#like why do you wanna listen to sunshine in a bag the whole time instead of the best fucking part of the song??

[mokeonn]

I am honestly still absolutely flabbergasted that those "Gorillaz without the rap" videos exist. Like bro I just don't think you like Gorillaz at that point.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***

[lightsovermonaco]

Speed and Stress: Part 2

Masterlist

Thank you to @acollectionofficsandshit for betaing, your comments on this one were unhinged gold 

Word Count: 3.1k

Recommended Vibes: “Perfect Day” by Tundra Beats

Part 1

Your brother was late. Not that anyone was surprised.

“Got the time mixed up,” he says as you climb into his absurdly tall truck. Living in Texas for three years had turned him into somewhat of a country boy, though not enough that he forgot his upbringing. He was still a blue blooded Los Angeles boy, just with a love for trucks and longhorn cattle.

“At least I wasn’t waiting for an hour this time,” you say and sling your bag to the backseat. Deciding to get right to the good stuff, you clasp  your hands together. “So! I have some news.”

Hunter grins at you. “You finally found a job?”

You roll your eyes and shoot him a pointed look. “No, dipshit. Better than that. I got us paddock passes for the whole weekend.”

“WHAT?” He jerks the wheel, horns honking at you as other drivers swerve. You grab the dash to steady yourself, laughing at his outburst. “Do you know how hard it was for me to get general admission tickets? How the hell did you get paddock passes?”

“May have met someone pretty high up at McLaren in Los Angeles,” you say, examining your nails.

“Like, Zak Brown? You met Zak Brown?” Hunter was such a fan boy, you had to laugh. His love for McLaren ran so deep he practically bled blue and orange. The only reason you watched the sport was because of him shoving it down your throat for years, but damn if you weren't glad for it.

“Daniel Ricciardo.”

Hunter choked on air but managed to stay in his lane this time. “And you waited until now to tell me?”

“I didn’t know it was him when I met him! He was on a motorcycle and I stopped to help film a tiktok and then-”

“Of course you’d stop,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’re a sucker for bikes.”

“Yeah well, lucky that I am, cause all I had to do was flirt to get us those passes.”

Your intention had never been to take advantage of Daniel. It was more the opposite in fact; you were just living in the moment and capitalizing on the once in a lifetime opportunity to flirt with your celebrity crush. You had to admit, it turned out better than you'd ever thought it would.

“I can’t believe you seduced Daniel freakin’ Ricciardo,” he says, shaking his head. “You astound me.”

“I didn’t seduce him!” You protest.

"Sorry my bad. You charmed him. That sound better?"

You roll your eyes. "Whatever. I damn near had a heart attack when I figured out it was him but he was kind enough to let me brush it off."

"Well, thank god for your two-wheeled obsession because without it, we would be watching the prix from the nosebleeds."

You laugh and shake your head. Hunter tended to have a poor filter when he was excited and tended to spew whatever was on his mind. "Just watch your tongue this weekend, alright? I'd rather embarrass myself than have you do it for me."

Hunter gives a mock salute. "Yes ma'am."

**********

You'd stuffed five different outfits in your bag in preparation for the grand prix weekend. In theory, it shouldn't be hard to decide what to wear. But Friday morning you changed clothes so many times you lost count. No matter what combination you tried you weren't satisfied.

Finally, you give up and settle on a McLaren polo and denim shorts. Simple and comfortable, but form fitting enough to catch Daniel's eye should you run into him.

You knew you shouldn't, but you pull out your phone to text him anyway.

Thanks again for the tickets. Let me know if you've got any free time so I can properly thank you!

You hit send before your brain has the chance to overanalyze the message. You check your phone obsessively the entire drive to the circuit, only half expecting a response. You tuck your phone in your pocket when you get to the gates, determined not to let it get to you. Daniel warned you he would be busy, and you knew that responding to you was likely on the low end of his list of priorities.

Hunter gets you to the circuit a half hour before they let fans in and you have to listen to him ramble about driver stats the entire time. Normally you don't mind; guessing who's most likely to win each Sunday is something of a competition in your household. But today, you couldn't focus enough to put any thought into your prediction, instead just blurting Daniel's name.

"You're only saying that cause he's into you," Hunter says, grinning savagely. "He struggles in Austin and you know it."

"So? He's in a McLaren this year. You saw his pace in Bahrain, and that was with a damaged floor! He'll podium for sure." You cross your arms and return his grin. "Besides, he's motivated."

"Oh, is he?"

"I told him I'd buy the winner of the United States grand prix a drink. Up to him whether it's him or Verstappen."

"Oh my god you have a date with Daniel Ricciardo?"

"Dude, chill out. It's not set in stone. Honestly, he's probably forgotten that I exist."

"Has he texted you?"

You glance down at your phone and are greeted with an empty inbox. "No. Not after the initial time so I could have his number." You shrug and pick an invisible piece of lint from your arm. "But he said he'd be too busy anyway."

"Guess we'll see once we get to will call, huh? If he's forgotten about you."

"Yeah." An odd feeling rolls through you. It feels a bit like nerves mixed with hope, but you stamp down on it. You were here to enjoy yourself. The trip of a lifetime had been handed to you on a golden platter and you were wont to let something as trivial as nervousness ruin it.

Bells chime as you step into the blissfully cool will call office. A blonde woman with a bit too much blush dusted on her cheeks greets you with a smile. 

"What can I do for you?"

"Picking up some tickets that were left for me by a driver?" You try, unsure of the proper procedure. "I don't have a paper or anything."

She waves a hand in the air as if she expected as much. "All I need is your identification. They should be under the name."

"Oh uh, of course." You motion for Hunter to hand over your wallet and show the woman your driver's license.

"Great. Wait here and I'll grab those for you."

You drum your fingers on the desk while waiting for her to return. After what feels like ages she re-emerges empty handed.

"I'm not seeing anything here with your name on it," she says, her plastic smile at odds with her sincerity. "I'm afraid your tickets aren't valid until Sunday."

"Can you double check? Daniel said they'd be here-"

"So sorry. There's no record of anyone dropping tickets off for you."

You blink, holding your tongue in the face of her blunt response. "Okay. I guess ill try and get it sorted out."

Hunter breaks the tension. "Can't you call him?"

"I can't just call him, I'm sure he's busy."

"Either that or we don't get in. Just do it, he gave you his number and specifically told you to let him know if there were any problems, didn't he?"

Yes he had, but that didn't mean you wanted to disturb him. He was probably knees deep in some sort of race weekend press conference or drivers meeting and heaven forbid you interrupt.  But it was either that or you slink home disappointed and empty handed.

"Fine," you grumble, pulling out your phone with deliberate slowness. Hunter crosses his arms and tips his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips.

"Well?"

"It's dialing, you good for nothing busybody-"

"I was wondering how long it would take you to call," Daniel answers, voice radiating sunshine.

You cut right to the chase, not giving yourself a single second to evaluate how your heart skips. "Look, I don't wanna distract you on a race weekend but I'm at will call and they're telling me they can't find any passes left for me."

"Let me guess," he starts, raising his voice to be heard over the pneumatic tools in the background, "You're dealing with Jenny?"

Your eyes fall to the name on the woman's lanyard. She shifts under your gaze like she knew exactly who you were on the phone with. "Yep. Spot on."

"Kinda figured she would be a problem. She's got a huge crush on me and does this every time."

You fight back the strange sensation his offhand comment brings to the surface. "Oh, really?"

"I'll be right there. Give me ten minutes or so."

"Oh you don't have to-"

"Hey, no big deal. I gotta go that way anyway."

"Uh, okay. See you soon?"

"Yup. On my way."

You hang up and stare down at the phone, stunned.

"Well?" Hunter asks.

"I guess he's coming here to sort it out himself."

He blinks rapidly and shakes his head. "Hold on. Are you telling me that I get to meet Daniel? Like right now?"

"Can you relax?" You laugh lightly. "Honestly you're gonna freak him out."

"Uh, yeah sure. No big deal, just meeting one of my favorite drivers in the minus five minutes and I'm completely unprepared. It's fine."

If you roll your eyes any harder they'd pop out of your head. "Relax. He's laid back, but I don't want you to freak out and embarrass us both."

"Excuse me," Jenny breaks in, her distaste clear. "Please move aside if you're not picking up passes."

"Er, yeah. Sorry." You shuffle awkwardly off to the side to wait. Cheesy elevator music plays and Jenny shoots you glares until the door squeaks open and the human incarnation of the sun steps inside. Your breathing stutters when the Australian shoots you a wink and a grin before sauntering up to the counter.

"Why hello there Jen," he says, and she giggles coyly. 

"Hi Daniel." She lays a hand on his forearm, the touch light and flirty. "What can I help you with?"

Daniel leans into her, whispering conspiratorially. Whatever he says has her bold smile faltering, replaced by a mask of professional cheer. Daniel shoots you another wink as the woman retreats to a back room, returning moments later with your supposedly missing passes.

"Thank you," Daniel says sweetly, taking them from her and turning to you. "I think these are yours."

"Thanks." You take the passes and hand one off to your awestruck brother. You nudge him and he comes to his senses in time to shake the hand Daniel sticks out.

"You must be the brother," he says. "I see you're a fan."

Dressed head to toe in McLaren colors, there was no other conclusion for Daniel to draw. For once your brother is the one stunned into silence so you answer for him, "Yeah, only a little. He was crushed when you left Red Bull cause Max is his other favorite driver and now he has to split his loyalties between teams."

Dan's laugh snaps Hunter out of his trance. "I know you're busy but do you think you can sign something for me?"

"Of course. How about this?" Daniel snatches the hat from Hunter's head and produces a sharpie from his pocket, signing the brim with practiced efficiency. 

"He'll be texting the group chat about that as soon as you're gone," you tell Daniel who laughs along with you.

Heat rises to your cheeks as Daniel's assessing gaze sweeps you from head to toe. "McLaren orange looks good on you."

Channeling his easy confidence you flash him a grin. "Not as good as it looks on you."

He smooths the hem of his soft shell jacket, smile turning bashful. "Anyway. I gotta run. See you Sunday after I win!"

Your eyes follow him as he jogs back through the paddock until he's swallowed by the crowd. You sigh, shifting your weight from foot to foot. God, he was gorgeous. And he had such a big heart. It was a shame someone hadn't snatched him up yet, but then again, that meant you still had a shot, even if it was a slim one.

"So where exactly do these get us?" Hunter toys with the lanyard now placed around his neck. "It doesn't say."

"I'm guessing the McLaren lounge," you say and point to the logo on the passes. "Above the garage."

"That's the perfect vantage point for practice."

And it was the perfect view- before getting in the car Daniel walked out into the pit, suited up in his cobalt racesuit and minty helmet and glanced up. You weren't sure if he saw you or not when you waved but he gave a little salute nonetheless.

Hunter was practically glued to the bank of floor to ceiling windows for the entirety of free practice, immersing himself in the experience. You found yourself glancing at the timing tables every lap, silently hoping to see the RIC tag move up. By the end of the second session he had been fourth fastest, a few tenths behind both Mercedes and the Red Bull of Verstappen. 

By the time you make it back to Hunter's house, you're both exhausted from a full day of running up and down the paddock. The pair of you had been determined to soak up every second of it, sneaking into whatever offices you could and stealing bites off the buffets and cups of coffee. 

Saturday’s free practice and qualifying session pass in a blur of color. Daniel drags his McLaren up the ranks to qualify fourth, his best starting position so far this season. He had a decent shot at the podium- Bottas should be easy pickings and if Verstappen and Hamilton made any mistakes, Daniel might even have a shot at the win.

The excitement in the air is palpable as you both flash your badges and head back up the now familiar path to the McLaren lounge. An hour before lights out, the v6 engines rumble to life below. You venture out onto the balcony, watching and waiting for a glimpse of Daniel.

The Aussie does you one better by walking out, race suit on and helmet in hand. He chats animatedly with Michael before stopping and craning his neck upwards. Michael nudges him with his elbow but Dan ignores him, answering your tiny wave with a wink. He mimes taking a drink and you roll your eyes.

Dan throws his head back and laughs, audible over the cacophony below. He gives you one final salute before Michael drags him back into the garage.

Ten minutes later cars begin streaming out on track, Daniel taking the fourth grid place as his mechanics once again swarm him. Tire blankets are secured, keeping them warm and pliable ahead of the formation lap. Thirty seconds before the boys are released, they're peeled back off as everyone scrambles off the pavement. Verstappen leads them away down the 3.4 mile track for the formation lap. Dan does a few small power slides before taking his place on the second row.

One by one, the red lights illuminate and disappear quicker than your blink. Daniel gets away clean while Bottas stumbles out of the gate, leaving himself wide open for Daniel's overtake on his right side. Cheers erupt around you, your brother going so far as to lift you off your feet.

Maybe Dan had a shot at winning after all.

A nail-biting 38 laps pass without a change in the order of the top three. Finally, a mistake in Max's pit stop sees him return to track third, just behind Daniel. The McLaren driver puts up the fight of his life, late braking at every corner and defending his position for all he was worth. Lewis was twenty seconds ahead- he wouldn't be winning but he could defend his second place spot.

Lewis Hamilton, race winner for the seventh time at the Circuit of the Americas!

Daniel Ricciardo crosses the line second, Max Verstappen takes home that last podium step for Red Bull. An astonishing fifty six laps here today in Austin!

The box erupts around you, a roar of cheers making it impossible to hear what else Crofty and Brundle were saying. But it didn't matter as Daniel raises his fist when he swings back into parc ferme, jumping out to be congratulated by his team. It was his first podium for the papaya team and you can tell it means the world to them.

"Looks like you're taking Lewis out for a drink," your brother teases. "Told you he wouldn't win."

"He almost won," you counter. "But hey, I'm not above asking Lewis on a date. Could you imagine? I mean, he would never agree, but still. It would be a hell of a date."

If you crane your neck from the balcony, you can just barely see the podium. Everyone goes quiet for the anthems and erupts again when the champagne is sprayed. The McLaren team chant for a shoey, which Daniel obliges. He sits to unlace his mint green boot and pours champagne into it, drinking from the boot before passing it to Max who joins in on the fun. 

Just as quickly as it began, the celebrations ebb. Daniel is the first to leave the podium which seems odd, given that the PR department surely wants his first big win for the team to be well documented.

Your phone buzzes a second layer. You fish it out of your pocket, a Cheshire grin splitting your face.

"Shouldn't you be busy celebrating?"

"I am," Dan starts, sounding breathless. You can barely hear him over the sound of the crowds chants behind him. "But I want to celebrate with you. I know I didn't win, but how about you let me buy you a drink instead?"

You barely hear anything beyond his first sentence. I want to celebrate with you. Were you dreaming? There was no way this was real.

"Um, I'm sorry, you want to celebrate by going out with me instead of your team?"

"If you'll let me. Hey- just text me okay? I can barely hear you over everyone screaming my name. It may be going to my head."

You laugh, drawing the attention of the vip's nearest you. You give an apologetic smile and move further from the crowd. "I'll text you an address. See you later, second place."

[1tsnoya]

This request is a little nsfw because of nudity. Could I please request headcanons for Nishinoya, Sugawara, Tsukishima, Asahi, and Hinata seeing fem!reader naked for the first time because they both want to take a shower (or bath) together. She get flustered because she is worried about what they think. Nothing sexual happens just boys appreciating their girlfriend’s beauty. I hope this wasn’t too confusing. Thank you!

✧･ﾟ taking a bath with their s/o ✧･ﾟheadcanons

↳ a/n: queued post. i’ll answer asks/dms in the morning. i’m not ignoring u i promise

↦ pairings: nishinoya x reader, sugawara x reader, tsukishima x reader, asahi x reader, hinata x reader

↦ warnings: nudity but besides that — fluff!

🌟taglist: @spriteandnicotine @fatheadthemango @tokobaby @virgosetter @tobiokvgeyama @bokutoscake04

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* :･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

nishinoya

→ [6:54PM] noya<3 : are you still waiting up for me? >:p

→ [6:54PM] y/n : of course bub. i’m outside

→ [6:55PM] noya<3 : YAY ILL BE OUT IN 2 MINUTES

→ you had walked the short route to meet your boyfriend after volleyball practice

→ he said that he wanted to watch movies and cuddle after 🥺 so obvi u were down!

→ he was so happy to see you when he walked out of the gym

→ he picked u up and spun u around like the little kid that he was, “sorry i’m sweaty babe. gotta shower when i get home”

→ oh?👀shower??

→ this is when the bath idea popped into your head, his family was out of the house for the next two hours anyway

→ so u got the courage to say something about it, “i’ll run a bath for you if you want”

→ omg his eyes lit up - “really!? you’d do that for me?”

→ “of course dum dum”

→ so when you got back to his place, you went to the bathroom to run him a hot bath

→ and you came back to him thrown on top of the couch, his gym bag next to him

→ “nuh uh,” you smacked his arm playfully, “bath’s ready.”

→ you literally don’t know HOW but he got the energy to jump back up and run to the bathroom... was he not just falling asleep???

→ anyway. you walked back to the bathroom and he was already in the bath

→ his head was thrown back and he already looked relaxed, “thank you, baby”

→ “it’s no problem. i know how tired y- huh?”

→ he was doing those Grabby Hand thingys towards you, “join me silly”

→ uh what

→ well he did offer so👀 not like you were thinking about it or anything haha

→ he didn’t make it weird or anything either. when you hopped it, he kissed you on the cheek and helped shampoo your hair into a mohawk

→ since the gel in his hair was washed out and it was soft from the conditioner, you get running your hands through it mmmm he looked so cute with his hair like that

→ you almost fell asleep like that, it felt comfy having him there with you<3

sugawara

→ okay you have NO CLUE who came up with the idea and why

→ you two were studying and it was getting late so koushi went to take a bath, it was just an instinct for you to follow

→ you just kept talking to him on the way to the bathroom LOL like it hadn’t phased you yet

→ and he kept listening like, “mhm, love” “yeah no i completely get that” “of course, doll”

→ it finally hit you when he started running the water

→ “oh my god. i’m so sorry! i didn’t realize i should-“

→ “get in with me!” and he stuck his tongue out like >:p

→ cmon. said this before and i will say it again: SUGA IS SUCH A FLIRT. YOU CANNOT TELL ME THAT HE WOULDN’T-

→ “are you sure? i know you’re tired so it’s okay”

→ what does this lil shit do? :’) he cupped some water in his hands and threw it towards you, “oops. now you have to get in!”

→ bruh :’)

→ he got in first and looked away when you got undressed respectful boy even though he lowkey wanted to

→ and you hopped in on the opposite side of the bath so you two were facing eachother

→ “so.. come here often?”

→ :’)))))

→ you splashed towards him, “wow. very funny, koushi”

→ he joked around some more and put some bubbles in the bath

→ next thing you know, there’s bubbles in your hair and his and you’re laughing

→ “you look like an old lady, kou!”

→ “so do u!” and he kept adding more and more bubbles on top of your head, “you’re the cuter granny though”

→ wha:’)))

→ you started getting sleepy and when he noticed, he got out to dry off and bring you a warm towel

→ so you got dressed and borrowed one of his hoodies to wear and a pair of his boxers

→ he thought you looked adorable but teased you for the rest of the night:p

tsukishima

→ you were walking back to your place after school for a project and your boyfriend was a little on the grumpy side

→ “kei. what’s wrong?”

→ “nothing?”

→ “you literally got mad at the fact your shoelace came undone”

→ busted

→ “sorry. i’m just... tense”

→ “oh.. what’s stressing you out?”

→ “not like that. my body is just... sore i guess”

→ being the loving partner that you were, you blurted out, “let me run you a bath and some tea when i get home!”

→ “it’s fine, (y/n)”

→ “no it’s not! you’re overworking yourself”

→ and that was true. tsuki just didn’t like admitting it

→ “fine...thank you”

→ so you continued your walk with shared earbuds. once you got home, you threw your bag down and ran to the bathroom to start the bath.

→ he lazily followed behind, “you don’t have to (y/n)”

→ “too late! the bath is ready”

→ so you looked away as he got undressed and settled himself in the water

→ just as you were about to walk away, he softly grabbed at your wrist, “not gonna join?”

→ wwwhshhjhhhshhjkljshhghhhhhh

→ ur face = red

→ he noticed how pink your cheeks got, “oh. sorry. i thought...never mind”

→ well since he mentioned it 👀 why not

→ he was expecting you to walk away but instead you were undressing to get in the bath with him

→ he respectively looked away, “you sure?”

→ you planted a kiss on top of his head, “yes, hun”

→ when you got in, you massaged his shoulders holy shit yeah they were tense

→ he was melting into your touch, which was kind of new, he obviously appreciated what you were doing

→ he gave you a little kiss on the forehead, “thank you for doing this”

→ :’))) soft tsuki makes my heart go !!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love him

→ you stayed there for a while, he started playing some music on his phone and your eyes were closed as you were rested between his legs

→ you wished that you could stay like that forever

asahi

→ NERVOUS BOY NERVOUS BOY NERVOUS BOY NERVOUS B

→ asahi would be TOO nervous to ask you to take a bath with him :’) my bby is just too anxious

→ so ✨YOU ✨had to ask him

�� or at least like... hint at it lol

→ you guys were on the couch watching some movie

→ ans he was lowkey falling asleep with you in rested between his legs

→ you looked up at him and poked at him, “love, i’m gonna go take a bath”

→ he yawned as you got up, “oh okay. i’ll wait for you here”

→ “why?”

→ “what do you mean?? you’re going to take a bath?”

→ “yeah? come with me”

→ he liked JOLTED AWAKE HSJHGSHS

→ he got so red and started waving his hands, “n-no it’s fine!! go enjoy your bath!”

→ “come on azuuuu” you were tugging at his arm and next thing you knew you were dragging him to the bathroom as he was assuring you

→ “iTs fiNe (y/n)!! really- i’ll just stay on the couch i dontwannabotheryohitsokAy-“

→ “babe. it’s fine. it’s just a bath”

→ “nObjt idontwannamakeyouuncomfortabBle oranything”

→ “we’ve been dating for like a year. why would i be weirded out?”

→ so you finally got him to agree to join you in the bath after like 7 minutes of reassurance

→ it was so warm and cozy for him so what did he do??

→ he fell asleep with you in his arms

→ he was tired to begin with so it really was just ✨lights out✨

→ even when you got out, he was still sleepy

→ after you dried off, he was still tired so he fell asleep with his head in your lap on the couch as you played with his fluffy hair <3

hinata

→ BABY BOY I LOVE HIM

→ he had texted you in the afternoon about some new show that he wanted to watch

→ [5:01] sho<3 : Y/N !!!! SUNSHINE !!!!

→ [5:01] sho<3 : OUR SHOW !!! STARTS SOON

→ [5:01] sho<3 : COME OVER I WANNA WATCH IT WITH YOU >:DDDD

→ so you texted him that you’d be on your way in 20 minutes

→ and when you got there - baby natsu answered the door

→ natsu: “hiiii! shoyo is in the bath right now”

→ she held your hand to the bathroom door and yelled “SHOYOOO! Y/N IS HEREEE! pause okay HAVE FUN” and then she skipped away

→ that little girl sure could YELL hsbshhd

→ so you lightly knocked at the door - “sho?”

→ “y/n! come in”

→ you walked in to see your boyfriend in the bathroom, scrubbing strawberry shampoo in his hair

→ “children’s strawberry shampoo? really sho?” you laughed as you squatted next to him

→ “duh! how else do you think my hair smells good? want some?”

→ did he?? just smoothly ask you to join him in the bath??? wha

→ before you could answer, he put some on his hand and ruffled it into your hair

→ “now you can smell like strawberries!”

→ :’)))))

→ you got in and he started adding bubbles to the bath like the little kid that he was

→ he even gave himself a beard with the bubbles😭i love him he totally would

→ “my phone is over there- you can put the show on if you’d like”

→ 🥺🥺🥺

→ so you set the phone up carefully as you started the show

→ and you rested in between his legs as he massaged more shampoo in your hair

→ the whole room smelt citrus-y and he placed his head on your shoulder, giving you a quick peck on the cheek

→ “you smell good”

→ “hm. i wonder why”

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE

@gemad08 (I hope it was you who requested this! I can’t remember!): Reader listens to another group’s music and her BTS boyfriends all have very different feelings about that. 

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS Drabble, Fluff, Request, Ask, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Kim seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook, OT7, boyfriend AU

Genre: Fluff

Title: Playlist

KIM SEOKJIN

“What are you listening to?” Questions Jungkook curiously, as he plops down on the sofa beside you, removing his inner ear piece and reaching up to wipe the sheen of sweat from his forehead. 

You pull out one of your own headphones and offer him a slight smile, readjusting the homework you had been working on on your lap. “Oh you know, this and that.” 

Jungkook nods, reaching across you to snag an unopened water bottle from the table, before he gulps down almost half of it in one swell swoop. “Yeah, my playlists tend to be a little bit of everything too.” 

The couch dips under Jin’s weight as your boyfriend arrives and settles down on your other side, his own hair damp with exertion, as he glances over at you with one eyebrow arched in a look of slight teasing, reaching for your dangling headphone, “It better be our stuff, jagi, or I’ll question your loyalty as a girlfriend.” 

You open your mouth, but before you can respond, he places the headphone in his ear, and you watch as his eyes widen and his lips purse into a comical pout that has you holding back laughter. 

“Yah, jagi!” Jin exclaims, ripping the headphones out of both of your ears, as he stares you down with a look akin to dramatic hurt and betrayal. “You’re listening to WinnerWinner?!” 

You offer him a sheepish smile, before sticking your tongue out and putting the headphones back in your ears, though you don’t miss the sound of Jungkook laughing over the beats of your music. 

“I like their stuff.” You protest, pointing to the homework in your lap. “It’s good study music. Helps me focus.” 

“And our stuff can’t??” Jin complains in an incredulous voice, mouth still drawn into a deeper pout than before if possible. “Our stuff is great for studying! Take Moon for example, or Epiphany!” 

“That’s your stuff.” You tease back gently, before leaning over to press a kiss to his full, plump, still pouting lips. “Besides, you don’t need to be jealous. You’re the only one I kiss after all.” 

You grin at him, as he harumphs and throws an arm grumpily across your shoulders, tugging your body against his own. “I better be.” He whines out, as both you and Jungkook laugh once more. 

MIN YOONGI

“Yoongi, how much longer?” You whine from your position on the futon in his studio, feet kicking loosely in the air, head dangling upside down from one of the arms, as you adjust your headphones in your ear. “I’m hungry.” 

“All right, all right.” Your boyfriend grumbles, shutting off the screen of his computer, and getting up to cross the room to you. He flicks the crown of your head, making you yelp and sit upright again, as he sinks into the cushions beside you. “What’re you listening to anyway?” 

You offer him the free headphone willingly, and he puts it to his ear, face immediately pulling into a look of distaste at the sounds of Zico’s smooth rap coming through the speakers. 

“Why are you listening to this shit?” Yoongi asks, pulling the headphone from his ear as quickly as he had placed it there, shooting you a sharp look of disapproval. 

“I like it.” You pull your own headphone loose and shoot him a glare in return, voice defensive as you begin to coil up the wire and shove it into your purse. “It’s catchy.” 

“Really?” Yoongi looks at you with a stare of disbelief, and you feel your cheeks heat up, as if he’s caught you red handed doing something you shouldn’t. “Who taught you what was good music?” 

“Myself.” You sniff, though you can’t stay mad at him, because the look of utter confusion and absolute pure surprise on his face at your music choices has you wanting to bust into giggles. 

“That stuff is crap.” Yoongi stands from the couch and waves a hand at your phone, motioning to your music taste as a whole. He cocks his head as he looks down at you, and the hint of a superior smirk begins to lift his lips, as he says firmly, “I guess I need to educate you on what’s good music, baby. I didn’t know you were so naive.” 

You scoff and stick your tongue out at him, as he whirls his desk chair around and motions for you to sit. 

“But what about food?” You complain, stomach still grumbling hungrily as you take a seat, Yoongi reaching around you to turn on the computer. 

“I’ll get delivery.” He says nonchalantly, clicking into a folder on the desktop. “This is much more important.” 

You sigh in defeat and lean back. “How many of these songs are gonna be your own, Min Yoongi?” You ask suspiciously, looking up at him standing over you, as he offers you the hint of a smile and presses a kiss to your upturned forehead. 

“I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.” He teases, before hitting play. 

JUNG HOSEOK

“Everything I need is on the ground-” 

You sing along to the lyrics of the song that is blasting from the speakers underneath your breath, as you continue your sweeping circle of the kitchen, doing little skip hops to the beat of the music when it tickles your fancy. 

You’re feeling good. 

You’re done with work for the week, you’re pretty sure you’re getting delivery for dinner tonight instead of cooking, and your boyfriend should be home any minute from the studio. 

