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steddie-as-they-come · 6 months

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blame it all on human nature - chapter 5

ao3 link || part one

☆Tuesday, April 8th, 1986☆

Eddie takes his normal seat at the lunch table, swinging his legs into his chair. Like ducklings, the kids file in around him.

“Whatcha got there, Baby Byers?” Eddie asks, as Will sets something carefully on the other end of the table. Eddie can’t really see what it is.

“Finished your DM screen.” Will explains. “Just gotta wait for it to dry now.”

“Shit, really? Lemme see!” Eddie hops up and circles the table. The thin wooden screen looks much different than he’s used to, but it still looks magical. Instead of glossy black, Will’s decorated it with painted symbols in different colors, glowing like they’re about to come to life.

Eddie lets his hand hover above the paint, not daring to touch the wet paint and ruin it. “Looks incredible, Will.” he says. “You’re a great artist.”

“Thanks.” Will says, and Eddie crosses back to his seat.

“When are we gonna play the campaign?” Dustin asks. “I have an idea for my character already!”

“Oh, really?” Eddie waves at Robin as he sees her enter the cafeteria with some of her band friends, and about half the kids follow his example. The girl she’s walking next to gives her a weird look, probably wondering why Known Ex-Wanted Man Eddie Munson and the entire nerdy freshman population are waving at her.

She waves back.

Eddie refocuses on the table. “You can tell me about your characters now, if you’ve got ideas.” He shuffles papers around in his disaster area of a backpack. “I think I’ve got extra character sheets in here.”

He passes out the sheets to the kids, watching them all get to work. Dustin starts immediately scribbling. Wow, he wasn’t kidding when he said he had ideas for his character. Will and El bow their heads together over their papers, and Will looks like he’s explaining some stuff to El. Mike and Lucas talk together excitedly.

Eddie, for his part, starts scribbling notes to himself on his hand. Make NPCs, he scribbles. No, that’s too vague. He crosses it out. Make tavern NPCs, he adds. Better.

The familiar clicking noises of rolling dice make him jerk his head back up. Dustin’s got out his d20, rolling for various stats. Kid after my own heart, Eddie thinks to himself. Always keep a dice set on you.

Mike snatches Dustin’s d20, rolls for something on his own sheet, then tosses it back, scribbling whatever number he got down.

The harsh jangle of the bell jerks them all out of their D&D-induced trances, and Eddie says, “Keep those sheets and finish them up before you give them to me!” Dustin tosses his dice back into their plastic container and books it out of the lunch room, grinning and waving back at Eddie and the group as they all disperse, much more slowly.

Eddie can’t keep his mind off the campaign for the rest of the day. He pulls out a journal, sketching the different monsters he wants to try to incorporate. His chickenscratch penmanship is crammed around each doodle, a brief description to help him when he’s actually narrating the campaign. As each class passes, his hand turns more and more blue with inked words, reminders for later.

He’s not paying attention in class until he hears the dreaded words: “partner assignment”.

The room is basically empty nowadays, just like the rest of the school. Grant, Gareth, and Jeff weren’t the only ones who left. The school’s population has dropped by the dozens, maybe even hundreds by this point.

Eddie hunches over, hoping if he’s a small enough target, no one will want to be his partner and he’ll end up alone. Normally he’d be more confrontational, but he’s not looking to start anything and be forced to repeat the year for the fourth time.

Someone sits in the empty desk next to him. Eddie can’t see who they are, his hair’s in the way.

“You just gonna ignore me, or…?” comes a familiar voice, and Eddie almost cries with relief, tucking his hair out of the way.

“Birdie, thank god.” he says. “I was gonna do this assignment by myself. You’re my hero. I didn’t even realize you were in this class!”

Robin glares at him. “Okay, seriously? What is with people and not knowing I’m in their class? First Steve, now you?”

“I’m going to level with you, Buckley, I don’t even know what class this is.” Eddie informs her. “I knew you were in a class of mine, so that should give me a leg up on Harrington, right?”

Robin looks unamused. “Are you high?” she deadpans.

“One: how dare you, just because I don’t know where I am does not mean I am under the influence.” Eddie says in a dramatic whisper. “Two: no, I just wasn’t paying attention. Can’t even get weed anymore.”

Robin sits back. “Okay, are we gonna actually do this project? I think I brutally murdered the rest of my school friendships by coming over here.” She looks across the room, and sure enough, there’s two girls Eddie doesn’t recognize glaring at her.

“Of course we are!” Eddie says. “...what’s the project?”

“I’m gonna hit you with a car,” she informs him, and Eddie barks out a laugh.

Erica waves off Eddie’s offer of a blank campaign sheet for her character when they pick her up from the elementary school later that day. “I had my own because I was prepared.” she tells him, passing a piece of paper to him. “My character’s done.”

Eddie’s a bit taken aback. “Well then,” he says. “Good for you.” He takes it from her. “Can’t wait to play with you-” he consults the sheet. “Captain Saral Niserie.”

She scoffs, but Eddie thinks he sees a private, excited smile as she looks back out the window.

☆Thursday, April 10th, 1986☆

“We open in a tavern, settled in the middle of the forest.” Eddie says. He thinks he hears Dustin mumble something about cliches, and levels the little butthead with a glare before continuing. “There are no buildings around as far as you can see, and you are with your party. Starting with…” He places a little figurine on the table, watching Hawkin’s face (they’re an unfamiliar girl, maybe around his age, with short red hair right now) light up. “Hannah Rockebrook, a level eight human warlock.” Eddie walks her across the table and puts her on the board. “Hannah opens the door and ushers the group inside, smiling at the bartenders, a pair of half-elf twins.”

He nods to Dustin, who’s on his left, and Dustin begins to talk. “Zoi, my satyr sorcerer, orders a round at the bar and brings it to the table.” He looks at Eddie. “Can I roll for perception?” Eddie nods. “Seven, with a plus one, so that’s eight.”

“Zoi sees a poster on the wall and points it out to the group.” Eddie says. “Also, you lose ten gold for paying for the drinks.”

Erica, who’s next, says, “Saral Nisarie, my cleric selkie, reads it aloud.” She looks at Eddie, because, right, they don’t actually know what it says.

“Monster hunting!” Eddie announces. “Rewards handsomely for each monster your group kills!”

The group begins to chatter, and Eddie keeps hearing Dustin and Mike talk about how boring the campaign is already. They haven’t even played for longer than a few minutes!

Will bangs the table (Lucas’s miniature falls over, and El fixes it with a sharp jerk of her head). “‘I think we should do it!’ my dragonborn Lytlutyl announces.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Eddie says. “Say that name again.”

Will sounds it out slowly. “Lee-tuh-loo-till.”

“Yeah, I’m not saying that every time.” Eddie deadpans. “Can you give her a nickname?”

Will rolls his eyes. “Fine. What about Lita?”

“Acceptable.” Eddie waves a hand. “Continue.”

The group goes around, introducing themselves. El’s chosen to play a ranger, a Drow named Atierith (Ah-tee-er-ith, nicknamed Rith at Eddie’s request) of House Tema. Mike’s a tiefling bard named Celan the Degenerate. Lucas is a wererat artificer, named Iros Wainwright.

They delay a little bit when Lucas insists on talking with the bartenders (named Ronan and Stella) about the monsters around and learning effectively nothing, but they do manage to make it out of the tavern before the first session’s close, which is more than Eddie had been expecting, to be honest.

Saral lights off Hand of Radiance, and her hand begins to glow so the party can see in the woods. They walk for in-game hours, unable to find the monsters Stella and Ronan insisted were everywhere.

“Wind blows through the trees.” Eddie says. “Uh, Will, make a perception check.”

Will grabs and rolls the d20. “Nat 20!” he cheers.

Well, Eddie wasn’t expecting that, but he supposes he can give it to them a little early. “Some of the trees aren't reacting to the wind. None of their branches are bending when the wind blows, unlike all the other trees.”

“Can I throw something at one?” Mike asks.

“Roll dexterity?”

Mike does. “Eleven, with a minus one, so that’s ten.” El makes a little aborted motion, as if reacting to the number, which Eddie doesn’t really get.

“That hits.”

“I pick up a rock and throw it at a tree.” Mike says.

Eddie mentally runs through who’s where. “Lucas, roll athletics?”

He does. “Fourteen.”

“The tree makes a swipe, narrowly missing you.”

“Mimic!” Dustin shouts, panicked, and Eddie grins evilly.

“As you all watch, eight trees begin to twist and crack, bending at their halfway points and planting their canopies on the ground like legs. The ground underneath you shudders and shakes.” He traces around their minifigures, splitting the group in half. “Saral, Celan, Rith, and Zoi, you get lifted into the air on the back of the monster. Hannah, Lita, and Iros, you’re stuck on the ground.”

“Can I cast Inflict Wounds?” Erica asks viciously.

Eddie looks down at his sheet. The monster’s got a defense of thirteen. “Roll for it?”

She does. “Nine?”

“Sorry, kid.” Eddie says. “The monster feels your attempt to hurt it and growls. The motion shakes its entire body, and you slip off.”

“Can I catch her?” Hawkins says urgently, appearing right between him and Dustin.

“Hannah moves to catch her.” Eddie says before Lucas can jump in, because he can see he’s about to. He picks up the d20 Dustin had picked out for him, black with red inked numbers, and rolls for athleticism.

“She got a seventeen!” Eddie says. “Hannah takes one point of damage from the catch, but Saral, you’re fine, and you land neatly in Hannah’s arms.”

Erica smiles smugly.

Will jumps in. “Can we try to cut down the tree legs from here?”

Eddie nods. “Go ahead.”

“Uh, Lita’s got an axe,” Will says, consulting his character sheet. “So she attacks the leg closest to her.”

“Roll strength?”

“Eight, saving throw adds two.”

“She gets about halfway through the trunk before the monster roars and flings her away. Take five hit points.” Eddie says, and Will marks it down.

The battle’s fun. More chaotic than Eddie’s used to, due to the sheer number of players at his table, but they manage to get through the fight with no deaths. El delivers the final blow, and the table goes wild as Eddie describes the monster curling up and shriveling away.

“There’s something red in the husk of what used to be the monster.” Eddie says, and everyone’s interest is immediately piqued.

“Iros goes to check.” Lucas says.

“Roll perception.”

Lucas winces. “Four.”

“It’s a person with curly hair in a red tunic.” Eddie says. Bare minimum. “They’re lying on their side, asleep.”

Dustin tilts his head, leaning forward. “Were they possessed? Were they turned into the monster?”

Eddie smiles evilly at him.

“Can you heal them, Erica?” Lucas asks.

Erica sneers at him, but rolls for it anyway. “Sixteen.”

“They sit up and groan. ‘What happened?’” Eddie says.

“‘You were a monster,’ Celan tells them.” Mike says. “‘We defeated you and you turned back into this. Can you tell us who did this to you?’”

“‘I don’t remember.’ they say. ‘I was sick, in my bed, and then I woke up here.’” Eddie claps his hands. “I think we gotta end it here for the night, guys.”

The kids all boo, but El sticks around at the end to thank him for the campaign. “It was fun.” she says.

“No problem, kid.” Eddie says. “Happy you like it.”

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #living hawkins au #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #stranger things

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pommigranite · 10 months

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*plops a plate of cookies down on the table, slides you a beverage, and sits in the chair backwards*

Ocs. Who ya got?

gasp my hypnotism worked-

*takes cookies* substantial compensation acquired

okay so here we go I’ve got like two that I want to talk about- my babies if you will

natrix and joli are my precious babies and I have decided that everything will be okay and good for them… eventually

if you wanna ask specific questions you can, I’ve fleshed out Joli way more than natrix though, so lemme put some stuff under the cut that I just copy and pasted from my notes lol

THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME TALK ABOUT MY BOYS AND FEEL FREE TO ASK ME ANY SPECIFIC QUESTIONS ABOUT THEM TOO (give me an excuse to talk about my creations lol)

Joli

Joli is a spiny turtle mutant

Created and brainwashed by the Kraang but saved by the resistance (remember that Kraang labor camp from the movie?? Yeah…)

The turtles personally helped him recover

Formed bonds with Raph first, then Mikey, then Donnie, then Casey (notice Leonardo is last)

Joli and Leonardo butt heads a lot, especially once Joli’s old personality comes back. He’s quick to criticize and correct Leonardo, which leads to a couple of people doubting Leonardo’s leadership, especially after Raph is gone

They have a bit of an emotional moment after Leonardo saves Joli’s life during a mission gone wrong

Enemies to friends to lovers

Joli dies during that final mission (the one in the first four mins of the movie)

The only reason Mikey died was because his powers had to be strong enough to send Leo and Casey back to the past, as well as place Joli in the past timeline- one in which he didn’t exist before

So now Leonardo and Casey meet Joli in the “past”, Joli’s still Leonardo’s age when they meet, but he remembers nothing about the other timeline, meanwhile Leonardo remembers everything about his husband and Casey remembers everything about his adopted second father

Basically Leonardo has to help Joli remember/ basically fall in love with him again, all while trying not to freak him out about… the whole situation

Some little fun facts include that Joli’s favorite color is indigo and he loves spicy food

another little fun fact is that Joli went through a big redesign, if you look for him in my class doodles you’ll see he was actually a yellow bellied slider before but I saw that spiny turtle on google and was like “I want that one” lol

Now as far as Natrix goes I don’t have as much about him but I do know he works at a bakery in the Hidden City and they have a partner who’s an axolotl yokai named Eros - Natrix is very much just my “here for a good time” child that I might hit with some angst or story with somewhere down the line lol

#pommanswers #pommocs #natrix oc #joli oc #I think I tagged this right lol #rottmnt oc #THANK YOU FOR THE COOKIES TIARA MWAH MWAH

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starastarship · 9 months

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Well I am done with my characters. Yay! So lemme introduce you to my characters

Let's get to my Aninatronic Eclipse! She was actually created before Canon Eclipse came out and I don't like changing names like at all, so there is now a canon explanation in my AU! Sina did not read the whole manual before working on the DA/ told Eclipse to go to the daycare for the time being. When she read it, it was already too late so she just says that Eclipses name is actually solar eclipse and the latter is what she goes by most of the time.

Well on that note let's get to Sina, the tired maintance girl! She is in her early twentys (1 to 2 years younger than Alex) but looks more like she has worked her entire career there. Currently she is the only maintance person in the building but Alex is already hiring for her at least another person (even if Sina is against it). She doesn't talk much about herself less about her past. All she says is she had it rough at times. She goes by She/ He/ They but isn't trans.

Also here is her Spotify playlist she listens too during work!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/35xg9TpqVEbf5aPtmktvVU?si=FKXUiuCpSzmiElJJbnOgEQ

And here is the last one Alexia, short Alex. She is the one in charge for the pizzaplex and most of it's business like finances and stuff! She is Sina's best friend even if both keep it professional in the work place, especially information of other people. Alex pulled a few strings and made a kind of deal with Fazbear entertainment (a few of the perks of being rich) but she doesn't do it much for the money, more for a personal reason!

Info to my AU down below

Let's see what I have so far:

-this plays a few years after security breach and maybe ruin but I still have to figure certain things out on that front.

-this wasn't suppose to be an Y/N story but I liked it too much so it's now one. (I might have to make a sheet for them too)

-Y/N is the maintance trainee of Sina. However they feel like their mentor is a bit hostile towards them. The reassurance that Sina doesn't hate them, is hard to believe often times.

-Y/N works with Sina on all Animatronics, but Eclipse. While Y/N wants to help there too, Sina refuses saying it's her responsibility alone.

-When Y/N first met Eclipse, Eclipse seemed nervous for a moment before going back to her happy self, juggling her balls happy to give the new staff member a little show

-I dunno how but Freddy is back somehow at the Pizzaplex. I still have to figure it out. Maybe Vanessa is back too.

-(this is more a personal note but there might come a character from a friend into the AU but I have to ask first)

-Y/N, while being a trainee, might find out more than they first thought! (Contemplating on making a entire story now)

-the AU still needs alot of work..... And a name ^^"

More to come with Y/N and maybe some doodles!

#my art #fnaf oc #fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #fnaf #fnaf dca #just briefly mentioned tho #eclipse #Sina #maintance Sina #Alex #Alexia #fnaf au #y/n #fnaf x y/n

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sysig · 2 years

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Handsome blacksmith so nice, he got married twice (Patreon)

#Doodles #Aegin #He ✨#Aegin/Vanir/Vivian are Bear/Twink/Femme polyam icons and I love them #It's Aegin's time to shine this time! Vivi and Vani got most of the last several so now he gets a turn #Good for him he rarely gets as much screentime #I like him a lot! He's just very stoic lol he's the straight man - metaphorically - in the relationship #So it can be hard to draw him in interesting ways by himself haha #He bounces off his spouses the best! He loves them of course but he also deeply values his alone time #Well he's cute anyhow ♪ And I cheated a little bit this time lol #The last time I drew him I portrayed him with very straight and heavy hair #Which I think I actually prefer when I think about it #But it was fun to draw him all floofed out too lol #Windy day after washing maybe ♪#And slight different beard ties - more casual #I quite like the longer ones too tho - I should draw Vani and Vivi each getting half of his beard to play with haha #It also occurs to me that I don't think I've ever shown off the different ring designs! A travesty!#Yeah everyone designed their own rings and gave one apiece to the respective partner #So Vivian has Vanir's and Aegin's - Aegin wears Vivian's and Vanir's - and Vanir wears Aegin's and Vivian's #Lemme see I still have my notes - the ones I doodled here and just to represent that he's wearing both of them lol #Although both Vani and Vivi's have gems! Vivi's is white gold with hard-cut pink gemstones #Vani's is a silver ring with a tumbled and soft polished red gemstone #And Aegin's is a black alloy cut in a deco style with no gem #So they can always look at their hand and see the physical representation of their partners' love ♥#It's cute and cheesy and I love them #Aegin's really fun to draw since he's so bulky hehe ♪ It's fun to draw big muscles!#Not to mention I found some old doodles of him that almost look like he has freckles?? Too cute! I'll have to try that for realsies #And I've been wanting to draw beards so much lately so maybe expect more of him haha

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aalissy · 3 years

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Seatmates

Another day and another short chapter hehe. I hope you guys like this one!! I wish we had gotten more of this in the show. Oh well, that’s what fics are for hehe. Anyway, lemme know what you think of this chapter <3. I had a lot of fun with it!

AO3

Adrien slowly walked back into school after the most recent akuma attack. Of course Lila had gotten herself akumatized again. Plus, he had slept for about half of the battle after she had kissed his cheek. Shuddering slightly, he entered the classroom just behind Marinette.

Adrien paused, watching as she slowly sat down. Suddenly, all of his anger and frustration disappeared as he looked up at the girl. Her chin rested on her fist as she gazed out the window happily. A soft smile spread across his face as he realized that he would be able to sit next to her. Feeling his grin grow even wider, Adrien sat down next to her, saying, “Good for you for taking the high road, Marinette. Hey, it’s pretty cool back here.”

Marinette simply giggled at him and he took one last sidelong glance at her before turning to face Mlle. Bustier. Once everyone had all gotten settled into their new seats, she began to take attendance. Knowing that his name was usually first on the attendance list, Adrien immediately spoke up when he was called on, “Present!”

After that, he tuned out slightly, unable to stop himself from sneaking another look at Marinette who looked lost in her own thoughts. With a small frown, Adrien turned back to Mlle. Bustier who had just called Marinette’s name. Seeing that she wasn’t going to respond, Adrien nudged her slightly, jerking his head to the front when she looked at him with a shocked expression.

Immediately, Marinette understood and she jumped to her feet to shout, “O-oh, I’m here!”

Mlle. Bustier gave her a small smile. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright back there, Marinette? I can move you to the front if you’re hard of hearing like Lila.”

Adrien immediately froze as the liar raised her hand immediately. “You know, actually, Mlle. Bustier, I’m pretty sure Ladybug cured my tinnitus so I can sit in the back now.”

Adrien felt his heart drop as both he and Marinette looked at each other with horror in their eyes. She then quickly shook her head. “No, no, no! I promise you Mlle. Bustier my hearing is completely fine! I’m alright sitting back here!”

“If you’re sure.” Their teacher nodded her head before resuming her roll call.

Both he and Marinette breathed out a sigh of relief after that. With a quiet snicker, Adrien turned to look at her only to realize that she was already looking at him. Both their eyes twinkled mischievously as small smiles tugged at their lips.

It was nice. Having a secret that only he and Marinette knew. Like they were secret partners on a mission together. Adrien felt his grin grow as he couldn’t help but compare Marinette to Ladybug. He quickly peeked at her once again before going back to scribble down some of the notes Mlle. Bustier was writing on the whiteboard. It wasn’t that odd that he was comparing two of the most important women in his life. After all, he did call Marinette his everyday Ladybug for a reason.

Shifting slightly in his seat, Adrien couldn’t stop his gaze from traveling to her notebook where he watched her doodle. Soon, a beautiful rose came to life as she sketched in more details. Blinking in awe, he leaned closer to murmur quietly, “Wow, that’s a wonderful drawing, Marinette.”

Marinette squeaked softly, whipping her wide, bright, blue eyes around to look at him. A red flush coated her cheeks before she ducked her head down shyly. “F-fank you, I-I mean, thank you, Adrien,” she stuttered as she brushed a stray strand of hair back into her pigtails.

“Where did you learn to draw like that?” Adrien asked softly, forgetting for a moment that there was a lecture going on.

“O-oh, actually I taught myself.” Marinette gave him a bashful grin.

He nudged his shoulder against hers, a light chuckle falling from his lips. “Well, it’s absolutely amazing! I wouldn’t have expected anything less from a talented designer like yourself!”

She opened her mouth to respond when Mlle. Bustier cut in, clearing her throat loudly at them, “Marinette, Adrien, please refrain from flirting in the middle of my lectures or I really will be forced to move the two of you.”

Immediately, they both sat up ramrod straight with dark, red blushes across their cheeks. Together, they then both stuttered out excuses and denials, avoiding the other’s gaze. Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, Adrien looked down rather pleadingly at his teacher, hoping she’d accept his apology.

Mlle. Bustier merely tsked at the two of them. “It’s alright. I know the two of you are both good students. Just keep your attention on the lecture and not each other. There will be plenty of time to talk after class ends.”

“Yes, Mlle. Bustier,” he and Marinette muttered together before clamping their lips firmly shut.

Immediately, Adrien dove back into scribbling down the notes he had missed. He attempted to shove his teacher’s words down into the back of his mind so that he could properly pay attention, but, for some reason, he just couldn’t. The word flirting kept floating around in his thoughts. He hadn’t been flirting with Marinette. Had he?

No, that was just ridiculous. Marinette was his friend. And, for that matter, Marinette hadn’t been flirting with him. She wouldn’t do that. At least not with him. He had teased her enough times to know that she didn’t see him that way.

Unconsciously, Adrien’s gaze was drawn away from his notebook over to the girl sitting next to him. Her pencil was tapping rapidly on the table as she gazed out the window, a pink hue still on her cheeks. When Marinette turned slightly to look back at Mlle. Bustier, Adrien immediately snapped his eyes away from her.

Maybe this hadn’t been the perfect seat choice he had thought it was going to be originally. It was only the first day sitting next to her and he was already getting distracted. With a quiet gulp, Adrien turned back to Mlle. Bustier’s words as he fought to pay some attention to them. With a quiet sigh to himself, he thought, this is going to be a really long year.

Unable to stop himself, though, he snuck another quick peek at Marinette. Her head was ducked down, tongue poked out slightly in concentration as she wrote down the lecture notes. A small, soft smile lit up his face as he looked at her. It may be a long year but at least it was going to be a perfect one.

#adrinetteapril2021 #adrienetteapril2021 #adrinette #adrienette #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #fic #fanfic #ml #mlb #chameleon #seatmates #post chameleon #chameleon au #miraculous chameleon

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vintagedolan · 4 years

Text

mixtape | track three

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Indiana was sure she’d never had a longer Monday in her life, and Tuesday wasn’t looking any better. Her lecture droned on and she did everything she could to stay engaged, from downing the rest of her water bottle to doodling on the side of her notes.

Just as her professor started to move into the brachial plexus, she saw a small message notification appear in the top right corner of her laptop screen. A text, from Grayson.

Wyd? :)

It took all her power not to scoff in the middle of the room. The fact that he’d actually sent her a ‘wyd’ was almost too much.

learning, what’s it to yah

She scrolled to catch up with her professor, trying to keep up.

I’m bored

You want a vanilla oatmilk latte later, right?

Or did I not remember that right

Triple texter, of course. She typed out a quick shhh, unless you can teach me about the brachial plexus I gotta pay attention. I’ll text you when I’m out and turned back to her notes, scribbling out the diagram that her professor was drawing on the board.

But she still smiled when she got a p sure you just made that up but okay :) from him.

Lecture sped up after that, her professor moving much too quickly through the nerves and innervations of muscles within the plexus that she could barely wrap her head around. She was going to have to review all of it again to even begin to fully understand. At least it wasn’t chemistry like it had been last semester - anatomy she could handle because at least it was interesting. Before she knew it she was closing her notebook and laptop, throwing them in her bag and heading out the door in a bid to get to the hospital faster.

Little did she know, Grayson was waiting in line at Jet’s already, having come to the city much earlier than he needed to, toe of his Air Force One tapping on the tile as his nerves ran wild. He caught his reflection in one of the windows and paused to double check himself, just like he had that afternoon in his mom’s hallway, looking in the mirror that was hanging on the wall. Ethan had caught him in the act, and he knew it wouldn’t slip past him.

“Alright, spill. You’re being sus.” Ethan’s words were garbled by the PB&J in his mouth, but it still made Grayson panic a bit.

“Am not.”

“Cut the shit Gray, you only wear belts when you’re trying to impress somebody and I highly doubt you’re trying to woo over the kids. What’s her name?”

“I hate you.”

“Interesting name.” That earned him a middle finger.

“Indiana.”

“Actual interesting name. She cute?”

“Very. And smart. And funny too. Good with kids.”

“And tick tick tick go the soulmate boxes. You gonna try to make a move?”

“We’ve talked one time bro. That’d be bold.”

“Yeah, and you’re you.You fall in love when somebody blinks at you right. Case made. Let me know when the wedding is.”

Grayson didn’t have a comeback for that, so he just huffed a bit and let out a “fuck off” before he turned to head for city an hour before he needed to.

“Next… Next.”

He pulled his head up, realizing the line had disappeared in front of him. He moved up to the counter, hoping he’d remembered her order right since she’d yet to answer him again.

“Can I do a large dark roast, and a large vanilla oatmilk latte please?”

Down the line, a man with an impressive beard and large gauges perked up as Grayson put his card into the reader.

“Wouldn’t happen to be for Indiana Cross would it?”

