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toxic-gorgon · 3 years

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Yandere Dio Brando x Reader: Useless

Synapsis: You are one of the last hamon users and while the practice itself has died along Lisa Lisa, except for a tiny handful of users. While most are willing to allow their gifts to die out and go about their daily lives, you want to put yours to good use and join the crusaders.

Content Warning: Extremely dark themes, click the read more at your own risk! Non-con, blood, yandere Dio, depression/hopelessness, corruption kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, talks of su*cide, violence, and extremely spicy themes. 18+, minors DNI! By continuing to read, you understand the risk.

When you joined the Speedwagon Foundation, you knew the chances of you dying for Mr. Joestar’s cause was almost inevitable. Your gifts were nothing compared to the powerful and unique stands that you came across during the start of your journey. You were one of the last remaining hamon users, but instead of allowing it to fizzle out like the others who trade their gifts for normal lives, you wanted to help and be useful! Lisa Lisa long passed and you heard stories of how hamon saved the world. Allowing hamon to die was allowing a part of yourself to die.

Hamon was useless against stands, but worked wonders against humans and vampires. However, you primarily used yours for healing and support! The crusaders could use all the help they could get, so it made sense when the directors approached you for the task. Their lives are in your hands, and if it means to put an end to the vampyric Dio’s reign, then you’ll do your part and make sure these boys stay alive.

That’s what you thought at the beginning, back before your days meshed together and all time seemed to stagnate.

You weren’t sure how many days it’s been since you first arrived in this suffocating manor in Cairo. The dark and coldness inside the manor contrasts the warm and vibrant colors outside your window during the day. You were ever the spunky one when you first arrived, you knew your friends were well on their way and you had no problem voicing that fact loudly in Dio’s presence. He would scoff, flashing you an amused grin, after all you were (as what he puts it) like a fangless, clawless feline. You don’t pose any real threat, but it’s cute to see you try.

Dio is every bit what the rumors said. His raw charisma and power alone should frighten you, but that’s just one piece of the puzzle that’s Dio Brando. His beauty was truly breathtaking, much more so in person, his shirtless form proudly displayed like a painting hung carefully in the Louvre. His voice charmingly suave, almost a mesmerizing melody that beckons you closer like a siren’s call that you can’t block out. Worst of all was his eyes, that piercing gaze of his that can see right through you, all your worst fears and highest hopes, nothing can be hidden from this man.

When you first arrived at his mansion, you were awestruck. Cat-got-your-tongue indeed as you drank in the imposing monster of a man, your enemy. What could he possibly want from you? His smirk makes your chest clench as the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You wanted to run, and you would’ve if it wasn’t for you being so goddamned weak. You were completely at his fucking mercy, all he had to do was give the word and you would meet your end. You expected to die right then and there, surely a man like Dio would take out his enemy while he had the chance, just so later down the line it won’t bite him in the ass. You weren’t sure if it was out of pity or amusement, but your death never came. Instead, the cocky asshole smriks and gives you his blessing to tour his home. Hell, he even allowed you access to his library, on the grounds that if you did decide to run, you would be all too easy to catch. You were convinced this man had no real plan for you being here, besides making things much harder for the crusaders by stealing away their healer.

You were determined to keep your head held high and wait for your knights in shining armor.

But now, you’re just a shallow husk of despair. All the hope and conviction you had died little by little as the days went by, as those dark thoughts that Dio would mock you with began to take root. There’s no point in brainwashing you when your conviction can be shattered so easily. During the day, Vanilla Ice and Pet Shop watch over you. You absolutely loathe Vanilla Ice. His blind devotion towards his master churned your stomach, all the while he’s looking down on you and lack of stand ability. His words stung, but now they mirror static, background noise for your chaotic thoughts.

Pet Shop was your preferred caretaker. He’s a bird, so he can’t talk like your other wardens. However, you could’ve sworn you saw that bird smirk once or twice, and his steely gaze mirrored his cocky yet powerful master. Perhaps the bird was silently judging you, even mocking you for being more caged than he was. After all, Pet Shop was allowed to move past the mansion’s windows and enjoy the fresh air and sun, even though he stayed within his bounds. A murder hawk has more freedom than you do.

The nights are always the worst. Screams of ecstasy or pain, you weren’t sure which anymore, filled the halls. After a while of being imprisoned, they all sound the same. How long before you’re next? You felt like it was any day now, and eventually your captor will grow bored of your constant banter. Perhaps that would be for the best, you’re dead weight anyway as long as you remain here.

Your friends were on a mission to save Holly, which you admit is more important than rescuing you. You knew the risk after when you joined this crusade, you just didn’t think it would end here in the lion’s den. You contemplated jumping out the window, not caring how painful the initial impact would be. You always decide against it, and instead sit and wait, chalking it up to being a coward as well. Everyday when your saviors hadn’t come, the little bit of hope inside was crushed gradually until barely anything was left besides tears of frustration and a luxurious queen sized bed to help you sleep.

Since you’ve been here, Dio took the liberty of making sure you’re fed three five star meals a day and accompanying you with a wine glass of blood. Such a gentleman, he even made idle chit-chat while you refused to take a bite (no matter how many times he told you it would be a waste poisoning you). Dio boasted about his many achievements, including how he stole Jonathan Jostar’s body, which you weren’t sure if he was just bragging or making sure that even in a casual setting, the threat still lingered. Was this supposed to impress you? Because the only responses you ever gave him were snide remarks and silence. Sometimes he would treat this like a silly game, but on days when he was more temperamental, you wisely chose to nod your head and actually eat what’s in front of you.

He made sure you were treated well, despite your situation. You bathed in a tub fit for a princess with fancy soaps and perfume, and was dressed in the finest of authentic Egyptian gowns that money could buy. All of which were gifts from Dio. He even took the liberty to do away with all your drab belongings and anything that didn’t fit his opulent aesthetic. He even gave you art supplies once. Whenever he gave one of these gifts, he always made sure to attach a rose with it. You always throw them out.

To occupy yourself when your host is gone and taking time for himself, you like to venture to his library and thumb through his vast selection. You’re sure you read over half of his stock by now, but something new always catches your eye to pass the time with. Usually you would saunter off into your room, avoiding the underlings as much as possible, but tonight was one of those nights where Dio met you there.

“There you are darling, I was worried I missed you.” His smooth voice did little to put you in ease.

“What do you want?” you sighed, making your way to the bookcase and browsing through different titles. Dio playfully scoffs, as always everything you say is just a game to him, and the disdain in your tone goes unnoticed. You didn’t move an inch when he moved closer to you, towering over your much smaller frame.

“You wound me dear, I only wish to spend time with you.” He leans in close next to your ear, his warm breath tickling your lobe. “Alone.” Now that’s laughable! Dio Brando isn’t a man who did anything out of kindness or ‘quality time’ without something in return. Did he run out of bodies to satisfy his hunger? What could you possibly offer him besides a snack?

“Spend time with you? I’ve seen what you do to the men and women who throw themselves at you for a sliver of attention. Their dead carcass lay about your manor like furniture when you’ve drained them.” You barely whispered. Why were you explaining his misdeeds to him like a child? You weren’t sure if you were trying to reason or reach the last thread of humanity within, but doubt was clearly written on your face. You wanted this to end.

You balled your hands into fists and shook with rage. “Just kill me and get it over with! I’m tired of you and I’m tired of being here!”

Dio couldn’t help but sneer at your sudden outburst. How can you say these things? He’s given so much to you, and this is how you repay him? Do you not realize what you do to him? How weak he is while in your presence? How absurd. You had to have known, and perhaps you were testing his patience on purpose.

Reaching up and gripping your chin roughly, Dio kept your gaze on him. “I ask very little of you and have given you everything you could ever ask for. Tell me darling, are you truly unhappy?” his lips brush against your own, and his voice dangerously low that it sent shivers down your spine. Your voice was caught in your throat, this tower of a man standing over you so domineering makes you seem insignificant. Like a large cat ready to pounce on his prey.

Tears run down your cheeks and you had no will to stop them. Why was he doing this to you? As if to answer your question, the blonde captures your lips and wraps his arms around your trembling form. With a jolt of energy you tried to shove him off you in defiance for your space. “Please stop, I don’t want…” you mumble. Growling, Dio pulls away and glares into your glossy puffy eyes, his brows furrowing when you don’t give in so easily.

“Pet.” he said through gritted teeth, his hand drifting down to your neck and squeezing rough enough to cut off air supply. “You’re being selfish. All I asked from you in return is your loyalty and to surrender yourself to me.” He picks you up by your neck and amusingly smirks when you gasp and attempt to wiggle free, your hands desperate for air. Your nails grazing his skin with little scratches did nothing to phase Dio, instead he chuckles.

“Funny, isn’t it? The man’s body I’ve taken, the only man I would ever call my equal, possesses the same power as you do.” Black dots formed in your vision and your legs grew tired from flailing. He lets you drop from his grip, and while you sit slumped over and choking on air for your burning lungs, Dio looks down with his ruby hues. “Suppose my interest in you is fate, or perhaps you remind me of him.” Bending down to kneel in front of you, Dio pulls you towards his chest and picks you up bridal-style with very little resistance from you. He smirks and leans in to whisper in your ear “However, your strength will never match his.”

Dio took flawless strides towards the desk on the other side of the room and pinned you down on your stomach against the harsh oak surface. With the wind knocked out of you temporarily, Dio traced his long nails along the soft chiffon fabric of your golden gown before tearing it to shreds down the middle, revealing your back and ass as the now useless fabric pools at your feet. Looking back at your captor’s sadistic smirk, your bloodshot eyes widen with realization. You were observant, he didn’t need to spell out what his intentions were.

Almost immediately, Dio parts your legs with his knee and runs his fingers along your slit, examining it’s beauty before he decimates it with his cock. Squirming, you tried to push yourself up from the desk. As weak as you were, you had to try! Even though you knew Dio had more than enough strength to overpower you. As if he read your mind, he takes both of your wrists in his strong grip and pins them against your back.

“Careful dear, you wouldn’t want me to break your arms, would you?” You stopped your struggling and stilled. It was best to get it over with and maybe if you comply, he won’t be as harsh with you, right? Just let him do what he’s going to do and don’t make it worse for yourself. “That’s better!” He smiles. “Lay there and trust your Lord Dio. Don’t worry about a single thing.” Don’t worry? How can you not? But, you did as he said and Dio goes back to running his fingers along your pussy, this time his index flicking against your clit.

Biting your bottom lip, you shut your eyes tight. Be strong….be strong…. You chanted, but the small shocks of having your clip played with after being in turmoil for so long, it was difficult to not give yourself over for anything that can make you feel a moment of blissful ignorance. You were convinced that either Dio was a mindreader, or you were just so painfully obvious, but he stops his ministrations with your heat and leans in closer, he carelessly grinds his clothed hardened cock against you. He was quite proportioned.

“Let’s enjoy ourselves, hmmm?” You shuddered at his words (and sizable bulge), a small whimper escaping you. Pleased with your sudden turn around, Dio leans back and without missing a beat, undoes his pants, allowing his cock weeping of precum to spring free. You swallow down a moan when his cock rubs against your clit, teasing your lips. Your cunt quickly became sloppy, as you were beginning to come around and throw caution to the wind. Dio must’ve noticed, because chuckles and mutters. “Don’t hide your cute noises from me now.”

With his cock soaked with your juices, he thrusts in and you do as he says, allowing a hoarse moan erupt from your throat that’s muffled by your face against the desk. This wasn’t going to do, not for Dio. While thrusting at a brutal pace, he yanks your hair back and lifts your head so he can listen to your lustful melodies more clearly. While you pant like a bitch in heat whenever he hits that spot to make you see stars, Dio releases your wrists in favor of gripping your hip tightly, leaving bruises.

Gasping, you didn’t move your wrists for fear of your lord stopping or worse. Pleased by your obedience, Dio’s pace quickens, just for him to slow down to a tortuous pace. Flustered you cry “W-Why? Please….please….m-more!” You try to turn your head, but his strong grip keeps you in place. What a wonderful development! Definitely a change in the right direction from how you rejected him a few moments ago. But, Dio wasn’t quite satisfied yet. He wanted your everything, not only your spur-of-the-moment submission. He’s Dio Brando, Lord Dio to his brood. He doesn’t settle for less than satisfactory.

With a grin, Dio knew just how he would achieve this. “You beg so pretty darling, I see you’re finally coming to understand who owns you. But begging isn’t enough.” When he started moving again, this time his cock kissing your cervix, your mouth hung agape in a silent scream. Your thoughts thoroughly scrambled with nothing but the pleasure that Dio was offering you. Hell, you weren’t even coherent when your position changed to you being on your back with your legs spread wide and exposed, only for Dio.

He picks up his pace, your cunt constricting around him as he pounds into your sore pussy, his hand now free from your hair pressed down your abdomen. He felt the slight belly bulge from him delving into your sweet cunt, simply delicious. “Darling-” He said too sweetly. “- You’re absolutely stunning so full of my cock, but I have a wonderful idea. I didn’t appreciate your attitude this evening, but I know how we can fix that!” You were too fucked out to comprehend his words, but nodded like the dumb slut you were. His dumb slut. “I’m going to breed this pussy of yours, fill you up with my cum, and you’re going to take everything I give you. Wouldn’t that be great? You grow big and round while your breasts are full with leaking milk.” He pauses as his hips sputter, his cock pulsating with the vision of you growling his children within your womb.

“Yes..I think motherhood will suit you well. Forever my ___.”

Whimpering, you nod in agreement. Whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop. You were so very close! You mumble a breathy fuck when Dio pushes your legs up to your shoulders, diving in much deeper than before. Chanting strings of curses under his breath, Dio’s hand on your stomach drifts down to vigorously rub your sensitive nub and in almost no time at all you cum around his member, your juices rushing out to soak the desk and his cock.

“Oh god...oh god...oh god..” you chanted, making Dio’s ego inflate more if that were possible. Smirking, he lets you ride out your orgasm, before picking up the pace yet again, this time losing control of himself for once. Brutally he fucks you, his cockhead slamming against your cervix, as your pulsing walls from your aftershocks urges his throbbing shaft, begging to milk it. After a few final thrusts, Dio stills and his cock paints your womb with his seed.

He wasn’t done yet. Chuckling at your fucked out expression, it was so much like Dio to push for more. He wanted to mark you, make everyone but mostly yourself to know who you belong to. Your chest will do and his mark will be on full display. Using the nail on his index finger, Dio carves his name into your chest, pebbles of blood dripping down your sweaty and spent body after each scrape was made. When he is done, he admires his work, his name etched into your skin almost makes his cock spring back to life. What was he kidding, he could go a few more rounds anyway. But first, he leans in and laps up the blood, waste not want not right?

“There you are, how stunning. Darling, I wish you could see yourself right now.” Your eyes grew heavy, you were so exhausted and ready for a nap. Dio picks you up and doesn’t bother to cover you with your shredded rags. “No, no, don’t pass out now. We have a long night ahead of us.”

#jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojo no kimyō na bōken #dio brando #yandere #yandere dio #dio x reader #hamon user reader #y/n #dio x y/n #extra spicy #dark themes #part 3 #stardust crusaders #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader

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dailyniallnews · 3 years

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How Niall Horan And Modest! Golf Are Changing The Game

Niall Horan has quickly become one of the most influential people in golf.

His company, Modest! Golf, manages a diverse group of players, runs tournaments and has recently joined forces with The R&A to inspire more young people to play the game.

His vision and passion is going to help shape an exciting and buoyant future for our sport.

How it all began

Horan has been a keen golfer his whole life.

Through his friendships with tour players, including Rory McIlroy and Justin Rose, and while spending time at European Tour events, he realised there was an opportunity to help younger pros at the start of their careers.

He teamed up with good friend Mark McDonnell, who has over 16 years of experience in the sports industry, and that dream became a reality in the form of Modest! Golf in May 2016.

You might think Horan’s profile and wealth – his 41 million Twitter followers is comfortably more than the world’s top ten golfers combined and he has an estimated net worth of around $70m – would make it easy for him, but the golf industry can be a tough nut to crack.

“It was hard to gain credibility at the start,” Horan admits.

“The nos and bumps in the road were a bit harsh. Trying to gain credibility with the players and within the industry itself was tough.

“But a couple of decisions we made early doors were important – we wanted to be involved with events and wanted young, up-and-coming players before taking on a top-50 player. The roots of the company were good.”

From those strong roots, Modest! Golf has flourished.

Just five years after launching, it’s now in a position to significantly influence the present and future of the sport. It’s a great place to be, but Horan’s aspirations from the outset were – excuse the pun – more modest.

“Niall never came to me and said, ‘I can change the face of the game’,” says McDonnell.

“Niall always recognised he had a part he could play, but clearly to change the face of the game takes a number of different people and stakeholders. But we’re trying to do our bit.

“We are a management company that manages players, but we also recognise that through great talent, some initiatives, the network we’ve built and Niall’s following, we can have a positive impact.”

The importance of inclusivity

Modest! has men, women and disability golfers on its books.

“Inclusivity is what our business is about and it’s what our business stands for,” says McDonnell.

“One of my standout moments was announcing Brendan Lawlor (in September 2019). For us, the ladies’ category and disability golf are two of the biggest growth areas.

“If we can help elevate them and put some people who we represent on a bigger platform to talk about them more, we feel it’s something we want to do.”

That became a reality this summer with the ISPS Handa World Invitational taking place at Galgorm Castle in Northern Ireland from July 29-August 1, and Lawlor hosting (and winning) the World Invitational Disability Tournament.

The men’s and women’s event was sanctioned by the European Tour, LPGA Tour and Ladies European Tour and featured 144 men and 144 women playing alongside each other for an equal share of the $2.35million purse.

“Things like equal pay in the tournament are what we can do to get things off the ground,” says the former One Direction man.

“Then that gets headlines, and we start getting calls from big organisations and we’re working together all of a sudden. Having the support of ISPS and Dr Handa has been huge for us. We can have all these ideas, but we do need help to get it over the line.

“Anything that we’ve asked of ISPS Handa, they’ve been brilliant. We’ve been so lucky that they’ve seen the little bit we may be able to give to the game, and the tours as well.

“It’s very important to have the European Tour, the LET and the LPGA all on the same page.”

Shaping the future

Perhaps the most significant call Modest! has received came from The R&A, which resulted in it being asked to help design and develop a series of grassroots programmes aimed at inspiring more people into golf and retaining them within the sport.

In true form, Horan was playing golf when McDonnell told him The R&A had reached out.

“I nearly fell over because I thought ‘this is amazing, this is what we’ve been waiting for’.

“Straight away we got on calls with Martin Slumbers (chief executive of The R&A) and Phil Anderton (chief development officer at The R&A) and they were brilliant. They’re really forward-thinking. Not what I thought The R&A would be like, as mad as that sounds.”

So what happens now, and when can we expect to see some concrete plans coming from Modest! and The R&A?

“It’s not a quick process and they aren’t going to throw money at anything just to see if it sticks,” McDonnell explains.

“We’re taking our time to speak to as many different groups as we can to start putting together some really meaningful programmes. Hopefully they will resonate with a lot of people who don’t play or play rarely.”

Horan and McDonnell believe the August 2020 appointment of Anderton, who has worked at Coca-Cola, as chief executive of Scottish Rugby Union and Hearts FC and chief marketing officer of the ATP in tennis, is extremely significant.

“Phil Anderton is a great guy and has a really interesting background of disrupting sports in a credible way,” says McDonnell.

“For example, he was behind the tennis at the O2 Arena. We don’t want to take golf in a completely different area, down the tacky or publicity route. Niall and I are quite traditional. We like golf how it is – it just needs a few tweaks to make it more appealing.”

The recognition that golf is a brilliant game that just requires the odd tweak and a bit of work to improve its reputation and communication to non-golfers is absolutely integral.

Horan and McDonnell recognise many of the barriers that exist, but they’re also aware there’s a huge opportunity to grow the game.

“The barriers are quite obvious,” says McDonnell.

“The speed has always been heavily criticised, the cost, the fashion. Our role is to work with The R&A to see how we can bring those barriers down to allow more people to experience golf.

“We know it’s a game you can get the bug for really quickly. We’re not reinventing the wheel, but it’s about working with a massive organisation to create more opportunities for people to be introduced to the game, and then how we retain them.

“This isn’t a problem where we’ve got no one to sell the game to, because there are so many people who don’t play. For us, it’s a massive opportunity and a really exciting challenge to try and tap into those non-golfers. There’s a massive market of young people who want to take up sports, and we’ve seen there’s been a huge increase in cycling, so golf has a massive opportunity.

“We feel we can do it without saying ripped jeans are allowed on the course. You’ve got to maintain a level of tradition, but we shouldn’t be having a hoo-ha if somebody wears a hoody on a golf course.”

Horan adds: “It’s the people at the top now who need to move the needle. Augusta National with the Drive, Chip and Putt and the Women’s Amateur; The R&A doing this.

“It’s all going to start to move the needle. It’s those at the top who are going to make it happen, and we’re going to help them.”

#niall horan #article #06aug21

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arcadejohn127-9 · 3 years

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Call me the flash because of how fast I’m asking this! XD

Anyways, how do you think the boys would all react to a MC who HATES Valentines Day because their former boyfriend/girlfriend/significant other dumped them on Valentine’s Day?

Damn we got a speedster over here! Someone call the justice League, you're missing a super XD

As someone who just generally dislikes valentine's I feel like this will go very well~ though seeing as alot of my prompts are the boys and them are already in a relationship - I decided to add abit of ✨ oof✨ to this prompt

Lucifer:

Not a big Valentine times day fan either

Ever since the Devildom was introduced to the holiday he wasn't a fan

There was no such thing as love in the air

But then you came into his house; he still finds it stupid and doesn't get the hype but having you around makes me him wonder if he should do something

When he found out you hated valentine's Day he felt relieved

But because it was because of a past lover???

He sees this as a challenge; you really think he's going to just brush this off?

When valentine comes you are greeted to roses, chocolates, wine and a fully prepared meal for you two

"Is this fitting enough for the holiday? I heard people tend to go overboard these days."

"You know I didn't want to celebrate today-"

You frowned, slowly coming to sit with him at his desk which has been turned into a makeshift table with cloth covering it

"And let some mortal spoil such an occasion even with your present partner? Think of this as your first steps of Getting over them."

"I'm mortal, Lucifer, don't say it like it's something insulting."

He jabbed his fork at you, raising a brow

"You're avoiding my point, don't you wish to move on?"

"I- of course....I'm happy with you."

"Then dig in, I made it myself."

You huffed, digging In but soon found yourself wrapped up in how delicious it was

He raised his wine glass to you, silently gesturing for you to do the same

"To a new meaning to valentine's."

You hesitated but repeated his words

Your glasses clinked and that was the first sign of your relationship becoming stronger

Mammon:

Active lover of the holiday and celebrates every year - couples want gifts and he can get money aswell as the fact he's a romantic

So when he found out you hated valentine's; he had to change that even when he found out why - that reason just made him annoyed that you were still hating on the holiday

"yo! Yo! Yo! Guess who just got money~ this guy so that means I'm treating ya!"

"oh? How comes?"

"It's valentine's! And you're the person I'm spending it with!"

"you know I hate it-"

He huffed, puffing out his cheeks

"And I'm going to make you stop hating it, was that ex of yours really so important you don't wanna spend valentine's with me?"

"It's complicated, I just really hate it now, it's attached to bad memories-"

"then let's change that! Make some good memories so you can stop being a grump on the day of love."

He grabbed your hands, giving you puppy eyes

You were utterly helpless to them and let him take you out

He stole a heart balloon and tied it to your wrist, doing your initials on it in Sharpie with a 'x' between them

He did definitely treat you; buying you chocolates, a teddy bear, the two of you matching keychains and many other items

You let yourself be happy as he got excited, dragging you around to every shop either of you looked at, wanting to get more matching stuff

He definitely made your valentine's a positive one

Levithan:

Hated it

His reason was because he was always alone for them, never getting anything and ending up never giving anyone anything because he believes they'll hate it

He felt Insecure that you seemed to still be attached to the breakup of your ex

Fearing that you could be missing them

You both spent valentine's as a couple but mocking and booing at others

At one point you threw Chocolates you didn't like at a overly touchy demon couples from a window

"Do you still think about them....?"

"Who?"

"Your ex, you're not over your breakup with them and we've been spending Valentines being bitter."

"I thought you enjoyed being bitter about it."

"I do but could you answer my questions, please - I know I'm not much and I'm sure they were so much better than me but maybe we could spend a little bit of valentine's together as you know....a celebrating coup-couple."

He was completely blushing, hiding his face behind his arm hoping his rambling didn't completely ruin your feelings towards him

"If you really want to, I don't have any feelings for my ex and it's just that reflection that sticks with me but, I wanna try if it'll make you feel more secure."

You guys ended up watching 'normie' movies, cuddled in his bathtub bed eating what was left your chocolates

You kissed his jaw and he immediately stopped functioning

You smiled, holding him closer

Perhaps valentine's can be a good time

Satan:

Casual valentine's man

Doesn't really care for the holiday and only has spent it with his brothers

He's use to just giving his brothers a small gift and never have a partner to spend it with

But things were different now and sadly, you hated the holiday

He respected your reason why but he felt worried that you were fully over your ex as you still let the holiday be ruined for you

He got you a small gift like he does his brother's

Wanting you to be apart of it but not doing anything big

"happy valentine's, I know you don't celebrate it but I thought you'd like the gift anyway."

"Satan....I didn't get you anything- Let's go out then, I'll treat you."

"I'll consider it a valentine's date."

Whilst he normally had a 'meh' feeling to it, he wanted to spend his first valentine's with you on a date

He just wants the experience and can say he's spend it with you

Even if it was a one time thing

"really Satan?"

"Let's spend this one together and be happy, next year we can go destory things and let out our anger towards the world."

That won you over, you agreed

You took him on a date

You both tried to ignore all the decorations everywhere but that was pretty hard, got lunch together and even walked around to see the new sights

You ended up in the park, staring to the horizon with confetti on your backs and Satan with a party hat

It was forced on him whilst you guys were out but he never got rid of it

"I liked today, maybe after we destory things we can go on another date next year?"

Asmodeus:

He LOVES love!

Nothing brings him more joy than valentine's

Aphrodisiacs are being sold EVERYWHERE

When he found you out hated it he was so upset, he wanted to spend it with you! His usual valentine's crew was nothing compared to you!

And you hated it because of an ex dumping you?!

"Noooooooo! (Y/N) don't let them ruin this for you, please, let's go on a cute picnic or even just stay in room if you don't want to go outside-"

If anyone saw asmo hugging your leg whilst you trudged down the halls, they definitely didn't say anything

"Let me spend today how I want!"

"what? Eat ice cream and get grumpy over someone you're not dating anymore?"

You frowned, knowing he was right

"why not spend it with your gorgeous boyfriend instead? Don't I shine up on your day?"

He had those Puppy eyes again

You finally stopped trying to get away from him, crouching down and cupping his face

"will you let go of my leg if I say yes?"

