properties, but at least they were edible. Their location was a short hike away from the top of the cliff where his tree stump was rooted. There was also some edible fruit around the same location, so he would gather the herbs along with some of the fruit. If he managed to pass an animal along the way he could try and hunt for it, but he was mostly focused on the easy stuff.

After giving Jim one more look over he headed out.

It didn’t take him long to reach the area where the herbs grew. He started to collect them in a habitual manner, as they were easy to gather. His thoughts went back to Jim, and the feelings he had after hearing the boy mumbling in his sleep.

It wasn’t surprising that the boy had a mother, so why the negative sort of feelings?

The fruit he was looking for grew just above the area where he gathered the herbs. It was a bit of a climb to reach them and it wasn’t much effort, but he would have to be careful. His mind however, was still on Jim. It wasn’t long into his climb that his foot slipped on a loose portion of rock. Hastily, he managed to regain his footing. Then he felt a pang of anger with himself for allowing his absentmindedness to make him reckless.

<i>Also fear.</i>

It wasn’t the first time he’d made a blunder like this, there had been much worse things happen while living on his own. There was something different about it this time though. The anger wasn’t new, but the fear was. Fear, because now he had someone else who was relying on him to return.

That’s when it suddenly hit him, why he had felt the way he did about Jim mentioning his mother. Jim had people who were waiting for him. Hisirdoux stopped climbing, clinged to the cliff side, and leaned his forehead against the rocks. He wanted that thought to sink in.

Ever since coming into the Darklands, Hisirdoux felt alone. The company of Dictatious or the Gumm-Gumm’s was just something to fill that void, but it never felt like enough. They didn’t care about him, not truly. If he had never returned to them today, they wouldn’t care if he’d ever came back.

There was no one out there waiting for him.

He wanted what Jim had, people who would look for him when he went missing, people who would care if he was hurt or lost or alone. But he had no one.

<i>Well, maybe now…</i>

But Jim would surely go back to the people who missed him. What was Hisirdoux to Jim but a random stranger in the Darklands, who fumbled their escape plans and almost got them killed? Why would Jim give a second thought to him? He would probably leave once he got better and go back to his family, maybe even forget Hisirdoux ever existed…

It was hard to pull his mind out of that spiraling dark hole, but it also felt really stupid to be hanging on the side of a cliff. So he pulled himself the rest of the way up, collected the fruit, and scaled back down. He’d gotten pretty good at suppressing dark thoughts in favor of doing what needed to be done.

His mind was still hazy after he returned to his dwelling. Jim was still where he’d left him. At least he wasn’t alone for now, even if Jim was still unconscious. That small, but pleasant thought pushed Hisirdoux to unpack his cargo and begin making something that would be easy for Jim to get down even while in his condition.

So he set to cooking.

There was a small runoff of water that he’d redirected along one wall. The top of the redirect was full of rocks and some other materials to create a filter. He gathered the water from this makeshift tap into a large wooden bowl and set it next to a small pit where he then started a fire. The smoke of the fire escaped through a hole further up the root, possibly a branch of root that had long since crumbled away. Since Hisirdoux had no metal containers to boil water, the method he used to do so was a bit complicated, but it worked. Instead he heated an iron bar, which he’d insulated by fashioning a handle of wood. Once it was hot he would then dip it into the water, which had to be done several times to get it boiling. While the fire heated the metal, he got out a makeshift mortar and pestle, using it to turn the herbs into a paste. The fruit which he collected had a similar consistency as potatoes but had a mild lemony flavor. The herbs had a harsh and bitter sort of spice, but if he boiled it with the fruit, their flavors tended to blend together into something pleasant. He skinned the fruit and cut it into small pieces and put them in the water, then scooped out the herb paste into the water as well. He finished boiling the water, the heat softened the fruit, and he mashed it as he stirred everything together. It was a lot of work for a simple soup but it didn’t bother Hisirdoux if it helped Jim.

The taste of it in the end was pretty much what he had planned, so he poured some into a smaller bowl and brought it over to Jim’s side. He took a moment to study the boy’s face as he slept. He’d never had someone else to care for before, the idea made him feel both elated and afraid. Swallowing that fear he reached out to Jim’s face again.

“Hey,” Hisirdoux said to the boy softly. There was very little response to the gentle prodding, so Hisirdoux tried to lift him into a sitting position to make it easier to feed him the soup. This caused Jim to stir a bit more, he made soft noises in response to being moved. That was a good sign, Hisirdoux told himself.

Jim’s eyes fluttered open a bit, though he still seemed on the edge of passing out.. Hisirdoux used his own body as a prop to keep him sitting upright as he brought the bowl to Jim’s lips.

“Can you drink?”

“Mmmm..” Was the response Hisirdoux got, but Jim parted his lips when he felt the bowl against them.

Hisirdoux tipped some of the contents of the bowl slowly into Jim’s mouth, waiting till he swallowed. Which he did, and then Jim moved his hand up to hold onto Hisirdoux’s wrist, pushing the hand that held the bowl against his lips again to swallow the rest. Hisirdoux was about to get some more but Jim slid himself out of his grasp and laid back down. However, he didn’t let go of his wrist. Hisirdoux transferred the bowl to his other hand and set it aside, then he laid down next to Jim. It was a weird position, but this way Jim could keep holding his arm. Hisirdoux wasn’t sure why that seemed so important, but he didn’t mind the slight discomfort for it.

The moment felt oddly calming. He watched his arm resting over Jim’s chest as it moved up and down with his breathing. Hisirdoux’s mind seemed devoid of worry, which was unusual, since normally his mind being empty meant he was trying to ignore something painful. It was nice.

Hisirdoux closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself relax. Not wanting to fall asleep just yet, he shifted his thoughts over to hunting. He wasn’t sure if his presence in this part of the Darklands was the reason for the lack of game he’d been experiencing lately, it had just seemed difficult the past few months. Maybe he had over-hunted? If that was the case, they would have to move on from this spot if they wanted to survive. But he wasn’t sure what Jim would say when he woke up. He seemed grateful for Hisirdoux’s help, but maybe he had to move on as soon as possible.

The need to get up and begin a hunting trip was plagued by the desire to lay here as long as Jim would hold onto him. He was finally able to pull himself away, but only with a large pang of guilt. Hopefully hunting would be easier than that had been. After taking a swig of his now cold soup, he switched his gear from gathering to hunting. There wasn’t any way to know what he would or wouldn’t find out there now, big or small, he hadn’t seen anything on his way to the gathering spot. He might have to travel further down the ravine, which would make for a much harder hunting trip, but he hadn’t been down there in a while. If it was his presence here, then going somewhere that he hadn’t been much made the most sense. He decided to leave the larger hunting weapons behind, climbing through the ravine would be easier without them.

Hisirdoux knelt down beside Jim just before he was ready to head out, his mind was a tangle of thoughts. They hadn’t said much to each other, or even known each other for more than a day, but it seemed to make a world of difference for Hisirdoux, even as Jim slept. Having someone near, a human someone, who needed care and attention. Someone more like Hisirdoux, someone who could be vulnerable. There was a strange code among troll soldiers to always be afraid, but they never seemed afraid to him. They were stoic and unrelenting, they weren’t vulnerable like this.

He couldn’t help himself from reaching out and touching Jim’s face again. Jim seemed to have relaxed a little since being brought here, but he was obviously still recovering. He didn’t stir this time from being touched, though his eyes were moving visibly under his eyelids, possibly dreaming about something. Caressing his cheek lightly, he vaguely wondered what the boy would think if he were aware of what Hisirdoux was doing. The guilt of that thought made him stop. He longed for the touch, but wouldn’t want to disrespect Jim in the process.

He made sure Jim could easily access water or the soup if he woke up, and put the leathers back over him. Hisirdoux didn’t want to be away for too long in case the boy woke up, but he had a feeling the hunt for game would be a challenge. With one last look over everything, he headed out again, his feelings dancing a thin line between uncertainty and elation.

[hopelikethemoon]

Clandestine (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: Clandestine  Rating: Explicit Length: 3000 Warnings: Smut  Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. I want you to go along for the ride, so I’m not telling you anything.  Summary: A clandestine meeting between Javier and Reader.

@grapemama​​​​ @seawhisperer​​​​ @huliabitch​​​​ @beccaplaying​​​​ @thewallpapergoesorido​​​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​​​ @gooddaykate​​​​ @livasaurasrex​​​​ @ham4arrow​​​​ @plexflexico​​​ @readsalot73​​​​ @hdlynn​​​​ @lokiaddicted​​​​ @randomness501​​​​ @fioccodineveautunnale​​​​  @roxypeanut​​​​ @snivellusim​​​​ @lukesrighthand​​​​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​​​​@ ​​​​​@awesomefandomsunited��​​​​​​​​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​​​​ @ah-callie​​​​ @swhiskeys​​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​​ @u-wakatoshii @space-floozy​​​ @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd​​ @himbopoes​​​​ @findhimfives​​​​ @pedrosdoll​​​​ @frietiemeloen​​​ @arrowswithwifi​​​​ @random066​​​​ @uncomicalhumour​​​​ @heather-lynn​​​ @domino-oh-damn​​ @cyarikaaa​​​​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​​​​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​​​ @yabby-girl​​​ @xqueenofthecraziesx​​​ @punkass-potato​​​ @coredrive​​​ @pascalesque​​​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​​​ @queenquazar​​​​ @sabinemorans​​​​ @buckstaposition​​​​ @holkaskrosnou​​​​ @yespolkadotkitty​​​​@seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie​​​​ @jaime1110​​​​ @katlikeme​

“How about I buy you a glass of wine, sugar.” The man to your left offered as you leaned your forearms against the bar. 

You rolled your eyes and caught the attention of the bartender, “Whiskey. Neat.” You ordered, not paying any mind to the man beside you. 

“Whiskey.” He drawled out, shifting closer. “Seems like you might just be my kind of girl.” 

“I promise you, I’m not playing hard to get.” You gritted out as you turned to glare at the man. “Hope you’re not here for the convention,” You continued with a scathing tone. “Because you’re shit at picking up on blatant clues.”

The man recoiled then, snatching his glass of bourbon off the bar top. “Bitch.” He snarled as he walked away. 

You snorted, “And proud.” 

“Here you are,” The bartender said as he sat the glass down in front of you. “If you have any issues with the gentleman—“

“I’m good.” You held up a hand to stop the man. “But thanks.” You picked up your glass and took a sip, before retreating across the bar to one of the secluded booths. 

The thought of being cooped up in your hotel room for the rest of the night was unappealing. You’d spent three hours on a train from Philly to Washington and you really just wanted to unwind and people watch. 

The jackass that had called you a bitch was across the bar with a table of equally insufferable men. He’d clearly gone back and bitched about you like a baby, because they were not-so-subtly looking in your direction.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” You muttered. 

This, right here, was why Mitch had been nervous about the trip when you’d told him about it. A woman — alone — at a testosterone laden convention filled with one too many of the boys in blue. 

You’d dealt with enough shit at the academy to know exactly what sort of situation you were in. It didn’t matter how well you did in your college classes or how proficient you were during training— you were still a woman that they wanted to fuck. 

A man stepped into your line of view and helped himself to the seat across from you. “Act like you know me.” 

Your brows rose upwards, a snide remark primed on the tip of your tongue but you pushed it aside in favor of offering a friendly smile. “But I don’t.” You said coolly, lifting your glass to your lips and taking a sip. 

“Those assholes have been harassing every woman who has walked into the bar tonight.” The man offered, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he rocked his lower jaw.

“Charming.” You huffed, sitting your glass back down. “And what do you call this?” You questioned as you gestured between the two of you.

He arched a brow at you, a short chuckle escaping him. “Guess I’ll be on my way then.”

Before you could stop yourself, you reached across the table and grabbed the man’s forearm to keep him from leaving. “Stay.” 

The man’s eyes narrowed as his shoulders relaxed and he settled back into his seat. “Alright.” 

Your eyes flickered across the bar towards the table of men who were still eyeing you and laughing amongst themselves. “Pigs. The lot of them.”

“Yeah,” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Well, there is a law enforcement convention in town.”

“I know.” You retorted. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Really?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” You shook your head. “Let me guess, you’re here for the convention too?” You questioned, gesturing to him. “The mustache and the aviators tucked into your shirt are dead giveaways.”

The man’s lips drew upwards at the corners, forming a wry grin as he stared at you. “Clever.”

“Oh,” You lifted your glass to your lips and took another sip, “You have no idea.”

“Javier Peña.” He offered, tapping his fingers atop the table as his gaze lingered on your face. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You smiled a little. “Texas?”

Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth, “That obvious?”

“You’ve got a slight twang to your voice.” You shrugged. 

He nodded, “Yeah, I’m with the DEA in Austin.”

“Nice.” You pursed your lips with an approving sound. “I’m looking.” You shrugged. “But I have a feeling that it doesn’t matter that I graduated top of my class.” You nodded your head towards the table of jackasses. “I’ll still get passed over in favor of some dick who probably failed firearms training twice.”

Javier ran his tongue over the edge of his teeth and nodded with a grim expression, “It’s a tough fucking field.” 

“I just want to make a difference.” You sighed, rubbing your thumb over the curve of your glass. “I’ve hitched all of my horses to this and the stable’s empty now.”

“How many of those have you had?” Javier retorted with a chuckle, both of his brows rising upwards.

“Oh, fuck off.” You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’m just saying — I have two options. Either this works out for me,” You gestured vaguely around the bar. “Or I go back to Philadelphia and let my sister-in-law find me a nice rich investment banker to play house with until I die of boredom.”

Javier grinned at you, “Then it sounds like this has to work out for you.” He leaned against the table. “I may not know you, but the latter sounds like perpetual hell.”

You scrunched up your nose, “What’s worse than hell?”

He laughed, “That bad, huh?”

“I get that some people want that life, but I don’t think it’s in the cards for me.”

“Yeah, me too.” Javier shrugged a shoulder as he glanced away. “You mind if I smoke?”

“I only mind if you don’t offer me one.” You countered with a smug grin.

Javier smirked at you as he leaned back and pulled the packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his leather jacket. He pulled two out, passing you one before sticking his between his lips.

“So, did you sweep in and save any of the other women they heckled?” You questioned as you took the lighter from him. 

He blew out a breath of smoke, shaking his head. “Nope.”

“I’m flattered.” You took a drag off the cigarette, before tapping it on the side of the ashtray on the table. “As long as you don’t play white knight for everyone, I’ll permit you to stay.”

“Good to know.” He chuckled as his gaze flickered over your face. “You seemed like you had it handled.”

You nodded as you watched the smoke dissipate as you exhaled. “I’m not afraid to make those assholes go home as eunuchs.” 

“Damn,” Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “You gonna treat me that way if I offer to buy you another whiskey?”

You bit down on your bottom lip, sweeping your eyes over him. “I suppose you can buy me a drink.” 

He winked at you before he slid out of his chair and strolled over to the bar to do just that. You couldn’t help but watch him walk away — the jeans he wore hugged his ass too well for you not to appreciate them. 

Javier wasn’t your typical type. The last handful of men you’d gone on dates with had been ‘pretty boys,’ for lack of a better word. He seemed like he was a few years older than you — maybe ten? The mustache was weirdly appealing too and your mind wandered down the path of wondering how that might feel between your—

“All you had to say was that you were taken, sugar.” The man from the bar had returned and he was fuming with barely controlled anger. 

And they let assholes like him around guns?

“Oh, I didn’t know I had to give my reasons for telling you to fuck off.” You shot back. “Silly me.”

“Listen here, bitch—“

“Is there a problem?” Javier questioned as he returned.

You snatched up your purse and pulled the strap over your shoulder as you slid out from behind the table. “I’m not really feeling the atmosphere down here, babe.” You said smoothly, reaching out and running your hand along Javier’s forearm, before taking your glass of whiskey from him. “Why don’t we enjoy our drinks in our room?”

Javier played into it seamlessly, “I’m sorry you had to put up with these assholes, baby.” He said as he curled his arm around your waist possessively. “C’mon.”

You didn’t pull out of his embrace once you were out of view of the bar. You didn’t even pull away once you were safely in the elevator alone with him. 

“What floor?”

“I’m on eight.” You told him, watching as he gripped his drink in his hand and used his knuckle to press eight and ten on the panel. 

“Sorry you had to cut your evening short,” Javier said lightly, his fingers brushing over your side as he released the grip he had on you. 

“It’s alright,” You tilted your head to look at him beside you. “I’m probably way off the mark here, but…” Your gaze flickered to his lips briefly, before meeting his dark gaze again. “The night doesn’t have to end.”

Javier’s tongue ran along the seam of his lips as he stared back at you. “Would be a shame to waste good company when there’s still drinks to be had.”

You smirked a little, lashes fluttering as you angled yourself towards him. “I think you should get off on eight.”

“Yeah?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. 

“You might even get off on eight.” You added, leaning in slightly. 

Javier rolled his eyes, “And you’re funny.”

“I’m a package deal.” You took a step away from him, just before the elevator dinged — announcing your arrival on the eighth floor. 

You walked backwards off the elevator, lifting your glass to your lips as you held his gaze. “Well?”

Javier pursued you, “How can I say ‘no’ to you, baby?” He drawled out with a smirk. 

You turned your back to him as you made your way down the corridor to your room — room 87. You had not intended to have any guests in your hotel room and yet, something about Javier made you throw away all the promises you made to yourself. 

“It’s not much,” You told him as you held the door open for him. “I always pictured hotel hookups happening in swanky high rise penthouses.” 

Javier chuckled as he sat his glass down on the small counter by the mini fridge, and you couldn’t help but watch him as he slid out of his leather jacket. “Better than a motel hookup.” 

“Intimately familiar with those?” You countered as you sipped at your drink. 

He shook his head, “Nah.” Javier dragged his fingers through his hair as he arched a brow at you. “Is this a hookup?” 

You chewed on your bottom lip, “It’s whatever we want it to be.” You told him as you stepped past him to sit your glass down beside his. 

“What do you want it to be?” Javier questioned. 

You stood a little straighter as you turned back to him, your heart beating a little faster as you met his heated gaze. “Let me show you.” You said softly as you reached out to graze your fingers along his jawline. 

Javier’s hand curled around your hip as you leaned towards him and kissed him. His mustache tickled at first, but you were far too focused on the feel of his tongue sliding past your lips to find yours.

A soft groan escaped you as you sank into the kiss, your hand curled around the back of his neck as your lips slanted against his.

He stepped forward, making you move backwards until you were pressed flat against the wall behind you. 

Javier nipped at your bottom lip, his tongue soothing the marks his teeth made as his hands slid under your shirt. Your own fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, greedily touching every inch of skin that was exposed to you.

He broke away from the kiss to peel your shirt off of you. “Is this what you want, baby?” He questioned as he slid his knee between your thighs and slid it up until it was pressed right against the seam of your pants. 

You cried out softly, rocking against his knee as you felt the burn of arousal in your lower belly. You were embarrassingly wet — you could feel your underwear sticking to your slick folds as you ground down against the pressure of his knee. 

“Yes.” You breathed out, dragging him back in for another kiss that was far too short lived. 

You came awake suddenly, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. It took a second for you to get your bearings — but you recognised the moonlight spilling in through shades on the patio door.

Miami. Josie and Sofía. Javier. 

He was snoring quietly beside you, completely unaware of the intense dream you had just had about him.

You chewed on your bottom lip as you shifted uncomfortably, even that little bit of friction made you want to moan. You could practically feel your clit throbbing from the desire you’d felt in the dream. 

You slid you hand under the waistband of your shorts and underwear, fingers sliding through your slick folds. You inhaled sharply, the tip of your finger grazing over your clit. 

“Javier.” You breathed out as you circled your finger around that little bundle of nerves, your inner walls clenching around nothing as you worked yourself towards your release. 

“Having fun without me?” Javier murmured, his voice an octave lower and still heavy with exhaustion. 

You moaned as you felt him curl his hand around your upper thigh, “I’m close.” You told him, your pace never faltering. “Fuck.”

“That’s it baby,” Javier whispered, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “I can hear how fucking wet you are, baby.” He kissed the curve of your throat, before brushing his lips against the shell of your ear. “Come.”

Your body obeyed him, your hips bucking upwards as you came apart under your own touch. You turned your head, finding his lips in the darkness and kissing him desperately. 

Javier broke away from the kiss, breathing raggedly, “I hope I was involved with winding you up like this, baby.” He murmured, kissing you again. 

You laughed against his lips, winding your fingers through his hair. “It was all you.” You told him, running your hand down his chest and stomach, before cupping his cock through his boxers.

“Yeah?” He breathed out as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your pants, trying to work them down your hips. 

You rolled onto your side, shimmying out of your shorts and underwear, “I’ll have to tell you… all about it.” You whispered as he curled an arm around your waist and hauled you back against his chest. He slid his other arm beneath your neck and reached for your breast, palming at it through your shirt. 