He wasn’t sure what the right answer was, so he just went with the truth. “Yeah, actually it is.”

Based on the way that the man squinted his eyes at him, Grayson realized it was apparently very much the wrong answer.

“And you are?” He asked.

“Grayson.”

“Grayson.” He repeated, obviously waiting for an elaboration.

“I uh… I volunteer with her at the hospital?”

Right answer. The man relaxed, going back to making coffee with a nod. He tried to run through the possibilities while he waited for the drinks. Brother? Probably not. Ex-boyfriend? Possibly.

“She’s a good egg, used to work here before school got to be too much. You’re lucky to have a friend like her,” he said after passing over the drinks.

Protective manager. Not what he expected, but he understood. He had a feeling it wasn’t just him who had gotten attached so quickly.

“Yeah, yeah I am for sure. Thanks, have a great day.”

“You too…” he trailed off, waiting. He didn’t know if he’d forgotten his name already or just didn’t want to admit he remembered it.

“Grayson.”

“Right. I’m Patrick. See you around.”

“Yeah man, see you.”

Grayson headed out the door, balancing one cup on top of the other so he could text her quickly.

You at the hosp yet?

no, I’m not at the ‘hosp’ haha I’m walking there now

You didn’t text me when you got out of class

I’m hurt

boo hoo

Lemme just

Throw this coffee away real quick

hey hey now those are fighting words

oh shit I never texted you about the coffee, but you were right, vanilla oatmilk latte

I’ll give you a pass this time since you were learning about the brachial whatever

You’re lucky im awesome and remembered

wow

the most awesome

love to see it

just wait outside of jets, I’ll be there in a minute

Okay :)

He did as she asked, moving out of the steady stream of people that were on the sidewalk to watch people who passed, waiting for her. Every time he saw a head of blonde hair he perked up, until finally he recognized her moving towards him. She was dressed more casually than on Sunday, with a baggy crewneck on with her jeans and Air Force Ones.

She noticed him a moment after he saw her, so by the time she laid eyes on him he was beaming, putting his phone away and moving towards her.

“A large? You spoil me,” she teased, taking the cup from him gratefully. It was delicious as always, but she was more focused on his outfit – a tight black long sleeve shirt tucked into a pair of nice maroon pants, a large belt buckle resting on his waist.

“We match,” he grinned, pointing a toe out to show off his shoes. It was about the only thing that matched – she felt frumpy next to him in her comfy clothes that she wore to class. Even her Air Forces were dingy compared to his, dull and dirty.

“Uh huh, right. I didn’t know that our first joint Buddies meeting was a fashion show, give a girl some warning next time, will yah?”

“Oh shut up, you look cute.”

Her eyebrows went up as she looked down at herself, then back at him. He threw her back the same look of disbelief.

“Did I stutter?” He asked, practically daring her to argue with him. She just blushed and shook her head, taking a drink of her coffee as they started towards Frazier. They walked shoulder to shoulder and Indiana was grateful – it was fractionally less common in the colder months, but she always got her fair share of cat calls on the streets. After getting to know him, she didn’t find Grayson even slightly intimidating anymore, but she still had the image of him on that bench, broad and serious, and she knew it was no coincidence that everyone fell silent with him beside her.

It was a new feeling, having to hold herself back. She’d never had the urge to wrap her arms around someone walking next to her, reach out and hold onto their arm, even just reach down to hold their hand. It made her giddy and skeptical at the same time as she tried to distract herself, watching the cars drive by, honking at each other.

“Where’d you go?” Grayson hummed, bumping her just barely and pulling her out of her head. Her heart swelled a bit hearing her signature phrase fall so easily from his lips, which seemed much pinker than she’d last remembered as he took a sip of his coffee and waited for her answer. A few moments later he quirked an eyebrow – a very well-manicured eyebrow. Did he get those waxed? She resisted the urge to reach up and smooth down her own that she knew were bushy and definitely not as nice as his.

“Indiana. You good?” He tried again,

“Hmm? Oh yeah, yeah I’m good, sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I was just checkin on you. Do we have a plan for this meeting or do you normally just go with the flow?”

“Depends on the mood she’s in. I’ve got some stuff in my bag – cards, my school stuff cause she likes to help me study sometimes. Other times she just likes to play 20 questions or hang out and talk. You’ll be the new shiny toy, so prepare for a bunch of questions. Especially about your teeth earrings.”

He balked as they got to the doors, following her quick steps into the lobby.

“I’m sorry my what?”

“It’s not everyday someone has diamonds in their teeth sir.”

“Okay but they aren’t teeth earrings, give me some fucking credit.”

“Definitely teeth earrings.”

“Jewels.”

“Teeth. Earrings. Oh my god, I’m gonna introduce you as teeth earring guy.” Her laughter filled the elevator as they stepped in.

“Oh god,” he groaned, letting his head fall back against the side of the little box as it moved up to the second floor. Indiana gave her most mischievous grin when the doors opened, walking quickly through the halls. It took Grayson a minute to realize that she was trying to beat him to Bekah’s room and he sped up his steps, trying to keep it casual as he passed rooms of kids and families, walking as fast as he could without full on running down the hall. They didn’t see the nurses laughing at their antics, but they didn’t care. Indiana side stepped into Bekah’s room abruptly, so fast that Grayson almost knocked her over trying to stop behind her.

Bekah was up walking around in a hoodie and leggings, and when she turned she immediately pointed over Indiana’s shoulder.

“Teeth earring guy!”

They couldn’t help it – they both busted out laughing, Indiana grabbing onto his shoulder to keep herself from falling over. When they finally got it together he spoke up first.

“My name is actually Grayson, but you can call me teeth earring guy if you wanna.”

“I’m Bekah Newcomb. Mandatory intro spiel, I’m 15, stage 3 leukemia. My parents aren’t pieces of shit, they just work a lot so they’re never here. No siblings because why mess with perfection. Any questions?”

Indiana bit her tongue – she had forgotten about the spiel, forgotten that it was Bekah’s favorite way to test new people, make them uncomfortable. Her eyes flickered over to Grayson, but he had the biggest smile on his face.

“Only one, but it’s very important. You ready?”

“Hit me with it,” she said, anxiously waiting.

“Is cereal a soup?”

Indiana couldn’t have planned a better intro for the two of them – they bonded so quickly right there before her eyes, debating the constituting factors of soup, and it had her melting to see him interacting so easily with the girl who meant so much to her. Bekah didn’t even attempt to put up her usual front, just laughed and joked with him as if she’d known him for years. The hours flew by, games of war and BS passing the time as Bekah sat at the top of her bed and Indiana and Grayson sat at the end of it, knees touching as they resisted the urge to peek at each-others cards.

The only hiccup came when Bekah got her meds at 7, but she put on her best show for Grayson, managing to keep her stomach settled enough to avoid puking. It was the most fun visit either of them had had in a while, and Bekah fought her drowsiness until visiting hours were over at 8. Indiana had to be the voice of reason, starting the goodbyes before the nurses came to kick them out.

“Are you both coming back on Thursday?” Bekah called out as they headed for the door.

“Hell yeah we are. Want us to bring anything?” Grayson grinned.

Indiana liked the sound of us.

“Cereal, so we can test our theories.”

“You got it. See yah Thursday Beks.”

“See yah Thursday, Earrings.”

His laugh was so loud that the nurses at the desk peeked their heads around to see what was happening – but they were smiling up at the two of them as they signed out and started down the hallway they’d come up.

As soon as they cleared the ocean hallway, Grayson turned to her.

“Was that okay? Like was that good?” There was genuine concern in his voice, and Indiana had to bite back a laugh.

“Are you seriously asking?”

“Yeah, ‘course I am.”

“Grayson she loved it. She loved you. I haven’t seen her smile that big since she’s come in for this round of treatment. Were you worried about that?” She didn’t stop herself from reaching out and holding onto his shoulder, squeezing lightly as they stopped walking.

“A little,” he admitted, relaxing under her touch.

“You’re a natural, I told you that. I promise you did great, I wouldn’t bullshit you.”

He stopped walking for a minute, and there was an intensity in his gaze that had her stomach fluttering.

She didn’t know what she expected, but it definitely wasn’t for him to say “Can I take you to dinner?”

“Now?” Stupid answer.

“Well, it is dinner time. But if you aren’t hungry I could wait a while. Or if you don’t want to go, that’s totally okay, I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything just cause we’re doing this together and we share a buddy and-”

“I want to go to dinner,” she cut him off, and he could see the hesitation on her face.

“I sense a but coming…”

“But -”

His heart sank a bit - he’d fallen into the trap he always managed to get himself into, falling too quickly, making his move too fast. But it was natural to be next to her, to talk to her, to have her hand stay on his shoulder. He liked the feeling of her there, the sound of her laughter and the brightness of her smile, and he couldn’t quite hold himself back it seemed. It made the rejection he knew he was about to get hurt even worse.

“But, I have to study tonight,” she sighed, and there was a genuineness to it that had him breathing a bit easier. She actually seemed disappointed, and the hope he felt rose up again.

“Oh yeah, the biceps whatever thing, that shit sounded complicated.”

“The brachial plexus, but A for effort,” she teased. “No but seriously, I gotta get that shit down or I’m gonna forget everything she said about it today. But I really do wanna go to dinner, I’m not blowing you off.” She rushed through her reassurances, dropping her arm and starting to walk again, towards the stairs this time.

“I believe you. How about Thursday, after we hang with Beks?”

“Yeah, I can do Thursday!”

“Gang.” Fuck. He’d been doing pretty well at hiding all the slang he’d picked up in LA.

“Did you… what?”

“Nothing, pretend you didn’t hear that. Thursday sounds great. Oh, before I forget, can you bring some non-dairy milk with you when you come?”

She paused for a minute, looking up at him from a few stairs below like he’d grown another head.

“You want me to bring milk… non-dairy milk… to dinner.”

“No! No no, for the cereal! I just have a long drive and I don’t want it to get all gross and hot on the way, and since you walked I figure you live close by. I can venmo you for it.”

“Oh! Yeah, I can bring some, you don’t have to venmo me for it, no biggie.”

“Okay cool. Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t ask you to bring milk on a da- to dinner. Bring it to dinner. That would be… weird.” His cheeks burned hotter than he realized they could. The fact that he’d almost slipped and said date had embarrassment and panic coursing through every inch of his body, and he could already hear the way Ethan was going to laugh when he told him the story later.

Of course Indiana heard it, but the way he was blushing to his ears had her pretending she didn’t.

“Thursday it is then,” she grinned, opening the door of the stairwell and holding it until Grayson passed through. The massive windows of the lobby were painted indigo, washed out a bit by the city lights but dark nonetheless.

“Damn it’s dark,” he muttered. Even though it was beginning to get dark earlier now with autumn on the horizon, it was still much dimmer than he was used to.

“It’s supposed to storm the rest of the week, probably just the clouds,” she shrugged. She looked small for the first time to him, headed towards the doors.

“Can I drive you home? It’s really dark out.” The words came out before he could think them over - that seemed to be the effect she had on him.

“Oh, it’s okay! I only live like three blocks from here, by the time you get your car I’ll probably be home,” she reassured him with a smile.

“Can I walk you then? I don’t like the idea of you walking out there in the dark by yourself.”

She paused at the door, and he half expected her to turn and remind him that she was very much capable of walking herself. But she surprised him, as she always seemed to do.

“Yeah, yeah that would be really nice actually. If you don’t care.”

“No, I’d love to. You ready?”

She nodded and pushed the doors open, hair blowing back in the wind as she walked outside. The temperature had dropped significantly, the true sign of a storm coming through just as she’d suggested.

He took his spot beside her, shortening his strides so he didn’t stray too far from her, standing tall and broad. Indiana felt small next to him, but in a good way for once. It was even more comforting than earlier, and she took slower steps than she usually did, trying to draw it out as long as possible. She tried to convince herself it was because she wanted to procrastinate studying, didn’t want to have to tackle her notes, but in reality she knew it was because she didn’t want the night to end.

It was a comfortable kind of quiet, the bustle of the city streets creating the perfect background noise as they weaved down the sidewalks. Indiana felt like if anyone looked at them they’d be able to see the little bubble of nervous energy surrounding the two of them - it had her feeling like she was back in middle school, giddy because the cute boy looked at her for two seconds.

Much too quickly, her apartment building appeared, tall and imposing in the dark.

“This is me.”

“Damn, that really was a short walk.”

For once, she wished it had been longer.

“Thanks again for walking me.”

“Yeah, yeah no problem, anytime. Um… have a good night.” He could hear the awkwardness in his tone, felt like it was palpable in the city air.

“Goodnight Grayson. Drive safe.”

“Goodnight Indiana. Sleep safe.”

That earned him his new favorite smile, but only for a moment before she disappeared into the lobby.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“Bro, will you fucking focus?”

There were few things that annoyed Grayson more than his brother taking too long to finish his reps on the equipment, but that day he’d become his own pet peeve. In his head, distracted, constantly checking his phone - and Ethan was beyond annoyed.

“Alright, out with it. The fuck is goin on in there?” Ethan smacked Grayson’s head lightly, concern starting to overpower the annoyance.

“It’s nothing, let’s just finish this shit before it rains again,” he huffed, moving to the single pull up bar that he’d built last year and starting his reps. The sky was a dreary gray, the cold of autumn starting to come in and clinging to everything it touched.

It wasn’t nothing. Actually, it was much much more than that, and Ethan knew it too, but he didn’t pry. Yet. He did his best to keep his brother focused for the rest of their Wednesday work out, encouraging him to get more reps, to push a bit harder. It didn’t seem to clear his head at all, and Ethan held his tongue for a few more hours, waited until they were both showered, in fresh clothes and in the kitchen making lunch for him to finally ask again.

“Is it the girl? Indiana?”

Grayson didn’t answer, but the look that he threw Ethan from his spot in front of the stove told him enough.

“What’d she say? Lemme see.”

He passed his phone over, moving back to stir soup he was making as Ethan read the message. Grayson remembered exactly what it said, even if his twin didn’t mumble it out as he read.

“Hey, about dinner tomorrow. Turns out my sister and brother in law are moving out of my place (finally) because Charlie got a new photography deal and I promised I would help them move :( but we could do dinner on Saturday night if that works for you still? If not it’s okay. What’s wrong with that?” Ethan asked.

“She doesn’t wanna have dinner,” Grayson muttered, watching the soup spin in the pot as he stirred.

“That is so not what that means. Is this seriously what you’ve been pouting about all morning?” Ethan had to bite back his laugh. He hadn’t seen his brother this in his head about something in a while, and he didn’t want to make him feel stupid for being worried. “If she didn’t want to have dinner, she wouldn’t have asked about Saturday.”

“How do you know? You haven’t even met her.”

“Cause I’ve had a girlfriend for two years. You just learn what they mean in their texts even if they don’t say it.”

The last thing Grayson needed in that moment was a reminder that his brother was in a very loving relationship, but he let it slide. Eden had come into their lives a few years back, a fireball of take-no-shit and feminine power unlike either of them had ever seen. It was a learning curve, and Ethan was determined to ace the test. Grayson was glad that he had - she’d become a sister to him, and she brought fun and laughter to their life out in California.

“Call Eden, see what she thinks,” Grayson said, scooping soup out into bowls for the two of them. Ethan did as he asked, pulling up facetime and letting it ring through until she appeared on the screen, wide smile bright against her tanned skin, California sun bright in the background.

“Hey baby! What’s up?”

“Grayson’s having girl problems.”

“Oooo I love girl problems, hand him over,” she teased, still beaming when Ethan passed over his phone.

“Alright hit me with it, what’s the tea?”

Grayson tried to give her the short version of how he and Indiana had met, but he found himself elaborating with each detail that he remembered, from every word of the text down to the way she said goodbye the last time he’d seen her, only the night before. It felt like longer than that.

Eden was quiet for a moment after he finally finished the story, but by her coy smile he knew she was just trying to figure out how to word everything correctly.

“Okay, so first off, just to clear things up, she’s not blowing you off.”

He wanted to believe her, desperately, but the doubt must have still been obvious on his face, because she rolled her eyes before she launched into her explanation.

“She texted you today instead of tomorrow, which probably means as soon as she found out she told you. That’s a good sign. She’s nervous too, that’s why she said ‘if not it’s okay’, cause she’s trying to give you an out if you want it.”

He very much didn’t want an out. He actually wanted an in.

“The fact that she reached out at all shows that she cares, and she’s trying to set up another time which definitely means she’s interested. Most girls would just wait to see if you would set up another one, that’s what I would have done. Tested to see if you were invested. But if she’s willing to do it, that means she must be pretty sure of you. Or totally oblivious to the fact that you like her. Either way, you’re in good shape.”

“Who said I like her?” He muttered, getting a barking laugh out of both members of his audience.

He let them fall into conversation without him, the quick catch up of their day that they’d been doing lately since they were on opposite sides of the country. It was hard for Ethan, but he managed it well, with plenty of sappy texts and nightly facetimes that would have Grayson gagging but secretly wishing he had someone to talk to like that.

He wondered what Indiana was like on facetime while he ate his soup. He wondered what her favorite color was, why she took oatmilk in her coffee instead of regular, what her class schedule was. Wondered what time she woke up on the mornings when she could sleep in, what she’d want to do on a real date, what her room looked like. He never realized how much mental space he had for someone other than himself or Ethan, and he found himself obsessing the smallest things, trying to ignore the butterflies it brought to his stomach.

Ethan didn’t help once he finished his call and started devouring his luke-warm bowl of veggie soup.

“Bro you’re in deep, I can tell. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get this attached this quick before.”

“There’s just something about her dude. It’s scaring me a little honestly. I’ve never felt like this about anybody, and I’ve literally only seen her twice. I mean, I barely even know her, but I can’t stop thinking about her. Is that weird?”

Ethan thought of about twenty comebacks that he could have used, but he bit them back. He could feel his twin’s anxiety, and he wasn’t about to add to it.

“Nah man. It’s not weird. It’s intense, but it’s not weird. And hey, if she ends up being the one someday it’ll make a cute story. You hear all sorts of people say they fell in love the first time they saw their person, who says that couldn’t be you, yah know? But hey, I gotta meet her before you go proposing or some shit.” He bumped his shoulder with a smile, turning back to his bowl of soup so Grayson didn’t feel like he had to respond right away.

He thought on it for a minute, trying to process everything his brother had just laid out on the table. And then he pulled his phone out, clicked on his new favorite thread to check, and typed out his reply.

Saturday date it is

See you tomorrow :)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Indiana Cross was never late. In fact, she was usually a minimum 10 of minutes early. But one too many outfits changes had slowed her down and she was cutting it too close for comfort - so close that when she looked out and saw the rain had started up again, she contemplated just running out into it and getting drenched instead of trying to make it back upstairs to get her umbrella.

She peered out into the street through the lobby doors, trying to decide if the drops would be enough to ruin her outfit, when something caught her eye.

A hand, waving quite cutely at her through the glass.

Grayson was outside, massive black umbrella over his head and a wide smile on his face as he walked up to the doors, waiting for her. He hadn’t said anything about coming to pick her up, but her heart fluttered at the sight of him anyways - she’d seen him just a few days ago, on Thursday, where they’d sat on Bekah’s bed again and ate cereal and laughed and joked. But it felt like it had been forever, and with the added stress of moving Charlie and Devin out, and the hard goodbye that she didn’t want to admit was hard, she hadn’t really relaxed since she’d last seen him.

He made sure there wasn’t a gap between the awning and his umbrella so she could duck under it without getting wet. As soon as she was under she made her move, if you could even call it that, and wrapped her hands around his bicep, trying not to gawk at how big it was. Instead, she looked up at him and scrunched her nose.

“Hi.”

“Hi there,” he beamed, and she could see the excitement in every single one of his features. “Figured I could walk you. You ready?”

She nodded, holding on to him as they started to walk down the sidewalks. His slow Jersey pace mixed with her short legs and quick New Yorker steps kept them perfectly in sync as they dodged puddles and soaked up the feeling of being together again.

The conversation flowed as easily as ever, Grayson asking her how moving Charlie out went, if she was sad to have her sister so far away. They talked about Cameron going to school in South Carolina, and how he and Ethan couldn’t spend more than a week apart without going crazy. She talked about school, the assignments she had lined up for the week, the exam she had already started studying for even though it was next Friday. Every time they got to a puddle that was too big for both of them to walk around he guided her to the dry part, walking lightly through the water so he didn’t splash her.

They got to the hospital much too quickly, and she let go of his arm reluctantly so he could pull the umbrella down and shake off the excess water before they made it in. Grayson led the way up the stairs and onto the unit, waving at the kids he saw, giving Andre a high five as he passed and asking the nurses how their shift was going. Indiana couldn’t help but notice the way the younger nurses - actually, all the nurses, seemed to be watching his every move, blushing and smiling at him as he passed.

She fought the urge to reach out and hold his hand, walking just a bit closer to him so their arms brushed against each other as they moved. It sent electricity through every nerve ending on her body, and she got so caught up in it that she almost forgot to stop him before they made it to Bekah’s room.

“Hey, one thing. I know we’re going on a date later, but let’s not have any… like us stuff, while we’re here. I don’t want Bekah to feel like a third wheel or anything, cause we’re here for her. Deal?”

“Deal.” There was a prideful look in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place, but she didn’t have time to analyze it before she stepped into the room.

Bekah was in her bed, curled up under the blankets on her side. Her head was wrapped in a light blue scarf - something her mom had brought her a few days prior, sweatshirts pulled down over her hands as she shivered.

Grayson’s face fell immediately, and he froze at his spot by the curtain. She looked sick, actually sick, for the first time, and it brought on a wave of memories and emotion that he wasn’t quite prepared for.

Indiana didn’t blink.

“Hey you. How are you feeling?” Her tone was soft, soothing as she moved to her bedside and laid a hand on Bekah’s shoulder, starting to rub against her cold skin.

“S’ cold,” Bekah mumbled, burrowing down further, so far that Indiana could only see her brown eyes and the dark skin of her forehead.

“Want me to go see if I can get you another blanket?”

She nodded weakly, resting her head back on the pillow as Indiana stood up and moved over to Grayson.

“You okay in here by yourself for a minute?”

Grayson nodded, half to answer and half to convince himself. She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before she disappeared out the door. He stood there in silence for a moment, hands shoved in his pockets, unsure of what to do.

Bekah peaked her head out just enough for her mouth to be visible before she spoke.

“I’m not contagious, Earrings, you can come over here.”

The tension in his shoulders released and he walked over, sitting down as gently as he could on the edge of the bed.

“You’re weird,” Bekah said, eyes still closed. He panicked a bit, trying to keep his voice calm.

“Yeah? Why am I weird.”

“You don’t like being around sick people, but you’re volunteering at a kids hospital. Weird.”

“I don’t think anyone likes seeing people sick,” he murmured, trying to word everything very carefully.

“Indiana likes being around sick people because she likes to help. I think you like to help too but it makes you uncomfortable.”

There was no malice in her tone, but it still made him let out a dry laugh.

“You’re an observant one, aren’t you.”

“Not much else for me to do in here but watch people. But seriously, why’d you sign up to make yourself uncomfortable? Did someone tell you to?”

“Yeah, kinda. Someone told me if I could help that I should.”

“Your mom?”

“My dad actually,” he corrected quietly, toying with his fingers. Anytime he said his name out loud, no matter the form it took - dad, father, Sean - it was like he could feel it in his heart, a little tug on the original wound, a finger picking at a scab that wasn’t quite formed yet.

“I’ll have to thank him for that some time. I like having you around, no matter how awkward you are.”

“Well thanks Beks.”

He was saved from his devolving thoughts by a very excited Indiana coming back into the room with not one, but three blankets stacked in her arms.

“I declare it movie night,” she said, passing both of them their own blanket and rummaging for a remote, pulling up Emperor's New Groove before settling down into a chair on the other side of the bed. Grayson pulled one up so he could sit back, and without the distraction of conversation Bekah was out within the first 15 minutes, breaths deep despite the winces that she couldn’t hide. Indiana just ran a comforting hand over her arm until she lulled down further, tired muscles finally relaxing.

“She’s gonna be out the rest of the night, we might as well let her rest. You ready to go?” She asked after another twenty minutes, a bit of excitement returning to her eyes.

He nodded, moving to fix Bekah’s blanket over top of her one last time before he clicked the TV off and left her to sleep.

As soon as they signed out, he couldn’t hold back his questions.

“Is she getting worse? It seems like she’s getting worse.”

“Not necessarily. Chemo is weird like that sometimes, sometimes she’ll have good days with her meds, sometimes she’ll have bad ones. It’s just her body trying to fight for and against her at the same time. Exhausting, I would imagine. But she’s okay.”

“She doesn’t seem okay,” he said, looking back down the hallway before they went through the first set of doors.

“Hey.” He turned back to her, noted for a moment that her eyes were the same color as the painted jellyfish on the wall behind her. It grounded him somehow. “Don’t carry all this out here with you, it’ll wear you down. She’s in good hands, she’s sleeping, she’s safe. They’re doing everything they can for her, you’ve gotta trust in that.”

He knew that sometimes it didn’t matter how much they did, but he kept that to himself.

“You want me to compartmentalize.”

“A little bit, yes. It’s the only way you can survive something like this, trust me.”

He did. And he knew she was right. So he closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, let himself let go for a moment and breathe a bit easier. Without a hesitation, he reached a hand out for hers as soon as he opened his eyes, linking his fingers with hers.

“Okay. Let’s go on a date then.”

“Let’s go on a date,” she repeated, squeezing her tiny hand against his as they started down the hallway again.

He’d hatched a whole plan, ran the whole thing by both Ethan and Eden. They were going to get dinner at a little vegan food truck that he had made sure would be close by, walk the High Line for the last hour that it was open, and finish off with a late night coffee from Jets.

“Do I get to know the details of this date?” She asked while he opened the umbrella up outside and offered him her arm, almost as if she knew he was running through the itinerary in his head for the entire walk.

“Nope, you’re just along for the ride.” He grinned, trying to keep his confidence up as he started walking down the sidewalk.

For the first block, everything was fine. The rain picked up slightly, but nothing too bad, and it only made her hold onto him a bit tighter, leaning into him to avoid getting wet. He reveled in the feeling, holding himself back from leaning over and kissing her forehead.

The second block, things got a bit worse. The wind began to howl, thunder booming so loud above them that they both jumped. It seemed to shake the buildings around them a bit, and Grayson bit his lip, scrambling to think of what they would do if it got worse.

By the third block, all hell broke loose. The rain was coming down in sideways sheets, soaking their shoes and pants as Grayson tried to angle the umbrella and keep Indiana dry. It worked for approximately two seconds before the wind inverted the umbrella, leaving them both entirely exposed.