Not to mention, Rose’s new song is kicking. 

Speak of the devil. 

Just as you’re glancing at the clock, the sound of a lock is heard in the front door and Hobi bursts into the apartment, face bright and red from practice, hair slicked back with sweat that has long since dried, ankles ringed in old, but extremely comfortable tennis shoes. 

“Hey jagi!” He calls, loud voice sounding clear even over the loud music, as he dumps his duffle bag onto the couch and kicks his shoes to the side, before entering the kitchen where you’re just emptying the last dustpan of debris into the trash. 

He circles his arms around your waist and gives you a blinding sunshine smile, before peppering your face with kisses that make you laugh until you’re out of breath. 

“I missed you.” He says in your ear, and you giggle, as his lips find another place to plant a kiss beneath the juncture of your jaw. 

“You’d think you hadn’t just seen me this morning, Jung Hoseok.” You berate teasingly, covering his hands at your waist with your own, as you turn in his arms to face him. Reaching up to push loose strands of dark hair from his forehead, you ask with a tilt of your head, “Wanna order in tonight?” 

“Yes please!” Hobi’s eyes light up at the thought of delivery and cuddling and a night spent in with you, and then they widen slightly, as he tilts his head, as if listening, to the repeating song that is still blaring over the sound system for the first time. “Is this Rose’s new one?” He asks, and you can hear the excitement in his tone. 

You nod, and before you can say anything, he is sweeping you around in circles to the beat of the newly started song, making you laugh once more, before he calls out, “I love this song! It’s so damn catchy!” 

“I can tell.” You say through your laughter, as he releases you on a spin and begins to do a little impromptu solo dance around the clean kitchen. 

“Is it on repeat?” Hobi asks, cha cha-ing real smooth over to you, before he takes your hands once more. 

You nod. “Of course.” 

“Great.” He grins, and the sunshine between his teeth is blinding, as he pulls you into another goofy spin. “Keep it going all night.” 

KIM NAMJOON

Namjoon slides into the passenger seat, and you lean over to turn the music down-having turned it up to listen to it loudly with the windows down while you drove-and open your mouth to ask him about his day. 

He beats you to it though, catching you off guard, as he eyes the name of the song on the car display curiously. “You’re listening to Jackson’s stuff?” 

You blush, feeling embarrassed for some stupid reason, and turn the song almost off, as you reach to put the car into gear. “Yes? I really like his new album.” 

“That’s good.” Namjoon says softly, almost as if he’s thinking, as he stares out the car window as you pull out of the studio’s parking lot. “He’ll be happy to hear that.” 

You drive in silence for a bit, and you’re wondering if you’re imagining the sudden weird air between you and your boyfriend. Maybe it’s just you? It’s gotta be in your head, right? 

You glance at Namjoon out of the corner of your eye, and you note he looks tired. As you turn onto the main road, you ask gently, “Everything go okay today?” 

“Hmmm?” Namjoon questions beneath his breath, glancing over at you, as if you have pulled him from his thoughts. He offers you the hint of a smile. “Oh,  yeah! Everything was fine. Super busy. Like it always is.” 

You nod, tightening and loosening your fingers on the steering wheel, as silence once again prevails. 

Why is this weird. Was it because of the music? 

You glance at the display, and see another one of Jackson’s songs scrolling across the heading. 

Was it weird to listen to your boyfriend’s best friend’s music? Was that some sort of faux pas you weren’t aware of? 

Shit. 

“Namjoon-” You start to say, and when he looks at you, you force yourself to swallow and keep going. “Does it upset you if I listen to Jackson’s stuff? If so, I’ll stop-” 

“What?” Namjoon looks startled, catching you off guard, and his eyes widen as he stares at you. “Why would that upset me?” 

“I dunno.” You shrug, suddenly feeling sheepish that you had made this into a deal at all. “I just didn’t know-” 

“Baby.” Namjoon leans across the center console, his large, warm palm going to rest on your thigh, as his whole face suddenly breaks out into an amused grin. “You can listen to whoever you want. I don’t care.” He winks at you. “And I was being serious about Jackson being excited to hear you like his stuff. Hell, I like his stuff.” 

“Why were you so quiet then?” You ask, relieved, yet not being able to stop yourself now. 

“Oh.” Namjoon settles back into his seat, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, as his fingers start to stroke lazy patterns across the jean covered skin of your thigh. He cracks an eye open and shoots you a mischievous grin. “I was just contemplating all of the shit I can show you now that I know you like Jackson’s music. There’s so much in his vault that hasn’t been released to the public that I have access to.” 

Your mouth dropped open. “Really?” 

Namjoon closed his eyes once more, but not before shooting you another wink. “Really. Buckle up, baby. If you want Jackson Wang, I’ll give you Jackson Wang.” 

PARK JIMIN

“Jimin, this is so stupid.” You huff out, as you try to jump two stairs at a time, keeping up with your boyfriend as he doggedly works his way upward. 

Damn. For a short guy, he’s really fast. 

“Is it?” Jimin asks over his shoulder sharply, not looking at you, as you finally reach the floor that houses the building’s gym and push through the door. He holds it open for you, even though he’s mad, and you’re glad he’s not angry enough to have forgotten the habit. That bodes well. 

“Yeah, it is.” You snap back, reaching up to wipe some sweat from the back of your neck,as you adjust your dangling headphones. Why did you agree to work out with him. You should have known better. The walk up the five flights of stairs had been enough. “It’s ridiculous.” 

“Hmmm okay.” Jimin hums out mockingly, already headed for the treadmill, as he raises the incline and stretches his ankles, shooting you a heated glare. “Fine. So you won’t mind if I start religiously listening to Girl’s Generation.” 

“No?” You pose it as a question, because the idea of that upsetting you just doesn’t compute into your head. 

“See, it doesn’t make sense to you, because you’re not an artist.” Jimin complains, sliding his own headphones into his ears as he turns on the treadmill and starts into a brisk jog. 

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes and head to the elliptical, as far from your moody boyfriend as you can go. 

There is nothing but silence and the sound of breathing and the machines, until Jungkook comes into through the door minutes later, towel slung around his neck, curls already damp with sweat, and you just know he has already been doing some insane pre-workout before his actual workout. 

Crazy bastard. 

“Hey, (Y/N)!’ Jungkook calls out cheerfully, with a bunny grin and a wave of his hand in your direction. 

“She probably can’t hear you. She’s listening to her favorite band.” Jimin snarks in before you can answer his friend, face dark as he continues to sprint through the workout on the treadmill. 

Jungkook looks curiously between the two of you, and you stop what you’re doing, letting out an irritated sigh. 

“Jungkook, tell Jimin this is stupid.” You say, standing and stretching your arms above your head, as you stick your tongue out at your still grumpy boyfriend. “He’s upset because he found out I like listening to GOT7 more than your stuff, and now he’s throwing a jealousy tantrum.” 

“I am not!” Jimin yanks the headphones out of his ears and points in your direction, past the bewildered Jungkook who stands in the middle of you two. “You told me, and I quote ‘It’s weird to listen to your stuff, because you’re my boyfriend.’“ 

“Well it is!” You shout back, cheeks red, whether from the exercise or the heat of the stupid, teasing argument that had gotten well out of hand. 

“Okay, you guys are both being stupid.” Jungkook steps in, holding his hands out as a peace offering between your two heaving chests, as if worried you’re going to come to blows. He glances over at Jimin. “Jimin, your girlfriend can listen to anyone she wants. She’s not your property. You tend to get jealousy, but you don’t need to, because you should know how crazy in love with you she is.” 

He glances over to you next, face stern, and you already feel your heart calming in your chest at his words, and Jimin must feel the same, because he doesn’t look quite as riled as before. 

“And (Y/N), just because you’re dating an idol doesn’t mean that you have to listen to their music. But try to be a little more sympathetic yeah? We work hard on our shit, and you gotta take into account how Jimin feels.” 

You sigh, and glance across the wise younger boy to Jimin, who looks slightly remorseful now. “Fine.” You sigh out, reaching out to offer him a hand. He shakes it, twining his fingers with yours at the last minute. “I’ll try to broaden my perspective.” 

“And I’ll try to tone down the jealousy.” Jimin concedes, finally offering you the hint of a smile as his full lips curl upward. 

“However.” You shake a finger at the two boys. “I’m not listening to, or watching, or ever liking, Go Go. And you can’t make me.” 

They groan, and you laugh before pulling the two of them into a hug. 

KIM TAEHYUNG

“Hey jagi, have you seen my-” 

You glance up as your boyfriend comes into the room, his words stuttering to a stop as he pauses in the doorway to stare at you, lacing up your nikes by the front door. 

“What?” You ask, slightly self consciously, as you glance down at the running outfit you wear-athletic shorts and a sheer tank top covering a brightly colored sports bra, complete with dangling earphones and comfy running shoes-wondering what he’s staring at. 

“Nothing.” Taehyung shakes his head, a sly smile coming across his features, as he creeps across the room as if he’s stalking you, before grabbing you around the waist and crushing you to him, lips going to your ear and voice low. “You just look good enough to eat, that’s all.” 

You blush and bat at him, but he doesn’t release you. “Stop. You’re so gross.” 

“I can’t help it that my girlfriend is super hot.” He drags his lips up the curve of your neck in a line of sloppy kisses, making you laugh and try to pull away from him once more. “You know the only reason I go running with you is so I can watch your ass in those short shorts.” He slaps his hand across said ass, and you yelp. 

“Will you quit?” You swat him away again, more aggressively this time, as he finally releases his hold on your waist, but doesn’t pull away from you, as he grabs one of your headphones and holds it up to his ear. 

“What’s your running playlist?” Taehyung asks curiously, and you grin, pushing play on the first song. He furrows his brows and shakes his head, motioning to you. “Mmmm nope. Next.” 

You skip forward to the next song, and suddenly, his eyes are going wide and his mouth is forming an o and an overly manic excited look is entering his normal expression. 

You glance down at the song name and instantly see why. 

“Holy shit, I love this song.” Taehyung exclaims, wiggling his body to the sound of gangnam style and Psy’s upbeat vocals. 

“I know.” You laugh, before he shoves the headphones back into your hand, catching you by surprise, as he darts past you back the way he had came. “What are you doing??” 

“I gotta get my kazoo.” Taehyung calls over his shoulder, then stops in his tracks, glancing back at where you still stand in place. “Actually, on second thought.” He retreats on fast steps and grabs your hand, dragging you along with him toward the office, ignoring your weak protests. “You better come along. I’m about to blow your mind. I can play this song on both kazoo and keyboard.” 

JEON JUNGKOOK

Jungkook’s brow is furrowed, his normally caramel eyes dark, lips set into a thin line, and you know. You know that look. 

He’s getting competitive. 

They don’t call him the golden maknae for nothing, right? 

“Jungkook.” You say in a warning tone, already knowing where his mind is going. 

“There’s no way.” Jungkook huffs out, pulling the headset from off his ears as he shoots you a look of utter fire, eyes hard and set. “There’s no way they’re better than us.” 

You sigh, and the sound is slightly amused and slightly exasperated. “Kook, I didn’t say they were better than you-” 

“Then why listen to them?” He cuts you off, throwing the headset aside and rising to pace the room, before he comes back to stand behind the couch, fingers clenched around the back cushion as he stares into the distance. 

“I like their music?” You offer helplessly, as you watch him spiral into that competitive frame of mind that you find halfway hot as hell and halfway infuriating as all get out. 

“You really think they’re better than us?” Jungkook asks, interrupting you, as if he hadn’t just heard a word of the answer you had offered. He glances down at you, eyes dark beneath the fringe of his long hair, long hair that’s getting slightly out of control and is fringing on tangled mess of curls. “Why are they better? how are they better?” He mutters to himself, eyes focusing on something far away, as he continues on in disbelief. “Oneus? Really?” 

You roll you eyes and push yourself up from the couch, circling around to stand behind him, sliding your hands around his narrow waist, allowing yourself to feel the muscles of his abdomen beneath his sweatshirt before you finally speak. “Kookie, can you not. Just this once. Please.” 

“Not what?” He asks, suddenly curious, as he glances back at you, doe eyes wide, as if he’s not even aware of what he’s doing. 

“Not compete?” You ask with slight amusement, brows raised in pleading in your boyfriend’s tense direction. 

His shoulders relax slightly, and he turns to face you, returning your embrace, his chin resting comfortably on the crown of your head. “Sorry, jagi. Habit.” 

“You wanna be the best, I get it.” You hum back, leaning back to connect your lips with his, as the hint of smile starts across your face. “However.” You reach up to push the hair back from his forehead, admiring his handsome, flawless features as he stares down at you. “To me, no one will ever be better than you, Jeon Jungkook.” 

His features soften, and he offers you the bunny smile you love so much. “Really?” 

“Really.” You grin in return, and reach up to tap the end of his nose with your finger before leaning in to give him another quick kiss. “You’re the best there is.” 

[pillage-and-lute]

Thicker Than Water (Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2 (here) Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Ao3 link HERE

Finally here, now that I’m feeling a little better.

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Traveling with Geralt, Ciri, and Yennefer was hard. They went slow for Yennefer’s sake, and for that Jaskier was thankful, but his entire body ached.

He’d woken up cold and damp, body sore from lying on the ground in his cheap bedroll, but he didn’t complain. He drank heavily from his water skin to keep his stomach from growling, unwilling to use up precious food for himself. He was being brought along on this journey against Geralt’s -and his own- wishes, but he would not be a burden.

He forged ahead, even, at one point, taking a bag from Yennefer. She didn’t have much to carry but he recognized the full body exhaustion on her face. She didn’t smile at him or thank him, but she nodded gratefully.

Jaskier reflected on that. He had wanted to hate the witch, especially back then, after the djinn, when he’d seen her and Geralt...playing hide the sausage. He found that he couldn’t. He was an artist, he appreciated beauty and pain and the use of words and an excellent storyline. Yennefer checked those boxes. Jaskier felt ashamed to want to dislike her. She’d held back forces at Sodden, she was strong and good with Ciri and cared for Geralt. He appreciated all these things.

It was just...she and Geralt and Ciri were all together. A powerful sorceress, a twice-made Witcher, a hero, and their adopted child with untold power and a regal birthright. It made a family. And just like with his own family, there was no place for Jaskier.

It hurt.

But he wasn’t supposed to be part of the family. He wasn’t there to share in the chatter Ciri directed at Yennefer and Geralt. Geralt even talked back a little, answering in one or two words the stream of questions. He answered them though. Jaskier wished he’d ever answered him.

Then he felt silly. He was jealous of Ciri, who was a child. A brave child, but a child nonetheless, who’d lost her home and her family and everyone she knew in a very short time. Of course Geralt would answer her questions, he was a good man.

He also liked children, Jaskier knew. He let his memory drift to a happier time. 

It had been a summer fair in a tiny, agricultural village, tucked among wheat fields like a lost button beneath a patchwork quilt. The sun had been warm and the whole world was amber. Jaskier was playing music with a scratch band of anyone who wanted to join. Lighthearted jigs and reels had unfurled beneath his hands. He played The Willow Wedding and The Flowers of Fairside and other simple country songs that his fellow musicians might know. All around them people were dancing and laughing. Flower crowns were made. Young women shyly offered them and young men shyly took them to indicate blooming romance, but almost everyone in attendance had one, old and young.

Geralt had been standing, looming without intention, at the edge of the crowd, near Jaskier. In the shadows, in his black outfit (Jaskier had insisted he leave the armor back at the in) he looked out of place, like a thistle in a bouquet.

Then a little girl in a neat yellow pinafore, dyed with weld, probably, and carefully embroidered with little yellow roses at the collar stopped by the musician. She was perhaps four years old, and she looked at the dancers and then just sat down and began to cry.. It had been a sight to bend even the hardest heart and Jaskier had been just about to stop playing when Geralt crouched in front of her.

“What ever is the matter?” Jaskier had heard him say, softly.

“Everybody’s dancin,” sniffled the little girl. “An nobody wants to dance wif me.” She reached up and took the dandelion and daisy flower crown from her dark, bushy hair.

Jaskier’s heart just melted and he wanted to cry in sympathy as one big, blobby tear rolled down a round cheek. She scrubbed it away hastily but more were hanging on lashes all around her big, brown eyes.

“Nobody wants to dance with you?” Geralt said, affecting a wide eyed look of surprise. The girl sniffled again and pointed to the edge of the dancing, where a group of kids, a little older than her, where all wheeling about together.

“Not nobody,” Geralt said, gently putting her flower crown back on her head. “You haven’t asked me if I want to dance, have you?”

She sniffed the last of her sniffles and looked up, a slow smile starting. “Do ya wanna dance wif me?”

“Of course,” Geralt had said, then he’d very carefully lifted her so her tiny feet were safely away from trodding, and he’d set her feet on the tops of his big, black boots. Then Geralt had danced, a little awkwardly, but holding her little hands in his large ones and taking big steps so she bounced on his boots, which resulted in her shrieking with delight. 

Eventually an older girl had pulled her away to go spin about with the others, but the memory lived in a quiet, warm place in Jaskier’s chest. He thought of it often, and the way the little girl had offered a tiny daisy from her flower crown. It had remained in Geralt’s fingers as he returned to his place, brooding in the shadows, spinning it between thumb and forefinger occasionally.

“Dandelion,” Ciri said, pulling him from his reverie. “Jaskier, can you tell me a story?”

Jaskier glanced back to see the look on Geralt’s face, but then wasn’t sure why he had, the witcher’s expression held no answers, it never did. The story that leapt to mind was, of course, Geralt dancing with that child in the sunshine, but he didn’t tell it. Instead he leapt into a tale, a long one, of the son of a king who wanted to marry the lovely daughter of an evil enchanter.

It was a good story, very long with lot’s of parts, so Ciri could ask for more again and again, and there were amazing characters with strange tales and true love and magic and wishes. Everything a good story needed. Jaskier prided himself on doing the voices for each new character.

Ciri traipsed along beside him, hanging on his every word. She was a good audience, making surprised noises or saying ‘oh no!’ at just the right points. Jaskier even noticed Yennefer listening, occasionally smiling to herself at a joke or a good part of the story. 

Geralt walked on ahead. Jaskier had no way of telling if he was listening, but he probably wasn’t. The story was fantastical to the extreme and if Geralt were listening he would probably be scoffing and complaining about how that ‘can’t be done with magic’ and ‘there aren’t river dragons, there’s only water serpents, they’re different species entirely’. 

It was funny, though, when they stopped for dinner-Jaskier picking at the rations offered, reluctant to use up supplies but unwilling to worry Ciri- he continued the story, and Geralt, who had been sharpening his sword, stopped.

Of course, it was probably simply that the blade didn’t need much sharpening, or that Geralt wanted to allow Ciri to listen. Still, Jaskier felt good. He hadn’t complained, he wasn’t eating too much food, and he wasn’t much of a burden.

And Ciri liked the story.

They kept walking after dinner, so long as they still had light, relying on Geralt in the dim twilight to find a spot to camp. Jaskier told more of the story, not even a third of the way through, and occasionally Ciri asked questions.

“Why did the king’s son not want to marry the oldest sister?”

“Because she was too cold,” Jaskier said, inventing, because the story didn’t say. “She was beautiful, but she could not love, so her heart turned to ice and everything she touched froze.”

“And the middle sister?” Ciri asked, wide eyed.

“She was too warm, she was angry, all the time, and so her heart turned to fire and all she touched melted or burned.”

As the story he told progressed, Jaskier used his additions in the story. The king’s son, fleeing with his soon-to-be bride, the youngest sister, had to escape the sorceror’s wrath, but the sisters tried to stop their youngest sister leaving, melting the chains of the drawbridge so that the couple couldn’t escape.

Ciri gasped and wrapped one hand in Jaskier’s traveling cloak, hanging on to him as tightly as she held to his words.

Then the eldest sister in the story sent a blizard after the couple, who had escaped the draw bridge just in time. Yennefer, who looked a little better after their meal and short rest, sent a tiny swirl of snow, a miniature blizzard from her finger, letting it play a moment with Ciri’s hair before dissappearing. 

Ciri laughed with delight and Jaskier sent a smile to Yennefer, who nodded at him surprisingly warmly. A good story made everyone happy, he supposed.

They stopped for the night in another clearing. Ciri begged for more of the story before bed. Geralt sat, setting the fire so it could burn through the night, while Yennefer brushed out Ciri’s hair. It was a perfect, domestic little scene, and Jaskier felt odd, seeing it from the outside, but also in the spotlight of Ciri’s focus. 

He plucked his lute quietly as he told the story. In truth, there were many little poems buried in the tale, and he’d long ago made little tunes for each so that they could be sung. When he came to one, though, he didn’t sing it. He just plucked out the tune as he talked, and when the poem passed he continued through the story, letting his music be the background.

Hopefully it was less annoying that way. 

He wasn’t about to offer this perfect family a fillingless pie.

As he finally lay down to sleep though, he quite felt like a fillingless pie himself. Ciri and Yennefer had once again bedded down in the magic tent and Geralt was rolled up in his bedroll in his tent, across the barely glowing fire. Jaskier lay awake.

His bedroll was thin and his ribs fairly ached with hunger, but Geralt had said they were but a day away from a town. Jaskier could buy supplies there, he still had a little coin, and that way he wouldn’t use up the others’ food.

He could play in the town too, earn more coin. They wouldn’t stay there, he knew, not with half the continent searching for a white haired witcher and his child surprise. But the others needed supplies too, and Yennefer said she had enough magic for a small glamor to hide Geralt and Ciri’s hair and her eyes.

Jaskier settled in for the night. Earning coin made him useful, and therefore not a burden, so he would earn coin.

He made a list in his head of things he should buy to prepare for the trek up to Kaer Morhen. Gloves, his only pair had worn out last year. A thicker cloak, his was practically threadbare. Grapeseed and linseed oil. One for the beard he was growing and the other for his lute. New lute strings.

He rolled over on his bedroll, trying to avoid the root digging into his spine. He’d need to make quite a bit of money. He wasn’t sure he’d be able too. It wasn’t safe to sing about the white wolf, not too much, or someone might recognize him as himself, rather than just some bard singing Jaskier’s songs. 

Country ditties then, but they made less money. It wasn’t just his supplies he needed to buy, either. Jaskier didn’t want to just not be a burden, he wanted to help.

They would all need thicker clothes and lots of food to make it to Kaer Morhen. He wasn’t a good hunter so he could really only help by supplying money to buy what they needed. He had little right now, and he felt shame rise in him. He’d had no way of knowing he’d meet up with Geralt and his child surprise, but if he hadn’t drunk so much of his money than he could be a better help. 

He could sell his lute.

The thought came into his mind like a knife, and it turned his stomache. He could sell his lute, but the beautiful girl was the only physical thing he had to remind him of Geralt. Filavandrel’s lute. It would be worth a fortune, of course. Elven made, everyone knew they made the best instruments.

It was just...he couldn’t bear the thought of letting the lute go. He loved how she played, loved the memories he had. He knew the story behind every shallow scratch and scuff, and who could love her the same? And when the danger was passed and Geralt never had to see him again, what would Jaskier have then? A handful of memories, turned bittersweet, then bitter. Nothing concrete. He’d go back to Oxenfurt, maybe even Lettenhove. And there would be nothing for him to hold to remind him.

He couldn’t sell his lute.

The thought ate at him as he tried to sleep though. He had in his hands the means to help them all so much, and he was too selfish to do so.

Sleep eventually claimed him, and he dreamt of a mountain, wind whipping about his ears and carrying words to him.

Shit shoveler. Burden. If life could give me one blessing...

He awoke sore and badly rested, tears dried on his face.

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@frywen-babbles

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 1

chapter 2!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word count: 7k (i am insane i know this!! you can also find this fic on ao3 !!)

Author’s note: hello! attempting to upload a fic on here for the first time ever! do i understand this website’s format. perhaps not. but am i going to try? perhaps yes! anyways hope you all like it :) likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!!! umm idk how this works if you wanna follow me you can?? do follows exist on tumblr dot com i think they do. hope they do. love you all. this is a long chapter buckle up (BUCKle up lmao i am not funny)!! enjoy ;o

“Hey, can you come look at this?”

You teach three classes a week- Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. The latter two are enjoyable in their own right, but Mondays are definitely your favorite. Instead of teaching kids, who are funny and creative but so messy, and so loud, you get to teach adults. People your own age or usually older, putting you in a position of authority, valuing your opinion, wanting you to come look at things.

It’s a delightful power trip.

You turn away from the window to see who’s speaking.

It’s Steve.

Of course it’s Steve, your star student, staring at you with a worn, weary intensity, wiping a paintbrush on a paper towel. He’s already pushed his sheet of paper across the table, bumpy with water and watercolor paint, cream-colored edges starting to curl. He leans away from it, reclining in a seat that’s adult-sized but dwarfed by his frame, looking so forlorn, like the paper just abandoned him, moved to the opposite side of the table by itself.

You stifle a laugh.

“Sure,” you say, and make your way over to his table.

Steve fidgets in his seat as you look at his painting. You try to keep your jaw in check.

It drops anyway.

As always, it’s beautiful. He’s painted a sky, swirling with purples and pinks, and careful clouds, flickering in and out between layers of paint, elegant and pale yellow-orange. And the sun- it’s off-center, and you’re sure it was unintentional, but that adds to the effect, because it’s hot red, and dazzling, and slowly seeping into the still-wet sky. Tendrils of red like real sunbeams, pushing through the clouds like a real sunset.

You don’t know why Steve even takes this class. Half the time, you feel like he should be the one teaching.

“It’s gorgeous,” you say eventually, once your words come back to you. “I love how you painted the sun- the red, oh my god. You’re seriously a natural.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and you push the paper back towards him. He looks down at it, still tense, brow furrowed, and you almost laugh again, until he looks back up at you. “I wanted to know what you thought about it.”

Power trip.

“I love it,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, which he hesitantly returns. You might be laying it on a little thick, but Steve still looks distressed, and you genuinely like the guy enough to try to help him.

When he walked in with his friend for the first class, you were floored. People like Steve don’t attend classes like this- classes like this are attended by regular people. Not people that walk like dancers, all grace and light steps, not people that are extraordinarily jacked, with jutting shoulders and rippling muscles, not people that have a weirdly authoritarian air around them, like a politician, but less shrewd.

Still, you welcomed them and made awkward small-talk and tried not to stare at their arms and hoped you came across as a somewhat decent person. It’s your first time teaching adults, you explained, and Steve gave you a smile so sincere and reassured you that you would do great, boosting your confidence to the point where you actually did.

Steve is lovely. He’s passionate about art and has a good eye, a better eye than you, really, and he always tries so hard with whatever he does, and he’s funny in a dorky way, and completely unaware of it. He always wears a baseball hat and tucks his shirts into his pants and called you ma’am once, and looked so surprised when you burst out laughing and told him to call you by your first name. With him, two classes have flown by, and now, during the third, he’s warmed up to you enough to talk to you like a friend.

The friend he brings with him, though?

A total douchebag.

The night to Steve’s day, the rain to his sunshine. It’s obvious that Steve brings him along as some sort of moral support, to make himself look less out of place, which is fine, except the guy always treats you like you’ve perpetually offended him.

And maybe you have, maybe one time you did something that’s worthy of his eternal dislike, but you wouldn’t know what it is, because he’s never brought it up, because he barely fucking talks.

You don’t think he’s a naturally quiet guy. He definitely looks like he has a lot to say, but no matter what, he only ever talks in single-syllable bursts, quiet enough that half the time you miss what he’s saying.

He doesn’t ignore you, either- he listens to everything you say and lets his judgement flicker over his face- which is way worse. A glare is a slight misstep, a shake of his head means that you’ve just said something that he finds stupid, a scowl is a catastrophe.

You don’t even know his name. He’s never introduced himself, and always writes his name in a shaky, illegible scrawl on the sign-in sheet, and by now you don’t care enough to look it up.

Still, you’re nice to him, polite. It’s okay if he doesn’t like you. You don’t need to be liked- being noticed is enough.

You shift away from Steve to his friend, sitting next to him at the table. He’s staring at you in a way that you can only describe as violent, and you flinch, and then plaster your smile back on.

“How’s it going?” You ask, expecting no response, stealing a glance at his paper. He’s painted the entire sheet a watered-down blue, and you want to congratulate him, for actually participating this time, but you don’t say anything. “The watercolors working out for you?”

Your heart goes out to the poor paintbrush in his hand. It’s barely been used, is steadily dripping water, and is being throttled in his gloved grip. He always wears one glove- it’s weird, but you’re not going to pry.

He catches you looking and a whole myriad of emotion plays over his face; irritation and shame, a creased brow and a scowl. You have the feeling that you’ve taken a massive overstep, even though you haven’t said anything else, even though you’re not looking at his hand anymore, just at him.