“Fuck.” Javier rasped out as his fingers found their way between your thighs. “You’re soaking wet, baby. Goddamn.”

You reached behind you, grabbing at his hip as you sank back against him. Javier shifted as he guided his cock to your center. Your nails bit into his forearm as he slid into you — your inner walls fluttering around him, still sensitive from your orgasm. 

Javier pressed his face into the crook of your neck, “You feel so fucking good, baby.” He murmured as he moved. 

“So do…” You rolled your hips in time with his movements. “Fuck. So do you.” 

“Tell me.” Javier urged as he nipped at the soft curve of your neck. 

“We were,” You started, running your hand along his forearm. “Strangers.” You turned your head, eyes straining in the darkness to see him. “At a conference in Washington.” 

“Do conferences make you horny, baby?” Javier chuckled, kissing at your jaw. 

“You do.” You tensed as his cock grazed a sweet spot within you that made your thighs tremble and your toes curl. 

He groaned out your name, his pace faltering. “Shit.” Javier hissed as he buried the length of his cock within you, “Come on, baby.” 

You clenched around him, grinding back against him as his fingers found your clit and coaxed you over the edge again. 

Javier slid out of you, maneuvering you onto your stomach before his cock slid back into you. You stretched your arms out in front of you, grabbing at the edge of the bed beneath your pillow as he  fucked you into the mattress. 

That was exactly what you needed and apparently what he needed too. 

Your name was on his lips as he came apart, his release spilling out deep within you as he draped himself over you. 

“Holy shit.” You breathed out, turning your head so you wouldn’t smother to death in your pillow. “Thank God tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“Hmm?” He questioned, pressing a kiss to a spot at the base of your neck. 

You laughed softly. “Nothing.” You reached behind your head, playing your fingers through his hair. “I don’t think dream Javier could’ve fucked me that well.”

“Glad to know my competition is myself.”

You grinned to yourself, “Can’t even have a sexy dream about anyone else.” 

“Good.” He kissed your shoulder again, his breath hot against your skin. “Fuck, that was good.”

“Mhm.” You hummed sleepily, feeling far too warm and comfortable beneath the weight of him. “The dream made me a little sad that we’re shit at roleplay.”

“Yeah?” He exhaled slowly. “Can always…”

You let your eyes slip closed. “Hmm?”

“What?” Javier ran his hand along the back of your arm. “We can try again.”

You nodded as he slid his arms beneath you, keeping you pressed against his chest as he rolled over onto his side. His cock slipped out of you and you missed the connection the second it was gone. 

But you were far too tired to protest. Two orgasms and a little mind numbing fucking had done you in. 

Even in your dreams, Javier was the one you wanted to go home with. 

[randowolfwriter]

Rocking that Solo (Intro)- Hot Dog Dilemma

Just a little one-shot from my self indulgent Older Warners au. Might consider doing more of these if it gets enough interest. 

Summary: 

A hot dog vendor meets the strangest girl (or puppy) he’s ever seen. Little does he know, she has a few tricks up her sleeve. 

She was a weird child. Probably one of the strangest the hot dog vendor had ever seen.

At first, he figured she had really poofy hair tied back with a sparkly heart-shaped hair tie, but then she approached him and saw that it wasn’t hair, but a pair of really large ears. Rabbit ears maybe? Then he noticed that she appeared to be covered in fur, ink-black with the exception of white that covered her entire face with a red nose that looked awfully a lot like a cat’s. When she smiled, he noticed tiny little fangs that made up her canines, and when she stepped back for a bit, he noticed that she wasn’t wearing any shoes—she didn’t need any. Giant white paws were what she walked on all day, much bigger than her front paws that looked more like hands. Then the key indicator of her strange appearance was that she had a tail, a long black one that was hard to determine whether it better belonged on a cat or a monkey. She could have been an animal that just escaped from the zoo had she not been wearing a giant purple sweater with a jean skirt and asking him tons of questions like any girl her age would ask. 

Yes, this indeed was the strangest little girl the vendor had ever seen, and yet, this wasn’t the first time she had visited him that day.

“You seem like a pretty cool guy,” She beamed through what appeared to be a Liverpool accent. “I’d love to have your job.”

“What are you doing back here?” The vendor barked. “Didn’t I tell you to get lost?”

“But I know where I am, so how can I get lost?” The girl inferred.

“I told you, I’m not bringing down the price of a dog.”

“But ten dollars is a little much, don’t you think? If I ran a hot dog cart, I would give everyone in the world a hot dog, and then I’d have the rest for myself.”

“Listen, little girl?” The vendor leaned over, trying to size himself up in order to intimidate her. “Are you gonna buy a dog or what? I haven’t got all day.”

Not once did she flinch from the vendor’s harsh demeanor, instead she kept smiling with a glimmer in those dark beady eyes of hers. “Well, I probably won’t since they’re so pricey. I just thought you should know that one of your cart’s wheels is missing.”

“What?”

The vendor tried to examine the wheel from where he leaned, but unfortunately, he couldn't. It was one of the front ones, which led him to move his lazy self to examine it. Clear as afternoon it was missing, despite it was there this morning when he wheeled the cart through the park. He only had a few customers that day, and none had bothered to mess with those wheels. In conclusion, it seemed that not only was this little girl strange, but she was also a wheel thief.

“Alright, where is it?” He grumbled.

“What?” The little girl asked coyly.

“The wheel? What did you do with it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” He could hear his voice raise at the girl’s bewildered expression. “I know you have it!” 

“I swear I don’t-- well, I mean I don’t swear because Daddoo says it’s not nice to swear-- but I know I don’t have it. Here, I’ll show you.”

She then reached into the pockets of her skirt and pulled out a bunch of trinkets and trash she had collected over time. “See, I have a bobby pin, two pennies, a piece of lint, a heart sticker…"

As the vendor was preoccupied with the girl, another child appeared behind the hot dog cart. Just like the little girl, he had long ears that drooped like a puppy’s, white fur on his face that covered his black fur like a mask, a red nose, and beady black eyes that made him look more animal than human. The only distinction that he was more human than animal was a green sweatshirt he wore (yet he didn’t wear any pants.) The boy stuck out his tongue nervously as he watched the little girl prattle on to the hot dog vendor about the items in her pockets; it seemed like she had a lot for just two measly pockets.

Seeing that the vendor was distracted, the boy began piling hot dog packs, bratwurst packs, hot dog bun packs, small bags of potato chips, soda cans, anything he could get his paws on and threw them into a random sack that he pulled out of nowhere. Well, more like from behind him. But how he made a sack appear from nothing was really something. 

Meanwhile, the girl did everything she could to keep the vendor’s attention on her at all times.

“See, I don’t have it. I only take things that can fit in my pockets,” she explained.

“Fine, so you don’t have it,” the vendor grumbled once more. “But how is it that it hasn’t been missing all day, and then suddenly you show up, and it’s gone?”

“Don’t know. Sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”

The boy was taking an awfully long time. Every time he grabbed a hot dog packet or a bratwurst packet, his stomach lurched – the thought of eating meat was the bane of his existence.

Suddenly, the mustard bottle slipped out of his paws just as he reached for it, and rolled right in front of the girl and the vendor. To make matters even more awkward, the vendor stepped on the bottle and it squirted a dark yellow onto the pavement.  

“Huh? How did that get there…” The vendor turned and finally noticed the boy. The boy let out a startled gasp and shivered where he stood. 

“Um, hey! Wanna see me do a dance?” The girl chirped, trying to divert the vendor’s attention back to her. She then performed a couple of twirls seeing if that'd work, but it was too late. The vendor had already noticed the thief at his stand, her partner in crime.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?!” The boy immediately closed the sack and scrambled out of there. “You have to pay for that!”

“Run, Smakko!” The girl cried as she raced after him. As the boy sped off like a frightened hare and the girl caught up to him in seconds, it was clear that the two were related.

Twins.

She was the distraction, and he was what the hot dog vendor should have been looking out for. Now here they were, little dog-monkey rascals that were better off locked up in a zoo than running away with his product.

“When I get my hands on you two, I’ll make sure you’ll get what’s coming to you!” He roared after them. 

“But you have to catch us first!” The girl shouted with a giggle. 

All through the park, the vendor chased after them. The chase felt like it went on for hours with the kids’ insane energy and the vendor’s determination to get his product back. It wasn’t until the kids ran smack dab into an officer minding his own business that they were finally caught. Immediately upon collision, he grabbed the two kids by the scruff of their clothes and held them up like noisy kittens, mostly pertaining to the girl who kicked in defiance while the boy hung there like a wet rag.

“Are these two giving you any trouble?” The officer spoke in what also appeared to be a deep Liverpool accent. He sounded a little like Ringo Starr. For some reason, upon hearing the officer's voice, the girl settled down. 

“You bet! Those mongrels there stole my hot dogs!” The vendor exclaimed, pointing a large index finger at the two. 

“Not like you were using it anyway,” The girl spat.

“Those two need to be taken back to the zoo where they belong!”

“No worries, sir. I’ll take care of them,” The large officer said, eyeing each of them with a stern glare. “Now give the man back his dogs.”

The boy then handed the vendor the giant sack. It seemed lighter than what he thought it would be. “Well appreciated, officer,” the vendor thanked.

He gave the vendor a small wave, “No need for thanks. All in a day’s work."  Then he gave the kids another stern glare. "Let’s go, pups.”

For some reason, as the officer walked off with the two kids curled in his arms, they seemed too content for having just been apprehended. Well, the boy still had that fearful look in his eyes as if it was stuck that way, but the look on the girl’s face was one that was not expected; she seemed too happy. 

The further the vendor walked away from them, the more he realized that the officer himself looked kind of strange. He looked like any other big officer just patrolling the city and keeping the neighborhood peace, yet then he remembered his face...something was off about it. It was pale, almost like it was covered in fur, he had a big red nose, and he had beady black eyes, just like those kids…

Suddenly, he stopped and opened the sack to find that his cart’s product wasn't in there, just a bunch of stuffed rubber dogs that squeaked.  

He’d been duped. Those weird kids and that weird officer were all related and they made off with his hot dogs. He wasn’t going to let them get away with it that easily. The vendor ran right up to them, his face red as the ketchup bottles that were just stolen.  

“Thieves!” He screamed at them. “Who do you think you are?”

The officer then stopped and set the kids down, “Well, I know for a fact that I’m no Bizzie.” 

Suddenly, he tore off the hat to reveal pierced dog-like ears sticking out of a baseball cap that looked like it had been beaten up over the years, especially with that giant bite mark that ate half its bill. Long unkempt black fur-- or it might have been hair-- flowed past his shoulders, while some even jutted out from his hat. Underneath the uniform, he wore a blue sweater covered with a brown leather jacket, torn jeans, and giant white paws that he walked upon just like the two kids. In likeness, this man could have been a rock star had he not had the black and white puppy-dog face like the kids and stuck out his tongue to compliment the look. 

“What are you?!” The vendor shuddered in bewilderment. He couldn’t decide whether he was some mutated dog or probably the ugliest man he had ever seen.

“Why he’s my Daddoo, silly!” The girl giggled. “I’m Jojo,” then she pointed towards the boy identical to her, “and this is my brother, Smakko." Then she held out her arms and posed, while her brother seemed hesitant to follow suit. "And we’re the Warner twins!"

“I don’t care if you were the Olsen twins. I demand that you give me back my hot dogs this instant!"

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” the man referred to as ‘Daddoo’ asked, “but that wouldn’t happen to be your cart, is it?”

The vendor then turned to see his hot dog cart speeding right towards them. Without a moment to react, the vendor was hit right with the cart and sent flying down the path while the father and his children moved to the side just in time. Luckily for the vendor, the cart didn’t go right into the busy streets of downtown traffic, but it did crash him into a nearby tree, causing the poor man to see hotdogs flying over his head.

“Look sir, your wheel came back,” Jojo pointed out.

“Yes, I see that,” the vendor said dizzily, then passed out.

“Naughty kids,” the father scolded, “who taught you such awful manners?” Then a giant smile appeared on his face, his tongue sticking out once more. 

“Now what do you say to the nice man?”

“Thanks for the hot dogs, sir!” Jojo thanked with a wave. 

“Thank you,” The boy named Smakko only muttered.  

The hot dog vendor perked up from his short comatose just as the father, with both of his strange puppy kids, the girl clinging to him like a koala and the boy clutching the bag filled with his product, walked away. No doubt about it, this was a horrible day, both personally and economically. 

But really, why did it matter? The vendor's cart was surprisingly okay, despite the crash and the strange reappearance of the wheel. Not to mention, there was a lot more product than what the family made off with, but losing those profits was going to hurt him. He'd have to lower the price of those dogs, and bratwursts, and basically everything at his cart just to make up for the stolen product. 

He went to authorities about it, but all they did was laugh, except for one, who seemed to shake in his seat at the mere mention of puppy-kids. Like they were going to be any help. 

Eventually, the hot dog vendor had to shrug off this brash occurrence and continue with his business. People were still going to want hot dogs, and unfortunately be desperate enough to pay ten bucks for it. 

However, this strange moment like a fly in the ear returned to him one day when he was visiting his family. His nieces and nephews were busy watching an old cartoon that he remembered was on when he was a kid called “Animaniacs,” which was considered one of the greatest cartoons of the decade. Of course, he didn’t think much of it now that he was a man in his thirties, but during this particular viewing, there was something that stood out to him.

The three main kids, with those long ears, black-furred with pale white faces, those red noses, and those beady black eyes…they looked exactly like the kids that harassed him at the park. Not to mention, the boy wearing the baseball cap looked exactly like the timid boy who barely spoke a word during their encounter. The boy in the show brimmed with confidence compared to the shy nature of the boy who had the gall to steal his hotdogs, yet had his sister do most of the talking.      

Then another thought occurred to him. The father of those two children also wore a blue sweater, and his head was covered with a red cap similar to the boy’s in the show, except his was worn with age. Then there was that smile, that puppy-dog-looking face with his pink tongue sticking out as if to distract from the fact that he was a freak of nature. He also brimmed with tons of confidence. How could anyone go out in public looking the way he did, with that long unkempt hair, those piercings that bit at his ears, and the strange rock star vibe he gave off just by being near him?           

No, it couldn't be. But maybe? 

Could possibly the middle child, the hungriest, the quietest, and the wackiest of the Warner trio next to his chatty older brother and his sassy younger sister might have grown up into the man he encountered at the park? That strange man with his strange children who were also giant troublemakers like he was. Could possibly the father of those two twins might have been…

Wakko Warner?  

[jonghyunslisterine]

countdown to christmas day 2: time travel 

yoonmin | 2.6k | g | time travel au, joseon era au 

An antique store isn't somewhere Yoongi ordinarily finds himself, but today he's looking for Christmas presents for both Namjoon and Taehyung, who are notoriously tasteful. Yoongi figures a place full of antiques is the place to find something tasteful, so here he is, wandering around the store trying not to touch too many things. The shop owner keeps glaring at him from behind the counter, like if he looks at something for too long, he'll break it. He turns the corner to a more secluded part of the shop, where she can't keep staring at him and making him nervous and he can finally find something to give his friends.

He picks up a leather-bound book and eyes it all around then decides Namjoon has about a hundred books that look like that, so he moves on. There's a dazzling binyeo sitting on the shelf, a textured blue and white with a stunning head. He picks it up out of curiosity, admiring the design, and finds it oddly warm to the touch. Frowning, he brings it closer, running his fingers along its smooth length, and then suddenly the world starts spinning.

Yoongi reels, reaching out to grab something for support, but there's nothing to hang onto because suddenly there's nothing around him. Everything's blurry, a bright kaleidoscope of colors, and he feels so sick he closes his eyes so that he doesn't throw up in the middle of the antique ship. He can't imagine the prickly owner would be too happy with that. The world wobbles violently, and he wonders if it's an earthquake before he stumbles, falling to the ground. The shaking ebbs away, and Yoongi lies there for a moment, gathering himself.

"Hey. Hey! Excuse me? Hello?"

Yoongi opens his eyes and finds Jimin leaning over him.

Except he's Jimin and he's not Jimin. The Jimin he knows has certainly never had hair that long, dark and straight all the way down his back, held up by a headband around his forehead and half of it tied into a high ponytail. His Jimin certainly doesn't go around wearing a hanbok that looks like it's from the Joseon era, red and black and embroidered.

"Are you okay?" Jimin-not-Jimin asks, poking at Yoongi curiously. "You almost got run over by that horse. Good thing I pushed you out of the way before it got you."

The Jimin he knows most certainly does not speak like he just walked out of a saeguk.

Yoongi sits up blearily, pressing a hand to his temple. "Jimin?" he asks tentatively, and Jimin-not-Jimin jumps back in surprise.

"How do you know my name?"

Okay. Okay. Possibly Yoongi's passed out in the middle of the antique shop after an earthquake rocked the city and he hit his head on the way down. There were plenty of large objects that could do a number on him in that damn shop. He squeezes his eyes shut, pinches his arm hard, and opens them.

He's sitting in the middle of a dirt path, and there are people skirting around them, staring at him curiously. Everyone's dressed in hanbok.

"Where am I?"

Jimin frowns at him. "What are you talking about? Did you hit your head? Did you lose your memory or something?"

"Uh - " Yoongi hesitates, unsure of what to do. If he's dreaming, he just has to wait until this passes, right? But he's never had a dream this lucid before. He's never felt so in control.

He had picked up the binyeo before it all happened. Could it be -

"Why are you dressed like that?" Jimin demands, picking at the hem of Yoongi's leather jacket with a frown. He pokes at his jeans next, picking at a shredded string coming off one of the holes. Yoongi flushes, scooting backwards. Jimin is pretty enough on an ordinary day, but with hair this long - god, he's stunning. Yoongi's finding it hard to look away. "I've never seen anything like it. And your hair? How could you do that to yourself?"

Yoongi touches his hair, briefly forgetting what he means, when he remembers. It was forbidden to cut your hair short in the Joseon era. "I, uh, got caught in a fire," he blurts. "My hair burnt off."

Jimin's eyes widen. "A fire! That's terrible."

Yoongi nods seriously, then looks around him in the dirt. The binyeo didn't travel with him, it seems. "Yeah, hey, I think I was holding a binyeo? Did you see it?"

"A binyeo?" Jimin frowns, sitting back. He looks off down the road and starts, as if realizing. "I think the person who almost ran you over stole it. He must have been a robber."

"Stole it?" Yoongi swears. "I need that back."

Jimin nods resolutely. "Let's get it back, then." He hops to his feet, and Yoongi takes in the full glory of his outfit. He swallows harshly. As if his crush on Park Jimin wasn't bad enough before having a Joseon era influenced hallucination about him.

Yoongi pushes himself to his feet, waiting for the dizziness to hit again. It doesn't, so he sets off after Jimin down the road.

"What's your name, by the way?" Jimin calls over his shoulder. His hair falls all the way down to his waist, sleek and shiny in the midday sun.

"Yoongi. Min Yoongi."

"Are you a commoner? Your speech isn't right for a commoner, either, though. Are you from somewhere else?"

Yoongi coughs nervously and tries to remember not to use any slang. "Uh, I'm traveling, yeah."

"Oh, from where?"

Yoongi racks his brain but honestly can't remember a lick of history in the moment when he needs it the most. "Who are you?" he deflects. "No hat? Hair down?"

Jimin looks a little offended. "I'm part of the Hwarang, of course."

Yoongi swears he'd seen a drama about the Hwarang before, but - "The what?"

"You don't know the Hwarang?" Jimin looks thoroughly confused now, but he shakes his head and continues on. "Never mind. You're strange. I think the robber went this way - let me ask the bookstore owner if he saw anything."

Jimin leaves him standing in the road, ducking into a store to the side. Yoongi shuffles uncomfortably. Even though he's probably hallucinating, he's going to treat this like he's time traveling. The binyeo has to be the key. He always heard hallucinations have some corporeal connection, anyway. It makes the most sense to stick with what he knows.

Everyone keeps staring at him, mostly with outright horror. He touches his hair awkwardly and thanks his lucky stars that it isn't still dyed blonde like it was a month ago before he turned it black again. Jimin pops out after a moment, looking cheerful.

"We're in luck!" he exclaims. He's so bright it almost hurts to look at him. Maybe he's the past incarnation of Yoongi's Jimin. He thinks it would make sense for Jimin's past self to be as bright and lovely as he is now. Suddenly Yoongi feels a little homesick. A little wanting, for the Jimin he knows and the way he smiles. "I've figured out the robber's hideout. But we need to get you a change of clothes before someone arrests you, Min Yoongi from somewhere else."

"Wait - " Yoongi protests, ready to insist that he just wants to get the binyeo and be done with it, but Jimin's already grabbing his hand and leading him off down the road. The soft warmth of his hand shuts Yoongi right up.

Instead of leading him to a tailor's shop, Jimin takes him to what looks like a tea shop. He leads them inside right to the owner, who sighs at the sight of him.