“Sorry, fuck, sorry!” He yelled over the roar of the rain, trying desperately to fix it as their shirts became heavy and wet. Their hair stuck to their foreheads, and when he pushed his back he saw that Indiana was laughing, laughing so hard that she leaned back slightly, clutching her stomach.

“C’mon, c’mon!” She grabbed his hand, dragging him along as they ran through the downpour. He followed her blindly, holding tight to her slippery hand as she weaved them through umbrellas and past people huddled under stoops.

When she pulled him into the lobby of her apartment building they were both laughing, breathless and giddy, so loud that a few people turned to look at them.

They didn’t notice.

“Your teeth are chattering,” Grayson laughed, reaching out to rest a hand on her quivering cheek. He was cold too, but he didn’t care. He hoped the blush he got out of her warmed her up a bit. “Not to invite myself up or anything, but do you care if I get dried off?”

She rolled her eyes at him, just taking his hand and leading him over to the elevator.

Unfortunately, a perfectly dry woman in her 40’s stepped on with them, and all it took was the sound of the water dripping off their clothes onto the tile for them to both break into a fit of giggles, Grayson’s mouth going wide in a silent cackle that had Indiana having to cover her own to keep from being too loud. She felt like a middle schooler getting scolded in the back of class until they made it to her floor, stepping past the woman with a muttered ‘sorry’ and wide smiles. They stared at each other until the doors closed, and then they were laughing again, holding onto each other’s shoulders as they tried to make it down the hallway and breathe at the same time.

Grayson was wiping tears by the time they got to her door, still giggling to himself as he started to shiver, his clothes getting colder by the minute. He took his shoes off outside the door, not wanting to track even more water inside as she opened the door

Her apartment was a bit warmer than the hallway, a welcoming and simple space with a small kitchen to the left and a cozy living room in front of him. Without realizing that he had even done it consciously, he had imagined her in a place just like this, with the big windows on the other side of the room covered in rain.

“Nice place,” he murmured.

“It’s no house, but it’s nice enough,” she teased. “Let me see if Devin left anything here that you can wear, hold on.”

She disappeared into a room on the right and he made his way into the living room, showing himself around. The picture frames on the top shelf caught his eye for a moment, and he smiled at how cute she looked as a baby, how beautiful she looked in her dress with her sister beside her. The woman holding her hands in the last one looked just like her, and he was about to ask when he felt Indiana behind him.

“That’s my mom. Nicole.”

“She seems like a great mom.”

“Yeah, she was.”

Grayson froze. Fuck.

“Shit, Indy, I’m sorry I-”

She put a finger to his lips. “It’s okay. But let’s not talk about it tonight, yeah?”

He nodded, trying to swallow down his guilt. He knew what it felt like to have that sprung on you without a warning, and he wished he could pull the words back out of the air, back out of her mind.

“Try these.” She passed him a pair of pajama pants. “I’m still looking for a shirt, I might have something that’s big enough for you. There’s a bathroom in my room if you wanna change in there.”

“I can just go shirtless for a while, it’s no big deal,” he reassured her. Her eyes went wide for a moment, and he saw her swallow.

“Okay. I’m gonna change now.”

“Okay. I’ll wait until you’re done.”

They stared at each other for a minute before Indiana finally moved, going into her room to start rummaging through her own clothes. She changed faster than she ever had, throwing on a pair of leggings and a crewneck with some comfy fuzzy socks before she was back in the living room.

“All yours. Um, do you want anything specific for dinner? I haven’t gone to the store in a while, and I would feel bad making somebody deliver in this weather,” she mumbled.

“Well, I’m vegan, but don’t worry if you don’t have anything, I can make it till I get home.”

In all honesty, he was starving, but he wasn’t about to end the date early because of a lack of plant based meal choices.

“I’ll see what I have, go change so I can put your clothes in the dryer with mine.”

He did as she asked, moving into her room. It was similar to the living room - white bedding, simplistic artwork in wooden frames on the walls. But above her bed were an assortment of vinyls, and he actually gasped when he saw the one in the middle.

“You listen to Cudi?!” He yelled, running back into the living room. Indiana was in the kitchen with a cucumber in her hands, but he made her jump so hard that she almost dropped it.

“Yeah, do you?”

“I fucking love Cudi dude, he’s the best artist of all time. I can’t believe you listen to him too.”

“Do I not give off Cudi vibes,” she laughed, putting the words in air quotes.

“No, you definitely do not.”

“What vibes do I give off then? Or do I not wanna know.”

“You don’t wanna know,” he grinned, flinching when she raised the cucumber like she was going to throw it.

“Go change Gray.”

He went back in, headed to her bathroom. It was much darker than the rest of the house, with a dark gray shower curtain adorned with wildflowers. He locked the door and stripped down quickly - his underwear were still damp, but he wasn’t about to go commando, especially if he was gonna risk having to hide a boner later. He had no idea how far the night was going to go, but he wanted to be ready for anything.

Standing there in the mirror in his boxers, he contemplated it for a minute, and then pulled a very 2016 Grayson move of dropping to the floor and doing a quick set of push ups so that his bare arms were a bit more swollen than they had been.

He pulled the pants on, groaning a bit at how long they were, and how tight they clung to his ass. Worried that he’d spent too long in the bathroom he picked up his wet clothes and headed back to the living room with the ends of his pants rolled up three times so he didn’t trip on them.

“You didn’t tell me Devin was a fucking giant dude! How tall is that mans?”

“He’s 6’5”,” Indiana laughed from somewhere he couldn’t see her, popping up with a loaf of bread and putting it on the counter. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, so much tanned skin stretched over thick bands of muscle that it had her mouth dry. She swallowed again before she spoke. “Just sit those down, I can put them in the dryer.” “I can do it, are yours already in there?”

“Yeah, it’s over there.” She smiled and pointed to the doors in the hallway. He put them in and turned it on before he finally made it to the kitchen and saw the assortment on the counter. But she wasn’t looking at the food anymore - her eyes were all for him, and he felt himself fall nervous under her gaze again.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just cute.”

“Oh yeah, these pants are what do it for you huh?” He gave her a little spin just to make her laugh.

“Did I stutter?” She tilted her head to the side just barely, and it took all his self control not to lean in and kiss her right then. Instead, he just shook the thought from his head and stood close enough to where her shoulder was against his arm.

“What’re we workin’ with?”

“Well. I’ve got apples, a few grapes, jelly, some lettuce, bread, peanut butter, a sweet potato and crackers. Sorry.” She was sheepish, and he just shook his head at her with a frown.

“Nothing to be sorry for. You trust my PB&J making abilities?”

“That depends entirely on if you cut it into triangles or squares.”

“Oh c’mon, it’s triangles all day,” he scoffed, getting a laugh out of her that had him floating.

“Then yes, I approve. Do you care if I study while you make them? I just have a few things to go over.”

“Do whatever you gotta do,” he reassured her, moving to open the bread while she went back to her backpack. She was back quickly, with a stack of flashcards in her hands.

“Here,” he cleared her a spot on the counter next to where he was working. “Sit up here, teach me some stuff.”

“It’s just vocab stuff, nothing interesting.”

“Just say it outloud, maybe I’ll learn something.”

And so she did, laughing at the way his brows would furrow and the incredulous look he’d give her when it was a particularly long word. He took his time on the sandwiches, moving to cut up two apples and split the rest of the grapes between the two plates that he found after looking through the cabinets.

He cleared his throat and held out the plate on the palm of his hand. “Bon appetit madam.”

“Why thank you,” she giggled, sitting her cards down and taking it from him gratefully. She stayed perched on the counter and he leaned back against the fridge, taking his own plate in his hands. She complimented the food as she ate, wiggling slightly in the cutest way. Finally, she spoke up.

“Since we’re here, do I get to know what the actual date plan was?”

“Nah, I’m saving that shit for the future,” he smiled, taking the last bite of his sandwich. Even he had to admit it was good despite the slightly stale bread.

“Oh the future huh?”

“Yeah. Like next week.”

“I’ll pencil you into my planner then,” she grinned, tossing a few grapes into her mouth.

“I can’t tell if that’s sarcastic or not.”

“It’s not. Writing everything down keeps me sane I think.”

“Hey, organization is sexy,” he laughed, biting down on an apple slice.

“Good to know.” Her words were a bit muddled around the bite she had in her mouth, and Grayson put his empty plate aside, content to sit and watch her finish her meal. It was so easy to be around her, and he didn’t second guess anything he did or said - he hadn’t realized until her how much he altered himself around everyone he met.

“10 outta 10 PB&J, I’m impressed,” she smiled at him, moving her plate to the side after a moment. He couldn’t help but notice the tiny bit of jelly clinging to her cheek, purple and sticky against her skin.

“You’ve got a little - here,” he stepped up to her, reaching a hand out and running his thumb over it to get it off. But he didn’t let go - not when she looked up at him with those bright blue eyes, just like the jellyfish on the walls, and then he watched her look at his lips once before he leaned in.

She tasted sweet, lips soft against his. They were both hesitant, not sure of how far to take it. Short and sweet, they separated and looked at each other. He felt like he could float away when she brought a hand up to his hair and pulled him back in for another. He moved a hand to the counter for leverage, leaning into her as she smiled against him.

“You taste like apples,” she whispered, and then they were both laughing like they had been all night, cheeks and stomachs sore in the best way.

“C’mon you, what do you wanna do with the rest of our date night?”

“We could finish Emperor’s New Groove?” She poised.

He moved his hands to her waist, pulling her off the counter as she squealed, sitting her on her feet and taking her hand, headed to the living room. Ten minutes later and he was leaned back on the couch, feet up on the coffee table so she could curl up against his bare chest under the blanket while she scrolled through the film, trying to find where they left off.

He hoped that she’d undershoot it - anything to keep them right there, in each other's arms; bliss, as the storm raged on outside.

#SHES HERE #I.... kinda love this chapter #mixtape #grayson dolan #grayson dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan fanfic #dolan twins #dolan twins fanfic #PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT

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thephantomofthe-internet · 4 years

Text

Read Into Me-Chapter 1: Wuthering Heights

Steve Harrington x Shy! Reader

CONTINUE READING THE SERIES HERE

Word Count: 2,849

Date Posted: 04/27/2020

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s Note: We starting something newww friends! If you liked or commented on my post about this series, you’re on the tag list! If you want off lemme know, it’s seriously no big deal. I’ve been working on this one for awhile, so if you liked it, please flash me a reblog or a reply! Criticism is always appreciated!

Tag List: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej @aclockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @banjino-the-hole @buckysarge @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @t0rment0 @10blurredsmoke10 @unusuallchildd @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @alwaysstressedout @peterparxour @linksispink1995 @asharpknife @alex--awesome--22 @baebee35 @marvelismylifffe @lilmissperfectlyimperfect

Flowers poked up between the sidewalk cracks, little white and yellow daisies blooming skyward, their heads turning to bask in the sun. Spring was bursting all over Hawkins, making the town reborn in pastels and Easter bonnets. Babies crawled around in the parks in white outfits, their mothers not worried about grass stains and cooing over their precious bundles of joy.

You crushed the daisies under your boots on your walk to school. You made a point to. They were begging to be crushed, stamped out by your heavy black soles. You didn’t like spring, you hated babies in their grass stained diapers and drool covered cheeks. You couldn’t place why you hated the season, it wasn’t as if you hated the cold or the rain which plagued March and early April, you adored the sound of rain on the Plexiglas roof of your family’s sunroom, thunder in the distance and swirling grey clouds swarming the sky. Then again, that wasn’t what spring wanted to be. Spring wanted to be beautiful bursts of colour and birds singing from their nests, babies crying into life and everything turning green.

Your hatred might have sprung from all that green, your mother had insisted on you taking up an artistic skill, supposedly because it made young women more worldly and affable, and sat you in art classes where you painted bouquets of flowers and bowls of fruit for hours every week. You didn’t hate art; it had become a release for you, a place to vent your emotions and makes something from your mind’s spinning thoughts. You’d filled sketchbooks and canvases with images of aliens and stars and snails. You liked to doodle snails and hourglasses on the margins of your homework. But your favourite thing was to draw your classmates. You were a quiet person, a sensitive soul according to your grandmother, and so often time’s people would ignore you flat out or discount your presence. This didn’t bother you so much, it gave you the chance to look at them without anyone asking any questions, to sketch out their image in charcoal and graphite, covering your hands in black and grey smudges. Your hands were constantly stained black, up the side of your hand to the tip of your pinkie, which meant that your jeans and shirts and sweater cuffs were smudged and stained.

You were sat on the football field’s bleachers one cool April morning, your best friend Samantha Cameron sat next to you, thin headset around the back of her head. She was unable to pull the headset around her black spiked hair, purposefully ghastly pale with black lips. You could hear the muffled sound of Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees playing at top volume as her head bounced to the beat, her black high tops kicking at the seat below you. You had your sketchpad out, trying to capture the stiff movement of her hair with the graphite piece clutched in your hand.

Samantha turned to look at you with a smile “You get it right yet?” she asked. She could see the annoyance in your face as you rubbed at the drawing, trying to smudge the stray hairs trying to escape the harsh gelling she’d done that morning. Just like your drawing, you suspecting that she’d been unable to get it to do exactly as she wanted.

“It’s getting there, it’s not moving right yet…” you muttered, pulling your lip into your teeth, chewing hard on the skin.

“You have like, four of me as is, I think you’ll survive if it isn’t perfect.” Samantha chuckled, pulling her headset down around her neck, twisting her long strand of pearls around her index finger.

“And I like this one best, your hair is moving so interestingly today…” you swiped at the page, pulling the eraser gum out of the coils and rubbing out the mistake you’d made, adding more shake to the tips of the centre point.

“Besides,” you chuckled “I’m not gonna have the time to get any good sketches of you with post-its in your hair this year.” Usually, you and Samantha would try to take one class together a year, but she had to switch her English class to first semester so she could snag a gym credit to train for potential college reps. She wanted to be a Wellesley girl and get a scholarship for soccer and she needed to be a top performance to get one.

You sighed, turning away from her. “I still hate that Mr. Lawrence insists on group work…” you muttered. You understood her decision, but you felt a bit nervous about being on your own. You’d gone to school with the same kids for your whole life, but being on your own with no one to depend on socially for a whole semester scared you.

Samantha wrapped an arm around your shoulders “You’ll be fine, you know that he usually assigns partners anyway.” She said, rubbing your bare skin gently.

“I know I just really don’t want to get stuck with some nitwit.” You replied. On cue, the bell blared from the outdoor speakers and you closed up your notebook, sliding your graphite and eraser gum into the coils and shoving it into your backpack, stringing it around your shoulders.

Mr. Lawrence’s hair had gone white long before he’d begun to show to process of aging on his face. His only wrinkles were from tension on his forehead and around his mouth. His white hair was a sort of burst of smoke around his head, always puffed up around his head and never fully settled into a style. You smiled when you walked into his classroom, taking a seat in the far back corner. You’d already gotten a sketch of his puffy cloud hair, so you left your notebook closed. The rest of the class trickled in, clumped in their little groups and chattering loudly, taking up the seats around you. Nobody paid much attention to you, which didn’t bother you as much as it used to. It still left a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. You wished that you had your headset, so you could block out the sound from your peers.

You hoped that the seat next to you would stay empty, that people would avoid you and let you sit quietly. It hadn’t before the break, but the room had been set up in little table groups of four. Now, the room was set up in three rows, two desks pushed next to each other all the way down. Mr. Lawrence had already had to yell twice for people to not move the desks, a sign of little cliques forming. Vicki Clarke had tried to pull the desk next to you over to turn the end of the middle row into a fire hazard, causing Mr. Lawrence to yell out for a third time. Vicki rolled her eyes, but released the desk, taking the desk next to the free one, leaving a clear space between her and you. You didn’t mind; Vicki always smelt like artificial apples, from the cheap body spray she slathered herself in at her locker and the scent gave you a headache.

Tina Martins practically ran to Vicki as the bell rang out, immediately calling to Vicki “Move that desk over!”

Mr. Lawrence rolled his eyes “Miss Martins we are not moving any desks in this room. Take a seat.” He announced. Tina’s shoulders sunk, but she obeyed without an argument, taking the seat to Vicki’s right. Then, the reason for all the commotion walked in, late slip in hand.

Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington was still something to talk about, even after being horrifically dumped by Nancy Wheeler, he was still a hot object around the school, especially for girls burned by the newest small town hottie Billy Hargrove. Vicki and Tina were two primed recent burn victims, Tina having tried and tragically failed to get Billy’s attention at her own house party and Vicki being the first ‘hump and dump’ victim of the notorious man whore. Steve’s sad boy behaviour had attracted the attention of many bleeding hearts throughout the school, letting themselves get their hearts drained by his succubus heartache. And here he was, puffed up like a robin, his bright red member’s only jacket mimicking the red breast on the bird, his hair perfectly coiffed and glinting in the florescent lights. Heartbreak had done his ego good, teaching him that girls were a dime a dozen if you were hot and sad. The concept of preying on vulnerable girls made you sick to your stomach.

Steve handed his late slip off to Mr. Lawrence and he stamped it with the date punch he kept on his desk. “Welcome Mr. Harrington, please take a seat so we can begin.” He said, his rectangular glasses sliding off his nose as he spoke.

Suddenly, the energy in the room changed. It was then that you realized the class was mostly girls and every single girl in the room was staring at Steve. It was obvious to you in an instant: they wanted Steve to sit next to them and they were all out of luck, sat next to friends or other girls desperate for the same attention. The bargaining began, girls whispering to the person next to them to move, sliding cool erasers or lipsticks over onto the other desk, peace offerings they hoped someone would take. Mr. Lawrence’s classroom had fallen to jailhouse rules and you sat wondering when the first person would pull their shank. No one moved as Steve made his way to the back of the class. Then, another thing became clear-you were the only person with a free desk next to them. Vicki waved shyly to Steve as he took the seat and you tried to disappear. The whole room’s eyes were now on you and unlike Steve you absolutely hated it. You wanted to disappear. Now, you were enemy number one to every girl in the room.

“Alright, let’s begin then, yes?” Mr. Lawrence clapped once and commenced the lesson “Welcome to your last two months of English! I’m passing around the breakdown for your final assignment and copies of our last reading for the course, Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights.” The class groaned. You’d been hoping for a lighter, more modern read, something at least from that century. But you knew that Mr. Lawrence loved a classic and had to follow the suggested readings for your grade dictating by the state. You took your tattered copy and wordlessly handed the pile off to Steve, who didn’t notice that it had landed on his desk until Vicki pointed it out with a giggle.

“Now, everyone turn to their desk mate. He or she will be your editor and writing partner for the final essay of the year!” your heart dropped. You were stuck with Steve. And he was an idiot. Every stupid thing you’d heard uttered from a classmate’s mouth had always been from his. He once asked who the US was fighting in World War two. He spent one class arguing with a teacher that Beth didn’t die in Little Women, not believing it even when the teacher sourced the exact page when Alcott revealed it. He once failed a health assignment because he mixed up the names for the parts of the male and female. Literally mixed them up, your seventh grade health teacher had provided them for the worksheets and told the class to cut the out and glue them on and he mixed up all the words into a pile. He was an idiot!

Tina’s hand shot up fast and Mr. Lawrence called on her. “Mr. Lawrence, can we be a threesome with Steve?” She asked loudly, smirking over at you. Vicki giggled at the word ‘threesome’, hands clutched over her mouth.

“But then what will Y/N do? She won’t have a partner.” Mr. Lawrence flashed you a small smile and you just about threw up. This was all too much for you, too much attention, too many people looking at you.

You raised your hand timidly “I’ll be fine if that’s what they want to do. I don’t mind working on my own…” you said, your eyes locked on the course breakdown.

“See, Y/N can handle herself.” Tina said. If you knew Tina to be anything other than mean and condescending, you would’ve taken that as a compliment.

“I want every student to have work edited and reviewed by a classmate before I look at it. I’m sorry, but I’m not making exceptions to the rule. If your desk mate wants to switch with Steve, then that’s another thing entirely, but you cannot be a group of three.” Mr. Lawrence laid down the law on that and moved on with the lesson. While Tina and Vicki attempt to convince one another to switch seats and let the other have Steve, neither would budge and Steve seemed utterly uninterested in their spat. To be fair, he didn’t seem interested in the lesson either. He had taken to drawing on the surface of his desk, scratching his initials into the wood.

“Now, for your first assignment back, I’d like you to write me a piece on your spring break. Nothing fancy, just one page typed. We’ll write the first draft today and exchange it with our partners to be edited and rewritten for Friday.” He announced “When you’re done, read chapters one through three of Wuthering Heights.”

With that, the semester had begun again and everyone went to work. Voices took over the room, people chattering around you. You felt a pair of eyes on you, but you flipped open your binder to a clean sheet of paper and began writing out your simple description of your break. You knew that Mr. Lawrence didn’t actually care about what you had done or had to say, only that you’d done the work and had proof of editing for it. This was a practise for the main event. Still, you could make a page out of art classes and driving to Carmel with Samantha to see some random band in the basement of a dive bar. You could even make it interesting for him. But, something still made your stomach churn. You didn’t want Harrington looking at your writing. You didn’t consider yourself the next Hemingway, but you could write an essay. What worried you wasn’t being told that you were wrong. It was letting him into your mind at all. You didn’t know Steve and he didn’t know you, what if he didn’t understand you? He wouldn’t understand you.

You looked up from your work to see Steve looking blankly at you. You met his eye, raising your brow at him. He looked away fast. You didn’t know what it was about, your hands came up to your face, wiping at your cheeks and mouth. Maybe there was something on your face. Maybe your hair looked silly. Maybe he was making fun of you. That had to be it. He was making fun of you. Vicki and Tina were always bugging you and Samantha, maybe he was joining in. It wasn’t your fault that Mr. Lawrence had forced you two to be partners. You pulled your body away from his, curling into yourself.

When the bell rang, you pulled your work into your bag, making a break for the door. You had your free period next and were desperate to finish your drawing of Samantha. You didn’t need to have her in front of you to catch the right details; you’d drawn her a million times.

You had barely made it into the hallway when Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you back with a cocky grin “Whoa, slow your roll there kiddo,” he chuckled. Your skin prickled under his hand and you wanted nothing more than to disappear. You stopped dead in your tracks, pulling away from his hand carefully.

“So, how’re we doing this?” he asked, his attention moving from you to the yelp of Tommy Hanson. You didn’t need to look to know that Carol Perkins was beating him with her bag again. That was a weekly occurrence.

“Write your stuff and hand it off to me in class. I’ll edit anything up till forty-eight hours before it’s due. I’ll give you my stuff when you give me yours.” You said quickly, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.

“Sounds cool,” Another cry from Tommy, this one more directed at Steve, drew his attention fully “Alright, I’m coming Hanson! See ya around.” He directed the farewell to you, bounding off towards the source of the sound. Even when his presence was gone, you still felt his fingertips on your arm.

Samantha threw her arm around your shoulders, rebooting your systems again. “Hey, what was that about?” she asked, leading you away from Mr. Lawrence’s classroom and towards the gym, her next destination.

“That was because you fucked me over.” You sighed. It was going to be a long month.

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shozaii · 4 years

Text

most of the times i like to think of the headcanon that kirishima is pretty - no, VERY - good at keeping his feelings. he tends to store it all in. well it’s not like he forces himself to, but he just has this little fear etching at him, asking him the exact same question. “what if it occurs with the worst-case scenario?” but he would just shake those thoughts away because that’s pretty unmanly, according to our lil shark boy here. so cue the exact same thoughts and wonders whenever he looks at you.

you have been kiri’s best friend for as long as you can remember. from the day you entered into his life, the times where he was at his lowest, the time where he made a change to his black locks, going for a whole new style of his hair. telling you the stories and memories he had throughout his lifetime - he didn’t need to tell you much, you were pretty much there the entire time! and boy oh boy, did he enjoy every bit of it🥰

heck, you even ended up in the same class together! how cool was that? being able to meet your friends who have decided to enter your lives, and stay there forever. that was manly.

but little did he know, he was a master at keeping possibly the biggest secret in his entire life.

his big, fat crush on you.

who wouldn’t want you, anyway? the way you grinned, the way your scrunched up your nose when you found something cool or weird. your voice, ever so melodious. it tickled his heart just a little too much, but he wasn’t complaining~!

kirishima was just so good at it, even mina did not have a clUE OF IT!! she has suspected it wayyy too many times; from the moment you walk away and his chest relaxes a lot more. how his grin just gets wider after he’s done talking to you. how he asks her about his looks. and when she does question him about it, he just shrugs and mutters, “i had no time to check my mirror today.”

yeah. yeah kiri, she’d think, smirking.

then there’s you - it was pretty confusing for you too. mina has told you of the huge possibilities. of course you wouldn’t say you did not believe it at all - it was just the way he was finessing his way with you. like, oof, it was just too good to be true. what if it is? what if it’s not? he’s pretty much friendly with everyone! he could talk to the pomeranian easily, and a bunch of the other classmates.

mina obviously had enough😳✋ she knew something was up with you too. come on. you could noT deny her statements when all you do is daydream about him, draw little doodles of him in almost all of your notebooks, fluster and cover your face if she ever gets new hints from you. could this be the time where she could officially change the status from “friends to lovers”? very simple.

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⁀➷｡˚⸙͎۪۫⋆ ༄ ⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⁀➷｡˚⸙͎۪۫⋆ ༄

scenario:

mina walked back to the dorms with kirishima, after he realized he left behind some notes back in class. destiny probably called out to her at that moment, because the moment they both stepped into the dorm grounds, she invites kiri to sit with her. he obliged. it was probably some tea she wanted to spill - something he didn’t mind listening.

but the very next thing she simply says is, “it’s been going on forever. you know telling them wouldn’t be a problem at all, right?” of course he just blinks at her, smiling nervously. “what are you talking about? i-,”

“come onnnnnn, kirishima eijirou!!” she whined, shaking his shoulders wildly. “do i have to spell it out for you? i’m talking about y/n, duh!!!” “huh. i see. um.......how do you know about this? i don’t think i’ve ever said a word about them,” his hand reached for his neck, indicating that he was already so close to blushing. “see!! let’s just say i have my ways~~! now, wait here. you have to promise me you won’t move an inch from here. got it?”