His hair hangs over his eyes, glossy and carelessly wavy, which you would find pretty, maybe, if he wasn’t looking at you the way he is. Like you’ve just done something terrible.

“Sure,” he says, and that’s it.

Even when you turn away, he’s glaring.

You hate it, so you pretend it’s not happening.

Steve gives you a sympathetic glance before you head back. You wave it off.

“Shonna,” you call, to the fiftysomething woman hunched over her painting a few tables down, “how’re the flowers looking?”

***

Thirty minutes before your fourth Monday class starts, you arrive at the studio to find Rina washing paintbrushes in the sink.

“Hey,” you call.

She turns to you and gives you a surprised grin. “Oh, hey! You’re here early- come help with these brushes.”

You set your bag on the counter by the wall and join her at the sink. You’ve known Rina for ages- ever since you were roommates in college. The class before yours is taught before, some advanced painting thing that she is extremely overqualified to teach.

She’s kind of famous. And kind of self-absorbed, and a little bit pretentious, but maybe that’s just what happens when you’re as successful in your field as she is. No matter what it is, you can’t complain- she’s the one that helped get you this job in the first place.

“A couple of people in my class like to get here early, so I just try to arrive before them,” you say. She passes you a clean paintbrush. You reach around her and tear off a paper towel from the dispenser. “Did you dye your hair? It looks so pretty.”

“Yes!” She shakes her head, letting her hair sway. Last time you met her, she had dyed it pink. Now it’s mahogany red, straight and sleek and falling just past her shoulders. She looks a little unreal. “How’s your class going? Are the people okay?”

“Yeah, most of them are pretty nice.”

She passes you another paintbrush to dry. You consider bringing up Steve’s friend, but decide against it.

“That’s good- and you’re welcome, by the way. But okay, listen. Do you remember that one guy I told you about a while back, Dustin? So yesterday I was just sitting at home, and then he texted me…”

With the formalities out of the way, she launches into a story about someone you definitely don’t remember. Still, you humor her, listen to what she has to say, chime in at the right parts and say “really?” and “no way!” too many times. The minutes tick by.

When all of the brushes are washed and dried, you take them, since you’re going to be the one using them next, and start setting up for the class. Rina walks away and grabs her stuff from the counter. She lingers by the doorway, door already propped open, aimlessly scrolling through something on her phone, hesitant to leave for a reason you don’t know. Maybe she has more to say- if that’s even, like, possible.

You set the brushes in a container at the center table, and head over to the shelves on the far wall to pull out more supplies. Unfortunately, today’s class is revolving around watercolor again. It’s drudgery, such a boring medium- dull, unsaturated, painstaking when it comes to detail. You bring out a stack of paper, the least-depressing palettes, and then mason jars for holding water.

You’re setting the last jar on the table when Rina shrieks.

It startles you, making your hand slip.

The jar wobbles over the edge of the table and then falls, shattering into cloudy glass pieces at your feet.

“Shit,” you curse, and look over at her. “Rina, what the hell?”

Standing across from her in the doorway, having arrived early for class as usual, are Steve and his friends, two shades more flustered than usual. Rina is gawking at them.

Okay, they’re attractive, but not that attractive.

Not shriek-worthy attractive.

You sigh loudly and carefully step over the glass, making your way over to them. “Hi, Steve,” you say, and he jolts, like a scared cat. He’s blushing, stepping back into the hallway, hands awkwardly dangling at his sides. His friend is staring at Rina like he’s about to murder her, and you’re staring at him like you’re about to ask him to pass you the broom behind the door.

Because you are.

“Sorry about… that. There’s a broom behind the door, could you pass it to me?”

He opens his mouth to say something, and you are desperate to hear him, even if he’s only going to utter a simple yes, but Rina buts in.

“You did not just ask the Winter Soldier to pass you a broom.”

Who?

“Girl, what?”

All three of you turn to her, cornering back into the wall. She looks even more unreal, eyes blown wide, red creeping up her neck, giving her hair a run for its money, still gawking. You resist the urge to reach out and pull her chin back up, to close her mouth.

She alternates between looking at Steve and at…  

“That’s the Winter Soldier,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to convince herself, or you, and then steps closer to Steve, who instinctively takes a step back. He’s fully in the hallway, now. “And you’re Captain America.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. He stays silent, and you feel bad for him, that’s all you can feel, really- you are confused beyond reason, halfway convinced that Rina is losing her shit, still awaiting the broom, still awaiting Steve’s friend’s words, racking your brain for any image of Captain America or the Winter Soldier that you might have- and coming up completely empty.

You don’t watch the news, like, ever.

Little details float back to you. Steve’s dressing sense, his manners, his muscles…

The baseball caps that both of them are always wearing...

His friend’s glove…

Oh, fuck.

“Are you?” You ask dumbly. The question is meant for both of them, but you only look at one of them while speaking. A glare meets you back- a slight misstep.

You can’t even see your feet, in this situation. You’re walking blind.

Steve crosses his arms and looks at you sternly. He doesn’t look angry, but as close as he can get. “Yes,” he says, completely guarded and unfriendly and not lovely at all. “I thought you knew that.”

You are so stupid- how did you not know that?

“I didn’t,” you say, and you don’t sound convincing at all. Not much fazes you, but you are absolutely, positively fazed right now, and starting to spiral out. “I had no idea- I thought you guys could have been, like, bodyguards, or something, not actual Avengers, oh my god. I’m so sorry, shit, thank you for your service?”

You’re going to end it all- this is so embarrassing.

Steve’s mouth twitches. Rina is scarlet-faced. The Winter Soldier, god, looks so tense, like he might shatter, too, into silent, grumpy pieces all over the floor.

“You’re welcome,” Steve says, and marginally relaxes. He stays in the hallway, the Winter Soldier by the door- you should have paid more attention in your tenth grade history class, what is the guy’s name?

Rina peels herself off the wall, and you start to get nervous. There’s a painful silence, with lots of staring, where you’re still trying to coax a few rational thoughts out of your brain, and only coming up with one- Rina needs to leave.  

You try to tell her that with your eyes, with a pointed look, but you’re not great at this whole communication-through-expressions thing, so she doesn’t get the hint, or does and just ignores it.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, tearing the silence like a plastic seal, voice starting to rise, from wonder to excitement, from painless curiosity to danger, “there’s two Avengers taking your class? And you didn’t even recognize them?”

“Nope,” you say, looking away, at a stain on the wall, at the distant glass shards still unswept away on the floor.

“That’s…”

She trails off before she has the chance to call you stupid, because the Winter Soldier gives her a pointed look of his own. Low brows and dark eyelashes, blazing blue eyes- she has no choice but to listen. Your staring was irritating, but his is intimidating.

She scampers away, mumbling something you can’t catch and brushing against Steve as she leaves.

This whole thing is so unprofessional, but at least you can breathe again-

“Here,” the Winter Soldier says, and a broom handle comes into your view.

Just one word, but you’ll take it with open arms. You take the broom from him, give an unreturned, unfamiliarly sheepish smile and head back to the broken glass on the floor.

The broken glass is swept up and tossed in the trash. You avoid looking at the doorway, focusing on other useless tasks instead. Rearranging the supplies on the table, fiddling with the window blinds, chatting with the rest of the class attendees as they start to file in.

Then the class starts and you’re swept back into your demonstration, talking and teaching and showing off different techniques that can be done with different types of brushes. You only look in their direction once, right after showing off some technique you barely remember from art school with a fan brush- they sit at their table near the back, Steve paying attention as usual, his friend silently reacting, as usual.

So they decided to stay- that’s good. Great, even.

Until the next part of the class starts, when everyone gets to work on their own paintings, when you have to stop talking.

You mill around the room, searching for a conversation to join in on or a comment to make, but find none. Then you take a sheet of paper and hopelessly try to draw- search for a distraction and a spark up of an idea, something, anything, and come up completely empty. It’s just...

How famous are they? Like, A-list celebrity famous? Are they offended that you didn’t recognize them- should you start treating them differently? You don’t keep up with this stuff. You have an impossibly long list of other things to worry about- you don’t have the time to worry about this stuff. The Avengers aren’t something you think about ever, because why should you?

If you opened any newspaper or magazine you would find something about them- a charity gala they attended, some recent threat they neutralized, the latest gossip surrounding their personal lives. But those lives are so far detached from your own that you’ve never bothered to look.

You simply don’t care. You’re not a native New Yorker- it’s not like these people are your hometown heroes, that you grew up idolizing them. They save the world time and time again and society is forever indebted to them and all of that, but what are you supposed to do about it?

And most importantly, what is the Winter Soldier’s fucking name?

Enough of this chaos goes on in your mind to make your head hurt. Fuck it, you decide- you’ll face it. You straighten your shoulders as you stand, trying your best to look purposeful as you walk to their table, like you have reason to go over there. Yeah, they’re strong. Genetically enhanced and all of that, and they’re important: they’re Avengers.

But they’re taking your class.

You slide into the chair across from the Soldier without taking the time to gauge their reactions.

“Do other people here know?” You ask.

Steve startles, eyes widening, and then considers the question while swirling his brush in green paint. He’s working on a landscape today, you think. “Shonna might,” he says, not rudely. “But nobody else.”

So maybe not that famous. Or maybe the people here are just like you and don’t care.

But it still doesn’t make sense. “Then why did you think that I knew?”

“Because you talk a lot,” Steve says, like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Well, yeah, that’s part of the job-”

Steve cuts you off, and fuck, you hate getting interrupted. But he’s smiling, and you can’t bring yourself to get upset over it. “You talk a lot to us.”

Us?  

More like to him.

You take it in stride, don’t let your confidence slip. You’ve purposely angled your head away, and you know the Winter Soldier is staring at you- you can feel it on your cheek, on your shoulder, on every nerve in your face. You don’t look back at him. This revelation hasn’t made him any less unpleasant.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s just as obvious, “because you’re a nice guy, Steve.”

Steve raises his eyebrows so high that they disappear under the brim of his hat. You smile at him as nicely as you can, sugar-sweet, until he can’t take anymore and drops his gaze back to his painting. You turn back to the nameless man across from you.

Winter Soldier.

“Hi,” you say, only to him, and prop your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. “I love the little pattern you have going on with your painting.”

It’s random splotches of black paint- calling it a pattern is an exaggeration. But you carry on.

“This is probably a bad time to ask, and it’s kind of a dumb question, but, like, what’s your name?”

He just barely raises an eyebrow, allowing for a fraction of surprise, before schooling his expression back into his usual mix of anger and boredom, a casual glare and slight frown. For a moment, you wonder what he looks like when he’s happy.

“You don’t know his name?” Steve is in disbelief, and then he winces, and you think he’s been kicked under the table. Abruptly, you laugh.

It rings out. A few people turn and stare, but you brush it all off with another smile.

He’s still staring. You don’t mind it.

The paintbrush in his hand is suddenly unsteady.

“My name is Bucky,” he says, slowly and loudly enough for you to make out the sound of his voice, for the first time ever.

He is definitely bothered by you asking, his mouth drawn tight, and you can’t even take the time to appreciate how cutesy his name is compared to his demeanor, because oh hell. It’s going to be difficult to keep up this whole dislike thing, if his voice sounds like this, low and rough and gritty like sandpaper, pleasantly grating over you and your skin…

You have to consciously remind yourself to keep on smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Things should feel different, but they don’t. Nobody really reacts- everything resumes as normal. Steve focuses on his panting, adding delicate brushstrokes to the branches of a tree. You linger for a moment, and then get up from the table and flutter off to someone else.

For every class, you wear this kitschy apron, paint-stained, with strings tied in a hasty bow against your back that Bucky always aches to even out. Someone tells you something, and you respond eagerly, fully phased out of the past incident.

He stares until he realizes he’s staring, and then drops his eyes back down to his paper.

Steve wanted to attend this class for a number of reasons- he was bored and wanted something to occupy his time, he wanted to revisit an old hobby, he wanted to learn from you- some hip, emerging artist he’s a fan of, whose work he’s been following for a while now, who is seriously talented, although you have yet to prove it. He wanted to go do something separated from the events of his regular life.

So much wanting. Bucky wants to know why you’re so indifferent.

He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that you didn’t know his name, or that you didn’t flinch or gasp or accuse him of something, or pointedly look at his left arm. Should he be thankful? Steve is clearly thankful, already loosening up, freed of any lasting tension.

Bucky just feels wary. You’re unsettling.

You come back over to their table one more time. The sleeves of your shirt are pushed up, and there’s a smear of something dark on your forearm, ink or paint. On one wrist you’re wearing a  bracelet made of braided leather. On the other you wear a bulky digital watch.

Practical.

“Everything okay?” You ask, as if something not okay could potentially have happened, in your forty-five minute absence.

Steve fixes you with a friendly smile. Bucky can’t ever bring himself to do the same.

“Yep,” Steve says, and you nod your head, clearly relieved.

“Great!” You glance at him for a spare second, and turn away again.

Everyone he knows is so guarded, walls built high and doors barred shut. Except for you, if Bucky can say that he knows you, the perky art instructor, Steve’s favorite artist. You’re confident and flippant, and that should be a bad pairing, but somehow you can carry yourself within it just fine. Always purposeful in the space you occupy, not reacting to the knowledge of his and Steve’s major, momentous identities.

Bucky wonders, idly, as he blots water over what you so generously called a pattern, why you didn’t.

It’s not like he wants you to acknowledge it, wants you to call him a war criminal or a Rusisan spy. He just wants you to-

He doesn’t know.

The class goes on. An older couple sitting a few tables away have caught your attention, chattering on and on about their personal lives.They have a pet cat that their landlord doesn’t know about, and when they retire they want to move to the seaside in Italy, and in May their son is going to graduate high school.

“High school?” You gasp, loud for no reason. “I hated high school.”

Before the class ends, you take your position at the front of the studio, and talk some more. He knows it’s part of your job, but you are excessive.

There’s an art exhibition going on at some museum, and one of the featured artists is an acquaintance of yours, and on Saturday the admission fee is discounted, and if anybody is interested, you have a stack of flyers on the center table. And you hope that everyone has a good week.

You look at Bucky while finishing up your little monologue, giving a half-smile that’s for the whole class, but seemingly only directed at him. He blinks slowly, and when he opens his eyes again, you’re looking somewhere else.

***

“Morning, pal, you ready to go?”

Steve gives him a hopeful smile as he peels an orange.

Bucky’s hair is still wet from his shower, dripping water onto his shirt. It’s early, too early to go anywhere. He doesn’t even know why he’s awake- usually after his wake-of-dawn runs, he falls back asleep, or lies down and just stares at his ceiling, thinking, until he grows restless enough to get up and do something. But today, the restlessness came much sooner, so he got up much sooner, and it might already be a mistake.

He takes a seat at the kitchen island, next to Sam, trying to think of something that Steve might have had planned for today, and coming up completely empty. “Go where?”

Steve looks hurt, for a brief second. “The exhibition at the museum, remember?”

Oh.

That.

“I’m not going to that,” Bucky says, harshly enough for it to be dropped.

Steve does not drop it. “Hey, come on. Just look at it.”

From his back pocket, Steve pulls out a flyer, one of the flyers you had out on Monday, folded up in a neat square- when did Steve pick one of those up? He holds it out, and Bucky, wishing he was asleep again, takes it.

He unfolds it, and the words are written in tiny letters, and the few photos on the paper are in color but too grainy to make out, and it gives him a slight headache, but he pretends to look it over. Sam leans into him to see it, loudly crunching cereal in Bucky’s ear.

“Looks cool, Rogers,” Sam says, and Steve grins, and now Bucky is the bad guy in the situation, for not wanting to go, even though Sam isn’t going either.

Bucky passes the flyer back without reading a single word.

“I’m not going,” he says, again.

But Steve is relentless. He sets the orange peels aside and gives him a look, and Bucky can already feel his resolve starting to crumble, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. Does he not understand that Bucky is already doing as much as he can?

“Why not?”

He picks the easiest answer.

“I don’t want to.”

Steve’s brow furrows as he splits the orange into two, giving half to Bucky. Sam slurps the milk from his cereal bowl.

They’re all blissfully silent.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve says suddenly, almost begging. “I really want to see it.”

“I don’t-” He falters, he’s losing the battle. “How many people are there gonna be?”

Steve lights up. Bucky tries to stay indignant, tries to keep his face twisted in dislike, but it’s difficult with Steve. He’s always so full of optimism, has so much of it that it spills out through the seams, rubs off onto whoever’s closest.

“Not that many,” Steve says, like a promise, shaking his head. “That’s why we should go now.”

“Will she be there?”

Sam perks up.

Steve frowns. “No? Or wait, maybe. It’s a public place- I don’t know. She could be.”

It’s miles off from the answer he wants, but again, for Steve, he’ll take it. Bucky ignores Sam leaning across the counter like an idiot and asking “who’s she?” and eats his orange slices in silence.

***

Huge, bulbous heads, and beady little eyes. The limbs are long and wavy and contorted in the weirdest positions, seas of arms and legs and joints, women twisted over each other in gnarled embraces, a man with his arms twirling over and over again around his own torso. And the colors- a complete eclectic mess of everything- blue, red, yellow, green, purple. Everything.

You walk through the museum floor one, two, three times. The paintings on display are unsettling and ugly, and you’re on the verge of tears.

They’re gorgeous. Pain thrown on a canvas, told through canvas. It’s overwhelming- you’re overwhelmed, and you can’t do anything else about it. The museum just opened and there’s barely any people around- you can wallow in your sadness as much as you want to, for now.

Or maybe you’ll wallow in your frustration, instead.

This… you want to create like this.  

But you don’t have it.  

It being an impossible, nearly unattainable type of pain, or misery or anger or any other emotion so strong and visceral that you could translate it into something like this, something that evokes something else from other people. From an audience.

You might have had something like that once, but that’s all too far behind you now. Forgettable. What you need right now is an idea, a spark of inspiration, a single coherent thought. A confirmation that you aren’t completely lost.

You wander back to a painting in a far corner, all alone in a small alcove. A red woman, with her head nestled in green grass and legs wrapping around the sun, quite literally head over heels for it. Her mouth is wide open, gaping, calling, wailing, maybe. She has a hooked nose and a mole on one of her arms, and her white dress has fallen down to pool on the grass, and her legs are lithe and unshaven, prickly like the grass, just like the yellow spikes of the sun, drawn almost comically.

How do you even- how do you even come up with things like this?

By living an interesting life, probably. Through not being boring.

You stay there for a while. Long enough that more people start to file in, pretentious art students wearing all black, eccentric people with awesome haircuts, tourists. They peer over your shoulders, awkwardly, waiting for you to move. When you don’t, they leave you to be, giving you a rude look or two that you pay no mind to. There’s space on either side of you, if they’re so desperate to see. Sidling up right against you is kind of weird, but you’ll excuse it, for this painting.

Eventually, you realize that you should probably get going.

You’ve been standing so long that your legs are starting to ache, and there’s countless other Saturday errands you have to run- doing your laundry, buying groceries, calling up your mom- boring Saturday things to do.

You leave the red woman, regrettably. The fabric of your sleeve comes back dry when you wipe your eyes, even though you feel fully washed away, feel like you’re floating as you drift over to the elevator.

The doors slide open and a few people file out, and then it’s empty, thankfully. You step inside, press the button for the ground floor, wait for the doors to fully close-

“Wait,” a voice calls.

You’re not rude- you press the button to hold open the door.

When it fully opens, Steve steps inside, followed by Bucky.

You’re still out of it. You don’t even realize who they are, not until the doors have slid shut and the floor jolts as the elevator starts its descent and they’ve been staring at you for a solid five seconds.

“Oh, hi,” you say, after too much silence. You need to get yourself together. “You guys came!”

Put a little pep in your step! And more joy in your voice- nobody wants to listen to someone so drained.

Steve shrugs. “I wanted to see it.”

Bucky just smolders, clearly saying with his silence, “I didn’t.”

“Did you like it?”

Steve considers your question. The elevator stops at another floor and the doors slide open, but there’s nobody waiting to step inside. You wait for Steve to gather his words together, sure that he’s trying to come up with a nice way to voice whatever he’s thinking, which is definitely not nice. There’s no way that he liked the art, not one chance.

“It was… intriguing,” he says, at last. Neither of them are wearing hats today, because the museum doesn’t allow it. Even in this artificial light, his hair shines, golden-blond. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you say, without wasting a second. “The one of the red woman- it’s probably the best thing I’ve seen all year.”

“It’s only January,” Bucky grumbles.

His voice shocks you, sends an ice-cold jolt up your spine that you definitely dislike.

Steve turns to him, peering over your shoulder, surprised and disappointed. The two of them have a silent conversation with their eyes and you stand in the midst of it, waiting for the goosebumps to settle back down, waiting for the chill to go away.

It’s difficult- he clearly doesn’t like you, either- and even if he has his own troubling little backstory, which you don’t care enough about to google, it’s not justified.

But…

It almost makes his aggression... amusing.

“It is January,” you say politely, dismissing him. “Great observation.”

The elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors side open. You exit in step with Steve, with Bucky right on your heels.

You all stand around in the museum lobby, a wide hallway down from the giftshop and a small cafe.

“Are you headed out?” Steve asks. He puts his hands in his pockets, feet planted wide.

Bucky crosses his arms. He’s wearing all black. If it were anyone else, you would make a joke- he could almost pass off as a pretentious art student, if the outlines of his body weren’t so visible through his clothes, all taut muscle and sharp angles. His hair curls over his shoulders, prettier than anything you’ve seen on any girl.

These guys are Avengers, you think, and proceed to push the thought away.

They look so… un-Avenger-y.

“Um.” You press a hand against your forehead, trying to formulate a response. Chores suddenly seem miles away, the last thing you should be doing. You have all of Sunday to complete them, anyway.

“I was going to get something to eat from the cafe first,” you say, nodding over in its direction. “You guys wanna join me?”

You don't know why you look at Bucky when you say it

“Sure!” Steve says, all cheery, still standing alongside you. He smiles and his teeth are pearly white.

Of course his teeth are pearly white. Dentists everywhere are probably cowering, clutching their little metal instruments for dear life.

Then he hesitates, and turns to Bucky. “If you have nothing else to do, I mean.”

Bucky pauses. You and Steve both stare him down.

“They have these raspberry-almond muffins that are to die for,” you say, like it’ll convince him.

He rolls his eyes. Bored and still gorgeous- if only.

“I’m free,” he says, and you don’t know why he looks at you when he says it.

You pay the bored teenager working the cash register with cash. He gives you your change, and when he turns away to prepare your order, you shove half of the bills and all of your coins into the tip jar.

Bucky sits at the farthest table with Steve. His knees can barely fit underneath it, and the tabletop is sticky, and he’s now willingly spending more time here, and with no disguise there is no way that he isn’t going to be recognized by someone, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t fully booked it yet.

Because…

He doesn’t know.

Maybe because you’re not asking for anything from him, aren’t minding that he’s sullen or unapproachable or anything else- his presence seems to be enough for you, which is bothersome, and at the same time, mildly exciting.

“Are you having fun?” Steve asks, while you smile at the teenager handing you plates of muffins, little glasses of some milky-espresso-coffee drink.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks, while you start your journey back to the table, and Steve opens his mouth to respond, already bothered, and Bucky’s already guilty, but then Steve hops up to help you carry everything back.

You sit down laughing. Steve is laughing, too. The corners of your eyes crease and he can see all of your teeth, and you look at him for a split second, and then turn away before he can get a read on your expression.

He sits in silence, while you and Steve trade jokes and stories and easy banter, talking about art and local politics and all types of things he can’t bring himself to care about, things that Steve is relishing in. You’re witty, apparently, or at least quick enough to get a few quick laughs out of Steve, and Bucky would never say it, he’s barely thinking it, but he appreciates you for it.

And the muffin isn’t quite to die for, but it’s okay.

During a lull in the conversation, you break your attention away from Steve and turn back to Bucky. You look concerned, almost, still smiling but without showing all of your teeth, leaning towards him like you’re about to tell him a secret.

“I never apologized for before,” you say, and Bucky immediately sits up on edge.

Even Steve goes wary, eyes narrowing.

You suddenly give a long, weary sigh, and press a hand against the back of your neck, like whatever you’re about to say is going to be so tedious. “For my friend flipping out when she saw you guys- she’s literally crazy, she’s always doing too much- but on her behalf, I’m sorry.”

The silence following afterwards is deafening.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, after a long moment, while you’re still looking at Bucky- your eyes make his skin itch, and he doesn’t say anything else. “She’s not the worst that we’ve gotten.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, great,” you say, and you slump back in your seat, looking away, back to your half-eaten muffin. You pick off an almond from the top and eat it. “Glad we got that out of the way. I just thought it would be weird if I didn’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, so polite, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve his thanks. “Have you known her for a long time?”

“Yes, oh my god,” you say, and readjust yourself in your chair again, accidentally bumping your knee against Bucky’s, but not apologizing for it. He glances underneath the table, at your entire bare knee, visible through a rip in your jeans. “Rina- her name is Rina- was my college roommate for a while.”

“You went to college?” Steve asks.

“I have an art degree,” you say dryly, “which was… an okay decision, I guess. Sometimes I think I should have just dropped out and done, like, stand-up or something.”

You clearly don’t want to discuss it, leaving the last part as some sort of rhetorical joke. Steve takes the hint and nods, already closing the chapter, and you take a sip from your little glass, finally silent. The foam on the top of the drink sticks to your mouth until you lick it off. Bucky replies to it anyway.

“Why stand-up?”

You turn to him so fast that he almost misses you faltering, and give him a dazzling smile. He thinks of your bare knee under the table, and tries not to sweat. “Because I’m funny, Bucky.”

He doesn’t like how his name sounds when you say it. “Tell me a joke.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, and clasp your hands together. Steve is watching, rapt at attention. “Let me think real quick- oh, I have one. Which beverage has a black belt in karate?”

Bucky waits.

You wait, expecting something from him.

It’s Steve that has to say, “I don’t know, which beverage?”

“Fruit punch,” you say, exaggerating the last part, and Bucky just keeps on waiting.

Steve cracks a small smile.

“Let me tell you another,” you say. “What type of phone does a piece of fruit carry?”

Steve takes a few wild guesses. He’s enjoying this, and you are too, both of you feeding off of each other. “A phone-fruit. A fruit-phone. A frone?”

You shake your head. “A blackberry.”

Bucky doesn’t tell you that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“Tough crowd,” you say, when he doesn’t react. “Don’t worry, I have more. Where do you go on red and stop on green?”

“Where?’ Steve asks, waiting, leaning forward in anticipation.

“When you’re eating a watermelon!”

It is not funny, it’s painfully unfunny, and maybe that’s why you and Steve burst out laughing. Bucky steals a glance at your watch, since he doesn’t wear one of his own. It’s nearing noon- how has so much time passed? Why is he still even here when he doesn’t even like you?

“Why are all of them about fruit?”

You look at him like his question is the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. “What food is the best listener?”

Bucky just sits. All the foam in his little espresso thing has dissolved, having been left untouched. He doesn’t like the taste of coffee- too bitter, and caffeine doesn’t work on him, anyway. Maybe he should drink it, because you paid for it, and because you didn’t make a comment about old-fashioned manners or chivalry when Steve offered to at first, just shrugged and got in line.

He knows that you won’t care.

The drink sits on its own, glass beading with condensation.

“Corn is the best listener,” you say, without waiting for Steve to throw his questions or guesses at you, without waiting for Bucky to spit out another sentence. “Because it’s all ears.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he says, and glares at the spot beside your head.

You nod sympathetically, and he thinks again of the rips in your jeans. “I know. But it was about a vegetable.”

Oh.

You stare at him straight-faced, crossing your arms over your chest. Steve does the same, and then he realizes- the two of you are a bunch of kids, punks, juveniles- mocking his stature, pretending to be serious, somehow not offending him.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says. “You’re…”

He can’t even help it. He looks back at you  and his face works on its own. He gives a single, dry chuckle, but he’s smiling, and dragging his hand over his face, scrubbing it off just as fast, but you still see it, and smile back and gently nudge his knee again underneath the table, and then turn back away again, and he’s still staring at your hair while you take big bite out of your to-die-for raspberry-almond muffin, already back in conversation with Steve.

[artificialqueens]

Until the Flavor's Gone, 18/? (Biadore) - Kitschy Pixel

A/N: Well. Hello. I realize it’s been a very long time. I’ve been busy and also? This chapter was just a pain for so many reasons. I hope it was worth the wait though! Many thanks to Veronica for looking over this and making sure it wasn’t just a garbled mess. Feel free to follow me @kitschypixel because sometimes I post stuff.

In this chapter, it’s time to face the aftermath of the night before, and everyone does a little bit of soul searching. Let’s talk about feelings, shall we?