"What do you want," he says, deadpan, but Jimin's unfazed, grinning in return.

"Seokjin hyung! Do you have some extra clothes?"

Seokjin scowls at him. "Knew you wanted something. You always want something, you brat."

"Hyung, please," Jimin simpers, batting his eyelashes, and Yoongi's heart stutters. He wonders how anyone can say no to that face, and sure enough, Seokjin huffs and beckons them into another room of the shop.

"You're small," he says bluntly, looking Yoongi up and down before he pulls clothes out of a trunk in the corner. "Why are you dressed so strangely? Jimin-ah, what's going on?"

Jimin ignores him and grabs the clothes, shoving them into Yoongi's arms. "Put these on," he orders, then grabs Seokjin's hand and leads him back into the teashop, leaving Yoongi alone.

He draws the screen door shut and changes quickly into the simple shirt and trousers with a hat to cover his short hair. The clothes are too big, but he doesn't care to be picky right now. He's loath to leave his clothes, but he doesn't know what else to do, so he folds them carefully and puts them in the corner. When he emerges, Jimin examines him appreciatively. Seokjin still looks annoyed.

"Much better," Jimin says. Yoongi bows in thanks to Seokjin and follows him back onto the road.

He's about to insist that they find the robber now when a commotion has them halting in their tracks. Everyone's clearing out of the road for an ornate palanquin with a retinue of guards coming down the road.

Jimin swears, spinning around to face Yoongi and pushing him back behind a few other people. He stays that way, staring at Yoongi's shoulder, like he's hiding. A pretty pink blush coats his cheeks. Yoongi frowns, looking between the palanquin and down at Jimin, who's biting his lip. He can't see who's inside, only catches a glimpse of what looks like long, blond hair - shocking enough on its own. He didn't think they had hair dye in the Joseon era.

"Who's that?" Yoongi demands, looking at Jimin, who's still staring resolutely at his shoulder.

"The king," he squeaks, and Yoongi narrows his eyes.

"You have the hots for him, or what?"

Jimin gives him a confused look. It's impossibly cute, his brow furrowed and full lips curved into a pout. "The what?"

"You have feelings for him? The king?"

Understanding dawns, and Jimin's eyes widen. He flushes even harder, pink spreading down his neck, and Yoongi's endeared. Just like the Jimin he knows, it only makes him want to tease him more. "No!" He swats at Yoongi's chest, looking cutely flustered. "Why would you say that! He's the king!"

The palanquin is retreating down the road, so Jimin sets off in the opposite direction, not waiting to see if Yoongi follows. He jogs to catch up, falling into step next to him. "Well, you were blushing pretty hard seeing your king."

Jimin shoots him a sideways glare. He walks a little faster, like he thinks it'll throw Yoongi off. "I don't have feelings for anybody, thank you very much."

Yoongi shakes his head, amused, and then sighs. "You know," he starts. "I have feelings for someone I probably can't ever have, too. You, uh, kind of remind me of him, actually."

Jimin looks at him sharply. "Really?" He seems almost suspicious. Yoongi nods, ducking past a fruit seller with a massive basket on her head.

"Yeah. I've fancied him for three years now."

"Three years!" Jimin gasps. "And you haven't told him?"

Yoongi laughs wryly. He thinks of Jimin - beautiful, firecracker Jimin. "He's way out of my league."

"He's what?"

"Never mind," Yoongi mutters. "The point is, he's kind of like the king is to you. Out of reach."

Jimin squints at him. "Are there laws that prevent you from being together?"

"Uh, not really?"

"Is he betrothed to someone else?"

"Not that I know of."

"Then he's not like the king at all." Jimin's lips twist, a hint of sadness finally bleeding into his bright demeanor. He stops walking and raises his arm to point. "That's where the robber will be."

Yoongi follows his finger in the direction he's pointing and sees a small lodging off the side of the road. "So what's the plan? We sneak in?"

Jimin shakes his head. He pats Yoongi's shoulder. "Just wait here. I'll handle it."

Yoongi opens his mouth to protest, but as usual, Jimin's already speeding along ahead of him. He huffs a sigh and sits down on the path to wait. This Jimin and his Jimin are a lot alike. Always running on their own time. He watches Jimin slip right into the house without announcing himself and hopes he knows what he's doing. For a moment he doesn't hear anything, then he hears a few stray shouts and the sound of something crashing. Before he can run in after Jimin in alarm, Jimin's bursting out of the house, holding a familiar binyeo in his hand.

"Got it!" he shouts. "Now run!"

Yoongi doesn't question him. They flee down the road, running until they're out of breath, collapsing in a heap when they're finally far enough away to feel comfortable.

Jimin huffs a laugh. "You owe me, Min Yoongi from somewhere else. Here." He holds the binyeo out, and Yoongi reaches to take it. Before his fingers close around it, Jimin snatches it back.

"Hey," Yoongi complains.

"You should tell him," Jimin says, abruptly serious. "The person you like. You should tell him how you feel."

Yoongi finds himself nodding, echoing Jimin's seriousness. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

"I know I'm right." He takes Yoongi's hand in his and presses the warm binyeo into his palm.

Before Yoongi can open his mouth to thank him, the world starts spinning again.

This time, when he wakes up, it's the antique shop owner who's leaning over him. "Yah!" she complains. "If you're just gonna take a nap, go do it on the street. Knew a delinquent like you wouldn't be buying anything."

Yoongi ignores her. He scrambles upright, checking his hands and his pockets, the floor around him and the shelf. The binyeo is nowhere to be found, and he's back in his normal clothes.

"Get going!" she huffs. "Or I'll kick you out."

Yoongi bows quickly and bolts right out of the shop. He never thought he'd be so damn happy to see Seoul's congested traffic in his life. He's back home, but he can still see Jimin's pretty face swimming before his eyes. Halfway down the street, he spins on his heel and starts running the other way. By now he's memorized the route to Jimin's apartment building, and memorized the code to it, too. He takes the elevator up to the sixth floor, foot tapping impatiently on the floor. As soon as the doors open, he bolts down the hallway to the last room. He's out of breath when he knocks, tries to smooth down his hair and fix his jacket and look generally like less of a mess.

It doesn't matter, because he's still panting when Jimin opens the door, looking adorably sleepy in his pajamas.

"Yoongi hyung?" he says, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"It's one in the afternoon, Park Jimin," he answers weakly, trying to salvage his disastrous arrival. "Don't tell me you just woke up."

"Hey," Jimin whines. "If you came here just to be annoying - "

"I didn't. I didn't, I - " He swallows harshly. Thinks of dream Jimin, or hallucination Jimin, or whatever he had been. Thinks about the king he can never have. "I wanted to ask if you'd be my date to Taehyung's Christmas party."

First, Jimin's eyes widen. Then his lip wobbles. Then he smiles so big it's blinding. "Yes!" he exclaims, and Yoongi feels relief wash over him from head-to-toe.

Then Jimin surges forward and smacks him in the shoulder. "Ow!" Yoongi whimpers, rubbing the sore spot.

"Why'd you take so long to ask! You're such a jerk!"

Yoongi finds himself laughing. That's his Jimin - a firecracker through and through.

He wouldn't trade him for anyone else.

[pink-imagines]

angel on earth

part 3

request: Bakugou holds auditions for a new lead singer for the BakuBand and the reader auditions and he’s mesmerised by her voice? Idk, I’m awful at requesting, sorry. ❤️ Love everything you do, don’t stress, and have a good day!

a/n: spoiler alert: Aito is an asshole. also can you tell how much i love hozier?

warnings: a possessive boyfriend

masterlist

part 1 | part 2

Why...? Why her? How could I ever get to her level? Why do I give away my heart so easily?

-

Katsuki woke up that day well rested. It was finally Tuesday. He was going to meet her again. Why was he so excited? She was just the new band member... no, he didn’t know if she’d be the new band member... but what was the possibility that she wouldn’t be? Eijiro liked her, he talked very highly of her even... Mina would love to have another girl in the band. He wasn’t too sure about Sero and Denki but he was sure that they wouldn’t exactly dislike her.

He shook away the thoughts that were intruding his mind and started getting dressed. Black jeans, should be formal enough without looking like he was actually trying to be formal, and a normal white t-shirt. He threw on a a red sweatshirt and over that his ripped jean jacket to keep warm. He put on the chain with a ring threaded on it, which he had recieved from a fan on his first big concert, and the black leather boots he always wore.

Why was he nervous? He never got nervous! Not even on stage! Katsuki tried to shrug it off and walked out of his apartment.

-

“So... how do I look?”, you turned to Aito. You had put on your new sundress that you paired with your cute vintage heels. 

“Weren’t you wearing that for later tonight?”, he asked.

“Yeah... but I thought I could wear it now too, so that I wouldn’t have to change later...”, you muttered carefully.

“I don’t know... how many guys are in that band?”, he sounded doubtfull.

“Aito, you know that I wouldn’t-”

“Yeah, I know but... do it for me, sweetheart? I’m just asking you to put some more clothes on. You don’t want them to think of you in a bad way, right?”, he gently held your upper arms in his hands.

“No, but-”

“I think it would just be better if you just wore those nice jeans that you have.”, Aito pulled you in for a hug and kissed the top of your head, “You can change when you get home.”

“Aito I don’t know when I’ll get home... I probably won’t have time to change...”, you sighed, “Can’t we eat out tomorrow?”

“Fine...”, he let out a disappointed sigh, “I’ll call into the restaurant again then...”

You changed into the mom-jeans and a nice blouse that you tucked into the jeans.

“Do you think the shoes would fit this outfit?”, you asked Aito and motioned to the vintage heels.

“Yeah, totally.”, he looked at your disappointed expression, “Baby... don’t be sad... here, I’ll let you wear my leather jacket.”

He wrapped his jacket around your shoulders and you gave him a slight smile before you put on your heels.

-

He saw her as soon as she walked into the restaurant. Did she get more beautiful everyday? As soon as Eijiro saw Katsuki’s fogged up gaze, he realized that Y/N had gotten there. Eijiro looked around before seeing her.

“Hey, Y/N!”, he exclaimed and got up from his chair to shake her hand.

“Hi, how are you?”, she asked sweetly and took his hand.

“I’m great, how are you?”, he asked with a smile. In this way, Katsuki envied Kirishima. He was laid back, could talk to anyone and the fact that he was talking to her in that manner... it just got worse.

“So, guys, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Denki, Mina and Sero.”, Kirishima said, “And you know Katsuki, of course.”

“It’s so nice to meet you!”, Mina giggled, stood up from her chair and engulfed Y/N in a tight hug, “It’ll be so nice to have another girl in the band!”

He watched the two interacting. This was a very good idea.

-

As soon as conversation started picking up you were immediately comfortable. It was so natural for all of you, especially with Katsuki. You couldn’t think of any time when you’ve felt the same way... not even with Aito.

Katsuki didn’t say much, but you still felt comfortable and like you could really be yourself.

“Where’d you get your jacket Y/N? I’m in love with it!”, Mina exclaimed and felt the leather material.

“My boyfriend bought it in a second hand shop, actually!”, you smiled. Suddenly there was a tension. Katsuki looked out the window, suddenly even more quiet.

“Oh, really!”, Mina tried to keep the mood going, “It’s in really good shape for being second hand, he has good taste!”

“Thank you.”, you smiled.

-

Of course she had a boyfriend, why would he even think anything else? She’s beautiful, kind, funny... and actual angel. You’d think someone as perfect as her would have a partner already.

It didn’t matter, she’d still get a place in Crimson Crypt. She was still an amazing singer, and the fact that she was in a relationship shouldn’t change that. Nevertheless, Katsuki was a little bit heartbroken. What if he had made a move on her that day in the café instead of writing a goddamn song? Who does that? He was such an idiot!

Play it cool, Katsuki..., he thought before gathering himself quickly.

He couldn’t believe that he was relieved when the dinner was over. Still, it was hard to see her go... and meet up with her boyfriend down the street. Aito, was it? Katsuki didn’t like the way he wrapped his arm around her waist protectivley, or the way he kissed her temple softly... he didn’t like him at all, that’s it.

“I don’t like him...”, Katsuki mumbled.

“Well, that’s just ‘cause you like her!”, Denki laughed.

“Oi! Shut up!”, Katsuki yelled at him. The rest of the group laughed, but Katsuki stole one last glance at her. There was love in the way she kissed him, for sure... but it was forced as fuck.

-

Once home, you took of your make up and got ready for bed.

“So, you got the gig?”, Aito asked as he started brushing his teeth.

“Sure did!”, you grinned, “Better start dressing like a rock star now, huh?”

“No... it’s not your style.”, he commented.

“Aito, it was a joke.”, you sighed, “... but I think that I can pull it off...” He shrugged and kept on brushing his teeth.

“Are you still mad about the dinner reservation, Aito?”, you frowned at him in the mirror.

“No, it’s fine.”, he muttered, “I’m going to bed...”

The very next day Aito was already gone when you woke up. Even though he was an art student he had a weird schedule, but today you didn’t mind. It had been awkward since last night and you just wanted to be alone for a while.

You got a text, so you managed to roll out of bed and take it. The bright screen made your eyes sting, but once you got used to it you could see the time. It was already 10 am. The text was from Katsuki...

‘Hey, are you free for today?’, it said. You didn’t know why, but your heart fluttered... even for just a second.

-

Maybe he shouldn’t have sent it... was it weird? He saw her yesterday, was today too much?

‘yeah, sure! did you have anything in mind? :)’, she answered quickly. He ran his hand through his hair and let out a sigh. It wasn’t weird... but maybe she was just being polite? God dammit! Stop thinking, just do!

‘Coffee and maybe we could practice a bit. I don’t know if it was obvious, but you made it into the band.’, he texted back.

‘sounds great! text me a time and place, i’ll get ready as soon as possible!:)’, Y/N answered immediately again.

She still looked gorgeous. Fuck, why was this happening to him? As soon as she saw him she smiled so brightly and waved before jogging up to him.

“Hi! How are you?”, she grinned.

“I’m alright, you doing okay?”, he asked and tried to keep his concern out of his tone. From what he saw last night, he didn’t really like Y/N’s boyfriend, Aito. Katsuki thought about it for a long time and it wasn’t about the fact that he might have a tiny crush on her. He got a genuine bad gut feeling from him.

“Yeah, I just got to bed a bit late last night!”, she let out a breathy laugh, “So, where did you want to go?”

He couldn’t convince her to let him buy her coffee, but that was alright as long as she was happy. They walked around town in silence, letting their paper cups warm up their cold hands.

“Would you mind going to my place to practice? We usually have a studio but I couldn’t get a hold of our manager today.”, he asked out of the blue.

“I don’t mind at all!”, she smiled so pretty again. He was about to add something when a group of younger girls ran up to the two and stopped their peaceful walk.

“Oh my god! Are you Katsuki Bakugo from Crimson Crypt?”, one of them asked gleefully.

“That’s me, yeah.”, he nodded.

“Could we get a picture?”, another girl asked.

“I...”, he looked over at you to see if Y/N was uncomfortable. The contrary, she was smiling... almost in an excited way. She noticed him looking.

“It’s fine, I can take it if you all want to be in it!”, she said happily to the girls. They gave her a phone and waited until the group surrounded Katsuki before she took a picture.

“Here you go!”, Y/N handed back the phone to the girls.

“Thank you so much!”, on of the girls said, “You guys make such a cute couple!” Katsuki’s heart stopped. Did she really just say couple? Did they look like a couple?

He looked over at you. Was it the cold that made you look so flustered? Before any of you could explain anything the girls had moved on.

“I don’t usually get stopped, sorry about that...”, Katsuki muttered, “I wasn’t prepared to be recognized without the rest of the band.”

“It’s fine! I think you handled it well.”, her cheeks were shaded all shades of pink.

-

Katsuki’s apartment was really nice, but not that big. You forgot that even though Crimson Crypt was pretty famous, that didn’t mean he made a lot of money. Even so, this apartment definietly wasn’t cheap and neither was the furniture. You could tell by the big, brown, leather, couch in the livingroom.

“Wow, this is so nice... I love you’re decorating!”, you smiled and looked around the room.

“Mina helped me with a lot, I just told her what I liked.”, he shrugged.

“I didn’t take you for a plant person.”, you glanced on every plant in the room around you. There had to be at least seventeen.

“Their easy to manage, so there’s no real work really.”, he chuckled and walked into his bedroom. The walls were covered with bookshelves, filled with books and a few plants. His bed was big and seemed very soft and had very clean white sheets. By the looks of it, Katsuki was a bit of a perfectionist. Before you could tease him about it, though, he had picked up an acoustic and sat down in a hammock with it.

“Make yourself at home.”, he started tuning the guitar. You looked around for a place to sit and found a plush armchair. You sat down and pulled your legs up in the way too big chair for one person.

“Could you play me something?”, you ask out of the blue. He looked up at you, his eyes locked with yours. There was a moment where you felt like you had your head in the clouds, and all other sound was blocked out. He tore his gaze away from you by blinking.

“Yeah, sure.”. he said and started strumming on the guitar. You recognized the melody to be Cherry Wine by Hozier. Hadn’t you mentioned that song yesterday? The thought that he would remember that made your heart flutter again.

No, stop thinking about that. You have a boyfriend.

Instead of letting your thoughts get to you, you hummed along with his singing and closed your eyes. 

“The way she tells me I’m hers and she’s mine. Open hand or closed fist would be fine.The blood is red and sweet like cherry wine.”, Katsuki sang softly and you felt chills creeping up your back.

His voice captured your thoughts and every word had you on edge, even though you knew the lyrics. He had somehow manage to make you forget all the words with his voice.

Once he stopped you kept your eyes closed.

“You’re very good.”, you grinned, “Like... really good.”

-

Did she notice that he played Cherry Wine because of her? He would be lying if he said that he didn’t learn the chords to that yesterday after the dinner.

“I’m nothing compared to you though.”, he chuckled lightly and put down his guitar.

“Are you kidding?”, she laughed and it sounded so heavenly, “You’re voice is so cool! It’s soft but still has that rasp to it, and it sounds so natural too!”

If he could tell her that she sounds like the goddess Aphrodite herself, he would. He would tell her that every day if he could wake up next to her. Oh, to wake up next to her eyelashes fluttering open to let him drown in the universe of her irises. To hear her voice as she whispered out goodmorning and to kiss her soft lips with a feather like touch. But he couldn’t tell her that.

“Tch, whatever you say.”, he said, but his neutral tone didn’t match the slight warm smile that played on his lips.

[alilpunkrock]

Part of the Family

Chris Evans x Reader

A/n: my first Fic that’s not MIW... let’s see how this goes I guess

I huffed pacing around my closet in my black jeans and nude bra trying to figure out what to wear. I’m from the west coast, I’m not used to having to deal snow in the winter and icy streets like New York does. Finally I found a white sweater with a big collar tucked away in the back of my closet. It was the sweater I wore for special occasions. I’d say this is a pretty special occasion. It’s December 23, or Christmas Eve Eve, and my boyfriend Chris is taking me to his hometown of Boston for the first time this year. We hadn’t originally planned where we were going to be for Christmas but since we’re both living in New York at the moment, due to us shooting a movie together and we decided it’s a good year for me to meet the rest of the Evans’. I slipped on the sweater and grabbed the leather jacket that was also hanging in the closet, when I walked back into the bedroom Chris was already there finishing the buttons of his blue flannel. I checked the time, 9:45am. It was about a 3 and a half hour drive from New York to Boston, so we had to leave very soon if we’re going to make it in time for the party. I tucked my hair behind my ears and sat down on the bed to put on my heeled boots. Chris could sense my nerves and cams over to squat down in front of me, helping me with the zipper on the boot I was having trouble with. He did the other and grabbed my hand, bringing it to his lips, giving it a soft peck. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding and smiled.

“Are you nervous?” He asked, already knowing the answer. I softly chuckled and nodded.

“Don’t be. My family is going to love you, You’ll for right in with everyone. And you already know Scott, so there’ll be one familiar face.” He said easing my nerves.

He helped me stand up and slip on my leather jacket. With my boots, I reached just right under his head, making him not have to look down as much as he does when I wear normal shoes. I leaned into his chest and he wrapped his arms around me rocking me gently.

“I love you.” He whispered kissing the top of my head. I hummed.

“Love you more, Mr. America.” That made him laugh loudly.

“Okay, time to head out.” He said still chuckling. I grabbed my phone and my charger and walked out to the kitchen. My purse was sitting on the counter right as I entered, so I slipped my charger in there and my phone in my back pocket. I waked over to the pantry to grab a snack to eat in the car, and turned to find Chris standing there with two travel mugs of coffee. I immediately accepted and hummed in delight as I took a sip.

“You’re the only person who knows how to make my coffee. Seriously not even Starbucks gets it right most of the time.” I stood on my tip toes to kiss his lips. He smiled and tapped my cup with his saying “cheers”.