He nodded

As soon as he stood up you helped him straighten up his clothes, fixing his hair for him

"I'm sorry for dragging you around the house, I know I shouldn't be moping but it just really hurt."

"I know, darling but let's get through this together, we'll do whatever you want."

He was being honest; you were in charge of the whole day

You stayed in his room, having a romantic bath and then ate your feelings

After that you both went out and enjoyed dinner

Life really was happier with him; you decided you'll be doing with him more often

Beezlebub:

Mainly focuses on family valentine's

Has had to play a few sports game on the holiday and every player got a kiss and gift from a cheerleader

He liked the thought and always liked it when he was given food

But he wasn't interested in any of them

Or really the holiday itself, he always wants to share his love for the people around him

Why wait until some holiday to do it?

But when he finds out you hate valentine's and it's because of your ex

He considered fighting your ex

Doesn't want to force you to celebrate with him but wants to be able to do stuff with you

"Wanna go out to eat? They have valentine's day deals."

"i don't really feel like taking any part of it."

"I want to spend today with you and don't like seeing you being upset over the past."

"You just want to eat? No surprise dates or big deal about today?"

"no, just want to hang out with you."

"....okay."

He immediately took your hand, taking you to the restaurant he saw online

On the way we got you a magic rose

Handing it over for you to wear

But other than that he stuck to his word,just having eating out with you and didn't even talk about the holiday

You smiled but apart of you did feel bad you were going to stop something like this from having because of your ex

You felt the rose, looking up at him

"Want to take a couple's picture? They're doing it for couples celebrating today."

"we don't have to, you don't like today."

But you insisted, letting him pick you up for the picture and kissed his cheek

You were able to get the picture in different sizes and he put the small one in his wallet

From then on you planned to keep spending Valentines with beel

Belphegor:

Absolutely disgusted by it

Will always tell anyone how much he hates it

But on the other hand, he watches romcoms and yells at the TV for the chatacters not understanding they love each other every valentine's

He's just trying to keep up his edgelord persona, okay

When he learned you hated valentine's he was happy

Means he didn't have to do anything

But it's because of your ex?? He's now going to be romantic as FUCK

You enter the attic expecting to find a chill place to rest but instead there are rose petals everywhere and belphie laying waiting for you

You expected something like this from asmo but you couldn't deny seeing your boyfriend try to be romantic whilst half asleep was pretty cute

"I have romcoms and violent horror movies, pick your flavour."

"what's with all this? You know my feelings about Valentine's."

"I'm not going to let some pathetic ex ruin this valentine's for us, so I'm romancing you - is it working?"

"I'm picking the horror movie."

You put the dvd in ignoring him

"That doesn't change the mood for me."

You should of known

You cuddled and watched as people got ripped open and blood went flying

Belphie wiggling his eyebrows at you whenever an couple came on

You just shoved his face laughing

You forgot your bitter feelings and looked down at your now asleep boyfriend

"thanks for today, maybe you can try again next year."

UNDATEABLES↓

Diavolo:

Thrilled by it all!

It's so heart warming to see love be so celebrated

Demons were always so violent and everything had to be edgy - he was tired of it

Was disappointed you hated it, he already had plans for the both of you

But after finding out the reason - it seems all his scheduling was back and the gifts became more grand

"Trust me, I'll change your mind on Valentines! We're together now and I want to treat you to a date."

"but why? I don't wanna take part-"

"We are going to get through your heartbreak together! I know things can still sting even when you feel over it, so let's just try."

You thought it over, nodding

He just grinned, taking you by the shoulder and led you to the royal carriage

You struggled to sit down when it was filled with gifts and flowers

They all had your name on them and immediately blushed

You should of known he'd go all out

He took you to see the Devildom at night, where all the lights covered the streets like stars

He set up a picnic in the park and you both ended up dancing in the water fountain

"I really enjoyed today, thank you."

He kissed your cheek, telling you not to worry

Barbatos:

Isn't a fan of all the decorating and cleaning up that'll be involved when the day is over

But he gets time off to de-stress and that's always a plus

He was thankful you weren't a fan of Valentines but your ex? He might have to write them out of timelines

Understood you just had a sting from it all and was use to feeling that way

Was surprised when you were one to actually make the first move on Valentines

"I wanted to give you this, I don't want to celebrate but I thought this could be nice?"

It was a pocket watch with a hidden compartment, it had a picture of you and him

Good thing he also got you something; a locket with the same picture you have him

Was it an accident? On purpose? He'll never tell, he just knows it's your favourite picture of you two

"I see, then we won't celebrate it but I'm sure you would still be willing to accompany me in the gardens?"

Takes you on a boat ride across the lake even better as it's sunset and the water looks immaculate

Cooks you both dinner and you just spend the day as if it was any other

"I like spending Valentines with you."

"I would hope so or I would fail as your boyfriend."

"I wanna spend the next one with you properly."

"As you wish, I'll be sure to make it the best one you've ever experienced."

Solomon:

Forgets holidays

Always likes bringing up history facts about any holiday as he's seen them all evolve from one part of history to modern day

Pretends to not know how to celebrate it so people will try to explain it to him and end up not really knowing why they celebrate things

You hate Valentines? Doesn't care but it's because of your ex? That he doesn't get

"So you're still hurting from your past relationship that you don't want to spend valentine's with your boyfriend?"

"when you say it like that it sounds really bad."

"I'm not really up for celebrating so it makes no difference to me but I'm not sure I can accept you still letting them upset."

You sighted, knowing he was going to make up some sort of plan or trick

But instead he just kissed your hand

"let's go to the human world, I heard there's a traveling fairground."

You agreed to go, both of you making it there in seconds and of course everything was heart themed

You couldn't escape the love

It was actually really fun! There were bouncy castles, a Ferris wheel and lots of food stands

You were definitely willing to celebrate again if it was going to be like this

Simeon:

A day of love? It's Charming

Finds it amusing how people can much such a big deal out of it all

Though he thinks you should always be expressive of how much you love the people around you

So you hating it was an opposite to him but he was respectful

Knowing it was because of your ex made him displeased

Whilst very understanding, wanted to atleast improve your opinion on the holiday so you didn't associate it with them anymore

"Let's just do one couples related thing today then we can do whatever you please."

"but why? I should be allowed to dislike what I dislike."

"you're absolutely right but you're letting an ex ruin a whole day for you, don't you want to spend it with me?"

"of course I do! I'm just unsure."

He smiled, grasping your hands

"that's fine, we won't do anything big, just a fun date and then you're free to do as you please."

He was right, you didn't do anything big

Just went to a pottery class and you made all sorts of clay creations together

It was peaceful and there was no Valentines being forced down on you

You giggled when he showed you the clay heart he made

"we should make this our thing, valentine's we do things like this together."

He agreed, happy to make Valentines whatever you wanted it to be

277 notes · View notes

shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

shut in [5]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, threats, implied ptsd, violence

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: sam wilson nation how are we feeling after that trailer. only about a month to go for my two dumbasses to get the recognition they deserve!!

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Where are they?”

“We don’t know, boss.”

Their eyes glossed over with rising anger, masking its earlier aloofness.

“I’m going to need more than ‘I don’t know’.” Their voice was acidic, dripping with faux politeness. A bad sign.

“Police say they pulled off the highway at one point and then they lost track of them because there were no cameras.” The agent looked at his partner who only nodded in confirmation.

“They could have ditched the car before going on foot,” the partner suggested rather unhelpfully, “We have no idea where they could be”

They were silent, mouth pressed in a hard line, leaving everyone in silence.

“Have I told you about the time my dad hired someone to fix the sink here?” they finally asked, looking away from the agents. “Some drunk fuck got in a fistfight and absolutely decimated the thing. Dad got someone to fix the hole in the wall and the fitting.”

They turned away, facing the wall.

“He did an alright job, that guy. Fixed up the place, installed a new sink. But there was a problem that he said he’d be able to fix only the next day, something about water dripping through an unsealed pipe.”

The agents just sat there on their chairs, feet cold. They knew where the story was going. It was a myth at their organisation, a cautionary tale to everyone who joined.

“My dad, he agreed. Said ‘Yeah sure, come back tomorrow’. Guy packed up his bag and was on his way out when my dad called him back. Asked him to hold out his hand for the money and then he just,” they paused, “cut one of his fingers clean off. Told him that he’d get his payment and his finger when the job was done.”

“I loved my father,” They skipped a beat before whipping their head around to look at the two agents. “But he was a coward. I would have shot him in the head.”

The agents looked paler than what they were a few seconds ago.

“If I tell you to do something, either do it perfectly or don’t do it all because the next time you’re here and those two are still alive,” they sneered, lunging forward to grab one of their collars, “I’ll blow your fucking brains out. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes boss,” the partner was barely audible, speaking for the one who was breathing heavily, looking like he was on the verge of passing out.

“Go on then.” They smiled, letting go of the agent’s collar as he stayed frozen in his place. They dusted their hands off before straightening up. “Don’t return without good news.”

The frustration of not knowing something was not one you were used to.

You were used to knowing. The satisfaction of a puzzle. The ease of a predictable pattern.

So when this mystery wasn’t getting solved within twenty minutes, it was starting to affect you. You spent hours staring at the ceiling, replaying every detail for months leading up to the case. Every client you shook hands with. Every coworker you greeted with a nod. Every vile sicko you had killed.

And yet, no matter how much you thought and rethought and rethought again, it simply didn’t make sense. There was a piece missing. A hidden variable.

Sam helped wherever he could. He offered up arguments and rebuttals. If you had a theory, he’d find the flaw or the lack of proof. He was keeping it reasonable. Only snorted when you suggested that maybe the president was involved in a large scale extermination of underground mafias. A absurd theory that had no roots in reality.

“You could point out any official on the damn senate and they would have some connection to our gang that you can dig up with one Red Bull and twenty minutes on the internet,” he had said. “It’s too much of a liability if we get caught. They’ll just get exposed for all the nasty shit they’ve been hiding under the carpet.”

You knew this, of course, and it didn’t help to be reminded of it again because it also meant that one more theory was ruled out. And with each theory ruled out, the further away you were from your answer.

It was frustrating.

Sam was in front of the TV, lounging on the couch with the copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hands. You were working on plausible solutions, drawing up flow charts to see what could be connected.

If Pierce wasn’t the common link then it had to be something else. You couldn’t proceed with the other spies theory because no one else immediately sprung to mind. There was one... but you decided against writing it.

If Ransone was telling the truth, and there was no way of knowing he was, Sam and you were unrelated and his being there was coincidental. You just had to rely on the employee-employer relationship you shared, if you could even call it that.

“Fuck,” you cursed loudly, tearing up the piece of paper and crumpling it. You groaned, holding your head in your hands. Your eyes were burning from straining it for too long and your shoulders were in pain from slumping over the table all day.

You took a deep breath, shaking your head before instinctively reaching for another sheet. Your hand came up short so you fumbled around the table blindly, trying to grab at a piece of paper without spending the extra effort of searching.

“You’re not getting another sheet,” Sam’s voice came from above you. “You’re going to watch some shitty movie, eat some soup and relax for today.”

“Give it back, Wilson,” you muttered, reaching out your hand.

“No. You can use your unhealthy coping mechanism when I’m not around to see it. Half of this is my mess too and I’m not going to watch you have a breakdown over it.”

He was going to be annoyingly persistent; somehow he had exhibited that magnificently over the last few days. You knew better than to argue with him over something that he had made his mind up about by now.

“I don’t want to watch a movie.” You let your head fall onto the table, wishing that the cool wood would do something for the headache you felt coming.

You heard him set the paper back down, not saying a word. Your head was throbbing and all you wanted was the frustration to ease. It was killing you.

“Come on. We’re going outside.” That piqued your interest. Sam had never invited you anywhere before.

“Where?”

“Y’know; the outside. I know you haven’t seen it in a while but see if these words jog your memory. Sun. Grass. Win-”

“I know what the outdoors is, Wilson.” You smiled against the table, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing it. “I’m asking where exactly we’re going.”

“You’ll see. Put some shoes on.”

By the time you looked up he was already walking away from the table, leaving you to follow.

You sighed. He sounded too determined and you didn’t have many other options.

Pushing your chair away from the table, you went to go put on your shoes. __

“If in care you were planning to, I’m just going to tell you right now that you can’t kill me.”

The both of you had been wandering along the path for a while. When you met him by the backdoor, he had a bag with him filled with who knows what.

He declined to tell you what was in it either, despite you asking thrice.

“Calm down, Keanu Reeves. That’s not what I was going to do.” Sam gave a short laugh.

“I’m serious. I know karate.”

“So do I.”

“Krav Maga.”

He hummed in agreement.

“Kickboxing.”

“Now you’re just insulting me. That’s level one.”

The path was littered with tree roots that stuck out of the soil, stray branches and leaves that crunched satisfactorily under your feet. One second of distraction and you were sure you’d fall flat to the ground.

You both continued for a few more minutes before he finally came to a stop.

It didn't look very different from the rest of the woods until something caught your eye. In front of you, one of the trees stood out. The bark had large concentric circles, resembling a large dart board. A few indentations were already made in it; clearly it was being used for practice regularly.

“Here you go,” he spoke from beside you, handing you a tomahawk. “Go ahead, throw it at it.”

You looked at the tiny axe in his hand.

“Think of it as adult darts,” he encouraged, “Here, I’ll throw the first one.”

He extended his arm in front of him, pulling his wrist back before effortlessly throwing it at his makeshift board. It was two circles away from the bullseye he had carved out. It must have taken a while to make.

“This doesn’t look very safe,” you commented as he picked up another one, launching it at the tree. You followed its trajectory, watching it embed itself into the bark closer to the centre than the previous turn.

“That’s what makes it fun.” This man had no regard for safety protocols. Given, these were things that came with the job but it didn’t mean you did it in your free time. “It helps, just try.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked curiously, trying to assess his reaction. Pulling you out of the house for a bar game wasn’t exactly the type of thing people generally did for you.

“Because I wanted to.” He shrugged, not giving you any further explanation. “Try one.”

“Okay.” You followed his example, watching as it glided smoothly before landing close to his initial throw.

“Nice shot.”

A smile made its way to your face automatically as he handed you another one. You repeated your action, an unusual sense of pride establishing itself in you when it came closer to the middle.

“Now what?”

“Now we collect and do the whole thing again till you feel better,” Sam replied, making his way towards the tree and plucking the small axes out easily. His back muscles tightened against the material of his shirt in the process. It wasn’t a bad sight at all. “Endorphins and all that.

“Is this where you keep disappearing to?” you inquired, taking two of them from him when he returned.

“Sometimes.” He took aim before throwing it at the board. “There’s a few things you can do around here.”

“Your coping mechanism is extreme sports without proper guidelines.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” Sam took a step to the side, giving you space to take your turn.

“Have you always been this wise, or?” you teased, concentrating on the circles in front of you. Your shot came pretty close.

When you didn’t receive a reply, you glanced at him through your peripheral vision. He wasn’t moving, a thousand yard stare in his eyes.

“Hit it.”

“I can’t.” His fists were bleeding through the bandages wound around them. He could feel the tear in his skin, the burn of flesh against sweat soaked clothes.

“I said, hit it,” Emil commanded once more. Sam could feel his chest rising and falling steadily from beside him, his putrid breath making him want to vomit.

“I can’t.” He could barely stand up. Exhaustion seeped through every muscle in his body.

“You’re weak,” his trainer spat. “Nothing but a fucking child.”

“He’ll die.” Sam looks down at the boy, bloody and mangled on the floor. He had passed out ages ago but that did nothing to stop them from forcing Sam to continue relentlessly.

“It doesn’t deserve mercy. You hear that Wilson?” He leered right into his ear. “Do you fucking hear that?”

Sam flinched, nodding his head. The saltiness of his sweat was fresh on his tongue, burning where it dripped onto his busted lip from his forehead.

“So fucking finish it.” He knew that if he didn’t listen this time, there would be consequences. He didn’t want to find out what it was because he had no doubt it would pain a hell of a lot more than bruised knuckles.

“No,” he whispered, eyes wandering over the body on the floor. “I won’t.”

“What’d you say?” Emil straightened up, taking a step towards him.

“I said no.” Sam turned around on his heel. He could barely stand straight but the spite running through his veins was driving him, giving him enough energy to not collapse right there on the spot.

“He said no,” his trainer repeated, leaning away from Sam. “He said no.”

He turned to look at Ransone. Sam had forgotten he was there in the darkness of the room, observing the fight for the past two hours.

“He said no.” He started chuckling. His chuckles soon gave way to hideous laughter. Stomach clutching, tear inducing laughter.

Before Sam could even realise the change in attitude, Emil’s entire demeanour shifted. He stepped forward, forcefully gripping Sam’s neck. He shoved him backward until his back was pressed against the wall, no doubt bruising his spine further than what it was.

“Say that again, you fucking idiot,” he growled. But Sam couldn’t say anything. He could barely breathe. He was terrified, but determined not to let it show on his face. “When I say something, you better fucking listen.”

His trainer observed his expression for a few more seconds. Sam didn’t open his mouth.

His trainer finally loosened his grip, letting go of his neck.

Sam’s knees nearly buckled but he kept his balance, coughs racking through his body. He felt lightheaded, swollen eyes watching Emil walk towards the body on the floor. The only friend he had.

“Maybe this oughta teach you a lesson.” Emil flashed a quick smirk at Sam before raising his fist above Riley’s face.

Within a split second a guttural cry escaped his throat as he launched himself at the much larger trainer, taking him by surprise. The pure rage he was feeling had him seeing only red, the adrenaline steering his body on autopilot.

With their position suddenly switched, Sam found himself on top of Emil, bloody fists beating down on his face without a break. The pain didn’t even matter anymore.

“Fuck you,” he screamed, not giving him even a second to defend himself. “Fuck you, you fucking dickhead.”

When he could feel his trainer raising his arm to grab from behind, he took a pause from pummelling his face to grab his arm, twisting sharply it till he heard a crack. The roar escaping Emil’s throat didn’t dissuade him from finishing what he started, returning to landing a punch wherever he could.

He didn’t even know how long had passed before his body was being pulled away, kicking and cursing.

“You see how good it feels Wilson? You feel that relief?” Ransone held him tightly as he squirmed furiously trying to get back to beating the shit out of that asshole on the ground. “Next time you’re angry, remember that’s the only way to feel good. If you’re in pain, you cause pain.”

Sam’s flailing was reducing as the adrenaline wore off. The exhaustion was beginning to take hold of his body as he looked at the onslaught of blood splatter everywhere, two bodies side by side on the ground. He did this to both of them.

“Violence is your only friend. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Ransone let go of him. His feet gave out beneath him, chest rising and falling heavily. His shoulders ached as he dragged his body towards Riley, praying to every force in the universe that he wasn’t dead.

He was still breathing. Sam nearly cried out of relief, collapsing next to him. Ready to defend him if Emil woke up.

“Next time you want to let out some anger, come find me,” Ransone called out. “I’ll find you your next victim.”

“You okay?” You waved your hand in front of his face. “Earth to Wilson.”

It seemed to work as he snapped back, blinking rapidly.

“You zoned out a little there. Everything alright?” you asked. He looked at you blankly for a second before realising what you asked.

“Yeah.” He gave you a half smile. “Yeah, I’m good. You done with your turn?”

The light that was there behind his eyes a few minutes ago had dimmed considerably. He looked weary. You recognised what had happened, what he was probably thinking of. You didn’t bring it up, not risking the chance of him reliving it.

“Kinda.” You pointed towards the target where a tomahawk was sticking out of the centre.

“Damn,” he whistled, resting his hands on his waist. “Best of three?”

“Didn’t know it was a competition.” You went to collect it. It was harder to pull out than you thought. You wondered how many times Sam had practiced it to make it look so effortless.

“Only if you want it to be.”

“Nah.” You walked towards him, handing two of them back to him. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time, huh.” He tested his throw before letting go of the handle. Bullseye. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

You only smiled.

Next part

224 notes · View notes

themonotonysyndrome · 3 years

Text

REDACTED verse - Another day in Dahlia

Summary: When worlds collide, Aaron and Smartass has the ‘old, married couple’ moment when a wolf is loose in a hypermarket.

Dahlia is lively today, the afternoon sunlight dazzling upon the city. Familiar faces, familiar sights and familiar roads are everywhere.

And yet, the man who couldn’t stop bickering with his lover since the two of them stepped out of IKEA is a changing man living in this familiar city.

Aaron likes to think that he retains his best qualities despite the passing of time. Firm, true and level-headed - traits that have served him well both in his personal and work life. Traits that have earned him recognition, achievements and praises. However, against a fiery soul housed within an infuriating yet gorgeous body, Aaron has never felt so breathless and helpless.

And most importantly, lovestruck.

Unstable and uncharacteristically hesitant, the pieces of himself that are held together with patience have been pulled apart by its seams. But they weren’t destroyed; no, they rearrange themselves into an amazing new form. Aaron isn’t quite yet certain what that new form brings, but already, he could feel himself grow into a man that wholly compliments his lover.

Like a planet revolving around a beautiful, bright star. He can’t help but be drawn by the star’s gravity.

There’s balance between them, despite their strong-willed personalities. They sooth the other when one burns too brightly, they offer guidance when the other is unsure. Balanced and happy, that’s what they are.

There’s never emptiness when silence envelops them. Isn’t there a saying that whenever you’re with your loved one, silence is never oppressive?

Although, to be fair, silence doesn’t last long whenever they’re together. Not when there’s always something to bicker, something to discuss and something to tease about.

Case in point, the ugly as fuck lamp that Aaron fought tooth and nail to convince his partner not to buy.

“Look, it’s not even your money; I was going to use mine for it!”

“It’s not about the money, Smartass.” Aaron replies back with a roll of his eyes. They’re at the parking lot getting ready to head off to the hypermarket next. The two of them had spent four hours of furniture shopping at IKEA after his Smartass made an offhand comment last week about his couch being way too old and lumpy for gaming nights and movie marathons.

But before either of them realise it, what was supposed to be a simple couch purchase turned into perusal of dining tables, desks and floor lamps. Aaron got them back on track when you excitedly pulled him towards that last part.

Aaron had never before questioned your taste in furniture before but at that point, he starts to draw the line at a red, human shaped floor lamp. It bows slightly with the most creepy smile he had ever seen on a statue before.

“I just don’t want to have a heart attack everytime I wake up, alright? You wanted it in our bedroom, beside our bed and it’s creepy beyond all reason.”

“It’s functional though.”

“So were the other floor lamps.” Aaron easily pointed out. He opened the car door and waited, unamused, for you to get in. Unfortunately, judging by how your arms folded across your chest in a stubborn pose, his spitfire didn’t want to drop their conversation.

“What if I put it in the living room?” You suggest instead, the familiar defiant spark made itself known.

Aaron held himself back from groaning in despair. Why are you so hung up about that lamp!? “I don’t think it’ll fit with the… aesthetic of our house, OK?” He tried the tactical approach first, knowing that a straight up no would not pacify his partner at all. “How about this; we’ll go with your couch and desk and my preference for the dining table. There. Is that good enough for you, Your Highness?”

You purse your lips, but the both of you know that you’re not so hung up about the floor lamp to drag this argument any further. Aaron wisely chooses not to comment how your lips slowly curve into a smile.

“Fine. I’ll let you win this round - ”

“Oh my god - ”

“But in return, I’ll be taking over for lunch later.”

Aaron immediately shut his mouth, surprise and secretly a little giddy that his Smartass had taken the initiative of making a meal for them. That lasted for about a split second before something dawn onto him.

“You want free reign at the hypermarket later, right?”

This time, you beam happily but say nothing as you finally slip inside of the Mercedes. And as usual, silence spoke louder than words. Aaron exhales loudly, not knowing whether to laugh or mutter a curse. Trust in his lover to have the final say, ultimately.

But that’s one of the many reasons why he fell so hopelessly in love with you.

The hypermarket is busy for a Saturday. Smartass pointed at the sales and promotions board display in big letters and numbers when the two of you entered the building, hand in hand. Ah, that makes sense. Children run about clutching snacks in their little hands to convince their exasperated parents into buying, worned out staff restock empty shelves and the scent of fresh produce and floor detergents clings in the air. A familiar sight.

“How do you feel about crabs?” Smartass begins the conversation. Aaron doesn’t understand why you bother asking him when you’re already dragging him towards the cold, seafood area. Aisles of fresh fish of all kinds are clearly displayed for visitors, the more expensive kind are packaged and a few men are working behind the butcher service counter.

“I can go for some crabs. It’s been a while anyway.” Aaron answered, grabbing a nearby stack of baskets for their grocery. He tried to recall the last time they had any seafood and his mind helpfully supplied a restaurant where they went to for dinner in March.

He lets you gather your thoughts as you stare at the frozen crabs critically as if they were spreadsheets. “I’m thinking of rice with a side of buttery crab meats, Salmon sashimi, Shiitake soup and lotus root salad. Sounds good?”

As soon as he invited his Smartass to permanently move in with him, you had totally taken over the kitchen. Apparently you weren’t terribly amused when he admitted that he’s not much of a cook but hey, he never once complained when you served the best homemade vegan burgers with a glare and a silent, “Go ahead. I dare you to say that they taste like shit. Make my day, Aaron.”

So instead, after he cleaned their dishes, Aaron proceeded to throw his lover on their bed to thoroughly thank you for the meal.

Four hours later, the flushed and surprised expression on your face was so worth it.

But we’re getting off tangents here.

“Sounds absolutely delicious.” Aaron replied and startled his Smartass with a sudden kiss on your cheek. “Now stop glaring at the crabs and pick some already. We have half of the ingredients back home and I’d rather not spend the rest of our remaining Saturday in the hypermarket. So let’s get to it.”

Smartass hum in agreement and grab your own basket. Together, they made quick work of what they needed to buy. Not just for lunch, but for the upcoming weeks too. Crabs, Salmons, some meat and later pea sprouts, red cabbages and lotus root - the both of them are more inclined to healthy meals rather than take outs and it really helps that Smartass suggest preparing ingredients that they could cook for the rest of the week, given their busy work lives. Vegetable dishes are flexible and easy enough to cook into anything anyway.

They moved on from the frozen, seafood aisles and the produce section to where the personal care products are. Aaron holds up his phone in between them so Smartass could check what’s next on the list.

“Oh shit. I totally forgot that my shampoo and conditioners just ran out.” Smartass blurted. “Thanks for adding that into our grocery list.”

Aaron scoffs. “You mentioned it twice during dinner last night - in between debating whether or not Game of Thrones is better than Lord of the Rings, mind you - so I can understand why you forgot” Colourful rows of shampoo bottles greeted them when they walk past a couple who’s pushing their trolley carts away from the shelves. He grabs your favourite brand and places them in his basket. “You’re brilliant, Smartass, but I can’t help pity that poor hamster living in your brain for having to run in its ball all day long.”

You gasp, affronted, while Aaron laughs at the look on your face. Even smacking his arm did nothing to stop his laughter. “You’re too easy to rile up sometimes, you know that Smartass?” He smirks and grabs a toothpaste next. They’re running low on that too. In retaliation for his remark, Smartass sneakily pulled that toothpaste out when Aaron was checking his phone and chose the one with the strawberry flavour instead.