No real warnings expect for the usual excessive swearing, references to drug use, and a reminder that everyone flirts with everyone.

Chapter 18

Shane felt good. Nope. Shane felt great. Sated, satisfied, sensuous, salacious, showered. He felt it all right now and it was nothing short of fantastic. He hummed to himself as he leisurely walked down the hallway to Danny’s hotel room, his gait turning into a skip as he rushed to catch the very person he had to thank for his wonderful evening.

Roy lifted his head and instinctively wrapped an arm around as Shane bounded into him, chin to his shoulder and nose to his neck. “You’re chipper. Feel better?”

“Fan-tas-tic…” Shane purred before he pulled away and took Roy’s face in his palms. “You’re an angel.”

“Haven’t heard that one before,” Roy quipped, fingers tapping on Shane’s wrists. “I need to get going.”

Shane rolled his eyes and offered up a cheeky little grin that made his eyes sparkle a little with mischief. “Right. Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”

“It’s tempting,” Roy mused, just short of under his breath, flicking his eyes to Shane’s face to gauge his reaction. Shane shrugged, sparing Roy his opinion, smacking his lips together instead as he leaned back against the hotel door. Roy raised an eyebrow, “That it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, right.”

Shane lifted his hands up in surrender. “Listen. If you want to spend the rest of your life with generic underwear model number 5, you certainly don’t have to fight for my blessing. Do what you want as long as you’re happy,” he paused for a beat, pursed his lips and tilted his head. “Are you happy?”

Roy stumbled a bit on his answer, which was still wrought with sarcasm, “Sunshine and roses.”

Shane snorted back a laugh before curling his upper lip over his teeth and clamping his mouth shut tight. He mulled it all over, taking in the way Roy dawdled about and searched for ways to extend the conversation. “Okay…” he hummed. “If you’re dead set on ruining my wonderful night by needing my opinion, let’s head to the lobby.”

“Oh please, you love giving your opinion…”

Shane flicked Roy lightly on the cheek in protest but said nothing else as they both headed to the elevator. Their trip to the lobby was quiet, and the conversation didn’t pick back up until Roy checked his phone, making a show at calculating how much time he had left.

“You could just not go, you know. Just stay here. We can find space for you in one of the rooms.”

“Choose Boston over New Orleans?”

“Or choose spending time with friends who care about you instead of some petulant brat who wants to make you something you already said you aren’t,” Shane shot back, which made Roy laugh as he sat back into one of the lobby sofas that was a bit too stiff and a bit too deep to be reasonably comfortable. He chose to slouch at an odd angle to keep his feet touching the ground as Shane curled up beside him, elbow on the cushion above Roy’s head.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? My expert advice on your shit relationship?” Shane asked with a smile and a few coy bats of his eyelashes. “Remind me what you did that prompted this rather sudden trip to New Orleans that just had to happen when two of your closest friends – one you’ve had a past sexual relationship with and the other you could have had if you weren’t such a coward – ah!” He reached out and pressed his finger to Roy’s lips and shushed the protest, “Don’t argue with me when I’m making a point. Which was… oh yes! Your sudden need to leave town because we were going to be in New York and wanted to see you.” He snapped his fingers and looked heavenward. “A small vacation in your home town just seems like a very big apologetic gesture for you… and for what? Getting jerked off by some stranger in a bar bathroom?”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘cheating’,” Roy remarked as he stared blankly at the exit, suddenly reconsidering if he should have stayed for this.

“Cheating? I’m sorry, did you actually promise to be exclusive with this one? You never do that.”

“I… no. It was just… eventually assumed,” Roy closed his eyes to ignore the sharp ‘by him’ that Shane inserted before continuing, “I was hoping this would work.”

“Why? Do you actually see a future with this guy?”

Roy shrugged a shoulder, whispering a soft ‘probably not’.

“Mmm… okay.” Roy shifted a bit as Shane seemed to absent-mindedly play with his hair, the pads of his fingers brushing his ear in a way that Roy was fine with. “You wanna know what I think?” Shane grinned at Roy’s eye roll. “I think you can find better ways to spend your time than trying to keep up with some young trade that’s… what? Ten years younger? Who you’re just going to get bored with because he wants to challenge you in all the wrong ways.”

“I’ve been with younger.”

“Yeah, I know. They’re sleeping upstairs. Also? Not my point.” Shane frowned as he tilted his head. “Be honest with me. Why try to make this work? Why do you even want to? You’re not exactly the long term relationship type. Is it about sex, loneliness? What?”

Roy jerked his head away slightly to shimmy upwards so his back could be a little straighter. He pressed his lips tightly together to delay speaking for just a few more minutes and Shane began to think he just wasn’t going to answer. Then, slowly, with a voice uncharacteristically soft, he replied, “I don’t want to be that guy–” he gestured upwards before Shane got a chance to implore further. “The guy who does that to someone.”

Shane’s lips twitched into a smile as the pieces to Roy’s predicament started to click together and he shook his head. “Well look at you, growing a conscience… and you can’t even do that right.” He ignored Roy’s scoff and continued, talking over any argument that Roy had ready, “You are not the same as Danny’s ex. You didn’t make promises and you didn’t lie when you got caught breaking them. You just did what you always do. You decided to like a guy, got bored, and fessed up. You don’t need to make yourself miserable with someone who wants some different version of you to prove yourself. Some of us like you just the way you are.”

Roy wrinkled his nose a bit, pressing his tongue to the side of his cheek before he sat back up and stretched, cracking his back. “Well… that was gross and sappy.”

“You wanted my opinion!”

“Yeah. I thought you were going to be an asshole. Not pull this Mr. Rogers shit.”

Shane lightly swatted Roy on the arm, “See if I help you again then, you dusty old cunt!”

Roy caught Shane’s hand and pulled him forward into some kind of half hug, index finger to his chin as he released him. His eyes sparkled with a look that stirred up memories of flirting during fittings and the exchange of phone numbers from years ago. Shane squirmed a little and in a flash, it was gone as Roy broke away and gathered himself up to finally leave.

“Are you going to make your flight?”

Roy shook his head, a strange smile playing at the edge of his lips as he slung his carry on bag over his shoulder, “What flight?”

Shane’s eyes widened as he caught on quick, “Ahhhh,” he held up a finger and aimed it towards Roy, whose smile only turned into a wicked little smirk as if he was the most clever person in the world, “You never had to re-route a flight, did you?” Roy shook his head, “Because you two have already broken up.” A nod. Shane lifted his foot in a poorly executed kick in Roy’s direction, barely brushing his knee. “When?”

“After you called. We had a fight. I might’ve told him he wouldn’t be so insecure if he put out more. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s a bit of a blur.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“Yes, well…” Roy just made a vague hand gesture into the wind and shrugged the whole thing off. “Don’t tell him, okay?”

“What? That you’re a dick? I’m pretty sure he already knows, but I’ll pull it from the newsletter.”

Roy rolled his eyes and shook his head, “No. I mean… you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” Shane leaned forward with his chin on his knuckles and an angelic smile on his face, “Your secret’s safe for now. Go. Be a free, single man! Even though you could easily just stay here and be free and single with us.”

“Can’t. I do have an actual ride back that I need to get to before he leaves without me.”

“Ooooh, what kind of ride? Do I know him? Is he cute?”

“None of your fucking business!”

“So you should introduce me!”

“You wish!”

Shane blew a kiss and winked from where he was still perched as Roy retreated towards the door with a cackle and a middle finger. Shane watched him disappear, blinking a few times when he realized he was biting lightly at his bottom lip and wiped the slightly goofy grin from his face. He cleared his throat and looked upwards before making his way back to Danny’s room to provide a much needed wake-up call.

––––

The first thing Danny became aware of was the smell of a very familiar coconut-based body wash that seemed to wrap around him and make him smile. He groaned and dissolved into a fit of giggles seconds later, wiping at his cheek and craning his neck to grin at his new guest. “If you’re gonna use tongue to wake me, just give me a blow job.”

There was a light laugh and a soft hum as the arms around his waist loosened a little with a playful nip at his ear. “Crude but tempting. I’ll consider it for next time.”

“Finally,” Danny replied with a dreamy sigh before another set of giggles bubbled forward. He pulled away so he could turn over, facing a rather blissful Shane laying next to him. “You look happy.”

“I’m just relieved you got some proper sleep.”

“Shut up. You got dick.”

Shane wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out before sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. “Lady never tells.”

“Good thing you’re a slut. Fess up! Was he hot?”

“Gorgeous. Didn’t mind the drag either, which saved a lot of time for other things. Okay kisser, nice dick, great sex – very eager – and I still had time to shower before getting back here. Ideal night.”

“I’m glad Roy could give you the night off.” Danny shot a glance to Shane’s face and watched his reaction. Shane blinked and opened his mouth to possibly deny Danny’s insinuation before simply closing it and offering a quiet apology. He curled around Shane’s lap, cheek against his thigh, “I get it, I wasn’t being fair.”

“Mmm… he didn’t scar you for life or anything, did he?”

“Who? Roy?” Danny lifted his head a little as Shane hummed again in affirmation. “No,” Danny continued, pressing his lips tightly together before rolling onto his back and staring at the hotel ceiling. “He was actually not bad given… you know… the emotions.”

“I see he got you to wash your hair, though.”

“Ugh. He helped me wash it in the empty bathtub. It was so gross and humiliating. I cried about everything.” Danny paused for a beat to cringe, lip curling up in disgust with himself as the memories from the night before washed over him in a fresh, chilled wave of shame. He closed his eyes tightly and groaned, bringing his fingers to his eyes and pressing hard against them. “Fuck… I don’t know how I’m going to face him again.”

Shane reached over to gently wrap Danny’s freshly cleaned hair around the tip of his index finger before sighing, “He’s probably been in similar or worse circumstances, you know.”

“Yeah… funny how that doesn’t make me feel any better,” Danny spat out a little before he dropped his hand to his side and tilted his head a little to catch Shane’s slight eye roll. “Fuck. And I’m still being an asshole to you.”

“A bit, yeah…”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Danny’s eyes combed through the rather passive expression on Shane’s face – searching out an answer that the current silence wasn’t giving him before he propped himself up onto his elbows and groaned again. “Yeah, don’t answer that,” he muttered before he shimmied himself up slowly to sit upright, only to hunch forward and stare at himself in the obnoxiously large mirror that was across from them both.

The silence persisted until finally, Shane spoke up – slow and deliberate and delicate. “Question. Was it really that terrible to see him last night?”

“Yes!” Danny rolled his eyes, the light smile tempering the horror he still clutched to tightly. “I felt like such a child. You try getting a sponge bath from a guy you used to fuck, see how you feel.”

“Hot.”

“Oh fuck off. Don’t make it weird.”

“Mmm… think it’s a bit late for that.”

Danny pressed his middle finger to his temple, laughing in spite of himself before giving voice to a thought that’d laid dormant from when he first saw Roy again last night to now. “Hey… how’d you even get him here?”

“Oh, easy. I asked.”

“… so… you didn’t tell him about… was it Philly?”

“Cleveland.”

“Fuck. I knew it.”

“And no, I didn’t.” Shane sighed, reaching out to fuss with some stray strands of Danny’s hair. “I just told him I was worried. That’s all.” He tilted his head as he watched Danny visibly process the information. “You know how it is. You badger him enough and he can be reliable to a fault.”

Danny dropped the subject with a quiet, ‘yeah��, before shifting to the present with a few slow blinks and small shake to his head. “Made me realize this tour was a bad idea…” He picked up his phone and stared at it.

“You need a moment alone?”

“No..” Danny shifted so he could curl against Shane with the phone to his ear, finding an anchor as he waited for his tour manager to answer.

––––

The months after Boston, Danny had been dealing with the aftermath – clawing out of rock bottom and facing the consequences. He’d been so busy trying to do damage control so he could pick up his tour once it was rescheduled that he neglected one little loose end that he knew he had to handle at some point.

Roy.

He’d been ignoring the text messages so far, not really ready to relive the humiliation of that night in the form of an apology he knew he owed. And when he saw Roy’s status on social media turn to “single”? Well… now he just felt guilty, as if he’d somehow been at fault (even if that was irrational).

So he’d gone through his day to day, checking his phone when a message pinged, trying to get his attention, and every time thinking “I should reply”, before overthinking it and then saying nothing at all. That is, until:

Call me.

It was weird for Roy to be so blunt, and the more he looked at it, the more he began to panic a little. What if there was something serious? What if he was hurt or someone they knew was in the hospital? The number of scenarios running through Danny’s head as he stared at those two words got more and more outlandishly dire until finally…

“Hello?”

“You said ‘call me’, are you okay? Is someone dead? Do I need to fight someone? What happened?”

“No one’s dead. I just wanted to talk to you, calm down.”

Danny’s panic left him in a slow sigh as Roy started giggling through the phone, “Shut up! Everyone knows that ‘call me’ with a period means there’s like… someone’s dead and you might need an alibi level of emergency!”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone!”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but everything is fine. Gotcha on the phone though.”

Danny sat still on his bed, squinting at nothing, just picturing the shit eating grin plastered on Roy’s face. “You fucking dick.”

There was a cackle on the other side, which helped break this weird tension in Danny’s chest as he started to recline back into his bed. Of course Roy would make it easy – for Danny to just slide past the consequences and back into the jokes and random rambling that kept them friends. No expectations of apologies or explanations. Just a reset button and a fresh start.

And Danny couldn’t do it.

He was quiet as Roy’s laughter petered out in soft little giggles, took a breath, and braced himself for ice water.

“Sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Eh,” Danny could hear Roy shuffle his phone from one ear to another, “It’s fine–”

“It’s not though!” Danny shot up and started to pace. “It was a shit thing to do…”

“Dan-”

“No! No. I… gotta do this.” He took a breath and sat back down, still fidgeting as he tried to focus on what he’d been trying to script for the past few months. When that failed, he winged it. “I was embarrassed that you like… showed up and saw me like that. It’s not your job to like… take care of me or whatever the fuck – and don’t say it’s no big deal because it fucking is! It wasn’t fun, it wasn’t cute, I was a fucking nightmare and – would you stop laughing for two seconds!?”

Roy’s giggles had started up again in the midst of Danny baring his soul – be it from disbelief, nerves from the seriousness of the moment, or maybe a mixture of the two. Danny could hear him clear his throat and take a pause before urging him to continue with a very soft ‘go on’.

“Thank you, what was I saying?”

“I think you were being way too harsh on yourself.”

“Oh yeah? And how do you figure that?”

There was another long pause and Danny could picture Roy’s hesitance. But Danny stood his ground. This conversation wasn’t going to end just because Roy didn’t want to have it.

“Everyone does stupid shit in the midst of a break-up. So maybe your stupid shit involved you getting high as fuck and not bathing for longer than usual. And maybe you fucking freaked out Courtney, which I guess freaked out me because – Jesus Christ – what were you taking that was freaking out Courtney of all people? So yeah, maybe I wasn’t overly thrilled to be like… hosing you down in a hotel bathroom because you were smelling like sweat and corn chips but… it happened. Because I was worried a little bit. Okay? So like… it’s fine.”

“But it’s not fine.”

“Did I just reset this conversation? What the fuck are you looking for?”

Danny groaned, biting his lip before heaving a huge sigh to finally put words towards something that had been weighing on him for months. “That trip… you coming to see me… you said you and what’s-his-face were… not fine, but like… going to be okay. Or you were making it work. Or… something. And then after… next thing I know, you guys broke up…”

“Okay? What about it?”

“Did you break up because you came to see me? Because I know he wasn’t really thrilled about like… our past or whatever and– and you’re fucking laughing again!”

Roy sucked back his giggles and with a high pitched ‘sorry’, allowed Danny to continue. Danny huffed and then blurted out the last part of his sentence, “Anyway, if you need me to talk to him, to like, tell him that nothing happened between us aside from me making an absolute ass out of myself, I can… or whatever.”

The cackles that erupted made Danny’s cheeks burn and he pouted at his phone. “Or you can just laugh at me!”

“No! No no no… okay. I’m sorry. Alright? I’m sorry for laughing. Hold on.” Roy sucked back a breath and let his voice settle after a few exaggerated renditions of “I’m not laughing at you.” As Danny was about to call bullshit, Roy had managed to wrestle his voice back to a natural pitch. “No! I’m serious. I’m not laughing at you. It has… nothing to do with you, really. Any of it.”

“Any of it?”

“Not a bit.”

“So… you mean… you didn’t break up because he was a jealous twat?”

“Oh, no. We broke up for that exact reason and then some, but it absolutely had nothing to do with me coming to see you.”

“Oh… so… when you said that things were going to be fine?”

“I don’t actually recall you asking if things were fine between me and him. You asked if I was happy. Those are two different things.”

Danny frowned as he tried his best to shuffle through the rather muddled events from that night, and upon coming up with nothing, he conceded. “I don’t remember now…”

“Right,” Roy remarked, the smile conveyed in his voice. “Is this what you’ve been torturing yourself with these past few months?”

“I… maybe?”

“Uh huh.” The silence between the both of them had settled and stretched, past the point of awkward into familiar, before finally, Roy spoke up again. “So… are we actually good now?”

“Yeah…”

“Great. So do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Can we take a break from talking about our feelings for like… awhile? Because frankly, it’s fucking exhausting. I’m not built for this bullshit.”

That got Danny to laugh, and amidst his giggles, he managed to voice an enthusiastic “Deal!” before they said their goodbyes.

[calumbringbackthewatermelonshirt]

Angel Baby (L.H.)

a/n: oh yeah shaking it up with a Luke piece instead of cal. who am I? any who, please enjoy another mediocre beginning and weak finish story by yours truly

“It’s time for a change.”

You jumped as Luke slammed a bag of groceries onto your kitchen island, raising an eyebrow at his theatrics.

“O-kay?” These kinds of declarations were no stranger in your household, seeing as Luke went through a personality crisis at LEAST once per month. Still, you always heard him out, since 9 times out of 10 you had to gently persuade him away from doing whatever he was going to do, including stopping him from shaving his eyebrows.

Honestly, you had no idea what he would do without you.

“Throughout the history of this band, I have always been the relatively ‘safe’ one. Conservative, very blah-blah.” You sighed, internally pinching the bridge of your nose. So this ‘change’ now came with a long-winded speech. It was tough getting a word in edgewise, considering Luke’s impressive lung capacity that accompanied being the lead singer of the band. “I’ve never had a tattoo, spontaneous shave of my head, or even a huge engagement announcement.”

Okay, now you were interested. The word engagement kinda set you on edge now, not in a bad way, of course. But you and Luke had been going on about three years together now, and you knew people that had gotten married after one. The word had prompted you to sit up more, placing your arms on the back or the couch and resting your chin on your hands.

“To this boring life, I say no more. I have decided.”

You raised your eyebrows in anticipation.

“We’re dying my hair.”

You deflated a little but honestly weren’t too disappointed. With the dramatics Luke went through for something as simple as hair dye, you figured the proposal would have to be HUGE.

Still, one thing at a time, you supposed.

“Oh. Listen, I totally support you 100 percent, but are you sure you’re not gonna have an identity crisis? I mean, you’re hungover Jesus. You’re the angel baby! Golden curls are literally trademarked by you.” You climbed over the back of the couch, foregoing the three steps it would take you to walk around. It was a wise choice for you to wear sweatpants and an old t-shirt today.

Yet when you peaked into the bag that Luke had slammed onto the counter, you weren’t sure you actually had to worry about an identity crisis.

“Um, babe.”  You took the boxes into your hands, each one almost the exact same.

“Yes, darling?” Luke looked up from the cabinet he had been digging in, trying to find a bowl to mix his dye in.

“You do know that you bought all blonde hair dye, right?” All the boxes had the same generic but awful names, like ‘beeswax and honey’ or ‘sun kissed golden rays of pure sunshine.’

“Um, yeah. That’s like the whole point.” Luke gave you a dumb look then resumed rummaging in the cabinet, undoubtedly ruining all your perfectly organized shelves.

“Okay, so that begs the question. You do know you’re already blonde, correct?” Honestly, your boyfriend sometimes.

“Yes, I am aware of my own hair color.” Luke stood. Apparently, he had finally selected an adequate mixing container. “I just wanted something different, but nothing too drastic.”

“Sure. Okay babe. Whatever you say.” You gathered the numerous boxes of hair dye into your arms, which was no easy task, considering how many there were, and stumbled your way into the bathroom. There you dumped all of the dyes onto the counter and started running the hot water so it’d be warm whenever Luke managed his way in here.

“Welcome to the salon I guess,” you sassed as you extended your arms and spun in a circle, although you accidentally smacked Luke in the chest since you were in the smaller hall bathroom and not your own.

Petunia let out a happy bark at the sound of Luke’s yelp. Luke just made sad eye contact with her as if to say ‘why would you betray me like this?’

“Alright you giant, lean over so I can wet your hair.” Luke obliged while you busied yourself mixing the bleach and putting on the proper gloves. You were not ready for accidental bleach burns, not today thank you. Still, it was almost relaxing, massaging first the water, then the bleach mixture through Luke’s hair. With the water running in the background, it was almost like you really WERE at the salon.  

“So, we just let it sit for what, twenty minutes?” Luke was staring at the box with a glaring intensity, as if the box had roughed him up and taken his lunch money in middle school.

“Depends on how blonde you wanna be.” You hopped up onto the counter and crossed your legs, making yourself comfy for the next probable half hour. “If it doesn’t work out for ya, you have enough hair dye for us, our clones, and piggy.”

“Alright then. Let’s start with twenty five.” Luke set the timer on his phone and took a seat on the edge of the bathtub.

“Wow, twenty five minutes huh? Someone’s feeling edgy.” Time passed quickly, between your teasing and Luke’s protesting. It made you a little nostalgic, though. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time the two of you had spent time together like this.

However, before you could really make yourself sappy, Luke timer went off, making both of you jump a bit.

“Well, Hemmings. Let’s see if you got your wish to become blonde.”

After washing, toning (which, note to self, Luke looks good in purple), and drying his hair, you had to take a step back and admire your handiwork.

“Well? How’s it look?” Luke ran a hand through his locks, having been too nervous to look straight away.

“I take back what I said earlier.” You crossed your arms and shook your head slightly, a small smirk on your face. “We’ve definitely averted an identity crisis. I’ve somehow managed to turn you into an even bigger angel baby.”

[kerwritesthings]

California Calling

Summary: It’s just what you do when you love someone

Word Count: 2,340

Warnings: fluff, a teeny tiny blip of heart hurt, but then more fluff

Author Note: Another one of those hitting me out of nowhere pieces. Maybe it’s all the pretty from this past week/weekend? Maybe? I really don’t know. I opened a word doc and next thing I knew I had 500 words, then it somehow made its way up to this 2.3k we’re sitting at now. And in like 2.5 hours? I don’t question the muse anymore. 

All I know is this little world will not let me go. I think I’m ok with that. I’ve already got two additional pieces rough sketched in my head. One that falls between part two (Warmth of the Morning) and this that is definitely a little naughtier, the other happening after this one. First part can be read here, second part here.

After that weekend together, after that afternoon when you spent more time tangled up in each other and the sheets than you expected, you made up your mind to push your flight up. Literally, the moment he was out the door to catch his flight you had your phone in hand looking at options. You want a bit more time with him, the time you had as lovely as it was, just wasn’t enough. You have the PTO at work, and if you need to pull a couple late nights and a Saturday in to do it, so be it. He is worth it.

The two of you talk, and you knew after your time in LA, it wasn’t going to be nearly as bad as the last few months had been. You have a few dates blocked out in both your calendars already that were meant for the two of you, and the two of you only - even with him not knowing exactly what his schedule was looking like.

“Don’t care,” he says, dusting a kiss to your temple as you sit on the couch next to each other, calendar and notes apps open. “I’ll schedule around it. This is important, you’re important.”

The thought of that making you smile as you start to make your plans to pull off a surprise of your own. Knowing you wouldn’t be able to pull this off alone, you think quickly of who the best cohort in your new scheme of plans would be and more so who was out in LA that could be trusted with a secret.  

Thinking about coming in early, wanna help me surprise him C? You’re the one who can make shit happen for him and not give away anything! you shoot off in a quick text before digging back into flights on phone while balancing and cross referencing your massive work planner across your knees. Finding a direct flight was harder than you thought, but if you push up a self-imposed deadline, you’d be able get out first thing Wednesday morning instead of the original late-night flight Friday. Plus, you’d still have the whole week after as originally planned.  

Good weekend then? :) Only if I get to deliver you from the airport and see Shawn fall ass over teakettle in person when you get in early. He’s been good, but you can tell how much he misses home. And you. I’m in, so just tell me what I need to do and when. Nothing’s crazy the week leading into the show just writing and studio time, so we can make things work. Will be good to see you, been too long!

You smile, grateful that his work family has in turn become an extension of yours.

Thanks – looking at flights now and seeing what I can do with the office. Stay tuned and will text you everything shortly. You’re a good man.

After a bit of maneuvering on your side with a promise to your boss, who is a saint and adores your boyfriend, that you’d be available via phone or text and only in the dire case of any blow ups those few extra days all the things began to fall into place. Now, to keep this close to the chest and not give anything away.

The night before you’re due to leave, you almost slip.

“You’re avoiding me,” he whines through the speaker of your phone. “Don’t pick up my FaceTime, ignore my first call, leave my texts on read. I see how it is.”

You know he’s joking, but you also can hear the slight tinge of disappointment backing his voice. It’s been a bit of a chase the last few days. Quick calls, most of which miss each other, texts on the fly and no FaceTime.

“I’m sorry baby. I’m trying to get all this work done before I leave,” you say, throwing some of your last-minute purchases into the open suitcase on your bed, including another little surprise for him. “No distractions while I’m out there. Just you, me and that LA sunshine.”

“I know, and I don’t mean to sound petulant. I’m sorry,” he sighs and takes a breath. “We haven’t had a ships passing in the night beat like this since the thick of the last tour block. I’m feeling stuck on things in the studio though everyone says it’s solid and, shit I just miss you honey.”

You plop on the edge of the bed, running a hand over your face. It hurts your heart hearing him this way, but you know all this is for a reason. You cannot tell him; it’s going to be all worth it tomorrow morning when he walks into the studio to you. “I’m going to finish this last thing and then pull together a playlist for you. Some stuff I’ve been noodling on, some old favorites, couple off that sleepy playlist of mine you swear up and down you don’t like, but I know you listen to. I’ll listen to it too, so it’ll feel like we’re together cuddled down listening to it. We’re almost there. Couple more days and nights, then I’m there.”

“I love you,” he says easily, full of affection. You could hear the vestiges of whatever was eating at him starting to slip away. You say your goodnights and you were both off. The playlist wasn’t something you planned on, but it shouldn’t take you too long to pull together. Plus, you could sleep in the car on the way to the airport and on the plane. Making him feel better, feel loved – the loss of a little sleep was nothing compared to that.

Landing in Los Angeles is always something that brings a special feeling, it’s a strange mix of trepidation and excitement. Luckily there was no issues with the flight, so you land on time and can make it through the gates towards baggage claim fairly unscathed. As you made your way down the escalator, there in sunglasses and a hat to blend in with the other drivers awaiting passengers, with your name on a sign and a Starbucks in hand, is your partner in crime.

“You didn’t need to come in,” you say chuckling before wrapping him in a hug.

“Your boy would box my ears if I did a drive by pick up and you know that,” he quips, kissing your cheek before trading your bag for the Starbucks cup in his hand. “Come on, let’s get your other bag and get up to the studio. He thinks they’re swapping out some equipment so that’s why they have to have a later start.”

“Genius call, and he’d only believe that from you. He’s got no clue, does he?” you ask with a Cheshire cat grin as the carousel starts to spin.

Making your way through the masses and to the garage wasn’t too much of a time suck, you were still on target. It was LA so there was going to be traffic no matter what, but landing as early as you did was a at least a little helpful since you were heading straight across town and then some since the boys made the new place by the beach home base for this go.

“Should I be worried that you’re quiet? Normally you’re talking my ear off by now if we haven’t seen each other in this long,” he asks, the care tinging through his tone as he makes his way up onto the PCH.

You shake your head, “No, no not at all Cez, sorry. Late night last night, late nights all last week to make this happen. All worth it though when I see his face.”

He reaches over,  squeezing the hand resting on the cup between you. “I’m glad you have each other and love each other the way you do. I always worried he’d not find his person, so wrapped up in the work and so focused. I remember the day after he met you the first time. He had a different smile that morning. I knew right away, even when he probably didn’t. You were something special for him, to him. You understand and respect this crazy bullshit we’re in, which takes a whole other level of care and person to get. Helps you’re a bad ass in your own right. I’m just happy he’s happy, and that you’re happy. That you’re happy together like this? Best thing.”