“Alright you got everything?” Chris asked. I looked around and nodded. I had my phone, my purse on my shoulder, my duffle in my hand, and I think that’s it. Then it hit me.

“Dodger!” I said. He smiled and called for the dog. Dodger came trotting into the kitchen with his tail wagging ready to go.

“Now I think that’s everything.”

Once we were sure, we headed down to the garage of the building, walking towards Chris’s black Ford F-150. The seats were up in the back to make room for Dodger and our two bags. As soon as everything in the back was situated, me and Chris got in the front, he started the truck and turned on the heater. The first thing I reached for was the butt warmers, or the best creation known to mankind. I scored down in my seat more and got comfortable for our drive. A few minutes later Chris and I were on the highway going north. I plugged my phone into the aux and played my music. “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran was the first song on, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Chris look over at me.

“You know,” he started, gaining my attention. “This song always reminds me of you.” I furrowed my eyebrows as he continued.

“I always imagined us dancing to this song at our wedding.” As soon as he spoke my eyes widened. Wedding. That’s a big word. I didn’t know Chris was thinking abut such a big word. We’ve been dating for almost a year now, and that topic hasn’t come up once.

“Really?” I asked, trying to keep my cool. It’s not that I didn’t want to marry him. Of course I did, I think I’ve been planning our wedding since we met. It’s just hearing those words come out of his mouth brought a reality to it that I wasn’t prepared for.

He nodded his head, probably reading my mind right now, feeling my panic.

“If I just made you uncomfortable I am so sorry, I didn’t mean we had to get married tomorrow.” He said his grip on he steering wheel a little tighter than before. I shook my head.

“No, no it’s nothing like that. I can’t wait to marry you someday, I just wasn’t expecting you to say that.” I placed my left hand on his right that was resting on the consul. Glancing down at my ring finger, I imagined what the ring that would one day decorate my hand would look like. Maybe I should start leaving pictures around the apartment. My eyes met Chris’ once again and he smirked, reading my mind once again.

We were about half an hour out from Chris’ childhood home, and my nerves picked up quickly. The drive had gone pretty smoothly. Dodger has been chilled out in the back, and Chris and I have been passing time singing along to the music or playing random road trip games. His phone started ringing, so I turned down the radio as he answered.

“Hello!” He said.

“Chris! Honey! You guys almost here?” I could hear his moms voice through the phone. He smiled and replied.

“Yeah mom, we’re about 20 minuets away.” I heard here start taking again this time on speaker so I could hear too.

“Oh good! We’re all so excited to meet Y/N. You’ve talked her up so much we can’t wait.” My eyes widened as I looked over as Chris. Great so he’s made me out to be some amazing woman and I’m going to have to disappoint his family by not being as great as Chris described. I shook my head and closed my eyes resting against the head rest. The conversation ended and the ride was silent for a few minutes.

“Y/N? Belle? What’s up.” My mouth twitched up at the sound of my favorite nickname Chris had for me. Belle means beautiful or beauty in French.

“How exactly did you talk me up to your family?” I asked, still looking forward.

“I told them that you’re the most beautiful, talented, kindhearted, trustworthy, loyal, hilarious woman I’ve ever met and told them how Dodger likes you more than he likes me most of the time.” I laughed at the last sentence, looking behind me to see Dodger’s ears perked up at the sound of his name.

“I wish you hadn’t of talked me up so much, now I have a standard I have to live up to.” I said, now looking directly at him. He was quiet for a moment before speaking again.

“I didn’t tell them anything that wasn’t true, sweetheart. And there’s no standard. They’re going to love you for you and that’s it.” Chris said turning into the neighborhood of his home. “Besides don’t even think Scott hasn’t said you were the most amazing person on Earth, it’s a good thing he’s gay or else I’d be worried he’s trying to steal my woman.”

The vehicle came to a stop in front of the two story house that was decorated for Christmas.

“Here we are.” Chris started. “Hey look at me.” I turned and met his blue eyes, almost immediately claiming. “It’s going to be okay, they’ll love you. And I can’t wait to see my nieces and nephews reaction. Especially my niece, she’s tired of all the boys.” He said making me laugh. We got out of the truck, Chris going around to left Dodger out, who ran straight for the door. Chris grabbed my hand as we walked up the concrete path to the front door. He reached for the door nob, opening it slightly before Dodger opened it the rest of the way from running inside. We stepped into the warm house and the first thing I noticed was all the family pictures hanging just in the entrance alone. I leaned in to look at a picture of Chris and all his siblings from when they were very young.

“Oh my gosh you used to be so cute!” I said bumping my hip into Chris’. He rolled his eyes and walked us further in to the house.

“They must be outside, normal it’s a lot louder than this.” He said leading us to the backyard, where his whole family was gathered around an outdoor fire place wrapped in blankets and drinking something out of a mug. He opened the door and all eyes were on us. His mom got the biggest smile on her face as she got up and met us half way in the yard. I was engulfed in a tight warm hug, hearing Chris’ mom squeal in excitement.

“Y/N! It’s so amazing to finally meet you! Chris has told us so much about you! You’re so much more beautiful in person!” She pulled me into a hug again.

“I’m Lisa by the way!” She said pulling away for the last time. Before I could even start to speak, Scott was there pulling me into a hug.

“I’m next,” he said. “God I feel like it’s been to long since I saw you! Cmon meet the rest of the family!” He dragged me away from Chris and over to where everyone is gathered in a circle around the fire.

“You already met mom, so that’s our dad Bob, that’s Carly, Shannon, grandma, grandpa, and that’s Stella, and that’s Miles.” I said hi and greeted everyone.

Time flew by fast, we had a lovely dinner and that consisted of embarrassing stories about Chris, then his mom brought out dessert. We ended up out back once again around the bonfire, just listening to the fire crackle. I sat on the double bench with Chris, cuddled to his side because it was freezing out, Chris’s sister Carly had to find me another jacket to wear over the jacket and sweater I was already wearing because I got so cold. His mom Lisa spoke up.

“So Y/N, how did you and Chris meet?” I turned my attention to her and smiled.

“Well, we met on set for winter soldier, but didn’t start dating until the end of filming for Civil War.” I explained. She nodded her head.

“Can I ask, how old are you?” My stomach dropped, I knew this question was going to come up at some point but I was still unprepared. There’s quite an age gap between Chris and I. Like 10 or so years.

“Uh, I’m 24.” I said, not surprised by the shocked looks on his families faces.

“Oh wow,” his dad said. “I thought you were older than that. You are so much more mature than any 24 year old I’ve ever met.” I smiled slightly, Chris noticing my shift in mood. The conversations moved on quickly after and finally it got late enough to head inside for bed.

“Your family hates me, except for Scott maybe.” I said to Chris once we were in the safety of his childhood bedroom. He looked at me like I was crazy.

“What? Belle that’s ridiculous, my mom was just telling me how much she liked you better than any other girlfriend I’ve had.” He said settling into bed. I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah that was probably before they found out how old I was.” I mumbled, changing into the t shirt and leggings I brought to sleep in.

“They don’t care about that babe, they care more about you as a person, and I think you’ve got the seal of approval whether you know it or not.” He said, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me to his chest once I settled in bed. I huffed and closed my eyes.

“I love you.” He whispered into my hair before closing his eyes and sleeping as well. I mumbled a “Love you more” and fell asleep.

I woke up in an empty bed the next morning, and the smell and pancakes and bacon downstairs. When I checked the time I saw that it was close to 10:30, so I decided just to change into my clothes for today. I slipped on my jeans and the New York University hoodie I packed and tied my hair up in a quick bun before heading downstairs. As soon as I walked into the kitchen I saw Chris and Scott at the stove doing the pancakes and the bacon and his mom was at the counter cutting strawberries and bananas. She was the first one to see me, immediately putting her knife down and wiping her hands off on the apron she wore, before walking over to me greeting me with a tight, warm hug.

“Good morning Y/N! How’d you sleep?” She asked. I followed her to the counter and stood there watching as she got back to cutting the fruit.

“Morning, I slept great.” I said with a yawn.

“She not much of a morning person mom, in fact I’m surprised she’s talking to anyone at all, I don’t even get that much out of her in the morning.” Chris laughed. I glared at him, smiling at his mom.

“He’s being dramatic, is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.

“If you’d like you could start a pot of coffee, I asked Scott to do it first but he obviously ignored me.” She said with a smile. I walked over to the coffee machine and started brewing the grounds.

“Alright boys,” I heard his mom speak up. “Go find your father and sisters and the other little ones and tell them we’re ready.” Chris and Scott nodded walking out of the kitchen. Then I was just me and Lisa.

“Y/N?” Turning, I was met with a very worried looking Lisa.

“Yeah what’s wrong?” I asked, genuinely concerned.

“I just want you to know, me and Bob didn’t mean to make you feel like we were judging you on your age, we were definitely surprised, but like Bob said, you’re so mature for your age. We have really enjoyed having you around and hopefully you’ll stick around for a little while.” She said.

“Thank you, I’ve really enjoyed my stay here. And trust me, I plan on sticking around for a long while.” I said making her and I both chuckle.

“Good I’m glad, the most important thing for us all is to see Chris happy, and I don’t know if you know much about his past relationships, but he’s had some pretty bad girlfriends. So to see the way his face lights up whenever he looks at you, or when you walk into a room, is all that matters.” This time I had tears in my eyes. I nodded and pulled her into a tight hug of my own.

“Thank you” I whispered. She squeezed me back and we stayed there for a few more seconds until everyone came into the kitchen.

“Woah, what’d we miss?” Chris said. We stopped hugging and got back to work.

“Oh nothing,” Lisa started. “Just a mother, future daughter-in-law moment.” She winked at Chris making his face flush red. I started laughing at his reaction announced the coffee was ready, while making myself a cup.

All of us managed to fit at the dinner table to eat. I was squished between Chris and his nephew Miles, who’s favorite phrase whenever his mom offered him any of the fruit was “I don’t wike it”. It was honestly very cute.

“So NYU?” Bob asked me pointing at my sweatshirt. “You grow up in New York?” I shook my head swallowing the bite of pancake I had.

“No, I was actually born and raised in Arizona. I started college there at ASU then moved to NYU once I changed my major to theatre and performing arts. I’ve been living there since I was 19 though.” I explained.

“Wow young age for someone to be living in their own.” He commented. I nodded.

“Yeah but luckily my scholarship from ASU transferred over completely so most everything was paid for. And I had a couple small films I was in that helped buy all the extras.” He shook his head, smiling at Chris.

“You got yourself a smart, independent one, hold on to her.” I felt Chris squeeze my leg under the table and I smiled.

The visit was over sooner than I expected, we had to head back to New York for a Christmas party at Sebastian’s. We loaded everything in the truck and said our goodbyes to the family before taking off. I sighed and sunk down in my seat, closing my eyes.

“What’s up?” Chris asked. I shook my head smiling at him.

“Honestly nothing, that went a lot better than I thought.” I said smiling.

“See, I told you! But you never listen!” He laughed, making me chuckle.

The drive seemed to go by a lot quicker than before, and soon we were finally home.

Chris unlocked the apartment door and Dodger bounded in, immediately going to his bed. We both collapsed on the couch and sat in silence for a bit.

“We should get ready to head to Seb and Katie’s tonight for Christmas Eve.” Chris said patting my knee. I nodded and got up, heading to our bedroom. An hour and a half before we were supposed to leave, I was standing it the bathroom curling my hair when Chris walked in and stood in the doorway. I smiled at him as I watched him watch me and dropped my last piece of curled hair.

“What’s up?” I asked him.

“Nothing, just watching my favorite view.” He said and I rolled my eyes.

“I also have something for you,” he said and pulled out a small white gift bag.

I furrowed my eyebrows and turned to face Chris and grab the bag out of his hands. Inside was a small black box with a white bow wrapped around it. I looked up at him and saw him smile. I unwrapped the bow and opened the box, inside was another, smaller box. I rolled my eyes and opened that box. Suddenly, I was staring down at a ring. A big, shiny ring. With wide eyes I looked up at Chris

“Is this for real?” I asked him. He nodded.

“Will you marry me?” He asked. With tears running down my face I nodded and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him. He pulled away and grabbed the room, placing it on my finger. This time he pulled me in for a kiss. Merry Christmas to me.

Tag: @chriscrosscerulli @myanaconda-will-consider1t @thisplace-ishaunted @ryansitkowskiswifey @musicsexandpizza69 @whyisgmora @svintsandghosts @doomed-syko @jesseswartzwelder

[ad1thi]

take a page out of my book

@imposter-human am providing you with fluffy bookshop au now because i have majOR angst coming up *finger guns*

--

The bell above the door jingles, and Toni looks up from the book she's reading

The man standing near the door is gorgeous; crystal blue eyes, clearly well built and hair that's loosely tied at the nape of his neck

He's gorgeous, but thats not what Tony notices (much anyway)

The first thing Toni notices, is the tension in his neck. He's holding himself taunt like a string; as if his flight or fight's been triggered and he's not sure which he's leaning towards

Pushing her glasses up, Toni slips out from behind the counter and gives the man her most non-threatening smile, "Hi! Welcome to Stark Scrolls, how can I help?"

The man's eyes flick to her, assessing but he says nothing

There's a couple of beats where Tony rocks back and forth on her heels; before the silence becomes too much and she tries again, "Are you looking for something specific? Action, comedy, maybe some romance to keep you company at night?"

The man flushes, but says nothing. There's a slight slump in his shoulders though, so Tony thinks she's getting through

"We've got all sorts of romances, but if you come this way- I can show you the truly racy ones. We cover them in newspaper because their patrons seem ashamed of carrying them out in public"

She starts walking slowly, smiling when the man follows her, "See me- I read them unabashedly at the counter while I'm passing time. No point in pretending like I'm not right?"

They reach the book counter that Toni's looking for, and she starts rifling through books, "I'll give you a couple of my favourites; and you can tell me which ones you like"

She holds up the first cover, "We've got this brilliant lesbian pirate romance, which I tried to continuously get my previous girlfriend to roleplay," she grimaces, "I think you can guess why it ended"

He dutifully takes the book, but his eyes don't leave her. He still says nothing, and well, Rhodey always like to tell Toni that she's obsessed with the sound of her own voice anyway

"Now this," she says- passing over a thin book with a black cover, "this was an absolute hit with Ty. Ty's another one of my exes by the way"

She flips through the book, until she finds what she's looking for, "This part particularly was a fan favourite," she winks at him, "tried and tested; and I definitely approve"

He tilts his head at her, but doesn't say anything. Toni pulls at the third book, but he doesn't take it- and after a couple of seconds she puts it back and claps her hands

"Right so I think you're all set!" she takes the books from him gingerly, "I'll just uh- go to the counter and ring you up?"

--

He's back a couple of days later, in a leather jacket that looks like its seen better days but fits him like a glove

Because Toni has no boundaries, she wiggles her eyebrows at him, "I take it you enjoyed your reading"

She leans forward conspiratorially, "Tell me, which did you like better?"

"Was it the lesbian pirates? Its generally the lesbian pirates"

She's out of the counter and almost towards the book section when she hears him say, "Can you - can you really bend like that?"

She turns around so she's facing him, "He speaks!"

"I'm Toni, I'm uh- not sure that I said that the last time you visited"

"He shakes his head, "you didn't. I'm James," he holds up a book, "can you- can you really bend like that?"

Toni moves closer to see the cover, grinning smugly when she realises what he's talking about

There's a slight tinge of red on his cheeks, so she's pretty impressed he had the balls to ask

Plus, he's hot, which is why she takes a chance and says, "Maybe if you play your cards right you'll figure out"

--

James is a frequent visitor after that

He doesn't always get the harlequinn romances, but he's clearly a fan

Every visit that James musters up the courage to speak to her, she takes it as a win

"Are there um," she watches as he works around his throat, "are there any more of these that you've uh, personally tested?"

He says the last bit softly, like he's embarrassed to be asking her; so she takes pity on him and reaches of one of her favourites

"This," she says, clapping the book lightly, "makes 50 shades look mild. I've haven't done all of it, mind you- but it definitely kept college interesting"

He looks at the cover curiously and flushes beet red, looking up at her with wild eyes

"I don't uh," James stutters, "I don't wanna hurt you"

When he's particularly flushed, James has a brooklyn twang that comes out. Toni's particularly fond of it

"I'll find something else," she says, pushing it back in, "but fair warning - I enjoy a bit of pain"

James is red the entire way back to the counter, but he comes in again the next day so Toni thinks she's doing okay

--

The problem is, that initially Toni gave him the books to watch him blush, and because it seemed to get a reaction out of him

Then she went and got feelings for him, like a dumbass

And now its a struggle to hand him books without vividly thinking of her and James in the place of the nameless protagonists

He still comes in every few days, and she's had to place an order for more books- but it's been six months and he doesn't seem any more interested than he was in the beginning

Toni on the other hand, is about 2 steps away from setting up a pinterest board for their wedding

Its hopelessly pathetic, which is why when she sees him coming down the street she does the mature thing and forces Rhodey, who's visiting her on his leave to take over while she ducks behind the counter

"Wha - Toni!" Rhodey hisses as she pushes his legs off the counter and ducks down; but there's not much he can do because the bell has chimed and that means that James is here

"Stark Scrolls how may I help you?" Rhodey says with possibly the fakest smile Toni's ever seen; but she stuffs her fist in her mouth and focuses on staying quiet

"There's um- " James hesitates, "there's usually a girl behind the counter? Toni?"

"She's just stepped out on her break I'm afraid," Rhodey says after Toni pinches his leg, wincing, "but is there anything I can do for you Mr -?"

"Barnes. James Barnes. This is uh, this is just fucking great"

Something's pushed on the table, and Rhodey starts kicking her but Toni just pulls at his leg hair and he stops

"Is everything alright Mr Barnes?" Rhodey says, and even from her odd angle Toni can see the glint in his eyes that meant he was up to something

"Yeah its just, you probably don't wanna hear it but I really like her, the girl"

"Toni," Rhodey prompts; and her eyes go wide

"Yeah Toni," James chuckles, "and I had this whole plan to ask her out and thats what the flowers were for - "

"You got me flowers?" Toni stands up so quickly that she hits her head on the counter, "Ow fuck!"

She rubs her head gingerly, "You got me flowers?"

James is just looking at her, gaping and Toni's cheeks flame

Rhodey, because he's the best person in the whole world steps in, "As you can see, she's back from her break. So its time for me to take mine," he taps her on the shoulder lightly, "I'll be just outside Tones"

"Why were you uh-" James starts once Rhodey leaves, "why were you behind the counter?"

"Its a long story," Toni says; looking down to see a bouquet on the counter

She points at it, "Those are for me?"

James rubs the back of his neck, "Yeah. I had this whole speech prepared and I was gonna give you the flowers and ask you to dinn -"

"Yes!" Toni says way too loudly, before sheepishly lowering her voice, "to dinner, yes"

James smiles at that, "I've haven't gotten around to asking you yet"

"Well, when you do, I'll say yes"

"Thats good to know"

There's a beat and then James gestures to the door behind him, "So you and that guy? Nothing there?"

Toni just stares at James, who adds helpfully, "the black guy who just walked out"

"Me and Rhodey? No nope never"

"We're just friends"

James nods, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, "Good to know"

He looks pretty fucking cute, standing here in a henley and jeans; shyly looking at her

Which is why Toni leans up; hooks her fingers into the collar of his henley- and tugs

He follows instantly, and she has to get on her toes to make the last couple of inches and press her lips to his, running her tongue against his bottom lip until he sighs and opens his mouth

His hands leave his pockets to cup her face, and her free hand cradles his jaw

"So," he whispers when they break for air, "shall i pick you up at six? When do you get off?"

"Oh I own this store," Toni says; leaning back and chuckling when he follows, "I can close up right now"

"Now's good,"James says and pulls her back in for another kiss

Fin

[randomoranges]

monmongary week day 5: motorcycles

honestly this was a prompt i really wanted. i mean - there’s the fact that ed rides motorcycles and no one is taking advantage of this delicious morsel of information. this is a gem. so here we are.

also i said og that i didnt want any of the prompts to be related to current situation and yet this one takes place in current situation lamao.

Also the title comes from an old gif @allbeendonebefore made like - a number of years ago. 

also also sorry gary is out of this one. BUT HEY, IT’S THE ONLY PROMPT HE’S OUT OF. CONSIDERING MY TRACK RECORD THIS IS GOOD.

Vroom Vroom Tabarnak

 Étienne follows the sound of the faint music in search for his boyfriend, still half asleep, but slowly coming to.

 He had woken up to a quiet house and wondered briefly, where the other inhabitants of the household had gone off to. His first answer was a note left on the kitchen table, from Calvin, stating that he was off to run errands and pick up groceries. He has no idea when the message was left, but from the sounds of it, Calvin might still be out. The house is far too quiet, it’s odd, and it reminds him too much of before. There’s another note, from Edward, besides it, that says he’s in the garage (because, apparently, in this world, garages are a separate building from houses and Étienne will never ever understand that. Ever.) Therefore, Étienne heads off towards the garage after putting on a sweater.