When Aaron shot you an inquisitive look, you just smiled innocently and quickly distracted him by insisting that they need to get some snacks.

“That reminds me, it’s not on the list but we have to buy ramune soda. Oh, and some potato chips too.” You pointed out as the two of you rounded away from a large family who stopped in between the body wash shelves and hair serums. “Have you noticed that we go through ramune sodas like crazy lately?”

The snacks and beverage section is one of the highlights of this hypermarket, in Aaron’s humble opinion. Not only do they have an abundance of the local goods, they also have a wide selection of some really good imported snacks or as Aaon like to call it, your ultimate weakness.

“Yeah but be honest, are you really going to stop your addiction anytime soon?”

“What is this? Bully me day?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said it, not me, Smartass.” Aaron is quick to quip back and this time, you roll your eyes. Even if it’s true, it doesn’t mean that you have to like it.

But that’s Aaron - his words always serve a meaning and come straight from the heart when it’s for the things that truly matter. It’s annoying and yet, it’s one of his best qualities.

However, just as you were about to rebuke him, the two of you heard a passing conversation nearby the soda shelves.

“ - not going to play bartender at home again, Angel. Why not? Alright then; let me jog your memory, hmm? The last time I left you alone in the kitchen for more than 3 hours, you came out carrying a tray with the embodiment of everything unholy on this planet separated into three shot glasses.”

“It was just ramune soda mixed with rose syrup, grass jelly and vinegar!”

“Asher had a stomach ache for a week, Angel.”

“But Davey, how do you expect me to get better at it if you don’t let me practice? See? There’s a flaw in your plan!”

“I’d rather we go to a bar the next time you’re in the mood to poison the both of us.”

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation but you couldn’t help snicker at the stranger’s very much put out and deadpan tone. It gives an implication that this isn’t the first time this ‘Angel’ did something as crazy as mix sodas with vinegar. Hell, even the man’s comment earned a soft chuckle from Aaron.

“Sounds like he got quite a handful lover over there. Remind you of someone?” Aaron whispered. They couldn’t properly see the couple due to a stack of Dorito boxes in between them but you could spot a tall man wearing a pretty nice looking leather jacket and his partner beside him.

“If you’re implying that I’m unreasonably difficult - ”

“No, no. Just… hmm, passionately stubborn, I suppose.” Aaron nonchalantly replies with a smirk. He guffaws when you poke at his sides and spin around to the rows of ramune with a dramatic huff. Aaron easily follows suit with a fond smile.

This section of the aisle is quiet unlike the previous ones that’ve been, Aaron noticed. The humming of the air conditioner above them and the crinkling of a plastic bag of chips in Smartass’ hand were the only sounds that broke the comfortable silence. Even the murmurs from the other couple melts into background noises the further Aaron and his walk away.

That is, until a hair-raising snarl shattered the quietness.

What’s worse, it sounded like a wolf.

Aaron reacted instinctively. He opted for the defense - grabbing his Smartass’ free hand, pulling you close to him. His searching eyes are frantic while his mind is trying to make sense that a wolf is somehow in this hypermarket. Full of people. What the fuck!?

Smartass, however, opted for the offense. You grab the nearest glass bottle by the neck and were about to smash it against the metal shelf if it weren’t for Aaron’s quick thinking. He immediately grabs your wrist and shoots you an incredulous look. Silently judging your choices in life.

‘You have a better idea on how to deal with a fucking wolf!?’ Smartass demanded in silence. Your expression is bewildered; as if you couldn’t believe that Aaron wouldn’t let you shank an unknown threat just around the corner.

In return, Aaron pulls you closer to his body and glares out, ‘I’m not letting you throw yourself in front of a wolf!’

‘I’m protecting us!’ Smartass countered back, glaring just as heatedly.

A sweet giggle suddenly interrupted their mental argument. Their hearts skip a beat in fear at the unknown.

“Ok, ok. How about this, Davey: I'll let you dress me up when we go to the bar tomorrow. How’s that? Does that make my Wolf not jealous anymore?” The same voice they accidentally eavesdropped previously bargained in a teasing tone.

Smartass and Aaron exchange a bewildered and confused glance. What the fuck did they just said? My Wolf? Was the realistic animal snarl came from the boyfriend!? He must’ve some serious vocal cords and throat to be able to make that sound!

Aaron exhales loudly while Smartass allows him to grab the glass bottle that you were still holding to put it back on the shelf.

“I think I just lost five years of my life.” Aaron complains.

Smartass said nothing. Without even saying anything, you march to where the couple are. Aaron curses under his breath and quickly chases after you.

The man in the black leather jacket and his partner glanced at his Smartass when you approached them with a practised smile. One that Aaron knew meant trouble. How could he not when he’s the receiving end of that smile more than he could count.

When Smartass wants answers, you’ll do everything in your power to get it and Aaron is really not looking forward to wrangling his partner from starting a brawl in the middle of a damn hypermarket.

“Hi there.” His Smartass began, your body language deceptively open and friendly. “Are you two alright?”

“Eh?” The one standing beside the tall, frowning man replies with a blink. Upon closer inspection, Aaron realises that he and what looks to be the leader of a local gang are similar in built.

“Can we help you?” The gang leader interjects. He’s frowning but he doesn’t appear angry. Just confused like his partner. Though he nodded in greeting when Aaron slid up beside Smartass.

“Didn’t you hear that noise just now?” Smartass plays shock. “It sounded like someone released a wolf in the hypermarket!”

The man in the leather jacket suddenly looked like he just sucked a lemon; his eyes are comically wide. Meanwhile, his partner’s eyes are equally as wide. Aaron detects a hint of realisation glint in their eyes. Now isn’t that interesting?

Well, Smartass thought so too. You pressed on. “You heard it too right? Damn near give me a heart attack! I wonder if the nearby staff also heard it - ”

“It’s probably the ventilation system or something.” The gang leader quickly replied, his expression oddly shifted to neutral. Beside him, his partner opens their mouth to say something but he quickly presses his palm over it. They throw a pointed look at him but he resolutely ignores it. “Anyway, good luck with your grocery shopping.”

Aaron watches him grab his partner by the hand and gently drag them away. It was only when they’re out of sight that they started furiously chatting.

“Wow, Davey, your slip up was even worse than Asher’s!”

“We’re so not telling him about this, Angel.”

“...Does this mean I can tell Babe instead?”

“Wha - No, that wasn’t an invitation to tell his Mate!”

Aaron turns to Smartass who just shrugs. Neither of them could figure out what just happened. He’s just glad that you let them escape.

“Maybe they have some really kinky roleplaying thing going on.” Smartass guessed, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Aaron runs his palm down his face in exasperation. “I don’t give a shit, Smartass. Can we please just finish up our grocery shopping already? I’m starting to get hungry.”

“Alright, alright. We just have to grab a few more things and then we can pay.” Smartass assured him and off they continued on their way.

Though neither of them still couldn’t help but wonder how the hell that man managed to sound like a wolf so accurately.

Kinky roleplay or not.

I’m tentatively planning to make this into a mini series including the rest of the non-empowered characters with their lovers. I’m already writing for Oliver and Baby so we’ll see how that goes!

#redacted asmr #fanfic #second pov #they/them pronouns #gender neutral s/o #smartass (listener)#Aaron #david shaw #angel (listener)

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elizabeethan · 3 years

Text

Watch the Sunlight Fade: 8 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: Things might be starting to come together this week! Let me know your predictions.

This chapter talks extremely briefly and ambiguously of Emma not exactly wanting to have sex with Neal. Also, there is a discussion of Killian’s semi-violent past. Nothing is detailed, but let me know if you need more information or anything!!

Rated M

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~~~~

The days turn into weeks, although Emma can’t help but feel as though time is dragging her along mercilessly. Nothing has changed since she found out about Neal, how he’s the brother of the leader of The Lost Boys. Nothing, aside from her feelings of safety and security, of confidence in her relationship, being completely shattered.

Every night, she fights off the desperation to walk across the hall and join Killian in his bed, letting his strong arms consume her and blanket her with a sense of ease and contentment. Every night, she fights with herself as she crawls into bed with Neal, a man she thought she loved, and forces herself to put on an act of affection towards him. She forces herself to lie back and accept his convoluted attempts at showing her that he loves her, knowing that he couldn’t possibly. If he loved her, he would never have lied to her. If he loves her, he would let her go.

She also fights with herself through the anger she feels, directed inward rather than at anyone else. Sure, she’s mad at Neal for what he’s done, what he’s putting her through, but at the end of the day, she’s the fool to let herself be put in this position. It’s her fault. She should have seen through his lies from the moment she met him, but she was too desperate for love and family and acceptance. He knew that, too, and he exploited her weaknesses like she meant nothing to him.

It drives her mad to not know what he’s after. She’s hardly the most skilled person at finding people who don’t want to be found, so why he feels the need to target her specifically, she can’t say. It could be argued that, in some perplexing, psychotic way, he thinks he loves her, but she knows now that this isn’t love. It can’t be.

Lying at his side, wide awake through her inability to sleep, she can’t seem to shut her mind off. Each time she closes her eyes, she feels terror at the memories burned behind her lids. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Neal on top of her, despite her resolve to squeeze her eyes shut each time he decides he wants to be with her. Usually, she’s able to go to another place, letting thoughts of the beach or her happy future serve as a distraction of her fear, but sometimes she can’t ignore the feeling of his rough fingertips burning her skin.

Sometimes, when she’s in Neal’s arms and struggling to get past the feelings that come along with being with him, she thinks of Killian. Not necessarily in a way of longing for him-- not because she wishes she was with him instead, although she can only assume it would be more pleasurable-- but because of the comfort that he always brings her. Being with him is like being embraced by warmth and safety itself. It’s like the rest of the world turns off, and all that’s on her mind is the soothing way his arms wrap around her and the gentle rise and fall of his chest against her cheek. She doesn’t have to worry when she’s with him. She only has to think about how good it feels to be in his arms.

And she’s noticed his physique, too. It would be difficult not to. She noticed that first night, when he lifted his sweatshirt off and pulled his t-shirt up with it. She noticed the other day when he visited her in her cave of an office, leaning his shoulder against the door frame with his arms crossed, muscles bulging out of his sleeves and a tempting smirk coloring his lips as he teased her over the dinosaur of a computer she was working on. She notices the way he looks with almost everything he does, and she knows it's a dangerous game that she’s playing.

It’s not like she never found Neal attractive. But knowing what she knows now, she can’t help but to feel slightly nauseated every time she sees his face. She’s got to get out of this.

~~~~

“Since you did such a good job with the last one, I have another little task for you,” Peter says, his voice teasing and his smirk unsettling.

Emma works hard to maintain her composure as she sits straight up in her seat, one she was finally awarded after weeks of standing awkwardly before the group sat at the table. Today, when she walked into the daunting conference room, Peter invited her to sit beside him, beside Neal, and has been leaning towards her in a way that she knows is meant to appear polite, but holds a threatening undertone.

“Okay,” she agrees, trying to make her voice sound confident and fighting off the fear that never seems to go away.

He turns from her to Neal and remarks, “she really has begun to come into her own, hasn’t she?”

“I guess,” he shrugs, and a part of her feels offended at his nonchalance. Despite her strong desire to be anywhere but here, she thinks she’s done a pretty nice job of trying to fit in. Ever since Gold spilled the beans a few weeks ago about Neal’s status in the club, she’s held it together fairly well on the outside, with the exception of her initial breakdown.

There’s only one person she truly feels comfortable breaking down in front of. Only one person who she really trusts.

She hasn’t told Neal that she's found out his true identity. She and Killian have talked about it at length, sometimes able to spend time alone together especially when Neal leaves, and they’ve agreed that it’s for the best to keep her discovery under wraps. Gold’s subtle drop that Neal is his son and brother to Peter was purposeful, and she can’t let him come out on top. She knows, she’s terrified, but she’ll maintain her composure. For whatever reason, Neal doesn’t want her to know, so she’ll keep playing dumb.

“Who do you want me to find?” she asks, wanting nothing more than to prevent Neal from saying anything else casually offensive. His small digs at her serve a purpose, she now knows; to bring her down as far and as quietly as he can.

“This one may be a bit more of a challenge; a member from a rival gang. While Graham was more of a nomad, this man has ties to the Kings of Elsinore and is better protected. I want you to find out everything you can on him.”

“Okay,” she nods assuredly. “Well, I'll take whatever you have on him and get to work, then.”

Before she can move from her seat, Peter’s hand is on her wrist, oppressively holding her still. “Not so fast. There’s someone I’d like you to officially meet. Call in Hook.”

A man Neal knows, Walsh, she thinks, stands from his chair and walks towards the door, summoning someone inside. She has to stop her jaw from hitting the floor when she sees who.

“You two seem to have met casually, but I’d like you to officially meet Killian Jones. He’s gotten himself into a touch of trouble and, as punishment, will be helping you with whatever you need until this man is located.”

She gulps, anxiety setting in again despite how hard she’s been trying to keep it at bay. She promised herself she would be strong, refusing to let them get to her, to let them see her squirm. She will keep her promise to herself. “Okay,” she murmurs, forcing herself to peel her gaze from Killian’s. She can’t help but wonder what he’s done to get into trouble with Peter. She selfishly hopes they weren’t caught without her knowledge.

~~~~

“What happened?” she begs desperately once the door to her small office is shut, Killian ushering her into the room before practically slamming it. “What are you in trouble for? Killian, please tell me they don’t--”

“Nothing like that,” he hisses, stepping towards her. With a soft, gentle voice only just above a whisper, he says, “love, you have to stay calm. You did phenomenally pretending we don’t know each other well, but we have to keep up the ruse.”

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I know, I just… what happened?”

“Nothing, love, I promise. I only refused to go on a trip with them last week and Peter feared I wasn’t dedicated to the club’s cause.”

“You did?” she asks in surprise. When Neal told her that he wasn’t dedicated, she forced herself to believe him. When Killian says it, she doesn't even consider doubting him.

“Aye. Told them I had pressing matters to attend to.”

She cocks her head suspiciously and asks, “what were the pressing matters?”

“The Mummy Returns was on TV, remember? We watched it together.”

She can’t help the smile that breaks across her face, a snort escaping her throat despite her best efforts as she shakes her head and feels a blush creeping up her neck and pinkening her cheeks. “You’re dumb,” she says, and she feels like a child in a playground with a school crush.

“Well,” he shrugs, giving her a beaming smile. “Here, love. I’ve got the information we have so far. Time to start digging.”

A part of her almost wants to take her time, content to sit in the small office with Killian sitting beside her for quite some time. No one would suspect a thing, what with Peter already telling her that this guy would be harder to find; it’s the perfect excuse to soak in all of the comfort and happiness that Killian brings her despite her circumstances. But she knows they have to keep up appearances so as to avoid being caught in their elicit friendship, so she’ll work at a normal pace and hope no one notices that her smile is genuine rather than the forced one she gives Neal.

James Spencer is certainly a hard man to find. If she didn’t already know that he was linked to the Kings of Elsinore, she would be lost, as the man seems entirely enigmatic in nature. He seems like a ghost, her research pointing her absolutely nowhere, but Peter insists that he’s got ties to this rival club, despite her finding no evidence to support his claim.

She groans after a few hours, dropping her head to the desk as Killian continues to bounce a tennis ball off the wall in his boredom. It certainly is a punishment for him; the fact that he has to sit here and watch her find nothing is likely eating him alive. “It’s only been a few hours, love, you’ll find something soon,” he tries to console. Her frustration wins out, though.

“This is stupid.”

“Aye.”

“Are all of these stupid gangs this hard to navigate around?”

“Aye, I'd assume so. Although, I've never been a bounty hunter.”

She rolls her eyes, picking her head up and glaring. “I wasn’t a bounty hunter. I was a bail bondsperson.”

“That’s different?”

She holds her hands out, requesting the ball from him and catching it when he tosses it, only to throw it back at him with too much aggression. He yelps and laughs at her too loudly, and she can’t help but smile in response. She settles back into her chair after the short reprieve and sighs.

“How can I find someone who doesn’t want to be found if I know absolutely nothing about the environment he lives in?”

He hums in agreement, nodding and remarking, “you need an inside man.”

“No, I just need to know how a fucking motorcycle gang works,” she grumbles. It’s been a confusing few weeks, and she realizes that, while she’s gotten a few small bits of information, she still has no idea what the club’s actual purpose is. “Like… why even bother having one?”

He gives her a soft smile, standing from his chair and dragging it closer to her. “Are you sure that’s what this is about?”

“What?” she asks indignantly, giving him a look that she seriously hopes conveys how annoyed she is.

“Your little tantrum, love,” he teases. “Is it really about not knowing enough about how gangs work? Or is it, perhaps, more about your need to know everything about a situation in order to convince yourself that you’re safe?”

With another glare shot his way, she drops her jaw in surprise and shakes her head. “What the hell do you know?”

He smirks. “I know a lot more than you think. You’re a bit of an open book, love. And I’ve known you long enough now.”

“To what, psychoanalyze me?”

“I may have considered studying psychology, had I gone to university,” he laughs. “I know you’re scared, and I'm beginning to realize that not knowing what’s going to happen, or what’s happening without you knowing, is probably feeding that fear.”

With another heaving sigh, she drops her head back down, resting it on her arms and nodding. “You’re right,” she concedes, although part of her wishes he wasn’t. It’s true, though, being so in the dark about everything is making her feel weak.

His hand lands on her shoulder, staying there for a moment before he gently and slowly scratches his fingertips against her skin and pulls away. “I can tell you what I know, if that’ll help.”

She perks up, lifting her head and recalling a conversation from weeks ago in which he told her that his brother was an influential member of the club. “Yes,” she says, and why she didn’t think to ask earlier, she doesn’t know.

He gives her a nod and another one of his encouraging smiles, the one that always makes her heart skip a beat, and clears his throat. “What I know is that Neal is older, but Peter is in charge. From what I gather, and I was never privy to much, Neal went off on his own for a while and Peter took over everything. Gold’s always seemed a bit more… hesitant around Peter, but I almost suspect that he favors Neal. Either way, Peter was running things behind the scenes for quite some time before Neal left. When he came back, it was with you on his arm and with Peter happily leading, refusing to give up his spot. No one argued with him.”

She nods, but it doesn’t tell her much. She’s always known that Neal is more of a follower, happy to do whatever he can to impress his friends. The fact that he willingly gave up what seems to be his birthright doesn’t really surprise her.

“So what are they doing when they go away on their trips?”

“Usually seeking out merchandise. They deal in stolen goods, mostly watches and the like. Typically, a trip is a heist of some kind. A jewelry store, antique shop… sometimes even banks with safe deposit boxes.”

Emma looks down to her own wrist, Killian’s gaze following closely behind, and notes the watch she wears. The one that Neal gave her after one of his trips. She shudders and moves to take it off.

His hand stops her, looking into her eyes deeply and shaking his head. “Keep it,” he murmurs. “We can’t let them know that you know any of this.”

“Why?” she asks in a whisper. “Why is it so bad if I know?”

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head again. “But if Neal hasn’t told you, there’s a reason for it.”

She nods in understanding, letting her heart rate slow as his hand remains on her wrist, moving down to the top of her hand. She wants to wrap her fingers around his, but she knows she shouldn’t. “Can I ask something about you?”

“Of course.”

“Why do they call you Hook?”

His eyes drop from hers, glancing down at their joined hands, and she watches his brows knit together tightly. She feels his grip on her hand tighten, and despite both of them knowing it’s a bad idea, his fingers weave with hers and he squeezes her hand. She squeezes back.

“There are things about my past that… that when I think about telling you, I become…” he sighs, unable to finish his thought.

“Killian,” she whispers, “I already know you’re in a gang. Can it really be that bad?”

“Aye,” he answers immediately, his eyes meeting her own in a desperate attempt to convey to her something she can’t quite read. “I’m not… a good man.”

“Of course you are.”

“No. Maybe I’ve never thrown knives at a woman I’m supposed to love, but I’ve certainly… I mean…”

“Killian.” Her grip on his hand, the one she should release, tightens. “Whatever happened… you’re not that person. You’re good. I know bad people and I pegged you as good the second I saw you.”

It’s as if he can’t meet her gaze, too ashamed of whatever it is that he’s done. Too fearful of what will happen if she finds out. He witnessed her finding out that Neal has been lying to her, and she wonders if he fears a similar response now.

“I don’t-- it’s silly,” he laughs. “I just… I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You can’t,” she whispers. After everything he’s done for her, everything he plans to do for her, he could never disappoint her.

He sighs, squeezing her hand once more before turning it over in his and drawing a line across her palm. “I was a-- an angry lad growing up. My father abandoned us, my mother died. I found myself seeking release. Ways to get my anger out. I was never taught anything productive.”

She stays quiet, letting him open up to her on his own terms and distract himself by tracing the lines in her palms. “I came here at fifteen. Gold recruited me for… well, to put my anger to good use, in his eyes. He used me-- he’s always been good at picking out someone’s weakness and exploiting it. Whenever he needed information out of someone, he would bring me along and I would…” he sighs again, taking a deep and grounding breath. “I had a favorite weapon,” he mumbles.

With a nod, she tries to stay calm, tries not to let fear overtake her. She was fearful of Neal when he held the knives and smirked at her, and of Peter when he pressed the tip of the blade to his finger and smiled. But when she presses her hand to Killian’s cheek and makes him look up at her, she feels no fear. She sees only truth and regret and a longing to be a different person.

“It was a hook?” she asks for clarification, but she can see the answer in his eyes.

“From Gold’s boat,” he croaks. “That’s usually where we would take… the people we were interrogating. But, Emma, it’s been years. Liam found out and put an end to it. I think that’s--”

“What?” she asks gently as he cuts himself off, shaking his head painfully.

“I think that’s when things started going poorly for him.”

He’s done so much for her. He’s soothed every ounce of pain she’s felt since she got here, since Neal sliced her cheek and he touched it tenderly. He held her together as she cried harder than she ever had before. He’s vowed to see her out of this danger despite the predicament it puts him in. And still, she feels powerless to help him. He’s sitting before her, broken and in anguish, and she can’t heal him like he has her.

All she can do is take his cheeks in her hands and promise him, “that was not your fault.”

“Emma,” he breathes, his eyes pleading with her, for what, she isn’t sure. “He… he kept insisting I stay out of it. He kept holding me back, refusing to let me go, putting up a fight… I think they got tired of it, eventually. Of someone constantly questioning them and going against their word. He’d still be here if I hadn’t--”

“No. You had no hand in what happened to Liam. And when this is all over, you’re gonna be able to leave too.”

It’s bold of her to assume that it’s something he wants. He’s told her plenty of times that he wants to help her escape, but he’s never mentioned a desire to leave himself. It’s bold of her to assume that that’s in his best interest. But when she looks at the sadness and regret in his eyes, a part of her knows that it must be.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a moment of silence, and she lets him cast his gaze downwards again. “I should have--”

“It’s okay, Killian. The things you’ve done in the past don’t reflect who you are now.”

“Of course they do,” he nearly spits, clearly angry with himself as he pulls away and throws his head back. “I was a monster then. How can you not think of me as a monster now? I’m no better than Neal or Peter.”

“Don’t say that. Peter would probably do something like that now if he wanted to. Would you?” She lets her voice rise just the slightest amount, feeling more intensity than before and finding it necessary to convey to him that she doesn’t see him as a monster.

“Of course not.”

“And Neal… don’t even get me started. He nearly pulled his gun on me last week because I asked him where he was going. Would you do that?”

“Emma,” he says softly, finally looking at her once more, and she knows what he’s thinking. She knows he wants her out of his apartment; out of his life.

“You’re not a bad person,” she whispers, leaning closer to him just as he sits forward again, and they’re so close that she can feel his breath warming her nose. “I know bad people. You don’t qualify.”

He nods, his eyes deep and soulful as they bore into hers, and says, “I want to be a good person for you.”

No one has ever spoken to her like this. No one has ever expressed such a definitive desire to be worthy of her. No one has ever been so close to her and not made her instinctively want to pull away. And when she sees his eyes fluttering shut, his lashes touching his cheeks and casting long shadows in the dingy light, she wants to lean closer.

She almost does, too, is tempted to close her eyes like he has and touch her lips to his, but there's a swift knock on the door and they spring apart so quickly that she kicks his shin, causing him to bend and silently groan. She cringes in apology as she jiggles the mouse to her computer, begging it to wake up before the knocker enters the room.

“Any luck?” Gold asks as he pokes his head in.

“None so far,” Killian answers easily, his persona shifting effortlessly and maintaining their cover. “Swan’s searching high and low, but we don’t know much about Spencer’s tactics yet.”

“And Hook’s been a help to you, Miss Swan?”

“Yes,” she smiles, fighting the urge to lunge out of her chair and wring his neck for the name he’s given Killian and his insistence to still use it despite his obvious discomfort.

“It’s clear already that you have the club’s future in mind; I'm sure you’ll find something soon enough.”

She nods, staring as he walks away and cocking her head in confusion. “So weird,” she says softly once he’s gone, trying to remain quiet as he’d left the door ajar.

“What?”

“That’s the second time he’s mentioned the club’s future, specifically. What does me finding this James Spencer have to do with the future of the club?”

His response is a shake of his head, a slight roll to his eyes before he stills suddenly. His eyes widen as he looks down, then his brows knit together in thought, and she can clearly see the cogs turning in his mind. It’s like she’s watching him have an epiphany in real time. He looks up at her once, urgently, then he snaps out of it as if he’s remembering where he is, his demeanor shifting entirely as he smiles. “I’m not sure. The old man never makes any sense.”

“Killian…?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, love. We’ll just keep working on finding Spencer, alright? There’s no need to worry.”

For a brief second, she feels distrustful of him. It’s reminiscent of when Neal tells her not to worry about things that she couldn’t possibly understand. It’s like he knows something, but he doesn’t think she's capable of handling the truth of whatever it is. For a brief, fleeting second, she doubts him.