“what? mina, i- you do know you have to be more clear with this-,”

she skips away happily, leaving him completely puzzled. turning behind, she signals him to stay put. nodding, he sits back on the bench, waiting patiently nervously. what has happened? is the truth out? was he that bad at keeping what was known to be the biggest secret in his entire life? sure, he may have dropped some hints then and there. the crush thing has been going on way before UA. so what now? meanwhile, as you were sipping a warm cup of your favorite beverage, your classmate decided it was better for you to leave it behind to “cool down”, as there was a parcel waiting for you outside.

she pushes you out to where you’re supposed to go. the various locations in the UA dorms were pretty easy to navigate, so this wasn’t a problem for you. nodding cautiously, you walked to where the benches were situated at. “kirishima!!” you squealed, running towards him. “have you seen - wait, kiri?” you looked at him, completely puzzled. only for you to realize that a damn parcel wouldn’t be placed somewhere so far away. “um, hey! so uh, mina told ya to....to come out here, yeah?” he adjusted his scarf, his ruby red eyes glistening.

you sighed, folding your arms (also trying your very best not to look like you’re about to burst from flustering too much). “y-yeah, she did! she didn’t tell me why, though. so i assume you were pranked by her too?” “oh? what did she say on your way out?” he asked. “a parcel....waiting for me....,” you muttered, clearing your throat. he giggled with the cutest toothy grin you’ve ever seen. “ah, mina being mina. um, anyway. wanna sit down? the sunset’s p-pretty cool!” “oh, sure!! i don’t mind!” you’ve viewed so many sunsets with kirishima, noticed how the colors differ every single time the sun gets gulped down by the sky, slowly being replaced with the glorious moon. shades ranging from pink, purple and orange slowly begin to showcase in the sky.

the pretty colors never fail to give kiri’s pure soul more color, especially when the dim light from the sun begins shining against his soft skin. for someone having to harden his body almost every day, his skin was always so well taken care of. you have learnt over the years that he enjoys taking care of his skin, hence the texture. “new set of colors,” you spontaneously said, grinning. “mhm, couldn’t agree more.”

a few minutes passed by, with your fingers nearly touching. neither pulled away, neither hesitated. it was all perfect - a soft breeze passing by the both of you, where the autumn leaves begin showing up. with him now looking at his hand, yours, and then right back up at you. looking away, he gulped. well, it was now or never. “i don’t know if now’s the right time or not, but i just wanted to let you know....um. how much i like you.”

your head whipped to his direction. his smile was soft this time, with one tooth sticking out. it looked pure. genuine. some sort of positive aura you’ve always wanted to feel in a long time, and it all seemed so unreal when you found out he was the person making you feel this way. “o-of course you don’t have to accept it, you know! i- i had to let you know about it someday. pretty unmanly of me to keep it for so long, right?” “kiri, i don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but i really like you too. like, a whole lot. maybe i have tried dropping hints here and there, then again i didn’t want to scare you away. gah, there was so much running through my head and hearing this from you, i’m shocked! kirishima, are you really saying this?” “of course! now would i ever lie to you? i, kirishima eijirou, have fallen so much for y/n l/n. and that is a promise.”

“i know my whole life that you keep looking down on yourself. i’ve been there kiri. to watch you break was definitely not my cup of tea; but to see you take such a huge step. it’s like watching you grow....i’m honestly speechless. look!” you held up your hand, which was now shaking violently. “kirishima, i like you too. a whole lot.”

the rest was just a whole blur of happiness, tears of joy, release of weights from both your shoulders. keeping the constant weight that both you and him were friends, and it could never be more. suddenly it was all just a whole, light-hearted fizz of blur, as you brought yourself into his embrace, hearing his fast-paced heartbeat. an old memory popped up in your head; it was probably from an old book or something. kirishima would forever and always provide a worthy eternity, for you to never want to step out of.

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⁀➷｡˚⸙͎۪۫⋆ ༄ ⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⁀➷｡˚⸙͎۪۫⋆ ༄

tags: @moonlitspring skyyyy! 🥺❤as promised, a little something for you. i’m not sure what my 1 am brain was writing, so i really do hope this was good enough!! forgive me if there were any mistakes hhhhT_T ehehe lemme know what you think !!🥰💖💖💖i loveeee youuuuu!!

(a/n): finals are coming up soon, and i have a quiz in the afternoon as i’m writing this now, but not to worry! >:3 i’m pretty sure i studied enough for the test UwU!! requests are still in store, so don’t worry! i’ll be back soon to write them all for you, and would get back to writing more fics like these! love you all so so much, and thank you for the tremendous support so far!!😭😭🤍🤍✨✨

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headoverhiddles · 4 years

Text

You and Me and The Devil Makes 3 - Marilyn Manson x Brian Warner x Reader [Smut] - Part II

Synopsis: Both you and Brian can’t get the substitute teacher off your mind. Thankfully, Brian needs some extra help before an upcoming exam, and your regular teacher still hasn’t come back.

Notes: Long ass title. Anyway, someone asked for a sequel, so here’s more filthy Mancest ft you! IT’S FILTHY! We could all use the porn.

Part One

You bring your lips to your boyfriend’s, lazily making out after an hour of stressing the springs in his mattress.

A KISS record plays in the corner of his room. The afternoon sun seeps in over the countless Judas Priest and Nine Inch Nails posters all over the walls through the blinds that you’ve kept unturned. Both of you like the thrill of knowing Brian’s Christian neighbors might see you and your “filthy sex acts” again. Barb, Brian’s mother, hadn’t been too pleased after receiving that phone call, but Brian’s dad Hugh found it quite funny.

His parents liked you, called you a sweet girl. They don’t know much about Brian, and they don’t make much of an effort to—they know he’s into some dark music and he has a band, but they don’t know he’s interested in guys too, and they don’t know how far he wants to take his musical persona.

You’re also anything but sweet, but Barb and Hugh are well meaning, and you love them to death, always appreciative of the cake Barb feeds you when you visit the house. You think the two of them have some kind of idea that since Brian is almost finished high school, he’d take you somewhere and settle down with you. Neither of you want to settle down, but as far as either of you have shared, you have no plans of breaking up after grad.

You move your kisses down to Brian’s neck, and he keens under the attention, before reaching up to pull you back to his lips.

“I want you again,” you whisper, and Brian stares up at you.

“We just went four times, you brat.”

“But I’m horny.”

“And I’m soft, roll offa me. Gonna have to… watch some porn or something to get hard again…”

“This is better than porn,” you grin, unhooking your bra, and he pauses in his act of drinking down his bedside water glass, smiling too.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he laughs, and smoothes his hands up your rib cage to cup your breasts and fondle them. You lean down to drag them against his bare chest, and his hands move down to once again get himself ready to fuck again.

“So. We gonna talk about what happened on Friday?”

Brian’s breath hitches as he jacks himself to hardness again. “Do you want to?”

“I certainly think it raises some new… things, that we’re both obviously into.” Brian flushes a little, and you grin, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Hey. You know you can be comfy with me.”

Brian nods, thrusting up into you finally with a hiss. “It was hot… the stuff he did.”

“I know,” you breathe, shuddering as you slide back down over him, “I just wanted the two of you to double team me forever.”

“So is this a thing, then?” Brian whispers, “Like, a third person?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, “We could explore a polyamorous relationship. But for now, I’m okay with secret threesomes involving hot teachers.”

“You think he’s still there?”

“I think before he left on Friday, he mentioned he’d be around for another week. Mrs. Nordman wasn’t just hungover, she had the flu or something. Why?”

“I mean… we’ve got that English exam coming up soon.”

You smile. “We could use the extra help, hm?” He groans at that, pushing up into you harder, and you tilt your head back, riding him into his bed.

---

At school on Monday, you meet Brian at the front doors. He’s standing with Daisy, waiting for his friend to finish smoking, and doodling something on his hand. You see it’s a bunch of needles and lollipops.

“You know, you should’ve been an artist,” you smile, taking his hand.

“I am an artist. Different kind.”

Pogo approaches, swinging himself up onto the railing. “Morning, you sad fucks. How’re the losers today?”

“Depressed,” Daisy answers.

“Good to hear. I myself am in a fucking marvelous mood, seeing as I banged not one, not two-- but THREE chicks this weekend at a college tit party. THE MAD CLOWN HITS HOME AGAIN!” He lets loose his usual flurry of crazy laughter, the sound that could tell anybody the bald student was coming from a mile away.

“How’d you manage that?” Brian mutters, amused.

“Sorry, Mr. Big Dick, some girls have refined taste, unlike (y/n) or Mr. Manson in there, don’t argue, I know you fucked him.” He pauses his manic rocking, leaning forward. “I also told them I was in a wildly successful rock band.”

“There’s the kicker,” you nod.

“I did not fuck Mr. Manson,” Brian protests. Everyone turns to look at him, and he smirks your way. “He fucked me.” Laughter erupts.

“No smoking on school property, you goth weirdos,” some kiss-ass cheerleader snaps as she walks past, and Pogo catapults Brian’s pen at her head.

“We’re gonna be late, hurry up.” Brian nudges Daisy.

“This is my last one, and I’m too broke to afford another pack until I get my next paycheck,” Daisy complains, savouring another drag.

“Here, lemme have a puff,” Pogo says, motioning for it. Daisy passes it over, and Pogo flicks it into the grass, pulling everyone inside. “Problem solved!”

You giggle as Daisy shakes his head, and all of you turn when you hear screaming. There’s Jeordie, running toward the school like an idiot.

“I’m gonna make it! I’m gonna make it!” he’s shouting, then the bell goes. He tosses his backpack to the ground, kicking it. “SHIT!”

---

It’s an uneventful Monday, until the last class. When you get in and sit down, Mr. Manson is at the front of the class already, writing the day’s class plan out. Today, he’s dressed in a black button up, with a black vest over top of black pants. His hair is brushed back in a fairly respectable style, and… he turns around. His lips today are a soft coral pink, with black and blue eyeshadow. Brian stares at him, in awe once again at the man’s swaggering confidence and style. Why is it that with bisexuality, it’s always a question of if he wanted to be the other guy, or be in the other guy? Or have the guy in him, as the case may be.

“Alright. Before we start, does anyone have any questions about today’s makeup?” Manson’s tone is playful, and a light titter of laughter comes from the students. He grins. “Alright. You sure?” More laughter. “Okay. Today, we’ll be covering a new chapter of literary theory, and applying it to the first act of Hamlet.”

His dark eyes sweep the classroom as he marks off attendance, and when they come to rest on you, he looks up. “Is there a reason why you and Miss (y/l/n) were late today, Mr. Warner?” Your entire friend group looks at the two of you. Your boyfriend just shrugs.

“Yeah, there was a reason.” You raise an eyebrow right back with a smirk, and Brian leaves it at that. You’re surprised when Manson accepts this without a cheeky little order to see him after class, but that’s fine. Brian has an excuse to see him anyway.

While Mr. Manson is talking, Brian writes out some lyrics for a new song he and the Spooky Kids have been working on. He nudges you, and taps the paper, which has a verse written out.

VCRs and Vaseline

TV fucked by plastic queens

Cash in hand and dick on screen

(who said god was ever clean)

He’s drawn a big question mark under it, so you give a little check mark on the paper, with the note:

Hot.

“I know this shit is boring, but pay attention,” Manson says from the front of the classroom, glaring daggers at you two.

“Imagine that lipstick all over my naked body,” you whisper in his ear. Brian glares at you.

“Stop trying to get me hard in class.”

“Why?” you tease.

“Cause it’s fucking working.”

“Do you one of you guys have an eraser?” Jeordie whispers (far too loudly) from behind you. You pass him back yours, and look at him sternly.

“Don’t pick it apart like you did all my other ones.”

“What did I just say?” Manson snaps from the front of the class.

“We were just—!” you try to protest.

“No talking. Last warning.”

You and Brian exchange looks. He’s in a mood today, and you can’t wait to see how the two of you can test him even more after class.

When the class is finished, you all wait until the rest of the students are gone. Pogo looks back at you two from the door, making obscene blow job gestures. Mr. Manson doesn’t look up from the desk.

“Did you need something, Mr. Bier?”

“Not me!” Pogo snickers, dashing off to go catch up with Daisy and Jeordie.

“Mr. Manson?” Brian asks, “I need a little bit of help with studying for the upcoming exam. I dedicate a lot of time to my band, and… don’t study as much as I should.”

“Mm. And (y/n)? You just gonna watch your boyfriend... ask for help?” Manson asks.

“I might learn a few things too, by sticking around,” you say, and lean forward against your desk. Manson’s eyes roam down to your cleavage, and he closes his book, getting up. He walks over to the door, locks it, and comes back over.

“The English exam. Yeah. As you know, I don’t know much about your curriculum, or really, about the exam itself.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t try to help us out,” you say. “Please sir? We really need help.” Mr. Manson looks at you, blue and black shadow making his hooded eyes seem supernatural.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Brian walks over to his desk, chin jutted out in confidence that will be lost as soon as Manson looks him in the eye. Sure enough, when the substitute gives your boyfriend one of his looks up and down, sweeping his entire body as if he’s a meal about to be devoured, Brian shudders. But he’s not about to lose his cool.

“See… I don’t get the whole psychoanalytic theory,” Brian says, putting the book down in front of Mr. Manson, “I don’t see how it applies to Hamlet.”

“Of course you pick the Freudian thing.” He sighs. “Well first, you have to understand psychoanalysis.” Manson looks over to you pointedly. “I’m sure you know all about Freud and his phallic symbols. You two had a lot of fun drawing them on your notes last Friday.”

Brian laughs a little at that. Wrong move. Manson gets up, and in one quick stride, he has your boyfriend pushed down and bent over the desk, ass up.

“What the fuck?” Brian mutters, but you can hear the whine at the end of his protest. Your legs rub together as your finger grazes your lower lip… you want to see how this turns out.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do,” Manson says slowly, “I’m gonna help you two, since you fuck around in class all the time and never pay attention.” He leans in close to Brian, and your boyfriend glares up at him for holding him in such a vulnerable position. Manson just smirks, and gets out a ruler from the desk. “Our angel over there is gonna answer some questions of mine, baby. Got it?”

“What do you—?” A sharp slap echoes, as Manson hits the desk with the ruler hard.

“You say yes sir, and no sir, or this desk will be that pretty little ass. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Brian breathes, laying his face down on the desk. You raise an eyebrow, spreading your legs just a bit.

“You really have enough confidence in me that I know these answers?” you grin.

“Nah. I’m counting on you not knowing a single one, baby girl,” Manson smiles, and traces the ruler up Brian’s back. “But try your best. He’s counting on you.” Manson gets the ruler ready again. "Tell me what the basis of psychoanalytic theory is."

"It's a theory that draws from psychoanalyzing the behavior of the characters in the... in the story," you say, eyes trained on Brian.

"Good start," Manson nods, rubbing his hand up Brian's back, "Saved you this time, sweetheart." Brian makes a noise, akin to a moan, and Manson looks at you again, expectantly, from the depths of that eyeshadow. "What are some examples?"

"There's... a response to modern day literature from a new and improved perspective."

"Wrong," Manson says, "That's postmodernism."

“Aw. Guess that must’ve slipped my mind.” You shift in your seat, reaching down to touch yourself. Manson sees this out of the corner of his eye, and lifts his chin.

"Mr. Warner?"

Brian obediently pulls down his leggings just enough. Not satisfied with this, Manson pulls them down to his knobby knees, and hits him hard with the ruler. Brian's hips rut against the desk, and your pussy clenches as you rub faster circles.

"Again, sir," Brian whimpers.

"You want another one?" Manson asks.

"Yes, sir."

"(y/n)... your boy here's a bit of a slut."

"I'd have to agree," you grin, head rolling back as a moan is drawn from your throat.

"I guess I should know that by now. Have you ever tried fucking him?"

Brian's breath hitches, and you think about this. "He's never asked."

"Imagine how that'd feel, hm?" the teacher whispers in Brian's ear, "Her fingers inside of you... filling you up. You like that?"

"Fuck, fuck," Brian groans, hips pushing forward against the desk. He's painfully hard.

"Gonna cum in your pants?” Manson rasps.

“No...” Brian clenches his jaw. “Ugh...”

“What if she fucked you with three fingers? Spreading this perfect ass wide open?" he continues to tease, snarling, "What if I did? You like the pain, don't you? It turns you on." Manson spanks him again, harder, and you can see the red imprint he’s left.

"Yeah..." Brian moans, his usual grumble raising in pitch. "I want you both to fuck me."

"First, you get to watch." Mr. Manson looks over to you, and beckons. You make a show of teasing back, mouthing 'me?' Before Manson has a chance to threaten, you stand, walking over to the teacher. He stands a full few feet taller than you, the height difference still as hot as it was in the washroom the other day. He takes you by the shoulders, and brings his lips to yours. The kiss is sloppy and heated. You moan, sliding your hand down to cup his cock through his black slacks. You can feel the hefty erection respond to your touch, but you want to feel it inside you, fucking you. Brian watches, and reaches down to give himself some relief.

"Ah ah," you break away from the kiss to say, "Someone's being naughty." Brian shoots you a glare for ratting him out, and you blow your boyfriend a kiss as Manson turns to look at him.

"Do I have to tie you up, baby boy? Or can you stop those hands from wandering, hmm?" Hearing that in Manson's deep growl is such a turn on. You pull him back to you.

"Let him stay like that. If you spank him again, he's gonna cum all over the desk."

"Disgusting," Manson chastises, licking his lips, "Filthy filthy, Mr. Warner."

"At least I didn't take out my cock in class and start stroking it for you to see," Brian mouths off.

"I'm sure you would've loved to do that," you smirk, going back to stroking Mr. Manson through his pants.

"Mm. Yeah. Bet you would’ve loved to take it out, show everyone how hard you were. How ready you were for your girlfriend and your fucking teacher to take turns on you.”

"I..." Brian groans.

"Use your words, slut."

"Yeah," he breathes, "I might... I don't know, get embarrassed, but--"

"Sluts don't get embarrassed," Manson says sharply. "Besides, as a big rock and roll singer, I'd imagine that you do much worse onstage. Or am I wrong?”

“Tell him all the shit you've done onstage," you moan.

Brian shifts his hips, recalling everything he'd done during a show. Mr. Manson was right-- when he was onstage, it was as if he became a different person. A persona. Someone darker, maniacal even. Someone who's willing to do anything.

"I've fucked (y/n) onstage," he growls. "Fucked her til her tight little cunt couldn't take it anymore."

Mr. Manson takes his cock out of his pants, starts stroking it himself as you lay back on a desk in front of him. You watch his cockhead disappear in his fist with every stroke, licking your lips.

"What else?"

"I stripped her down naked in front of everyone... and ate her pussy."

"Oh god," you whine, picturing that night. You had both been so high you had forgotten there was even an audience.

"That must have felt good." Manson looks to you.

"It did. It did, and I love it," you murmur, glancing down to your exposed breasts, "Just like him. I wanna be filled by you, sir. Just like Brian fills me up."

Brian rolls his hips against the desk as Mr. Manson slots himself between your legs, dragging his cock between the folds of your pussy. "So fuckin' wet. It'll be so easy to get into you, baby girl."

"Please, Mr. Manson," you moan, “I need you.”

"Fuck her," Brian gasps out, "She's such a fucking cockslut, she needs it." You nod. Manson reaches his hand up to cup one of your breasts as he slides in, filling you to the hilt.

"Oh god," you manage out, hands grabbing at the edges of the small desk. Manson’s cock isn’t as long as Brian’s, but it’s thicker, so thick you can feel the pain of the stretch.

"Fuck," Brian whines, watching Manson pull out almost fully then pound back into you. He’s frustrated—he can’t touch himself, and his cock is heavy and weeping against the desk. He could cum from any little touch at this point.

"If you even think about touching your cock, the punishment will be unimaginable," Manson growls to your brat of a boyfriend. Brian groans in complaint, resting his head against the desk as he continues to rock his hips and watch. "Tell me more about how you fuck (y/n)," Manson says, thrusting in hard. The desk skids back a couple of inches, and you gasp. "Ah, nope. The principal could still walk by, baby girl. Don't want him to hear the three of us acting out our own little porno, do you?"

"No, sir."

"No. That's right. Mr. Warner? You were saying?"

"I fuck her all the time," Brian says, words tumbling out of his mouth as he loses his grip. "We fuck between classes, before class, after class. She always wants my dick.”

"Yeah?" Mr. Manson asks, humming low in his chest. "Seems like you just can't get satisfied baby, hm?"

"I get satisfied," you reply, grinding your hips down obscenely, "I just love his cock so much that I want it all the time. I love feeling full."

"Why don't we make good and sure you're nice and full then?" Manson beckons Brian over, not stopping his thrusts for a second. Brian’s surprised for a moment that he gets to move or do anything, but quickly complies. Manson’s belt jangles as he grunts, balls slapping your ass. "Give our baby girl a mouthful."

Your eyes light up, and Brian's lips quirk up. He loves watching you get used, and being a part of it is almost too much for him. He stands, and gets over top of your face, willing himself not to blow the minute he pushes between your pretty pink lips.

"Lemme see that nice cock, baby boy," Manson rasps. His breath hitches when Brian strokes his fist all the way up the length, over the head, and back down. "Mmm, perfect. Give her some, she looks thirsty."

"Take it, baby," Brian whispers, biting his lip as he smacks his cock against your lips, "C'mon, you know you want it."

"You know her safe word?" Manson mutters. Brian nods. You open wide for your boyfriend, and he slides his cock into your mouth, stopping before it hits the back of your throat. He raises his eyebrows down to you, and you nod again, feverishly. It's almost too much, the older man fucking you into the desk so hard and your boyfriend using your mouth to get off. But you love the thrill, and you're getting closer to your climax every second.

"You're doing so good," Mr. Manson says to you, stroking down your pelvic bone to caress your stomach, your clit, down to your inner thighs. Your hips buck. "Shhh. Taking us so good, sweetheart."

"Isn't it "so well?' You are an English teacher, right?" Brian asks, grinning. Mr. Manson shoots him a look daring to go any further with that. Brian knows his place, casting his eyes downward.

"You like to piss people off, don’t you?" Manson asks.

"Yeah. It's part of my, uh... my thing."

"Your thing right now is to quit being a smart ass, fuck your girlfriend's mouth, and do what your told."

Brian sucks his cheekbones in, biting his bottom lip hard as he feels his cock throb. "Yes, sir!" He gives a sarcastic mock salute with a big dumb grin, and that does it.

"Back over the desk."

"What?!" Brian's eyebrows furrow angrily.

"You heard me. Get back. Over. The desk. Now."

Brian whines, and removes himself from your mouth. As he's walking back over though, the fearless streak continues. He fondles Mr. Manson's bare ass as he walks by, clucking his tongue. "Damn, daddy. Great ass, for an old man."

You smirk, knowing it'll get a rise out of the teacher. But he just goes back to fucking you-- albeit much faster.

"Oh... oh yeah. Oh god," you hiss, trying still to keep it as quiet as possible. Mr. Manson's short black hair falls from his coiffed mohawk and into his eyes as he starts to get close. "I'm gonna fucking cum," you moan, tits bouncing in your bra. Manson pushes in one more time, and you cum hard on his cock, mouth falling open.

He pulls out of you when you're finished, and Brian comes over, kneeling down and taking Mr. Manson's cock into his mouth. He suckles for a few seconds, then takes him down all the way as the older man shudders, buries his fingers into your boyfriend's hair, and cums down his throat. Brian swallows, blinking up at the teacher, and Mr. Manson looks down at him, at the teenager’s painfully swollen cock resting on his thigh.

"You've been a good boy," he mumbles, “Helped daddy cum. I think you deserve something.” Brian's eyes flutter shut, and Manson strokes his cheek. With a gasp from the touch alone, Brian suddenly cums untouched all over his leg and the floor. You watch him convulse through every wave of his orgasm, then rest back on his hands when he finishes.

Manson sits on the edge of his desk, and you stand, helping Brian clean up. He runs a hand through his long black hair, and fiddles his tongue against his lip ring.

"You know... you should come check out the Spooky Kids in concert sometime."

Manson runs a hand through his hair, making sure he looks his best-- comfortably disheveled. "Your band?"

"Yeah. You were in a band yourself, weren't you?" Brian smirks.

“Yeah.”

"As long as you bring some good, uh... you know, nose candy-- gotta make the sacrificial offerings to the band-- then feel free to show up."

“He doesn’t do nose candy, bring some ring pops and lollipops and that’ll be more than sufficient,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“What makes you think I've got drugs on me anyway?" Manson deadpans. "I'm a fuckin' high school English teacher." Brian stares at the debauched man with lipstick smeared down his chin and hair standing up from all angles. Manson bursts into what can only be described as giggles. "Yeah. Well, I’m not about to give my drugs away to a group of 18 year old musicians. Then you’d turn out just like me.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Brian teases, tugging slightly at the silver skull brooch on Manson’s lapel. Manson strokes his knuckles.

“If I'm still in town, I'll see if I can make it to a show. You seem like you’d be good. Like you’ve got rock star in your blood.” It’s as if Brian’s whole body blushes—it’s freaking cute you think, as you fix your hair. “--But only if I get to come backstage with the rest of the groupies."

"Oh," you smile, approaching to fix Mr. Manson’s black tie, "We'll be waiting for you."

“Who else is in this band?” Manson asks out of curiosity. “Anyone else from this class?”

“Stephen, Scott, Jeordie. Another kid named Freddy, doesn’t go here.”

“Bier is crazy enough to be in a band, I’d believe that. Putesky, that’s interesting. He doesn’t seem the type. He seems like he’d be the type to yell at people like you to turn the music down.”

Brian nods, “Yeah, we tell him that all the time. He looks like someone’s grandpa. He shreds on the guitar, though, you’d be surprised. So does Jeordie.”

Manson huffs, getting his bag together, “Jeordie? That doesn’t surprise me as much.” The substitute teacher lets you two out of the classroom, and checks the time. 4 PM now. “Well. I hope you feel ready for the exam. I didn’t do shit to help you, but...”

“We got what we needed to,” you say, fixing your skirt with a small smile.

“Good. Cause I think you’ve got a pretty good idea of what’ll happen if you get a fuckin’ F.”

#marilyn manson #marilyn manson x reader #reader x marilyn manson #brian warner #brian hugh warner #brian warner x reader #reader x brian warner #spooky kids #spooky kids era #marilyn manson and the spooky kids #heaven upside down #heaven upside down era #mancest #by request #teacher student #teacher au

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mercyxkilling · 3 years

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[ ♛ ] send me a url and i'll tell you...