 He knows better now.

It’s then that Étienne hears the music, muffled and coming from towards the garage, and he decides to follow it to see if it would lead to Edward.

 He’s not sure what he expects to find when he opens the door, but he’s surprised by it and takes a moment to observe the spectacle before him, for it is a spectacle and he’s quite pleased he’s stumbled upon it.

 The music amps up with the door open and Étienne recognises the popular rock song playing from the speakers or radio that must be hidden somewhere in the garage. The truck is outside so that Edward could have more space to work and in the middle, he sees Edward, tinkering away on what seems like a piece of scrap metal. Étienne can’t really tell what it is his boyfriend is doing, but he observes and watches silently, his mind entertained for the moment.

 Edward whistles along to the song, unaware that he has an audience and it takes Étienne a moment to realise that Edward looks completely and utterly content with the world. There’s a soft smile to his lips as he fishes a tool out of his toolbox, before he returns to the hunk of metal and keeps working at it. There’s at least three layers of grime on him, a stain of oil across his left cheek and a dirty rag that may have been once white hangs from his dark jeans.

 He looks – beautiful – gorgeous – at home, here in his garage tinkering away on this project of his and Étienne is content watching, soaking up Edward’s peaceful aura for a moment. It’s a different look to him – one Étienne hasn’t seen often, but it suits Edward – tremendously. He thinks he could get away with going unnoticed – that Edward will never need to know that he had walked in on him and his little side project, but then Mercury decides to show up as well, curious as ever, and maybe a little lonely herself, and she manages to squeeze past Étienne’s legs, before Étienne can properly stop her.

 Edward hears her approach – hears the dangling of the tags on her collar and he stops to wipe the grime from his hands before he bends down to pet her head. He crouches low to be more on level with her and she absolutely goes for it, putting her front legs up on his thigh in order to lick his face. Edward laughs and Étienne briefly wonders if he can bottle up the sound and let it nourish his soul on a cold winter day. He regrets not having his phone with him to snap a photo of this tender moment, but consoles himself that at least he witnessed it.

 It’s then that Edward looks his way – from where Mercury came and then he spots him. Étienne tries to look casual, as though he hadn’t been standing there like a fool for the better part of the past fifteen minutes, but – he knows Edward can see right through him, even if he acts nonchalant. He lets it slide and figures it’s best if he walks into the garage to at least retrieve his dog, if Edward doesn’t want to be bothered.

 “Glad to see you’re finally awake,” Edward says as a greeting and Étienne knows there’s no bite behind it – no tease or illusion to him oversleeping or being lazy. Edward is very careful not to wake him, tries to be quiet in the morning – Calvin as well, by extension, probably because Edward told him.

 “Hmm, yeah, what’s all this?” He asks as he drapes himself over Edward’s shoulders, mindful of the dirty rag and other stains. He’s in a borrowed sweater and he’s not sure the sweatpants are his either anymore.

 “This, my dear, is a 1967 Triumph Bonneville,” Edward says proudly, looking at the scrap of metal as though it is a first-born child. Étienne blinks, convinced he’s missed something and Edward laughs when he sees the confused look on his face, “Or, at least, it will be. I’ve been working on this old clunker for ages – on and off as I find parts and have time. With confinement and such I’ve had more time to tinker away at her and she’s finally starting to look like a bike!”

 Étienne isn’t sure it looks like much of anything, but Edward looks far too happy and pleased for him to burst his bubble. Instead, he nods and lets his mind wander to pleasant images of Edward riding motorcycles. It’s a good daydream, one he’s very familiar with.

 “You know,” Étienne starts, his voice a whisper in Edward’s ear and his mind still conjuring pleasant images of Edward in nice leather jackets and tight leather pants, “I do recall you offering me a ride once upon a time, many, many years ago...” It had been summer of 87, July 23rd, to be exact, but – Edward doesn’t need to know. Étienne isn’t even sure why it is he remembers the day, just that Edward had been in town for a visit, they’d been hanging out, and Edward had let slip that he’d bought an old bike and had been working on it and was looking forward to a ride.

 Étienne’s mind had stilled, stalled and booted back up as it tried its best to wrap itself around this delicious morsel of information. Even then, his mind had gone to leather jackets, tight pants, defined boots, and Edward with a motorcycle between his legs. Windswept hair, the attitude, the casual smile and easygoing saunter... he’d been a mess over the thought.

 Étienne had casually mentioned he’d love to have a ride. Edward had said he’d save him one.

 The problem had been that at the time, Edward seemed allergic to the idea of having Étienne over, afraid his friend would be bored out of his mind in his city, and so, Étienne had only rarely visited, and when he had, there’d never been time for that ride.

 It’s a tragedy, Étienne knows, and he figures it’s a good time as any to remedy that.

 “Did I now?” There’s a teasing edge to Edward’s question and Étienne can’t help but grin against his boyfriend’s shoulder. He takes in the smell of grass, gas, and Edward and finds they all mesh really well together.

 “You did; I’m still waiting for that ride, mister.”

 “Well, unfortunately, the Triumph still isn’t ready, but lucky for you, I have more than one bike. We can go after you actually eat something and once I shower.”

 Étienne makes a face at the thought of breakfast, but he supposes it’s a fair bargain. Edward’s been very adamant about him having a minimum of two square meals a day – almost sits with him to make sure he eats something. He knows it comes from a good place in his heart and he is trying. Therefore, he nods, calls Mercury back to him, before she gets her paws into something she shouldn’t and heads towards the kitchen, leaving Edward to finish off with what he was doing.

 Étienne has no qualms admitting (to himself) that he’s fantasised about Edward in leather many times over the years, since that day in 1987, but nothing prepares him for the actual sight of Edward in actual leather. The pants are nice and tight; hug every curve and every muscle of his legs just right, the jacket is a thing of wonders, with patches in various colours on it. It’s so very masculine and so very sexy – so very rebel bad boy. He loves the look – absolutely has a thing for this look and it also helps that Edward hasn’t bothered drying his hair, has merely passed a hand through it to comb it back. There’s something seductive and provocative about the way Edward looks – about the confidence that seems to roll off his shoulders and Étienne doesn’t even stop himself from staring. Leans against the wall and lets his eyes drink in the sight. Edward looks good this way. Étienne commits every detail of this look to memory. He gives an appreciative nod and Edward smirks, even goes as far as striking a pose for him.

 “Like what you see, Maisonneuve?”

 “Oh, absolutely, Murphy,” He replies, matching his tone, levelling with him. Étienne likes that they can do this now – that there’s no shame between them. That they can tease and taunt and even flaunt without fear. He likes this side of Edward. A lot. Edward would ask him to bend over for him right then and there, or to get on his knees and suck him off and he would. Without question. (He would on any other occasion as well, but this look is doing things to him. He has a thing, maybe. He knows he has a thing for Edward – that’s not a surprise to anyone at this point. But Edward? In leather? And actually seeing it for himself? It is a thing of beauty and he mourns the fact that it has taken this long for it to become a reality.)

 Edward shakes his head, amused, and then tosses a jacket to Étienne who somehow manages to catch it before it falls to the floor. “What’s this?” He asks as he looks at the jacket. It’s nice, a dark navy blue and it smells of well loved leather and of Edward.

 “It’s for you – it might be a little big on you, but you should wear it.”

 Edward gives him a look that might be a little self-indulgent and Étienne wonders for the space of a brief moment if Edward isn’t trying to live a fantasy himself. Étienne shucks on the jacket and it is a little big, but he likes the way it falls on his shoulders and if he’s to judge by it, Edward likes it as well.

 “All right, let’s go.”

 Edward leaves a note for Calvin, in case he gets back before them, and Étienne follows him out.

 “Have you ever ridden on a bike?” Edward asks him as Étienne takes a good look at the motorcycle. It’s a nice model, he supposes, looks – more recent, maybe – he couldn’t tell, and his mind blissfully blanks out for a moment when his boyfriend mounts it. He looks – extremely hot doing so and so very much at ease, that Étienne takes a moment to appreciate the sight. He has definitely missed out on this.

 It’s strange to say, but he has actually never been on a motorcycle before. Of all the people he’s been with, of all the rides he’s gotten, it has never been on such a device. He laughs to himself, amused, and when Edward asks him what’s so funny, Étienne tells him that he’s a motorcycle virgin, and isn’t it nice that Edward gets to pop that proverbial cherry of his.

 Edward’s cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink and Étienne loves it.

 “The rules are quite simple. Hang on tight, don’t let go – and don’t fucking try to do anything stupid.” Edward tells him as he hands him a helmet. Étienne nods and climbs behind Edward. Hanging on tightly will not be a problem and if he sits a little closer to Edward, if he presses himself nice and snug against him, Edward doesn’t say anything about it, and if anyone asks, Étienne will simply say that he would hate to fall off.

 They’re off with a roar soon after and Étienne squeezes Edward tightly, surprised by the sudden burst of speed and the wind blowing right through him. It’s an exhilarating feeling, an instant high, almost, and Étienne briefly wonders if there’s a connection to be made there. It takes him a moment to get a feel for the wind and the balance of his head against it, what with the helmet and such, but when it no longer feels like he’s fighting to look straight ahead, he takes in the blur of buildings and trees as they whizz by.

 He laughs, unable to stop himself, as a feeling of freedom he seldom ever feels courses through him. He wonders why it is he’s never tried this before, considering there is very little he hasn’t tried at least once, and makes himself a note to ask Edward for more rides, before he decides to head back home.

 He’s half convinced they must be speeding beyond measure and he’s quite surprised when he manages to get a look at the speedometer and sees that Edward is respecting the limit and that they’re cruising at a steady sixty. Yet, when Edward zooms away, manoeuvres the bike from one lane to the next, passes cars as if they’re standing still, it feels like they’re going faster than ever and Étienne would love for this feeling to last for a lifetime.

 “All good?” Edward asks him over the noise, when they get to a red light.

 “Absolutely!” He responds, wide grin taking over his face. Edward answers with a soft smile of his own, before he pushes his visor down and then they’re off again.

 There’s no real point to the ride and Edward goes through calm streets and busy streets, crosses over one bridge and Étienne experiences the sights of the city through a new angle. All the while, he holds on closely and never misses an opportunity to snuggle up to his boyfriend, when they need to stop at a streetlight.

 It feels like they’ve been on the road for hours, but Étienne is quite surprised when they make it back to Edward’s and he notices that it hasn’t been quite that long. He’s a little unstable when he un-mounts the bike and Edward is there to offer steady hands as he helps him off. Étienne welcomes the contact and settles for a proper hug after he’s ridden himself of the helmet.

 “So? Did you like it?”

 “I loved it,” He says with emphasis and Edward’s smile is part relieved, part pleased. Étienne thinks it’s a very good smile on him – goes well with the bad boy look Edward has going on and manages to tell him so. The lovely pink from earlier returns to Edward’s cheeks and he mumbles something or other as he puts the bike and the helmets away.

 When he’s done, Étienne follows him back inside and when he goes to remove his jacket, Edward tells him to leave it on a little longer.

 Étienne laughs and does as he’s told. He has not, is not and will never be one to say no to Edward and follows his boyfriend further into the house, to wherever it is Edward wants to go.

 FIN

[boogaloomagoo]

Boozy Beginnings || Nadia & Margot

Date: End of March/Early April, before the Darkness POTW

Tagging: @humanmoodring

Notes: Nadia and Margot go bar-hopping. It’s fun~

Triggers: Alcohol

Margot wasn’t typically a bar person. Or, well, that was a lie - she could enjoy a decently vacant bar, with a few ghouls or lost souls in the corners or at the counter, so long as her personal space wasn’t being invaded. But the business of bar hopping hadn’t been one she enlisted for in quite some time. The suggestion had been purely spur-of-the-moment, but after Nadia seemed keen for it, she decided that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. It would be casual, easy, and hopefully fun. A big hopefully on that last part. Taking Shiloh’s advice for the evening’s attire, she donned a purple and blue flannel, a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and black combat boots. The flannel had a lace black pattern all the way down the back - and was just about the only flannel not torn or wrinkled in her closet. She’d sent Nadia a pm earlier, suggesting that they meet at Dell’s to start off, and now stood outside of the establishment, rocking back and forth on her heels as she waited.

________________________________________________________________

After the whole truth-curse bull shit and the fact that she was still feeling a bit raw from that, Nadia had almost thought about cancelling on Margot. She didn’t want to say anything too stupid around the other woman, and she still felt like she was bound to do that at some point, curse or no curse. Plus, it had been years since she’d been bar hopping. The last time had probably been midterms junior of college, when Brooke dragged her to downtown Phoenix and the two of them had spent the entire night getting wasted and laughing and enjoying themselves. Nadia missed enjoying herself, however briefly that had been. Maybe that was why she’d agreed to go out. She still hadn’t really gone shopping for clothes, but she had a nice enough pair of jeans to where the holes in them looked like they were intentional, and she put on a black henley with her leather jacket and her shit kicker boots and decided to call it a day. She was running a bit late when she got out of her truck, but she saw a woman waiting in front of Dell’s. Hesitantly, she waved a bit as she walked out and asked, “Margot?”

________________________________________________________________

Beneath Margot’s calm exterior, the thought of Nadia bailing on the whole thing kept trying to poke into the forefront of her mind. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time someone had just decided not to show up. Actually, she was pretty used to it. Some people just changed their minds, or figured she wasn’t worth the trouble of going out for. Either way, when she heard someone call her name, she turned in the direction and smiled a tad shyly in return. “Hey, yeah, that’s me,” The blonde began to approach the other as casually as possible, gaze flickering over her features before she extended a hand forward. “Nice to meet you, Nadia. In person, I mean,” A huff of a chuckle ghosted past her lips, and she motioned towards the bar with a bit of hesitance. “I uh, figured this would be a good first stop. I heard everybody goes here, but, it probably won’t be too crowded tonight,”

__________________________________________________________

The other woman was shy and hesitant and seemed so nice, and Nadia couldn’t help but smile back at her. “It’s nice to meet you, too. In person, of course. Internet meetings still count.” She looked at Dell’s, which she knew was a local favorite. It really didn’t seem too crowded, all things considered. There was a low buzz of noise coming outside, music and people talking, but it wasn’t awful. Nadia didn’t feel her chest contract at the thought of all the people that could be in there, which was a great sign. “Yeah, I think that this will be great. I hear they do a few good home brews here, too, and I’ve been wanting to try them. We can hang here for a bit, then see where the night takes us.”

______________________________________________________________

“Oh, absolutely. I mean that’s how I usually meet people these days,” When I’m not running around getting caught in bear traps, Margot mused bitterly. A phantom pain seemed to throb near her ankle, but she ignored it in favor of taking a step towards the bar. “Yeah? Haven’t had a good… home brew in a while,” She should know what that meant, shouldn’t she? But what would Nadia think if she asked? What planet she was from? No, she seemed too nice to do that, but Margot still didn’t inquire. After all, she would find out for herself tonight. Once inside, the blonde took a moment to fully take in their surroundings - the music, just loud enough to be heard all around but not to the point where they had to holler in order to communicate. Low lighting, not too bright or too dull. Huh. She probably should have hit this place up sooner. Though it would be better having someone to at least share a drink with, if nothing else. Turning back to Nadia, her gaze flickered over the other’s outfit, before landing on her shoes. “Oh shit, nice kicks,” 

________________________________________________________________

It was strange for Nadia to know that what she was doing was actually reading people’s emotions. Margot’s were a bit muted, like she was noticing a lot of people were in White Crest (an interesting fact that she was picking up on), but she could still feel a bit of the girl’s confusion. God, that was so weird, awful, to think about. What an invasion of privacy she commited on a daily basis. Nadia had to shake herself out of those thoughts as they walked in and she looked around. It was a nice place. A few people were littered about, but it wasn’t anything too bad. Easier to tune other people out when she was with someone. When Margot pointed out her boots, Nadia looked down and laughed a bit. “Thanks. I, uh, got them in another life.” Not a lie. She figured she could keep in the habit of it. “They’re surprisingly comfortable. Easy to run in.” Also not a lie. “I like your flannel, too! The lace looks nice.”

______________________________________________________________

Margot quirked a brow at that. “Oh yeah? Must’ve been a badass one,” Normally, Margot only paid a certain amount of attention to what another person looked like. Pinpointing where their hands were, or if they were poised to whip out a gun or a knife. If their eyes were shifty or they refused to make eye contact, which almost always spelled trouble of some type. Certainly not to a person’s clothing, not their shoes. But she was trying to shift her focus for the night. To look for something other than potential treachery in another person. She realized that not everybody she encountered was an inherently bad person, of course, but it seemed searching for them was almost hard-wired into her system. But then the moment Nadia mentioned her top, blue eyes widening in pure shock, lips pulling into one of the widest smiles she had worn in quite some time, she felt herself relax, even if only a little. “Thanks! It’s pretty much the nicest top I have, and I didn’t wanna look like a total trash mammal, so, y’know,” Still beaming, she motioned between the bar counter and the booths. “Did you care where we sit? I don’t really mind wherever,” 

________________________________________________________________

Watching Margot smile at her complimenting her shirt let Nadia know that she at least wasn’t fucking up at the moment. The other woman had seemed shocked, like she wasn’t expecting it, and that’s what you were supposed to do, right? Return compliments, especially when you meant them. Margot was funny, though, and Nadia had to laugh. “You’re hardly a trash mammal,” she said. She looked around Dell’s taking in the seating. The bar was, surprisingly, the least crowded area, so she nodded in that direction. “Let’s sit at the bar. If we’re gonna bar hop, we need to do it right.” They sat down. While they waited for the bartender to come over, Nadia turned to Margot. “Hey, thanks for inviting me out. I’ve actually been pretty excited about this.”

_______________________________________________________________

Margot couldn’t help but snort, shaking her head slightly. “Don’t put it past me yet. You haven’t seen me after a twelve hour shift,” Not that she tended to look any different outside of work either. And she definitely wasn’t about to mention the fact that she indeed took part in dumpster diving when the urge struck her. Maybe it would have been acceptable for a bear, but a blonde girl knee deep in someone else’s old, abused antiques? Not so much. “True that. Bar it is,” The blonde twirled a bit on her stool, fingers dropping along the counter in time to the music currently playing overhead. She turned to glance at Nadia when spoken to, an easy smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, me too. I don’t get out too much. And the last time I went out, this dude was a dick about it so, this is nice,” When the bartender sidled up to them, Margot ordered a simple Bud, wanting to start off easy. “And for m’lady?”

________________________________________________________________

“I’ll take your word for it then, trash Margot,” Nadia said with a laugh, though she couldn’t imagine the other woman in enough of a state to be called a “trash mammal.” It was funny, though. Margot was funny. A little awkward, and kind of silly, but earnest and funny and sweet. Nadia could see herself hanging out with the other woman, getting to know her. She’d been so kind online, and now Nadia could see them really being friends. She frowned when Margot mentioned that the last time she’d been out had been with some asshole. “Well, that sucks. Guys really can be such dicks. If it makes you feel any better, the last time I can remember going out was, like seven years ago, and I don’t remember much of the night other than I got my nose pierced at one point. I, uh, let it grow up, but that definitely happened.” Nadia actually rubbed her nose a bit at that. Her father had hated when she came home with a nose ring in, which had been momentary satisfying before it’d been sad and she’d just taken it out. But it was best not to live in the past. She grinned at Margot and looked at one of the drink menus with Dell’s list of homemade beers on it. “You guys do lagers?” When the bartender nodded, Nadia said, “I’ll take what you recommend, dude,” and then waited for the guy to bring them their drinks.

________________________________________________________________

“It’s cause they think with ‘em, most of the time. Their dicks, y’know,” The surprise to Nadia’s statement was evident in her features. Seven years? And Margot had thought one was a pretty long time. Not that she could, or was in any position to judge. Life happened when you least expected it to. Though her features lit up a bit at the mention of facial jewelry. “Huh, y’know I could see you rocking one, definitely. Cute little ring or stud right there,” She rose a finger to one side, conjuring up a little shimmery jewel inside of her head. “Think you’d ever get one again? Or was that more of a ‘Fuck it’ decision?” A lager, cool. Beer was good. Could get them both warm enough to just chill and enjoy the night, opened up room for a little more. “So… I uh, have kind of a surprise for the third bar. But don’t worry, it’s not like, life-threatening. But it will require you to be at least a little slurry with your words,” The blonde leaned in towards Nadia as their drinks approached, quirking her brows upwards in a challenging manner, “Think you’re up for it?”