But she can’t let herself think like that. Neal lies to her to protect himself. Killian has been nothing but honest with her, wanting nothing but her safety. Truthfully, if whatever he’s discovered is bad enough that he doesn’t want to tell her about it, she isn’t sure she wants to know.

~~~~

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @hookedmom @pirateprincessofpizza

#Watch the Sunlight Fade #Captain swan fanfic #cs ff #sunlight ff #captain swan angst #captain swan fluff #emotional hurt/comfort #tw

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neworleansspecial · 2 years

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Summary: In need of money, Carlos applies for a job to be the bodyguard of TK Strand. He quickly realizes that he’s in way over his head.

Chapter: 7/10 | WC: 2.1k | AO3

<<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>>

Upon their arrival back at the house, TK orders Carlos to get the body from the trunk and follow him. Nancy watches them silently, raising an eyebrow at Carlos as he passes her. There’s nothing to say. This is utterly indefensible. Not a single person raises an eyebrow at the behavior. This isn’t normal. This isn’t right. Carlos is simply putting one foot in front of the other. TK leads them down to the basement where Carlos watched him torture that nameless man at the beginning of all this, unlocks the correct room, and gestures for Carlos to place their captive in the lone chair.

“Here’s some rope,” TK says, gesturing to the brown coils once Carlos’ hands are free. “Tie him up. Be thorough.”

“I don’t want to do this.”

TK just blinks at him, as if this is a non sequitur statement. There’s no defiance or anger on his face- just blank confusion. People don’t say no to him, or if they do express discontent, they still do what he wants without hesitation anyways. Carlos knows he’s been walking a thin line from day one, but it’s never been more apparent than this moment where TK stares at him as if his opinions are no more relevant than the day of the week.

“I’m serious. I want nothing to do with any of this.”

“You signed up for this, Carlos.”

“I didn’t-”

Before he can finish his sentence, TK is on him, holding his face and looking up at him through his lashes as if he can persuade him by sheer sex appeal alone. Carlos tries to avert his gaze, but TK makes a disapproving sound and tightens his grip on Carlos’ cheeks. He stays like that, pinning him with nothing more than the weight of his stare until the man they abducted groans and shifts in the chair.

“Ropes, now.”

He swallows. “Yes, sir.”

Carlos gathers up the ropes and makes quick work of cutting the duct tape and securing their captive to the chair, completely ensuring that he will not have a fighting chance against whatever TK wants to do to him. His bleary eyes blink a few times before they fully open, but he seems to recognize where he is pretty immediately.

“I- I didn’t do anything to Mr. Strand, I swear it.”

It clicks. TK was looking for this man specifically, not just a random target to take his frustrations out. He’s smarter than anyone, even Carlos, recognizes at any given moment. He has to wonder if TK was asked to do this or took the initiative upon himself to do something for the business. This is the wrong family to fuck with. Everyone knows that.

“You did, though,” TK corrects. “Do you remember me, Jacob?”

He shakes his head, no recognition in his eyes. It is personal, then? Carlos feels as if he’s watching the game show with the highest stakes known to man. It also washes over him that if he had been a little better at his job, he might have recognized the real emotion in TK’s face when they were in the alley. Had that been the case, Carlos would have shot Jacob in the head then and there himself. Mercy, of course. The image paints itself across his vision. He can almost feel the blood- warm, so warm.

“I’m sorry, your face doesn’t ring a bell.”

“It should.”

TK pulls his phone from his pocket and spends a thoughtful minute scrolling through his camera roll.

“That’s you, isn’t it?”

Carlos steps closer to see the picture. The lighting is poor and colorful, leading Carlos to believe it may have been taken in some kind of club. The face in the middle is definitely TK, and the one on the right is their hostage. He doesn’t recognize the third man. He studies it a moment longer and sees the subtle softness around TK’s face that suggests he might have been more than a few years younger when it was taken, which explains why Carlos wouldn’t recognize this man.

“Because you know, Button, you never really liked me enough to ask me my real name, did you? You or your friends.”

By the time the last word leaves his mouth, it’s a scathing spit of a thing, harsh on Carlos’ ears and sharp enough to have Jacob flinching. Carlos feels like the last one in on the secret. But he also feels like he gets it at the very least, why TK is so angry at this man in particular. Maybe he has changed. Maybe just enough.

Jacob catches onto TK’s insinuation of his identity and, although he hadn’t recognized him before, he definitely does now. He knows it’s over.

“Make it quick,” Carlos pleads.

TK glances at him. “No. He never made it quick with me.”

Then he steps back and studies their captive the way one might a work of art in a museum. His eyes don’t see a person, but in a different way than he hadn’t seen Carlos as one. Compared to the way he just never considered that Carlos might be a real human, this is a deliberate dehumanization until all he sees is an empty canvas.

“Carlos, get the scalpel off that tray.”

He picks it up and makes to hand it to TK, but TK refuses to take it into his hand, even when Carlos is milliseconds from cutting his hand on the sharp blade so he can extend it handle first to TK. When it actually does dig into the rough flesh of his palms, he switches to hold it properly, even though it’s now slick with his blood. Within the silence, Carlos knows what he’s supposed to do. It’s a reenactment. TK wants- needs- to be saved, and he alone is entrusted with carrying out such a task. Owen Strand would probably love to see it happen, and that thought alone has him shaking his head.

“I can’t, sir. I’m not- that’s not the man I am.”

“It is, though, isn’t it? You killed someone for me before. I watched you do it.”

And for that crime, Carlos was nearly executed. “That was different, it was-”

“Murder without a moment of hesitation, because you want to hurt people who hurt me.”

“It’s my job to defend you-”

“But not to care.” TK won’t look at him now. “But it’s not your job to care, even though you do.”

Carlos doesn’t know what to say to that. There isn’t anything to say. TK cups his face and pulls him in for a kiss that tastes like bitter smoke and sharp vodka. It’s unpleasant. Just like him. He doesn’t turn away, though, and by the time TK is through with him, there’s no questioning what comes next.

He fits himself behind Carlos and wraps one arm around his waist, using the other to steady his wrist for him. Carlos is still standing, still very much in control, but nearly powerless to do a thing against TK’s gentle guiding forward. Jacob looks up at him with another apology on his lips, voice beginning to break, and TK tenses.

“Cut out his tongue.”

“I can’t-”

TK lets go of his waist to grab the man’s tongue and pull it forward out of his mouth, evading the teeth by a moment. “It’s easy,” he says. He moves Carlos’ hand with the scalpel forward until it meets the resistance of the pink muscle and a thin line of blood appears. “Like you’re slicing bread.”

“I find it hard to believe you’ve ever cut your own bread, sir.”

“It takes some work, but you can cut all the way through. Watch my fingers.”

“TK-”

“Do it, or I will and yours will be next.”

He shuts his eyes at first, but opens them when he realizes he has to be careful not to cut TK at all. It’s more like slicing a raw steak than a soft loaf of bread, but he has the good sense not to let those words come out of his mouth. He finally breaks through the other side and looks at the tongue in TK’s hand, the blood coursing down to the floor.

He closes his eyes once more.

The next time he opens them, he’s sitting in the bathtub with TK, both of them naked. He’s staring down at his knees, watching the way the murky red water laps at his skin. It all feels like some nightmare he’s now awoken from, but he knows better than to believe such a fantasy. He’s a monster, like TK, except now he’s not so sure of the claim. If he lived a life like this one, maybe he’d behave the same.

Seeming to recognize that Carlos is more aware, TK opens the drain and stands up, maroon sluicing off his body in mesmerizing rivulets. He wraps a dark towel around himself and offers a second to Carlos. Something has shifted between them, in which direction he’s unsure. At the very least, he’s still here, which means TK wants him here,

Clothes are laid out for them on TK’s bed, and it all hits Carlos as he’s adjusting his boxers on his hips. He helped kidnap someone. He mutilated that man. He was so covered in his blood that the bath was dark with it. He realizes that if he could go back in time and do it over, he’d never even apply for this job.

“You hated that,” TK says softly.

“Of course I did.”

“That never occurred to me.”

TK brings a joint to his mouth that Carlos didn’t know he had, and lights it with shaking hands. He offers Carlos a hit, but he shakes his head. He couldn’t. Even the thought of tasting alcohol again makes him feel sick.

“I’m sorry.”

He should be, Carlos thinks, but he doesn’t say so. Instead, he tries not to let the musky scent of TK’s joint into his nose and tries to think of happier, safer times with people he loved. It’s then that he realizes he never really has felt all that safe. Growing up, he was always afraid of bullies and cops and his own sexuality. He was overseas where every moment was a blink from death. Even working retail, he lived his life terrified that the next second, the whole world might come crashing down on him. He’s always been afraid. Being here is still another life spent in fear. The only difference is that he’s now an active participant in violence for violence’s sake, and no amount of trying to convince himself otherwise will change that.

TK finishes his joint in record time before snubbing it in the ashtray on his nightstand. He spreads himself out on the bed, then, taking up most of the space with the drape of his long, pale limbs that Carlos wishes he didn’t have the urge to cover in his hands. He knows TK would let him. But that is somehow worse than what they just did in the basement. It would be telling TK he liked it. All of it.

“I want to quit,” he blurts out.

“Do you?” TK laughs a little. “Good luck with that. You’d be dead before you got the words out of your mouth.”

“I know.”

“Do you want to tell my dad you’re out, or do you want me to do it myself? I’ll… I’ll make it quick, for you.”

Carlos shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to, but I also- I don’t know what else I’d do, even if I could leave. I’d never be able to stop thinking about you.”

“Lay down with me.”

He obeys, and finds himself being pulled closer until his head is resting on TK’s chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath his cheek. It’s slow. Calm. Not a single thing about their day has him excited enough to even raise his heart rate, while Carlos’ is going so fast that he fears his heart may beat out of his chest and go running down the hall.

The vision of TK with his heart plays across his mind. The pink muscle, soaked in dark and clotting red, seeping blood down TK’s wrist as he clutches it tight in his hand. He can almost see TK taking a bite out of it. He’d eat Carlos’ heart, keep some part of him inside, and make sure that he will always belong to him in every way that matters. The important parts of the fantasy are true. Carlos’ life now revolves around TK, and it always will until the day his traitorous heart finally gives out on him.

“I won’t put you through that again.”

#tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star #911ls #911lsfic #emwrite #usermehr #mothcow #wtpo

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seymour-butz-stuff · 3 years

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In 2007, Jeff Bezos, then a multibillionaire and now the world’s richest man, did not pay a penny in federal income taxes. He achieved the feat again in 2011. In 2018, Tesla founder Elon Musk, the second-richest person in the world, also paid no federal income taxes.

Michael Bloomberg managed to do the same in recent years. Billionaire investor Carl Icahn did it twice. George Soros paid no federal income tax three years in a row.

ProPublica has obtained a vast trove of Internal Revenue Service data on the tax returns of thousands of the nation’s wealthiest people, covering more than 15 years. The data provides an unprecedented look inside the financial lives of America’s titans, including Warren Buffett, Bill Gates, Rupert Murdoch and Mark Zuckerberg. It shows not just their income and taxes, but also their investments, stock trades, gambling winnings and even the results of audits.

Taken together, it demolishes the cornerstone myth of the American tax system: that everyone pays their fair share and the richest Americans pay the most. The IRS records show that the wealthiest can — perfectly legally — pay income taxes that are only a tiny fraction of the hundreds of millions, if not billions, their fortunes grow each year.

Many Americans live paycheck to paycheck, amassing little wealth and paying the federal government a percentage of their income that rises if they earn more. In recent years, the median American household earned about $70,000 annually and paid 14% in federal taxes. The highest income tax rate, 37%, kicked in this year, for couples, on earnings above $628,300.

The confidential tax records obtained by ProPublica show that the ultrarich effectively sidestep this system.

I recommend going to the website to read the rest of the report, but the non-interactive text parts are below. Just in case it mysteriously vanishes.

America’s billionaires avail themselves of tax-avoidance strategies beyond the reach of ordinary people. Their wealth derives from the skyrocketing value of their assets, like stock and property. Those gains are not defined by U.S. laws as taxable income unless and until the billionaires sell.

To capture the financial reality of the richest Americans, ProPublica undertook an analysis that has never been done before. We compared how much in taxes the 25 richest Americans paid each year to how much Forbes estimated their wealth grew in that same time period.

We’re going to call this their true tax rate.

The results are stark. According to Forbes, those 25 people saw their worth rise a collective $401 billion from 2014 to 2018. They paid a total of $13.6 billion in federal income taxes in those five years, the IRS data shows. That’s a staggering sum, but it amounts to a true tax rate of only 3.4%.

It’s a completely different picture for middle-class Americans, for example, wage earners in their early 40s who have amassed a typical amount of wealth for people their age. From 2014 to 2018, such households saw their net worth expand by about $65,000 after taxes on average, mostly due to the rise in value of their homes. But because the vast bulk of their earnings were salaries, their tax bills were almost as much, nearly $62,000, over that five-year period.

No one among the 25 wealthiest avoided as much tax as Buffett, the grandfatherly centibillionaire. That’s perhaps surprising, given his public stance as an advocate of higher taxes for the rich. According to Forbes, his riches rose $24.3 billion between 2014 and 2018. Over those years, the data shows, Buffett reported paying $23.7 million in taxes.

That works out to a true tax rate of 0.1%, or less than 10 cents for every $100 he added to his wealth.

In the coming months, ProPublica will use the IRS data we have obtained to explore in detail how the ultrawealthy avoid taxes, exploit loopholes and escape scrutiny from federal auditors.

Experts have long understood the broad outlines of how little the wealthy are taxed in the United States, and many lay people have long suspected the same thing.

But few specifics about individuals ever emerge in public. Tax information is among the most zealously guarded secrets in the federal government. ProPublica has decided to reveal individual tax information of some of the wealthiest Americans because it is only by seeing specifics that the public can understand the realities of the country’s tax system.

Consider Bezos’ 2007, one of the years he paid zero in federal income taxes. Amazon’s stock more than doubled. Bezos’ fortune leapt $3.8 billion, according to Forbes, whose wealth estimates are widely cited. How did a person enjoying that sort of wealth explosion end up paying no income tax?

In that year, Bezos, who filed his taxes jointly with his then-wife, MacKenzie Scott, reported a paltry (for him) $46 million in income, largely from interest and dividend payments on outside investments. He was able to offset every penny he earned with losses from side investments and various deductions, like interest expenses on debts and the vague catchall category of “other expenses.”

In 2011, a year in which his wealth held roughly steady at $18 billion, Bezos filed a tax return reporting he lost money — his income that year was more than offset by investment losses. What’s more, because, according to the tax law, he made so little, he even claimed and received a $4,000 tax credit for his children.

His tax avoidance is even more striking if you examine 2006 to 2018, a period for which ProPublica has complete data. Bezos’ wealth increased by $127 billion, according to Forbes, but he reported a total of $6.5 billion in income. The $1.4 billion he paid in personal federal taxes is a massive number — yet it amounts to a 1.1% true tax rate on the rise in his fortune.

The revelations provided by the IRS data come at a crucial moment. Wealth inequality has become one of the defining issues of our age. The president and Congress are considering the most ambitious tax increases in decades on those with high incomes. But the American tax conversation has been dominated by debate over incremental changes, such as whether the top tax rate should be 39.6% rather than 37%.

ProPublica’s data shows that while some wealthy Americans, such as hedge fund managers, would pay more taxes under the current Biden administration proposals, the vast majority of the top 25 would see little change.

The tax data was provided to ProPublica after we published a series of articles scrutinizing the IRS. The articles exposed how years of budget cuts have hobbled the agency’s ability to enforce the law and how the largest corporations and the rich have benefited from the IRS’ weakness. They also showed how people in poor regions are now more likely to be audited than those in affluent areas.

ProPublica is not disclosing how it obtained the data, which was given to us in raw form, with no conditions or conclusions. ProPublica reporters spent months processing and analyzing the material to transform it into a usable database.

We then verified the information by comparing elements of it with dozens of already public tax details (in court documents, politicians’ financial disclosures and news stories) as well as by vetting it with individuals whose tax information is contained in the trove. Every person whose tax information is described in this story was asked to comment. Those who responded, including Buffett, Bloomberg and Icahn, all said they had paid the taxes they owed.

A spokesman for Soros said in a statement: “Between 2016 and 2018 George Soros lost money on his investments, therefore he did not owe federal income taxes in those years. Mr. Soros has long supported higher taxes for wealthy Americans.” Personal and corporate representatives of Bezos declined to receive detailed questions about the matter. ProPublica attempted to reach Scott through her divorce attorney, a personal representative and family members; she did not respond. Musk responded to an initial query with a lone punctuation mark: “?” After we sent detailed questions to him, he did not reply.

One of the billionaires mentioned in this article objected, arguing that publishing personal tax information is a violation of privacy. We have concluded that the public interest in knowing this information at this pivotal moment outweighs that legitimate concern.

The consequences of allowing the most prosperous to game the tax system have been profound. Federal budgets, apart from military spending, have been constrained for decades. Roads and bridges have crumbled, social services have withered and the solvency of Social Security and Medicare is perpetually in question.

There is an even more fundamental issue than which programs get funded or not: Taxes are a kind of collective sacrifice. No one loves giving their hard-earned money to the government. But the system works only as long as it’s perceived to be fair.

Our analysis of tax data for the 25 richest Americans quantifies just how unfair the system has become.

By the end of 2018, the 25 were worth $1.1 trillion.

For comparison, it would take 14.3 million ordinary American wage earners put together to equal that same amount of wealth.

The personal federal tax bill for the top 25 in 2018: $1.9 billion.

The bill for the wage earners: $143 billion.

The idea of a regular tax on income, much less on wealth, does not appear in the country’s founding documents. In fact, Article 1 of the U.S. Constitution explicitly prohibits “direct” taxes on citizens under most circumstances. This meant that for decades, the U.S. government mainly funded itself through “indirect” taxes: tariffs and levies on consumer goods like tobacco and alcohol.

With the costs of the Civil War looming, Congress imposed a national income tax in 1861. The wealthy helped force its repeal soon after the war ended. (Their pique could only have been exacerbated by the fact that the law required public disclosure. The annual income of the moguls of the day — $1.3 million for William Astor; $576,000 for Cornelius Vanderbilt — was listed in the pages of The New York Times in 1865.)

By the late 19th and early 20th century, wealth inequality was acute and the political climate was changing. The federal government began expanding, creating agencies to protect food, workers and more. It needed funding, but tariffs were pinching regular Americans more than the rich. The Supreme Court had rejected an 1894 law that would have created an income tax. So Congress moved to amend the Constitution. The 16th Amendment was ratified in 1913 and gave the government power “to lay and collect taxes on incomes, from whatever source derived.”

In the early years, the personal income tax worked as Congress intended, falling squarely on the richest. In 1918, only 15% of American families owed any tax. The top 1% paid 80% of the revenue raised, according to historian W. Elliot Brownlee.

But a question remained: What would count as income and what wouldn’t? In 1916, a woman named Myrtle Macomber received a dividend for her Standard Oil of California shares. She owed taxes, thanks to the new law. The dividend had not come in cash, however. It came in the form of an additional share for every two shares she already held. She paid the taxes and then brought a court challenge: Yes, she’d gotten a bit richer, but she hadn’t received any money. Therefore, she argued, she’d received no “income.”

Four years later, the Supreme Court agreed. In Eisner v. Macomber, the high court ruled that income derived only from proceeds. A person needed to sell an asset — stock, bond or building — and reap some money before it could be taxed.

Since then, the concept that income comes only from proceeds — when gains are “realized” — has been the bedrock of the U.S. tax system. Wages are taxed. Cash dividends are taxed. Gains from selling assets are taxed. But if a taxpayer hasn’t sold anything, there is no income and therefore no tax.

Contemporary critics of Macomber were plentiful and prescient. Cordell Hull, the congressman known as the “father” of the income tax, assailed the decision, according to scholar Marjorie Kornhauser. Hull predicted that tax avoidance would become common. The ruling opened a gaping loophole, Hull warned, allowing industrialists to build a company and borrow against the stock to pay living expenses. Anyone could “live upon the value” of their company stock “without selling it, and of course, without ever paying” tax, he said.

Hull’s prediction would reach full flower only decades later, spurred by a series of epochal economic, legal and cultural changes that began to gather momentum in the 1970s. Antitrust enforcers increasingly accepted mergers and stopped trying to break up huge corporations. For their part, companies came to obsess over the value of their stock to the exclusion of nearly everything else. That helped give rise in the last 40 years to a series of corporate monoliths — beginning with Microsoft and Oracle in the 1980s and 1990s and continuing to Amazon, Google, Facebook and Apple today — that often have concentrated ownership, high profit margins and rich share prices. The winner-take-all economy has created modern fortunes that by some measures eclipse those of John D. Rockefeller, J.P. Morgan and Andrew Carnegie.

In the here and now, the ultrawealthy use an array of techniques that aren’t available to those of lesser means to get around the tax system.

Certainly, there are illegal tax evaders among them, but it turns out billionaires don’t have to evade taxes exotically and illicitly — they can avoid them routinely and legally.

Most Americans have to work to live. When they do, they get paid — and they get taxed. The federal government considers almost every dollar workers earn to be “income,” and employers take taxes directly out of their paychecks.

The Bezoses of the world have no need to be paid a salary. Bezos’ Amazon wages have long been set at the middle-class level of around $80,000 a year.

For years, there’s been something of a competition among elite founder-CEOs to go even lower. Steve Jobs took $1 in salary when he returned to Apple in the 1990s. Facebook’s Zuckerberg, Oracle’s Larry Ellison and Google’s Larry Page have all done the same.

Yet this is not the self-effacing gesture it appears to be: Wages are taxed at a high rate. The top 25 wealthiest Americans reported $158 million in wages in 2018, according to the IRS data. That’s a mere 1.1% of what they listed on their tax forms as their total reported income. The rest mostly came from dividends and the sale of stock, bonds or other investments, which are taxed at lower rates than wages.

As Congressman Hull envisioned long ago, the ultrawealthy typically hold fast to shares in the companies they’ve founded. Many titans of the 21st century sit on mountains of what are known as unrealized gains, the total size of which fluctuates each day as stock prices rise and fall. Of the $4.25 trillion in wealth held by U.S. billionaires, some $2.7 trillion is unrealized, according to Emmanuel Saez and Gabriel Zucman, economists at the University of California, Berkeley.

Buffett has famously held onto his stock in the company he founded, Berkshire Hathaway, the conglomerate that owns Geico, Duracell and significant stakes in American Express and Coca-Cola. That has allowed Buffett to largely avoid transforming his wealth into income. From 2015 through 2018, he reported annual income ranging from $11.6 million to $25 million. That may seem like a lot, but Buffett ranks as roughly the world’s sixth-richest person — he’s worth $110 billion as of Forbes’ estimate in May 2021. At least 14,000 U.S. taxpayers in 2015 reported higher income than him, according to IRS data.

There’s also a second strategy Buffett relies on that minimizes income, and therefore, taxes. Berkshire does not pay a dividend, the sum (a piece of the profits, in theory) that many companies pay each quarter to those who own their stock. Buffett has always argued that it is better to use that money to find investments for Berkshire that will further boost the value of shares held by him and other investors. If Berkshire had offered anywhere close to the average dividend in recent years, Buffett would have received over $1 billion in dividend income and owed hundreds of millions in taxes each year.

Many Silicon Valley and infotech companies have emulated Buffett’s model, eschewing stock dividends, at least for a time. In the 1980s and 1990s, companies like Microsoft and Oracle offered shareholders rocketing growth and profits but did not pay dividends. Google, Facebook, Amazon and Tesla do not pay dividends.

In a detailed written response, Buffett defended his practices but did not directly address ProPublica’s true tax rate calculation. “I continue to believe that the tax code should be changed substantially,” he wrote, adding that he thought “huge dynastic wealth is not desirable for our society.”

The decision not to have Berkshire pay dividends has been supported by the vast majority of his shareholders. “I can’t think of any large public company with shareholders so united in their reinvestment beliefs,” he wrote. And he pointed out that Berkshire Hathaway pays significant corporate taxes, accounting for 1.5% of total U.S. corporate taxes in 2019 and 2020.

Buffett reiterated that he has begun giving his enormous fortune away and ultimately plans to donate 99.5% of it to charity. “I believe the money will be of more use to society if disbursed philanthropically than if it is used to slightly reduce an ever-increasing U.S. debt,” he wrote.

So how do megabillionaires pay their megabills while opting for $1 salaries and hanging onto their stock? According to public documents and experts, the answer for some is borrowing money — lots of it.

For regular people, borrowing money is often something done out of necessity, say for a car or a home. But for the ultrawealthy, it can be a way to access billions without producing income, and thus, income tax.

The tax math provides a clear incentive for this. If you own a company and take a huge salary, you’ll pay 37% in income tax on the bulk of it. Sell stock and you’ll pay 20% in capital gains tax — and lose some control over your company. But take out a loan, and these days you’ll pay a single-digit interest rate and no tax; since loans must be paid back, the IRS doesn’t consider them income. Banks typically require collateral, but the wealthy have plenty of that.

The vast majority of the ultrawealthy’s loans do not appear in the tax records obtained by ProPublica since they are generally not disclosed to the IRS. But occasionally, the loans are disclosed in securities filings. In 2014, for example, Oracle revealed that its CEO, Ellison, had a credit line secured by about $10 billion of his shares.

Last year Tesla reported that Musk had pledged some 92 million shares, which were worth about $57.7 billion as of May 29, 2021, as collateral for personal loans.

With the exception of one year when he exercised more than a billion dollars in stock options, Musk’s tax bills in no way reflect the fortune he has at his disposal. In 2015, he paid $68,000 in federal income tax. In 2017, it was $65,000, and in 2018 he paid no federal income tax. Between 2014 and 2018, he had a true tax rate of 3.27%.

The IRS records provide glimpses of other massive loans. In both 2016 and 2017, investor Carl Icahn, who ranks as the 40th-wealthiest American on the Forbes list, paid no federal income taxes despite reporting a total of $544 million in adjusted gross income (which the IRS defines as earnings minus items like student loan interest payments or alimony). Icahn had an outstanding loan of $1.2 billion with Bank of America among other loans, according to the IRS data. It was technically a mortgage because it was secured, at least in part, by Manhattan penthouse apartments and other properties.

Borrowing offers multiple benefits to Icahn: He gets huge tranches of cash to turbocharge his investment returns. Then he gets to deduct the interest from his taxes. In an interview, Icahn explained that he reports the profits and losses of his business empire on his personal taxes.

Icahn acknowledged that he is a “big borrower. I do borrow a lot of money.” Asked if he takes out loans also to lower his tax bill, Icahn said: “No, not at all. My borrowing is to win. I enjoy the competition. I enjoy winning.”

He said adjusted gross income was a misleading figure for him. After taking hundreds of millions in deductions for the interest on his loans, he registered tax losses for both years, he said. “I didn’t make money because, unfortunately for me, my interest was higher than my whole adjusted income.”

Asked whether it was appropriate that he had paid no income tax in certain years, Icahn said he was perplexed by the question. “There’s a reason it’s called income tax,” he said. “The reason is if, if you’re a poor person, a rich person, if you are Apple — if you have no income, you don’t pay taxes.” He added: “Do you think a rich person should pay taxes no matter what? I don’t think it’s germane. How can you ask me that question?”