“Damnit don’t make me cry what little makeup I have on all off,” you sniff out. “I love him. It’s just that simple. It’s not easy, god you know that. But I would rather deal with all this than not have him and love him. Why you do the crazy shit like this.”

It’s only a few minutes later that you’re heading off the highway and winding your way through the still quiet streets. Finally, you pull up to a set of dark gates, well hidden with greenery.

“They basically took a pre-development boom location, this old 50’s old beach house with its massive garage and converted it. It’s a pretty solid setup, off the beaten path and not well known, but it’s state of the art. I can see this becoming a regular thing with the ‘shed. Plus, it’s a quick wander down to the water from here,” he explains as the gates pull back and you head through.

Your phone pings as you pull to a stop and open the car door.

Finished at the gym and off to the studio. Nothing cray so just call when you can today, love you xo <3

“Perfect timing, he’s on his way up. Have I said thank you yet Cez? Because…” you start before being wrapped up in another hug.

“You’re family, don’t even,” he says, dropping a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll go stash your bags, just head through to the studio. Door is around that cluster of birch trees. I’m also on good knowledge that big leather couch is good to curl up on for a nap. I’ll make sure to head in with him. I don’t think the rest of the guys are due in until a little after him, he wanted to work a run by himself first.”

You make your way into the studio space and it’s better than described, or from the photos Shawn has sent along. It’s so easy to see why this will fall into a place where he feels comfortable and creative. Warm wood, windows, well-worn rugs and the infamous camel colored couch. It’s easy to sink into the cool leather and down into the cushions, sliding into a dozy twilighty state – not quite sleeping but not quite awake.

You hear voices, which bring you more towards full consciousness, but you stay cozied into the couch.

“I want to get this one track done before everyone decides to come in and have opinions, thought of something last night and I just want to have it down first,” your boyfriend prattles on as you hear him push open the door, dropping what’s probably his backpack and guitar case onto the floor. “Though I think I need to hash the last of the lyrics out first, maybe. I’ve got time though.”

You see his feet first, then his legs, realizing he’s not paying attention to the couch at all or realizing that you’re there. He’s just standing there, chatting. Not a care to what’s actually behind him or a second thought to the couch whatsoever. You look past his legs, seeing the smile creeping up over Cez’s face as he realizes that Shawn still has no clue what’s awaiting him.

“You may want to kiss your girlfriend hello first though before all of that,” you try to say as seriously as possible, but break out into giggles at the end. “Surprise baby!”

He turns on his heels so quickly that he’s tangled up in himself and in a heap on the floor next to the couch, laughter peeling out from all of you in the room.

“Now that. That was totally worth it. Hope you like your gift, Shawn. Gonna leave you two alone for a bit,” Cez says with a nod before backing out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Shawn is just shaking his head, pulling himself to sit upright, before bringing his hands up to cup your face.

“You, you’re, I just. You,” he murmurs, thumbs brushing ever so carefully across your cheekbones.

“It was my turn, so. I figured go big or go home right? I figured we could use a couple extra days together before everything this weekend. It’s going to be a lot. We know that. And I knew I’d be missing you at this point. I changed my flight literally before you boarded yours back here. I still have all next week too. This is added bonus,” you reply. “I was packing when you called last night, it’s why I couldn’t hop on FaceTime. I didn’t want to give anything away. I was so close to telling you, but I knew I’d see you today. Hearing you last night though, I knew I made the right call to come out here early.”

He just looks at you so softly, so intently. Not saying anything, but still keeping his eyes on you he moves his right hand to slide into your hair, cupping your head and bringing you closer to him until you are nose to nose. Nuzzling against you ever so slightly, nose sliding against yours like a whisper, his eyes slip closed and he exhales. “I am so lucky that you love me, that you made the decision that I’m worthy of your love,” he sighs out, lips just a hair from yours. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this and you, but I’m so damn grateful. I love you, so much.”

He presses in, kissing the breath straight out of you.

Yep. It was absolutely worth it.

TAG LIST: @loveat2am, @sinplisticshawn, @hollandraul​, @whenidance​

[gvf-imagine]

Part 2

warnings:  none

word count: 4705

summary: you get a text from dreamy rock singer Josh Kiszka whom youve just met at a live show and he wants to see you tonight!

tag list: @satingrass-maidensfair @karrotkate @kakarla @love-philautia @elliestrawberries @shesdigging @callmekane @supersonic-darling @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair @justacollegestudentyay

A\N: Loved writing this chapter! I hope you all enjoy it and like always any feedback is welcome and appriciated 

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Your friend hurried back to the table.

“What happened?!” she asked, her expression hungry for details. You simply shrug.

“He invited me to their next show at some college party…..he invited you too , oh and I gave him my number” you say with a melancholy tone. Your friends' eyes were wide.

“Why do you sound depressed??” she questions

“Why are you not freaking out like me?” she adds.

“He has a girlfriend” you say, taking another drink of your lemonade.

“God I wish there was alcohol in this” you chime again, mostly to yourself.

“Ok he has a girlfriend BFD he can't like her that much if he asked you for your number” she said with a satisfied shrug.

“Yeah that's just it, I don't wanna be the reason he leaves her. I mean we literally just met like what? Twenty minutes ago? And who knows how long he's been with her” you ramble. Your friend shakes her head

“Listen, whatever happens between them is NOT your problem. If he'd leave her for a girl he just met twenty minutes ago then clearly their relationship is already trash” she states. You look at her blankly for a moment before rolling your eyes.

“You just like the drama” you retort with an eventual smile. She nods proudly as she takes another sip of her drink

“I do! AND I like the guitarist so we're going to that show at that party” she decides. You chuckle and shake your head. Honestly you were excited to hear and see him again, you really really were and it's not like you guys were gonna make out or anything. You had no plans on doing anything that would jeopardize his current relationship, the two of you were just friends so far, not even friends, just acquaintances. Being an acquaintance sounded far better than being a home-wrecking hussy.

“That reminds me” you say, settling the storm of thoughts in your mind. Your friend looked up at you.

“Josh said that Jake, that guitarist you're in love with, was staring at you the whole show”  you proclaim readying yourself for the deafening overzealous girl-ish shriek that was sure to be escaping her perfectly glossed lips at any moment.

“WHAT??!” she yelled, her aura flashed at you like the aftershock of an atom bomb.l her face lit up with excitement and yours winced with the pain of her shriek ringing in your ears.

“Sorry I said anything” you reply but it falls on deaf ears.

“Oh my god what will I wear??” she asks her eyes darting off in thought.

“Wear two stamps and Saltine cracker for all I care , just don't get your hopes up about mr. wonderful there, boys in bands aren't really known for their long healthy relationships, more like short, shameful one night stands” you say.

“Yeah I don't care” she replies quickly. You smile, of course she doesn't. You can't help but feel differently about Josh, somehow you knew he wasn't like that. Maybe that was just you getting your own hopes up. He seemed genuine but you had only just met him so you couldn't really make a fair call yet. The rest of that day was full of water, sunshine, and lingering thoughts of two boys you hardly knew.

The next day was completely different, weather-wise at least. Dark, heavy clouds hung over your town like a horrendous guilt. A, what seemed to be never ending, shower of rain fell to the ground turning every home and business in Silver City, Michigan  into a lakefront property.

“Its about time you woke up” your friend smiles as you join her in the living room. She hands you a hot cup of tea, both of you still wore your pajamas which consisted of cotton shorts and old oversized t-shirts. The sound of rain dancing on the large window made you sleepy again, noting a huge crack of thunder and lightning couldn't solve though. Your body jolted in response to the loud boom. Your friend simply laughed and took another sip of her steaming beverage, smelled like vanilla chamomile.

“Shut up” you report playfully elbowing her in the ribs. You looked at your phone, you forgot you had turned it on silent last night. There was one unread message from a random number. Butterflies took flight against the walls of your stomach.

Josh.

You hated the fact that you couldn't help but blush and grin at the thought of him.

He has a girlfriend

He has a girlfriend

He has a girlfriend

You chanted to yourself in incantation before refocusing and reading his message.

J: Hey, it's me! I hope you had a good rest of your day yesterday, sorry for the late text, I had to wait till my girl fell asleep to talk to you…

Your heart sinks. You felt so bad for his girlfriend, it's not nice of Josh to go behind her back BUT there are always two sides to every story and who knows maybe she's talking to another guy behind his back. Your thoughts flew around your mind like fireflies. You shook your head and watched them scatter out of your ears and disappear into nothing.

Y: hey Josh! I'm glad to hear from you, so when's that party?

You decide to completely ignore the fact of his girlfriend and ask about the show instead, you'd like to talk to him more about his relationship because clearly he wasn't very happy in it, but it wasn't your place to ask.

J: 343 university Dr. we play at seven but well be there around five, so does this mean you're coming?

Y: yeah well be there, my friend would drag me by my hair if I didn't want to go lol but she won't have to

J: well that's good news for your hair, its too pretty to be pulled around…..like that anyway

The butterflies made their way all throughout your body. Did he just compliment you? It felt so good to hear him say that, it made you feel like a little giggly school girl with a crush. On the other hand you couldn't stop wondering if he'd said the same to his girlfriend today or who knows maybe there's other girls. You signed and slump down in your seat. Why was this eating you alive? You really honestly didn't even know him that well. You didn't know his last name, his favorite color, if he'd ever broken a bone. All you knew was he was a boy in a band, with a beautiful voice and a face to match. You felt the butterflies melt into a warmth as thoughts of him filled your head.

Y: josh…

J: I know i'm sorry, I just… I can't help it. I'm usually not like this but I just feel pulled towards you..

Somehow you knew exactly what he was trying to say, you felt the same way. The two of you were magnetized towards each other. You needed to be in his life one way or another and you just might have to put your better judgement aside and let temptation take the wheel.

Y: I know, it's okay. You're really sweet and I appreciate that. I'm really glad we met Josh

J:Im glad we did too and I feel like we met for a reason, I have to go rehearse with the guys now, but i'll talk to you as soon as I can… maybe I can come see you tonight?

Come see you tonight? What does that mean? What would we do? What would he tell his girlfriend? You didn't know what to say, hopefully he would be too busy at rehearsal to have any free time tonight.

Y: sure, if you're not busy you can stop by, just call me or something, hopefully ill still be awake ha ha. If no then i'll see you at the show…. Bye Josh :)

J: haha ok bye y/n

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*later that evening*

“So you're going to let him come over tonight right??” your friend prys as the two of you walked through the mall. You rolled your eyes, as you often did around her.

“How did you even know about that?” you asked, swinging your bags as you walked. She looked down

“I may have just quickly skimmed through your texts while you were in the shower” she chimed with an innocent smile. You glared at her but couldn't hold back your laugh.

“Youre so fucking nosy” you reply shoving her gently. She smirks with a slight cock of her head.

“I dont go through your phone” you add. Her face goes blank

“Yeah well my love life isn't as exciting as yours right now, my phone’s dryer that the sahara” she responds with her usual quick wit.

“Well what about Jake, he might like you” you suggest.

“Yeah he MIGHT and I dont have his phone number so I cant talk to him” she argues.

“We’ll get it at the party don't worry” you reassure. She sighs and drops her shoulders.

“Yeah and so will every other girl within a mile radius” she retorts.

“Hey there were plenty of girls at the water park yelling his name but he only had eyes for you” you respond, you can tell what you said made her feel slightly better.

“Yeah well I guess we'll see, he is really cute though…. I'm totally getting his number” she chirps decidedly. You knew she would, it never takes much coaxing for her to want to get a guy's number, usually she didn't have to ‘get’ them, guys practically threw their numbers at her. I've gotta hand it to her this time though, Jake is a good looking gman.

Just then your phone rings, you look down and see Josh’s name flashing on the screen.

“oh shitting hell it's him!” you say looking at your friend like a deer in headlights.

“Well what are you out of your mind?? ANSWER IT!” she demands as she grabs your hand making you put your phone against your face.

“Hi, Josh” you say, shooing her hand away.

“Hey! I wasn't sure if you were going to answer” he says, you can tell a smile is beaming on his face.

“Yeah sorry my hands are kinda full and I had to dig in my bag for my phone” you lied. Your  hands were only carrying one bag, they were hardly full, and your phone was already in your hand as well. You didn't want Josh to know you were too nervous to answer right away and your friend had to basically force feed the phone to you.

“Oh well, i'm done with rehearsal.. What are you up to?” he asks, he must have JUST got done with practice because you can hear him and who you assume is the rest of the band fumbling with some equipment in the background.

“Oh me and y\f\n are just at the mall, well we're leaving now, we just wanted to pick up some new outfits for..” your voice trails. Shit. you did not want him to know you were here getting new clothes for his show, that would give him a big ego.

For christs sake y\n make something up QUICK BEFORE-

“For what?” he questions, his voice interrupting you from your panicked thoughts.

Fuck.

“Ummm for …. A birthday party! Yeah next weekend, her cousin's birthday party. Its gonna be on a boat at the lake so we wanted to get some beach appropriate attire” you say, what a shit-headed fucking lie, really? A birthday party? On a boat??? Josh simply laughs

“Birthday party huh? Sounds like a good time” he's smiling again.

“Well I hope you have fun.. So you wanna get together tonight?” he asks getting right to the elephant in the room. You pause and look at your friend who nods so hard you thought she was going to slip a disc in her spine.

“Aren't you really busy? You're in a band you must have like no free time to hangout with  me” you say prolonging your answer.

“Well no I don't have much free time, but i'm freeing up my time...for you” he responds. His words were so sweet but so hard to hear and they made you feel both happy and conflicted at the same time.

“I'll bring Jake,” he adds.

Your friend snatches your phone when she hears this.

“Yes! Lets hangout! Our address is 1342 sunfield st. Why don't you guys stop over, let's say,in  an hour!” she chimes cheerfully. You can hear Josh’s voice responding but cant make out what he's saying.

“Awesome see you guys soon!” she says once more before hanging up the phone. You just stand there looking at her with zero expression on your face.

“You'll thank me later” she remarks, tossing you your phone and continuing through the mall.

“Come on slowpoke we gotta get date ready!” she bounces up and down grabbing your hand pulling you along. You were really excited to see Josh again, nervous as hell, but excited nonetheless. What were you going to wear?

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

The two of you finally returned back to your house, your friend made a bee-line for her room, you did the same. You stood hopelessly in front of your closet.

“God I have nothing to wear!” you holler to your friend.

“You can borrow something of mine,” she offers. You hear her shuffling through her drawers, she's probably ripping through her clothes.  With a quick pace you made your way to her room.

“What should I wear?” you ask looking through her clothes she's already tossed aside.

“I haven't the faintest idea, I guess it depends on what we're going to do. Maybe wear something practical? Multi-purpose” she suggests. No help. You grab a pair of ripped skinny jeans and a black tank top that had a red floral pattern. This'll do. Sauntering back to your room you slip the outfit on and look at yourself in the mirror. Thank god you and her were basically the same size. Now all that was left was the matter of your hair and makeup. You decided to go with something simple, you didn't want to look like you were trying to impress him (even though you were). You tied your hair into a high pony-tail leaving a few strands down in the front to frame your face.

With gentle and effortless precision you put on your eyeliner, it really brings out your eyes and makes your cheekbones look nice. Usually that was the only makeup you wore, but tonight, you decided to put on some lipstick for good measure, a nice natural blush color. You smile at your reflection, which rarely ever occurred.

“You look great!” your friend's voice fills the air, light pink waves crashing over hot sand, you watch as the waves echo out of your bedroom window.

You turn to look at her, she's wearing a knee length sky blue spaghetti strap dress, it was simple and pretty and fit her frame perfectly. She wore a pair of white doc martens to top off her soft grunge look, her hair was down and barely touched her shoulders.

“What happened to ‘wear something practical’”? You question with a grin.

“To hell with it, I need to look irresistible” she answers.

“Well you do, I love that dress” you respond. There was a knock on the door, you and y\f\n looked at each other before the both of you  scurried excitedly to the door.

“Oh wait wait WAIT” you exclaim in a hushed yell as you ran into the bathroom, you grabbed your favorite perfume and spritzed a careful amount over your body.

“Ok go go go” you say as you toss the bottle back on the counter. The two of you rush to the door looking each other over one last time before your friend pulls the door open. In front of you stand Josh  and Jake, both wearing sweet smiles.

“Hey,” Josh says looking at you, his smile grew softer and more sincere the longer he looked at you. You picked up on it and blushed letting out a pathetically soft “hi”

“Come on in” your friend says, opening the door even wider. The boys step inside looking around, taking in their surroundings.

“Nice place, Josh and I share an apartment” Jake states with a soft chuckle

“This is hardly our house, her parents pay our rent” you say nodding toward your friend. She smiles

“Yeah they're loaded! So what do you guys wanna do?” she says quickly. Jake laughs at her remark.

“We thought we could go for a walk, maybe get some ice cream” josh says, more to you than the other two.

“A walk? It's like 10 pm” your friend says a small laugh escaping her lips.

“That's the best time to go” Jake says.

“Don't worry we'll protect you from any robbers” Josh jokes. You smile, you did everytime he looked at you, you couldn't help it he was so pretty.

“Sounds fun” you chime.

“Im 100% getting blue moon” your friend says grabbing her purse

“Oh you don't need that, ill buy” Jake offers, your friend looks at you with a smile.

“My kinda guy” she jokes again. Jake and Josh laugh and you all head out the door. The night air was crisp and clean, the smell of rain still hung in the sky. The ground was damp and the clouds were still looming and dark, but the rain had settled to a light sprinkle. You could smell it all, the droplets that hung off the leaves and the wet earthy dirt they fell onto. It was your absolute favorite smell, it reminded you of fall, which was only a few weeks away. The thought of that made you face burn red as you remembered you told josh that you had a birthday party on a boat to go to in a few weeks not stopping to think about what season it was. Dumbass. There's no way he fell for that.

Jake and your friend trailed slightly behind you and Josh, keeping conversion as they did. You heard them both laugh every few seconds and they seemed to be getting along.

“You look really pretty,” Josh speaks, forcing your attention on him.

“Oh” you smile.

“Thank you, I couldn't really find anything nice to wear, so I had to borrow something of hers” you admit with a laugh.

“You could have worn a trash bag, you'd still look pretty,” he says. His voice was dark and gentle like melted chocolate. His words ripped through you like wind through trees and all you could think about was his girlfriend.

“Can I ask you something?” you question.

“You can ask me anything” he responds, his eyes searching the ground.

“Why are you so nice to me?” you ask, your voice falls a little. Josh looks at you and then a passing car steals his gaze.

“When I first saw you I felt this pressure lift from my shoulders and then I couldn't take my eyes off of you, even if I wanted to I couldn't. You filled my head and I hadn't even spoken to you yet. One look.. And you entranced me…” he says softly.

“There's something between us y/n and I need to know what it is” he speaks again. Both of you had stopped walking by now, Jake and your friend were across the street ordering everyone's ice cream and standing noticeably close. Now that you thought about it, so were you and Josh.

“What about your girlfriend?” you ask, barely able to form words, all you could focus on was his perfect lips and enchanting eyes. You were close enough that you could smell his faint cologne pass your nose with every slight gust of wind. Your mention of his girlfriend didn't seem to phase him at all.

“Things with me and her are complicated, our relationship was set up through our parents and it's just a mess.. A forced mess. She doesn't feel that close to me, I've known you for a day and I've felt more things with you than I've ever felt with her. He explains. He was being honest, it wasn't just a show or him telling you what you want to hear.

“So why don't you just break up with her?” you ask again.

“I've never broken up with anyone before… I don't know how...plus her dad is our band manager and it would just cause a lot of problems” he admits. You understood how he felt, you'd never broken up with anyone either, you've always been on the receiving end of a bad breakup. Jake and y/f/n return, arms full of ice cream.

“Peanut butter cup, your favorite” your friend chimes, handing you a double scoop of the creamy treat stuffed generously into a waffle cone. Waffle cones were amazing, you never understood why anyone got anything else, they were delicious and if you rice cream started to melt it would catch in the diamond shaped waffle divots of the cone and not drip on your clothes. Yummy and practical.

“Thanks” you say, taking a refreshing lick. The four of you walked aimlessly around town, talking and laughing the whole way until you eventually wound up back at your house.

“Wow i cant believe how late it is already” Jake says looking at his phone, which prompted you to do the same.

“Holy shit it's 1am” you say, which was probably a mistake because saying it out loud made you realize how tired you actually are. Josh looks at you  

“Yeah it's late but I don't wanna leave” he admits a smile forms on his sweet face. He looked cute when he was tired.

“....you can stay the night if you'd like” you say nervously tugging at the hem of your shirt. Josh's face lit up

“It is very dangerous to drive while you're tired” your friend comments. Jake smiles and looks at Josh as the four of you walk back inside.

“I'm game” he says plopping down on the couch.

“Yeah I guess we can just crash on the couch” Josh says with a shrug, your friend quickly intervenes.

“Oh no no no this old couch will kill your back, you can sleep in y/n’s room!” she offers. You freeze. In my room? In the same bed? At the same time?

“Right y/n?” your friend speaks again, with a perky tone. Her eyes grow wide, glaring at you for a quick second.

“Oh uh yeah totally, these couches are stone” you say trying to sound nonchalant.

“Jake and I will probably stay up a while, why don't you guys head to bed?” your friend says again. Wow she's really pushing for you two to be together. You laugh at her and once again roll your eyes.

“Yeah, cmon Josh, it's right down the hall” you say, leading him to your room.

He closes the door behind him as the two of you enter. There's a moment of silence.

“You know, I can sleep on the floor if you're not comfortable with this,” he says stuffing his hands nervously in his pockets. It was tempting considering he had a girlfriend already but you  couldn't remember the last time you vacuumed this floor.

“No that's ok, I'm fine with sharing the bed, I wouldn't ask you to sleep on the floor” you say with a chuckle before yawning.

“I'm more tired than I realized” you add , sleep tugging at your eyelids.

“Me too” Josh says stretching. You looked down at what you were wearing. Jeans. Yikes. You can't sleep in jeans.

“Do you want me to leave so you can change?” he asks, reaching for the door handle.

“Um yeah sorta” you giggle shyly, he smiles.

“Just knock when you're ready” he says, stepping out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. You quickly pull your clothes off and toss them in your laundry basket before grabbing light blue pajama shorts that had little red cherries patterned across them, then you grabbed the matching blue tank top and took off your makeup with some wipes you kept in your drawer. You let your hair down and checked yourself in the mirror before knocking twice on the door.

“I'm done” you chime. Josh steps back in, his eyes fall down your body and his facial expression softens.

“Still pretty” he says brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. Your body warms to his touch. It was so gentle and soft, you look down, smiling to yourself.

“Are you gonna change?” you ask realizing he's wearing jeans too.

“Well I usually sleep in my boxers” he says, not breaking eye contact with you.

“That's fine, whatever's comfortable” you reply walking gover to your bed and sliding in. Josh starts to undo his belt and he lets his pants fall to his ankles before stepping out of them and pulling his shirt over his head. His body was a wonderful olive tone and he had a thin trail of  hair that led from his belly button to his… you know.

Your face flushes as you think more about how undeniably sexy he iis. He smiled almost like he could hear your thoughts.

“I'll get the light” he says, switching it off. Then there was darkness. You felt his body slide in bed next to you, immediately warming you. His smooth skin brushed against yours as he turned on his side to face you. His hand lifted to your face and he strokes your cheek with his thumb gracefully.

“This feels….right” his voice breaks the silence and floats in your ears.

“Yeah it does” you admit, he couldn't see it, but you had a huge smile on your face. Your bedroom window is wide open and it began to rain agoian outside, you could hear every droplet splash against the ground and the wind blew gently through the trees. The wind blew through the window sending a chill through your room. You got goosebumps and shook slightly. Instantly Josh wrapped his arm around your side and pulled you into his chest. His delicious cologne still lingering on his body. His warmth and the comfort of his touch had you sleeping almost instantaneously.

“Goodnight y/n” he said softly, his fingers tracing a pattern on your back.

“Goodnight Josh” you reply tiredly. You wondered what Jake and your friend were doing, they must have fallen asleep or were watching a movie because you couldn't hear them in the living room, you fell asleep trying to decide.

You were jolted awake by Josh who jumped out of your bed.

“What's wrong?” you ask as you sit up rubbing your eyes. You could hear him quickly pulling his jeans back on .

“Hey, go back to sleep, I just, I have to go,” he says, putting his shirt on.

“It's your girlfriend isn't it?” you question, he sighs and sits on your bed.

“Yea she called me like twenty times, it's already 10am….I should go” he says reluctantly. You nod, you didn't want him to leave but it really wasn't up to you.

“Okay” you say softly

“Hey….” he says getting closer to you, his fingers gently grab your face and he kisses you passionately. His lips are soft and hungry, he leans over you slightly as if he's trying to savor every last taste of you, but the two of you battle for power, he wins. His thumb strokes your cheek and he pulls away softly, your face still in his hands, your foreheads rested gently against each other’s. His eyes searched yours for forgiveness.

“I'll text you as soon as I can” he assures. You nod as he gets off your bed and heads for the door. He offers you one last smile before he disappears down the hall. You fall back on your pillow with an exhausted sigh. His warmth still imprinted on the sheets and his smell still drifting through the air.

[tinyphantomsalad]

I did a drabble

okay it’s pretty damn long so get ready but I wrote this ages ago and c a n n o t just leave it

Word Count: 3,700

Rated: G

Fandom: The Witcher

It’s under the cut so you don’t have to scroll 10 minutes

Riptide

Yes i know just go with it.

The summer breeze was warm and the clouds were only just beginning to form, waking up the earth with a soft touch on the cheek and a warm kiss on the head. Jaskier strummed along to the chirps of the morning songbirds, smugly ignoring Geralt’s glare.

“Keep looking at me like that and your eyes’ll go funny” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes and focusing on the smell of the wildflowers in the meadow and the growing warmth in his chest from being on the road again.

“Hm.” Geralt replied, brow raised, “you’re not a morning person,”

“bullshit!” Jaskier smirked, “I’m always a delight in the morning!”

The Witcher’s eyes widened comically, “you nearly stabbed me last time I woke you up to leave early,”

“That was your own fault-“ he scoffed “I was having a lovely dream at that time and you interrupted it.”

Geralt let a small laugh slip and Jaskier joined in, continuing his little melody as they walked through the field.

Geralt had found him after the mountain and much to Jaskier’s indignation the Witcher had found him and actually apologised. He hadn’t forgiven him easily but when Geralt was leaving the following morning he’d wordlessly packed his things and started travelling with the man once more. Slowly but surely they’d fallen into old patterns, and Jaskier couldn’t find it in himself to be angry anymore.

“Where are we going again?” Jaskier asked, 

“There’s a town not far from here.” Geralt replied, rifling through his satchel and producing a flier- Jaskier skimmed it- Witcher needed- Spider-like demon- plenty of coin- the usual.

“You’re staying at the inn this time.” Geralt said, not looking at the bard. Jaskier huffed, picked up his pace and spinned to face Geralt. 

The tall grass parted and swayed in the growing wind, making his white hair blow in the way you’d think he’d put a spell on it to always look so fabulous. 

“Come on Geralt! I need new material, new inspiration to give to the people of the Continent.” He whirled around, still gripping onto is ever precious lute and letting himself punctuate every sentence with a sudden movement. 

“Our adventures are the stuff of legend!” He continued, not caring for the ever-deepening crease in Geralt’s brow. “I once met a fortune teller when i was a kid- told me I’d make a great many impacts on people's lives, and that my magic was tucked away inside my voice… don't know where the magic bit came from but then again she did tell me I’d lose my head one day-”

“I guess she got that part right then.” Geralt quipped, raising an eyebrow, 

Jaskier spluttered, face scrunching in indignation, “you wound me! Geralt of Rivia I had never thought you could hurt me in such a way!” Jaskier put the back of his hand to his head, feigning offence.

Geralt would deny it to the day he died that he let a chuckle slip.

“I’ll see you’re punished for that,” Jaskier sniffed with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Geralt groaned. 

Jaskier began to strum a tune, one he hadn’t since he first composed it… it was new and he didn’t really think it was worth much. But he was annoying Geralt and that’s all that he needed it for.

“I was scared of dentists and the dark

I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations

Oh, all my friends are turning green

You're the magician's assistant in their dreams~”

His voice carried out over the meadow that stretched for miles around them, Jaskier kept fast paced with his song, energy building up inside him.

“Oh

Oh and they come unstuck~

Lady, running down to the riptide

Taken away to the dark side

I wanna be your left hand man

I love you when you're singing that song and

I got a lump in my throat 'cause

You're gonna sing the words wrong~”

He threw a wink to Geralt, letting the imaginary beat guide him through the lyrics that don’t really make sense but tell a story he can’t explain. He didn’t know what he was thinking when he wrote it… well, maybe he did, casting a glance to his muse- but those feelings weren’t something he wanted to revisit right now.