________________________________________________________________

Nadia laughed loudly. “You’re certainly not wrong.” She tried not to feel too embarrassed about how long it had been since she’d been out. After all, she couldn’t help most of it, and, in reality, she’d only been bar hopping with Brooke, but she’d gone out plenty when her friend had moved away. None of that was really fun to think about, though. Nadia smiled a bit at the memory of the nose ring, though. “Definitely a ‘fuck it’ decision in the moment. Really, a ‘we’d hit the fourth bar of the night and my friend said it’d look hot’ decision. Which was a part of the same vein of overencompasing regret that came with the hangover the next morning. It was cool, though. I also dyed my hair pink at one point, so it was a look.” She leaned in as Margot did, mirroring the other woman’s actions. “I’m intrigued.” As their beers came, she took hers and held it up in a ‘cheers’ motion. “And totally down.”

________________________________________________________________

“Which is obviously the best kind of decision,” Margot chuckled at the thought. Never, in a million years would she have the guts to make that kind of split-second decision. Even if it wouldn’t be permanent, the sheer thought of the idea just gave her stomach such a case of nervous butterflies. But wasn’t that what young people did? At least those she had seen in the movies - get a tattoo they’d later regret, only realizing it after they had woken up with the universe’s worst hangover. Nadia’s story seemed to fit into a scene almost perfectly. “Hey, at least you didn’t get something that would have actually been permanent yeah? But dude, I feel you on the hair-dye. I tried putting in red streaks when I was fifteen - pretty sure my dad’s face matched the package at one point in the… hour long scolding,” Though compared to her shoddy, Koolaid Man job, she imagined Nadia would look awesome with pink in her hair. Then again, the girl was pretty enough that she could likely pull off anything she tried. Grinning impishly, the blonde rose her beer, clinking it against Nadia’s before taking a swig. “Awesome sauce. It’ll be one for the memory banks,” 

________________________________________________________________

Nadia had to laugh again. “Or the absolute worse! Honestly, we were so drunk that everything sounded like a good decision.” They’d pregamed before going out in the solitary of their apartment, wine coolers and the stereo blasted, and that’s how Brooke had managed to coax Nadia out to go bar hopping in the first place. She did wrinkle her nose up at the not getting anything permanent remark. “I actually have a tattoo I have no memory of getting, but that’s a story for another night.” The permanent, lasting effects of ghostly possession: corny tattoos, nightmares, and infrequent blackouts. “Did you do the Koolaid thing that was on the internet a few years ago? I wanted to do that so bad! In the end, we ended up just, like, bleaching it and dying it in my apartment. Trust me, I don’t think dads are ever okay with hair-dye, no matter the color.” God, her father had yelled at her. Bad thoughts needed to stay just that: thoughts. She smiled back at Margot. “Sounds like it. Do I even get a hint as to what we’re doing?” She took a long drink. Nice. Dell’s did a good job with their beer. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and watched as a couple of guys started shoving each other near the back of the bar. Nothing to worry about, probably, though she could feel high tensions.

________________________________________________________________

“They tend to when you get super smashed. One time I took one of those laundry baskets and rode it down a flight of stairs - concrete stairs,” Margot faintly winced at the memory. Definitely not one of her finer moments, but one that taught her about the dangers of getting too wasted and being alone. Well, virtually alone. She had gone with a few ‘friends’ who dared her to do it, then promptly skedaddled after her fall. Ah, well. Just as the blonde’s brows rose at the prospect of a mystery tattoo, she was feigning a groan and pouting slightly. “Aw, well. Guess that just gives us an excuse to hang out again, yeah?” She tilted her head, “Koolaid thing? I don’t think so. I wasn’t huge into the internet for a while - but pink sounds a lot cuter than that cheap looking red,” Though her father never got incredibly cross with her over stuff like that, he certainly hadn’t been pleased. Plus staining the sink had sucked. Margot’s lips parted, whether to offer the other a hint or simply tease their activity a bit more was lost when a shatter echoed from one corner of the bar. She immediately tensed, muscles prepping her to book it as two men tumbled onto the bar floor. They didn’t seem to be inciting some sort of bar fight between everyone, but still, it was a nasty sight. “Holy shit,” 

________________________________________________________________

Wincing as well in sympathy, Nadia let out an, “Oof.” God, that sounded painful. “Ah, yes, the pleasure of decision making while intoxicated. Everything’s a good idea until it isn’t.” Holding out her beer, Nadia took another long drink. When Margot pouted about Nadia keeping her tattoo secret, she had to laugh, just a bit. She rubbed her shoulder, almost as if she could feel the ink burning her through her clothes. “I guess it does,” she said with a smile. “Yeah, I think I remember seeing some kids in my neighborhood do it. But, uh, the pink looked nice. I had a, what’s the phrase, pastel goth kind of thing going on for a bit? Or, well, that’s how my roommate referred to one outfit I wore.” Nadia almost jumped out of her skin as glass hit the floor. The two men rolled and wrestled on the ground, making their way over to where Margot and Nadia sat. When one of the men grabbed near Nadia’s leg, a spike of adrenaline and rage coursed through her. Without even thinking about it, she kicked the men in the head, effective knocking him out. The other looked at her in confusion, wondering why his fighting friend wasn’t responding, before he scowled. “Fuckin’ bitch!” he said. Nadia’s eyes widened. Oh no.

_______________________________________________________________

Everything seemed to happen in a flash. One minute they were musing about Nadia’s pastel goth phase, and the next, two guys were clamoring over each other on the floor next to them. Margot’s immediate response was to stiffen, staring at the pair like a deer in the headlights, only for her shock to deepen when Nadia kicked one of them in the cranium. “Holy shit,” Truth be told, Margot might have done the same thing if her senses hadn’t decided to lock up every single muscle in her body. It was out of defense - she had been there. It took the other man swearing at Nadia to finally break her out of the trance, blinking between the pair and a few other patrons that had gathered around. Her fingers clenched atop the bar counter, and as the male seemed to bear down upon Nadia, Margot slid down and stood in front of her. “Take another goddamned step and you’ll wind up like your friend,” The words were growled out, hands balled into fists at her sides, visibly shaking but attempting to remain firm in the face of a larger adversary. But she had an ace up her sleeve - solely to the man, her eyes appeared to glow a fierce, piercing yellow, golden hair forming into snakes reminiscent of Medusa, hissing at him and baring their fangs; a long, forked tongue slithered from between her lips as she barked out again. “Back off,” 

________________________________________________________________

Nadia didn’t know what the hell happened that made the man scared of sweet, harmless looking Margot, but he was backing away and wetting his pants before she could blink as soon as the blonde stood in front of her. Margot’s emotions had been there throughout the night, though muted, but now Nadia could feel them pretty well: the fear, the shock, the determination. She had to say, she was impressed. As the man backed off, Nadia slammed a fifty on the counter for the bartender and grabbed Margot’s arm. “Go. We gotta go. Before the fucker comes to his senses.” She laughed, more out of nerves than any sort of actual humor. “I don’t think I can get a kick in with that one. He’s gonna expect it.” Just as well; a couple of other patrons were starting to get up as well, curious about what the fuss was about and eager to witness a brawl. Nadia felt that eagerness, but, knowing it wasn’t really hers, she figured they needed to get out of Dell’s before she did something really fucking stupid. “Hey, where’s the next place on your list, huh? If we’re going bar hopping, we need to, like, get hopping.”

________________________________________________________________

The illusion only faded when Margot felt Nadia take hold of her arm. At first she flinched, ready to jerk away from the touch but upon hearing the other’s words, she nodded and led the two of them hastily towards the exit. No matter how many people were ogling, it didn’t matter. The adrenaline was already rushing through Margot’s veins, and her head felt light. “Hopping, right… Holy shit,” The blonde was still in a state of disbelief from how easily she had stepped up, even utilizing her powers in order to ensure her new friend’s safety. She could still feel the fear of the man flowing through her, a delicious sort of terror that made her feel full and alive. The sort of high she only got after prompting a truly genuine scare out of someone. Hopefully Nadia would think it was just the thrill of the situation causing her to act that way. “Okay, so uh, next on the list is the Stacked Deck. I heard it’s not great alcohol wise but playing pool could be fun right? Hey…” She paused, hand finding purchase atop Nadia’s shoulder. “You alright?”

________________________________________________________________

Nadia laughed as they stumbled out of the door and into the street together. She was a bit hysterical, maybe, from a combination of adrenaline and the man’s fear and an absolute cocktail of emotions she could feel from even the muted feelings Margot was giving off. She was aware of both why she’d enjoyed going out with a friend, as well as why it’d been so long since she’d done so. She kind of wanted to go back inside and finish her beer, maybe get in a few good hits in another bar fight. “Okay, right, Stacked Deck. Shit.” Nadia was still laughing a bit. She kicked a man in the face and, “Shit. You made that guy piss himself. Holy shit, Margot. Holy shit.” She hadn’t thought Margot had been that scary, but, damn that man certainly had. “Pool sounds fun,” she mused. She took a deep breath, trying to settle her rapidly beating heart, and then let out another giggle. “Dude, I’m fine. Like, totally. What about you though? He was, like, all up in your face, and then you-- And then he-- And… Are you good?”

________________________________________________________________

Hearing Nadia laugh did little to settle Margot down, and like a sponge absorbing the water it waded atop of, she huffed out another breathless laugh. “I know, I know. But I didn’t think… You would kick the shit outta that guy! I almost spit my drink!” Fingers covered loosely over her face, features pulled into a wide grin as more giggles floated past her lips. This was all so exciting. The last time she had engaged in something even remotely adrenaline pumping had to be… Well, over a year at least. Not in a way that made her actually yearn for more of the same, at least. This was decidedly good, Margot surmised and, linking an arm around Nadia’s, allowed herself to feel the entirety of good vibes that were running along her veins. “But, yeah, I’m good. Better than good, actually. Ready to get tonight really going,” After a bit more walking, during which Margot pulled out her phone and phoned an Uber for them. When it arrived, she eagerly tugged Nadia inside, still smiling brightly.

________________________________________________________________

“It was a literal knee-jerk reaction,” Nadia said, snorting out another laugh. “Like, literally, I didn’t even think. He was there, and all fight-y, and it made me feel kind of fight-y, so I, like, kicked him.” She felt breathless and giddy. When was the last time that she’d had fun, like, genuine, nothing supernatural fun? Drinks and laughter and bad decision-making that can only lead to a good time? College, probably. Pre-blackouts. Something she’d do with Brooke and know she was gonna regret it in the morning. She… missed it. Nothing made a person feel alive quite like doing the stupidest shit possible. She grinned as Margot tugged her inside the car when their Uber arrived, and she leaned her head back and relaxed. “You were fucking kickass, dude. Like, no joke.” Her smile softened. “Hey, thanks. For inviting me out like this. I’m having, like, a really good time.”

________________________________________________________________

Knee-jerk. Christ, that elicited another round of giggles to bubble up and out of Margot’s throat, blonde hair splayed out against her headrest. “God, remind me to get you a soccer ball for Christmas, that kick was fuckin’ spot on,” Margot felt completely at ease with the other beside her, a sense of contentment flooding her chest with warmth. When was the last time she had genuinely enjoyed herself alongside someone that wasn’t her father? Far too long for her slightly buzzed and still frantic mind to look back upon. But there here and now, this? It was nice. And for once, there wasn’t a looming sense of dread, no sense that doom and gloom was waiting around the corner for her and who she happened to be spending the evening with. What a rarity, to not constantly feel the need to look over her shoulder. She kept her gaze straight ahead, until Nadia spoke and, feeling her smile widen, nodded vigorously. “I am too. Now, I hope you’re ready to lose at least fifty more bucks once we get to the Deck. I hear this Sanderson’s pretty ruthless with a cue stick,”

[missing-marvel]

Give Me All Your Poison

Pairing: Eddie Brock/Reader

Warnings: vague mention of sex, otherwise nothing

A/N: This ones for all my emos out there, in light of news regarding a certain band. You’ll see. Wrote this all in one go, was up till like 3 am so here’s hoping it’s coherent

----

A lot of people think San Francisco will make them famous. The city’s music scene was like a Where’s Waldo of different bands, many of which were mediocre, and the rest downright bad. 

Yours was no different. Your lead singer tried to channel his ‘inner Armstrong’ as he put it, but your songs sounded more like if Blink 182 had been put through a blender. You only had like 5 original songs (none of which were particularly great) so most of time you played covers. Plus the band’s name changed every couple of months, which it made it kind of difficult for people to remember you. Good thing you weren’t doing it to get famous. 

It was an outlet for you. You didn’t even really care what you played, as long as it was loud. You didn’t sing, but you weren’t half bad with a guitar. As long as you had that, you were happy. 

-

You met Eddie through a friend. She was an online journalist and had a meeting with the famous (or infamous, to some) Eddie Brock. He worked for a different publication, but they were doing a collab piece. The ‘meeting’ was more of a social event, with quite a few people from both companies in attendance. You were there as moral support. 

“Not to sound like I’m hitting on you, but have I seen you before?” Eddie stood in front of you, hands half tucked in his pockets. 

You leaned back on the snack table behind you, giving him a chuckle. “I doubt it,” you said, pausing to sip your water. “Unless you’re into semi-trashy rock bands.”

“Can’t say that I am. Not a big fan of loud noise.” Eddie ran a hand through his hair. You couldn’t help but fixate on his voice, trying to figure out if he had some trace of an accent or just spoke like that. 

“So, you sing?” You almost didn’t register the question. 

“Huh? Oh no, I play guitar. Can’t sing to save my life. I mean, neither can our singer but it’s just for fun really.” If he were here, he’d be giving you hell for making fun of him. 

“Nothing wrong with that.” Eddie moved to stand next to you, also leaning on the table as you looked out across the room. “So what brings a guitarist to a meeting of journalists?” he asked. 

“My friend insisted I joined her, she’s over there,” you gestured in her direction. “She’s the one working with you on that new story or whatever.”

“Oh right, I talked to her. Seemed like an interesting person. Makes sense she’d have interesting friends.” 

You couldn’t suppress a grin. “Still not hitting on me, huh?” You side-eyed the reporter, watching his face go ever so slightly red. 

“I promise, I promise,” he said, hands held up in mock surrender. “Unless uh, you want me to, that is.” God was he always this awkward? You’d seen his old show, The Eddie Brock Report. He seemed confident and determined. Not at all like he was now. It was charming, really.

You smiled and looked down at your feet briefly, not really responding. Honestly, you didn’t think you’d mind even if he was hitting on you. He was definitely good looking. He had some of the softest lips you’d ever seen on a man and a vaguely scruffy look about him. 

Someone shouted Eddie’s name from across the room and waved him over. He turned to go but stopped before he got far. 

“Hey what’s your name?” 

You told him, silently thinking maybe this day wasn’t going to be such a waste after all.

“You playing any shows soon? Wouldn’t mind catching one.” He took a small step backwards, as if reluctant to leave the conversation. 

“I thought you didn’t like loud music?” You said, noting the smile that lit up his face. 

“I can make an exception.” 

“We’re playing this weekend at the Runaway’s Bar. Friday and Saturday, both at 9.” 

“Well, I’ll be there.” With that he turned to head across the room and you were alone once again. You decided to go find your friend and tell her about your little encounter. 

-

The band was just about finished setting up, and your eyes were scanning the room. The lights were dim and cast a blue and yellow haze on everything. It was hard to make out people’s faces. 

Not that you really expected Eddie to show up. He seemed like a pretty busy guy. He was probably just being nice. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a hint of disappointment when you couldn’t find him.

-

Eddie showed up to the crowded bar at 9:15, worried he’d missed the beginning of your show. Luckily, you were just getting started. The lead singer was introducing the band, but Eddie wasn’t totally listening. He was looking for you and it only took him a second. You were dressed in a worn out leather jacket and dark red jeans. You weren’t too hard to spot. 

“Are you sure about this? If they’re anything like that damn neighbor—“ Venom’s voice in Eddie’s head only echoed his own concerns, but he cut him off anyway. 

“Relax V, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Eddie turned his head to the side slightly, trying not to look like he was talking to himself. One of these days he’d get one of those earpieces so he could pass it off as a phone call, but he never remembered. 

“You’re not even here for the music.” Venom’s tone wasn’t of disapproval but rather of curiosity. Still, Eddie wasn’t going to grace the symbiote with a response. 

The first song kicked in, a cover of some song from the 90’s, and Eddie found a seat on the side of the bar closer to the stage. 

Your attention was focused on your lead singer as the chorus started, watching his movements. He liked to move around the stage a lot and if you weren’t careful, he’d run straight into you. It had happened during a show before, and it wasn’t pretty. 

Your hands moved across the instrument with almost no input from your brain. You’d been playing these songs for years. They were pure muscle memory at this point. 

When you were convinced your singer would stay on his side of the stage for the time being, your gaze drifted back to the audience. Most of the bar’s occupants were engrossed either in their conversations or their glasses, but a decent handful were actually watching you. You made eye contact with a man at the bar and a smile broke out across your face. Eddie Brock had shown up after all. He nodded and raised his glass at you. 

There was a spring in your step for the rest of the song, and you had to resist the urge to just watch Eddie the whole time. 

-

The first song had gone okay. There was a dull buzz in Eddie’s head from the noise, but nothing unbearable yet. Venom was agitated, certainly, but also interested in the show. Too loud of a noise was painful or even lethal for the symbiote,  but he was still keen on experiencing this new aspect of human culture. Unfortunately, that was about to change. 

The next song was much heavier, not the mild grunge type of the first one. As it went on, each note became a sharp stab in Eddie’s head. He grimaced, gritting his teeth. He’s said he’d watch your show and dammit, he wanted to. He knew he’d look like a jerk if he left now, but it was looking like he wouldn’t have a choice. Much more of this and he’d be feeling some serious pain. He downed the rest of his drink in one go and reluctantly made his way to the exit. 

-

This song was a particular favorite of yours to play. It was energetic, bold, and most importantly, it was loud. Every note reverberated through your very bones. You couldn’t tell what was your heartbeat and what was the music. It was maybe the best feeling in the world. 

You looked back to the bar, wondering if Eddie was enjoying the song anywhere near as much as you were. Your heart sank, however, when you saw his seat empty. For a moment you thought maybe he’d just gone to the bathroom or something, until you glanced toward the door. Even under the aging lights, you could recognize him as he stepped outside, head down and a hand on his temple.

You knew you weren’t great, but were you that bad? Up until now, you’d never really cared what people thought of your band. You knew you shouldn’t be so upset, but you couldn’t help it. After all, what were the odds of a guy like Eddie really being interested in you. 

You continued the show, but your heart just wasn’t in it anymore. Hopefully by tomorrow you’d be over it.

-

The second the door shut behind him, Eddie felt like a weight had been lifted. Like his head had been stuck in a vice that only grew tighter the louder the music got. 

Despite the chilly night air, Eddie was sweating. He wiped his brow with a sleeve and let out a sigh. 

“Well that sucked.” Venom was nothing if not optimistic.

“Yeah I just... I feel like an ass. You think anyone saw us leave?” 

“By ‘anyone’ you clearly mean—“ Venom didn’t need to finish the sentence for Eddie to get the point. 

“Who am I kidding, of course they saw us.” Eddie rubbed his hands together for warmth as he began walking. The music was still faintly audible, sending another stab of guilt through him. 

“That’s too bad. I quite liked (Y/N).” Venom set to work keeping Eddie warm. Perks of having an alien live inside of you.

“Yeah so did I, bud. So did I...” Eddie trailed off, the start of an idea forming in his head. He was giving up too easily. You had another show tomorrow night, and he’d be damned if he didn’t get to see it. 

-

You’d taken a cab home pretty quick after the show. You weren’t in the mood to socialize. Your drummer had noticed and tried to ask you what was wrong, but you just shrugged her off. You said it was nothing and you’d see them all tomorrow night. 

——

You were feeling a little better by the time the show rolled around on Saturday. You didn’t want to let yourself dwell on things that you couldn’t fix. What was the point? So you decided tonight was going to be an even better show. All you had to do was let the music take over and it would be like all this Eddie business had never happened.

But you were still at a loss. He’d seemed genuinely interested, hadn’t he? Why else would he have shown up in the first place? And he acted like a pretty nice guy too. You just didn’t know what you did wrong.

By the time you got to the third song, your lead announced you’d be doing something different tonight. 

“Due to a recent announcement, we have a special cover we want to perform for you tonight,” he said. This was all planned, of course. While this kind of song may not be everyone’s cup of tea, you couldn’t not celebrate the reunion of a band that had broken up in 2013. 

The opening of the song brought back memories of your punk days. You were still unashamedly a My Chemical Romance fan, contrary to what people might assume when they met you. 

Your singer was no Gerard Way, but a good song was a good song. 

“I wouldn't front the scene if you paid me

I'm just the way that the doctor made me”

You noted a few surprised faces in the crowd. The song was a little different than your usual set. You couldn’t care though. You rode the nostalgia like your life depended on it. 

“Love is the red, the rose on your coffin door

What's life like, bleeding on the floor?