Skeptics might question our analysis of how little the superrich pay in taxes. For one, they might argue that owners of companies get hit by corporate taxes. They also might counter that some billionaires cannot avoid income — and therefore taxes. And after death, the common understanding goes, there’s a final no-escape clause: the estate tax, which imposes a steep tax rate on sums over $11.7 million.

ProPublica found that none of these factors alter the fundamental picture.

Take corporate taxes. When companies pay them, economists say, these costs are passed on to the companies’ owners, workers or even consumers. Models differ, but they generally assume big stockholders shoulder the lion’s share.

Corporate taxes, however, have plummeted in recent decades in what has become a golden age of corporate tax avoidance. By sending profits abroad, companies like Google, Facebook, Microsoft and Apple have often paid little or no U.S. corporate tax.

For some of the nation’s wealthiest people, particularly Bezos and Musk, adding corporate taxes to the equation would hardly change anything at all. Other companies like Berkshire Hathaway and Walmart do pay more, which means that for people like Buffett and the Waltons, corporate tax could add significantly to their burden.

It is also true that some billionaires don’t avoid taxes by avoiding incomes. In 2018, nine of the 25 wealthiest Americans reported more than $500 million in income and three more than $1 billion.

In such cases, though, the data obtained by ProPublica shows billionaires have a palette of tax-avoidance options to offset their gains using credits, deductions (which can include charitable donations) or losses to lower or even zero out their tax bills. Some own sports teams that offer such lucrative write-offs that owners often end up paying far lower tax rates than their millionaire players. Others own commercial buildings that steadily rise in value but nevertheless can be used to throw off paper losses that offset income.

Michael Bloomberg, the 13th-richest American on the Forbes list, often reports high income because the profits of the private company he controls flow mainly to him.

In 2018, he reported income of $1.9 billion. When it came to his taxes, Bloomberg managed to slash his bill by using deductions made possible by tax cuts passed during the Trump administration, charitable donations of $968.3 million and credits for having paid foreign taxes. The end result was that he paid $70.7 million in income tax on that almost $2 billion in income. That amounts to just a 3.7% conventional income tax rate. Between 2014 and 2018, Bloomberg had a true tax rate of 1.30%.

In a statement, a spokesman for Bloomberg noted that as a candidate, Bloomberg had advocated for a variety of tax hikes on the wealthy. “Mike Bloomberg pays the maximum tax rate on all federal, state, local and international taxable income as prescribed by law,” the spokesman wrote. And he cited Bloomberg’s philanthropic giving, offering the calculation that “taken together, what Mike gives to charity and pays in taxes amounts to approximately 75% of his annual income.”

The statement also noted: “The release of a private citizen’s tax returns should raise real privacy concerns regardless of political affiliation or views on tax policy. In the United States no private citizen should fear the illegal release of their taxes. We intend to use all legal means at our disposal to determine which individual or government entity leaked these and ensure that they are held responsible.”

Ultimately, after decades of wealth accumulation, the estate tax is supposed to serve as a backstop, allowing authorities an opportunity to finally take a piece of giant fortunes before they pass to a new generation. But in reality, preparing for death is more like the last stage of tax avoidance for the ultrawealthy.

University of Southern California tax law professor Edward McCaffery has summarized the entire arc with the catchphrase “buy, borrow, die.”

The notion of dying as a tax benefit seems paradoxical. Normally when someone sells an asset, even a minute before they die, they owe 20% capital gains tax. But at death, that changes. Any capital gains till that moment are not taxed. This allows the ultrarich and their heirs to avoid paying billions in taxes. The “step-up in basis” is widely recognized by experts across the political spectrum as a flaw in the code.

Then comes the estate tax, which, at 40%, is among the highest in the federal code. This tax is supposed to give the government one last chance to get a piece of all those unrealized gains and other assets the wealthiest Americans accumulate over their lifetimes.

It’s clear, though, from aggregate IRS data, tax research and what little trickles into the public arena about estate planning of the wealthy that they can readily escape turning over almost half of the value of their estates. Many of the richest create foundations for philanthropic giving, which provide large charitable tax deductions during their lifetimes and bypass the estate tax when they die.

Wealth managers offer clients a range of opaque and complicated trusts that allow the wealthiest Americans to give large sums to their heirs without paying estate taxes. The IRS data obtained by ProPublica gives some insight into the ultrawealthy’s estate planning, showing hundreds of these trusts.

The result is that large fortunes can pass largely intact from one generation to the next. Of the 25 richest people in America today, about a quarter are heirs: three are Waltons, two are scions of the Mars candy fortune and one is the son of Estée Lauder.

In the past year and a half, hundreds of thousands of Americans have died from COVID-19, while millions were thrown out of work. But one of the bleakest periods in American history turned out to be one of the most lucrative for billionaires. They added $1.2 trillion to their fortunes from January 2020 to the end of April of this year, according to Forbes.

That windfall is among the many factors that have led the country to an inflection point, one that traces back to a half-century of growing wealth inequality and the financial crisis of 2008, which left many with lasting economic damage. American history is rich with such turns. There have been famous acts of tax resistance, like the Boston Tea Party, countered by less well-known efforts to have the rich pay more.

One such incident, over half a century ago, appeared as if it might spark great change. President Lyndon Johnson’s outgoing treasury secretary, Joseph Barr, shocked the nation when he revealed that 155 Americans making over $200,000 (about $1.6 million today) had paid no taxes. That group, he told the Senate, included 21 millionaires.

“We face now the possibility of a taxpayer revolt if we do not soon make major reforms in our income taxes,” Barr said. Members of Congress received more furious letters about the tax scofflaws that year than they did about the Vietnam War.

Congress did pass some reforms, but the long-term trend was a revolt in the opposite direction, which then accelerated with the election of Ronald Reagan in 1980. Since then, through a combination of political donations, lobbying, charitable giving and even direct bids for political office, the ultrawealthy have helped shape the debate about taxation in their favor.

One apparent exception: Buffett, who broke ranks with his billionaire cohort to call for higher taxes on the rich. In a famous New York Times op-ed in 2011, Buffett wrote, “My friends and I have been coddled long enough by a billionaire-friendly Congress. It’s time for our government to get serious about shared sacrifice.”

Buffett did something in that article that few Americans do: He publicly revealed how much he had paid in personal federal taxes the previous year ($6.9 million). Separately, Forbes estimated his fortune had risen $3 billion that year. Using that information, an observer could have calculated his true tax rate; it was 0.2%. But then, as now, the discussion that ensued on taxes was centered on the traditional income tax rate.

In 2011, President Barack Obama proposed legislation, known as the Buffett Rule. It would have raised income tax rates on people reporting over a million dollars a year. It didn’t pass. Even if it had, however, the Buffett Rule wouldn’t have raised Buffett’s taxes significantly. If you can avoid income, you can avoid taxes.

Today, just a few years after Republicans passed a massive tax cut that disproportionately benefited the wealthy, the country may be facing another swing of the pendulum, back toward a popular demand to raise taxes on the wealthy. In the face of growing inequality and with spending ambitions that rival those of Franklin D. Roosevelt or Johnson, the Biden administration has proposed a slate of changes. These include raising the tax rates on people making over $400,000 and bumping the top income tax rate from 37% to 39.6%, with a top rate for long-term capital gains to match that. The administration also wants to up the corporate tax rate and to increase the IRS’ budget.

Some Democrats have gone further, floating ideas that challenge the tax structure as it’s existed for the last century. Oregon Sen. Ron Wyden, the chairman of the Senate Finance Committee, has proposed taxing unrealized capital gains, a shot through the heart of Macomber. Sens. Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders have proposed wealth taxes.

Aggressive new laws would likely inspire new, sophisticated avoidance techniques. A few countries, including Switzerland and Spain, have wealth taxes on a small scale. Several, most recently France, have abandoned them as unworkable. Opponents contend that they are complicated to administer, as it is hard to value assets, particularly of private companies and property.

What it would take for a fundamental overhaul of the U.S. tax system is not clear. But the IRS data obtained by ProPublica illuminates that all of these conversations have been taking place in a vacuum. Neither political leaders nor the public have ever had an accurate picture of how comprehensively the wealthiest Americans avoid paying taxes.

Buffett and his fellow billionaires have known this secret for a long time. As Buffett put it in 2011: “There’s been class warfare going on for the last 20 years, and my class has won.”

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loser-writings · 4 years

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Kazuichi Souda Headcanons

{@sally-wonders} (┛◉Д◉)┛彡┻━┻ I JUST SAW THE DANGANRONPA STUFF AND I AM SCREAMING! dlsfhlfhksg I dont even know where to start, so, at first I was wondering if you have any headcanons for my man Kazuichi, I love him so much! I always wondered how he would be into an actually relationship, because the inflatuation he had with Sonia was a thing, but also serving to compensate in his low self steam, even if he was an ultimate, he also has the historic of abuse and bully by their piers and all with the sharp teeth and pink hair to try and look cool and all that as well, also he would have to deal with all that happened in dispair island (what wouldnt i give to know how they dealt with that man :'3), especially acepting the fact that Sônia does not like him. Because of the whole dream girl with blonde hair and he kinda projects this idea of her instead of herself. Jqrjjgwrj sorry I babble a lot hehe

I hope you enjoy this long list of a variety of headcanons. These may not hit all of the points you were asking, but I hope this is satisfactory!

・・・・✪General Headcanons✪ ・・・・

Kazuichi is a very anxious person so he is constantly fiddling with something. Little electronics, his wrench or tools he has on hands, or his fingers. If he can’t mess with something, his anxiety goes through the roof.

He can read in English! He taught himself how to read English so he could read American comic books before they’re officially translated. He also can understand English since he watched so many English action movies. He can speak it, but it can be broken and his accent is very strong.

He can actually sew. Since he learned by watching his mom, he can fix and alter clothing. He can also sew and throw together blankets and stuffed animals. He actually owns a small sewing machine. It isn’t expensive or amazing by any means, but it can get the job done.

He spends a large chunk of his money on keeping up with his hair and keeping his contacts in check. His hair grows extremely fast so his roots show, and he has a horrible habit of sleeping in his contacts since he can’t stand his glasses.

When you catch him off guard, he just lies about what he is doing. He doesn’t mean to, but it is just a natural reaction since his dad would get mad at him no matter what his answer was. Because of this, you have to give him a moment to calm down and go through the 3 different answers he has before he can actually say what’s going on. This also happens if he is on his computer or his phone. He naturally hides the screen, even if he is just looking at car parts or how to fix a certain thing.

He can be a bit perverted and oblivious to somebody's flaws if he finds himself becoming attracted to them. Despite this, he is honestly quite the sweetheart and would have a heart attack if somebody were to return his feelings.

He has pretty bad trust issues and this can cause tension between him and others. This also causes him to believe things that aren’t always true based off of his distrust alone.

He doesn’t actually like his appearance, even after he changed it. He originally changed it to keep away bullies and get the attention of women, but when he looks in the mirror, he doesn’t exactly like it. He didn’t mind his black hair or his normal eye color, he just hated his glasses.

Will flinch if someone raises their hand at him because of his fathers past abuse. He can’t help but flinch, and this is horrible with men who are taller than him. Safe to say that Gundhams mannerisms and weird poses aren't appreciated.

・・・・✪Relationship Headcanons✪ ・・・・

As stated before if someone were to return his feelings, he would be so lost on what to do. He never had anybody treat him with much kindness and the fact that someone he admires likes him back is just mind boggling to him.

I headcanon him personally to be Bisexual. He may have a physical lea for women, but he does find himself genuinely attracted to men as well (@Hajime) I think the big thing that decides if he likes you or not is if he thinks he can trust you.

Due to the past abuse and issues regarding friends and classmates, he would need constant reassurance. He will have sudden doubts and will become extremely anxious at the idea of you leaving him for a variety of reasons. He will ask if you want him to change his appearance or something about his personality, and it never fails that he is shocked if you say you love how he is.

He can sometimes get lost in his childlike fantasies. He will change his personality at times and make himself believe things that aren’t true. The best thing to do when this happens is to just give him a quick kiss on the cheek and remind him that you are you, and not some fantasy. He will apologize and snap out of it (For the most part)

He isn’t the best at initiating things. He would do better with someone who is more willing to make the first move. Be the one to grab his hand to hold it, Open your arms so he can snuggle against your chest, Cup his cheeks to pull him into a sweet kiss, Open the door for him and press your hand against his lower back in public areas so he feels more calm. He really would appreciate it.

Some of his favorite dates are the ones that result in tons of affection. Building blanket forts before having an action movie marathon is his favorite thing. It always results in the two of you tangled impossibly close to each other. If he is the one being held, having you play with the messily chopped locks instantly has him weak. He will rest against your chest while watching the movies, looking up to steal kisses and nip at your exposed skin in an attempt to steal your attention away from the screen. If he is the one holding you, your hair will be played with and expect him to caress your body a lot. If he gets distracted from the movie, he will let his eyes and hands wonder. It’s not in a perverse way, but more curious.

He actually studies how your body moves and how you feel. He is the kind of guy who is very interested in seeing how your “Parts” move and how things work. It’s not perverted (Usually) but instead it’s very sweet in an unusual way. He will find out unusual things he loves about you by watching how you move. Like how you stretch to reach things on a tall shelf, or how your body curls up into itself when your cold. Just how you move and your body language is something that always has Kazuichi staring.

If he can’t be with you physically, expect many phone calls and video calls. He calls you every time he misses your voice or feels himself starting to get anxious. The most common phone calls become the ones that happen before bed. Kazuichi gets extremely anxious when he is alone or at his house with his dad. Because of this, it becomes a routine where he calls you before bed and falls asleep on the phone with you. If you love to sing, sing and play instruments on the phone to soothe him. If you like to read, read to him until you hear his soft snores on the other line. If you like to ramble, ramble to him as he hums along til he is asleep.

Also don’t hang up. Seriously, he will hang up in the morning. If he has a nightmare, or something happens, he finds comfort knowing that you are right there when he needs you most.

He doesn’t mind chasing after you, but please let him have something so he knows that all of the chasing is worth it. This is the man you go to if you want somebody to control. He just wants your love and attention, even if you are just using him. If he falls for you during the killing game, he won’t hesitate to kill for you.

・・・・✪NSFW Headcanons✪ ・・・・

Aged 18+ and Kink discussion below this post

Souda loves to leave hickeys and love bites. He thinks they’re so sexy and attractive, and will leave them all over you if you let him. He also ADORES having you mark all over him and will whine if you tease him by pulling away before a mark can be made. If you really want to make him feel loved, make heart shaped hickeys all over him. He will cry because he feels so loved.

He is a switch with a more submissive lean, but he does have his more dominant moments. If he is being submissive, expect him to whine and cry about things a lot. He can be a total brat, but its so worth it when you get to hear him moan and beg for more. He may not scream, but he is quite loud.. If he is being dominant, he growls and groans a lot. He doesn’t mean to, he just gets so caught up in the moment that he doesn’t even notice the noises he makes.

He has ended up with you in his lap in his car a few times. He just can’t help it. The most memorable time was at the drive in theater. You both were in the back and it just ended up with your hands being bound by a seat belt as he sat between your legs until he couldn’t handle waiting anymore.

He CLEARLY is into body worship. He loves watching how you react as his hands sit and press themselves against your body. He will compliment absolutely everything about you, kissing your skin as much as possible, and let his hands and eyes do all of the work.

He is so into oral, both giving and receiving. He can sit between your legs pleasing you until you are shaking and can’t handle anymore. Just how you taste is so intoxicating with him, and he always is trying to get more. If you are sucking him off, he will pant and moan and whine the whole time. His hand is tangled in your hair or the sheets until he can’t take it any more and cums. If you swallow, he will be so turned on, but he also loves cumming on you

Kazuichi will hump and grind against anything. Your ass, your thighs, a pillow, clothing, the bed, anything. He has a high sex drive, so he has to take care of it often. Even when he is sleeping, he will grind against you if he is having a dirty dream. Hopefully you don’t mind, because he is actually quite embarrassed when this happens.

He has a fantasy of you waking him up with oral. He has quite a few dirty dreams, so the idea of you helping him out while he wakes up is a dream for him.

Praise kink. Seriously. Praise this man. He will CRY if you constantly praise him during sex. He was completely unaware of how much it would effect him during sex.

#kazuichi #kazuichi souda #souda x reader #kazuichi souda x reader #Kazuichi x reader #Danganronpa #danganronpa kazuichi #Danganronpa Imagine #Danganronpa x reader #danganronpa headcanons #Kazuichi headcanons #Kazuichi souda headcanons #sdr2 #sdr2 kazuichi #sdr2 x reader #sdr2 imagines #sdr2 headcanons #N/sfw #Kazuichi n/sfw

765 notes · View notes

shadow-scenarios · 4 years

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Date Headcanons | Everyone

Thought I’d write something for everyone so that I can get used to it & you can see my style of writing.

- Nexus.

Joker { Akira Kurusu }

✧ Akira is definitely the type of partner who indulges in more casual dates. Although he has the money & resources in order to do something more classy due to his moonlighting as a Phantom Thief, he prefers more quaint locations where both himself & his partner can enjoy each other’s company instead of the location.

✧ He fundamentally believes that if he can enjoy himself around his significant other without needing to spend vast amounts of money, he’s found someone he can rely on for life. His life is naturally very very stressful so he finds solace in moments where he can simply be himself.

✧ During the date itself, he is the epitome of a gentleman { he does have max Charm, after all! }. Offering to pay for the meal; blatantly flirting but not crossing any unspoken boundaries; Casual touches of affection to fluster them. All in all, Akira simply enjoys having company that’s not related to Phantom Thief business & having someone who doesn’t only want to see him in order to seek out comfort.

Skull { Ryuji Sakamoto }

✧ Another one who likes casual dates. However, he is much less formal about it. Although confident on the outside, on the inside he is very nervous about a date. Ryuji is of the opinion that if he cannot be himself during a date, it would not feel natural. So, he takes his significant other places that seem like fun.

✧ Being the athletic type, Ryuji encourages his significant other to run with him. It is rather cathartic and good training. Starting out with shorter routes, they would be encouraged by him all throughout. Afterwards, there’s a high chance that the two of them would head out for ramen together as a ‘ treat ’.

✧ Other ideas would include the arcade or simply heading to his house. Introducing his partner to his mother is a key part of the relationship, since he desperately wants them to like each other { it wouldn’t be difficult, Ryuji’s mother is just as sweet as his son!! }.

Panther { Ann Takamaki }

✧ There are two types of dates with Ann: Food dates & Fashion dates.

✧ Food dates are usually more common. They consist of going to a restaurant she recommends or finding a dessert and ordering two. Ann encourages her significant other to try new things & expand their horizons much like how she’s trying to strengthen her heart.

✧ Fashion dates occur when Ann’s side job as a model comes into play. If she is in need of new clothes for a particular style or wants to try something new, it is likely to be turned into a date.

✧ Ann knows exactly what fits the body type of her partner & clothes that would make them look good. She wants them to be able to express themselves and feel good about it at the same time!!

✧ In return, all that is asked of them is that they honestly critique the clothing choices she has selected out for herself { she looks great in everything though }.

Fox { Yusuke Kitagawa }

✧ Yusuke’s interpretation of dates is... Strange. No matter what, it has to be visually stimulating & help inspire him in his career of art. He would die for art without a second thought and that reflects in his choices of location.

✧ For example, Inokashira Park is a perfect spot. It costs little money, has beautiful scenery & has a relaxing atmosphere. Throughout the entire experience, there is small gestures of casual affection. Not enough for people to be staring but just enough for it to be noticeable by them.

✧{ After his scuffle with searching for true beauty with Akira, he learns a little more about social ettique & how the boat ride they took could have been misinterpreted as a date. }

✧ However... Sometimes he forgets that going to places costs money. If a local art museum has a special showing, Yusuke will buy two tickets impulsively & invite his significant other to the event. Then he’ll be crushed by the reality of the train fares.

Queen { Makoto Niijima }

✧ At first, Makoto has no idea how to plan a date. She would definitely flunk a test about love, so to speak. However, it is very endearing. Study dates would be the most common, where they could go over any material either of them didn’t understand in classes. She prides herself over being able to assist her significant other.

✧ Once she becomes more adapted to stereotypical teenage life, there is a higher likelyhood of more outdoorsy dates. Her favourite spot is Chinatown because of all the vastly different stores and foods.

✧ She finds it a relaxing experience to people watch. Usually it’s done through the window of a cafe where she offhandedly comments about how different people are dressed & how they interact with each other. Makoto is very insightful.

Oracle { Futaba Sakura }

✧ Going anywhere is mostly out of the question. Futaba struggles with socialising & although she is trying her best to open up a little more, it will be an ongoing process.

✧ Playing video games until 3am or talking about the latest manga edition released from the comfort of her bedroom is one of her favourite things to do with a significant other. It is the one time where she feels comfortable to talk & even if they do not quite understand every thing she is saying, she is very happy to go into depth and explain.

✧ However, there would be one or two occasions where Futaba wants to push herself & go out somewhere. Beforehand, Sojiro would be lecturing her partner about keeping her safe & making sure she’s okay but wishes the two of them a good time.

✧ Although there’s moments where Futaba is overstimulated & needs a break, it is a fun experience! Akihabara is definitely a good place to start & buying a game as a reward for braving it will earn them a beaming smile of sunshine.

Noir { Haru Okumura }

✧ Haru has very few qualms about spending extravagant amounts of money on a single date. She thinks like a celebrity & aims to impress her significant other. Just because she spends a lot of money does not mean she is not thoughtful, though. Most dates will be something her significant other has mentioned interest in. She pays attention!!

✧ Throughout the entire outing, she is not afraid to initiate physical contact. Holding hands is a common & subtle gesture that she never really achieved with her previous marriage so she cherishes gentle intimacy.

✧ However, it eventually becomes known that she prefers cheaper & more heart-to-heart style dates. Making a picnic for her partner with the vegetables / fruits from her garden brings unparalleled joy. Especially when they give advice and talk about the taste & how they could improve. Her dream is to run a homegrown café after all!!

Crow { Goro Akechi }

✧ Akechi is either the most gentlemanly man anyone has ever been on a date with or he wants to unwind from a stressful day. Dates are few & far between with his particularly busy schedule, alongside the influence of his female fans bothering him particularly turns him off the idea most of the time.

✧ So, there are two solutions: Dates that are indoors so that no one knows where they are & incredibly extravagant dates that the media cannot gain access to.

✧ Indoor ones usually involve attending the Jazz Club in Kichijoji. It is a relaxing place with few people to bother his significant other, since there are few that know about the place. Throughout the entire occasion, he makes light conversation and is hesitant about accepting physical contact for fear of his reputation but eventually settles on taking his gloves off and interlocking hands with them.

✧ The other solution is usually reserved for special occasions. Although Akechi is wealthy due to his work as a detective, he is more deliberate with his purchases and understands the value of money. In these situations, he intentionally plays up his role as a detective prince & is even more suave than Akira. There is a lot of flirtation in a very polite manner, almost as if testing the waters.

✧ Although he genuinely enjoys these sessions, it is his job to play the role of a prince, even for his significant other. Akechi is practised at pretending.

Violet { Sumire Yoshizawa }

✧ Incredibly flustered at first, no matter what happens. Every step with her is filled with stuttering & a face the same colour as her hair but she’s willing to try her best!!

✧ Absolutely wants her significant other to come to her routines & competitions. If they are not there, she feels incomplete. It throws her game off which in turn creates more issues in the future.

✧{ At some point, her coach comes to speak to them and essentially demands they be at every session so Sumire can achieve her best. }

✧ Sumire also really likes different scenery. The aquarium in Shinagawa is a breathtaking sight from her perspective. No pressure to perform & the ability simply be herself allows for a much more natural date.

{ Yuuki Mishima }

✧ Mishima is much like Futaba in that he would prefer a date indoors. Although he is more confident after everything that happened with Kamoshida, he is still more shocked that he actually has a significant other.

✧ Most of his spare time when not doing schoolwork is spent on running the Phansite so when Mishima wants to spend time with them, he prefers low energy activities at home such as watching a movie with snacks or sitting & talking together.

✧ If he ever attempted to take them out somewhere, it would be adorable. There would be a lot of doting on them and ensuring that they’re having a good time & he needs this validation because of his self esteem issues. { Telling Mishima that the date was fun or that they enjoyed it will result in an adorable smile & red face }.

{ Hifumi Togo }

✧ Much like Yusuke, Hifumi enjoys dates with her significant other that are practical. If there’s a new book on some of the lastest Shogi techniques, she’ll take them to the bookstore in Jinbocho & make a date out of it.

✧ Although she sometimes struggles to articulate her feelings properly, it is often made up for with the purchase of a gift. Nothing expensive since she is still a high school student but instead something deeply personal that will mean a lot, such as a piece of jewellery or a particular book they are interested in.

✧ Also loves going to the church in Kanda for a practice game. Even if they are not very good at Shogi, she’ll teach them how to play and encourages them to develop their own style of play. After each game, she analyses all of the different moves used in that game & how they changed the game.

Word Count: 1.7k

Publish Date: 25.09.20

#persona 5 #persona 5 royal #p5r #persona 5 x reader #akira kurusu x reader #ryuji x reader #ann x reader #yusuke x reader #makoto x reader #futaba x reader #haru x reader #akechi x reader #sumire x reader #mishima x reader #hifumi x reader #persona 5 imagines

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merrysithmas · 3 years

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hi! i don’t know if we’ve ever chatted before, but you were on my dash with some good stucky content and i thought i’d send some, too? if that’s okay? i love the thought of steve and bucky being best friends above anything— they were like that before they were lovers! i think that’s always forgotten in favor of romance. but in that sense, that means like,,, inside jokes!!! kicking each other under tables and clowning each other for funny faces they make!!! laughing during sex!! tugging at each other’s earlobes and hair and poking and prodding and just generally being menaces!! wrestling matches that end in soft kisses, only for bucky to go back to wrestling because he’s “gonna win no matter what, rogers”. anyway, sorry i rambled, just,,, good best friend to lovers shit

omg a thousand times YES!! this is my most favorite thing about them! this very real, raw, plainspoken, ride-or-die, hard luck circumstance, devotion and friendship they have for one another! preserum/prewar stucky is the whole reason why i started liking this ship in the first place like 🥺 it's that foundation of such SIMPLE PURE affection and closeness which in contrast makes the epic sprawl of their relationship so incredibly poignant and beautiful!