@emptyvictory said: ♛ + my url if we're copying each other? Lol

[ ♛ ] send me a url and i'll tell you the following;

my opinion on;

character in general: oh my god. niko bellic. i can’t explain to you the love affair that i have with this sassy ass motherfucker of a man and how much i want to hold him close and tell him that he’s good enough, though i bet he’d shove me away and tell me to never do that shit again and that i’m weird for doing it at all. he’s got such an amazing duality to him that i am in love with because like. yeah, he’ll fucking kill a buncha dudes, but then he’ll have a conversation in the car with a buddy about how he’s okay with saving some lives or some shit. he’s known to play peacemaker for some, but he’s also willing to smash a cameraman’s face in by kicking his foot through his skull because he doesn’t want to be on manny’s show. then when manny dies he says some callous ass shit about it and then goes about his business like nothing happened. niko is such a good man, he really is, but he’s also not at the same time, and is capable of doing such awful things. characters like that have always had a special place in my heart, and niko is no different. that accent helps an awful lot, too, lemme tell ya. it gives ya girl the vapors. *fans self* which is funny because i don’t actually find the man to be conventionally attractive, but all of that stuff i mentioned above? i mean... i’d let him touch me. i can’t lie. how they play them: now, rory, i know we’ve had this discussion before, but i’m going to say it again (to fuel your ego because i absolutely love doing that because i want you to feel as special as you truly are, and just because this is how i actually feel and i want to keep being honest about this stuff because secrets don’t make friends!!): if there were anyone else behind the wheel here taking charge of this slavic badass, i’m not so sure i’d even be interested in trying to have a thread with them at all. you bring such a take to this man that i cannot truly explain with words in an adequate way that could do you and what you do with him any justice. it’s just... an experience. and it’s an experience that i have loved from the moment we started all the way up till now, and i know i’ll feel the same way (and still quite as strongly!!) with anything and everything that we do in the future, be it with threads or asks or things in discord or just nonsensical little back-and-forths that we share once in a while when the mood strikes us. i love everything that we’ve done/are doing/will do, and i cannot fully describe to you just how much more i still want to have with you. i’m like mercy is with niko apparently; i’m fucking insatiable with these two. they’ve somehow become my OTP and that’s truly saying something since the last one i had lasted forever (all the way up to this point tbh--the one i told you about with my RDR verse where mercy and jack were supposed to get married? like, it’s managed to override even THAT one in my heart, that’s how much these two mean to me). i will never tire of niko x mercy content, i will ALWAYS want to hear your ideas about them, i will ALWAYS want to hear any ideas that you have for them--no matter how big or or how small they might seem, i will ALWAYS want to hear any ideas you might have for AUs with these two... i mean. i think you get the picture, yeah? BUT IF YOU DON’T COME FIND ME ON DISCORD AND I’LL GLADLY ELABORATE EVEN MORE IF YOU WANT, BECAUSE I COULD TALK ABOUT THESE FUCKERS FOR HOURS. I MEAN, YOU KNOW THAT I ALREADY HAVE, SO DON’T THREATEN ME WITH A GOOD TIME HERE, LMAOOOO. the mun: oh god, rory. ohgodohgodohgod. there are so many things that i want to say here, but i feel like you’ve heard me say them a thousand times already. i just... i want to make sure that you know that i love you, first and foremost. a lot of folks seem to think i throw the word ‘love’ around far too freely, but i very much beg to differ; i only use it when i truly mean it and when it truly means something to me. do with that knowledge what you will. you are such a treasure to me, and i can’t tell you how happy i am that you’re apart of my life and how much i wish we lived closer to one another so we could be silly together and i could actually ruffle your hair and give you platonic forehead smooches and wish you a good day at school each morning and then see you after classes and ask you about your day and talk to you about anything and everything as we sat side by side and watched some garbage like ancient aliens or played some ridiculous video games together while coming up with scenarios, both of us being like “oh my god, could you imagine if niko and mercy ____ together???” and things like that. but even if we aren’t closer, it doesn’t make me value your time that you give to me any less, and it doesn’t make me love the time that we spend talking with one another any less, either. i adore you so fucking much. i just... i just really, really, really love you, and i wish i could show you that better than just with some writing or a crappy doodle here and there you know? you deserve such good things. all the good things in life, in fact, and i wish i were capable of giving them to you. but i hope that you know that i truly am grateful for your presence in my life, i can’t imagine my experience here (or away from here and over on discord instead!) without you, as you’ve become such an integral part of my experience on this hellsite. niko and mercy are my OTP, and i’m yours for as long as you’ll have me, and you are very much stuck with me!

do i;

follow them: bitch, please. of fucking course i do. i can’t imagine not following rory. rp with them: as much as i possibly can and hopefully then some; i can’t get enough of niko and any other characters they want to introduce me to that they think mercy could mesh well with... or that she couldn’t mesh well with and yet could still make an amazing dynamic all the same. :P want to rp with them: are... are you illiterate? YES. ALL THE TIME. ALL DAY, ERRYDAY. ship their character with mine: one more time, for those in the back, and with feeling!: YES, YES, YES, A THOUSAND TIMES YES. i am so, so, so grateful that niko is part of mercy’s narrative (and honestly, i may even make it so that he’s part of her actual main backstory, that’s how much their relationship means to me and how much it’s allowed me to see her in so many different ways).

what is my;

overall opinion: holy shit i love you and i love niko and i love the way you play him and i love the way you really show his duality and i love the way he learned to respect mercy and how that respect turned to admiration and the way that admiration turned to full on attraction and how that attraction turned to awkward dating but not dating and how that awkward dating but not dating eventually turned into actual dating and how that led to mercy finally kissing him and how that kiss made him feel relief more than anything else but then how all of that turned into something even more awkward and how that led to mercy realizing finally how much she actually truly loved him despite never having been in love and despite the hurt that it caused and the way they both dealt with it (two hardened killers acting like BABIES omggggg) until finally, finally they were able to come to terms with it and are now left wondering where they’re supposed to go from here since they’ve never done anything like this before... AND ALL THE AUs WE COULD HAVE AND HOW THAT COULD END UP FOR THEM BOTH HAS ME SO FUCKING EXCITED BECAUSE WE COULD GET A CHANCE TO SEE THEM BEHAVE IN A DIFFERENT WAY LIKE WHAT IF THEY START OUT HATING EACH OTHER BUT HAVE A MUTUAL ATTRACTION BECAUSE NIKO’S LIKE ‘GODDAMN THIS BITCH IS STACKED BUT SHE’S GOT SUCH A MOUTH ON HER UGH’ OR MAYBE THE RDR AU COULD HAVE SOME STRIFE BETWEEN THEM SINCE MERCY RUNS WITH HER POSSE AND COULD POSSIBLY END UP HITTING A TARGET THAT HE PLANNED TO OR OR OR OMG THE POSSIBILITIES RORY OMFG THERE ARE JUST SO FUCKING MANY and i just can’t wait to experience them all with you and your interpretation of niko because it’s just so fucking good and they’re such a good couple and have such an amazing dynamic that have them both behaving in ways that sometimes are predictable but in others leave me reeling for days like ‘holy shit that actually fucking happened??’ and THAT, my friend, is the sign of a good writing partner. and that is exactly what you are to me, amongst many, many other things. <3 i love you so very much and while i know you’ve had a rough go of it lately, i wish you all the best with it, know that i’m here for you if you should need me for ABSOLUTELY anything you might need (whether it’s to talk/vent, write you silly drabbles, or draw you things), and know that you’ll always, always, ALWAYS have my support through whatever you’re going through. though part of me knows that you know that you don’t need it because you’re so fucking strong and capable of absolutely anything that you put your mind do.

i love you, boo. never forget that. please.

**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty.

#emptyvictory #meme #ooc #there's still so much more that i wanted to say #so much more that i could say #but i'll spare you and the dash the rest of my gushing #ilysm rory and you've become such an important part of not only mercy's development and her life #but my own as well #and i adore you so much for it

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harlot-of-oblivion · 4 years

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The Devil’s In The Details

You wait in the diner for a pesky devil to arrive before launching into more detail about the case. After some flirty banter and a heated rant, both of you come to an accord and you walk away with a new partner what may know how to melt your icy walls.

Chapter 4: The Devil’s New Partner

You knew from reading Dante’s profile that he would be unpredictable and possibly dangerous. And after some light digging around outside the city, you have learned just how much of a troublemaker he really is before setting foot into Devil May Cry. But you were not prepared for this the undeniable truth that came to light after your meeting with him:

The Legendary Devil Hunter annoys the fuck out of you.

You are hunched over a table in the corner booth of the Simmer Down Diner, still reeling from your first encounter with the infamous Dante while you wait for your food. The only saving grace from your irritable thoughts are your pensive drawings. You put the finishing touches on the Devil May Cry sign and readjust your glasses before turning a page of your sketchbook to doodle the shop itself…which is just a total mess. That didn’t really surprise you at all, but the sheer amount of empty whiskey bottles tells you that his carefree attitude might all just be an elaborate act. And as for the rest of the trash…you get the impression that he really loves pizza and doesn’t even bother paying the bills on time.

Your pencil glides across the paper as you draw a rough sketch of the jukebox and the rotting demon pinned to the wall with swords before moving onto the exasperating owner himself. Everything about him just irks you for some reason; maybe it’s the lack of professionalism or his not so subtle flirting in between the jabs at your profession. Never in your life have you felt such a strong urge to punch someone immediately after meeting them. Not even Fuller has ever managed to get this far under your skin after years of knowing him…and yet Dante somehow has you breathing fire in just a few short minutes!

The lines of your drawing get darker as you press the pencil harder against the page, being careful not to break it while you channel your anger into the sketch of Dante. You got a good look at him during your little tirade as you leaned in real close over his desk, noticing little details such as the silvery sheen of his messy white hair and scruffy beard. And those striking blue eyes…flashing red for a split second before twinkling with amusement while watching you rant just a few inches away from his face.

You hate to admit it…but a part of you also finds him infuriatingly fascinating.

The soft ringing of a bell breaks your concentration as the door swings open. You glance up from your sketchbook to see the devil himself entering the diner. Well, this is a surprise, you thought with quirked brow, partly convinced that maybe he’s actually interested in helping you with the case. The striking blue eyes you were just pondering about start scanning through the modest crowd. You straighten yourself up in the booth, revealing your whereabouts with a patient wave while you hastily close your sketchbook.

Dante’s lips curl into a playful smirk when he spots you among the crowd. You take this opportunity to check him out while taking a long sip of your drink. The first thing you notice while he struts on over to your table is just how intimidatingly tall he is compared to you. His long red jacket flares out behind him, allowing you a sneak peek of the guns strapped to his lower back. Your eyes linger over his broad shoulders and muscular chest before moving further down his body. You almost choke on your drink once you get a load of the very prominent bulge at the front of the black leather pants.

Either he’s packing some serious heat down there…or that’s the cleverest way to hide a gun I’ve ever seen!

You casually clear your throat as you set your drink down, hoping that it’s enough to cover up the sudden flush of heat rushing through your body. But the subtle twitch of his mouth tells you that he totally noticed you staring at his crotch. “I know, I know,” he starts when he gets close enough to your table, “if being this sexy was a crime, then I’d be guilty as charged!” he boldly claims while pointing at himself with a confident grin.

“Pff! More like if vanity was a crime,” you scoff with a roll of your eyes before leaning back in your seat while crossing your arms. “I’m assuming since you’re here that you’ve changed your mind?”

Dante doesn’t seem to be bothered by your chilly retort as he rests one hand on the table, really showing off his incredible height as he leans over the table with that stupid grin still on his face. “Lemme hear more about this case of yours and we’ll see, Detective.”

You study him for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh. “Well then, why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Dante?” you offer while pointing to the vacant seat across from you.

“Hey, there’s no need for that…just Dante is fine,” he informs with a charming wink, blue eyes gleaming with mischief as he slides into the booth. He pushes the table a little closer towards you so that he can fit into the small booth comfortably, long legs stretching out until both of his knees are on either side of your own legs. You grunt at the inconvenience but do not complain since you can’t blame him for being so damn tall to begin with. He rests his arms on the table as soon as he’s all situated and gives you his undivided attention as he picks up right where you left off.

“So, what’s this about needing my help to catch a serial killer?”

You slip off your glasses and sit up in your seat. “I believe that either demons or a Devil Arm is involved with some disappearances as well as the five murders,” you explain, but stop short when the waitress approaches your table. She offers you a refill before asking Dante what he would like to drink while batting her eyelashes at him. His roguish gaze never strays from you as he politely declines to order, only giving the simpering young woman a once over from the corner of his eye. The waitress pouts and lets him know that she will be nearby if he changes his mind before sulking away.

“Okay...let’s go back to the beginning,” you sigh while putting your glasses back on. “There’s been a drastic increase of missing people over the past two months. Most of them seem like your typical case of runaways and such, but some of them are highly suspicious. And when I looked a little closer…” you trail off, lacing your fingers on the table as you continue in a more hushed tone. “I noticed a pattern with every single case: all of them exhibited dissociative behavior before disappearing.”

Dante tilts his head and narrows his eyes while considering your first suspicion. “Alright…some people go missing, but what’s that gotta do with demons?” he questions with a small shrug.

“Not a damn thing at first, but I didn’t even see a connection until the murders,” you admit while sliding your sketchbook to the middle of the table, turning it around so that he can see your drawings and notes as you flip to the correct page. “This is the first victim: shot through the chest by a shotgun.” You give him a moment to study your grisly sketch before turning the page. “The second victim was stabbed multiple times.” Another pause to examine the gruesome scene before flipping the page. “The third victim was shot in the back of the head at point blank range.”

You feel his knees twitch against your leg, but you chalk it up to him being lost in thought as he scratches the back of his head. “I dunno…these all seem pretty random, Detective,” he contends, looking back at you skeptically through his silvery hair.

“And yet they all have one thing in common: a wound inflicted by a needle of some kind was found on all their bodies,” you counter while flipping back through the pages, pointing out your depiction of the wound in your autopsy notes. “At first, the medical examiner thought it was from drug use. But when he found the exact same wound again on the other two victims, he took a closer look and discovered the residue of some unknown substance.” You turn to the next macabre drawing and reveal your first break in the case. “It wasn’t until the fourth victim came swinging in that we were able to extract a small sample for testing.”

Your explanation gets put on pause when the waitress appears with your food. Dante picks up your sketchbook as she places a huge plate of the diner’s special down on the table. Your stomach growls hungrily as you stare down at the pot roast sub smothered with gravy resting atop a heaping pile of fries. The waitress asks if you need anything else, looking a bit perturbed going by her pallid face as she hurriedly refills your drink despite doing so just a few minutes ago. That’s what you get for eavesdropping, Sweetie, you thought wryly, showing her some mercy with a shake of your head. She rushes off to the back of the diner while you grab some utensils with an amused smirk.

You take off your glasses and catch Dante staring at you with a quirked brow. You glower right back at him as your mouth twists into an annoyed grimace before digging into your hearty meal. A husky chuckle rumbles from his throat as he nonchalantly flips through your sketchbook, adding more fuel to your already inflamed temper by not even asking permission first. But as you take a bite of the delicious roast beef and gravy, you decide to just let it go since it’s just your investigatory sketchbook; there shouldn’t be anything private in those pages anyways.

“Did you draw all of these?” he asks, genuine curiosity evident in his voice as he continues to look through the various sketches of past cases.

Your head nods while you chew and swallow your food. “Drawing important details helps me organize my thoughts,” you answer before munching on some salty fries.

Dante looks up from your sketchbook. “You’re really good,” he admits, knee bumping playfully against your leg again with the compliment.

“It’s nothing special,” you reply coolly despite feeling warm tingles coiling within the pit of your belly at his sincere praise. “It’s just a glorified version of doodling during class when you think about it...anyway, where were we?” You quickly move on before making a complete fool of yourself in front of the cocksure devil who is currently smiling like a smug cat while brushing your leg with his knee yet again. What are we? Teenagers? you mentally scoff, shooing his knee away with a swift kick against one of his leather boots before carrying on with your explanation.

“This is the fifth and most recent victim,” you continue while reaching across the table towards your sketchbook, barely managing to flip the appropriate page since you are a great deal shorter than him. “We’re still in the process of determining the exact cause of death, but we found the same exact wound on the body as well.”

Dante nods and turns the page while you take a few more bites of your meal. “What’s up with Frankenstein’s wife here?” he chortles, turning your sketchbook around and flashing you with this morning’s drawing made in the morgue.

“Oh!” you gasp, covering your mouth with a cheap paper napkin. “It’s uh…an inside joke,” you mumble with your mouth full, thankful that he cannot see your sheepish grin as you gulp down your food. “The strangled victim’s body is now missing from the morgue.” You dab the corners of your mouth with the napkin and take a sip of your drink before meeting his intrigued gaze. “And the test results for the unknown substance came back completely blank too,” you divulge with frustrated sigh.

“Alright, so lemme get this straight,” he mutters, closing your sketchbook as he leans in closer over the table. “All these people ended up dead with some kinda poison inside them?”

“It’s more like a venom since it has to be injected,” you correct with a brief nod.

Dante hums in thought while you go back to eating your meal in silence for a few moments. “Some demons can kill that way,” he muses with a casual shrug before nodding his head in a questioning manner. “But what about the missing people from the start? Did they have this venom too?”

“Some relatives and close friends report seeing what looks like injection marks on some of the missing people prior to their disappearance. I know, I know,” you murmur when that damnable brow of his quirks in disbelief. “It’s a bit of stretch. But when I talked with the victim’s family and friends, they all noticed that something was off with them before their death as well.”

You push your plate aside to lean in closer as you list off some key similarities. “Spotty memory, bouts of dizziness, and just overall despondent to the world around them…it’s the exact same symptoms of the missing people before they all disappeared!” you exclaim softly with a light slam of your fist against the table. “I know it’s a long shot, but everything in my gut tells me that all of this is more than just coincidence. And with the amount of people involved along with the fact that we’re the capital of demon town right now…” You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply through your nose before letting out a shuddering sigh while your mind glosses over old memories.

“Something horrible is going on in Red Grave again,” you murmur, eyes snapping open to meet his intense gaze. “And I’m gonna stop whatever or whoever is behind it all before it gets worse.”

Dante stares at you from across the table, mouth slightly agape while his blue eyes shine with wonderment. Your determined gaze stays on him while you wait for that fiery red flash to appear again, heart skipping a beat when it flickers for a moment before receding back within those stunning blue depths. “You’ve definitely caught my attention, Detective,” he admits huskily, eyes now gleaming with rakish charm as he fidgets around in his seat. “There’s just one thing we need squared away before getting this party started.”

You nod your head, already knowing that he wants to bargain for his services. “The RGC P.D. can’t technically pay you for your assistance, but we can offer you a certain deal in exchange for your cooperation.”

“Like a plea deal?” he quips with a cheeky grin.

“Not exactly…unless you’re guilty of something,” you explain with a puzzling tilt of your head before shooting him with an icy glare. “And if you say anything about your good looks one time-”

“Being this handsome is not the only thing I’m guilty of,” he cuts you off, completely ignoring your warning as he leans in even closer over the table. “But you’re gonna have to do better than that to get a confession outta me, Detective,” he murmurs, eyes darting down to stare at your frowning lips while a suave smile spreads across his scruffy face.

Your eyes squint in suspicion, sensing that he’s purposefully trying to get a rise out of you for some odd reason. “I’ll have you know that I’m one of the best at conducting an interrogation,” you boast, slowly leaning in so close that you can feel his hot breath blow across your face. “So, don’t think for a minute that this cheap and debonair act will distract me.”

Dante meets your challenging gaze while you hear what sounds like a low and gravelly purr emanating from deep within his chest. The clamor of surrounding customers in the diner seems to fade away as both of you just stare unblinkingly at each other. Neither of you are willing to back down until the waitress hesitantly comes by your table just a few seconds later. You ask for the check while slowly leaning back in your seat without breaking eye contact, feeling his knee buck against your leg in amusement.

As soon as the waitress scurries away, you let out an exasperated sigh while crossing your arms. “Now, as I was saying…in exchange for your help in this case, we promise to wipe your ridiculously long record clean.”

“Record?” he repeats while blinking in surprise. “You guys actually have a file on me?”

“Yep,” you affirm with a nod. “Most mercenaries in your line work have a file in Red Grave, but none of them are as colorful as yours,” you remark with an impressed shrug.

Dante scratches his chin thoughtfully, but then his eyes light up with what is probably a maddening idea. “How about this,” he begins while flipping through your sketchbook, stopping on the page with your most recent drawing before holding it up next to his face. “A clean record plus…you draw me like one of your French girls?” he proposes with a wicked grin while his eyebrows wiggle suggestively.

The last strand of your patience snaps at your sketch of Dante staring back at you. You stab the remainder of your meal forcefully with a fork as you hop out of your seat. “Let’s get one thing straight,” you snarl vehemently while reaching over and snatching your sketchbook away from his grubby hands. “I better not hear anymore pickup lines from that crude mouth of yours if we work together! And while we’re on the subject,” you sneer, not able to hold back the oncoming flood of pure rage surging through your body as you sit back down.

“I will never see you as something more than just my partner during this case because it’s very unprofessional and quite frankly, I find you incredibly annoying! And I can’t believe that out all the hunters I could’ve chosen…I just had to pick the most infuriating man I’ve ever met!”

Some of the babbling conversations nearby noticeably dies down as your explosive rant comes to an end. You pinch your brow and take a couple deep breaths, ignoring the gawking devil sitting across from you as well as the curious stares from some of the customers. Great…I had one shot at this and I fucked it all up, you mentally berate yourself as the angry humming of your mind turns into quiet regret. Nothing new there…I should be used to it by now. You prepare yourself for inevitable rejection and open your eyes…only to be taken aback by the infatuated expression on Dante’s face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask warily, squirming in your seat a little while he continues to gaze at you with that strange look in his eyes.

Dante smiles as he leans back in his seat. “You’re really cute when you’re mad.”

You scoff and roll your eyes at him. “I’m not mad.”

“I can hear ya buzzing like an angry honeybee from here,” he snickers with a shake of his head. He watches you for a few moments, silently sizing you up while you put your sketchbook back inside your riding jacket. “Just add free pizza and beer to the clean record and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “Really? Even after I was such a bitch to you?” you murmur, wondering why he still insists on helping you despite showing him your cold façade and terrible temper.

“I got nothing else better to do,” he replies with a small shrug. “Plus, you’re one helluva spitfire…I really like that,” he adds with a lascivious wink before turning the flirty tone down to a minimum. “You have a warm heart behind that icy wall of yours…maybe if I stick around long enough it’ll thaw out.”

“Like I’ll ever let you get that close to begin with,” you grumble under your breath while crossing your arms defensively.

Dante chuckles softly at your stubbornness. “We’ll just have to wait and see now won’t we, Detective?” he teases with a roguish smirk while his husky voice ignites the warm tingling in the pit of your stomach once more. “Do we gotta deal?” he inquires, playfully poking your leg with his knee again while raising an expectant brow.

You grunt and kick his boot again before giving his suggestion some thought. “I do know the best places for pizza and beer,” you muse aloud, listing off all the pizza parlors and bars in Red Grave City in your head. “Fine… It’s a deal,” you accept his terms with a firm nod of your head while offering your hand for a handshake to solidify the agreement.

Dante clenches his fist victoriously before clasping your hand and giving it an earnest shake. You cannot help but notice just how warm his huge hand feels against your skin. The corners of your lips curl into small smile of relief, finally feeling like you’ve successfully taken the first crucial step in cracking this perplexing case. You pull your hand back as the waitress dashes over to drop off your check before zooming away as quickly as possible.

“So, when do we get started?” he asks, clapping his hands and rubbing them together in anticipation.

“Right away,” you inform while taking out your wallet, throwing down some cash for your meal plus a little extra for any trouble you may have caused while dining here.

“Ooh sounds like someone’s eager for more,” he notes playfully as you slide out of the booth, pushing his leg aside with an aggravated huff.

You make your way towards the exit while Dante follows suit, slipping by you to hold the door open while you exit the diner. “I need to head back and prepare for your arrival at the station,” you proclaim as he follows close behind you. “Don’t want anyone arresting you on the spot,” you explain while walking towards your motorcycle, which is parked just a little way down the street.

It only takes Dante a couple of long strides to get ahead of you. “Wouldn’t mind getting arrested if it meant getting frisked by you,” he jests while spinning around to face you, never breaking his pace as he gives you a flirtatious wink.

“I thought I told you quite clearly that I’m not interested,” you tersely remind him with a harsh scowl.

“Whaaaaat? I’m just enforcing the law of attraction,” he claims while holding his hands up in mock defense.

You scoff at his cheesy pickup lines as you briskly brush past him, never looking back until you arrive at your bike. “Think you can come by the station tomorrow?” you inquire, checking out your ride for any problems before picking up your helmet and turning around to face your new partner.

Dante bends down into a dramatic bow. “It’s a date,” he boldly declares with a quick flick of his wrist.

A single red rose suddenly appears in his hand and he offers it to you with a captivating smile. You look down at the rose skeptically as you reach for it, wondering if he always keeps fresh roses up his sleeve…or maybe he just stopped by a florist shop on the way here. Either way, it still does not stop this warm fuzzy feeling from rising in your chest as you take the rose from him…but you quickly slip your helmet on in hopes of hiding the fact that this romantic gesture had any effect on you.

“I’ll uh…see ya then, Dante,” you murmur with a small wave, noting the gratifying sound of his name against your tongue as you hop on your bike.

Dante waves back with triumphant smirk. “Adios, Detective. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

And with those final words of farewell, you switch on the ignition and rev your bike a couple times before bolting down the street. The rumbling roar of the engine drowns out all thought while you drive through the city, completely focused on the road and not on the insufferable man that really grinds your gears. Your mind is buzzing with elation despite agreeing to work with a man that takes joy from annoying the fuck out of you. But then again, he just agreed to work with a woman that has no qualms about giving him a piece of her mind at the top of her lungs…and that’s what you find most puzzling about your new partner.

You slowly step on the brakes as you come to a stop light at an intersection. As you wait for the green light, you happen to look down and notice that the red rose still in your hand. A few of its petals have been torn off, but it’s surprisingly no worse for wear from the harsh winds. You flip up the visor of your helmet and hold the romantic flower up for closer inspection before bringing it to your nose. Its signature fragrance rekindles the warm tingles within the pit of your stomach, licking like some smoldering flame at the cold shell that constantly surrounds you. You melt for minute while Dante’s words from earlier whisper in the back of your mind:

You have a warm heart behind that icy wall of yours…maybe if I stick around long enough it’ll thaw out.

People have called you a lot of things: a buzzkill, a surly hothead, an ice bitch…but no one’s ever called you warmhearted. Hearing those words makes you feel-

The blaring sound of a car horn knocks you back down to reality. You immediately notice that the light has finally turned green, so you quickly put the pedal to metal and take off like a bat out of hell. Your mind focuses on the road once more, but the sight of the red rose still in your hand enduring the rough wind reminds you that you’re no longer working alone…you have a troublesome devil with a pension for rousing your temper on your side.

And together you’re going to find and stop this new threat lurking beneath Red Grave City.