He carried on singing the whole way through the field, skipping and throwing his arms where he thought appropriate (which was everywhere). He let out a triumphant squeal when he caught Geralt swaying along to it-

“YOU DID!”

“I did not,” he growled back, sitting stock still on top of Roach, who neighed in agreement.

Jaskier’s smile hurt his cheeks, holding his lute over his head, “I CLAIM THIS INSTRUMENT TO HOLD THE MOST POWERFUL MAGIC IN ALL THE CONTINENT!” He cried, “THIS IS THE ONLY INSTRUMENT TO EVER MAKE THE GREAT WHITE WOLF, GERALT OF RIVIA, WITCHER AND BUTCHER OF BLAVIKEN- TO DO A JIG!”

“It was not a jig- I do not fucking jig, Jaskier!” Geralt shook his head and growled as the hyperactive bard pranced around the field ahead of him, laughing like a drunk in the wee hours of the morning. 

Jaskier finally calmed down as it reached midday. The warm air beginning to stick to them. They walked at the side of a small river, a signpost pointing them to the little town with the Kikimora problem.

“I haven’t heard that song before,” Geralt asked suddenly, he looked down at his companion who didn’t return his gaze,

“It’s new, I wrote it a little after we started travelling together again. I mean- I suppose it’s not that new considering that was six months ago but I guess since I’ve never performed it-”

“You should sing it tonight.” Geralt said, “no- don’t look at me like tha- Jaskier!”

It was too late. 

Jaskier squealed.

“YOU LIKE IT!”

“Hm.”

“Oh shush,” Jaskier smiled, “You big softie.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier moved closer to Roach and patted her neck as they walked, his lute bouncing on his shoulder; he knew he was being insufferable- but that was Geralt’s fault for waking him up at sparrow fart to get going and he was in too good a mood to be grumpy all day. 

The road they were going down was quiet, Jaskier watched as a rabbit flew in front of them and in his enthrallment nearly bumped into Roach who whipped him with her tail, 

“Not nice- bad horse, no apples.” Jaskier grumbled. Roach snuffed in reply as they carried on.

“I need a bath,” Jaskier leaned towards Geralt and gave a sniff before gagging, “and so do you, Gods Geralt, you stink of onions,”

Geralt scowled at him, “I thought you said I smelled like death and destiny or whatever the fuck that was,” he grumbled,

Jaskier rubbed his eyes and coughed for dramatic effect, “nope, definitely onions-ow!”

Geralt suppressed a smirk and tucked his leather glove back into his bag.

:::

It was nearing early evening when they reached the town, it was smaller than what Geralt had originally thought- more a hamlet to be completely honest. The river they had been travelling next to turned into a muddy swamp. 

The streets were dirty and there were very few people out, the buildings sagged to one side looking as though a good shove would be enough to topple them completely. But still, there was a shoddy inn on the end of a row of lopsided huts with a stable next to it for Roach.

Geralt pretended to listen to whatever Jaskier was saying about the state of his eighth favourite doublet -A stain, Geralt- this is madness, utter madness- while handing his beloved mare to the shit-scared stable boy that looked up at him with wide, dull blue eyes.

They weren’t as blue as Jaskier’s, more faded, like old stained glass- Jaskier’s were brighter… more alive. 

Geralt shook the thought from his head and stepped into the dim light of the inn. All conversation ceased as everyone caught sight of the Witcher, their smiles flicking and the stench of fear spiking in the air. No matter how hard anyone tried they would never forget what he was. A mutant and a monster. That didn’t matter, he was used to this and he was there to do a job and get out as quickly and as quietly as possible.

Jaskier had other plans.

The man was like a walking ball of talking and singing and sunshine. Which when paired with alcohol was a very dangerous mix. Geralt tried not to hit his head against the bar as Jaskier walked in, lute in hand, wildflower in his hair and greet everyone in the tavern as if they were old friends. 

“Ladies, gentleman, people of…” he trailed off, a pink tinge forming on his cheeks- there was a bit of an awkward silence while the poor man struggled, eventually giving up and diving into Toss a Coin to Your Witcher. Geralt resisted the urge to smile as a few of the patrons tapped along or flicked a few coins in his direction. 

Jaskier winked at him from across the room that said Don’t wait up.

Geralt turned to the barkeep, who eyed him warily, “ale. And a room” He dumped the last of their coin on the table for two days.

The man, who was only a few inches shorter than Geralt himself with a bushy brown beard and polished head, pushed him a full mug before clearing his throat.

“If you’re looking for a… job…Kal-” he pointed to a sallow man sitting in the corner, head buried in his flask. “His daughter was taken by something in the swamps…”

The man didn’t give any other information- instead taking the opportunity to offer up as little information as possible and getting away as quickly as he could. Typical.  Geralt didn’t really know why humans shied away from him- maybe having something to do with being a mutated monster that could hogtie and castrate them in thirty seconds flat on a bad day. Yeah, maybe that.

Geralt twisted in his seat, trying his best not to laugh as Jaskier jumped up on an unoccupied table and played conductor as a rising corus of slightly drunk patrons. The sun was setting outside the window, casting a gold glow behind the bard’s face, catching him in his element- all rosy cheeks and bright eyes.

It hadn’t escaped Geralt’s notice that Jaskier was attractive, anyone with eyes could see that. But when he was like this, it made Geralt’s stone heart do funny little things in his chest. Fucking Jaskier, making him feel things. 

When he’d been with Yennefer it was always too much. Too much fight, too much secrecy. She was a force to be reckoned with on her own and wanted to keep it that way, and then he went and made that fucking wish and all hope for any romance had been thrown out the window. After he’d apologised to Jaskier he’d felt more comfortable than he ever had with Yen in their relationship.  

It didn’t help that Jaskier and Yen had somehow bonded over the incident on the mountain- if anything it made him worry more, when they were fighting it was them against each other, but now they teamed up against him.

“I just wanna, I just wanna know

If you're gonna, if you're gonna stay

I just gotta, I just gotta know

I can't have it, I can't have it any other way

I swear she's destined for the screen

Closest thing to Michelle Pfeiffer that you've ever seen, oh~”

Jaskier’s voice flitted over the crowd like a sparrow in the early morning. His new song was nice, it bounced and was usually upbeat. It almost had Geralt tapping his foot. Almost. 

A mug of ale flies across the room and the alarmed twang of Jaskier’s lute causes Geralt’s hand to fly to his sword. Jaskier’s face went pale as an enraged cry came from the other end of the tavern and he practically leaps from the table to hide behind Geralt’s back. 

“BARD!” A pot-bellied man burst forward from a crowd of patrons, his robes disheveled from pushing past the crow that had formed.

“Geralt- old friend,” Jaskier mumbled in his ear, sending little tingles down his sp- nope. “Do me a favour and fucking help me.”

The old man advanced on them, shaking a pudgy sausage finger and practically convulsing with rage, Geralt’s hand didn’t leave its spot on his sword,

“I’ve told you once before that I do not play bodyguard.”

“Bullshit Geralt- oh dear gods save me.”

“I know you!” The pug-faced man snarled, eyes not having left the trembling bard, “you- you- defiled my wife! And- and my son!”

“Hm.” Was all Geralt replied, feeling the way Jaskier practically molded himself against the witcher’s back in order to peek over his shoulder, gripping onto his lute for dear life. The man bared his yellowing teeth in an attempt to look intimidating. The crows that had been cheering Jaskier on now formed around them, all waiting to see the great White Wolf lash out at this poor unfortunate soul that Jaskier had wronged by being a horny dumbass.

There was a beat of silence before the man reached around and snatched Jaskier’s beloved lute out of his hands. Promptly snapping it in two.

The bard let out a strangled cry. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Geralt slowly stepped to the side, as calmly as he would when stalking a deer. 

There were times in their long partnership, where Geralt had learned not to get involved. There were three rules:

One: Never Wake Jaskier Before Dawn. 

Two: Never Let Jaskier Have More Than Four Pints of Ale. 

Three: Don't mess With Jaskier’s Lute. 

Jaskier’s relationship with his lute would rival that of himself and Roach.

They were so getting kicked out of this town.

With a satisfying crunch the man stumbled back with blood gushing from his nose.

“Jaskier-” He started in some attempt to quell his anger, the bard didn’t listen. Jaskier grabbed at his clothes and with one swift sent him doubling over. Geralt could smell the adrenaline rising in the room. Onlookers starved of any entertainment and eager to watch. 

Another drink went flying and knocked a young man round the head- how that was relevant Geralt would never know. Ensuing a blind fist fight with Jaskier in the middle. Several tables toppled over and a cacophony of shouts suffocated the bar.

 Geralt pressed himself back into the shadows. Looking out for the tornado of periwinkle blue in an attempt to make sure the fucking idiot didn’t get himself killed. 

“Suck on that!” Jaskier’s voice cut through the rest, he sent another blow to the scorned man, a few cuts gracing his lip and forehead. “Just like your fucking son did!” 

Geralt growled and stepped out of the shadows, drawing his sword and stalking towards the bard. The noise died down almost immediately, everyone stopping in their tracks at the sight of a very angry Witcher.

“Hm.” Geralt glowered at the crowd, “Go home. We are here to complete contracts. Not get into petty fights.” He threw a pointed look at Jaskier.

Geralt turned to the man that had a disgusting crust of drying blood on his mouth and broken nose, “the bard will surely compensate you by never returning to this town once our business here is complete. And Jaskier you horny little bastard-” he scowled at him, “will avoid this place like the plague. I will not be bailing you out anymore.”

Jaskier grumbled and nodded. The man huffed and stalked out of the inn. The patrons slowly went back to their tables and righted themselves. However the stench of fear still hung heavy in the air. The innkeeper threw him a grateful look as Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the neck and dragged him up to their room.

:::

“Now now Geralt I’m sure you- Oh dear Gods man- what are- Geralt!” Jaskier was helpless against the Witcher’s manhandling. Geralt just growled. It’s all he ever did. Jaskier cradled his lute, oh his darling, beautiful lute. He was dragged up the stairs like a scolded child, pouting and all.

“You are an idiot.”

Jaskier let out a choked sob “Oh my darling girl… you were so young.”

“Jaskier.”

“I’ll dedicate a ballad to you my love-“

“Jaskier!” 

“One that will sing through the echoes of time and be etched into the walls of hist-”

“JASKIER!” 

“Fuck sake Geralt let a man grieve.”

Geralt grumbled and went to the adjoining washroom to get a wet rag. Jaskier trailed his fingers over the snapped neck of his instrument, his head was sore from being hit, and his knuckles were no better.

“You look terrible.” Geralt said gruffly from the washroom doorway

Jaskier scowled and stuck out his bottom lip, albeit he was being a little childish but that was merited considering he was going through a grievous loss. 

“And you look like royalty do you?” 

“Hm.” Geralt walks over and for a moment Jaskier thinks that Geralt is going to tend to his wounds like in those terribly written stories he used to catch his sister reading. 

Instead he gets a face full of dirty wet rag.

Fucking Witchers.

The room was nicer than the rest of the inn, Jaskier guessed the innkeeper had given them his own room- which he was not complaining about in the slightest. Geralt had made a nice little nest for himself by the fire and was cleaning his weapons with the whetstone he kept in his satchel of mysterious Witcher things that he never let Jaskier look inside. 

It was too quiet without his lute. She was like his sword, his only weapon in a cruel world full of midnight creatures that crept into the minds of men. The last time he had been without a lute was after he’d left home, and that had been in an attempt to hide himself behind a persona. Said persona turned out to be a lot more likeable than who he used to be, so he kept it, let the little parts of himself bleed into this new man through his music- then he met Geralt and… well he found he didn’t think about his past as much as he used to. Not when he was travelling with him.

So he filled the space with mindless chatter. 

“We have to go into the market tomorrow- did you see it, Geralt? I suppose I’ll find a new lute. Maybe even paint it this time… I doubt that it’ll ever be as good to replace my dear sweet love… but she would want me to move on I suppose.” He gave a fake sniff, lying back on the bed and admiring the man by the firelight. It had gotten dark and the fire created a halo around Geralt, making him look angelic.

“Are all Witchers like you?” Jaskier asked absentmindedly,

“Some have quieter companions.” Geralt said, not looking up from his task.

“Yeah well it must suck to be them.” He retorted, catching that little smirk Geralt sent his way. “You’ve told me very little about what your life was like before we met…”

Geralt just grunted in response. Jaskier rolled his eyes,

“Alright then, since you’re clearly not in the mood for sparkling conversation- how about I ask you five questions?”

“What?”

Jaskier bounced off the bed, getting giddy because oh ho ho, this is going to be fun. He settled himself next to Geralt, propping up a pillow on the Witcher’s side and leaning with his back on it. The closeness was intoxicating and it didn’t help the fact that he was practically drooling over the man’s jawline.

“Five questions,” he hummed, “I ask you five questions and you have to answer them honestly.”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow, Jaskier had learnt that this meant I got that, what the fuck in Geralt language.

“You get to ask me five questions too!”

“Hm.”

“oh come on-“ Jaskier looked up at the man, putting on his very best puppy dog face.

“Fine…” Geralt caved in quickly, setting his sword aside to pay attention to the practically-bouncing-off-the-walls bard next to him. “five questions and then I'm going to sleep.” 

Jaskier pursed his lips, looking hard at Geralt, 

“What’s your favourite colour?” He asked,

“That’s really your first question?” Geralt chuckled, stoking the fire. Jaskier snorted,

“obviously, one can’t operate as your best friend in the whole wide world without knowing your favourite colour.”

“Blue.” He answered simply,

Jaskier moved down a little, getting more comfortable as he nestled against Geralt’s side. “Is your hair naturally white?”

A shadow passed over Geralt’s face at that, Jaskier cringed at the thought of bringing up bad memories at such a pleasant time,

“No…” the Witcher starts slowly, “my hair was shorter... and dark brown before my training at Kaer Morhen- it changed during the trials.”

A warmth spread through Jaskier’s chest as he craned his neck to look into the warm golden eyes of his companion. Geralt was usually a wall of no emotion, forcing Jaskier to chisel away until he got some semblance of feelings out of him. But right now he could see the raw vulnerability racing through his mind. 

The moment quickly passed when Geralt coughed and looked away, back into the firelight.

Jaskier composed himself, “I’m not going to ask you your favourite animal-“

“Roach.”

Jaskier chuckled, nudging Geralt with his head, “I think the whole continent knows that.”

The questions continued like that, Jaskier delving deeper into his strange Witcher’s psyche. Geralt refused to answer a few and Jaskier could see the way his jaw twitched and his brow creased in sadness or pain, especially when he asked if he’d had a travelling companion before Jaskier himself. Geralt seemed to relax a little- a luxury that they hadn’t been awarded since they’d left Ciri with Yennefer to hone her magical gifts. Jaskier could easily see that Geralt still had feelings for her, and he couldn’t really blame him; still, it hurt knowing he’d dug himself in a hole twenty years ago and adamantly refused to come back out.

[the-fiction-witch]

Circumstances P1

REAL LIFE X ROYALTY (1960's)

COUPLE TBS X READER

RATING SMUTT

I sighed as I stood dressing the window will all the latest things for the store listening to the radio play it's rock and roll tunes. As I put the multicoloured mini dresses on the plastic figures laying out cardboard replicas of new records across the floor near a one of the record players we had in stock. I did my work often having to fix my hair a little as my headband kept falling down my head. I glanced at the busy London street outside the window with the people rushing everywhere the cars and motorcycles passing in on the road.

As I looked a saw someone across the way.

It was a man, a very skinny man. With a mess of blonde hair he sat on a motorcycle that was pulled over at the side of the road. His helmet on the seat with him he had a rather large and impressive camera that he was looking though it aimed at the window.

Whatever people often take photos of the window displays or of the front of the store here in London as most people visit. He took the camera away a moment as he fixed his hair, he saw me looking at winked at me making me blush a little before he put his camera away and slipped his helmet back on starting up his bike and disappearing into the madness of London.

I finished up my work heading out the shop trying my best to just blend in with the crowds as I headed to Hyde Park, I sat on a little bench looking at the sunshine as most where having a late lunch or early dinner around this time of day, I looked at the beautiful flowers and grass until I spotted something.

I saw that guy again, I had almost forgotten about him.

He sat in a bench not far from me, his camera in his hand again taking more pictures of things I smiled and went over while he was looking away

"Hey" I smiled making him lower the camera Messing with his blonde hair his brown eyes looked me up and down rather devilishly

"Hey" he smiled "something up?" He asked

"I was wondering what you were taking pictures off?' I asked

"And pray to tell, why is that any of your business?" He asked taking another of something

"I'm just curious, I've seen you twice today, you sparked my curiosity is all"

"Oohh did I now?" He smirked "come on, I'll show you" he smiled tapping beside him so I sat in the beach as he dug around in a tattered leather side bag a moment before getting out a block of Polaroids secured together with an elastic band there must have been at least fifty there he pulled off the band and smiled to me handing them to me

"Thank you" I smiled as I began to flip thought them most flowers and trees, rivers and ponds, nice cars and motorcycles, then I saw me. Stood in the shop window,

"You looked beautiful" he smiled "still do actually"

"Thank you" I blushed to continue to look and I found another of me walking down the street a couple of days ago "have you been watching me?" I asked

"Goodness no, I just happen to see you every so often and you normally look really beautiful" he smiled I continued looking at the beautiful pictures till I flipped to one that was equally beautiful but wasn't a car or beautiful scene it was I assume him laid almost naked on a bed "oh shit! Sorry" he says taking the pictures away "I'm very sorry about that" he blushed

"It's alright" I laughed

"Hey... Did you wanna go get a drink somewhere?" He smirked "or maybe just... Head straight back to your place?"

"Isn't that a little forward I don't even know your name" I argued

"Just call me Thomas, and you are?" He asked

"Y/n" I smiled

"A very beautiful name indeed, so drink? Or your place?" He smirked...

I unlocked the door of my flat trying desperately to keep thomas' hands off me for a moment as soon as we where inside he pushed me against the closed door and kissed me harshly I kissed back his lips so smooth and soft. I locked the door again and tugged him through to my bedroom I sat in my bed and he smirked leaning in my bedroom door as he shut it he smirked shutting my curtains I was a little confused but I didn't have long to ponder it as he slipped off his shirt and knelt on the floor at the edge of my bed kissing my ankles and up my legs till he reached my panties, he kissed around them a little before pulling them seductively off my legs he then stood smirking at me so I giggled undoing his belt and his pants dropping them to the floor leaving him in a pair of tight blue boxers and his hard erection obvious he smirked pulling me up and unzipping my dress almost ripping it off me he pulled me back to kissing him as he fiddled with my bra and pulled it off me before pushing me onto my bed he kissed me deeper pushing inside me

"Ummm fuck! You feel good" he smirked ...

I smiled as I laid in my bed the bedsheets around me tightly as Thomas got dressed

"Sorry beautiful I've got to get going," he says

"Ooohh... Sure" I nodded sitting up a little more "did you wanna maybe meet up for dinner on Saturday?"

"Sorry beautiful I've got stuff going on," he says "look if circumstances change I'll pop in and see you" he smirked giving me a kiss "okay?"

"Okay" I nodded

I stood making some dinner when there was a knock at my door I was a little puzzled who would be coming to see me at this hour so I went and opened the door seeing Thomas stood leaning on the door frame, I had been seeing him every so often over the last few months even if he doesn't often stay long.

"Hey beautiful" he smirked

"Hi Thomas" I smiled

I sat on my bed my head laying on thomas' chest my covers wrapped around us tightly

"Why don't we ever go to your place?" I asked

"You wouldn't like my place beautiful," he says

"Why don't we have dinner or go dancing?" I asked

"Because we come here and fool around? I thought you like it?"

"Course I do but... Maybe we should do something different every once and a while?"

"Maybe" he sighed

"Thomas?" I asked

"Humm? What's up?" He asks playing with my hair

"What are we?" I asked

"Why do we need a label on it?" He laughs "your pretty, I like coming to visit And I like having sex with you? Why do we need anything else?" He laughs

"But Thomas... I really like you"

"I know... Look y/n if circumstances where different, I'd have married you by now" he says kissing my head

"What circumstances?"

"It's hard to explain"

"Are you married?" I asked sitting up a little to see his face

"No" he laughs

"Are you... Engaged?"

"No..."

"Then what?"

"It's my family..." He sighed "hey, how about on Sunday you come over for dinner?"

"Aww I'd love to" I smiled hugging him a little tighter

"Okay, just... Uhh be careful" he warns and I was a little confused.

I stood having had my shower getting ready to go out and meet thomas' family for dinner I stood in my underwear drying my hair in my mirror when there was a knock at the door 

"who is it?" I called 

"It's me beautiful!" Thomas yelled

"Ohh it's open," I told him as I finished drying my hair and began deciding what kinda makeup I was going to wear when Thomas came into the bedroom 

"Hi hun" He smiled kissing my cheek

"Hi" I smiled 

"Have you picked out what you wearing tonight?" He asks

"On the bed," I told him

"Ooohhh hell no your not wearing that" he warns "Lucky I bought this then" He smiled and I noticed he did bring a bag with him "Here i picked out a dress for you" he says as he sat on my bed looking through my stuff I looked at the bag and it has the name of a rather high-class London designer on it, I was shocked especially when I opened the bag and the dress inside was indeed from that place the price still on it to

"Uuhh Thomas! I can't wear this! It's more then I make in a year" I argued

"Yeah but I bought it, so come on else we'll be late" he says

"Thomas I can't-" I began but he kissed me

"Your wearing that beautiful, now come on finish up else I'll never hear the end of it" he told me

Once I was ready Thomas lead me down to the street where a car was waiting, I assumed he was going to open the passenger door for me but instead the door opened and a well dressed man opened the back door for us Thomas tugging me inside

"What's going on?' I asked

"I'll explain when we get there beautiful" he whispered as the car started up and began driving off. I tried to make notes where I was going but it was almost impossible in the darkness.

Until atlast it stopped and the drivers let us out Thomas put his hand over my eyes as we did so I couldn't see.

"Beautiful you remember how I said my family was uhh...  Complicated?" He asked

"Yes..."

"And we waited this long to let them know you excited due to-" he began

"Circumstances" I laughed

"Yeah well... There kinda-" he began removing his hands from my eyes as we stood on gravel the car driving off from behind us, the whole area was miles apon miles of woods and gardens with lanterns illuminating beautiful garden features, a stable now converted to have one side for horses and the other for rather expensive vintage cars, and in the centre of all this luxury stood a manor house taller and more elegant then any fairy tale

"Wh-whats Going on?" I stuttered in shock

"This is Elmwood. Elmwood manor. Yeah this is the uhh family home" he says

"The family- you grew up here?"

"Yeah, my whole life, I still kinda live here. I want a place on my own but they don't agree not till I'm married anyway, so come on we'll be late for dinner" he says tugging my hand inside.

I was overwhelmed seconds after opening the door, the paintings, the sculptures, the magnificent rooms and staircases I felt like I was being lead thought a palace until we reached a room full of people all of them drinking

"Thomas my little darling" a woman smiled hugging him

"Hello mother" he smiled briefly "mother this is y/n" he said indicating to me

"Hi" I smiled and she frowned glaring at Thomas before walking away to talk to others "is it something I said?"

"Try and sound... Not so common beautiful" he says as we continued to walk

"Common? But this is how I talk?"

"I know and I love it Beautiful but your going to get us in trouble" he warns as we went around meeting people I mostly just nodded hardly saying a word as I was afraid of upsetting anyone if I did say something

"Aww she's a pretty little thing, hardly says a word, I really do need a wife like this myself" one man said

"Course uncle" he sighed before he lead me away down a corridor with some grand paintings "I'm sorry I know it's a bit overwhelming, I really didn't know how to ease you in so I figured hell I'll throw you in the deep end first see if you can swim" he explained

"Or I drown?"

"Kinda yeah" he shrugs

"What is with everyone? Why are they all so... Posh?" I asked

"Fine you really wanna know?" He asked and I nodded so he pulled me along down the corridor to a painting with family of four "this is my grandfather, and my granduncle"

"Wait? Is... Is that the crown?" I asked seeing the adults in the picture had crowns and other such jewelery

"It is, it was handed over to my granduncle when there father past, and there family has had the crown ever since" he explained

"So you grandfather is the king's brother?" I asked

"Yep" he says sipping his whiskey

[pookapics]

Sugar, Butter and Flour - A CEO!Steve Rogers x Baker!Reader (Christmas Series) Chapter 2 ~ Little Miss Sweet Tooth

Summary: Steve Rogers is a Grinch, he pushes through the Christmas holidays with a smile for his young daughter, Sarah. The widower doesn’t enjoy the holidays and would rather focus on his work at the ‘Avengers Law Firm’ but with an upcoming ‘Christmas Wrap Party’ at the firm, his path becomes entwined with (YN) (LN), the owner of a small bakery who’s catering for the event and has managed to steal the heart of Steve’s young daughter. Will he fall for the young baker? Or will his bitterness toward the Christmas holidays and his grief keep him from finding happiness again during the ‘happiest time of the year’?

Warnings - Mention of Loss of Loved one & LOTS OF FLUFF! Steve and Reader meet in this chapter!

Word Count -  4338

A/N - This series will be completed by the end of January! Sorry for the delay! December was extremely busy due to university deadlines I had due!

Masterlist - https://protectthelesbians.tumblr.com/post/189337379588/are-you-wanting-a-heart-warming-fan-fiction-just

________________________________________

Steve’s POV

Today was a momentous occasion, Steve Rogers had a day-off. Something which Bucky always teased him about was his lack of free time. Being a working parent was something difficult to balance, especially as a single-parent, working both roles of mom and dad for Sarah. Both the disciplinarian and the fun parent, another set of dynamics to balance inside of himself. Adjusting his dressing-gown, he sat in the comfort of his couch, Sarah having not woken up yet, still tuckered out from spending yesterday out in the snow with Bucky at the park. The television softly playing reruns of Christmas films he hadn’t seen since he was growing up, a cup of coffee on the coffee-table and his phone nowhere in sight, when Steve was out of office, he tried to disengage himself as much as possible, wanting to take these days off to be with Sarah entirely. 

Said phone currently on the kitchen counter alongside the remains of the doughnut which Steve had received from the baker Sarah couldn’t stop babbling about, constantly begging to go back and bake with the sweet lady who owned the bakery. Walking over to the kitchen counter, staring at the empty paper-bag which was imprinted with the logo and the address for said bakery on the somewhat crumpled paper-bag. 

                                                  ‘Fairy-Cakes Bakery’

                                                   353 Columbus Ave

                                                  New York, NY 10024

With the bag in hand, Steve ran his finger across the logo on the bag and hummed, an idea coming forth as he heard the padding of little feet on the floorboards up above, the soft giggling gave away that the sound wasn’t a rat but instead…

A cheeky little monkey.

Sarah was giggling and made her way down the stairs, making her way down carefully before running up to Steve “DADDYYYY!” She raced forward and came face-first into Steve’s calves and knees “Hi Sunshine.” Picking her up and placing her upon his hip “Why are you still in your sleeping clothes, Daddy? Don’t you have work?” Tilting her head up at him, Steve chuckled “Sunshine, Daddy has a day-off today to spend with you.” He lay a peck to the crown of her head gently “REALLY?!” Sarah perked up immediately and wriggled in Steve’s arms excitedly “I get to spend a WHOLE day with you?!” The deeper meaning behind those words made Steve flinch slightly, it was true that he rarely got good time alone with his daughter, today was the start of a small change he’d hoped to start making. Steve nodded “Yes Sunshine and I think I have an idea of what we could do today.” Booping his daughter on the nose gently, with his finger, his daughter doing the head-tilt thing again “How about we head to the bakery that you keep talking about?”

Sarah was bubbling with excitement “WE’RE GOING TO SEE MISS (YN)?!” She wriggled “I have to get ready! So do you Daddy!?” She squealed and rushed towards the stairs, Steve chuckling and following after his enthusiastic daughter who scrambled to her room to get changed, so he decided to follow suit and clean himself up in preparation for heading out. Changing into a simple blue shirt and trousers, not as dressed up as he usually was due to his work attire being so formal. Swiping his hair back and taming his growing facial hair, the ‘dad beard’ as Bucky called it on many occasions, staring at his reflection in the mirror, it was a stark comparison to the man who started his career all those years ago, he’d aged in those years. The tiredness which lingered under his eyes, fatigue and droning nature of meetings and writing reports. 