-like kicking their feet off the docks at Coney Island! spending all their money on hotdogs like idiots, Bucky has INSANE aim at the shoot-to-win carnival games and Steve's slack-jawed stunned about it. Bucky can't stop grinning and Steve's elbowing him in the side amiably as they walk. Steve dragging his feet to church with his strict as all hell Irish immigrant mother on Sundays and then making a B-line to Bucky's house the second he can breakaway after mass, scrambling through the alleyways of Brooklyn down their "secret passages". Bucky climbing the fire escape to Steve's window (Bucky was a Romeo back in the day) before romance even caught their thoughts.

-The first time Steve ever rode in an honest-to-god automobile was Bucky's father's car, before he died, before the Crash bankrupted everyone's dreams and accounts and hearts, before the barely more than hardluck Barnes' lost everything Steve never had and more. Steve knowing exactly where Bucky keeps his worn-to-hell dress shoes that he breaks out every time he goes dancing. How much those old awful shoes mean to him.

-The way Steve notices how Bucky's too-easy and bright to be real smile pops up only in the most dubious of moments, how Dot and Jennie and Enid never seem to make him laugh as positively red-faced and ugly as Steve does when they're just shooting the shit and Steve's sketching down the cityscape at sunset on the fire escape, making some hideously inappropriate joke that makes Bucky gag with laughter.

-The one-and-only time Steve ever cried after a fight when his orbital bone above his eye was cracked and his skin was raw as hell and maybe even on its way to infection, the time it hurt so bad he saw stars (and not in the good way, the sometimes bad high-chasing way he fought people way too big and too mean for him precisely because it was against his better judgement, and preened his worser insecurities), and Bucky's mucking around noisily in the kitchen clanging pots and pans trying not to rip his own hair out with wanting to hover and smother him, and eventually just presses a hot cloth with soap straight to it when Steve emerges red-eyed from the bathroom, and Steve's howling in pain from the soap, and Bucky's more pissed than anything now - maybe even holding his head against it a little too hard on purpose, goddamnit Steve he was three times your size, you want someone to kick your ass? How bout me huh? Huh?

-Bucky promising to go to the Met with Steve, finally making it up to Central Park together on the best day of autumn, leaves falling around them like a wonderland and they can't even believe their luck... something so simple and perfect. Roasted chestnuts at the holidays from streetcarts and their hands burning up from them because they dont even have gloves in this horrible wintry cold but it was worth the whole 3 cents and pricked up fingertips anyway.

-When Steve broke his nose and Bucky set it, the loudest string of curse words ever uttered or known to man. Listening to Dodgers games on the radio, standing up and sitting down and running their hands through their hair in agitation, screaming at the announcer, windows open, hot summer again, clothes drying on the clotheslines hung up across the alley.

-The way Bucky watches Steve's face when he's looking at one of those big mournful paintings hanging in the Met... like he's looking at heaven itself, or even better, learning to appreciate things down here for what they are just a little bit more. How Steve looks like the pale and fantastic figures in those paintings, how it's always so quiet in the museum hallways but Steve is lit up and alive, how Bucky tries to focus in on these concepts of art and structure and composition that he initially thinks are way above him - for Steve.

-Steve half asleep on the Barnes' couch as Bucky ties Becca's hair up in a ribbon for her date with Richard, and he's dozing to the sounds of the radio and the city outside. Bucky having Steve over for every Romanian holiday, Bucky's cousins making him drink Țuică and Bucky's mom making Bucky tell Steve about the dream she had that she's convinced is a premonition about Steve and a Red-Faced Monster...

sigh!

#stucky #this is it folks #the friends friends best friends of it all #caps-rogerswilson

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zims-left-shoe · 4 years

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Hi, I absolutely adore your stuff!!! Its my birthday soon and I would be forever grateful if you could write me something for Zim? I dont really mind what it is or what it's about. I'd just be happy for cute headcannons. Thank youuuuuuu!!!!💞😘

Sure!! I finally got to this. I’ve been wanting to write some headcanons anyway, but I have a lot in my ask box so I just haven’t gotten to it yet. This is basically a list of various headcanons that are cute (in my opinion), they don’t really have a specifc theme!

Cute Zim relationship headcanons (all are my personal opinion)!!

Irkens are touch starved, since the entire empire is basically one big military. Love within Irken society is incredibly taboo, as is physical affection. Most forms of physical contact between Irkens tend to be painful (i.e punches, kicks, strikes). The whole concept of romantic relationships was a bit of a culture shock to Zim.

That being said, the very first time you had attempted something in that vein (even if it was something as simple as a hug or taking his hand), he wasn’t quite sure how to react. At first he was very jumpy. However, if you would pull away, he would immediately bring you back in.

In the beginning, you would have to be the one to instigate anything romantic. It wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t want it (he was pretty much hooked on physical affection the first time you held his hand), rather he was too proud to ask for anything. He didn’t want to be seen as weak, begging for attention. He was Irk’s finest soldier after all!

Eventually, he had stopped caring about that. Once he gained confidence with the whole thing, he would make the first moves quite often. Because if he wanted it, he would take it (within your comfort level of course).

Zim is a clingy bastard. Too conceited to admit it, but clingy nonetheless. If you ignore him for too long, he will begin to bug you in the most obnoxious ways imaginable. Trying to work or be productive? He’s basically the equivalent of a cat, he’ll just lay right across whatever you’re trying to do, or right on top of you to prevent you from accomplishing anything. If he can’t do that, he’ll bitch and moan until you acknowledge his existence. If you somehow manage to ignore him after all of that, he’ll get all schmoopy and lay on the ground all depressed like (basically that one scene from ETF) until you go convince him you still love him.

(more under the cut)

Despite being cautious with hugs at first, he learned to love them. Again, he would never say this aloud, but they make him feel warm and safe. Zim would never verbally ask for a hug, rather just slither his way into your arms. This happens often, especially when he’s unhappy. Sometimes he’ll even use his PAK legs along with his arms, although he’s very careful when he does this since they can be sharp; this usually happens if he thinks you need to be protected from something, even if it’s not a physical threat (breakdowns worry him, he believes you to be in danger from something he can’t fight).

Holding hands is something Zim likes a lot. Not only does it feel nice, he’s discovered it to be a very effective way to show the world that you are his, and that he is yours. He tends to be a bit jealous and overprotective, so if he feels that there is even a minor possibility of your relationship being threatened, his clinginess goes up a thousand percent. Anytime you walk anywhere together, you better believe your hands are linked.

Cuddles are also a thing he loves dearly. Once he gets comfortable, Zim is definitely a cuddle bug. It’s like a hug but better! And if you’re at his place, there is a ninety percent chance GIR is joining in. Just like one happy family! Again, if he initiates it, he won’t ask for it. You could just be sitting on a couch and he’ll slowly curl himself into you, gradually latching a limb at a time onto you, until you’re both just a mess of tangled arms and legs. But, oh, if you even make the smallest remark about him being cute, he’ll throw a hissy fit and say that he’s just doing this for your sake, not his own enjoyment (and then two seconds later he’ll be purring and chirping in your arms, content as can be).

Zim is competitive as hell. He’ll turn anything into a competition if you let him. If you remain passive and assure him that, yes, he is the best, he’ll leave it at that. However, if you don’t back down and try to give him a run for his money, expect an all out war. You can use this to your advantage. For example, want him to be overly-affectionate for the day? Challenge him to see who can do the most nice things for each other. Even if he says that’s stupid, he’ll still accept the challenge and suddenly you have the sweetest alien in the universe. He will never back down. Ever. So these little games will be drug out for as long as you let them. It’s best just to let him win after a day or two.

Dates with Zim are either the most outlandish thing you’ve ever done, or the most charming and romantic. There’s no in-between. And they can go from zero to a hundred real quick. Typical Earth dates make no sense to him in the slightest, so even if he does try to take you on a cliché date (dinner and a movie, stuff like that), it will most likely go horribly wrong as a result of poor planning. Those dates tend to be the funniest, but they frustrate him to no end since he clearly can’t get them right. He tends to be more successful when he stops trying to think like a human, since he really can’t. Lots of dates in space ensue, which tend to be both exciting and amazing. Although everywhere he takes you isn’t anything special to him, he can tell you’re having the time of your life, which is enough to satisfy him. GIR probably tags along a lot (not only is he a great robot son, he makes an excellent wing man).

Kissing is a very strange experience for him. Zim has never understood the act itself or its appeal, and at first found it rather disgusting. Eventually he gets used to it, but he’s still completely confused by it. It’s not his favorite thing, and he definitely has to be in the mood for it, but he’s more willing to take part in it. Especially if it becomes competitive; pray for yourself then, because you have a monster on your hands. And if someone just won’t get the hint, kissing is his way of telling them to step off before they lose a limb; he’s a jealous little devil when it comes to you.

As time goes on, you’ll begin to notice that several articles of clothes of yours have gone missing. Zim likes to take jackets he thinks you won’t miss anymore, because as previously mentioned, he’s a clingy bugger, and so when you can’t be around him, he’ll put one of those on while he works down in the lab or is doing repairs. If he gets it dirty, he’ll sneakily throw it with the rest of your laundry and take another one.

Zim is extremely proud to have you. He will show you off to anyone and everyone who will listen, including his Tallest (who seemed rather confused). At first it was embarrassing, but you had just learned to roll with the inevitable.

If you ask very nicely (i.e. offering cuddles and feeding his ego), Zim could be convinced to give you a lesson on flying the voot cruiser. Does it go well? Well, Zim’s piloting skills are...not consistently amazing, his teaching skills even less so, but you didn’t kill yourselves. You would have thought he would be pissed after the ship was docked in the hangar in worse condition than it had left, but surprisingly he was even more motivated to teach you to pilot an Irken ship. Mainly because it was a way to spend time with you in a way that he could understand, but nonetheless he made flying lessons a regular thing.

Expect gifts constantly. Despite his evil plans going horribly wrong all of the time, Zim is actually incredibly skilled when it comes to tech. So, he makes you things. A lot. They tend to be things that are actually useful, with far more advanced technology than anything available on Earth. Plus, Zim is a million times more helpful than an IT guy. Your phone or laptop not working? You can take it to Zim and within five minutes not only is your original problem fixed, but the device itself has been completely upgraded with Irken tech to give it more functionality and efficiancy than you could have ever dreamed of.

Overall, despite his flaws and being a massive pain in the ass, Zim is a cutie in his own right. :)

#invader zim #headcanon #invader zim headcanons #zim x reader #invader zim fanfiction #invader zim fic #request #fanfiction #fanfic

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cowboyshit · 4 years

Text

starlight will be the only light when I can tell my heart to you... PART ONE OF ? future parts: two, three

Ship: Hangman Adam Page x Female OC (Hazel Baker) x Matt Jackson Summary: Hazel’s engagement ended awhile ago, and she’s finally decided she’s ready to jump headfirst back into the dating game by having a fun, carefree, no-strings-attached night with a handsome cowboy at the local rodeo. Instead, she finds something much, much more complicated and catches herself between two men and a whirlwind of feelings. Rating: explicit (part one only has a brief, heavy-handed make-out scene but it’s written explicit enough to elicit this rating, and the piece itself will become more explicit in the future) Length: 14,079 words Warnings: alcohol mention, brief descriptive make-out/verging on smut situation

author’s note: wow, this thing turned into a monster I didn’t expect. Initially, I just wanted to have a little fun and write the elite as rodeo cowboys in a rodeo au, but this fic sort of took on a life of it’s own. I will warn that not much happens in this part, despite how long it is. It’s just a bunch of FEELINGS. Look forward to part two, where things get even messier than they are here! And yes, I promise in the next one they’ll actually get together.

“Oh wow, look at that one.”

“Hazel, I told you I wasn’t going to bring you here if you weren’t going to behave yourself.” Her friend, Andrea’s playfully exasperated tone made Hazel grin wide.

“I know, but can you blame me?” She said and nudged Andrea with her elbow, jerking her chin toward the blond-haired cowboy dead ahead.

He was handsome in a heart-stopping, jaw-dropping kind of way, she thought. The late afternoon sun hit the edges of the blond curls that stuck out of his cowboy hat, making them look as if they glittered. His eyes crinkled at the corners as his cheeks pushed into them, a big smile on his face as he laughed. She could just hear the faint hint of it - that laugh - through the people passing between them and it sounded warm, and rich, and honest. She wanted to hear it closer.

He was wearing a bright pink, long-sleeve button-up with some sort of white pattern she was too far away to figure out. It was fine print, but looked like swirls. Maybe paisleys. The sleeves, upper back and chest supported bold, silver-white thread and patches sewn into it of varying sponsors and brands. Considering the multitude she could count, it was easy to guess he was one of the hot shots on the rodeo circuit. The money went where the winners were, after all. Plus the addition of that big silver, gold-trim belt buckle that was biting gently into the fat of his stomach had likely been won as a prize at another rodeo. It looked pretty fancy, even from this distance.

“Who is that?” She asked, and when Andrea didn’t answer she finally pulled her eyes off him and looked at her friend.

Andrea blushed and shook her head. “You don’t need to go near those guys.”

“What?!” Hazel exclaimed, frowning at Andrea and looking back at that beautiful pink-shirt wearing blond-haired cowboy. He was talking with two other cowboys, both with long, dark-brown hair. She looked from them, back to her friend and found Andrea frowning at her. Hazel rolled her eyes. “Oh come on! You know how long it’s been since Ethan and I called off the engagement and ended things. I’m finally feeling like me again, like I’m getting over that heartache. I could use some fun! The best way to get over someone is to get under someone, right?” She wiggled her brows and grinned playfully. “So, spill it, who is he? What’s his deal?”

Andrea worked the grounds when the rodeo pulled into town and had been doing it enough years that she was known and knew the folk who came to compete. It was a side-gig she had on top of working the cafe at the stockyards. This meant she often knew the rodeo competitors and other cowfolk who found themselves in Brimwood Creek. Therefore, she knew exactly who Mr. Blond Haired Angel Cowboy was and for some reason she was withholding that information. Andrea knew Hazel had a penchant for falling for those handsome cowboys and was enough of a confident little flirt to strike up some fun with one, but she’d never minded before. A thought occurred to Hazel as she remembered her friend blushing, and she looked both surprised at the realization and apologetic.

“Oh! Are you two a thing?” Understandably Andrea wouldn’t want Hazel making eyes at him if she was after him.

“What?” Andrea laughed and shook her head. “No.”

“Okay, so what’s wrong with him then?” She was getting suspicious. She narrowed her eyes on him, trying to find the flaw, but just found herself more distracted by how handsome he was. She glanced at his hand, or tried to, but couldn’t see his ring finger from where they were standing. “Is he married?”

“No! Hazel, look. He’s not the kind of guy you’re after. He’s sort of a recluse. He comes out to compete and then disappears after hours instead of spending time hanging out with everyone. I’ve never once seen him with a girl. He’s not like the rest of them, at least from what I’ve seen.”

Now that was surprising. A lot of these cowboys were known to be roaming heart-breakers with a little lady in every town the rodeo made a stop in. That’s what Hazel had been thinking when she’d gotten Andrea to agree to not only bring her to the rodeo, but get her a little bright green paper wristband that’d let her stay once the rodeo wrapped up for the night and the citizens took off, happy and entertained. After her serious, four-year long relationship had ended over half a year ago she was finally ready to get out, but she’d only meant to find herself a good one-night stand. Her heart wasn’t ready to open up to anything more than that.

“What a shame,” she murmured, eyes still on him, “cause he is quite the looker.”

“Adam! Harper’s out, you’re takin’ his spot!” A sudden barking shout from an older, bow-legged cowboy to her right drew his eyes, and when he nodded and lifted a hand to signal he heard and understood, he caught her watching him. His gaze moved from the cowboy to her, lingering a little, and she wished she could tell what he was thinking. Probably: Why the hell is this woman gawking at me?

His frown deepened and then he looked away as one of his friends - a handsome man with a dark beard and his long, equally dark brown hair secured in a ponytail, tucked beneath a black wide-brim cowboy hat - asked him a question. Hazel’s eyes jumped between them for a moment, admiring the view, before Andrea tugged her sleeve.

“Come on, quick gawking. You promised you’d help me work and not spend the entire day ogling cowboys, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Hazel said, dramatically overacting with a heavy sigh, “I did say that. What a bummer.”

“Shut up,” Andrea laughed and pushed Hazel’s arm playfully, to which Hazel gasped in mock offense, which quickly spilled into laughter before she pushed her back, the two turning to walk toward the chutes and figure out where they’d be best helpful. Neither girl saw the blond-haired cowboy, Adam, turn and watch them retreat with a curious, lingering, thoughtful frown across his naturally down-turned brows.

The rest of the afternoon and evening went by rather quickly. In between lending a hand wherever Andrea needed her, the girls propped themselves up on the metal fences and watched the rodeo events take place. It’d been a couple years since Hazel had gone to a proper rodeo, and her heart felt full to experience it all again. Even the way the crowd hollered encouragement for a particularly good ride, or how everyone lingered in groups and their familiar conversations drifted by her ears as she walked past them brought her back home. She’d missed it, every sense of it, and for a good moment during one of the last rides she let herself close her eyes and soak everything in as deep into her skin as she could get. For the most part she’d wanted to find some cute cowboy to hook up with after the show, but in reality she’d needed the entire day spent here more than she realized she would. She’d been away from this world for too long.

Eventually the citizens were gone, the gates were closed and security made their rounds past little encampments where friends had gathered around portable barbecues and bonfires to check and make sure everyone had the wristband saying they could stay. Hazel and Andrea were hanging out with a small group of workers like Andrea who saw to the set-up and tear-down of the chutes and paddocks, the feeding of the animals and the cleaning of their pens, the organizations of the rides and kept the level ground of the arena smooth for each competitor. One of the older men, a veteran of the rodeo, was telling a hilarious story about a mishap with an angry bull when Andrea gently nudged her elbow in Hazel’s side.

“I heard there’s a cowboy who was asking about you,” she whispered suggestively with a little wiggle of her dark, bold brows.

Immediately Hazel thought of him - blond curls, pretty eyes - and her heartbeat increased. She looked hopeful at Andrea. “Was there?”

“Mhm,” she nodded and tipped her beer bottle back, taking a slug and drawing out the anticipation. “One of the Jackson brothers. Matt.”

“Oh,” Hazel’s shoulders dropped as she felt a stab of disappointment that it wasn’t Adam. But then again, what had she been expecting? She’d only ogled him like a weird-o, then made sure to watch his ride and holler for him until she couldn’t breathe, wrapped up in watching him sit through each buck, knees bending in perfect rhythm with every jolting land and upward hop and twist the bronco put him through. He hadn’t even looked twice at her, but she’d hoped…

“Oh?” Andrea blew a breath from her lips and shook her head. “I thought you’d be all over that. He’s exactly your type and,” she tipped her beer bottle with her brows raised, “exactly what you’ve been looking for.”

No strings attached. Just adult fun with no expectations.

“Yeah, no, I am, believe me.” That was the dark-haired bearded cowboy Adam had been talking to. Hazel remembered thinking he was handsome, but she was so distracted by Adam that even in her mind she could barely remember him. “He’s hot. I was just… you know… hoping maybe Adam had said something?” She felt like she sounded pathetic, fishing desperately for some sign he’d thought something of her too.

“Adam? Adam who?” Andrea asked, perplexed.

“The blond haired cowboy we saw first thing today!”

A few curious eyes pulled their way as Hazel talked louder than a whisper, interrupting the old cowboy’s story. He set her with a heavy glare and she sheepishly shrugged her shoulders.

“Sorry!”

“Adam Page?” Andrea asked with a whisper once everyone had gone back to talking, then shook her head. “Honey, no. I told you, he’s not like the other guys around here. You could prowl the entire rodeo grounds tonight and you wouldn’t find him. He never sticks around here. Goes right back to his trailer, keeps his nose clean of trouble.”

“I wouldn’t be trouble,” Hazel retorted with a pout.

“Oh yeah, right.” Andrea snorted and slugged another swallow of beer. “Speaking as a friend that knows you, I’d say go find Matt. He and his brother have a little bonfire on the other side of the grounds, past the corrals. A few of their friends will be there too, so it won’t be too weird for you to drop by.”

“Won’t you come with me?” Hazel asked, frowning.

“Oh, no,” Andrea shook her head quickly, but even by firelight Hazel could swear she saw a little bit of color in her cheeks again.

Andrea was always so busy with work and her four younger siblings that she never found time to date, and normally because she didn’t have the time, she didn’t get boy-crazy the way Hazel always had. It was… interesting to see Andrea a little flustered.

“Alright, spill the beans. Why won’t you come with me to the Jackson brother’s little fire pit?”

Andrea glanced at the people they were sitting with, who were still engrossed in their own stories, and then back at Hazel.

“Hazel, it’s nothing.”

“Unless you tell me the exact reason I’m going to grab you by your wrist and drag you over there with me.”

“Hazel!”

“Don’t test me.”

Andrea groaned and set her beer bottle in the cup-holder of the camping chair so she could bury her face in her hands. “I kind of sort of have a crush on Nick Jackson.”

Nick Jackson, obviously the other half of the Jackson brothers.

“Really?!” Hazel was so enthralled by the idea of Andrea having a thing for one of the cowboys she immediately wanted to hook them up. “Well, come on! Come with me, come talk to Nick!”

“Hazel, no. I can’t. You know I can’t. I don’t want to do the whole one-night-stand thing with a rodeo cowboy I’ll have to see next time they come into town, and I have too much going on to add an attempt at a long-distance relationship to everything. He’s cute and he makes me feel tongue-tied and stupid when he smiles at me, but that’s just all it’s going to be. You, on the other hand,” she fixed her with a pointed stare, “should go get what you came here for before it’s too late.”

Hazel wanted to drag Andrea with her anyways, just to shove her in front of Nick and let the sparks fly, but she knew her friend and she knew what she said was right. Andrea’s life was already packed and bursting at the seams, the last thing she needed was a romance with one of these rodeo cowboys.

“Okay, I’ll go talk with Matt.” She said as she popped up, “and I’ll make sure to tell Nick you said hi.”

“Hazel!”

She smiled at Andrea’s frustrated, warning tone and gave her a wink before turning and heading off to make the walk across the grounds, past the corrals just outside the touch of the bright stadium lighting. Hazel was used to those kinds of slide-in conversations at these after-hours events. Everyone was everyone’s friend, and if a cowboy had been asking after you, all his attention would be yours the minute you were in that firelight. Honestly, was she really the kind of girl who was going to pine after some guy who wouldn’t give her the time of day or was she going to let loose, be free and have a little bit of fun with a totally handsome, dark-eyed cowboy who definitely wanted her? The decision was too easy to make.

She started to walk across the grounds and could just make out the horses in the pop-up pipe-fence pens, lined in a halo of white from the distant stadium lights. She could hear their soft breathing as she drew closer and the gentle swish of their tails as they flicked away late summer night flies. Her pace decreased until she stopped, turning toward the corral and watching the shape of a large golden palomino mare who dozed on the other side of the little one-horse pen. Noticing eyes on her, the mare's ear twitched and she shifted her weight, opening her dark eyes on Hazel. Her pale lashes looked gilded as they caught the light.

“Hey girl,” Hazel beckoned with a soft clicking under of her tongue, slipping her hand into the pen and holding the back of it out as a greeting. “Aren’t you a pretty thing,” she talked gently, her voice just above a whisper. All the people were far from the pens, set up in little circles around their parked trailers, and their laughter and conversation was a happy, distant noise. It left Hazel feeling as though she were in some hushed, isolated place, somewhere special.

She’d always lived for these moments as a kid, these points in time where it was just her and a horse, and she could talk about everything. The things that she was going through, the dreams she had, or even all the places she’d love to go riding if she ever could.

The mare drew close at the sight of Hazel’s hand and brushed her velvet, whiskered lips over the back of it, huffing a warm breath gently that smelled like sweet hay. Hazel smiled. “Hello, beautiful,” she said, gently turning her hand and letting the mare sniff and lip curiously at it, testing her smell.

“You have a little snip on your nose!” she exclaimed softly with delight, seeing the oddly shaped little white mark between the mare’s nostrils.

“When I was a little girl I had an imaginary horse I used to pretend was with me when I ran around, and I always imagined she was a pretty golden palomino with a little white snip on her nose just like you, and one, two,” Hazel scratched beneath the mares chin and leaned to try and count the markings on her legs, “Oh, darn. Almost.” She looked back at the mare’s face and smiled. “My imaginary mare had three socks, but you’ve only got two. Well, you’re still beautiful anyways. Dreams can’t always come true, hm?”

She laughed gently under her breath as the mare stepped closer to the fence, stretching out her neck and as if to offer more areas to scratch.

“Her name is Dolly.” A warm, low, soft voice nearly startled her, but she kept herself calm so as not to spook the mare. The mare clearly knew this intruder, though, as she swung her head forward and pointed her ears, letting out a loud rumbling whicker in immediate greeting. She forgot all about Hazel’s scratches, clearly too happy to see whoever had joined them. Hazel glanced over her shoulder and saw him - Adam - with his blond curls tucked neatly beneath his wide-brim cowboy hat and a sheepish expression across his face. He almost looked embarrassed to have interjected. “Well, it’s Lil Dun Dolly, officially. But I just call her Dolly.”

“Oh! This is your mare?” She felt her face go hot. He was going to think she’d stopped here on purpose. Probably saw her lingering outside his mare’s pen and wanted to know why the weird-o who’d been staring at him earlier was now bothering his horse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to disturb her.”

“Ah, no, ma’am. It’s no trouble,” he laughed a little weakly and cleared his throat, waving his hand between them, “Dolly doesn’t mind the company.” He glanced at her and almost looked like he wanted to say something else, but lost the courage.

“So uh, how much of our conversation did you hear?” She asked, already cringing a little inside, but when she braved a peek at him, saw he was smiling a sort of lop-sided smile.

“Are you going to be mad at me if I say all of it?” That smile of his seemed to want to stretch a little wider.

“No,” she said, laughing, “but I am going to be embarrassed you heard me telling your horse about the fact that I had an imaginary horse when I was little.”

Adam had walked up to the fence and leaned on it while they talked, cheating his body toward her and glancing down beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. She could just barely make out the sinful blue-green of his eyes with the way the shadows and light played on either side of his bearded face. Dolly abandoned her interest in Hazel and was now affectionately lipping at the folds in his shirt with the arm he had leaning on the fence, clearly happy to have him in reach. He reached over and affectionately rubbed his palm over the bridge of her nose and up her forehead before he started talking again.

“Mine was a little bay paint.” He said, and she frowned at him, confused by what he meant. “My imaginary horse I had when I was little? It was a bay paint with a big white spot across it’s chest and one over its haunches. I called him Bandit. What’d you name yours?”

She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face, pushing high into her round cheeks. She wanted to worry over the way her heart started beating a little faster, but she couldn’t be bothered, trapped in those pretty, bright eyes of his. “Her name was Honey.”

“Honey, that’s a good name for an imaginary horse.”

“So is Bandit.”

They smiled at each other for a minute too long before they seemed to realize it, both clearing their throats and trying to jump into a different conversation, cheeks hot. They laughed awkwardly and Hazel shook her head. A change of conversation was probably for the best, so she grabbed at the first topic she could think of.

“I saw your run earlier, by the way. You were impressive! The way you sat that bronc despite his best effort to throw you was honestly amazing.”

He looked flattered and it endeared her how humble he was. Most cowboys at his level soaked in whatever adoration they could get. Damnit! Couldn’t he do something to make her not like him? This was becoming unfair.

“Ah, I owe most of it to that little firecracker I was riding,” he said, patting his hand against his mare’s muscled neck and gently ruffling her cream-white mane. “I’ve ridden him a couple times at past rodeos, but he was on something else tonight. He helped me get that good score.”

“Oh stop being so humble,” she laughed and rolled her eyes, “any cowboy or cowgirl who competes in the rodeo knows it’s the animal, the rider, and the rider’s understanding of that animal and their communication that makes the ride. No matter which sport it is. It’s about how you work as a team, you know?”