My Ao3

My Masterlist if you want more 💖

Tagging: @bettybattaglia @drusoona and @exsultry

#dante x reader #dante #devil may cry #detective reader #murder mystery #crime drama #eventual romance #the devil's in the details #THE GAME IS AFOOT MY DEAR DANTE #harlot writes

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hxydnbxby · 5 years

Text

it’s a normal monday morning for you. you know, getting ready to go to a school you hate, riding in your best friends car, threatening to throw him out a window if he doesn’t stop changing the song when he has the aux chord. normal stuff. nothing too out of the ordinary.

well except maybe that one weird kid you pass in the halls who oddly isn’t there like he is everyday. you wonder about it, but don’t dwell too much on the topic. it’s better that way.

you continue down the halls just like any other day. you notice a few people crowded around an empty locker. ‘that’s odd,’ you think to yourself, but continue on.

“oh my gosh he’s so cute!” you hear people whisper from behind, probably talking about hyunjin, your best friend and somewhat school heartthrob. still nothing new.

you pass the office as you do everyday. usually there’s no one there, but today you notice a handsome blonde boy.

“look hyunjin there’s a new kid,” you say poking his shoulder and nodding towards the office.

“i hope he’s our age man. there has yet to be a new kid in the same year as us,” hyunjin says turning to look. “boys got freckles oh no.”

“what? lemme see!” you turn towards the boy just as he looks up at you. “aw shit he’s seen me!” you try to hide behind hyunjin, but there was no point. you would’ve been seen either way.

“let’s just go to class before you end up creeping the poor kid out,” he starts walking a bit faster with a soft laugh.

as you get to your first class and sit down, you hear people whispering about a new student coming in. ‘maybe there’s two of them,’ you think to yourself. and that’s when you know you’re wrong.

your teacher comes in, handsome blonde boy right behind him. you lay your head on your desk and sigh. there’s an empty desk next to you, so you know he’s gonna end up sitting there.

“(y/n)!” the teacher says loudly to get your attention.

“yes?” you lift your head to look at them.

“there’s an empty desk next to you right?”

“yes.”

“good. felix you can sit there.”

the boy, felix, sits at the desk next to you. he smiles shyly and you smile back.

classes go by quickly, and soon you’re walking down the school hall way from your locker, heading to your last class of the day when you spot felix. he had a couple classes with you after your first class. you smile sweetly when he notices you, walking closer to try and talk to him. everything was going so well until you saw another girl walk up to him, so you just turn around and head the opposite direction to your class.

you have a sub in math that day so you know something was bound to happen. for example, last time you had a sub, hyunjin started a paper war. the time before that, he started a notebook war. so many people were injured due to notebooks smacking them in the face. safe to say hyunjin always causes trouble when the real teacher isn’t around. but you knew today would be different from all those times. and you were right because lo and behold there was felix. right there at the front of the class. you wondered if he was even supposed to be in the class until the sub stands and introduces him.

“there’s an empty seat there next to (y/n).” the sub says pointing at you.

felix walks straight back to the empty desk with a bright smile. he sets his bag down and gets out a little notebook with a drawn on cover. you notice out of the corner of your eye that he’s doodling something on one of the pages. you smile softly as you pull out your sketchbook for art class. you had to take this chance to draw him. he looked so in his element while doodling that it would’ve been a waste not to draw him.

you spend the entire class drawing felix. only looking away from him or your sketchbook when someone threw something your way. it was a little paper football with hyunjin’s handwriting on it.

‘are you drawing the new kid already?’

‘what kind of question??? have you seen him hyunjin???? of course i’m drawing him idiot!!’ you write back and throw the football in the other boys direction. you almost don’t notice felix hand you a note as you go back to drawing him. almost, as in it was pretty obvious, since he placed the note on your desk just as you looked down.

you look over to the freckled boy a bit confused, only to be met by a shy smile from him. you inwardly coo at him, but outwardly smile back.

he leans over and whispers softly, “don’t read it until after class okay?” to which you nod and put the note in your pocket then continue drawing him.

the final bell rings signaling schools over. you wait a bit for hyunjin and walk out together.

“so what were you and freckles talking about?” he questions as you walk to his car.

“nothing.” you smile softly as you remember the note you had placed in your pocket earlier.

“not nothing if you’re smiling like that,” hyunjin pokes at your side as you whine and push his hands away. “come on tell meee.” he pesters on.

“fine but wait until we’re in the car,” you say pouting because you knew he was never gonna let this go. he just nods and starts jogging toward his car.

when you get to the car, he unlocks the doors and puts everything in the back. you immediately get in the passenger seat and throw your stuff in back too before pulling out the note felix gave you.

“are you ready for this?” you say a bit nervous. in all honesty you felt kinda bad since felix probably only wanted you to see his note. you unfold it to find cute little doodles and hearts around his message.

‘(y/n),

hi! i’m felix! i’m new here! but you know that. everyone knows that. sorry i’m an idiot. anyway. i’ve noticed that you’re in a lot of my classes, but i’m too chicken to ask you this in person. sooo would you mind if i walked to class with you from now on? sorry i couldn’t do this in person. i’m just not good with talking new people.

-felix <3

p.s you and your boyfriend are cute.’

‘he’s so cuteee!!! wait- boyfriend? what boyfriend? no boyfriend here.’ you think before letting out a loud laugh.

“jinnie i think he means you!” you say through laughter only causing hyunjin to burst out laughing too.

“why would i do myself so dirty! you’re a troll!” he smacks his head on the window from laughing which only causes more laughter.

“i’m the troll?! look at you!” you say wiping the tears from your face as you laugh. “jin are you okay?!” you cover your mouth to stop laughing after you realize he had hurt himself.

“yea i’m fine (y/n)!” he laughs softly. “i can’t believe he thinks you’re my type!”

“the poor fool!” you say as hyunjin starts the car and drives off.

the next day at school you spot felix sitting alone and walk up to him.

“hey!” you say cheerfully sitting next to him. “i’m here to walk you to class!”

“(y/n)!” he says a bit startled. “i didn’t think you’d actually say yes, considering your boyfriend and everything.”

you covered your mouth to keep from laughing but in the end it didn’t help.

“i’m so sorry for laughing. it’s just my ‘boyfriend’ is like a brother to me. besides he even has a boyfriend!” you say as you watch jeongin, a boy just a bit younger than the two of you, and hyunjin walk in holding hands. you wave them over with a bright smile. “felix, this is hyunjin and jeongin.”

jeongin gives you both a sleepy smile as hyunjin gives him a small kiss on his forehead. “i’m jeongin,” he says yawning softly.

“and i’m (y/n)’s best friend hyunjin,” he says patting felix on the head. it was an unusual thing he did when meeting new people.

“well you already know who i am,” felix says with a shy smile, grabbing your arm and clinging to you a bit.

you inwardly squeal because of how cute it was that felix had chose you to hold onto. this doesn’t go unnoticed by hyunjin either. you knew he would make sure to tease you for this later.

jeongin lets go of hyunjin to hug you lazily as he does every morning right before the bell for first class rings.

you mumble a soft ‘have a good day bubba,’ and place a light kiss on his head as he lets go. he smiles softly at you and waves goodbye to felix as he walks off with hyunjin.

felix pouts softly mumbling, ‘can we be friends like that too?’ you almost didn’t hear it. but you nod softly and smile a bit.

‘i would love that,’ you say to yourself as you start walking to class, the blonde haired boy still clinging to your arm.

“here we are lix,” you say softly to him before entering your english class. you can see him pout softly at the fact that he has to let go of you now.

“see you after class?” he looks at you with a shy smile. you nod quickly.

“see you after class.” you pat his cheek and walk in. you notice all the jealous stares coming from all the other students in your class. apparently felix already had everyone else wrapped around his finger too.

felix takes the seat behind you, seeing as it was the only other seat open, and sighs. you turn to talk to him just as the teacher walks in.

“alright class, today i will be assigning a group project.” everyone looks around for their group mates as the teacher clears his throat. “but, i will be putting you all into groups. and since we have a new addition to our class i will allow him to choose one other person to be in a group with. mr lee, you have until the end of class too-“

“i pick (y/n)!” felix cuts the teacher off rather excitedly.

“alright then,” he chuckles softly at felix. “now for everyone else.” he lists off the groups but you don’t really pay attention to what he’s saying. “you have six weeks to get the project turned in. you may get with your group and discuss.”

felix pokes your shoulder and you turn around to see his bright smile. “we get to work together!” he cheers softly.

“well duh,” you smile just as brightly. “you picked me remember!”

“oh yea! i forgot,” he chuckles softly. “sorry, i was just really happy to work with you.”

you poke his cheek as your other group mates come over to the two of you.

“hi! i’m soobin.” an orange haired boy says cheerfully.

“i’m jongho,” the red haired boy next to soobin says tiredly.

“i’m felix!” he says never losing his bright smile from earlier.

“so what should we start on?” soobin says as he pulls two desks over. you lay your head on your hand as you listen to them.

somewhere in their conversation you zone out. it’s only when soobin comes up behind you and grabs your side that you notice.

“yah! bin what’d you do that for!?” you smack his hands away, pouting.

“needed to get your attention.” jongho shrugs and turns toward you.

“you big meanies.” you huff like a child. felix chuckles softly as they start talking again.

the rest of the class flew by pretty quickly after that. before you know it the bell rings for second class.

“where to?” you ask felix as you meet him outside the door. he’s pouting at you and mumbling something you couldn’t understand.

he still clings to your arm, although this time a bit tighter. he doesn’t say anything, just walks towards his next class.

you wonder what’s wrong as he stops in front of the classroom. he still doesn’t say anything as he lets go and walks in. you wait just a minute to make sure he’s in the right class before you leave.

your next class you couldn’t pay any attention due to worrying about felix. when the bell rings you’re the first one out and going to meet felix, but he’s not there. you sigh and turn to walk away.

a hand grabs your wrist and pulls you in for a hug.

“(y/n)! i’m so sorry i didn’t talk to you earlier,” he says softly. “i was just upset that you didn’t walk out with me. i swear i’ll never do that again!”

“hey it’s okay lix!” you hug him back. you smile softly into his shoulder. ‘you give some damn good hugs.’ you think to yourself.

the day after that goes by pretty quickly. so do the coming weeks. next thing you know it’s christmas break and you’re not gonna get to see felix for a month.

you and felix have grown closer in the short time he’s been at your school. you’ve had countless movie dates with hyunjin and jeongin, went for walks after school, been to each other’s houses, he’s met your other friends. you’ve gotten comfortable enough to snuggle with him like all your other friends, but not enough to start giving him friendly kisses on his cheeks and forehead. and boy has he noticed. every time you leave a kiss on jeongin or seungmin or even woojin’s forehead, he notices their moods change instantly. he sighs softly wondering when he’ll get to know what it’s like to have that experience.

looks like today’s that day. the four of you would all be hanging out at felix’s for the last movie date with him until after new years.

it was the end of the school day and he was upset knowing after tonight he wouldn’t see you for weeks. you could see all the signs pointing to how upset he truly was when the last bell rang.

“so felix, what’re you doing during break?” you ask as you walk out with him and hyunjin.

“visiting family. opening presents. the usual. you guys?” he says with a smile. it wasn’t as bright as usual. his eyes looked a bit sad. you sighed softly. you wanted to ask him if he was okay but you don’t wanna risk it.

“spending time with jeongin and (y/n),” hyunjin smiles as he sees jeongin running down the hall to meet them. “hey babe! we were just talking about spending time with you!” he smiles even more when he hugs the younger boy tightly.

“yea that.” you say and you smile at the two boys in front of you.

“yea! lots of hot chocolate and movies and cuddles!” jeongin says letting go of hyunjin and giving you a hug.

you laugh softly as the two of you almost topple over due to the force of jeongin pretty much throwing himself at you. felix moves behind you two to stop you both from falling on the ground. he chuckles softly and helps you both balance yourselves.

“you two idiots are gonna end up getting hurt!” hyunjin chuckles as jeongin lets go of you.

he hugs felix tightly and whispers something in his ear. felix blushes a bit and sighs before whispering something back.

“off to the car!” hyunjin yells and you both start running, leaving the other two boys behind.

it takes them a while to get to the car as you and hyunjin throw everything in the trunk and get in. you sit in the back knowing jeongin would want the front. when they finally get there felix sits next to you and sighs.

you look up at him, “what’s wrong?” you whisper.

“nothing.” he whispers back and quickly looks out the window.

you let it go until you get to felix’s house. he sighs again and gets out. hyunjin pops the trunk and felix slowly grabs everything from it. he throws hyunjin the keys to unlock the front door and waits for you.

“lix?” you ask quietly from the other side of the car.

“yea?” he looks over at you with a sad smile.

“what’s wrong with you?”

“i’m not sure if i should be offended or not.”

“no i mean you’re smile isn’t as bright, your eyes aren’t sparkling like they do. i can tell something’s wrong.”

he sighs softly, “it’s just i won’t be able to see you for about a month and i don’t know what i’m going to do.”

“lix, baby, it’s gonna be okay.”

“no you don’t get it (y/n). this short time with you has made me want to interact with people more, draw more, do all the things i used to love. when you’re not around i feel so lost for some reason and i’m scared of that.”

“felix you will be okay. i’ll still be here. just not in person. i promise that if you need me too i will call everyday.”

“i’d like that a lot actually.” he smiles softly and walks over to you. “we should probably go in now.”

you nod and run inside leaving felix by the car. he felt sad for some reason. he felt as though he did something wrong. he knew what he said wasn’t entirely what was on his mind, but didn’t lie to you. he meant everything he had just said.

he comes inside to find the living room completely different from when he had left it that morning. there were bowls of snacks and drinks on floor in front of the tv. there was a giant fort surrounding the coffee table and couch. hyunjin and jeongin were wearing matching hoodies and sweats while setting up fairy lights. but you were no where to be seen.

the microwave had gone off before you came down fron his room. you were wearing a pair of shorts and one of his old hoodies. he had swore every time you had changed from your school uniform to something more comfortable, he would never see anything more beautiful. he was wrong. he was so wrong. right now, in his huge hoodie, with the brightest smile he had ever seen, he knew this was the most beautiful thing he’d ever see.

you looked at him and he swore that he would never be able to look at anyone else. he smiles brightly, this time though, his eyes sparkled so brightly you could see the stars in them. he smiled so brightly that even his freckles couldn’t compare. he was absolutely stunning.

you walked up to him slowly, planning your next move. you stood right in front of him and grabbed his cheeks. he looks at you a bit confused until you finally kiss his nose, then you let go and kiss his cheeks.

he stood there silently, his bright smile seeming even brighter after those kisses. he lets out a quiet giggle when he sees you smiling at him. he hugs you tightly and nuzzles his face in your neck mumbling a soft ‘thank you.’

you smile and play with his hair gently before kissing the side of his neck lightly. he giggles a bit before he lets go and walks up to his room.

you turn to go to the kitchen only to be stopped by jeongin and hyunjin blocking your way.

“we saw that (y/n)!” jeongin cheers quietly.

“yea! just tell him you like him already!” hyunjin shoves you lightly. “there’s no way he doesn’t like you back pabo! did you see that cute little smile! he’s completely gone for you!”

“yah! you pabo! shut up what if he hears!” you hide your face in felix’s hoodie.

“yea! and those cute giggles! come on (y/n) he really likes you!” jeongin pokes your shoulders as he speaks.

“but felix is felix! the cutest, most talented, meme boy to walk the planet! and i am not as cute or talented, but i am a meme! and he’s such a cute baby boy!” you pout softly.

“yah! (y/n) i’m not a baby!”

“yes you are felix shut up. we’re trying to talk about felix right no-“ you cut yourself off and turn around. there was the beautiful boy you were just talking about dressed in a blue cut off shirt and sweats. “oh dear fucking heck.”

“i’m not a baby!” he pouts softly.

you take a few seconds to truly admire him. his arms weren’t big but you could tell he works out a little.

‘wow he looks so good right now.’ you think to yourself with a shy smile.

he walks over to you slowly with a slight smirk playing in his face.

“i’ll prove it to you.”

he hesitates a bit before pulling you in for a sweet yet rough kiss. the type of kiss that leaves you breathless even minutes after. the type of kiss people talk about in the movies. the kiss that truly shows how both of you feel about each other.

felix pulls away and bites his lip, looking you straight in the eyes.

“that was...” you say softly.

“wow.” he leans in again and kisses you.

jeongin giggles quietly, nudging hyunjin’s shoulder. hyunjin smiles softly.

“cute.” he mumbles and pulls jeongin into his chest.

after a few seconds felix pulls away with a smile.

“so can this be a double date now?” he giggles quietly, unable to keep the happiness in.

“sure!” you say cheerfully and pinch his cheeks.

“finally!” hyunjin yells and walks towards the fort with jeongin.

“what movie are we gonna watch?” you say with a smile and follow the other two into the fort.

“i say we watch hercules!” jeongin claps and snuggles up to hyunjin.

“aw shit! here we go again.” felix mumbles with a soft laugh as he climbs in and cuddles up next to you. he smiles as he kisses your forehead.

in the end it doesn’t really matter what you watched. you end up falling asleep in felix’s arms shortly after the movie starts, and he would never have it any other way.

#stray kids felix #lee felix fluff #lee felix au #lee felix

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ohblackdiamond · 4 years

Text

till it shines (peter/paul, nc-17)

"Look, I'm not gonna quit, I swear. If we have to end the tour, we have to end the tour. We get dropped from the label, we get dropped from the label. We lick our wounds and we try somewhere else. But until then, we got awhile in this hotel." "And no shows." "Yeah." During a five-day lull in concerts, stranded in an Atlanta hotel, Peter and Paul find a means to entertain themselves.

Notes: Inspired and based to a heavy extent on a very lovely, NSFW fanart concerning Paul's on-tour artistic endeavors. No, not the ones he showcases in galleries.

“till it shines”

by Ruriruri

It was the last day of the Gay Kitchen, with honorable maitre d's, cooks, servers, and busboys Peter Criss and Paul Stanley manning KISS' dwindling hotel fridge and supply closet. At least, it was supposed to be. Peter didn't know if after last night, it was still on the table.

At first, they'd really wanted to go all-out with the band dinners, but their budget hadn't permitted it. One last hurrah before they had to limp back to New York, with a single failed record to their names and all the notoriety of four strays in a junkyard. Back to Lydia for Peter-and Lydia wasn't so bad, Lydia wasn't so bad at all; she'd supported him through worse screw-ups and disappointments, but it was what she represented. A guy who still wasn't paying the bills four years into the marriage wasn't any better than a bum. She'd thought she'd found somebody who'd be going places. She'd been wrong.

For Paul, the prospect of going home was just as disastrous. At least, that was how he made it out to be. He'd get into these depressed rambles about his parents and his sister and his niece and how coming back just wasn't an option.

"Not an option? C'mon, you were in college, what, a couple of quarters-"

Paul had winced and licked his lips, a quick, nervous tic Peter had gotten far too accustomed to seeing as the band's money situation worsened.

"I only went a week. Don't tell Gene." And a swallow. "Look, it's stupid. I know. But I was born to play rock and roll, okay?"

"You're preaching to the fucking choir."

"I mean. if I can't do this, if I can't make this happen, I might as well not be here. This is the only outlet I've got."

Peter had rubbed the back of his neck and tried not to groan. Overblown as ever. Paul thought Peter was the dramatic one, the tetchy one, just because he had enough balls to address what was pissing him off instead of keeping it to occasional bitchy comments. Paul never seemed to hear his own whines.

"You think you're the only one with a dream around here?" Peter couldn't even bite back the rest. "How old were you when the Beatles got on Ed Sullivan? Ten?"

"Twelve," Paul had grumbled back. "Don't make this an age thing-"

"I was just out of high school. And I was already in bands-"

"Pete, I know, I know already. You keep telling me." Paul heaved a sigh. "You keep telling all of us."

"You've got to pay your dues, that's all it is."

"Got to pay your dues if you wanna sing the blues." The right edge of Paul's mouth was starting to perk up.

"Yeah." Peter tugged absently at his bangs, trying not to let himself get too good a look at what he'd been seeing since before he even auditioned for KISS. The semi-permanent dye they all used worked fine on brown hair, but past that first wash, it was useless on gray. The streaks were more obvious against the jet-black backdrop than they'd ever been when he left his hair alone. "Look, I'm not gonna quit, I swear. If we have to end the tour, we have to end the tour. We get dropped from the label, we get dropped from the label. We lick our wounds and we try somewhere else. But until then, we got awhile in this hotel."

"And no shows."

"Yeah." No shows for the next five days at least. Their last pitiful handful of concerts, they'd opened for some redneck band. Outlaws or something. That was another depressing thing. Peter had always expected to at least be friendly with the bands they were the lead-in for, but they'd only been met with indifference at best and hostility at worst. Never ended up opening for the same band more than a few times, either. It just made the whole tour all the lonelier.

He realized after a second that Paul was staring at him. The guy had a weird stare. Kind of like a broke bagboy waiting on his tip, or maybe just like a girl who was really hoping for a proposal. Big-eyed, eager, and not remotely calculating. It might have pissed Peter off, if Paul didn't always follow it up with an abashed grin once he was caught.

"You're thinking about something," Paul said, before Peter could make the accusation himself.

"Yeah. I'm thinking we all need cheering up."

"You need cheering up, Peter."

"You just finished telling me you'd die if you didn't make it, Paul." He paused, still staring at the fridge. "And fuck, I'm gonna die if I have to eat at McDonalds one more time."

"Well, they've got Steak 'n Shake here, if you'd rather."

Peter groaned.

"Not when you're in a fucking blouse and heels. The crowd thinking we're fruits is bad enough." Before Paul could even stammer out a protest, something about it being rock and roll, or about needing more practice in the heels-God, c'mon-Peter continued. "No. I thought we could make our own dinner while we're here. Really make it, not just sandwiches and shit. Real food. We got the kitchen for it. And it'd save Bill some money. You know how to cook, right?" He knew Gene didn't. Ace just wouldn't.

"I'd hope so. My mom started leaving us home alone when I was eight."

"Poor, poor little Paulie." Peter rolled his eyes. "We could-we could make it themed, even. Make out like it's a restaurant. Menus and shit. Invite the guys down for dinner."

Paul brightened, which surprised him. Usually he'd be sore for hours over the slightest crack at his expense, like some spoiled, anxious kid. But for once, he actually seemed excited.

"Like Italian one night, maybe? We could make pizza."

"Yeah, sure, lemme get a shopping list going."

After three beers apiece, they'd named their restaurant the Gay Kitchen, decided they'd act the part of its bent proprietors, and written up a menu full of double-entendres. An hour later, still drunk, they'd pooled their money and ventured out to town in jeans and the lowest of their heels. They'd bought twenty bucks' worth of groceries, which should have been plenty. Then they'd started in on meal prep.

Strange how fun it was. Especially that first night, working on a poor man's casserole, with the radio on and Paul standing next to him chopping up onions, his hands encased in Ziploc sandwich bags because he didn't want the smell on his skin, while Peter cut half-frozen chicken breasts into ragged little cubes. They'd tossed the whole thing into the pan with some salt and pepper, dumped a can of cream of mushroom soup on top, stuck it in the oven and hoped for the best. He knew they should've gone with canned stuff entirely, especially for the meat, if they'd really wanted to save money, but the Gay Kitchen experience demanded the expenditure. At least, that was their excuse.

Besides, Ace and Gene had loved it. Not for the food so much. Peter figured their dinners were decent, maybe even good, sometimes, but he couldn't kid himself. There was nothing impressive about a dessert course that included Hostess cupcakes "with fresh Cool Whip." But the makeshift restaurant had done the job. Cheered them all up. No one said a word during any of the dinners about the tour ending or going back home. Not a single word. And he and Paul had screwed around, too, acting faggy, hitting on each other and the guys indiscriminately throughout the meals. Last night, Paul had even groped his ass while he was mincing around plating everyone's food.

"I had to take him off the menu." Peter could've sworn Paul was deliberately making that annoying lisp of his even worse during each dinner. Pitching his voice into a whine, too. Some commitment. Peter had glanced up, questioningly, but Paul had just ignored him and continued. "You see why, right? He's got such a nice ass-all the boys were looking, I couldn't help but get jealous-"

"Course you're jealous. You dieted yours off, Paulie," Ace had retorted with a laugh. Peter had been vaguely surprised Paul didn't break character at that, just clicked his tongue disapprovingly, his hand still on Peter's ass. Not squeezing anymore, thank God, but Peter had still felt the ghost of Paul's fingers there hours later when they'd both turned in for bed.

Looking back, maybe that was where it had really started. Glancing over at Paul on the double bed next to his, watching him, knees up, with the pad of hotel stationery in his lap and a pencil in his hand, Peter had cleared his throat. Paul lifted his head from where he'd been scribbling.

"Yeah?"

"What're you drawing?"

Paul held up the stationery without a hint of embarrassment. The usual weirdly accurate assortment of veiny, disembodied dicks covered the page.

"What do you always draw those for, anyway?"

Paul shrugged.

"I dunno. Why does Gene refuse to shower?"

"Because his mom told him even his B.O. was sacred." Peter rolled his eyes. "You got a fixation."

"<i>You've</i> got a fixation. You're the one always getting your dick out."

"Getting it out's not the same as drawing it. . That's not even your dick. Whose do you keep on-"

"I went to art school, asshole." There wasn't much of an edge to Paul's words, Peter noticed. "Life drawing comes with the territory."

"In high school? Jesus." Peter cocked his head, trying to decide if Paul was bullshitting him, but Paul was already back to doodling, his eyes averted. "You ever gonna attach them to anybody, or are they just gonna keep floating around?"

"Well, I thought I'd attach them to you, but then I realized that'd mean I'd have to draw your face."

"Oh, fuck you, Paul." He didn't know why, but he got up then, moved to sit on Paul's bed. Paul stopped scribbling just long enough to shift over for him. Peter leaned in, vying for a better look at the sketches. Six, no, seven dicks, from a couple different angles, all varying levels of erect. The balls were so accurate it was almost disturbing. "Ain't even mine. They're too small."

"These are scaled down."

"The shape's wrong, too. Was that one supposed to be bent like that?" Peter pointed at the offending cock, right in the center of the paper. He kind of thought it was intentional. There was something uncanny about Paul's artwork-well, the dick drawings, anyway. His other offerings, at least the ones Peter had seen-splattery acrylic abstracts from his high school portfolio, and the occasional insulting cartoon of his bandmates on the back of a paper napkin-lacked that attention to detail. And that enthusiasm. It was weird. Forget the rockstar shit; Peter almost wondered if Paul's true calling was illustrating gay porno mags.

Paul shifted the paper, blinking at him slowly.

"Are you really critiquing my doodles here?"

"Well, yeah. If you're gonna draw dicks, at least don't draw them bent."