But Sarah brought out the energy and happier side to Steve which many people at work never saw. Never saw in the same capacity that Sarah and those closest to him saw. The lighter side of Steve which had been in hiding since Peggy. A side of him he missed dearly. Today, the weight of his work was off his shoulders and all that mattered today was his little girl who he heard running up to his door. Turning on his heel, he saw his beautiful little girl waiting at his door, her soft brown eyes full of wonder and excitement about what today might hold “I’m ready Daddy!” giggling as she dressed herself with ease, becoming better at doing the buttons on her cardigans day by day. Walking over and picking her up with ease, Steve happily carried his daughter back downstairs “Let's get a few things packed with us and we can get going.” He definitely still babied Sarah, but she was his only child, his little girl.

 So of course she was coddled and spoilt rotten by her father. 

Steve grabbed her paw-patrol backpack for her and packed a few snacks and a juice-box inside she got hungry on the way into the city, he’d learned over the years of being a lone dad, he needed to pack for any eventuality, like the apocalypse itself would start any moment. Handing over the backpack to his daughter as well as her coat and boots, helping her tie the laces as she hadn’t gotten the knack of it.

“I wanna do my own laces but I can’t!” Sarah crossed her arms in a huff, her chubby cheeks looking even more round when she pouted her petted lips. Steve laughed and rubbed his daughter’s cheek gently “You’ll get the hang of it, Sunshine. How about I teach you a rhyme your nana taught me to help me tie my laces?” Sarah nodded excitedly and sat on her dad’s lap on the floor as he reached to guide her hands with the tricky shoelaces.

“Over, under, around and through,

Meet Mr. Bunny Rabbit, pull and through.”

Steve recited the rhyme for his daughter as he guided her little hands to tie the laces, taking his time to show her each step, finally tying the laces up and clapping his hands happily “There. And if you remember that rhyme and keep practicing, you’ll be a shoelace tying champ!” Blowing a raspberry into his daughter’s cheek as she squealed “DADDY! Your chin is scratchy!?” Pouting as Steve let out a bellowed chuckle “Oh is it now?” He did it again and rubbed his bearded chin into his daughter’s face, making her squeal even louder “DADDY!!” She wriggled in Steve’s lap as she was being tickled, a happy moment between the two. Steve laughed and looked down at his daughter “Okay I relent! Since we want to go visit your friend the baker don’t you?” He stopped tickling her as he saw her now burst into the widest of smiles “Miss (YN)?! We have to go now Daddy!” grabbing her father’s hand and trying to get him up onto his feet and drag him out the door, giving him on a few moments to grab his shoes, jacket and the 3 essentials.

Phone, keys and wallet. 

Being rushed into the lift by little Sarah who was jumping up and down excitedly, the two descending in the lift from their 2 floor penthouse home, heading down to the private parking lot which contained his car and motorcycle, the latter something he hadn’t ridden on in many years, not since little Sarah’s birth. Walking up to his car, he helped Sarah into her car-seat, strapping her in before heading over to his side of the car, starting the ignition and strapping himself in. Driving out of the car park and using the GPS to direct him to the bakery.

Sarah giggled “Music, Daddy! Music-time!” She insisted, to which Steve gave in and flicked through the music stations before Sarah called out again “No Daddy! Special CD!” Steve smiled faintly, the CD she was mentioning was a CD of music from his childhood to music he and Peggy used to drive to, all the music was suitable for Sarah but some of the songs made him smile sadly as he drove, his eyes on the road as he listened solely to the sound of the GPS and Sarah’s singing, blocking out any of the songs which were too difficult to listen to. Songs which were too significant for him and the past, songs which hurt. 

Soon enough after avoiding the traffic as much as he could, they turned into the street where the bakery was hidden from the main-street, immediately the atmosphere was different. The busyness of the city didn’t touch this nook, the shops were their own little community with the butchers, flower shop and of course, the bakery in questioned they’d travelled through the city to get to. Parking up beside the shop, he got out and stood on the pavement as he helped Sarah out of her car-seat and onto the ground beside him. Locking up the car and getting a ticket for parking before turning to look at the bakery which was decked out in Christmas decorations, something which made Steve grimaced slightly. Sarah was excitable and rushed up to the window “I see her! Come on Daddy!” Grabbing his hand and dragging him inside, the bell above the door ringing, notifying the owner of their arrival, whose back was turned. 

“Miss (YN)!” Sarah squeaked which made the owner turn around finally, her hair dusted with flour leaving a white caste in her hair which was styled in an easy way but in a way which suited her features. Steve’s eyes locked onto her own, her cheeks tinted a faint pink “Hi there!” The woman smiled and pulled her eyes from Steve’s and looked down at Sarah “Hi again, I’m guessing this guy here is your dad huh?” Steve smiled “Steve,” he introduced himself as Sarah nodded and giggled, holding onto his hand happily “We came to see you! Daddy enjoyed his doughnut, his beard was covered in crumbs in the morning when I woke up!” Steve coughed and used his spare hand to cover his mouth and to hide his flushed cheeks “I see.” (YN) turned her eyes to look at Steve, a smile on her face “Your friend Bucky said you didn’t like sweet things so I’m glad to know you enjoyed it.” Pure joy in her eyes at the thought of people just enjoying her baking “Yes. I very much enjoyed it.” Steve ran his fingers through his beard, as if making sure there was no crumbs in it this time. (YN) smiled “So Sarah, how would you like to help me do some baking today? Only if your dad doesn’t mind of course!” Kneeling down to Sarah’s height and looking between Sarah and Steve. Sarah looked at her dad happily “Can I Daddy?! Can I Can I?!” Looking at Steve with puppy-dog eyes, and of course he gave in “Of Course that’d be alright Sunshine.”

(YN) rose to her feet and smiled, running a hand through her hair “Wanna go wash your hands and get an apron on?” Sarah nodded and followed (YN) to go wash her hand and gave her a small apron which had snowflakes on it, helping her tie the apron for her, muttering something under her breath “Over, under, around and through, Meet Mr. Bunny Rabbit, pull and through.” Sarah gasped “You know the Mr Bunny rabbit song!” turning to (YN) and rushing up to her dad “Daddy! Miss (YN) knows your Mr Bunny Rabbit song!” Steve looked up to (YN) and then to Sarah “She does eh?” (YN) smiled “I sometimes say the song when I’m tying up my apron, habits never die.” (YN)’s cheeks were flushed in embarrassment slightly as she rose back to her feet from when she was knelt down tying Sarah’s apron for her. Sarah tugged at the edge of your apron softly, pulling you from your rising embarrassment “Miss (YN), what are we going to bake?” excitement clearly spread across the little girl’s  face “How about cupcakes or even fairy cakes?” Sarah squealed and nodded excitedly, bouncing up and down, ready to start baking. 

Steve took a seat at a table which made (YN) raise a brow “Sitting this out eh?” cheeks still tinged faintly pink as she looked at him, Sarah distracted for a moment by the Christmas ornaments. Steve looked at the baker with an amused expression “I’m not much of a baker to be honest.” He rested back in the seat “I can cook but baking isn’t my strong-suit.” Sarah joined in “Daddy can’t bake, last time we tried to make pancakes, they were like rocks!” sending a cheeky smile to her father, standing beside (YN) who let out an uncontrollable laugh/snort. 

Steve watched her snort and laugh and how she quickly contained herself and covered her mouth and nose “I’m so sorry for laughing!” The remnants of the laughter in her throat, threatening to come out again if triggered. Steve smiled faintly “She gets the humor from her uncles, they’ve teased me since college about my baking skills.” It felt like a window was being formed, a peek through into Steve’s inner self that he was letting this woman see, he didn’t know why he felt so comforted in her presence and the setting of her little bakery. 

YOUR POV

As you smiled at Steve for another moment “Well maybe I can teach you a fool-proof recipe that won’t end up in disaster,” you offered, not knowing where the confidence was coming from to say this to the highly attractive man that sat down in your bakery. You think its maybe your friend Dot’s energy and behaviours rubbing off on you, god you hoped this didn’t make you look like an idiot. 

Steve cracked a smile again, chuckling which made your stomach twist in a nice way, as strange as that sounded in your head. Steve smiled “I don’t think any recipe is fool-proof with me around.” his brow raised, it was almost as if a younger version of the man before you was now sat there, a shroud of shadow left him and was letting him smile. With an equal playful tone, you retorted “I like a challenge,” crossing your arms across your apron with a smile across your face “But for now, how about we start on those cupcakes?” looking over to Sarah, who was looking at the desserts cabinet, she perked up and followed you as you led her around back to the kitchen “There’s a window in the kitchen, you can sit by the window to keep an eye on her?” you offered to which Steve nodded and followed after the two of you, this was when you were reminded how tall and broad he was, not that you hadn’t noticed it when you first saw him and Sarah enter the bakery. 

Entering the kitchen, you tried to quell the growing redness in your cheeks, focusing on baking with Sarah, though you felt Steve’s eyes from the window, watching as the two of you worked together to make the batter for the cupcakes. Your holiday playlist softly playing as you baked, the festive songs playing through the portable speaker you always brought into work, letting the music fills you with spirit and cheer. Sarah was perched on a stool beside you so she was level with the table, able to stir the batter and help. Her little hands dusted with flour as she helped pour in the cups of flour, her little apron dusted with flour a little which reminded you of the snow which had started to fall across the city a few days ago. With the bowl of batter, you whisk the batter till fluffy, you showed Sarah each step and smiled, even gently booping her nose with your flour covered finger, smiling as she let out a happy squeal. Taking a glance at the window for a moment, you locked eyes with Steve. His blue eyes on yours, your palms getting sweaty for a second before you pulled away from his eyes and focusing on distributing the batter into some cases. 

Two trays of cupcake cases were laid out in front of you and Sarah, giving her a spoon and showing her how much batter to use in each “Should reach up to there, so they can rise and not overflow!” Like a machine, you filled your tray quickly as you were so used to the action, deciding to help Sarah “Need a little help?” seeing as the little girl’s hand was shaking as she tried to concentrate so hard on filling each case perfectly, you reached around and guided her hand “There we go! You’re doing so well with filling these, giving my best friend a run for her money!” giggling with Sarah as you helped her complete the second tray of cupcakes. Carrying the trays over to the ovens, placing them in gently to bake “We have 15 minutes to wait! Time to clean up! Everyone’s least favourite part!” Sarah just seemed excited to be in the kitchen and up for doing anything and spending time with you which made time fly so fast. 

TIME SKIP ~~

Sarah had fallen asleep on the table, her little hand still grasping the bag of green icing she was using to ice her cupcake masterpiece that she’d been working on before she passed out. You smiled, looking at Steve who was watching his daughter fondly, turning back to the cupcakes you grabbed a cake-box from up front and started to fill the box with the cupcakes you and Sarah made. Sprinkles covering the table from Sarah’s excitement with decorating, you’d clean it up after you got all this sorted. Gently, you picked up Sarah, removing the icing bag from her hands and putting that on the table before you carried her out of the kitchen and out to Steve who was at his table still, two empty coffee cups which you’d made for him when Sarah was helping you clean and decorate. Her little hands reached for something to hold instead of the icing bag and wrapped her arms around your neck and entangling her fingers in your hair which made you giggle quietly. Steve smiled as you approached, rising from his seat to walk with you to the front register. 

“Definitely tuckered her little self out.” Steve gently brushed his daughter’s cheek, which was dusted with flour and icing sugar, making you smile as Steve now turned to you “Thank you for this, she’s been wanting to come back here since Sam and Bucky brought her.” You nodded “I love baking with little kids, they love getting creative in the kitchen.” Steve seemed focused on your face, you blinked “what?” tilting your head to the side for a moment as you looked at him, his hand reached up to brush your cheek gently “A bit of icing sugar I think.” your face a little pink “I-I see! Happens all the time,” feeling like a nervous teenager again. Steve nodded “I could only bet,” he reached over to gently pry Sarah off of you, she clung on like a little koala as you supported her from the back and bottom “Let me fetch the cupcakes and bag them up for you!” with your now free arms, you walked back to the kitchen to get the box as Steve soothed the stirring Sarah, who was nestling her nose in her father’s neck. 

You watched the little scene from the kitchen-door, smiling as Dot’s mischievous voice entered your mind, nagging you to do something. To give him your number. You knew your friend would kill you if you didn’t so as you bagged up the baked treats for the two, you suppress the voice and kept bagging everything, ignoring the nagging voice. Walking back to the register, you handed the bag over “There’s her little cupcake masterpieces,” fingertips brushing as you handed the bag to his free hand as the other arm cradled the sleeping Sarah. Steve smiled, “You really made her day. She was so excited to come here and I now understand why.” Shyly, you rubbed your clammy hands on your apron out of nerves from the compliment, you could playfully banter with him but as soon as he gave you a compliment, the shyness bubbled over completely “Well she made my day I-I mean you both made my day!” slipping up on your words slightly which made Steve chuckle “Don’t worry, I understood what you meant.” Holding Sarah close as he chatted with you “Well I suppose we’ll definitely be seeing each other at the Christmas party?” You nodded “I guessed so, your colleagues well should I say friends called her their ‘taste-tester’ so I guessed that you worked with them.” Steve nodded “Well Sam’s my employee and friend, Buck’s just a very close friend of mine.”

‘Employee?’ That meant Steve wasn’t simply a worker for the Avengers Firm, he was a big player, a boss. You simply nodded at his words “Well they were both lovely when they were here, they’ve emailed and asked about my lunch delivery service already.” Steve chuckled “Lunch delivery? You do lunch deliveries?” He questioned and walked to the door, bag of cupcakes in hand “My friend Dot and I work on deliveries, brings in more business and very popular amongst offices.” You noted as Steve hummed “I’ll have to enquire about that myself, has peaked my interest.” You bit your lip to stop it from smiling to much at this “Oh really?” You thought this may be a proposition for him wanting to see you again but you wouldn’t keep your hopes up, though you didn’t see the wedding band on his left hand, you didn’t want to overstep or assume anything especially with little Sarah. Steve with your help, opened the front door and carried Sarah and the bag over to his car, you waved from the shop window, watching as Steve put Sarah in her car-seat. 

You don’t know what overtook you in the next moments but by the time Steve had put Sarah in the car with the cupcakes and was getting into the driver’s seat, you’d run out with a small bag in hand and a napkin “WAIT!! STEVE!” You rushed over to his car as he switched on the ignition, walking over to the driver side window, seeing him roll the window down, you panted softly as you held the bag out to him for him to take through the window “I-I thought you might like this… since you don’t like sweet things that much.” Cheeks tinged pink from the rush but also shyness, Steve grinned “Thank you.” You nodded and backed up as Steve drove off, you gently waved from the sidewalk. His car disappearing with sight and hoping that your inner-Dot was right when you snuck him the napkin and sweet treat, the napkin having you number scrawled on it with a few words. 

‘I promised to prove you wrong that you can make something which is fool-proof but you’ll need this’ (YN) - 202-555-0104 <3

As you stood pondering what you’d just done on the sidewalk, winter started to show its face once more, slowly snowflakes began to cover you as snow took over this side of the city, your hair now littered with snowflakes. Hearing you name, you saw it was Dot, who was stopping by to check in on you as she usually did during her lunch-break. You pulled away from the edge of the sidewalk and made your way over to the shop where your friend was stood, waiting for you. 

The two of you heading back into the bakery, her asking immediately what you were doing standing out on the sidewalk in the softly falling snow. And you knew you couldn’t hide anything from your best-friend, so of course you spilt the beans 

“So you just ran out with a cake and your number and stopped him from driving off!” Dot squealed as you nodded “Oh my god (YN)! This sounds like something out of a rom-com!” You flushed “But what if I totally misjudged it! What if he finds my number and is weirded out!” You were thinking irrationally but you were just nervous, sipping your hot chocolate which you’d made as you chatted with your best friend. Dot rolled her eyes “It’ll be okay (YN)! Stop being irrational!” She laughed “You’re a catch and if he doesn’t recognise that then jokes on him! But I have a good feeling he has.” Smiling into her mocha as you chatted about Steve. And as if almost teasing you, your phone went off, it was placed by the register. 

Quickly, you scuttled to the register before Dot could, she was nagging you and wanted to see if it was Steve who’d texted you “Come on! You’re killing me! Is it Steve or not!” She was squealing and desperate to find out if Steve had messaged you. Taking a deep gulp, you checked your phone to see a message from an unknown number and checked your text messages, deep down hoping it was Steve.

Your face went bright red as you looked at the message, it was Steve. You let out a squeal which you’d been holding in, feeling like a teenage girl all over again. The flurry of emotions taking over. Dot took that as a yes to it being Steve and scrambled over to see what he messaged, reading it “Holy Shit! He’s definitely into you!” Dot squealed with you, you just stared and bite your lip. Dot shook you “Message him back Woman!!!” laughing as you nodded “Okay Okay I will!” Pulling away from Dot as you began to message him back, putting him in your contacts.

Something was blossoming in this cold December afternoon in New York and you hoped deep down it was something that would grow, like snowdrops growing in the coldest of winter, during this most wonderful time of the year. And you hoped that Steve could feel it too. 

END OF CHAPTER 2

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TAGLIST - @chuckennuggets1213​ @nervousstrangersandwich​ @justthatfangirloverthere​ @sheadre​ @125bluemachine125​ @giggleberts​ @kind-sober-fullydressed​ @fluffyirwinie​ @kaithezaftig​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe @ilovesupersoldiers​ @royale-skeleton-key​ @mcuwillbethedeathofme​ @amberkay284​

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

I Moose-t Tell You Something || Morgan and Kaden

LOCATION: Moose Caboose PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY:  Morgan tries to be honest with Kaden. They are swiftly punished by the great Mime-Moose.

Exhausted didn’t even begin to cover how Kaden felt after this week. Hell, after this month. He was pretty sure this outing with Morgan wasn’t going to be nice and light hearted or any sort of reprieve, despite the location. God, he was so tired. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to help the bags under his eyes. Didn’t mean he wasn’t trying as he sat there and waited for her in one of the booths. But coffee wasn’t going to fix this; the frustration he felt at everyone around him holding something back. Morgan, Regan, Blanche, Nadia, for all he knew Alain and Evelyn, too; he could feel all of them keeping something from him all while acting like they trusted him.  At least saying they did. That he was a good guy. Sure. Just not good enough. Which alright, that might be true. He could think of plenty of reasons for them not to trust him, but he still fucking hated feeling like this. Whatever this was. He’d just drown it all in coffee and nicotine. It’d be fine. He saw her walk in and waved her over. “See you found the place. Hopefully you didn’t bring any fucking mimes with you.” Looking at her, he wondered which of the two of them looked more exhausted and weary. He still didn’t know what happened but no doubt it wasn’t anything good. “How’ve you been?”

Stars, Morgan missed the variety of human food. Brains were fine, now, but it was like having tuna salad as your favorite food, and then deciding to never have anything else for the rest of your life. She found the pretense of cooking depressing, some sad form of denial that hurt more than it helped. Going out to another White Crest diner was a whole other level. But what could she do? Call Kaden over to the house and tell him, hey, wanna see the shed where I came back from the dead? And while we’re at it, guess from all the taxidermy what our girlfriends have in common? So she pulled herself into one of her cleaner sets of ‘I just died and can’t be bothered’ loungewear and drove to meet him in the afternoon. She found Kaden easily, he couldn’t have brooded harder if he was on the cover of a Batman poster, and plopped down in the seat opposite.

“I’m peachy with a side of keen,” she deadpanned. “Just like you’re walking on sunshine over there.” She was being flippant, but he really did look worse for wear. The part of Morgan that knew better, that cared for Kaden despite the inconvenience, felt guilty over it. She sighed and asked, “You uh, wanna vent about anything first?” I have literally all the time in the world, she silently added.

“Oh yeah. It’s been a wonderful week. Full of mimes and splendor.” Kaden went to take another sip of his coffee only to realize it was already gone. Putain. He ran his hand through his hair instead. Did he have anything to vent? Shit, he had a mountain of things to vent. He could be here all day and maybe the next if he started on all of that. That wasn’t why he was here, though. Still, might as well dump some of it. “Did I mention I got attacked by a mime that looked just like me? Twice. That was fun.” His foot ached at the thought. Thank god for hunter healing but he wasn’t about to go running again any time soon. “Regan ran away from me in the middle of dinner because the ghost of my mother decided to show up and say  ‘boo.’ More or less.” It felt like he was being crushed under the weight of this fucking town. He wasn’t aware he could feel this much stress at one time before he moved here. He’d dealt with a lot but nothing like this. Maybe it was that whole caring bullshit. Is this what it did to you? This? God, there really was a reason he was avoiding it all this time. “Enough about me. You wanted to tell me something.”

“Oh, shit.” Was all Morgan could say at first. Maybe she should have postponed this meeting for a better day, one where there was enough of her outside of the pit to give Kaden some comfort. A pat on the shoulder or something kind and smart about how to take these things in stride. She knew all about breaking under the weight of too much suffering. “That’s...a lot, bud. And I…” Shit, this had all been a terrible idea. But what else could she do? She was already here. “I don’t have anything to make it better. Don’t you, um…” She hesitated. He was a hunter, right? Was he just too stressed to feel the dead on her? “Are your spidey senses going off by any chance?” Or maybe that was the wrong tack to start with. “Just, you know, curious. But anyway, you didn’t fuck up the bowl because it’s just a bowl. I wanted to make you fess up to your feelings out loud. Well, I wanted to talk you out of giving Vera your money too. But also the first thing. I thought it would help you. Harmlessly.”

It was odd, she wasn’t picking at his emotions like normal. Maybe she was just giving him some breathing room before digging in. Her first question threw him for a loop and Kaden’s brow furrowed. “Uh, no.” Why was she asking about his hunter senses? Did… did she get bitten by a werewolf? Was that what she was afraid to tell him? He paused and tried to pay closer attention to those senses, see if he got that feeling, the chill down his spine. No. No sixth sense. “Are they supposed to?” Strange she’d ask. He looked down into mug, watching the few grinds left swish around and was about to start concentrating on what he could hear, see if he was missing something, when she mentioned the fucking bowl. “Wait, what?” His head shot up to meet her eyes. “You-- It didn’t--? It wasn’t--?” His mouth pulled into a thin line and his eyes narrowed at her. “Great. Thanks for that. I-- I made Regan think--” He could get up and leave right now. Just leave some cash on the table and book it. He let out a strained sigh and stayed seated instead. “Why would you want me to do that, anyway? Fucking with me is one thing but you fucked with Regan, too.” He wanted to take the salt shaker and chuck it across the room. He settled for gripping the mug to the point it made his knuckles white instead. He felt like such an idiot for buying into that shit. And even worse for giving Regan false hope like that.

“Yeah, well, Regan wouldn’t listen to the actual truth, so a little witchy mind trick on you to get her to do the same fucking thing and actually take care of herself seemed like a fair bargain,” Morgan replied dully. “There was nothing wrong with the amulet, but you guys really wanted to think there was so I stepped in and made y’all feel better about it for a hot second. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, but I wasn’t very good at seeing the big picture either. I did a lot of stupid things.” She fiddled her hands in her lap, painfully aware that this was not the sort of confession Kaden really deserved. She should be explaining, somehow, that she’d been genuinely touched by his willingness, and she hadn’t expected him to listen to her in the first place, only then it was a little too late. She should explain that she did, somehow, want him to be okay. But she didn’t know where those words were. They were buried somewhere in the pit that sat at the bottom of her chest. She looked back up at him, frowning and guilty and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

Something was wrong. Kaden’s nose scrunched as his brows knit further together listening to her speak. He didn’t know Morgan all that well and she was far from happy to see him in the past, but this was off. Defensive. Sullen. Not snippy in the way she’d been in the past. It was harsher, blunter, in a way he couldn't quite place a finger on. It made it hard for him to hold on to his anger. Putain, when the fuck did worry and concern become his default fucking state of being? He felt like that's all he ever was now. Like he forgot how to turn off the switch once it flipped back on. “Look, I don’t even know what the amulet does. I didn’t think it was broken. I just wanted to help her, alright?” He tried to soften his tone some but exhaustion didn’t exactly let him. “Morgan, what the fuck is wrong? Why’d you have to tell me that in person?” It wasn’t that bad. He was still bristling a little, sure, but it was more for Regan than himself. It was a grudge he couldn’t be fucked to hold onto right now, not with whatever strange tension he felt coming off of Morgan sitting across from him. Still it felt too silly to be the sole reason she was here. In the moment of silence, he tried to listen closer, see if there was anything he could pick up but it was no use. Even at an off time with less people, the place was still too noisy for him to focus on much of anything. All he could hear was the shuffling of feet from the servers, muffled conversations, the clinking of knives and forks against plates, the little bell on the door as someone walked in. His hunter senses still didn’t go off but he got the feeling something was off all the same.

Morgan spread her arms in an impression of that shrug emoji Blanche liked to send her when she was at her wit’s end. “It’s the nice thing to do, or something, maybe. And I thought I’d get all the bad news out in one go where there’d be plenty of witnesses,” she said. “Cause the other thing is, I’m dead. Like super dead. There was this cute little pole that went through here,” she traced a circle over the spot with her finger, “And I bled out on the pavement. And then I came back. Not in the fangs way, but the brains way. Which, gotta say, has just been the worst for all kinds of reasons you probably wouldn’t think of at first.” Her voice grew heavier as she went on, no longer glib and deadpan but weighted with the pull of the death-pit inside her. She turned away from him to look out the window. Only a few days ago she’d been riding high from her Beltane night with Deirdre. She’d made dinner. She’d picked up flowers to press. And then something had given out, she couldn’t even remember what, but zoning out at the ceiling had slid suddenly into hiding in bed. Now she was here, and she couldn’t grasp why she had believed anything would turn around for her for long, curse or no curse. Morgan searched the middle distance for an answer, but found nothing. Nothing that is, except for-- “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” She whirled back to Kaden, pointing out the window. “I thought you said mime-moose weren’t real!”

All Kaden could do was blink at her for a moment as his mouth fell slowly open. That was a lot to process. All at once. Very bluntly. Dead. She died. And she was talking. And then brains. Which meant. “Putain.” He rubbed his face with his hands. Shit. This… shit. It-- Nope. He couldn’t process this. He couldn’t take one more fucking shitty thing. Obviously he knew that people turned into zombies and vampires and werewolves. That’s how they spread. That was the problem at its core. But he’d never met anyone who had turned. Why would he? His entire circle was full of hunters. Anyone who could turn didn’t let themselves. With his eyes closed and his fingers pressed into the bridge of his nose he concentrated and tried desperately to hear her heartbeat, like maybe she was lying and he could will it to be different if he just listened hard enough. He didn’t get to listen for very long. His eyes shot open and he turned to face the window just in time to see a fucking black and white striped moose. With. A. Fucking. Beret. “Putain!” This fucking town. There was a crash and glass shattered as the antlers came charging through into the restaurant. With a grumble, Kaden reached into his pocket to pull out a knife and stomped over towards the fucking mime moose. He’d normally charge in but his enthusiasm was a little curbed. “Animal control, everyone out!” he shouted as people scattered, hoping it’d clear the room faster so he could stab this monster without witnesses. At least not live fucking witnesses.

Morgan still couldn’t believe what she was looking at. Moose didn’t wear berets. Evil pulpy mime-doubles were one thing, but a moose with a beret and stripes running through is fur, charging the diner in complete, raging silence--that was a level Morgan had hoped White Crest wouldn’t think to seek to. Glass splattered into the diner. Morgan shielded her face and threw herself out of the booth and onto the ground. When the rain of glass ceased, she picked herself up, checking for signs of the moose. A creature like that should be huffing, wheezing, growling. But she heard nothing. She lifted her gaze and saw its large black-and-white snout. Its black eyes, dotted white around the lids, were not the blank, stupid animal shade of black. Morgan had stared into the eyes of enough deer and rabbits to know that look by now. This creature was something else, something furious. “You heard the guy!” She shouted to the room, not breaking eye contact. Slowly, she staggered to her feet. “Are you bookin’ it or--” Without warning the moose swatted her body across the room. Morgan’s spine bent like a rubber noodle over the bar counter. Her arm, stretched into the air useless to catch itself, crumpled in on itself. “...Ow,” she whined. She braced herself up with a sturdy hand and staggered, as best she would, while her body reset itself. She waved her mangled arm in the general direction she thought Kaden to be. Blood bloomed up from somewhere in her shoulder and soaked her torn sweater sleeve. A shard of glass she could barely perceive jutted out from the apple of her cheek, wiggling as she offered a weak ‘I’m good!’ smile.