The floor, the floor”

You almost didn’t see him. He was a little further from the stage than last night, but it was definitely him. Did he feel bad about last night? Was he just going to walk out again? 

“You'll never make me leave

I wear this on my sleeve

Give me a reason to believe”

Eddie waved at you and a confused look crossed your face. It was almost enough to make you trip up the notes. Your drummer side-eyed you and you just tried to nod that you were fine, but you could tell she didn’t believe you. She tried to see who you’d been looking at but had no such luck. You made an effort to keep an eye on Eddie this time, although you tried not to make it obvious. 

“So, give me all your poison and give me all your pills

And give me all your hopeless hearts and make me ill”

Eddie couldn’t believe it was working. He couldn’t make out most of the words, but he wasn’t in pain this time. 

Before the show today, he’d gotten himself some industrial-strength earplugs. He could certainly still feel the vibrations of the music, but with none of the stabbing pain of the previous night. 

He just hoped you weren’t upset with him.  He really wanted to talk to you after the show, but for now he could enjoy watching. The way your hands danced over the strings, the way the sweat glistened off your forehead, even the way you tapped your foot to the beat, it was mesmerizing. He could see just how deep you’d sunk into the song, and he admired it. 

While the song wasn’t Eddie’s usual type of jam, he had to admit it wasn’t half bad. What he could of hear of it, at least. 

“You're running after something that you'll never kill

If this is what you want, then fire at will”

You didn’t look at Eddie again for the rest of the song. As the final note played, you realized how heavily you were breathing and your heart was pounding in your chest. You got a slightly heartier-than-usual applause from the audience and you couldn’t help but let your attention drift back to Eddie. 

He hadn’t moved this time. He was still there, sleeves pushed up, clapping with the others. You thought you caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his arm. 

The rest of the show went smoothly. The later it got, though, the more antsy you became. Eddie was still there every time you checked, giving you that dorky smile whenever you made eye contact. You’d never wanted a show to end more than you did at that very moment. 

You were packing up your gear before your singer had even finished saying goodnight. You set your stuff aside and told the band you’d be right back. All but sprinting off the stage, you made a beeline for where you’d seen Eddie. 

Now that you were actually on the floor, it was a lot harder to find him. At one point you thought you saw him, but then he was lost in the crowd. Since when are there this many people here? Just when you’d stopped to look around, you were startled by a tap on your shoulder.

“Hey, great show!” Eddie didn’t realize he was shouting. Not that the bar was all that quiet anyway. He was just happy you came to talk to him. Well, he could see you talking to him, anyway, but no sound came out of your mouth. “What?” he asked, still just a little too loudly. 

You noticed he had earplugs in and laughed. Eddie was caught off guard by it. This wasn’t like when you had laughed the other day. No, now you were truly happy, and it made all the difference. He had the sudden feeling that he’d do just about anything to see you laugh like that again. 

“Take out the earplugs!” You all but yelled, gesturing at your own ears. Eddie let out a soft ‘oh’ and removed the earplugs. 

“Yeah that’s much better,” he said, his volume returned to normal. 

“You’re actually here,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning back just a bit. 

“Yeah, I am,” Eddie suddenly couldn’t make eye contact with you, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck ashamedly. “Look I’m sorry about last night. Like I said, I have a bit of a hearing problem and it was, well, loud...” 

Your relief was clear by the way your expression changed. So that was the only reason he left. You felt immeasurably dumb for jumping to all sorts of other conclusions. 

“That makes a lot more sense now. I kinda— we’ll it’s funny really— I sort of started assuming you didn’t like it o-or, I don’t know, didn’t like me. Hilarious, right?” You chuckled nervously and a concerned look briefly crossed Eddie’s face.

“What? Of course not! God I felt like such a jerk for leaving. I was worried you wouldn’t even want to talk to me tonight!” He suddenly felt really bad for making you worry. Now would be a good time to go back to laughing at him. 

Now was probably the only chance you would have to keep this guy around and you’d be damned if you didn’t take it. 

“Hey, do you wanna stick around for a bit? Here, I mean? Now?” Real smooth, you thought. 

“Yeah, but what about your band?” He asked, gesturing at your bandmates glaring at you impatiently from the side of the stage. 

“Oh, right!” You’d actually forgotten about them for just a moment. “I just have to help them pack up. They’ll probably want to stick around for a drink anyway. I’ll be right back!” You ran back towards the stage, looking back at Eddie as you went.  

“No problem, I’ll save you a seat!” he called after you. Eddie smiled and your heart melted just a little bit. God, he was a beautiful mess of a man. You had a good feeling about him. 

“I have a good feeling about this,” Venom rumbled and Eddie just hummed in agreement. 

-

You actually stuck around until almost closing time, which was a rare event for you. The more time you’d spent talking with Eddie, the less you wanted to leave. Your band came and found you when they were all ready to go home, but you really didn’t want to. 

“Oh,” you said, not even realizing what time it was. “I guess it is late, isn’t it...” 

Your band looked between you and Eddie, your drummer making eye contact with him specifically. She gave him a look, arching an eyebrow as if to say, “Well, are you going to do anything?” 

“Don’t let them leave, Eddie.” Venom was as reluctant to part ways as you were. Between him and your slightly intimidating drummer, Eddie more than got the message. 

“I can take you home if you want. I haven’t been drinking at all so I’m good to drive.” He felt awkward in front of your band, but they were all silently supporting him. They were your good friends and if you were happy, so were they. 

“Oh! Yeah, that would be great! You have a car?” You tried not to sound too eager. 

“I have a bike, actually.” Eddie realized he didn’t have a helmet for you. He never wore one because, well, he didn’t need one. Venom would protect him should they get in an accident. He’ll just have to drive extra careful. 

“Great! Hey I’ll see all you guys later, okay?” You waved to your band mates who promptly took off, sending a chorus of ‘goodnights’ your way. If you didn’t know better, you’d say your drummer winked at you as she left. 

-

You hadn’t been on a motorcycle in a long time. It was a lot of fun. Not to mention, you got to hold tightly onto Eddie the whole time. You could feel his warmth even through his jacket and you had to resist the urge to squeeze him any tighter. 

Eddie could not have imagined things going literally any better. He was fully prepared for you to ignore or even yell at him after last night yet here you were, arms wrapped right around his waist on the way to your apartment.

He hadn’t seen anyone since Anne, what with the whole symbiote situation and all, and he’d started to think maybe he never would. ‘Three’s a crowd’ and all that. But he really liked you, despite having only known you for a night (well, a little longer than that). Hell, even Venom liked you, which he’d made perfectly clear. 

When he pulled up in front of your apartment, Eddie really didn’t want to say goodnight. However, he wasn’t going to suggest anything else unless you did first. He had manners. 

The two of you got off the bike and you shivered a bit at the sudden lack of body heat. “I’m really glad you came back tonight, Eddie.” You were still standing quite close together, enough that you could see the bits of green in his otherwise blue eyes.

“Yeah, I’m glad I did too.” He didn’t know what else to say. You were so close to him, he could  feel your breath and every part of his brain was telling him to stay with you, to ask if you wanted him to. Instead, he did the only thing he could think of to keep himself from talking. 

The feeling of Eddie’s warm hands on your face caught you off guard, but you had no intention of stopping him. His lips met yours in a gentle kiss, as if unsure of how you’d react. Assuaging his fears, you wrapped your wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss further. He let out a hum at the response, suddenly more confident in his actions. 

You pulled away only when you finally needed air, your arms still wrapped tightly around Eddie. “You know... if you want, you could stay the night.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but that’s all you needed. 

“I thought you’d never ask.” Eddie’s voice was husky, and for just a moment, almost imperceptibly, it sounded like two voices mixed together. You paid no attention to it, however. 

You had other things on your mind. 

[ophvichus]

–––– pack q & a part i !!

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee?

what is their scent like?

what is their favorite season?

what is their favorite holiday?

what is their style?

aoife:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? she takes the sweetest, most sugar-filled thing on the menu!!! she’s pretty comfortable with changing it up, but if she can taste even the slightest hint of bitterness in her coffee, she’ll have a fit. she’s embarrassing.

what is their scent like? usually, very floral!! she only ever uses nature-scented perfumes and shampoo, so the scents of jasmine and lavender cling to her at all times.

what is their favorite season? spring babey!! the idea of newness and rebirth... she’s heavily into that!

what is their favorite holiday? valentine’s day!! the overabundance of love and also chocolate!!! hello!!!

what is their style? weird thing: absolutely loves skirts, absolutely abhors dresses. while she doesn’t stick with a particular color scheme, she does prefer something floral, if she can help it. in the colder months, she’ll stick with pants and a cute shirt, or a pair of tights beneath her skirt and a sweater. also: big into knit sweaters. her sleeves are almost always long. when it comes to jewelry, she isn’t too particular; she’ll wear necklaces or earrings, but she rarely ever wears rings or bracelets, because she hates having attention drawn to her hands or wrists. she doesn’t put much time into her makeup, but she makes sure to look cute and passable at all times!! she always does something different with her hair — curled, straight, in a bun, in pigtails. her hair has to compliment her outfit, it’s essential!!

camden:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? he really isn’t into hot drinks, because of his ptsd? so, if he does get coffee, it’s an iced latte — just enough to get him going for the day, but usually not something he needs. also, on account of having a four-year-old, he always takes home a treat. jeremy (said four-year-old) refuses to eat anything from a cafe that isn’t a bacon cheese sandwich and maybe a cake pop, if he’s in an especially good mood. however, he does not care for caffeine and for that, we gives thanks.

what is their scent like? on account of being a firefighter, he always smells vaguely of smoke. (there’s a lot to be said about a man who fears heat yet continues to run towards it in the interest of saving people.) but he also showers very frequently and tries not to smell like a burning house. he won’t claim to wear any fancy colognes, but he will take whatever scent he can find at a local target and use a bit of it each day to make him smell normal.

what is their favorite season? winter! everyone is just so happy! buying gifts for jeremy tends to run him dry, but it’s worth it.

what is their favorite holiday? christmas, for the reason listed above!

what is their style? he’s surprisingly immodest when it comes to showing off his scars and burns; that is, he doesn’t try to hide them, but he doesn’t try to show them off, either. he tends towards skintight shirts and form-fitting pants, and he prefers lighter colors! whites, pinks, grays, blues — he lives for then. because it’s nearing the cooler months, he’s shifting into long sleeves and thin jackets.

carl:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? like a normal person, he’s chill with regular old coffee — french hazelnut, preferably, little bit of cream and sugar. he also gets a breakfast sandwich to go with it, because he takes his meals very seriously! sometimes, he’ll grab a dessert to go with it — usually a slice of cake or banana bread — but not always. he also has a ten-year-old sister who doesn’t let him have shit to himself, so he usually ends up getting something for her, too, unless he can hide it.

what is their scent like? his grandmother is rich, so he’s not afraid to pick up am expensive bottle of cologne or aftershave. whatever he grabs, it’s strong enough to cover up the scent of wolf, but subtle enough that no one crinkles their nose at it.

what is their favorite season? he prefers fall. it’s cool, it’s pretty, it’s lacrosse season—

what is their favorite holiday? halloween. what’s not fun about halloween??

what is their style? he can dress like a bit of a rich douche, but like... casual. when he’s out of his dp uniform, he’ll have on a sweater or polo and a collared shirt with some khakis and whatever shoe looks nicest with that particular outfit. sometimes, though, he’ll rock a plain shirt and jeans with sneakers; you really gotta catch him on a good day and a chill hour for that, though. he does a subtle makeup, just enough to compliment what he’s wearing. usually has on a watch and an old family ring that belonged to peter.

cora:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? she likes her coffee pretty close to black — dark roast with a little bit of cream and a decent amount of sugar. she usually doesn’t get anything to eat, but if she’s buying for bailey and aoife, then the latter will peer pressure her into at least getting a croissant.

what is their scent like? she has a very earthy scent, more natural that evie’s. it’s woodsy, like she’s spent years trampling through rainforests and can’t get the scent out. she smells a little like wood and rain and fresh soil. some find it grounding, some find it gross. cora doesn’t particularly care. she also lights a cinnamon-scented candle every day, so that scent clings to her, too!

what is their favorite season? winter. she just likes the cold.

what is their favorite holiday? new year, new beginnings.

what is their style? due to a lot of psychological stuff, cora still has a lot of burns from the fire. (she also doesn’t remember anything from before the fire. her mind does a lot of work to protect her from grief, but unexplainable guilt still eats at her.) she tries to keep them covered, which isn’t too hard, considering they span from her hip to the top of her chest, with only a few licking up her arms. she doesn’t care about the burns on her arms showing, if only because she’s trying to show evie that scars are nothing to be ashamed of. so she wears a lot of short sleeves and jeans — 99% of the time, she’s wearing black, but if her parents buy her a white shirt, she’s not going to avoid it. she also has an odd fascination with overalls, so she has... more pairs than you’d think. she doesn’t do anything fancy with her hair, it’s either down or in a bun. she also doesn’t really do her makeup; if it’s done, then evie did it and Cora complained the whole time.

daniel:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? he’s a tea person, to be honest! if he does have coffee, it’s pretty similar to brett’s order, but most of the time, he’ll take chamomile tea and can it a day.

what is their scent like? he rocks his armani, my dude. mostly because he’d smell like a lacrosse game if he didn’t and no one thinks that’s a pleasant smell.

what is their favorite season? summer! it’s a time when people release their inhibitions and don’t feel the stress of school. also, pool parties!!!

what is their favorite holiday? lydia has informed him that he is required to say her birthday.

what is their style? he really doesn’t put too much thought into his style. he just... wears what he wears. usually, this means a plain shirt, jeans and sneakers. he wears a corded bracelet that lydia made him when they were eight and... that’s about it. he always looks good anyway, so he doesn’t put much thought into it.

daryl:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? he’ll literally drink anything you put in front of him. he doesn’t like super sweet coffee (aoife: shocked and upset) but if that’s what you give him, he’ll take it. so usually, he just orders black coffee and if he feels like dressing it up a bit, he will. and he’ll try to get a breakfast sandwich or something... pretend he takes care of himself...

what is their scent like? he doesn’t have a particular scent, believe it or not! it’s very intentional, shoutout to scentless soap. if he’s tracking an animal, it won’t pick up on his scent; if he’s hiding from his dad, he won’t pick up on it, either. at most, daryl smells like whoever he’s been around that day.

what is their favorite season? winter; it’s not too hot, there are no leaves to crush under his feet, and it’s not too wet outside, either.

what is their favorite holiday? he doesn’t really have one? st. paddy’s day, maybe. everyone’s drunk, so he doesn’t stand out.

what is their style? very casual, very indistinct. (his entire thing is being unnoticeable. is that because of the hunting or the abuse? yes.) he doesn’t tend towards light or dark clothes, but neutral. grays, blues, greens, browns. His jeans aren’t too baggy, but he really can’t move in the tight stuff, either. his hair is cropped pretty short for the time being, but he has considered letting it grow out a bit. he doesn’t wear any jewelry either, though that’s mainly because he just... doesn’t have any??

derek:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? he takes his coffee straight black. he’s stressed. he’s bisexual. he’s new in town. (or, uh. back in town, anyway.) he doesn’t have time for fancy alterations.

what is their scent like? derek smells a lot like old books and fresh leather. the running theory is that he has some special cologne that gives him those specific scent, but we have yet to discover what cologne that might be. he has a slightly earthy scent to him, too; it’s nothing compared to cora’s scent, but it’s there.

what is their favorite season? spring. he’s a flower guy, he must admit.

what is their favorite holiday? he... doesn’t have one? it’s kind of hard to enjoy the holidays when you think your entire family is dead. but if he had to pick one, it would probably groundhog’s day, because no one really celebrates it and he enjoys the calm.

what is their style? he is, as the kids say, dramatic bisexual. tight shirts and brand name jeans, dark leather jacket, leather shoes. he doesn’t wear designs or stripes or polka dots, because it would contrast his overall aesthetic. he also has a way of making even light colors look dark. he’s wearing blue? it’s dark. he’s wearing white? it’s dark. he might actually be a vampire.

eleanor:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? coffee is disgusting. that’s why she always adds vodka to it. listen, listen! ...don’t judge her.  she’ll take a french roast black coffee, like a normal person, and add vodka, which is perfectly reasonable. she’s trying to become a pathologist, goddammit. she’s tired.

what is their scent like? she smells like peppermint. she hates the scent of a science lab and she hates the scent of booze, so she leans towards the most calming scent on earth: peppermint. it clings to her clothes, to her hair, to her breath. but it’s not overwhelming, okay, she’s not trying to turn into a candy cane.

what is their favorite season? summer!! party time, bitchesssss!!!

what is their favorite holiday? halloween! parties and sexy outfits, are you KIDDING???

what is their style? she’s what you’d get if you mixed Derek’s style and post-bite erica’s style. tight shirts and ripped jeans, usually tucked into a cute pair of boots. she also does not shy away from a little cleavage; if you got it, flaunt it! her makeup usually isn’t a concern, so the most she’ll do is a gloss with some eyeliner, but even that’s asking a lot of her. her hair is almost always puled back into a ponytail, because of how much time she spends in the lab, but if she’s going out, then she’ll wear her hair down. she doesn’t really wear jewelry, either. however, she got herself and elise matching necklaces back in high school, and she wears hers every day!

erica:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? she usually goes for a chai latte. coffee’s good, if she needs the kick of energy, but for the most part, she’ll stick with her chai, thank you. she should get actual food from coffee shops, but instead of doing that, she’ll grab a couple of cake pops and head home!!

what is their scent like? to a wolf, she always smells faintly of electricity, but to the average human bean, she kind of smells like cheap perfume and incense. post-bite, she’ll smell a little less like electricity and a little more like whatever perfume she bullies derek into buying for her.

what is their favorite season? winter. she likes being able to dress in comfy sweaters and hide away from the world a little bit. post-bite, she’ll have a bit more love for summer and her ability to show off her body, but winter will always reign supreme.

what is their favorite holiday? frankly, she hates holidays, because people always find an excuse to shoot up fireworks and it's all an epileptic nightmare. but if she had to choose one, it would be labor day, because people do nothing but cook and chill. she has no family to chill with, but at least there are no fireworks. and she has cookie, her dog!

what is their style? pre-bite, she’s gotten used to dressing comfortably. leggings and t-shirts, nothing special, if only because the second she has a seizure, it either gets soiled or taken off anywhere. she doesn’t do makeup, because no one’s ever been around to teach her, and she’d rather not trust youtube to tell her important things like that. her hair is almost always up in a bun or ponytail, though she’ll let it down when she’s having an especially good day. post-bite, she likes to show off what she couldn’t before. she doesn’t have to worry about seizures anymore, so she wears tight clothing and mini skirts, leather jackets and high heels. she also takes this burst of self-love and learns how to do her makeup. she basically becomes elliot.

hayden:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? she wouldn’t know, to be honest. she’s been in captivity for, like, eight years. but now that she’s a free woman, she is... experimenting with caramel lattes. it takes some adjusting.

what is their scent like? she smells like antiseptic and sewage. it’s... very gross. so she’s taken to showering a lot and stealing perfume and shower gel from stores on their road trip. her favorite shampoo smells like vanilla, and she keeps bubblegum on her, so her breath is always cotton candy minty fresh.

what is their favorite season? when she was a kid, she liked fall, because she liked watching the leaves fall. she hasn’t really seen the seasons pass in quite a few years, so she’s inclined to stick with her original bias.

what is their favorite holiday? she has to say christmas.

what is their style? she doesn’t have much of a style yet. she knows that she likes beanies; her favorite one is red and it was a gift from tara when they first escaped. she prefers baggy clothes that are easy to move in, maybe combat boots, if she can get her hands on some. eventually, she’ll sharpen that style, come to find that she looks best in maroon  and that she likes ripped jeans. she’s learning how to do this cat-eye makeup thing that she saw on a woman in a diner once and she’d determined to get good at it. she doesn’t care much for jewelry, but if she finds some pretty wristbands, she’ll slip them on and make them work for her.

jacqui:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? the circus only ever gave her crappy coffee that tasted more like sludge than actual coffee. she never liked it, so by the time she got out of there, she had no interest in rediscovering coffee and seeing if it actually tasted any good. she’s much more comfortable drinking hot chocolate.

what is their scent like? she used to smell like cotton candy all of the time. she never understood why her captors wanted her to smell like that. but they would put it in her clothes, her shampoo, her food. everything smelled like cotton candy so that she would smell like cotton candy. while she doesn’t hate the scent now, it does make her nauseous. instead, she prefers the scent of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate, so she chooses shampoos and perfumes that match those scents.

what is their favorite season? winter! the circus went to michigan for christmas once. she’d never seen so much snow.

what is their favorite holiday? thanksgiving. she doesn’t care for the history of it, but she used to love gathering with her family and eating together. sharing what she was grateful for was always easy, because she was just grateful for them.