He was looking at her with an expression she’d describe as surprised understanding, like she’d just said something he thought of as important, too. Like they shared the same understanding of something a lot of people took at face value.

“Yeah… it’s... exactly that,” he stumbled over. “I haven’t seen you around before, how do you know so much about the rodeo?”

She felt her cheeks get hot and shrugged, choosing to look at Dolly just as an excuse to not see him looking at her like that. “I did some barrel racing a few times in my late teens and very early twenties.”

“You did?” He said with delighted surprise.

“Yeah! It wasn’t anything huge, just locals, qualifiers, and a few state shows. But I always enjoyed it.”

“Why’d you stop?”

She hesitated. “It’s… complicated.” Her eyes lifted slowly and apologetic to his. “Sorry,” she started, trying to explain it wasn’t something she talked about with practical strangers, but he held out a hand as if to stop her and gave his head a little shake.

“You don’t have to say any more.” He assured her, “I’m sorry if I touched a sore spot.”

“It’s okay,” she noticed the way his brows tilted downward a little harder than they were naturally set and it tugged at her heartstrings in a way she wasn’t ready for. “I don’t tell many people about that, actually. Although it figures that my rodeo past would come up at a rodeo though, so that’s kind of on me.” She laughed, and he grinned a little deeper.

“Man,” he said and sucked air through his teeth. When she looked at him he shook his head in disappointment. “I can’t believe you missed the opportunity to tell me this ain’t your first rodeo.”

For a drawn out second she just stared at him - the way a half-smile hung on his lips, just showing those slightly imperfect teeth; the way his eyes hung on her face, hoping she thought the silly joke was as funny as he did; the way one blond brow quirked higher than the other; the way that smile inevitably deepened as a couple more seconds crawled past.

And then, she laughed and shook her head. “I can’t believe you just made that silly of a joke.”

“Believe it,” he laughed and shrugged, warm southern accent merrily heavy as he talked. “I didn’t become a rodeo competitor to shy away from making rodeo-specific jokes whenever and wherever I can.”

“So that’s why you decided to compete in rodeos for a living, huh? Not the thrill of the sport, not because you’re good at it, not for the money…”

“Nope! Just the jokes.”

They laughed together in gentle breaths, their smiles still on their mouths by the time it stopped. She knew then exactly how dangerous this was for her. She needed to excuse herself and step away, because there was something between them that made her nervous and excited and painfully hopeful. Hopeless, more like. Everyone knew rodeo cowboys didn’t settle down; they traveled the road over half the year during the season and went from town to town, never too far from a pretty doe-eyed cowgirl in denim she’d cut into too-short Daisy Duke’s. After what Hazel had just gone through, the last thing she could afford was catching feelings for a rodeo cowboy.

“I should probably um-”

“Hey, would you like to-”

They had started talking at the same time and talked over each other, sharing an awkward laugh before he cleared his throat and tipped his head toward her with a smile. “Please, ladies first.”

“No.” She said it a little too breathlessly and cleared her throat when he looked at her with a curious expression. “Please, I want to hear what you were going to say.”

Carelessly, she mentally shut off the alarm bells blaring in her head and refocused on him.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to walk with me? I kinda like walking the corrals away from everyone at night. I normally do it alone but, if,” he glanced at her as if asking permission even as the next words tumbled out of his mouth, “if you wanted to, I’d like your company.”

“Yes!” She said, almost too quick, and then blushed and shook her head, heating up clear to her crown with embarrassment for how eager she’d just obviously been. “Sorry - erm - I mean yeah. That’d be cool, I guess.”

When her eyes darted to him, she saw he was fighting a grin. He jerked his head to the side and turned, starting to walk down the fence line. She fell in step beside him and for a moment they shared the quiet together. The crickets chirped in the tall grass outside the dirt grounds; the horses snorted and swished their tails, some of them lifting their heads and watching them curiously; the cattle flicked their ears and huddled close together, moving as a group wherever they went.

“What was your run when you were competing in barrels?”

Of course he’d ask a rodeo related question to break the ice and figure out what they should talk about. Typical cowboy.

“My mare ran between 18.3 and 19 seconds. My gelding was a little slower, he normally clocked solid 20.”

Adam sucked in a breath and released it slow, brows raised, he tilted his head toward her and appeared impressed. “Those are some good times.”

“Not World Championship times, a few seconds off, but yeah, I did pretty good in my local and state classes.” Wanting to shift the attention off herself and back onto him before he asked a question she wasn’t comfortable answering, she decided she’d throw a rodeo question his way. “So why bronc riding?”

He glanced at her a little sheepishly.

“Come on! Why bronc riding?”

“It’s just you have to really know a horse well when you’re riding them as they buck. It becomes a kind of dance; you need to anticipate every move, where that horse is going to shift its weight, making sure you’re as fluid with it as you can be so you don’t get dislodged. It’s about precision and timing, nothing can be off. It’s a constant attempt to achieve perfection in a narrow time window and it’s just you and that horse. You have to trust yourself to understand those animals so you can do it exactly right and not get yourself hurt, either.”

“Wow.” She was stunned, genuinely, and she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t unheard of for a cowboy to talk so highly and credit the animals he competed with, but there was something about the way passion bled into Adam’s voice the more he tried to break it down that really got her. “You really love doing this, don’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?” He laughed, and she decided she definitely liked the way a smile looked on his face.

“I love it,” she said, and tried not to pay attention to the way that made him grin a little more, scuffing the toe of his boot against the hard packed dirt ground they walked. “So why trailer in Dolly if you don’t compete in a sport you need your horse at?”

“Sometimes I help pick up, if something happens and they need someone to step in and help. Dolly’s been doing it for years and she’s a great little pick up mare, never lets the excitement from the broncs or the bulls rile her up.”

The cowboys who did picking up were the ones who rode in at the end of the eight second ride to offer a horse for the cowboy to safely jump off and onto. They’d take the rider away from the bucking roughstock and somewhere they could safely dismount and await their score. That required a sound horse who’d listen to its rider and not get carried away with the spirit and herd mentality of another horse kicking its heels up or a bull twisting and threatening to charge with angry snorts. Telling a horse to run toward another horse that was bucking like that was a whole other ordeal. Those cowboys needed people they could trust, and it said a lot that Adam paid the extra gas to haul a trailer and dealt with loading and unloading his mare here just in case he was needed.

“Plus,” he concluded, and looked almost a little sheepish, “I like having her company.”

“You really have to stop being so cute.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think about the consequences, and he laughed. If not for the shadow beneath his wide-brim hat and the gentle haze of darkness they walked through, she thought she might have seen him blushing.

“Ah,” he rubbed at the back of his neck and stopped in his tracks, making her stop a second later and turn to face him, her head tilting curiously as she looked up at him. He knocked the brim of his hat back so it sat more slanted on his curls and let her see that handsome, blond bearded face more clearly, lit in gentle white-blue from the distant haze of the stadium lights. It caught one side of his face more than the other, and his eyes were such a dark, pretty grey-green that she bet they’d have her heart doing somersaults over how pretty they were in the daylight.

“Look, I don’t normally do this, but,” he started, pausing a little between his words, struggling to get out what he wanted to say. Her heart increased its beat, racing with anticipation, her full lips fell apart in a gentle break to let her suck in a sharp breath of air. His eyes fell dark down to them and he trailed off, looking intently. She was dizzy. Was he going to kiss her? Oh God, he was going to kiss her.

Please, she thought, kiss me.

No, she groaned inwardly, don’t kiss me!

If he kissed her, she wasn’t sure she could keep fighting off the chemistry that was obviously between them, and something was telling her it would hurt a little bit to see this one leave her bed in the morning and never call again.

He started to lean in. She caught her breath.

“Hey, Page! Finally coming to hang out with us or what?”

They both jumped apart and looked with wild eyes on the cowboy standing a few paces behind Adam, who must’ve just walked up from the glowing orange fire pit set up near the trailer at his back. She didn’t recognize him immediately, but Adam clearly did.

“Hey Nick, actually, I-” Adam had turned his body a little to answer Nick, and when he did it revealed her standing near him.

“Oh jeez,” said Nick, blinking, the wide happy smile he’d been wearing slipping away almost immediately, “I hope I didn’t just interrupt something.”

“No!”

“Nope!”

They were both too quick and too eager to jump in and defend themselves, as if they hadn’t just been seconds away from giving in to temptation.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” she said, rushed, and tried to ignore the way Adam’s eyes shot back over her, and how he took a small step away, as if her words had repelled him back. She wished she could explain it, that it wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss him, but that she knew better than to. That she was guarded against any kind of hurt right now, even something as little as regretting the cold space that’d be on his side of the bed by the time she woke up the next morning.

“Right,” something in his tone told her Nick wasn’t buying it from either of them, and when she pulled her eyes away from Adam and looked at him, noticed he seemed to be struggling to keep from grinning again. Her cheeks felt hot.

“Well, things have wound down a little bit, but Kenny’s still hanging out and we’ve got food and drinks leftover if you guys want. Well,” he shrugged and held up his palms, stepping back as if to physically excuse himself from their space, “I mean, you guys probably want to get back to whatever you were doing out here all alone, so…” Did she sense a sort of mischievousness in his tone? Was he teasing them? Maybe she should have brought Andrea and sent her ahead to keep him occupied so he wouldn’t have interrupted them.

“No,” Adam was the one who spoke up this time, but he wasn’t looking at her. “I’d love to come hang out.”

“Really?” Nick said, “huh. That’ll be a first.”

He was definitely poking fun at Adam in the same way you’d tease a good friend. It occurred to her that if Andrea, someone who worked the rodeo grounds when they came into town, knew that Adam was the type to be a loner, the friends he had would know it even more. What had Nick thought when he’d seen that Adam was with her? Was he surprised? Glad that Adam wasn’t alone for once? Did he even care?

Adam shot him a glare she just caught as they started towards him, to which Nick bit into his wide grin and turned away, leading them both back toward the nearby fire with camping chairs strewn in a haphazard half-circle around it. She bit into the inside of her lip to keep from smiling, not wanting to give away that she’d seen the interaction between them and fought the urge to playfully bump her hip into Adam’s. The warm glow of the crackling fire and the light laughs and conversation grew louder as they came close.

“Found a couple wanderers near the corrals,” Nick announced as he made his way back to an empty chair, flopping unceremoniously down into it and grabbing a can of diet coke from a nearby ice chest. It made a soft pop as he cracked it, and Adam and Hazel were left staring at the little group.

“Adam!” Said a man with surprised delight. He was sitting in the chair beside the one Nick had sat down in, and made it look tiny by his mass alone. Even beneath his purple checkered pearl snap, she could see how big his arms and chest were. He wasn’t wearing a hat, though he must’ve been all day, as his tight wound dirty-blond curls had a slight crimp from where the band had sat. He had eyes a more vivid, concise blue than Adam’s could be. They were so blue that she could tell even in the orange glow of the fire. “Who’s your friend?” He asked, turning a politely curious eye and friendly smile on her.

“Oh,” Adam started and glanced at her, slight smile on the edge of his mouth before he looked back, “this is-”

“There you are Hazel. I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to come after all.” Matt Jackson had walked from around the trailer, chewing gum, returning and eyes all hers, not having noticed he interrupted Adam talking. His attention absorbed Hazel, like a dog trained on a scent, he wasn’t going to give up until his paws were on her. She’d seen that look before on a man, and normally it excited her, especially a man as handsome as Matt was. Alright, maybe it still excited her a little (she was only human), but Adam shifted ever so slightly beside her and she felt the change in the air around them and watched as Matt’s eyes jerked from her to him, and he looked genuinely shocked.

“Page?! Finally decided to be social, huh?” His smile showed teeth. “That’s great! Sit down and hang with us.” He waved toward an empty chair near Kenny, who was watching the three of them with a curious eye.

Matt’s attention was hers again, those brown eyes dark as sin, smile just the right level of smug that made her palm itch to slap it and grab desperate around his shoulders to pull him down into a passionate, heated, dizzying kiss. To spell it out in one word, Matt Jackson was one-hundred percent certifiable, damningly handsome trouble. It was the kind she’d been initially looking for, the perfect distraction from her broken heart… So why was her smile a little pained? Why did she want to turn toward Adam and ask where he was planning to sit so she could sit with him, put her hand on his arm, do something to let him know the only place she wanted to be was back to where they were? Why the fuck did it matter? He was just a guy; a guy who was trouble in a different way. That kind of trouble that meant broken hearts and burning aches in your chest for days; that kind of trouble was exactly what she was running away from.

Matt had moved closer to her while she was thinking, and she snapped out of it when his hand waved in front of her. He laughed softly, as though finding her momentary lapse in concentration adorable. Assuming she was so taken away with seeing him again and knowing he’d wanted her, she’d had her feet knocked right out from under her.

“Earth to Hazel!” He said, smiling. “Come on,” his head jerked toward a pair of chairs on the opposite side of the fire. Still a part of the group, but paired off a little separately. “I saved you the best seat in the house, right next to me.” He said, a grin growing before he winked.

Pretentious, egotistical prick. She nearly snorted. Fuck, he’s hot.

But she managed to pull her eyes away, intending to make eye contact with Adam and get help on what she was supposed to say here. Only… she didn’t meet Adam’s eyes. He had turned away from her and was already edging around the fireside to join Kenny and Nick opposite of where Matt was. He’d walked off without even waiting for her, or waiting to see what she’d say to Matt.

Hazel sucked back a sharp stab of disappointment and mentally chided herself immediately thereafter. What a fool. Just because he was cute and she was sure they’d been about to kiss didn’t mean anything. A momentary lapse in judgement where he’d been about to kiss her didn’t mean anything if there wasn’t going to be any follow-up. If he was willing to fold at the first sign of another man’s interest, it wasn’t worth her getting hung up on either.

But maybe she was being a little childish and spiteful when she turned a charming smile back toward Matt and made sure to speak loud enough that Adam would hear her, saying, “I’d be happy to sit with you!” She put a bright smile on her face she didn’t necessarily feel, and looked up beneath her mascara-curled lashes as she bit into the corner of her grin to match his smirk.

They sat in the two camping chairs, pointed inward toward one another, though hers damnably kept Adam in her sights too, just beyond Matt. She could avoid looking his way, she thought, focusing on Matt’s smile and his appreciative dark eyes, wondering what the hell was wrong with her that she’d waste her chance for some fun with a guy this handsome over one she barely knew.

“You seem to know your way around a rodeo, huh?” Matt asked her, chewing thoughtfully on his gum after pushing his hat back on his head so the firelight would catch his face and reflect the warmth and hunger that was in his eyes. His long dark hair was tied back, a few wispy strands caught the soft night breeze and stirred. She wondered what it looked like down, around his shoulders, curtaining his face.

“Do I?” She asked him, and remembered how she’d told Adam about her former barrel racing days. She didn’t volunteer that information here.

“You do,” he said, and reached lazily between them to tap a long finger playfully on her knee. An excuse to touch her. “You don’t seem that green to me, little filly.”

Alright, maybe she swooned a little bit at that, and maybe the smile on her mouth was a little more honest than before, and maybe her focus sharpened on Matt and Adam became a soft, firelit blur of pinks and blues and golden blond in the background. She laughed and didn’t notice the way Adam stiffened at the sound, and how his eyes shot fast over to see her grinning at Matt, and Matt’s finger on her knee. She didn’t see Nick frown and glance between herself, his brother, and Adam. She didn’t notice any of it but Matt. There was something… commanding about his charm.

“Well, you haven’t even tried to ride yet, cowboy. You don’t know how hard I can buck.”

The smile he wore stretched wide enough it showed his teeth. Endearingly she noticed his bottom teeth were crooked; it softened her to see something human peek through what had so far only been arrogance wrapped in a damningly handsome package. A little imperfection. Cute. He laughed loud at that, too, and his brows shot up with surprise.

“Alright!” He laughed again and his hand smoothed over her knee. It’s weight was heavy with intent, and warm.

Adam came a little more into focus past him. She could see how he tilted his head toward them. Was he listening?

“Do you have any experience riding a wild filly? Can you manage to stay on?” She barely managed to get the words out, and she wished she was looking into those soft grey-green-blue eyes, and that she’d get to see the wrinkles push up his hat when his eyebrows shot up after she got the words out. She wondered what sweet-seeming Adam was like when faced with bold, flirtatious advantages. Instead, she refocused on Matt, and she saw the self-assured expression cross his face at her tease. He slid his fingers off her knee and leaned back in the chair, gesturing down at himself.

“You’re talking to the top number one PRCA Team Roping Header champion, sweetheart.” He scoffed playfully, jokingly offended she’d question his skills. She wished she didn’t feel the need to press her thighs together and adjust her seat, or the way she wanted to take in a sudden, sharp breath when his eyes pinned hers. What was it about a cocky man that made something inside her come alive? That’s why he was fun to play with, but she’d never make the mistake of dating someone like him. That ego was fun in small bursts, but too much was liable to get you burned.

Somehow she managed to cover the jolt of attraction with a soft laugh and a jerk upward of one of her brows. She knew she was smiling too much into her words and couldn’t stop herself. “A roper? That doesn’t tell me you can ride a bucking horse, cowboy. Maybe I should go find myself a champion bronc rider, then I’ll be sure he’ll stick the ride.”

And she hoped Adam was eavesdropping and heard her say it, but she couldn’t look away from Matt to check.

Something in that dangerous look that flashed dark in his eyes told her he caught on to exactly what she was trying to do and say. It was a challenge, and she was quickly learning Matt was the type of man to grab on to a challenge with everything he had. He had a boldness that matched hers, and it invited her to play along. They continued to flirt and talk, weaving around and through topics, using little chances here and there to lay a hand on an arm, or a knee. She danced a dance she knew well, avoiding giving pieces of herself away she assumed a man like him wouldn’t actually care about. He was just trying to get into her pants, not her heart.

That was a good thing, she reminded herself, once again trying to resist the urge to let her eyes find Adam. They’d made eye contact by accident a few times that night as she talked with Matt, both catching the other trying to sneak a glance and looking away just as quickly. Matt had noticed a time or two as well, but he never made a comment or said a thing. Instead, they kept talking, kept flirting, and eventually got on the topic of his recent, most impressive roping championship run.

“That’s where I won this buckle,” he said, tapping the shiny, gold-filigree decorated silver buckle with it’s bold writing proclaiming him as champion of that specific rodeo.

“Is there a replay of the run?” Hazel asked curiously, wanting to see the way he and his brother worked in-tandem to rope a calf in less than six seconds.

“Yeah,” he said, and pulled his phone from his pocket. He tapped away, and she used the chance to look at Adam. He wasn’t paying attention to her this time, but was nodding and talking to Nick, moving his hands. Expressive. Nick had his hat in his lap and was stretched out, boots propped on the ice chest the sodas had been. He was nodding in agreement. She blinked, watching Adam’s hands… and then Matt leaned over to show her the clip and drew her sharply back to him. Suddenly, with his free hand he reached up, fingers skimming her cheek as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Sorry,” he’d breathed softly near her when her eyes darted to him and she noticed how close they were. She’d barely have to move to put her lips on his darkly bearded cheek.

“No you’re not,” she said.

“No, I’m not.” He agreed, and she noticed his eyes had fallen to her lips, which ached and wanted all at once after having been denied earlier.

“Alright, I’m going to call it quits.” It was Kenny speaking up and moving out of the chair that made her jump and glance toward the rest of the group. He somehow came across as even larger when he got out of it, and she briefly wondered what the hell his workout routine was like. It was then she noticed the light had died down, the fire was burned to coals glowing a soft orange-red among the black. It’d be safe to put out, clean up, and leave. Nick had popped up as Kenny edged around the fire, and was starting to grab up empty soda cans and whatever other trash they had to throw out. They made quick work of taking care of things before she could even offer.

“I’m heading out too,” Adam volunteered quickly and without a glance in her direction. “Night guys, see y’all in the morning.” He didn’t linger, lifting his hand in a slight, dismissive wave before he took off and didn’t let his eyes touch her again. He was avoiding acknowledging her existence entirely. Where did that nice, genuine sweetheart go that he’d been earlier? The one that’d made her heart skip in a way it never had, not even with her recent ex.

The way Adam was treating her stung, and she was, yet again, angry that it did. He’d chickened out of making the move on her and let Matt step in. That was on him. It wasn’t her fault and she didn’t deserve to be treated like shit for getting attention from someone who wanted her and was willing to do something about it. She didn’t deserve to feel guilty for flirting with Matt.

That’s what she told herself as she watched Adam disappear into the night.

“I’m going to get a ride back with Kenny,” Nick said as she and Matt stood up from their chairs and started folding them, helping each other shove them into the canvas bags and handing them toward Kenny’s outstretched hand.

“Alright,” Matt nodded, “see you guys in the morning.”

Today had been the qualifying runs, tomorrow they’d have to compete with the best in their sport to try and win both the purse and the added points to keep them at the top of the yearly rankings.

“Nice meeting you, Hazel.” Nick smiled kindly, and Kenny bobbed his head of curls in her direction with a smaller, shyer smile before slinging three of the canvas bags with camping chairs on his back and grabbing up the ice chest in the other. Nick grabbed the other ice chest and the remaining two chairs, leaving nothing for her and Matt to take back but themselves.

“You too!” She said politely in return, and then they left and it was just she and Matt, completely alone.

“You want to come back to my hotel room?” The blatant invitation was asked without hesitation, wasting little time, and the look on Matt’s face was unmistakable. He’d reached out between them and grabbed one of her hands to pull her body in a little closer to his, and she realized the calloused pad of his thumb was gently skimming her skin and making goosebumps rise up along her arm. Her heart even started beating a little faster in her chest, making her pulse jump.

So why wasn’t the obvious answer so… obvious? Why did she look in the face of that handsome man she’d been flirting and talking to for hours and not find the word yes leaping off her tongue?

“I-” she struggled with the hesitation, and a slight frown disrupted the predatory expression he wore. She saw confusion, and knew he had every right to be. Up until this point she’d been giving him every sign that he would have her in his hotel bed with her feet pointed up to heaven by the end of the night. “I want to say yes…”

“But…?” he volunteered softly, watching her. There was something suddenly gentle there in those brown eyes and across his face. It made something stir in her. Something she’d been reminding herself all day and all night to be wary of.

“I’m in a weird place right now,” she felt guilty, like she’d led him on, and hated that she did, immediately jumping to explain herself in a rush. “I was in a relationship for a long time and our break-up has me kind of messed up, I thought it’d been enough time and I could just have some fun but, I’m just… struggling. I’m so sorry Matt.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” He sounded even more confused that she had, and chuckled softly just once before giving her hand a little comforting squeeze. “I’m not pissed at you just because you don’t want to fuck me.” He laughed a little dryly and shook his head. “Come on, let me walk you to your car sweetheart.”

He still hadn’t let go of her hand.

“Okay,” she said, and tried to shrug away the anxiety that told her somewhere, deep down, he probably was. He just didn’t want to be an asshole, so he’d said that to make her feel better. He’d probably noticed how many times she was paying attention to Adam instead of him.

After a lengthy period of silence filled only by their boots scraping the packed dirt ground, Matt tugged her gently by their joined hands, pulling her off balance to crash lightly into his body.

“Hey!” She said in surprise, jerked out of the anxiety spiral her thoughts were becoming, blinking rapidly at him.

He was grinning.

“Earth to Hazel,” he said, echoing that same phrase he’d had to use to pull her out of her thoughts earlier. They didn’t even know each other, how did he know to do that?

“Sorry, I’m such a basketcase today, I swear I’m not normally like this.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes, exasperated with how much she was struggling.

“Aw, you’re fine.” He reassured and smiled at her. “Get out of your head, wild filly.”

Butterflies in her stomach at that little pet name he’d decided on after their earlier conversation and she blushed, looking away from him to gather her thoughts on a safer topic. She was thankful she saw her vehicle and could avoid answering altogether. “That one’s mine,” she said, pointing toward the little bright blue Ford Ranger waiting in the dimly stadium-lit field where they’d been parking cars throughout the day. They walked toward it, just a few paces away.

“I didn’t think you drove a truck.”

“I mean,” she laughed, “does a Ranger really count as a truck?”

He laughed and pulled her to a stop beside her truck, turning her to face him. He still held her hand and grinned down at her. “I was right. This definitely ain’t your first rodeo.”

And just like that, she remembered Adam’s joke, the same one he’d made earlier when she’d talked about her past. She hadn’t told Matt about that. She inhaled a sharp breath and blinked, but Matt was leaning in, pulling her close, and pressing his mouth hot against hers. And her lips were moving, forming to his, opening, her tongue prying at his mouth, his sliding into hers. And he was pushing her up against the side of her truck, jean-trapped cock rubbing against her thigh as she opened her legs to give him better access. And his breath was a hot hiss of air from his nose, and his beard scratched her skin as he moved his mouth hungrily over hers. His hands pinched her waist hard, trapping her at the angle he wanted to fit best between her legs. She spread them wider, and he dipped, fitting his hips up so he could rub the swollen, hard lump of his need and want more firmly against her. The pressure just barely teased her, enough to make a needy, whiny moan crawl up from her lungs and push desperate into his mouth.

He pulled his mouth off of her like he’d had to be forcibly removed, his arms shaking, fingers curled tight around her hips, hard enough she wouldn’t be surprised to see little finger-print shaped bruises on her skin later on. He tried to laugh, but was too breathless to do even that, and he hadn’t moved his body away from hers. He was struggling, trying to catch his composure.

“Sorry,” he said, and flashed his eyes toward her, “I just… meant to kiss you. I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

“No, it’s okay,” her voice barely had any volume to it and she was dizzy. Her lips were tingling and the breath she sucked in with need tasted like him. Like the faint mint from his gum.

“You are something else,” he murmured in a warm breath, grunting as he seemed to all but force himself to step off of her, peeling his weight away from her and letting her settle flat on her feet again. The night felt so much colder, all of the sudden. Her hips ached pleasurably where he’d been holding her. She flushed under the compliment, and the stare in his eyes that was still eating her up. It was killing him not to take her back to his hotel room, but he wasn’t going to cross that line again unless she gave him the invitation.

“You too, cowboy.” She said, and her voice sounded dazed. Her blood was rushing in her ears.

“Drive home safe now, alright?” He said, and his hand moved at his side, like he’d wanted to reach out and grab her again but had to remind himself not to. It fell back down again.

“Okay,” she said, heart aching suddenly, confused on why she was still deciding not to say fuck it and throw caution to the wind. She pushed herself off her truck and turned to fish her keys out of her pocket. She’d turned it in the lock to pop the door open when Matt spoke up behind her.

“Actually, can I get your number? You can text me when you get home so I know you’re alright?”

It was a cute, classic excuse to hide the real reason he wanted her number, but she didn’t mind. She assumed he likely wanted to have her number on hand in case another rodeo brought him close enough to justify them meeting up and, maybe, he’d get lucky to actually sleep with her the next time they did. It wouldn’t surprise her and she wasn’t offended, in fact… she was more than interested. If he got her that crazy just kissing her up against her little truck… Wow.