Knife in hand, Kaden braced himself as the moose charged forward at him. He reached out and caught a chunk of flesh but ducked and rolled as a striped antler threatened to impale him. He scrambled to right himself, just in time to see Morgan facing off with the moose. Shit. He pushed off the ground but he wasn’t in time to do a damn thing before she went flying halfway across the room. He winced watching her body bend and break like a ragdoll being tossed away. He stopped dead, stunned to watch it. And then she spoke and got up. Putain. She really was dead. And that-- Shit. No time to be horrified. He hopped onto a table and leapt across a few to reach the moose. The beast turned to him and started another charge. Kaden waited as it got closer. Closer. And right as he could practically feel its silent breath he pushed off to the next table and threw himself around to catch the back of the moose with his knife. He pushed down hard as he could, black tar like substance oozing and bubbling up from its black and white fur. Ought to slow it down. He hoped.  

Morgan winced as her body reconstructed its old shape. Nothing hurt, not the way it should, but the sight was more than she could bear just yet. When she could stand upright and use both her arms, she scrambled to the other side of the bar, looking for a weapon, anything to fight back with. She tore open every drawer, one after another, until she found a nice pair of butcher knives. She held one out, hilt offered to Kaden. “Need another?” She mouthed silently. The moose opened its mouth as if to roar. The silence wasn’t as comforting on her ears as it should have been and Morgan gave Kaden a look that said he really should consider the big foodie blade and slid across the bar closer to him as she crept towards the moose with her own.

Kaden looked back to see Morgan’s body repairing itself from behind the bar and sliding him a butcher’s knife. He blinked back the image of her bones piecing themselves back together, he’d save the mental gymnastics on that one for another time, and took the knife, looked it over. It’d be a shame to waste a good cooking knife on a monster. Luckily, this wasn’t a good cooking knife. He wasn’t sure what she planned on doing with her own knife exactly but at least he didn’t have to worry about her getting killed. He stood his ground as the animal let out a silent bellow. It ran, he moved to the side, took one of the tables, and shoved it in front of the moose’s path. The mime stumbled, barely, but it was enough of an opportunity for Kaden to launch himself at the animal, a knife in each hand. They sunk into the side of its flesh, more black goo oozing out. The antlers swung as the moose tossed its head and thrashed in pain. Kaden clung to the knives with all his might and tried to hold on.

Morgan leapt at the mime-moose as soon as Kaden pinned it in the aisle of the diner. She dug her hands into the wooly fur of the critter and dug in tight. He was not happy to have a dead weight flopped on its back and thrashed violently, snarling, and huffing without even the whisper of a breath. Morgan flailed to keep her balance, kicking Kaden’s hand in the process. Clawing up its body, muscles straining, even in undeath, she worked her way to its neck. She jabbed the knife into its throat, stabbing awkwardly over and over until she was thrown off again, crashing into the bar stools. The black and white moose stumbled on its feet, straining to stay upright, and finally collapsed. It didn’t even make a sound as it fell to the ground. Morgan was only sure it was dead because of the way its beret fell to the ground, swallowed at once by black, tar-like blood. “Stars. You don’t see that every day,” she mumbled.

Kaden’s hand was kicked away and he lost his grip on the knives. Before he could fall away, an antler clipped his side and sent him reeling across the room. Fucking mimes. Couldn’t catch a fucking break. He peeled himself up off the floor and saw the creature collapse, more of that black crap bubbling out of it. He watched as it faded away into a puff of striped smoke and let out a sigh. Hopefully that meant it was fucking gone. Wait. Fuck, so was his knife. Putain. Like this could get any worse. He pushed himself up off the floor, wincing as he felt the full hit of that mime-moose’s attack. He walked over and held a hand out to help her and then it hit him all over again like a wave of confusion. Shit. Morgan was a zombie. She-- but that. He considered pulling his hand back. But didn’t. “When did it happen?” He knew the answer if he thought about it long enough but he needed something to say.

Morgan jerked back to reality, away from the melting mime-moose. Right. She’d told Kaden she was a zombie and now he had a whole body horror show of proof. She staggered to her feet, her shoes slipping on the black goo that came out of the creature as she tiptoed over. “That big accident on Main Street. Got my foot caught on some stupid banner. You wanna know how it feels to get a metal rod stuck through you, or car parts on your legs?” She looked up at him, meeting him square in the eye despite her fear. There were no witnesses now. No one to help her if he decided to take out one of those knives and run her through with it. “You wanna know what it feels like to die, Kaden?” She asked.

Kaden steeled his gaze as he watched her, putting his hand slowly back down at his side when she ignored it. This wasn’t the woman he’d met before. It was but, it wasn’t just her body that had changed. She was different. Harsher, maybe. “Not particularly, no. Gotten close, though.” Resentful. That was the word. He watched her, kept his eyes fixed on hers, looking for the person he knew. Was it just anger, a reaction, or was it something worse? She’d invited him here. She’d acted like she still cared before. The drawing she’d asked for. The stupid shitty drawing. He couldn’t believe she was gone. Not after that. He kept his face stoic but god he hoped she’d give him some sign that person was still there. Even if she had fucking tricked him into sharing his stupid feelings with a shitty bowl.

“It’s, um, it’s actually not that bad,” Morgan said, folding her arms over her chest. “About to die, sure, completely, but…” She shrugged, sniffing stiffly to keep her composure. The sleep had been fine. And stars, she missed being able to go to sleep some nights. “Anyways, I didn’t want you to find out some other way. And I can’t do anything magic for you, not that I managed to do much in the first place, before. But you should know I can’t. Not good for much besides staying up all night these days.” She stepped closer to him, holding his gaze, searching for some read on what he was thinking, how he was seeing her. “Am I still a person to you, Kaden?” She asked quietly, lip quivering. “I don’t have a grave or anything for you to go to. It’s just me. This. Am I a monster to you now?”

He watched her, kept watching as she spoke, tried to take in what she was saying, how she was saying it. Tried to process it. Kaden saw her resolve start to crumble, something beyond the anger and apathy she’d been displaying the whole time. It made it harder. Harder to figure out how to handle this. Zombies were bad. There was nothing right about dying and coming back in that sort of half life she was doubtlessly existing in. The fact that they could lose control-- that she could lose control and spread her condition like a plague, how could he let that stand? And a few months ago and this would have been an easy fuckin answer. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t. But standing in front of her now, it was harder. A lot harder. Every instinct in him was screaming yes, that was a monster. She fucking came back from the dead. He’d watched her limbs break and put themselves back together. What else did he need to know? But looking in her eyes, it still looked suspiciously like the woman who he bartered for some magic over waffles. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe both.”

Morgan didn’t know what she’d expected from a hunter. It was just like the humans back home; everything was fine until it wasn’t. Until they knew something they didn’t like. And in this case, Morgan wasn’t sure how much she disagreed. She didn’t feel like a monster, she hadn’t hurt anyone she hadn’t meant to. But there was the hunger, the thing that made her groan and fall down on her knees before a battered corpse. The thing that she feared enough to stop her mouth sometimes. And she didn’t feel like she was all herself most times. She kept trying to tell everyone there was less than there used to be. She frowned and backed away from him, “Does ‘I don’t know’ mean you’re gonna try to hurt me now, Kaden?” She asked, sniffling. “I wasn’t a perfect human, or anything. I was just cursed and miserable and for a couple months I thought things were gonna get better, and then it all fell apart and I died, so.” She gave him a sad, bitter smile. “Haven’t eaten anyone yet. It’s honestly not that hard to keep up with. I don’t even need three square meals a day to stay full, which is kind of sad, so I eat more anyway. I can’t burn your skin off anymore or pay you in laundry lent counterfeit, but if you hurt Deirdre or Ricky, I’ll bite you. Whatever I am now, I care about my friends. You know, when I get off the floor and stuff. And you were kind of a friend too, so I figured, what’s a little reckless endangerment with a guy you cheated with a bowl?” She shrugged helplessly. “So how stupid was I, Kaden? Telling you what happened to me?

Kaden didn’t expect the sting he felt when she backed away. Somehow it was like daggers, poking at him, reminding him that he was dangerous and that people couldn’t be close to him. Shouldn’t be. He knew that. Well, he had, before coming here. Not letting anyone in was his rule of thumb. He still wasn’t sure how he fucked it up so badly in White Crest but clearly he fucking did and it was causing some major complications. Like the one standing right in front of him. “It means you’re asking me to tell you something that I don’t know if I can yet.” He sighed and looked away a moment, trying to piece together how he felt. It was hard to do when he didn’t know. “You can’t say you’re not a monster. At least a little. You know that. You have to feel it. You died. And came back. Telling me to ignore that completely, it’s-- I can’t. I won’t.” His words weren’t meant to be harsh, just the truth. Just how it was. He was sure some of her friends were trying to ignore it, tell her it was fine and she was the same. She wasn’t. Still, her excuses kept coming. He didn’t need to hear them, didn’t want the standard lines he’d heard before but from people he’d never known. “But I’m not going to kill you.” He couldn’t, was what he wanted to add. Something couldn’t bring himself to even really consider it. Which made him want to vomit. He should be a better hunter than this. He knew better. “I--” His throat tightened a moment. “I’m going to miss who you were, though.” He wasn’t sure what to make of this, whoever he was dealing with now, how he felt about her, if he could-- So it was all he could find to say. “Even if you were a pain in the ass liar who tricked me with a fucking bowl made of dirt.”

A sad, sobbing laughter bubbled out of Morgan at the hunter’s last words. “You know, you’re the first person to say that to me since I died,” she said, checking her face for tears. Just a few, nothing too embarrassing. “I miss her too, so you know. It’s not great so far being who I am now, at least most of the time. And that alive-me, she was kinda pathetic and lonely, but she...I did my best, when I was that person. I didn’t let go of people, even when they let go of me. I screwed up, but I tried to keep things in balance, and I did…not all that much, but I didn’t give up about it.” She didn’t accomplish even half of what she wanted. She’d thought she was just getting started and there might be a whole other soft world waiting for her on the other side of the curse. “But whoever I am now, Kaden, however much of me death ends up keeping, I’m not a fucking monster. Monsters are the ones who see people as things. And I think you’re a good enough person to know that.” She gave him a hard look through her grief and stormed out the door.

[ubernoxa]

THE DARE

A Guns and Roses Fan Fiction 

Chapter 4: The Hell House

Chapter 4

The morning sun shined through the dark red curtains causing pink light to fill Beth’s room. Unlike most 18 year old’s rooms at the time, there wasn’t a single poster hanging on her baby pink walls. Instead a small cross hung a over her bed, and polaroids of her, Delilah, Mark, and Matt were taped to the back of her closet door out of direct sight. It was Beth’s small action of defiance against her parents.

She had heard a loud truck outside her house early at about 4 in the morning. Beth couldn’t sleep knowing Delilah was out on the strip alone. She tossed and turned all night thinking about how stupid Delilah was to abandon her and stay in line for the bar.

At 4 in the morning she heard someone help Delilah climb through the window. It was a girl’s voice who was probably no older than her that helped her climb through the window.

Beth stayed frozen in bed pretending to sleep as the two girls struggled to open the simple latch. Beth assumes that they must have been drunk, and she was right. They could figure it out by themselves.

“Good morning,” Beth said earning a groan from Delilah who dug her dead deeper into her pillow.

“Come on sleeping beauty time to get up and into the shower. You smell like you haven’t showered in a week!” Delilah groaned at Beth’s comment and pulled the comforter over her head in attempt to hide herself from her problems aka Beth.

Beth let out a loud groan as she pulled Delilah out of her bed and onto the floor. Delilah felt as if her head was going to explode while she let out another groan. She tried to crawl back to the bed, but Beth dragged her by her arm into the bathroom. Beth was panting by the time she finished. She looked at Delilah who had surrendered and was now getting into the shower welcoming the warm water on her sweaty skin.

Beth wondered if Delilah was hung over from however much she drank last night because she was acting like it. Beth prayed that she wasn’t, not wanting to deal with the puking that was soon to come.

Beth wanted to ask Delilah thousands of questions, but she knew she would get nowhere with Delilah’s current state.

Delilah stood with her face directly under the warm shower water. She could feel the mascara, foundation, and the rest of her makeup washing down her face, but she didn’t care. Memories of last night filled her head she and she couldn’t help but smile as at them. She could still feel Duff’s hands and lips on her as they made out. She wanted more.

“Good morning sunshine,” Delilah walked out of the bathroom to hear Beth’s chipper tone.

“Morning!” Delilah replied. Yeah she was mad at Beth, but this wasn’t worth a fight. The only thing coming out of this is more people finding out about last night which is the last thing she wanted.

“Sorry for leaving you last night,” the words flew out of Beth’s mouth.

Delilah froze in place as she heard Beth’s half hearted apology. Was she seriously apologizing? Beth wimped out and left Delilah out to dry alone on the strip. That wasn’t the first time that Beth wimped our, and Delilah knew it wouldn’t be the last.

She had two options. The first option, the one she favored, was to tell Beth off. To scream at her for abandoning her. To say how she always does crap like this. She always wimps out. The second, the one she ended up doing, was to shrug and accept her apology. Delilah didn’t have many friends, and if she lost Beth she was worried she would loose Matt and Mark too.

Beth hopped into the shower annoyed at not receiving an apology from Delilah as well while Delilah went over towards the polaroids that she hid under the bed. She looked through them with a smile crossing her face. The first bunch were of her and Mags dancing during the show, and the rest well...she didn’t remember taking them.

She looked at the one of her and Duff when she tried to escape with the vodka. They were both laughing in the picture. Unknowing to Delilah a huge smile grew on her face, but quickly disappeared when she heard the shower turn off.

Delilah dug through the photos and found one of her and Mags standing by the bar smiling. She couldn’t remember who took the photo or when it was taken, but it was exactly what she needed.

Delilah bolted across the room and threw the rest of her pictures in her bag along with the ‘clothing’ she wore last night.

Delilah threw on one of her lilac dresses that went well below her knees and a pair of black dress shoes.

“I see you are ready to go too!” Beth cheered as she went to grab her purse.

“Hey, you should give this to them and claim you took it. Today is my day off from church duties, so I won’t be stopping by today,” Delilah said handing Beth the picture and grabbing her backpack.

Delilah not hanging out with her on her day off struck Beth as odd. Beth was tasked with helping to cook supper which mean she and Delilah would work together to make time fly by faster while listening to some movie in the background.

“Who is this?”

“A girl who saved me from getting hit on by some guys at the bar. She actually knew someone in the band so we hung out back stage away from the creeps. She is really sweet and actually a good friend,” Delilah opened the door and headed downstairs to leave Beth’s house.

Beth stood frozen in her room. What did she mean by actually a good friend? Delilah was the one who wouldn’t leave when she wanted to go home! Beth wanted to scream at Delilah for the way she insinuated that a random slut that she met at a bar was a better friend than her best friend that she had known her whole life.

————-

Delilah sorted through the photos that were taken that night. There were plenty of her and Mags, a few of the whole group talking, but her favorites were of her and Duff. She could still feel his lips on hers. She sighed as she looked at all the remaining photos. Where was she going to put these. There were like 20 of them, where could she hide them without them easily being found? That’s when it hit her. She had at least 6 bibles in her room, so she grabbed one of the ones she hadn’t touched in ages that was in the bottom of her desk drawer and put the pictures in there one by one.

That’s when she found a number on the back of one of the pictures of her and Mags. She bit her bottom lip as she stared at the number. No one was home, so no one could eavesdrop on her phone call. She took a deep breath as she dialed the phone number.

The phone rang a couple times, but before Delilah went to voicemail someone picked up the phone.

“Hey... it’s Del, I was wondering if I could talk to Mags?” Delilah’s voice was barely auditable and Mags could hear her shaken breath.

“Hey girl what’s up? I was getting worried you wouldn’t call!” Mags smiled once she head Del’s voice. She was relieved to find that her brother’s band hand scared Delilah off.

“You’re awesome, why wouldn’t I call?” Mags smiled as she heard Del’s compliment.

The two of them talked about how their morning was and Mag’s made sure to give Del a couple of pointers on how to easily get rid of a hangover. By now Mags was sitting on the kitchen counter in her apartment playing with the cord that attached her phone to the wall.

“Do you have any plans for today?” Mags was practically praying that she would say no.

“No, not really,” Mags jumped of the counter when she heard her response. She was originally going to help Beth cook all day, but she didn’t want to be anywhere near Beth right now. Mags smiled that her prayer was answered. Maybe Delilah was onto something with this whole praying and Jesus thing?

“Do you wanna go meet up and get something to eat?” The couple of seconds it took for Delilah to answer yes, felt like hours to Mags, but once she said yes Mags was practically jumping for joy.

“Do you want me to pick you up or”

“Oh no, just tell me where to meet you and I can meet you there,” Delilah immediately interrupted in an almost panic. It wasn’t that she couldn’t leave her house when she wanted during the day. It was more of a she would have to explain who Mags was and how she met her which were stories that Delilah didn’t want to share with her parents at the moment, if she was ever going to at all.

So they agreed and a few hours later Delilah locked her bike on a nearby bike rack and walked into the cafe.

Mags immediately spotted Delilah as she walked into the small cafe that they were going to meet in. It was hard to miss her with her brown curly hair flowing down below her shoulders and her flowery lilac dress that hung below her knees. Mags waved Delilah over and noticed the smile grow on her face. She wondered if Delilah was nervous about coming here.

“Hey!” Delilah’s chipper tone filled the table as the two of them quickly began to talk about everything and nothing at the same time. Anyone in the cafe would assume that they were old best friends who hadn’t seen each other and years. It was a bit refreshing for both of them.

“Do you have any plans after this or...”

“No I’m honestly free for the rest of the day. Today is my day off!” Delilah interrupted Mags as she spoke. She also didn’t want to go back home and deal with Beth.

“I gotta drop something off at my brother’s first and you down for some shopping? Unless you want to wear your favorite outfit again to another one of my brother’s gigs.”

“Sounds awesome and the sooner I burn that skirt the better,” Delilah responded earning some giggles from Mags. She wondered if it was weird that she was relieved that Delilah was never going to wear the outfit front the night prior. It’s not that it didn’t look good on her, it was a more of a worry of what people would expect her to be. It was the sad world they lived in where you get judged without even opening your mouth.

They walked the street and Delilah felt more self conscious than she had the night before.

After some time Mags turned towards Delilah who she was now holding hands with to notice her constantly looking left and right afraid to miss a thing.

“Here we are,” Mags pulled her through the doors and up a couple of flights of stairs.

The smell of booze and cheep perfume filled Delilah’s nose as she followed Mags into the small apartment. There appeared to be a couple of rooms, but it was small for having a bunch of guys living in it. Delilah awkwardly stood in the apartment off to the side waiting for Mags to be done with whatever she had to do with her brother. After a couple of minutes of Mags being gone, she decided to start cleaning the beer cans that were scattered across the room. After a couple of minutes of cleaning she heard, “you know you don’t have to do that?” She looked up to see the red head from the night before.

“Yeah, but I don’t mind. Anything is better than awkwardly standing here waiting for Mags to finished whatever she is doing,” Delilah innocently smiled back at the incredibly tired red head that stood in front of her. She truly didn’t mind, anything to help out Mags. He shrugged and Delilah went back to work cleaning up all the empty bottles and trash that filled the rooms. She wondered if they occupants’ apartment was always this filthy.

Axl returned to the main room and cleaned with the brunette. He didn’t need a damn maid, but it was too early in the afternoon to fight with her about it.

“Del is it?”

“Yeah, you’re apart of Steven’s band right? You’re the singer! You were amazing last night,” Delilah didn’t know why but once she opened her mouthing her nerves took over and she couldn’t stop talking. She wanted to cover her mouth with her hand.

“Thanks,” Delilah noticed the smirk that grew on his face and she could tell that he was watching her more than he was cleaning.

“I barely recognized you. You look very different from yesterday,”

Delilah froze at his comment and turned around to look at him, “of course I look different. I’m actually wearing clothing today”

She smiled when his joyful laugh filled the room, and she couldn’t help but laugh with him. He then leaned in and whispered, “but between you and me I liked the other outfit more.” Axl then stood up, left his barely filled bag of empty bottles by Delilah’s, and left the room leaving Delilah speechless with her mind racing in circles.

Across the apartment Mags sat in her brother’s room which was practically a closet, “So I dropped off this month’s rent in the tent due box. How are you guys on food? Do you need any new clothes?”

Mags had been supporting her brother and his band for the past couple months, but she wasn’t the only one. There were a couple of other girls that she would meet, but they preferred doing other things than talking with the guys. They were still nice to her, they just never talked that much.

“I think we are good, you know you don’t have to” before he could continue his sister immediately interrupted him, “I know, but growing up you were always there for me so now it’s my turn to be there for you. Plus I expect millions when you make it big.”

Mags left her brothers room and headed towards the kitchen to make them all some breakfast as a good job for their show last night.

“Delilah you know you don’t have to do that right?” Mags watched as Delilah finished cleaning up all of the beer bottles.

“Yeah, but I want to. You helped me last night, remember?” Mags smiled Delilah’s comment. She also used cleaning as a means to distract herself from what the singer said. Had she found possibly one of the few good hearted people on the strip?

“Fine, but I’m heading to the store to grab some bread. I have something cooking in the stove for breakfast can you make sure the guys don’t eat it before it’s fully cooked in like 5 minutes?” Delilah nodded her head as she waved goodbye to Mags and headed to the kitchen. There was trash everywhere. Delilah wondered how they lived in it.

“Hey, What smells so good,” Mags looked behind her to see a smiling Steven or popcorn as they called him.

“Hey Popcorn, and I think it’s some egg thing. I don’t know, but it will be done,” Delilah turned around to check the one clock that was in the kitchen, “it will be potentially done in 20 minutes.” He smiled at Delilah’s use of his nickname.

“Wanna beer? It will help get rid of the hangover,” it would actually going to cause more pain later, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Delilah that. She already looked like she was done with life.

He watched as Delilah hesitated on her answer, “if you’re worried about it being weird, people usually drink mamosas in the morning which also have alcohoul.” The rest of the band was also going to be drinking whenever they decided to wake, but he decided not to tell her that. He didn’t want Delilah to think poorly of him, she seem to get along great with his sister.

Delilah nodded and he handed her a beer. That was when he was finally able to get a good look at her. Her long purple dress was a huge change from the barely there outfit from the night prior. Her hair looked the same though. Curled and twisted in all different ways, kinda like the curly fries he would get as a kid.

“Morning!” Steven yelled across the room at Duff who only looked a little effected by the drinks the night prior.

“What smells so good? Did your sister bake us something again?” Delilah turned and smiled at the sound of Duff’s voice.

“Yeah it’s like a egg thing, does she usually make stuff like this?” Delilah’s voice caught Duff off guard as the brunette turned around, away from the stove.

Delilah looked over at Duff whose hair was sticking every which way, she tried to hide her laugh, but she couldn’t and Steven quickly joined her.

“Sorry,” Delilah tried hiding her giggle as she apologized to Duff, but it failed.

Duff opened his beer and sat at the table watching Delilah struggle to hide her laughter.

“Like I said last night, I will never fucking forgive you,” he teased back earning a smile from Delilah.

As if on cue, a small timer went off causing Delilah to jump. Her stomach begged for the breakfast dish that Mags made as the smell invaded her nose. The rest of the band must have smelled the egg dish as they quickly poured into the kitchen to smell it. Delilah wondered if Mags had purposely chosen a dish that would wake everyone up. It was smart. Hungover and tired musicians were probably not the best people to deal with in the afternoon.

“So is it done?” Delilah looked into Steven’s puppy dog eyes and nodded her head. She couldn’t find the words to tell him that they couldn’t start without Mags.

“If it’s some then why the fuck are you putting it back in the oven?” Saying Axl was hungry was an understatement. Of course he had small meals here and there, but Mags food always made him drool.

“I’m keeping it warm ya dingus. Mags went shopping to go get the rest of y’all’s lunch...err...breakfast,” Mags said lowering the oven temperature. She looked around the room to be met with confused expressions.

“Delilah what the fuck is a dingus?” Steven asked between his giggles. As if laughter was a disease, it spread through the room.

“An annoying person,” Delilah sheepishly replied staring at the oven pretending to be watching it. She was too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. What if Duff thought she was an idiot or a child?

“What the hell, are you five? Trying calling me an annoying piece of shit next time, that way I can take you seriously,” Axl laughed back. His laugh wasn’t the sweet one she heard earlier, this one was vicious and cruel.

“Hey, Axl you don’t gotta be a dick,” Steven replied before he noticed that Dilalah had left the room.

Was Delilah overreacting? Probably.

But here she was sitting in another room by herself sulking on the couch. She couldn’t walk back into that room after leaving it.

Who was she kidding, why did she even think coming here with Mags would be a good idea? She shouldn’t of ever called her. She already felt like an outsider and Axl wasn’t helping.

She heard some ruckus from the kitchen, but then just shrugged it off trusting Steven to keep the food in the oven and out of their stomach’s.

“You know she probably just came to the bar last night on a dare,” Axl said. Why? Not even Axl knew. The room went quiet again until Steven broke the silence, “I’m going to make sure she is ok.” He eyed Axl as he walked out of the room with Duff on his tail.

“Oh great, do they both want to fuck her or something? She a church girl, anyone with eyes can see it. She thinks she is better than us. We are probably some sort of putty project,” before Axl could continue ranting Slash told him to shut up and went to his room that he shared with Duff.

Steven’s heart sunk as he saw Delilah sitting on their sad excuse for a couch. He had lost track of how many girls they had all fucked on that couch and decided not to mention that to Delilah until another time.

“It’s a pretty day out. It’s always nice to see the calm before the storm. This place becomes barely recognizable during the day before the street comes to life,” Steven rambled.

Delilah flashed him a fake smile and went back to looking outside. He then tried a couple of quick jokes, but she simply faked a smile and went back to what she was doing. Steven didn’t know what else to do, and truth be told neither did Duff.

Duff walked over towards the bin that held their suspiciously acquired records. Curious to see what he was looking for, Delilah watched him. She eventually went back to her staring out the window until she heard Duff’s voice.

“Last night you said you didn’t know a lot about Rock and Roll, so I thought I might as well show you what your missing,” Duff said joining her on the small couch.

Hesitantly Delilah turned around to face him. If it had been anyone else, she probably would had asked them to show her later, but it was Duff. Even though Delilah didn’t fully know it, she had a crush on the bassist.

“So you have your God, and rock and roll has ours,” Duff showered her the album cover waiting for her reaction. She said nothing, but she didn’t look mad, so he continued.

He rambled on for a couple minutes about how great Bowie was. Telling about which songs he liked more and other miscalaneous compliments.

“Do you have a record from that band everyone was talking about last night?” She wanted so bad to understand and listen to the music everyone was talking about. She didn’t want to be a social outcast. She wanted a place to belong.

“No, just like us they don’t have a record out, but they are playing tonight if you want to go see them,” Duff offered.

“Really?” Delilah was shocked at his offer.

“Well I made you a promise, didn’t I?” Then Duff flashed Delilah a smile that made her heart melt. Was she over analyzing this situation? Yes.

“Yeah!” Delilah quickly relied.

“Sweet, there are a bunch of us going tonight. The more the merrier.”

Delilah heart sunk. It wasn’t a date.

“Hey, why aren’t you watching the food?” Mags was a bit peeved that Delilah would completely ignore the fact that she had to watch the food. They didn’t have enough eggs to remake the dish.

Once she got a better look at Delilah’s face, her annoyance disappeared. What the hell did they do to Del?

“The food is fine. I have the oven keeping it slightly warm. I’m in here because Axl was..” Delilah paused sharing a look with Duff.

“Go ahead and say it. I call him that all the time,” Mags raised an eyebrow trying to decider what Duff was talking about.

“Axl was being a piece of shit,” Mags chucked as she saw Delilah proud to let the words come out of her mouth.

“Lunch will be ready in 5 minutes,” Mags yelled through the small apartment as she walked into the kitchen with her grocery bags.

“I’ve never seen someone so proud to call another person a piece of shit,”

“Well Duff you have never met someone like me,” Delilah looked up from the David Bowie record that he had handed her, rather proud.

“Hey popcorn, what’s your favorite record in here,” Delilah asked pointing at the box of records.

“Can’t choose, but for at this very second...” for a couple of seconds he stopped talking until he landed upon the record he was looking for and handed it to Delilah.

She looked at the band and quickly turned over the album to see the names of the songs.

“Thoughts?”

“That guy looks cooler with the lightening bolt on his face,” Delilah picked up David Bowie’s album and pointed to his makeup earning a chuckle.

That’s when it clicked, something that should have clicked a while ago when he mentioned the promise. If he remembered the promise then he probably remembered their make out session.

“Earth to Del, are you OK?”

“Yeah, of course why wouldn’t I be?” Delilah answered in a matter of fact tone. It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the truth.

“Food is ready!” When Delilah heard Mag’s voice she stood up, grabbed Duff’s beer, and headed towards the kitchen. She took a swig, and forced herself to swallow the nasty drink.