what is their style? she’s used to loose but slightly revealing clothing, as a result of the circus. even though she’s trying to form her identity outside of her captivity, she still tries to stick with what she’s comfortable in. so she wears pleated skirts and blouses with blazers, typically sticking to darker colors. she also takes care to wear shorts or leggings underneath, because she’s prone to do acrobatics in the middle of the room, all handstands and backbends and front walkovers. it helps her think. she finds jewelry very pretty and she wears it often! she likes necklaces most of all, but she also likes bracelets and earrings!!

jude:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? because of her stupid stomach, jude cannot handle coffee or any caffeine, for that matter! ...it does not stop her from drinking it!! while she prefers her coffee to be abysmally sweet, she just steals whatever her dad is drinking. she never orders her own, because she know she won’t drink all of it. she will always, always get snacks when she goes to a coffee shop. diabetes whomst.

what is their scent like? she smells like paper, fresh ink and freshly baked cupcakes! she also smells a little a waiting room from all the time she spends in the hospital. that has to be, like, a personality trait or something.

what is their favorite season? she likes all seasons. she just... likes everything. too much. if she had to choose, she’d probably a summer babey because that’s when her birthday is, but she doesn’t discriminate.

what is their favorite holiday? she has been informed that she has to say lydia’s birthday.

what is their style? she’s kind of all over the place, but in an organized way. for a rich girl, she dresses like a normal person on the street. she likes tattered sweaters and rolled up jeans and dirty sneakers. she rarely wears skirts or dresses, because she goes to a lot of protests and gets into her fair share of fights. and she doesn’t go for any particular color scheme, so much as she wears whatever she’s feeling that day. her hair is usually pulled back in a ponytail, but she’ll do something different on occasion. she really isn’t good with makeup, but when lydia, andie, maggie or beth feels like putting a look on her, jude will happily accept. the only jewelry she really wears is her medical bracelet, but she accidentally forgets it all the time. oops.

kira:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? she’s a tea person, sorry. but if she does get coffee, she’s fine with something semi-sweet, but not as overwhelming as what some people (read: aoife) take. she might get something to nibble on, but altogether, her appetite isn’t that big.

what is their scent like? she smells like fabric softener. her parents tease her about it all the time, and they all know it’s because she only wears clothes that are fresh out of the dryer and carefully ironed. and it’s a nice smell, so it’s not like it’s a bad thing, but no matter how hard she tries, she just smells like fabric softener. and peaches, sometimes. it’s a weird combination, she’s suing whoever chose this for her.

what is their favorite season? winter: the blessed time of the year where she can wear big sweaters, leggings and no personality.

what is their favorite holiday? children’s day! it was her favorite holiday growing up and even though she’s a little too old to be considered a child now, she still loves it.

what is their style? she tends to favor the whole skirts and leggings thing, all year round. she likes shirts with personality, be it flowery or graphic. sometimes, she’ll don a jacket or a cardigan, but her looks usually go well without them. she likes earthy colors, with a splash of white or black, when she’s in the mood. she doesn’t really wear makeup? she just never learned and she was too anxious about messing it up to teach herself. she does different things with her hair; she’ll braid it or let it down, or make a crown of it. she does wear jewelry, but she usually has it hidden beneath her clothes, because she’s a nervous baby.

liam:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? black coffee and a breakfast sandwich. he has a lacrosse career to stress about, okay, he doesn’t have the patience for anything other than that.

what is their scent like? regrettably, this teenage boy smells like a teenage boy. all of the time playing lacrosse has left its scent on him and no amount of showering really takes away the scent of wind and turf. he wears cologne and aftershave to take the edge off, but it’s still tough to miss the scent.

what is their favorite season? fall. it’s lax season, what could possibly be better than that?

what is their favorite holiday? hanukkah. it’s probably the only holiday that doesn’t annoy the hell out of him.

what is their style? he dresses like the problem child he is. he uses his wealth for a lot of things, but clothes are not on the list. he prefers lighter colors, thin jackets, skinny jeans, the works. he puts a bit more effort into his looks than some, but he’s not the most fashionable by any means. sometimes, he lets brett put some eyeliner on him, but that’s about as far as his makeup goes.

lydia:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? french hazelnut with two shots of espresso, half a shot of caramel, 1 tablespoon of sugar and a sprinkle of cinnamon. as for food, she’ll take a bowl of fruit for now with a salad and parfait for later. this has been her order since she was twelve and it will probably never change.

what is their scent like? she smells heavily of strawberries, vanilla and just a little bit like fresh coffee beans. it’s a carefully curated scent, one that she happens to love on herself, thank you very much.

what is their favorite season? fall, duh. that’s when she was born. it’s also lacrosse season, so she gets to see jackson smite his opponents like the hand of god. that’s not to say that he doesn’t best everyone in everything, but he shines in a completely different way when it comes to lacrosse.

what is their favorite holiday? her birthday? how is this even a question?

what is their style? she is among the pickiest dressers in beacon hills. she’s a big fan of lace and flowers, but she doesn’t go overboard with it. she’ll venture past the usual jeans or skirt. actually, she rarely wears jeans; she much prefers skirts or rompers. everything is extremely classy and sophisticated, but every now and again, she’ll show a bit of cleavage. that’s very rare; not because she thinks cleavage isn’t classy, but it’s just not her vibe most of the time. shoes are a very big deal, too; she doesn’t even glance at anything less than six inches. wedges are a favorite for school, but she doesn’t shy away from red bottoms or stilettos. her hair is almost always just curled, but sometimes, she’ll put it in a braided crown or something. she doesn’t shy away from jewelry at all. she loves rings, bracelets, necklaces. and her makeup is always flawless, of course. who do you think she is?

maggie:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? the very antithesis to all that her baby sister is, maggie is fine with a simple dark roast with a little bit of cream and no sugar, than you.

what is their scent like? where lydia runs from the scent of the farm, maggie embraces it. while she’s very careful not to smell like horse dung, she’s fine with smelling a little like grass and the chamomile that her mom makes in the morning. her shampoo is mostly scentless, which just allows her to lean into the chamomile and grass scent. it’s an odd combination and lydia is begging her to choose something more, but maggie doesn’t have a problem with how she smells.

what is their favorite season? summer. no particular reason, she just likes it.

what is their favorite holiday? contrary to what lydia insists, it is not her birthday. rather, maggie loves easter. or, as she’s always called it, resurrection sunday.

what is their style? once again contrasting her baby sister, maggie’s style is much more casual. she’s up for a cardigan and blouse every once in a while, but for the most part, she’ll stick with her overalls, jeans and farm boots. she likes earthy or dark colors, because it sucks to get mud on a white shirt. she doesn’t really wear jewelry, aside from some old handmade bracelets and a necklace her daddy got her when she was little. she doesn’t really do makeup aside from sundays, because there’s just no need for it every day, despite what lydia seems to believe.

michonne:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? michonne is fine with tea, but if she’s getting coffee, then she’ll take a macchiato or something. honestly, she’s a law student, she takes energy wherever she can get it, she’s not complaining. when noah shoves cafe food at her, it’s usually a sandwich and... way too many treats.

what is their scent like? she smells a lot like lavender, surprisingly. it’s her favorite scent and she does her best to adorn herself with it.

what is their favorite season? she likes winter, cali-style. when it’s still raining and the skies are dark all throughout the morning and everything is a little chilly, but not so much that she feels the need to close herself in her house and never come out.

what is their favorite holiday? mardi gras. she spent a few summers in new orleans with her ex-boyfriend and the holiday has a special place in her heart.

what is their style? she’s a big business casual kinda person. jeans and boots with a white blouse and a pretty little blazer. she never wears skirts or dresses, but she’s resigned to the fact that she’ll have to, once she becomes an actual lawyer. she’s learning to cope. she tends towards dark colors, but she’ll throw on a white shirt or something. her shoes tend to be ankle boots or flats, because anything else just annoys her. (noah gave her a pair of crocs for christmas two years ago and she’ll never admit it, but those are her favorite lounging shoes. they’re so ugly but so comfortable.) she either curls her hair or braids it, but she tends to dye it, depending on her mood. as for jewelry and makeup, noah calls every day to tell her what to do and she just goes with it.

noah:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? disorganized bisexual, he orders something different every day. it’s a recipe for disaster, but he swears it’s fun. live, laugh, love.

what is their scent like? he smells like potpourri and this is not an accident.

what is their favorite season? summer! everything is so lively and fun in the summer, the other seasons want what she has.

what is their favorite holiday? fourth of july! like, fuck that independence thing, we all know that’s a lie. but there are pool parties, fireworks, barbecues. it’s literally the perfect holiday, aside from the intentional blind eye to prevailing systemic racism and oppression... live, laugh, love.

what is their style? he puts just as much thought into his looks as lydia does. his look is caught between very classy and very casual. he prefers polos or preppy sweaters, with form-fitting khakis and light jeans. he does prefer dark tops, but he knows that he looks good in basically anything. he spends a lot of time in barber shops to maintain the perfect hair and he spends at least thirty minutes brushing it per day. he loves jewelry. some days, he wears earrings. some days, he wears rings. but he always wears a watch that his dad gave him last year. when it comes to shoes, he usually wears combat boots or the right sneakers, but if the occasion calls for loafers, then he’ll wear the damn loafers.

sasha:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? she can never get over the bitterness of coffee. she respects people who love it, but it’s just not for her. she’ll take hot chocolate any day, thanks! and if she remembers to grab some food, then she’ll just get something random but filling. she doesn’t put much thought into it.

what is their scent like? she smells like a rain shower, in the best way. it’s a very comforting and grounding scent, thought it’s hard to understand how she even manages it.

what is their favorite season? winter! not because of her birthday, but because the christmas lights are all so pretty and she just loves the euphoric vibe of the yuletide.

what is their favorite holiday? christmas, for the reasons listed above!

what is their style? she keeps it very simple. a plain shirt and jeans or a skirt, usually leaning towards earthy tones, including rose pink or black. she doesn’t put a whole lot of work into her appearance every day, though she certainly understands people who do. she wears earrings and a chokers every day and often wears bracelets. she does her makeup every day, but it’s a very subtle thing, because she doesn’t particularly want to draw attention towards herself. when it comes to shoes, she prefers boot, flats and sneakers. her hair is usually curled, but she’ll wear braids when she has the patience for it.

scott:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? if he has coffee, he likes it just a little sweet, but not an overpowering amount. he just needs to take the edge off and he’s fine.

what is their scent like? he smells like a lacrosse field, but he also smells like dogs. it’s not the greatest combination of scents, but it’s not like anyone pays that much attention to him. he gets to work with animals all the time and that’s cool enough that he doesn’t care how it makes him smell.

what is their favorite season? summer, because fuck school.

what is their favorite holiday? halloween, because he is a child and he still goes trick or treating every year. his mom keeps saying he’s too old, but he pretends that he doesn’t hear her.

what is their style? he’s very casual and usually just wears whatever his mom buys him. flannel button-ups, dark jeans, old sneakers, the works. he tends towards darker colors, but he’s not shoving his whites and pinks to the back of his closet by any means. he doesn’t really wear jewelry or makeup, though he would try it if he had any. 

tara:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? she likes her coffee almost as sweet as aoife’s, but not that much. she doesn’t drink coffee all that much, but if she is going to drink it, then it needs to be sweet as all get out.

what is their scent like? she smells like a lake and a graveyard, all at once. hayden pointed it out a couple of weeks ago, back when they first escaped, over mcdonald’s burgers that they’d gotten by questionable means. tara... doesn’t really know what that means. the scent thing, that is.

what is their favorite season? fall; it’s cooling down, but it’s not overwhelmingly cold, either.

what is their favorite holiday? the new year; every year that she and her brother have survived is one year closer to them making it home.

what is their style? crop tops and leather jackets, babeyyy. she wants to look like a dangerous lesbian and she manages! her hair is naturally curly and she doesn’t really try to fight it into any particular style aside from brushing it into something presentable. she likes dark colors, but she really doesn’t have the room to be picky. she doesn’t really have the opportunity to do makeup or anything, aside from some stolen chapstick. and her shoes are just some beaten-up sneakers she found in a trash can.

trevor:

coffee order/current coffee shop order if they don't drink coffee? he takes iced tea!

what is their scent like? old spice and french fries! it’s a very odd scent that has had michonne raising her brows at him for ages, but he always grins because he likes it! he’s been using this old spice cologne for ages now and that’s not going to change. and french fries don’t even smell bad, so he really has no complaints.

what is their favorite season? fall, because that’s when mason was born. therefore, it’s the superior season and t is not taking any debate or criticism at this time, thank you.

what is their favorite holiday? thanksgiving, because he gets to spend time with his family and tell them how much he’s grateful for them! and he tells his friends, too! also easter!! and christmas!! he just really loves holidays, okay.

what is their style? t is a very fashionable but modest dresser. nothing of his is too tight, but he makes it all look good. sometimes he wears floral print or stripes, but that’s about as adventurous as he gets. he tends towards lighter colors, because dark colors just don’t match his personality. he doesn’t wear makeup or anything, but the one time liam hesitantly showed an interest in that kind of thing, t offered to learn how to do it with him. and even though that was a few years ago, his offer stands!

[midnight-watch-committee]

Story 1: what happened to Sheridan

Journalism, second period of the day, 9:34 in the morning., June 22nd, 2018.

There was a tv on in the class room, we always had the news on in there to help us, "a free cheat sheet if you use it right" as Mr. Haddison would call it. Every now and again people would be mildly interested in what was happening: law suits, politics, and murder for the morbid. A sudden gasp escaped from the girl next to me. Her name was Beth and if you saw her, you’d probably expect her to be a computer club kid. A headband kept her bright orange hair that almost looked fake from falling into her rounded, golden framed glasses, she was the youngest person in this room by about five minutes and she made sure you knew when you walked in, her sporadic and adventure seeking personality was as wild as the bright stickers on her laptop and pins on her shirt which told you every fandom she was in. She tapped me quickly on the shoulder, which was met by a cold “I’m busy,” but her insistent tapping eventually made me cave, as I looked up to what was shocking her, I realized why she gasped so loudly. “How do you lose an entire town?!” I said, or rather screamed. My friend Mikey quickly covered my mouth, expecting me to scream more about something or other, but I was more in shock than anything.  Mikey slowly moved his hand off my mouth and wiped it on his letterman jacket, “Could you be any louder?” he asks sarcastically, which I feel tempted to test but decide against it. Sheridan, Wyoming...”it was just there five minutes ago”, according to one of the people interviewed, a man who left town to grab a prescription from a nearby pharmacy. “Hey, Mike, how far is that” I asked. “Not crazy far-Juni, do you have another stupid idea?” he answered, already knowing what I was gonna say, “Just one...” I respond. “Dumb ideas? Like what, going to the crater formerly known as Sheridan? Juni, it’s gone, I’m sure the police are-” Beth started before getting shot a “shut the fuck up” look from Mikey. “What are the cops gonna do? IT’S GONE! If they plan on arresting us for looking at a hole in the ground, I’m sure a court will easily rule in our favor.” I spit out. “Jeez, fine! If you two are going, I’m tagging along to make sure you idiots don’t get hurt.” Beth said whipping out her phone “What time should I expect Mr. Can’t drive for shit to show up?” Mikey let out a chuckle. Not his “I found that funny” chuckle but a forced one, the kind you do when your sister tells a really bad joke but your mom shot you a look. “8:30, ditch the pink, we’re trespassing and we can’t repeat the O’Reily house incident.” She gave me a thumbs up, punched it into her phone and went back to her work.

The Vallen residence, 8:20 at night.

I looked in the mirror one last time, my jet-black hair an absolute mess but not like I’d ever bother fixing it. I decided to settle on a blue baseball cap to hide the rat’s nest. A black sleeveless jacket and torn blue jeans were my only real protection from anyone spotting my pale ass from a mile away. I checked the film on my grandfather’s, well mine now, camera. I gently trailed my finger over the weird markings that surround the outside of the camera. I heard my phone go off from the other room and darted over to it, slipping it in my jacket pocket and making a break for the door, pulling up my black face mask and hoping in the back of Mikey’s dark red pickup truck. He had some cheerleader girl up front with him and they clearly seemed to be taking a while so I gave the roof a few rough slaps. He rolled his window down and snapped “How many times do I have to say stop doing that before you fucking stop?” I rolled my eyes and laid down as we pulled off. I shot Beth a text letting her know we were on our way and took a nap for the 30 minuets it took to get to her place, she hopped in and checked to make sure I was still alive, trying to keep me awake so I was ready to do my job. I was the group photographer, Mike was the muscle and Beth was our pretty face who got everyone’s attention, I’d do more up-front stuff if it wasn’t for my social anxiety so for now that goes to Beth. “Did you check the film?” she asked, to which I nodded. “Good, good...how do I look?” I crack a smile and give her the trademark Beth Thumbs up ™, curving my thumb slightly to copy hers. She rolled her eyes and made sure her recorder was still working. There was something about the way the light hit her and the look in her eyes that left me stunned. Click! I snapped a quick picture of her and waved the film around, checking it. Perfect. I slipped it into my jacket pocket hoping she didn’t see me take it as the truck comes up on what was Sheridan.

Sheridan, Wyoming 8:50 at night.

We slowed to a halt a few inches away from the crater. “God, does he want us to get stuck in there?” I mumbled to Beth before hoping out, tapped on the window and gestured for him to back up. The vehicle rolled back and just as quickly as he reversed, he slammed down on the breaks, most likely giving poor Beth a major concussion. Mikey got out from the front, telling Sherri or Cherri or Cherry or whatever her name was to wait there, Beth started her audio recorder and we started our search. We walked around the perimeter of Former Sheridan, snapping photos of weird shaped rocks that seemed placed by something to hold the dirt back from reaching the middle and flowers that were left in the crater by those who thought everyone there was dead already, sitting in between all those flowers were four glowing blue rocks. “We should go in.” I blurt out, “I mean, when have we ever been scared to go into something? We’ve been in hospitals during outbreaks for Christ's sake!” Beth and Mikey look at each other, have a quick whisper debate that seems to end in Beth winning and sends Mikey back to the truck to grab some climbing equipment and set it up at the spot we were standing near. Beth offered me the rope and I accepted, sliding down all the way to the bottom of the crater, about 15 feet deep. “what the- HEY GUYS GET DOWN HERE!” I shouted, and started snapping pictures of a hole dug into the side of the crater...no, dug is wrong. There were bite marks on the outside of the hole. As if provoked by my camera, a gray, eight legged, slimy, insect shaped...CREATURE came charging out. It’s lack of eyes was amplified by it snarling, four toothed jaw. If you took of the tail of a scorpion and made it the size of a small building, you’d have this thing. The creature started stomping around the crater screeching. Legs brought up dust, chomping it up in the air. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!” Beth screamed down into the hole and honestly, I didn’t know. I snapped a few more quick photos and broke for the rope, not wanting to be down there any longer. On my way up, I noticed the writing on the outside of the camera glowing, now readable as “Midnight watch committee.” As whatever the fuck that was screeched after us, we hoped in the truck and booked it, leaving cheer girl in wonder as to what we saw down there but we didn’t even have the sanity in that moment to describe it,.

Vallen residence, Midnight.

This thing was like something right out of some old country children’s tale. “Wait a minute...” I thought to myself, I flung open every filing cabinet in the attic, trying to find the old book my grandfather use to read to me from. My mom always hated it and time and time again told him to not read it to me, but he never listened. “The world’s a scary place,” he would say “nothing wrong with teaching her what to expect.” After maybe the 500th cabinet filled with pitch blackness, my hands bumped into the large leather-bound book. I blew the dust off it, remembering the last time I had ever had this read to me was when my mom was still alive. As if like magic, I open the book up to a random page and saw exactly what I was looking for, “The Earth Eater.” My jaw dropped reading everything in there, all the lives it had taken...but what really threw me off was...the book mentioned Sheridan’s disappearance. Did the author know? Was this some kind of joke? I set the book down on my Grandfather’s dark colored oak desk and went to bed, my mind still racing.

Bus ride from Vallen residence to Big Horn high school, 6:15, June 23rd, 2018

It was a cold early morning, but if you were up then, even in the pitch blackness, you would’ve seen the way the ground exploded near us as the Earth Eater rose from the ground, sending the bus flying. It felt like everything happened so quickly yet so slowly at the same time. I got sent flying into the seat next to me, like many others, and hit my arm against the seat hard enough to hear a loud cracking sound. It felt like every single nerve in my body dedicated itself to making me feel nothing but pain in my arm at that moment, as I tried to move it, I realized just how badly it had truly broken. The creature charged toward the bus, its none existent eyes locked on me I imagine, and for one last desperate attempt to make a story out of this, I pointed my camera at it the best I could through a window. A soft Click! Filled the air, followed by a vrrr as the camera pushed out a Polaroid, by the time the photo had made it to me, Earth Eater was gone, back to maybe one day return from whence it went, or maybe not at all.