"What's wrong with drawing them bent? Some guys have fucked-up dicks."

"Who do you know with a fucked-up dick? Gene?" Paul's was fine. Smaller than his, sure, but there wasn't anything the matter with it. Peter got a good look at it in the showers after concerts, and during occasional threesomes with college girls that didn't qualify as groupies. Paul didn't care about nudity any more than he or Ace did, which was a relief. Especially since Gene was so weird about it. Months on the road and he still wouldn't strip down in front of the band. Peter had asked Paul why. Paul had said something about Gene going to some Jewish school and that giving him hang-ups, which sounded ridiculous to Peter. If Jewish school was anything like Catholic school, then it was a flimsy excuse for changing in closets and behind closed doors like some chick. Gene probably just had something terribly, shamefully wrong with his dick. Smallness or herpes or both.

"What? No."

Pete scooted over some more. Paul's posture was slightly stiffer than it had been before, but he still moved to give Peter room. Not that the double bed had much space to begin with.

"Does that mean you've seen it?" Peter wasn't sure why he was pressing the issue. Probably because Paul didn't seem all that uncomfortable. In fact, ever since the start of the Gay Kitchen, he'd been more relaxed, more talkative. It'd been nice. Peter watched Paul's lips purse for a second before he replied.

"Come off it. I don't have the right equipment for the privilege."

"Just eat some more and you'll get the tits down."

"Oh, fuck you, Pete." Paul jabbed his elbow into Peter's ribs, just hard enough for Peter to jerk back, but after a second he was scooting in closer again, just to prove he couldn't be nudged off that easily.

Maybe it had been a lower blow than Peter had meant to take. God knew the poor guy worried more about his weight than a chick. Lydia once said Paul was shaped like a rectangle. Just thick, straight lines from his shoulders all the way to his ass, and no definition anywhere. And he had been, but that wasn't the case these days. Paul had ended up with a bad bout of stomach flu about a month and a half into the tour. He would pull himself together enough to do the night's show, but afterwards, Peter'd had to listen to him get up, agonized and grunting, at two in the morning, and hear him retching into the hotel toilet. Paul had probably dropped fifteen pounds since then. Maybe more.

He looked better now. His abdomen still wasn't flat and he still cinched in his waist with a corset onstage, but Peter figured Paul did look a little closer to-well, whatever the hell a frontman was supposed to look like-and a little farther from the shy kid from Queens who drove the band's milk truck to and from gigs. Shouldn't be something Peter was already nostalgic about, especially since they were probably right about to head back to the milk trucks and ballrooms, but he was.

He could hear the scratch of Paul's pencil against the stationery. Paul wasn't going to retort. He'd just sulk and doodle more dicks until he got tired enough to turn off the lamp and tell Peter to get off the bed so he could sleep. Peter licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and he spoke.

"You know what? Maybe you should draw mine."

He hadn't thought the comment through. It just splattered from the corner of his brain to his mouth. Maybe he was just trying to get a response out of Paul, see if he could come up with an insulting way to put him off, or if he'd just stammer out a refusal. Instead, all Peter got in return was a raised eyebrow.

"Your dick?"

"Yeah, my dick."

"You're volunteering?"

Shit. Shit, now he had to commit to it. Peter shrugged, somehow managed a tilted sort of grin, and leaned back on his hands.

"Why not? Least that'd keep you from doing all those crooked, veiny ones."

"Yeah, 'cause yours is fucking Adonis,' right-"

Adonis must've been some underground rocker only college kids had ever heard of. Peter wasn't about to admit to his own ignorance.

"Nobody's complained yet. C'mon, Paulie, how about it?"

Paul hesitated visibly. Peter almost didn't think he was going to agree to it. Too nerved-out by the suggestion. But then Paul nodded, his black curls-somewhat limper without the Aquanet and teasing brush forcing them into bushy, puffy proportions-bouncing slightly as he did.

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead."

Peter yanked off the ratty pajama pants that were all he ever went to bed in, tossing them to the floor. Turned around so he was facing Paul head-on, legs stretched in front of him. He could feel Paul staring at his face, and then at his cock, as he tore out the doodle-covered paper and started on the fresh one beneath. He hadn't gotten more than a few scribbles in when Peter realized-

"Hey, wait a minute. You're not drawing it soft."

"I'm just gonna draw what I see."

"No, you aren't. Hang on."

"Hang on?"

Paul blinked, the beginnings of a mild smirk edging across his face. The expression didn't really sit right on him, somehow. Paul's mouth seemed to Peter to only really look okay when it was either pursed in a pout or spread in a hopeless kind of smile.

Luckily, that smirk of his dissolved as soon as Peter closed his hand around his dick, starting to pump. He didn't look at Paul while he was doing it, not at first, his gaze veering more towards the pad of paper and the burnt orange florals of the covers. His breath wasn't hitching yet, but the pleasure was starting to seep through on practiced automatic. A little harder. A little faster, and Peter's brow was furrowing, eyes glazed, focus on anything but his own dick starting to fade.

Except it couldn't fade completely. Not with Paul barely a foot away from him, his big brown eyes furtively darting between Peter's cock and the pencil, his mouth tight. Looking over at him, Peter could almost swear he saw the faint start of a blush cropping up on Paul's cheeks. "Jesus, relax, would you? I'm not gonna come here."

"Wow, isn't that a relief," Paul mumbled, rolling the pencil back and forth between his finger and thumb.

"'S not like you haven't seen this before." A solid five or six times by now, minus the fact that it was usually a girl's mouth or hand on Peter's cock instead of his own. They weren't great at sharing the not-quite-groupies yet. It had taken awhile before they figured out positioning that'd get all three of them off, and that always hinged on whether the girl was down for it. Once they'd ended up with a chick who'd gotten too intimidated by two guys at once, and after a round of debate over who'd go first, Paul had ended up slinking off to the shower while Peter made it with her. Unsurprisingly, she'd been so satiated she'd fallen asleep by the time Paul returned, and they'd both had to lug her out of the hotel room and into the hallway. Paul had been pissed off. Peter just found it funny.

Paul looked as if he were about to say something, but then he shut his mouth. Peter exhaled, letting his eyes shut for a second while he kept pumping, no fantasy in mind, just the simple mechanics of pleasure. Jacking off was mindless, with or without an audience. Nothing meaningful. Nothing to consider. And Paul, for whatever reason, was still just watching him do it. That pencil lead hadn't even touched the paper. Peter took a sharp breath before he spoke again.

"Good enough?"

He'd stopped himself once he was fully hard, but before any precome could dribble out from the reddened tip. He could feel his face getting flushed, a little sweat starting to trickle on his forehead, but he was all right. If things got too bad, he could always head over to the shower to finish rubbing it out, after Paul was done drawing. But he didn't think it would come to that, though his cock twitched in protest. Paul gave a distracted nod.

"Yeah. It's fine."

Then he finally started to draw again. Peter leaned over, trying to get a glance in, but Paul kept covering up the pad with his other hand, swatting at him when he got too close. Peter snorted.

"C'mon, you're not drawing the Mona Lisa here."

"You throw me off watching."

"What'm I supposed to do, just sit here?"

"That's exactly what you're supposed to do." Paul was erasing now, but carefully. One of those cheap pink erasers. He brushed the residue off the paper, and it landed on the covers, tiny black streaks of rubber against the orange comforter. Deprived of watching Paul at work, Peter tried to focus his attention on the eraser remnants, flicking them.

It didn't really help. Despite himself, Peter was starting to squirm. He didn't think Paul was drawing anything past his dick, but he'd been trying to stay still anyway. His thighs kept twitching involuntarily. The ache in his balls was getting irritating enough that he gave in to a few more strokes, shoving his hand in the covers as soon as he heard Paul laugh.

"You having trouble keeping it up?"

"Fuck you, you know that's not it-"

"Gimme a couple more minutes, all right, Pete?" A pause. "And get a little closer, there." He reached his hand out, fingers curving lightly around Peter's bare knee, just for a second. Immaculately manicured nails, bizarre for a guitarist, even one who hadn't played a gig in almost a week. The black nail polish hadn't even chipped. But Peter only really noticed how the warmth against his skin seemed to linger on after Paul had withdrawn his hand. "There."

Peter got closer. His legs were flat on the bed and spread slightly, toes touching the wall by the time he got closer; he'd ended up more to Paul's side. His painfully hard, flushed dick stood out sharp against the rest of his body, craving attention he couldn't-wouldn't-give yet. He'd get that touch in later. He'd get off on his own. A couple more minutes, like Paul said. Yeah.

The amused expression on Paul's face had shifted, gotten focused and intent. The way it did when he was trying to pull a riff together, or a set of lyrics. Peter didn't much care for that look-usually it meant Paul would try to banish whoever was in the same room, whether it was him or Ace or even Gene, so he could be alone with whatever brilliant thoughts he had. But now that look was locked on him instead. Partially. Flattering, maybe, to be mulled over like a rhyme that didn't flow, or a chord that wasn't right yet, but Peter knew that if he thought too hard about it, he'd get disgusted. So he just let his mind wander to the sound of Paul's pencil scraping across the page.

Peter didn't really notice at first when that sound stopped. Or when Paul put the pencil down. The pad of paper was still resting on his lap. Peter inhaled, waiting, figuring Paul would hand it over-with a joking autograph, probably-any second-but then a mass of dark curls ended up right in Peter's face. Paul was leaning in, heavily, breaths hot and heavy against Peter's neck. He pushed away the pad of paper, his bare chest pressed up flush against Peter's. Peter opened his mouth, started to say something, and then swallowed it down when Paul's hand wrapped around his dick.

Peter couldn't believe it. Didn't protest or argue-didn't want to. He was surprised, that was all. Surprised Paul would go for it. Have that kind of nerve. Paul didn't pull back enough to look him in the eye. Didn't say a word.

His palm was sweaty against Peter's cock, fingers only a little callused. The first few strokes were too slow, unintentional teasing, but then Paul got steadier, built up a rhythm. Like doing it to yourself, Ace had told him once, lazily, in the worst and best advice Peter had ever gotten on handjobs, but different. Different. Peter could feel Paul's heartbeat against him, like a pinball smashing against the bumpers. Each breath was getting more tattered, soft curses forcing their way from Peter's throat; each inhale pushed more of Paul's Aramis cologne into his lungs. Peter's hands, curled up into the covers, flew up desperately as he got closer, warmth and need pulsating inside him, threatening to burst-clenching Paul's shoulder, his back-holding him there, right there, as he spilled into Paul's hand.

Paul let go as abruptly as he'd started. His whole body froze up, and he shifted backwards, brushing away Peter's hands, dark eyes wide, almost scared. He scrambled off the bed and onto Peter's, yanking the covers around him like a little kid caught up too late.

"Paul?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and shut off the lamp.

Peter got up early the next morning, before the alarm clock, but it didn't matter. Paul was already gone-got a cab, evidently, leaving everyone else with the crappy tour bus. Peter could hear Ace and Gene grumbling about it through the wall before he got out of bed, stopping short of the pad of paper and pencil on the floor. He picked both up and took a look.

The drawing was immaculate. Paul had gotten the balls just right. Everything. Taken the time to shade it, even, like it was a serious study. He'd signed it, too-initialed it, rather, P.S. nestled in a forlorn corner. No date. Peter tore the sheet carefully from the pad of paper, looking at it, unsure of what to do with it. Whether to keep it or not. He ended up setting it on the nightstand, face down, before crossing over to what had been his bed up until last night. He didn't have to pull back the sheets to see the semen stain from where Paul had wiped off his hand.

He could've used some washing off himself after last night. No Paul hogging the shower was an empty comfort right now, as Peter turned on the water, letting it get blisteringly hot before stepping inside. It didn't really help.

Paul was back before lunch, anyway, quiet and withdrawn. Bill was talking about booking them a couple more shows further down South-a terrifying prospect, but better than heading home-and Gene was chatting about it with all his usual enthusiasm, while Ace added vodka and ice to his coffee. Paul just looked sunk. Gene kept throwing questioning looks Paul's way, and glancing at Peter, but if he ever asked outright, Peter never heard it.

The band meeting drifted off into nothing after awhile. Paul got up abruptly, saying something about a headache, and excused himself with about as much subtlety as a dying animal. It was a few minutes before Peter got up the nerve to follow him back to their room-and, as expected, Paul had locked the door.

"Paul, c'mon-"

The sound of the knob turning was almost gratifying. Paul was standing there, looking awkward, mouth pursed. Peter noticed, belatedly, that for all Paul had gotten up early that morning, he hadn't shaved, stubble poking hopelessly all around his jaw. His t-shirt and jeans-one of maybe ten street outfits he'd rotated over the tour, same as Peter, same as everyone else-were rumpled past what Paul usually would allow for.

"You didn't have to come check on me."

"I did, we share a room."

Paul swallowed.

"Look, if you wanna change rooms, go ahead, just don't tell Gene about-"

"I ain't telling Gene nothing. And I don't wanna change rooms." Pete exhaled. The look on Paul's face twitched just a bit, but Peter didn't give him a chance to respond before plowing back in. "Are we gonna do Gay Kitchen tonight?"

Paul flinched. Almost like he thought Peter meant it badly, or was making fun of him, or something. Like one of those Japanese trees, the ones with flat leaves that folded up after the briefest brush of a hand. One word and he'd curl back up. One touch, leaving Peter all out of sorts, trying to undo the trick, get those leaves to unfurl again.

"Do you want to?"

"Ace was asking earlier."

"Oh." Paul turned away, walking over to the kitchenette on the other side of the room. He pulled open the fridge, getting out the last can of Coke, popping the top before he really answered. "I guess."

"C'mon, it's our last night here. It'll be fun."

"We're almost out of food."

"We've got enough. Still have those hot dogs." Peter felt awkward, still standing there, barely past the doorframe, as if he was a visitor to his own hotel room. He stepped over to sit on one of the beds. The drawing wasn't on the nightstand anymore. "Hey-"

"What?"

Peter's throat was suddenly a little dry. The words were out before he could hold them back.

"You didn't have to get rid of it."

"It was stupid."

"No, it wasn't. It-it was good, Paulie."

Paul was still all tensed up. Like a battery coil on the verge of springing. Peter almost thought he was going to walk out, more prepared to face Gene and Ace or another lousy cab ride than spend the rest of the day with him, but instead, Paul sat down on the other bed.

"You really don't wanna change rooms." He said it flatly, borderline disbelieving, clasping the Coke can in both hands. He looked strangely young, sitting like that. The six years between them never felt like much except when Peter really let himself give it some thought. At twenty-two, he sure as hell hadn't been on the road with a record, however indifferently-received. Hadn't made it-with threesomes, even-with a whole bunch of girls. He resented it when he considered it, but right now, all Peter was considering was the tightness of Paul's lips and the way he was staring at the floor.

He was just a kid, really. Scared of getting rejected as any other kid, hell, as any other adult. Putting on onstage, putting on during their dinners, only ever peeling back how he really was during all the time in between. The worries and frets, the painful, painful shyness behind every sharp retort. The panicked heartbeat against Peter's chest last night as he'd pushed past his nerves for something he wanted.

Something Peter wanted, too.

"Fuck, no. You and me are the only ones around here that know how to pick up our own shit."

"Pete, that's not it-"

"No. No, it's not it. C'mere. C'mere," he said, quietly, scooting forward on the bed, hands resting awkwardly on either side of him, those orange covers clashing badly with his chipped black nail polish and cheap silver rings. He watched as Paul set down the Coke can and stood up, crossing the tiny threshold between their beds. He still looked like he was about to flee. One wrong word, one sudden movement and it'd be over.

So Peter was slow, agonizingly slow to take his arm and tug him forward. Paul let him do it, didn't go rigid at all, though the fear in those wide eyes was still there. Peter wanted it to fade; suddenly, he wanted it to fade more than anything, as he got to his feet, palm hot against Paul's arm. As he leaned in, pushing Paul's dark curls behind his shoulder, and pressed his lips to Paul's neck.

Paul didn't respond at first. Then, just as Peter was about to pull away, he felt Paul's other hand close around his. Too shy to even lock their fingers together. But that was all right. That was all right. Peter did it for him, shifting his hand in Paul's until their fingers were laced. He raised his head, and Paul's mouth met his, cautious and careful. None of that too-eager fooling around like with the girls. None of that silent desperation from last night. Peter liked this better, every second feeling warmer and fuller than the last. As if he was just on the brink of discovering something grand as his tongue slid across Paul's lips and he let go of Paul's arm to trace the stubble on his jaw, cup his chin in his hand. Paul parted his lips for him, Peter tasting cereal and toothpaste when his tongue slipped inside, but he didn't care. Paul was opening up for him. Finally opening up.

It wasn't too long before Paul started pressing up against him, hips rocking meaningfully against his. Somewhere along the line, he'd ended up with Paul's hair in his fist, and he tugged, lightly, urging him forward as he sat back down on the bed. Tugged his hand, too, as if he needed to. Paul got the picture, following him down, timidity shifting to urgency, until Peter's back was pressed against the mattress. Peter thought about yanking his hair hard for that one, and he might have, except Paul kept kissing him all the way down, except Paul's knee was rubbing against his crotch, his thin blue jeans barely a barrier at all.

Peter's breath hitched as Paul shifted lower, moving off of him enough that Peter could shuck off his own shirt and toss it to the floor. Paul was unzipping him, those long, thin fingers hooking around his belt loops and pulling down his jeans. Freeing his cock, already far too hard, worse than last night, easily. Peter took a sharp inhale when Paul sank down, pushing his thighs apart with his knee, and started to lick at his cock. All the way down, pouring on the attention, fingers pressing hard against his hips, keeping them steady. Peter watched, dazed, breaths hitching, until Paul's warm mouth was around just the tip of his cock.

"Paul, hold on."

Paul pulled back, lifting his head like he'd done something wrong.

"What?"

"You don't know how to do it, don't worry about it." It was just a guess, but Peter figured it was a good enough one. And that wasn't all of it. He didn't think Paul would give himself enough leeway for a screw-up. Perfection or nothing.

Paul hesitated.

"But-"

"It's okay, man." It was hard to think past the blood pumping straight to his dick, going untouched for now, but Peter was managing, barely. The brief image of Paul with his lips around his dick was promising enough, the lead-in for a dozen jerk-off fantasies already. Maybe more than that. "Just-c'mon, let me-"

He tugged Paul back up, helping him peel off his t-shirt, then his jeans and underwear. Taking him in like this, with no girl between them, didn't feel strange or wrong or any of that bullshit; it felt good, every shed layer lending Peter more skin to touch, making him more certain of everything. Despite the concert performances, despite the threesomes and the locker room showers, he'd never really gotten a sense of Paul's physicality before. Now that Paul was straddling him, hair hanging in his face, mouth pressed to his neck, his ear, Peter could really see it all, the wide, powerful build of his chest before it bore down against Peter's, his arms, taut and muscular, tensing as Peter's hands tightened around them. Paul's cock brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity through Peter, and then he was grinding up against him, their hips flush, flesh against flesh. Peter was cursing before long, the stimulation maddening, almost agonizing because it wasn't quite enough. Paul seemed like he sensed it, reaching over, taking both their cocks together in one hand-but Peter shook his head.

"I've got a better idea."

"Yeah?" Paul's fingers rolled up against his cock just so, the pressure of his hand and his dick incredible enough that Peter almost changed his mind. Looking up at him, that slightly-sweaty brow, those dark eyes, dilated and needy, Peter nodded, fingers closing on Paul's wrist.

"Yeah. I already know you can jack me off." An exhale. "Get on your back and I'll show you what I can do."

Paul let go of him. There was a little consternation somewhere in his expression, a hesitancy Peter tried to erase, hand running down Paul's hairy chest, fingers tweaking a nipple, but Paul did as he'd asked, grasping Peter by the shoulders and rolling them both over. Peter shifted, repositioning himself on top of Paul, putting his hands beneath his thighs. Almost immediately, Paul stiffened up, started to try and lift up his legs. Peter pushed them back down before he could.

"Nah, we're not doing that. Don't worry." Peter watched some of the tension fade from Paul's face, curiosity replacing it. "Spread your legs out a little. there, now." He slid his dick between Paul's thighs, tip right up against Paul's taint. He didn't need to instruct further. Paul's mouth tilted in a distracted grin, his thighs closing tight around Peter's dick-and from there, Peter started to thrust, the soft warmth surrounding his cock nearly overpowering.

Paul was finally making a few sharp sounds as Peter's thrusts sped up, thighs squeezing hard against his cock. The sounds got louder, turned into curses, turned into strangled attempts at Peter's name. Between Paul's moans and his own urgency, Peter couldn't think, his pace speeding up, every brush against Paul's cock, every tensing of Paul's thighs pushing him closer to the brink. He came with a cry, spurting hot between Paul's legs, Paul still urging him to keep going, just a few more, a few more. He managed, grunting, shuddering with exertion as he kept thrusting. Beneath him, Paul looked out of it and focused all at once, dick throbbing against his. So close. Too close. It was seconds before Paul came, quieter, spilling all over them both, head lolling back in the aftermath. Peter was still panting as he slid his cock out from between Paul's slick thighs, as Paul put an arm around him, pressing a kiss to his jaw, his cheek, before finally meeting his lips again.

The Gay Kitchen's final evening went well. Ace and Gene had brought dessert-a box of oatmeal creme pies and a gallon of cheap Neapolitan ice cream-and they'd served it along with the hot dogs and stale chips. A beer apiece, except for Gene, who got a Sprite from the machine downstairs in a rare spendthrift moment. Paul's come-ons and gropes weren't any heavier than the night before, but there was a warmth and a relaxation in him that was new to Peter. A softer look to his expression he'd only been privy to late, late at night in the hotels, just before he drifted off.

Peter liked that. He liked that a lot. Feeling that, maybe, something of Paul's might be reserved for him. That maybe he'd be let in for more than an afternoon. He thought he might be. He figured he would be.

They didn't fool around that night. They didn't really have the time to. Once dinner was over and Ace and Gene had gone back to their room, Peter took a shower, and then he started packing, too-aware of how quick check-out came. Particularly when they were headed straight down to the bottom edge of Florida tomorrow, a solid ten or eleven hours on the road, to play at some college or auditorium or-something. Peter was just glad Bill had secured them another handful of tour dates, no matter the location.

He tossed his makeup kit and street clothes and shoes back into his suitcase, fiddling with the wobbly latches, tracing the crack down one side. Ten to one the damn thing would break before they got out of Atlanta, but maybe he could tie a scarf around it or something to hold the luggage together. He turned to Paul, who was sitting on the floor next to him with his own ratty suitcase half on his lap, about to ask him, but Paul spoke first.

"You forgot your heels."

"I didn't. They're in the laundry bag with everyone else's."

"Not the ones that go with your costume. The other pair." Paul pointed under the bed. There they were, three-inch platforms he'd barely worn all tour, neatly placed. He didn't remember putting them there.

He pulled them out, a piece of paper under one heel catching his eye. Setting the heels aside, he picked up the paper.

"Paul?"

It was the drawing of his dick. Paul hadn't thrown it away after all. He glanced over at him, and Paul smiled, a little bashful. That hopeless smile he hadn't been able to plaster on a single promo picture, more endearing and elusive than any sketch.

"It's for you. I don't know if I'd frame it, but."

Peter felt himself grin back.

"Are you kidding? It's the best drawing of my dick anyone's ever gonna give me. I'll keep it forever." Peter held it up, examining it anew. "There's only one problem."

"I thought you were done critiquing my art."

"Hell, no." And Peter handed it back. "You gotta sign it for me."

"I initialed it-"

"Sign it. Make it worth a million bucks someday." Peter didn't think he'd stop smiling as he leaned over, tousling Paul's hair. "You can even add the star."

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley x peter criss #peter criss #paul stanley

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aestheticsandwriting · 4 years

Text

One-Shot a Day, Day 4: Power Outage. RvB

Day 4: Power Outage. The overnight blizzard has caused a power outage. Thankfully the cabin Tucker, Junior, and Wash are staying in has plenty of firewood and candles, and the three brought plenty of card games and board games to keep them busy.

“Hey, bud, how long have you been up?” Wash jogs down the stairs, spotting Junior sitting on the couch, doodling in a notebook, blanket draped over his hoodie-clad torso, taking note of the early time; about six-thirty.

“Not too long, but I moved down here to sleep about two this morning. My room got too cold.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty chilly in here. Had breakfast yet?” Wash tries to set the coffee pot going, not thinking about the lack of electricity until it won’t start, sighing and walking back over to the couch, glancing down to see Junior’s dragon drawings. “I’m going to put some more wood in the fire, and then get me some cereal or something. We’ll have to move all our cold and frozen stuff outside at some point today since the fridge isn’t running.”

“Nope, not too hungry right now. Papa Wash?”

“Yeah?” He smiles at the new name.

“Can I help you put the wood in the fireplace? Dad’s never let me cause he says it’s too dangerous.”

“Sure, I’ll let you help with a couple of small pieces. Big pieces can be really hard to put in cause they roll sometimes, but we can do a few smaller ones instead of one or two big ones.”

“Yay! Thanks!” Junior throws his notebook and pencil on the coffee table and scrambles to the small wood stock they laid next to the fireplace the previous night. The blond man knees down, showing the boy how to put the wood into the fireplace safely, using the poker to make sure the wood is back far enough before they close the door again, rinsing their hands and deciding to get some cereal for breakfast, taking the milk outside and setting it on the porch to stay cold.

After washing out their bowls and spoons, Junior looks at his dad’s boyfriend. “Papa Wash?”

“What’s up?”

“Will you tell me some stories?”

“What kind of stories do you want to hear?”

“I know you don’t like to talk about some of it, but would you tell me about some of your time as a soldier? I want to know what it’s like to be one.”

“Yeah, I think I can tell you some things. I have some funny stories from basic training.” The two lay down on the couch, Wash throwing his arm over Junior’s torso, wrapping them both up in the blanket. “There was this one time in basic,” a chuckle at the memory, “we had this obstacle course we had to do some days in PT. And one of the sections was kind of like a rope wall thing we had to climb. I was terrible at it. Well, that particular day I got my foot caught in one of the ropes, I just dangled there while everyone else was climbing all around me and I couldn’t get free. I had to re-do the course all by myself in front of everyone after they all finished to make sure I could do it in the right amount of time.”

Forty-five minutes and three stories later Wash pauses, glancing down curiously even though the boy can’t see him. “Why have you become curious about my time as a soldier recently?”

“Oh… well. I just am.”

“Junior… what’s going on? If you’re just curious, that’s fine you can tell me, but is there something else?”

“Well… both you and dad were soldiers, so I thought that you would want me to be one, too.” A pause as the boy fidgets slightly, the older man seeing that he wants to say more, so he stays quiet. “And, I figured I should know as much as possible about what it’s like in the military so that way I don’t disappoint you and dad.”

“Oh, Junior.” Wash squeezes the boy tight against him. “Your dad and I want you to do whatever you want to do. If you truly want to be in the military, you can go into the military and we’ll both be very proud of you. But if you want to go to school and become a scientist or a veterinarian, or a nurse, or doctor, or if you want to go to trade school to become a mechanic, or welder, or carpenter, then that’s fine too! We want you to do something that you can be happy or content with. Trust me, it is not worth it to be doing a job that you hate if you have other options. You’re a smart person, and both your dad and I agree that we think you could do whatever you want if you set your mind to it.”

“Oh… So you don’t expect me to go into the army?” Junior squirms, turning himself in his step-dad’s arms so he can face him, concern bright in his dark eyes.

“Of course not.” Wash drops a kiss to the boy’s forehead. “Like I said, if you’re just curious about my time as a soldier I’m happy to tell you, and if you want to be a soldier, then your dad and I will be proud of your choice, but that’s not our expectation just because we were both soldiers.”

“Oh… Okay! I like that much better. Cause I was thinking I might want to be an artist.”

“And I think you’d be amazing at it.”

“Could you tell me some stories about when you were a kid?”

“Did I ever tell you about my cat, Loki?”

“Nope.”

“Ooooh man. We had him back when I was a kid. Loki was always getting into trouble. One time he got stuck in a tree in our backyard.”

“Oh no!”

“Yeah. My mom’s about to call the fire department when dad stops her. Says he’ll handle it. So he sends her inside and gets out his chainsaw. Dad was never a cat person. So he starts to cut down the tree, but it falls the wrong way. Right into the power lines!”

“What happened to Loki?!”

“Poor cat was electrocuted, falls thirty feet out of the air, lands on his feet, and then walks away like nothing ever happened.”

“Wow!”

“Yeah! Another time, we found him in the dryer once ma had finished a load of laundry. And another time we found him in the engine of dad’s truck. That cat lived to be twenty-five years old.” Wash continues, telling him a few more stories of his childhood, Junior giggling as he obviously embellishes a few of them, and that’s how Tucker finds them close to two hours after Wash had come downstairs.

“Hi, dad!” The boy calls, having stayed in his facing upward position so he could see Wash’s face while he was story-telling, giving him a perfect view of the open landing above.

“Morning, T, nice of you to finally join us.” Wash grins up to where his boyfriend is standing.

“Yeah, I must’ve really needed the sleep. What have you boys been up to?”

“Wash has been telling me about when he was a kid! He had a cat named Loki that could live through anything!”

“Ooooh, that sounds fun. Have you eaten yet?”

“Yeah, we both had cereal. The milk is already outside to stay cold. I didn’t measure, but it looks like the blizzard last night dropped about two and a half feet of snow, but I turned my phone on to check the forecast quick, and it looks like it’s supposed to start warming up enough tomorrow to melt it. But who knows how long the electricity will be out, so we should probably move the rest of the cold stuff our there and surround it with snow.”

“Oooh, I’ll put my snow clothes on and pack the snow around stuff if you and dad bring it out!”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Let’s let your dad eat breakfast first, though, okay?”

“Okay. Oh, dad! Wash taught me how to put small logs in the fire this morning, too!”

“I hope that’s okay with you? I didn’t let him put in anything too big.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. He’s grown a lot since last year, and I trust your judgment.” Tucker finally descends the stairs, dropping a kiss on his son’s forehead and his boyfriend’s lips before walking into the kitchen, grabbing a pop-tart and heading back into the living room, nudging Wash feet. “Move, lemme sit.”

“That’s pleasant.” The blond grins at him as he moves his feet, plopping them back down on Tucker’s lap after he sits.

After Tucker finishes, the three don their winter clothing, Junior bundled heavier than the two adults, still volunteering to stay outside and surround their food items with the snow to keep them cold. They set to work, carrying the food out and insulating it.

After that job is done, Tucker sets to work turning on and heating up the gas stove to heat water, dumping in hot chocolate packets once it’s hot enough and passing mugs to his son and boyfriend, picking up his, and then settling on the couch with them again.

“Dad, Papa Wash?”

“What’s up?”

“Can we play some games? Like Uno, or Clue or something? I’m starting to get bored. Wash and I were gunna play more of the racing game today, but we can’t do that until the power comes back on.”

“Yeah, go pick a game and we’ll play!”

“Yes! Be right back!” Junior hops off the couch, running up the steps to his room where the game bag had been placed, running back down with the whole bag a minute later. “I thought it’d be smarter to just bring the whole bag so I don’t have to go back up when we want to change games.”

The trio spends the afternoon and evening playing various games like Uno, Clue, Sorry, and even a round of The Game of Life before deciding to break for dinner. “Wash, will you go out and grab the stuff out there that we need for the quesadillas? I kept the chicken in here thawing cause those will cook with the gas stove and don’t need the oven since we can’t use it right now.”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.”

Once Tucker has the ingredients, he sets to work, cutting up the chicken, placing it, cheese, sauce, and beans on tortillas, folding them, wrapping them in foil and placing each of them on a stove burner, keeping a careful eye on them to ensure nothing catches fire as they cook.

“Dinner’s ready, guys,” Tucker calls, carefully pulling back the foil from the last of the quesadillas, setting them on plates for each of the others to grab as they come into the kitchen and dining area. “Hey, Junior, are you going to sleep down here tonight or do you want to bunk in mine and Wash’s room if the power still isn’t back on?”

“I’ll just sleep on the couch. It’s pretty comfy, plus I’m getting too big to be sleeping in the same bed as y’all.”

“Okay, just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

“Yep! Can we play another game of Clue after dinner?”

“Sure, bud.”

After dinner, Tucker sets about finding the candles he knows the landlord stores for power outages, lighting them and setting them around so they can see, Wash re-stocking the fireplace with more wood, also grabbing more from the covered woodpile on the deck to bring in for the night, taking some up to his and Tucker’s room, rekindling that fire, too.

After a few more hours of games, and Junior nearly falling asleep during the last game, Sorry this time, Tucker tells his son it’s time for bed and that tomorrow they’ll put the tree up and decorate it weather they have electricity for the lights or not since it’ll be only two days until Christmas.

The three trudge up the stairs, Junior to put his pajamas on and brush his teeth, Wash and Tucker retreating to their room for the evening, taking a few candles with them for light, making sure Junior has his battery-powered lantern and that all the candles downstairs had been put out and dosed with a slight bit of water for safety. “Come in and tell us goodnight before you head downstairs, J, but make sure you knock first if the door is closed in case we’re still changing.”

“Okay, dad.” Junior’s voice muffles as Wash closes the bedroom door behind them, him and Tucker changing into their pajamas as well, each man throwing on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, not needed anything heavier due to the fireplace in their room.

“Goodnight dad, goodnight Papa Wash. I love you both.” Junior walks into the room, his father having opened the door after they finished changing, signaling to the boy he could come in whenever.

“Goodnight, Junior. I love you, too.” The couple says in unison, Wash hugging him and dropping a kiss to his forehead, before the boy’s father moves to do the same.

“If you wake up cold in the middle of the night cause the fire’s dying, come wake one of us, yeah? I trust you, but I still don’t want you putting in new firewood by yourself, especially not in the middle of the night, okay?”

“Okay, dad, I will.”

“Good. I love you.” He drops a second kiss on his son’s head before Junior turns and walks out of the room, the couple hearing his footsteps fade away down the stairs.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing him call me that.” They each step into the bathroom, brushing their teeth and readying for bed in their normal routine for whenever Wash decides to stay at Tucker’s. “So Junior and I had a talk this morning,” Wash’s voice is soft as the couple crawls under the covers, the dark-skinned man tucking himself into the light-skinned man like normal, and Tucker notes the slight caring concern in the voice that he gets when they talk about an important subject.

“Yeah?” Tucker turns his head enough to make eye contact with his boyfriend. “About what?”

“His future job. He was asking me all sorts of questions about what it was like to be a soldier. At first, I just thought, ‘well, okay, he’s a ten-year-old boy that’s interested in this kind of thing.’ But then he kept asking about things, and when I questioned him about it he told me he thought we would want him to become a soldier because we both were, and he wanted to know what to expect that way he could have plenty of time to be prepared and not disappoint either of us.” A sigh from the younger of the two breaks the silence that had been left by Wash finishing his sentence.

“I wonder where he ever got that idea.”

“No idea.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth.” Wash pauses for a second, internally marveling at how much Tucker truly does trust him with his child; it’s still so hard to believe sometimes. “That we both want him to do something that he can at least be content with, and hopefully happy doing. And that if he truly wants to become a soldier, we’d be proud, but that doesn’t mean we won’t be proud if he does something different. That was okay, right?”

“Yes, Wash, that was wonderful. You did great. You know Junior really does see you as another father, right? He was ecstatic when I asked him what he thought about you moving in with us.”

“Yeah, I know. I just… Sometimes it doesn’t seem real.”

“I know. Did he say anything about what he might want to do after he found out we don’t expect him to go into the military?”

“He said he might want to be an artist. He’s good at it. I’m sure if he applied that into digital design he could do really well.”

“I bet he could make a killing at that. That or an animator of some kind. But he’s got plenty of time to decide and even change his mind. I can’t believe he’s going to be eleven in a couple months, though.”

“Ugh, stop that, you’re making me feel old.”

“It’s cause you are old.” The younger of the two grins, laughing when Wash playfully slaps him, pretending to be offended.

“Really? Cause I’m pretty sure old guys can’t do this.” The blond slings a leg over Tucker’s waist, straddling the younger man and leaning down to kiss him, grinning when he hears Tucker mumble the word ‘asshole’ against his lips.

“Yeah, but you chose to have me around.”

“True.” As the word leaves Tucker’s mouth the light from their bathroom, which had been on when the power went out the night before, flicks back on, the heating system almost kicking on due to the thermostat being in the cold hallway, not the room filled with the heat from the fireplace.

“I’m going to go lower that temperature so it doesn’t run too much overnight since we have the fires going.”

“Sounds good. I’d like to not wake up in a puddle of sweat.”

“Agreed.” Wash climbs off Tucker, heading into the hallway, and Tucker stands to turn off the bathroom light, getting back into bed when Wash walks back into the room.

“Come ‘ere Mr. not-so-old guy,” Tucker smirks, kissing Wash again as he climbs into bed. “Let’s get some sleep, I have a feeling we’ll be playing in the snow with J tomorrow.”

“Agreed. Goodnight, Tucker, I love you.”

“I love you too, Wash.”

18 notes · View notes

irwintry · 6 years

Text

Caramel Macchiato

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, mention of drugs

Author’s Note: i’m.... back.... startin’ fresh lol (i was rly hoping there would be more new gif options but oh well)

Word Count: 3.4k

Luke liked the stickers on your laptop. So, after five times of noticing you at the café, he told you.

“I like the stickers on your laptop,” he mumbled, leaning over towards you as he pretended to almost pass you completely. The ceramic coffee mug was burning his hand, but he refused to show any pain in order to remain cool around you.

You grinned. “Thanks.”

He nodded with a smile, and that was it.

He spent the rest of the afternoon jotting down your quirks: the way you tangled your hands into your hair to keep the strands away from your eyes, the gentle smirk that appeared every time you read something online or in your book that you made you laugh, and lastly, the twitch of your fingers along the dog-eared pages of a novel he knew all too well.

Luke assumed you were a college student, an English major to be exact, and he also figured you liked your eggs scrambled as opposed to sunny-side up. You probably preferred floral-themed scents over pine scents, and you definitely doodled cute animals on your class notes. Truth be told, he didn’t know a thing about you, yet somehow you were so easy to read.

It made him want to create a character solely based around the idea of you.

He had noticed you a few dozen times, though the two of you shared little to no interactions aside from his actions today. His heart raced for a solid four minutes after that. It made him wonder what a full-on conversation with you would feel like. Pure bliss or possibly similar to that time he had a really bad acid trip (he vowed to never try it again).

There were times he caught you at the pharmacy down the road or at the ice cream place by his apartment complex. A part of him wanted to assume you were lactose intolerant but that you loved mint chocolate chip too darn much to give it up. Yet, not once did he say a word.

Luke had plenty of reasons to believe you weren’t significant to his life. For all he knew, you could be a misconnection that decided to not leave him alone. But he refused to forget you, so he kept making his presence as obvious as possible without speaking up. He got used to sharing soft smiles with you, and sometimes, there were subtle head nods– the greeting kind of nod. At least he could identify the fact that you acknowledged him.

You acknowledged him when the customers in line at the café were being obnoxious. With wide eyes and a hand clasped over your mouth to keep you from laughing too hard, your gaze darted to him. He’d laugh too, not because he felt like he had to, but because he was too damn happy to be noticed by you. You also acknowledged him sometimes with a quick wave, though those were saved for the times you two passed each other on the street. You acknowledged him. You saw him.

So, why was it so hard for him to take things a step further?

Well, frankly, Luke had issues talking to a lot of people. He hid behind his glasses and three published novels (which could be hard sometimes when the occasional person recognized him from some online article circa 2016. And, there were times his old professors tried to catch up for coffee on particularly bad-brain afternoons. So, you could say Luke had a hard time staying incognito at all times). He was painfully shy, and he saved his words for pen and paper–– they meant more that way.

You were always in the café before Luke, your books piled high beside you as you scrolled aimlessly on that sad laptop of yours. There was always a crease between your brows, but the next day, Luke couldn’t find that crease. In fact, he couldn’t find you. Maybe you were sick. Maybe you died. Maybe you–

You padded in behind him, wheezing and panting as though it was summer again. Your canvas tote had slipped off of your shoulder after you wedged your way in between the closing door, and your hair... wow, Luke still thought you were fucking cute.

“Run a marathon?” he asked without realizing the words slipped out from between his wide smile.

You would have glared at him if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was him talking to you. Anyone else’s amused expression would have pissed you off. “N-no,” you gasped out, clearly struggling to compose yourself in front of the tall man.

His smile had no issue growing larger as he watched you. He stepped forward in line.

“’s stupid,” you laughed and straightened your spine. “I nearly drowned my body weight in NyQuil last night, so I slept through my alarm which meant that I was gonna be late to beat you here. And, I just couldn’t let that happen.”

Luke almost gasped. “What?”

“Told you,” you mumbled, “stupid.”

He stepped up to the register, greeting the barista he still hadn’t learned the name of despite his consistent coffee schedule. “Small Americano please,” he said, glancing at them and then at you. “What d’ya want?”

You crooked an eyebrow. “What?”

“What do you want?”

“You’re not...”

Luke gave you a soft smile, and you returned it.

“Um...” You leaned forward. “Small Caramel Macchiato for me, please.” You leaned back. “You suck. Thank you.”

He nodded. “Course.” Luke decided that after this, he would definitely start talking to you more.

He had seen you a total of three times since the “big” interaction, and not one of those times could he work up enough courage to do what he had done that day at the café. He was neck deep in late publication deadlines, and he had already told two of his old professors that he would come into their classes for a short guest lecture (he couldn’t figure out why he had agreed to that, but it was on a whim, and he felt bad about backing out). Luke didn’t like that people idolized him–– he could hardly figure out how to work a can opener.

Today, your arms were full of Tostitos corn chip bags, and your cheeks were red and puffy. Luke pretended not to notice you at first, so he darted into the next aisle of the CVS to search for his granola. Unfortunately for him, you also needed granola.

“Oh, thank fuck you like Bear Naked, too,” you said as you approached him on his left. “Don’t know what I’d do if you chose KIND. Probably die I guess.”

Luke chuckled at you, but your appearance kept distracting him. You had been crying, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know why. He glanced at the chips that were cradled in your arms.

You noticed his gaze and let out a quick sigh. “My boyfriend and I go through these chips like they’re frickin’ crack, I swear. I-it was my turn to buy them.”

All Luke could do was nod. His heart had plummeted when you mentioned your boyfriend, and it only fell more when your voice faltered. Luke didn’t want to assume anything, but he wondered if that was the reason you had been crying in the first place.

“Um,” you muttered, backing up a bit. “Good t’see you. I’ll catch you later?”

“You gonna be all right?” Luke asked. Again, his own voice shocked him. He began fiddling with the zipper on his granola package.

Your frown deepened. “Yeah, I’m– uh, I’m fine. Thanks.”

He nodded once more. It was when you started to walk away from him that he said, “lemme know if ya need a coffee pick-me-up.”

“Nuh uh,” you replied smugly. “I owe you. ‘If the sun were to die and all life on earth suddenly ceased,–‘ “

“’–the light in your eyes would never gray until the day I repay the favors you gifted me,” he interrupted, and for a good reason at that. You had quoted his book.

Your entire face lit up. This also caused you to nearly drop the three bags of Tostitos corn chips. “You know Luke Hemmings!?” you exclaimed as you rushed back over to the blond.

Luke bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing too loud. It would be easy to reveal himself right then and there, but where was the fun in that? “A lil bit. Not really though.” He shrugged and stuffed his free hand in his tight jean pocket.

The shock on your face had yet to leave, and this excited him. You weren’t even starstruck– you didn’t know who you were talking to! You were just happy, and that made him happy. “But you know of him. Oh my, God. Like, no one knows of him.”

Ouch.

“You literally have no idea how much this means to me,” you continued. “My professors are like, his biggest fans. They constantly talk about him and his achievements, and I would give anything to be more like him.”

“What?” Luke said, and a little too high-pitched at that. “Are you a writer, too?”

You shook your head, then you nodded, and then you shrugged. “I try to be. I’ll never be as good as him, but– “

“But you shouldn’t strive to be like someone else,” he responded. He was honestly just amazed that you were here unknowingly complimenting him. “What makes your writing unique is that it’s written by you.”

You smiled. The pink-tint of your cheeks had faded a bit since he first saw you. “Spoken like Luke Hemmings himself. Did you know him or something?”

Luke really wanted to say something, but a part of him chose to hold the information back. He didn’t want that to be the reason you continued talking to him. “I had a class with him once.”

“WHAT?”

He shuffled backward, his hand landing over his heart as he registered the volume that you had somehow managed to get to. He wasn’t positive a small human like you could reach that decibel level.

“Sorry, sorry,” you mumbled shyly, “but, are you fucking kidding me?”

He shook his head.

“Can you tell him that I want to frickin’ marry him?”

Luke nearly choked on his saliva. “S-sure,” he chuckled out breathlessly. He could say something right there. Would you believe him?

“I– “ The phone in your pocket began to ring. “Shit, gotta go.” You started to walk away, except you weren’t turning around. You pointed a finger at him as you said, “I owe you. Coffee’s on me tomorrow. Kay? Buh-bye!”

Luke let out a long, deep breath. His insides were churning, almost as if he was sick with the stomach flu. Could anyone really be this happy? Yes, they truly could.

He expected to see you the next day, but he didn’t. A week and two days passed before you rushed into the café behind him once again. Everything was typical, everything was normal... except it wasn’t. Your smile wasn’t as bright, though you did offer to pay for his coffee. And when the barista said Luke’s name, you weren’t even fazed. Your mind was too distracted to notice the person standing in front of you was the very person you gushed over a week ago.

You sat at his table without even asking. Before he could say a word, you pressed your face onto your giant textbook and wailed quietly. Your palms were flat against the table as slow breaths escaped your distressed body.

He didn’t quite know what to do or say, but it seemed like you realized that. A second later, your head shot up, and you dried the tears that had managed to spill while you were rested against the large Econ book.

“’m gonna be eating Tostitos alone now,” you whimpered.

Somehow, Luke understood that.

You groaned, slamming your head back onto the rented textbook before resting your chin on it to look up at him. “I saw it coming! I saw it coming but I’m fuckin’ sad.”

“You’re allowed to be sad.”

“I know, it’s just– “ you sighed, rubbing your eyes. “A whole damn year of my life. And I’m sad but I’m not...”

“Heartbroken?” Luke hadn’t been through a break up in a long time, so he didn’t really know what to think. He just knew that he wanted you to be happy with him.

You shrugged. “I guess.”

So, he shrugged, too. “Maybe you wanted it to happen.”

That was when you nodded and said, “I think I did.”

Two minutes later, you collected your things and left without a goodbye.

Luke went out for a bit of ice cream that night. His heart hurt a bit, especially after his interaction with you earlier in the day. It had been surreal for a while– the idea that you would never feel the same way about him, but now it was hitting him hard. He was all too focused in the movement of your hands and the joy in your voice when you spoke, and it never occurred to him that you could enjoy his company without feeling something. He felt pathetic.

So, he assumed a small cup of Moose Tracks would cheer him up.

And then, he noticed you in the corner, a hysterical mess over your empty milkshake cup. He really could not escape you. If he wanted to get over his feelings, he would have to never, ever leave his apartment... ever. But he couldn’t leave you like this, not in the drunken state you were in. He wanted to make sure you would get home safely.

So, he asked, “can I get you home safely?”

You had been staring at the TV behind him, reacting to everything the Star Trek characters said even though the volume was down and the closed captions were on. And, you were still crying, though none of the customers (or employees for that matter) cared. At least he cared.

You grinned through the waterfall of tears flowing down your cheeks. You looked a little bit like a raccoon, but a cute raccoon nevertheless. “Luke Hemmemememmings!” you exclaimed, taking his free hand in yours. “My savior! My milkshake is a-all gone!” You began to pout, but you had stopped crying.

He wasn’t going to ask you how you knew it was him despite being curious. That wasn’t his goal right now. “Come on, darlin’. I’ll get you another soon.”

You gasped as he stood you up. “Luke Hemmemmemmings called me darling!” You beamed up at him before unexpectedly cuddling into his chest. You raced out of the small shop a quick second later, him hot on your tail to make sure you wouldn’t accidentally run into traffic.

Luke didn’t like this side of you. He liked when you smelled of fresh flowers, not of alcohol.

“Lu, Lu!” you shouted through the quiet night. The town had already put up the holiday lights, and though he admired the way they reflected in your eyes, he didn’t like your dull, glazed over expression. “Chri-mas! ‘m gonna get you a big gift this year.”

“C’mon, darling,” he said, taking your arm while you chewed lazily on the straw of your empty milkshake cup. “Lead the way. Wanna make sure you get home okay.”

You leaned into him again, and he assumed it was for warmth, not because you maybe liked the close proximity. “Love of my fuckin’ life,” you whispered into his puffy jacket. “Can I try your glasses on?” You tripped slightly over the curb, but he caught you.

“Briefly,” he answered as he slipped them off with his right hand. “I use them to see.”

Your smile grew. “Really? Thought you used them to make you look more handsome,” you murmured singingly.

Luke’s brain chose to ignore that, but his heart didn’t. His chest physically hurt because of how fast his heart was beating. And his cheeks, though crazy chilly, were definitely beet red.

“How do I look?” you asked, your goofy smile somehow growing even bigger if that were possible. You hadn’t cried since you saw him walk in the ice cream shop.

He chuckled. You looked real damn cute, so he said, “real damn cute.”

That made you giggle.

Your apartment was just down the block from his, and you let him lead you up the stairs so he could say goodnight in the warmth. He didn’t expect you to invite him in, but he did have to use the bathroom, so he gladly accepted your invitation.

Everything had a place in your apartment. Your bathroom sink was neatly organized, and your towels were folded evenly in a basket by the shower. It even smelled like roses, and that drove him slightly wild. You were too perfect, but he was too head over heels, and you were too drunk tonight.

“Lu!” you shouted gleefully as he stepped out of the bathroom. You latched yourself onto him, arms around his shoulders so you could nuzzle your face into his neck. He took a moment to reciprocate the hug, letting his own arms meet around your waist as he pulled you closer. He tried to stop thinking about how well you fit against him. And then, you pulled away. For that split second, he craved your touch again, but you hadn’t read his mind in the right way. You pressed your cold lips onto his, and everything about the kiss was stiff and wrong. You were too intoxicated.

He pushed you away gently by the hips. The frown that etched its way onto his lips only pulled itself deeper down his cheeks. Luke wanted you, but not like this.

“I’m– “ you hiccupped and fell back against the hallway wall. “’m so sorry.”

All he could do was nod. “You gonna be okay?” He wasn’t going to be. You had kissed him, but he couldn’t make note of your intentions.

You nodded, too.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said as he made his way towards the door.

“My name’s Y/N.”

He hadn’t even been aware that he didn’t know your name. He smiled at you and opened your front door, “night, Y/N.”

“Caramel Macchiato,” he said, setting it down onto the table before you. “Just how you like it.”

Luke noticed you at your normal table, sat the way you always chose to sit: your knees pressed against your chest as you read a book he saw you reading three months prior. You looked good, almost too good for someone who had been in an almost complete mental breakdown a week beforehand. But maybe you were that good at pretending. Or, maybe you truly were okay.

You gasped, gazing up at him with the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. He had seen your eyes plenty of times, and most often they were full of anguish and pain, but not today. Today, you appeared genuinely happy to see him. “Stop doing nice things for me,” you mumbled as a smile grew on your cheeks. “I only act like a complete and total idiot around you.”

He shrugged as he took his place in the seat across from you. “You’re fine, darlin’.”

You chuckled. “Darling. Hey, I’m sorry– a-about the other night. I was fucked, and you just– “

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you said before moving your books to the opposite end of the table. This gave you the opportunity to lean your elbows onto the wooden surface. “I kissed you, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t– I don’t act like that, but you just... are so pretty.”

Luke raised an eyebrow, and he nearly failed at remaining cool and composed as a stinging blush spread up his chest and onto his cheeks. “How– how’d you know who I was?” he questioned, peering out the window briefly. When he looked back at you, your features tightened into a confused expression, but they relaxed soon after.

“Oh, I– uh... I had my suspicions. I looked you up right away.” You shrugged. “I just knew I’d meet you. I’m still kinda embarrassed I said all of those things. You probably think I’m a big dork, huh?”

He shook his head. “No,” he laughed. “I would call you a big dork because of other things, but not because of that. I was actually flattered. It really made me feel good.” Aside from the fact that you admitted that no one knew him. He wouldn’t mention that.

“That makes me really happy,” you mumbled into your sweater-covered hands. The dark green brought out the many colors in your eyes. “And, I’m for sure attracted to you for more reasons other than the fact that you’re Luke Hemmings, but– “

“What?”

Luke grinned. “You’re attracted to me?”

“What?” you repeated, and this time, he could tell you were blushing. “Me? No, no, no, never said that.” You hid further into your hands, but that didn’t help your case.

“’s’fine,” he replied. He was about to lose his damn mind. “I’m attracted to you, too, darling.”

Maybe you weren’t a misconnection after all.

just a few tags ! hope u don’t mind!

@lilhemmo @morningfears @jpgcal @cakestan @dankpunks @dammitbands @lukeskisses

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