“Yeah,” she said and smiled so he’d know she knew what it was about. She didn’t expect good morning texts and long conversations late into the night. She tugged her phone out of her pocket and pulled up her contact screen, passing the phone to him as she pulled her truck door open and hopped into the cab. He finished typing his information in by the time she turned to look at him. Matt extended her phone toward her with one hand, and leaned his forearm on the roof of her truck with the other.

When she grabbed the other end of her phone, he didn’t let it go. Instead he dipped down, and he pulled her toward him (though really she leaned up of her own volition) so their lips could meet for another kiss. He started to press in hard, to smear his lips against hers, the energy building back up inside him again, and pulled back with a sharp inhale. He released a slow breath through his nose, lips pressed together as he looked down at her.

“Are you planning on coming back tomorrow?” He asked, voice warm and smooth, his finger skimming her jawline after he let her take her phone back, thumb resting at her chin and keeping her face pointed up at him. Tingles spread from his touch. “I’d love to know there’s a pretty little thing like you in the audience cheering as me and my brother win the championship.”

There it was, that big ego that was all too natural and he couldn’t help flex with such confident casualness and a knowing grin shortly after. He might as well have winked when he took his fingers away from her chin. She playfully pushed her hand lightly into his chest as if to shove him off her truck, and he stumbled back.

“What makes you so sure you’re going to win?” She teased, pushing the key into the ignition and turning it over to start the engine. He flattened his hand on her still-open driver’s side door.

“Oh please,” he laughed and rolled his eyes. “Tomorrow night,” he tapped the belt buckle that currently clasped the belt slung through his Wrangler’s belt-loops. “I’ll have a shiny new buckle on my belt.”

He was so matter-of-fact about it, she didn’t question that he was probably right. He slid his hand down her driver’s side door and slowly started to close it, but before he was shut out, he arched a brow beneath the shade of his hat.

“So, am I going to see you cheering me on tomorrow?” Something hung in his tone. Something that told her he actually cared if she’d be there or not. Funny… but she decided to not let herself wonder about it for too long.

Her smile pushed high into her cheeks. “Yeah,” she said with a nod, “I’ll be there to cheer you and your brother on tomorrow.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, and she suddenly felt dizzy all over again.

He gave her that damnable wink, as though he knew the exact effect he’d had, with a smile pushing a little higher into one side of his bearded cheek than the other, and gently closed her truck door, stepping back to watch her drive away and giving her a wave in the rearview mirror.

**********

She chucked her keys on the side table, pushed the door shut behind her and half stumbled, half kicked off her boots as soon as she got home. The scrabbling of dog nails on hardwood from the kitchen alerted her that her two golden retrievers, Callahan and Carson, were about to rush around the corner to greet her. Hazel pulled her phone out of her pocket, typing across the touchscreen with one hand as the pups came panting and wagging their entire bodies, dancing and prancing around her, pressing their nose to her clothes and demanding attention for having left them alone all day.

“Alright, alright!” She laughed gently as they pushed at her, and abandoned finishing the text message to give them affection and apologize for not being able to take them to the rodeo. They followed her as she made her way down the hall and toward the master bedroom and adjoining bathroom. She finished typing the text message and hit send.

TEXT TO: MATT JACKSON Made it home in one piece!

She gently tossed the phone atop the fluffy comforter that lay over her bed, letting it land with a soft thud. It chimed with a returned text message as she rummaged through her drawers just as Callahan and Carson jumped up onto the mattress, flopping down with huffs. Carson perked his ears and glanced toward the phone as it buzzed again, then glanced over at her.

“I’ll look at it in a minute, Carson.” She chided, unbuttoning her long sleeve shirt and pulling it off, unclasping her bra and barely suppressing the relieved moan as she took it off. She slipped a soft, large shirt over her head, it’s hem just brushing her mid thigh. She unbuttoned and stepped out of her jeans, tugged off her socks and padded barefoot to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash the rodeo dust off her face.

And of course Callahan and Carson got a few more cuddles before she finally reached for her phone and swiped to see Matt’s reply.

TEXT FROM: MATT JACKSON Glad to hear it. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

She smiled and reached to flick off the lamp on the side table, typing away into the white-blue glow of the phone screen.

TEXT TO: MATT JACKSON In case I’m too busy working and don’t see you before your run, good luck!

TEXT FROM: MATT JACKSON Didn’t we already discuss that I don’t need luck, because I’m definitely winning? Anyways, hope I do get to catch you before the run, I’d hate to not get a little good luck kiss.

At that she rolled her eyes, but pressed the button to give a “heart” reaction on his text.

TEXT TO: MATT JACKSON Goodnight, cowboy. Rest up. 💗

TEXT FROM: MATT JACKSON You too, wild filly. ❤️

**********

The second day went by quicker than the first. Maybe it was because they were busier, with more people to watch the championship runs than had come for the qualifiers. Maybe it was because she threw herself wholeheartedly into her work to keep her distracted so her wandering eyes wouldn’t pull toward every blond haired cowboy she saw out of her peripherals.

Not that she had to worry. Either Adam was avoiding her, or there were just too many people to single him out, because even ducking along the chutes and helping sort and load the roughstock for the upcoming rides, she didn’t catch sight of him once. She thought it was peculiar, especially given that she crossed paths with Matt and his brother Nick at least four times that day, and had even run into Kenny once.

But never Adam.

“Ash! Give us a hand!” A shout from Andrea distracted her, and she shook her head as she glanced down the lane of pipe-fencing. “Stand by that gate,” Andrea pointed at a gate near her, “and swing it shut as soon as we push Bueno away from Brisket! Don’t let Brisket bully by you, cause he’ll try!”

They were trying to separate two of the bucking horses in the pen, Bueno, a big seal bay gelding, needed to be sent down the lane to the chutes where he’d get tacked up for the ride, but Brisket, the dun bay, needed to stay in the pens behind. Brisket was running as though stuck to Bueno’s side, as if he knew they were trying to separate them and he wasn’t interested in doing so.

Andrea and the young volunteer that’d stepped up to help her shouted and raised their hands, sending the big horses thundering in bouncing trots toward her. They were picking up their gait, coming faster. Hazel planted her boots firm and lifted her chin, getting ready to spook Brisket so he’d turn about, but keep Bueno running forward. However, as they got near, Brisket pinned his ears and lurched toward where she was standing, lips peeled and flat, yellow teeth showing.

“Hey!” She shouted, jumping back to keep from getting snapped by the grumpy horse, though, at the same time someone else shouted loud over her.

Whoever it was reached to wave a hat over her head, spooking Brisket into pulling his gait up and jerking his head upwards over his withers, ears flat and eyes rolling white. It had the needed effect, as Bueno jolted forward down the lane he was meant to go and Brisket back-stepped and turned about, releasing an angry, loud snort as the gate closed and he didn’t get his way. Whoever behind her had scared Brisket off swung the gate shut, and the automatic lock secured it.

“You alright?” He said.

She glanced toward the familiar voice and found herself trapped in pretty eyes that looked more blue than green today, framed by gold ring-curls that had a soft impression from the hat he’d taken off to shake in the horse’s direction. The mid-afternoon sun was beating down and made his hair look as though it were gilded, like he was some creature of heaven. She could have rolled her eyes at how stupidly romantic that thought was. He raised a hand to shake through his hair and set his hat back on his head, frowning with concern down at her.

“Adam,” She said his name on a breath, exhaling slowly, her entire body suddenly on fire, standing so close to him. She blinked, and her brain caught up through the surprise at seeing him to remember he’d asked her a question. Heat flushed her cheeks immediately. “Uhm, yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. He didn’t get me, just tried to intimidate me. I don’t even think he was going to bite.” She glanced toward Brisket, who was being guided back through the lanes toward the holding pen where he’d wait for Bueno’s return, his ears perked and posture far less aggressive than before.

“Glad you’re safe.” Adam’s tone was dismissive and she whipped her head around to see him turning away, planning to walk off.

“Adam, wait-” She said it before she knew what she was going to say next. Adam paused and looked at her, though she could easily tell he didn’t actually want to. “I didn’t sleep with Matt last night.” She blurted it out and immediately felt embarrassed. Heat crawled up her neck and flushed her cheeks as she fought to keep looking at him and not fall to the cowardice that wanted her eyes at his boots instead.

A look crossed over his face, but before she could wonder what it meant, it was gone and a polite expression was in its place. Despite his cordial look, his voice that’d been honey warm the night before was cold when he spoke, and it sliced right through her. “That’s not really any of my business.” And I don’t care, seemed implied. He reached up to pinch the brim of his hat and tip it to her. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Baker.”

Miss Baker, now. No longer Hazel.

Those eyes lingered on her a second more, and then he turned away and walked off to prepare his bronc rope and get ready for his ride, his shoulders tense and back a little hunched.

She was hurt by his dismissal, and she was angry that she was hurt. What was he supposed to have done? Walk over and kiss her? Admit that he’d been jealous and that he wanted her?

Yes, her heart whined.

Fool, the scars across it mocked.

Maybe she wasn’t even ready for casual fun like she’d thought she was. How could she have been so affected by him? They’d only talked for a little while. Maybe there were still some things she needed to work through from her break-up instead of trying to bury that pain in attention and sex. Maybe she was just shaken because she’d been open with him, vulnerable, only to have him treat her poorly after she’d trusted him so quickly.

Maybe, maybe, maybe...

Hazel shook her head and closed her eyes, taking a breath and giving herself a moment to try and breathe and get out of her head.

“Up next, Adam Page’s ride on Brisby’s Bueno! This young man has had a stellar career this year, after running mid-rankings the last few years he’s risen to the top this year and is definitely this announcer’s must-watch kind of ride!” Kenny’s voice crackled over the announcer’s microphone, and she found herself mildly surprised to learn he was an announcer. He didn’t exactly have the look of an announcer…

Adam’s ride. His championship ride.

For some reason, despite what had just happened between them, she couldn’t help but wander toward the arena. She couldn’t deny herself wanting to watch his ride.

He rode beautifully, with his free arm raised, moving fluid as the rest of his body did with every twist and hard kick and upward hop the bronc gave underneath him. She watched the determination on his face, the way his chin bowed to his chest, and how hard his gloved hand wrapped around that bronc rope. Bueno kicked hard and jumped high for a horse as tall as he was, earning delighted and excited gasps from the audience at the show unfolding in the dirt ring in front of them. No matter what the horse threw his way, Adam stuck on, his legs moving in perfect synchrony over and down Bueno’s withers with each leap. The counter ran up, and Kenny’s voice excitedly crackled over the speakers, growing more and more heated as the ride progressed through snapping bucks and high-spirited kicks.

The buzzer hit eight-seconds. It’d felt like time stood still.

The pick-up riders charged their horses up, one took Adam as he took his hand off the rope and leapt over the pick-up horse’s haunches. The rider turned the horse away while the other pick-up rider unbuckled the snap on Bueno’s flank strap. He gave a few more excited, hyper bucks before slowing to a trot and allowing himself to be guided back toward the chutes. Meanwhile, Adam slid off the horse that’d taken him a slight distance away and landed with a thud onto the dirt, getting a supportive cheer from the crowd as he finished his ride safely. He didn’t even soak them in, but immediately turned his eyes toward the scoreboard, waiting for the judges final call.

89.6 point ride.

The crowd erupted into cheers, and she saw him glance down at his boots and smile, as though soaking it in himself, trying to believe it before he finally let himself look up at the crowd. They hollered even louder. She realized she was screaming for him too.

“89.6!” Kenny’s voice crackled excitedly over the speakers. “With that score, ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a champion! Raise a hand Adam, give them a wave!” He encouraged from the announcer’s booth, earning a glance and almost bashful smile from Adam before he shook his head and waved a hand at the audience, making his walk back to the chutes. Back toward her.

She was smiling when their eyes met, and he smiled too. It turned a little apologetic. A little sad.

She decided he was something of an enigma, and she would never understand him or these feelings she had for him. She shook her head and turned away, knowing she’d be needed in the holding pens as hands always were and deciding she’d rather throw herself back into work as a distraction to keep her mind from mulling. Unsurprisingly, it worked. Needing to stay alert while helping work around the animals and being a willing hand kept her busy and unable to pay attention to much else than what needed done and she could help with.

The only time she let herself stop again was to get herself a cold water bottle and perch up on the top of the fence to watch the Jackson brothers have their final run. She watched as they rode toward the box, the young white and grey-roan speckled roping steer loaded in the chute and ready to run the moment those gates flew open. Hazel caught sight of Matt glancing Nick’s way, Nick giving a reassuring nod before the pair separating to load up in their separate boxes. Matt hadn’t been putting on a front with his confidence; they gave the signal, the man pulled the chute latch open and the calf sprung forward, the brothers in quick pursuit. Matt, the header, threw his lasso over the steer’s horns and turned his direction. Nick, without hesitation, threw his lasso straight through the air and looped it perfectly around both back legs. He did it so quickly and so flawlessly, he made it look easy. Wrapping the rope around his saddle horn, he leaned back, holding tight as his horse dropped its haunches and pulled the steer taut. A cheer rocked the stands as the boys let the ropes go and the calf was able to kick free. The timer buzzed as they gathered and looped the slack of their ropes, still sitting on their horses.

She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and shook her head in disbelief. It’d been over so quickly, with such precision, she found herself gaping as she watched the little speckled calf trot with a bleating cry back toward the pen to be with the other calves.

“And with that impressive time rounding out their final roping session of the evening, the Jackson brothers have done it again! Matt and Nick Jackson everyone, your rodeo tag roping champions!”

She screamed with the rest of the folks in the stands, jumping up and down and hollering enough to make her voice go out. The brothers shared broad grins and Matt turned his horse to ride alongside Nick, giving his younger brother a quick pat on the back and another happy smile. Nick returned the gesture of affection and waved toward the crowd as Matt rode off back toward the gate they were swinging open for him.

He saw her, and his grin slipped a little higher up one side of his bearded cheek. She noticed when he’d ridden, the tie on his hair had come loose not quite enough to be completely undone, but enough to give her a hint of how handsome he looked with it loose around his face. He shrugged as he pulled back the reins and stalled his sleek, bay roan roping horse to a halt beside her.

“What did I tell ya?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled still.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second.”

He leaned in the saddle, the leather softly creaking. She smelled the faint cologne, a damp of sweat, a little rodeo dust, horse and leather as he reached and ran his calloused thumb gently along her jawline. Tingles again.

“Good girl.” His smile showed teeth before he winked, slipping his hand away, leaving her skin warm. He gave a gentle squeeze of his knees, getting his horse to walk back to where he could dismount and tend to it. Along the way she watched him pause to clap hands and receive congratulations from his fellow rodeo buddies, a fond smile resting gentle over her lips.

“You guys must have had a good night,” Andrea’s familiar voice broke her from staring after Matt and she shook her head, focusing on her friends grinning face.

Hazel laughed. “We didn’t hook-up.”

“Don’t lie to try and impress me or make me think you’re some innocent angel. I’ve known you too long for that.”

“I’m not lying!” Hazel protested, “Honestly! I… got myself confused.”

“What? Like lost your way across the rodeo grounds?” Andrea frowned at her.

“No, I… ran into Adam, and we talked and I opened up to him like…” Hazel glanced around, looking for anyone overhearing, then back at her friend's expectant, curious face. “Like no one I’ve opened up to in a long time. He was going to kiss me, but then Nick interrupted us and assumed we were coming to their little fire. Matt was there and he assumed I was there to see him and Adam got pissed off and now he’s acting like an asshole and Matt and I made out but I didn’t fuck him and now I’m more confused than I was coming into this mess.”

She’d talked fast, and her pleading eyes looked desperately at Andrea, who blinked rapidly.

“Wow, a hell of a lot more happened last night than I thought.”

“Yeah!”

“Don’t bother with Adam getting his panties in a bunch. Like I said, he’s a keep-to-himself kind of guy. If he was so upset with you and Matt flirting maybe he should have spoken up.”

“Thank you!” Hazel exclaimed with frustration.

“Still, I can’t believe you didn’t sleep with Matt.”

“You and me both.”

**********

Fire in his belly, it licked hot at the insides and spread over his skin like an itch he’d never scratch. In his mind, as he loaded the trailer and collected his winnings, preparing to leave the rodeo, he just kept seeing them.

Matt, leaning down on his horse to gently, affectionately hold her face. Her, looking up at him with a smile that he would like to have had reserved for him.

It was stupid, he told himself for the hundredth time as he climbed into the cab of his truck and started the engine, letting it gently rumble to life. It was stupid because she wasn’t anything to him.

Only that he’d felt like he’d been struck by lightning the moment he overheard her talking to Dolly. Only that he’d found a funny little smile on his face as he stayed quiet and listened, feeling bad for eavesdropping but finding a foreign, comforting warmth settling inside him the more he listened to her talk. Only that he’d thought the wind had been knocked out of him, like he got kicked in the gut by a bronc, when that soft light lit her profile and showed him the most gorgeous woman he could ever remember lying eyes on. Only that when her eyes had gotten sad, and she’d said she left competing for a reason she couldn’t share, he wanted her to trust him to take on that pain with her, and help her heal from it. Only that he’d shut himself off to the possibility of romance years ago, but when he talked to her he felt like every second of their time together was the most important moment of his life…

And then came Matt.

He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel and squeezed hard enough to turn the knuckles white. His jaw clenched as he glared at the open road, turning truck and trailer onto it, leaving the rodeo grounds behind. It wasn’t Matt he was angry with, or her for that matter, though he might as well have been with how he behaved.

It was himself.

The tension in his body slowly leaked out, color returned to his knuckles, and his shoulders sagged. It pierced right through him, remembering that look across her face this afternoon when he’d dismissed her. As he’d walked away he’d called himself every name in the book, begged himself to turn around and grab her and ask her what it was about her - a stranger - that made him feel so many things he hadn’t felt in years.

And how much that scared him.

And how much he let that fear control his life, removing the chance of losing her by driving her away before it could happen.

Driving her into Matt’s open, eager, waiting arms.

I didn’t sleep with Matt last night.

Why had she told him that?

He knew why. He only wished she hadn’t. He only wished she hadn’t looked up at him with those big, amber-brown eyes that made him ache to his core like he’d always known them. He only wished she hadn’t kept reaching for him with that longing he felt an understanding of, that made the defenses guarding his wounded heart snap and snarl and drive her away. It’d been bruised again and again and again, it no longer knew how to accept even the gentlest touch without fearing pain that might follow.

It was better this way.

He’d been telling himself that since the night prior, since watching her eyes light up as she talked with Matt by the fireside, and still finding himself aching for her company. He hadn’t been able to follow Nick and Kenny’s conversation, because any time her giggles swelled a little in volume his eyes shot to them, and jealousy was something bitter in the back of his throat. He had a feeling he hadn’t been subtle about it, because eventually they stopped trying to include him in their conversation and kept talking to one another, instead.

He had enough to deal with from helping his dad with the family tobacco farm, to trying to raise, train, and sell his own rodeo circuit horse stock, to trying to make a name for himself as the top, undeniable bronc bustin’ champion. There was no place, no room in his life for a woman that made him feel like loving her would change how he saw the world. Especially not one who lived a good six hours from where he did. Especially not one he’d hardly ever see as he traveled town to town to compete in the rodeos. It would never work, and the pain it’d cause when it didn’t wasn’t something he was brave enough to risk.

No matter how he tried to justify himself walking away from her, every piece of him screamed and rebelled against what he’d done. It was an exhausting spiral from want to anger to anguish to disappointment and he hoped it’d leave him soon.

The more miles he put between her and those damningly beautiful eyes and that pretty little smile that made his heart skip a beat in his chest, the better.

Or so he tried to tell himself.

#hangman page #matt jackson #hangman adam page fanfiction #adam page fanfiction #matt jackson fanfiction #aew fanfiction #mine: fanfiction #my fics: hangman adam page #my fics: matt jackson #me? throwing this up at 3am? so I can just. run away? and pretend I didnt??? YEP #anyways this might be the Most self indulgent piece I've ever written #and that SCARES ME to share it but HERE WE GO #my fics: starlight

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gayenerd · 3 years

Text

Green Day Deals with the "Rock Star" Dookie

by Tom Lanham

(First appeared in BAM Magazine, March 10, 1995)

Young, loud, and snotty equals beaucoup bucks? What pencil-pushing, graph-charting trend spotter could've predicted it? But the facts speak for themselves: As of late February, Dookie--the brattish, snap 'n' snarl Reprise salvo from Berkeley's sloppy punk trio, Green Day--has sold six million copies. Six million. Chances are, somebody on your block is jumping up and down in his living room at this very moment to the scrap-metal power chords and ardent apathy of "Longview," "Burnout," "Basket Case," or "When I Come Around" and getting lost in the teen abandon of these testy 22-year-olds--weasel-voiced, Montgomery-Clift-like charismatic singer/guitarist Billie Joe; tom-tom tribal percussionist Tre Cool (of the ever-morphing hair-color fame); and bassist Mike Dirnt (who survived Green Day's appearance at Woodstock '94, although several of his teeth did not).

Yes, punk rock is a marketable phenomenon these days, leaving many involved with the music's initial late-'70s, early-'80s wave scratching their heads, wondering why it didn't take the first time around. Public reaction started as curiosity ("Hey, honey, c'mere and lookit these goofy, green-haired little whippersnappers in an insane asylum on MTV!"), but spiraled up to rock-diet necessity (Green Day just won Grammy and they're nominated for quite a few Bammies as well, including such categories as Outstanding Group, Outstanding Album, and Outstanding Song--"Longview" and "Basket Case"). The fact that they've been nominated at all probably sends a shiver up the old dinosaur backbones of Eddie Money, Huey Lewis, and Boz Scaggs, a time-creepy feeling of "Gee, what the hell do we do now?" Because this isn't just some flash-in-the-pan punk movement, folks--this is a youth movement; Green Day are, as they hiply term it, "bored in the 'burbs," and reaching out, through TV and radio, like some prodigal preachers to other American kids who sense the same slacker ennui. Obviously, we're talking truckloads of kids.

Ironically, the more fame edges into the Green Day ruffians' lives, the more mature they seem to become. They've turned down all interview requests as of late, even People magazine, preferring to lay low until this tide of interest recedes. Billie Joe got married last autumn, and spent his honeymoon--not in any exotic, expensive locale--but in Berkeley's grand old Claremont Hotel. Cool recently became a father, and Billie Joe's child is due any day now. It's a responsibility they've both eagerly undertaken. Rob Cavallo, the boys' coproducer and A&R man at Reprise, swears they're "old souls, the smartest young kids I've ever met." It rings true.

The first time I spoke with Green Day, in January of '94, Cool, Dirnt, and Billie Joe were lazing around their dingy basement apartment in Berkeley, sitting on chairs and couches with potentially painful springs poking through. Rock 'n' roll bubblegum cards were scattered across a coffee table, along with several bongs of various sizes, plus a four-and-a-half foot red plastic pipe dubbed "Bongzilla" leaned against a doorway. The only wall decoration, besides a Ren & Stimpy poster, was a Twister game mat nailed up in its entirety, presumably for high-schoolish humor's sake.

When I'd met Billie Joe a few months earlier at a campus concert, his hair was dyed lime-green and featured squidlike tufts. Now it was dark brown, with only two tufts remaining, and both his ears and nose had piercings. Periodically during the interview, he'd ram a finger into that pierced nostril, rummage around, then stare idly at the resultant booger before flicking it on to the carpet. Cool wandered out of the rec room for several minutes, but returned, red-eyed, to proudly proclaim, "Lookit me! I'm stoned, dude!" Dirnt--when he wasn't strumming an acoustic guitar--kept watching their windowsill Sea Monkey tank, finally noting, "Hey, these Sea Monkeys look just like sperm!"

Despite all these schoolboy, poo-poo wit trappings (dookie, after all, is kiddie slang for excrement), there was a sense of seasoned wisdom about them, a feeling that they were, as Cavallo postulated, truly old souls. Like the class clown who frustrates all of his teachers by also maintaining a 4.0 grade average, Green Day can afford to play because their work--brilliantly skewed three-minute pop songs, delivered with such vehemence and vitriol you don't dare doubt them--certainly speaks for itself. But, sooner or later, of course, the band has to speak for itself, too, so what follows is a set of excerpts from that first ratty-digs meeting, as well as a later chat with Billie Joe, sans sidekicks. How did Green Day take over the rock world in less than a year? That's the six-million-copy question, and hopefully we'll provide a few answers.

* * *

So punk is back, whether America likes it or not?

BILLIE JOE: It's always been around, and everyone has their own interpretation of it. It's weird to actually call it "punk" again, when it's been there all the time.

MIKE DIRNT: It's been springing up in little suburban areas, where people grab it and express themselves.

TRE COOL: It's people who make a point of setting aside all responsibilities and just playing music. And doing fat joint after fat joint--you have to let go of things like paying rent, going to school, having a job.

BJ: And, if you can't tell by my house, we don't have a very high standard of living.

How does today's punk rock differ from its late-'70s cousin?

BJ: I think it was all about art and fashion back then, really, because everyone who was a punk in England was in art school. I read an early interview with Dee Dee Ramone, where he said he wished the Ramones had more of a glamorous appeal, too, instead of playing in jeans and leather jackets. But it was definitely about fashion, until the Clash really brought out the political side. Our music came from being bored in the 'burbs. You get put in this high school situation, where you're learning someone else's rules in a room with 30 other people that you don't really like. There's nothing interesting about it whatsoever, so you pick up a guitar instead.

But you all tried college, at least for awhile, right?

MD: And then we started touring. Constantly.

TC: So most of our reading now comes from highway signs.

MD: It's the old grasshopper and the ant story. The thought of actually working is just so...

TC: Sickening!

MD: Yeah. So we put everything we had into not working. This is what I do best, and I was always told, "If you're gonna do something, do it the best you can." So why not do the best thing you can, too?

You guys--at least Mike and Billie Joe--have known each other since you were 10?

BJ: And the first conversation we ever had was about writing songs. And then we just started playing music.

A lot of the stuff on your early Lookout! records shows what was on your mind at the time--namely, girls.

BJ: That was pretty much the viewpoint of a 16-year-old kid. I don't write stuff like that anymore. The new songs are more about coming of age and being apathetic and neurotic.

Where were your parents when you were touring [at age 16]?

MD: At work, doing their own thing.

BJ: My mom's worked a waitress job for like the past 40 years or something, and whatever I was doing was OK with her.

MD: I moved out when I was 15, and I worked all the way through high school.

BJ: And me, I've never held a job longer than two weeks. I tried to flip pizzas--it didn't work. I tried cleaning toilets in the Red Onion in El Sobrante. Me and TrŽ, we used to work for the SF Chronicle, selling papers. I sold three the first day, and the next day we just smoked pot, and we smoked pot the next day after that. So we had hella extra papers lying around. Our ultimate goal wasn't to get rich or famous or anything like that. It was to not have a regular job and not be miserable.

MD: And I've lived in every city around here, except for Albany. Literally. And one thing we want to establish about ourselves is that we're just a bunch of geeks from the suburbs.

Well, one of the first times I saw you, you guys were closing your set with Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger." That's pretty geeky.

MD: I grew up on radio--that's all I had. When I was a little kid, I couldn't afford records. I'll tell you, I've been down to a dollar in my pocket a lot of times. I've even lived in my truck. I can remember shooting rats with a BB gun in the flat we used to live in, before they'd make it to our food.

BJ: I've always been really good about saving. If I got some money, I'd put it away instead of spending it, and I'd buy ramen.

Why name your disc Dookie?

TC: Warner's said we could do anything we want, as long as we didn't say "Cop Killer."

BJ: Somebody told our manager that the ad for it was the most tasteless thing they'd ever seen in Billboard magazine.

What exactly do you mean on Dookie by "Welcome to Paradise"?

BJ, MD, TC [in unison]: West Oakland!

MD: Living in West Oakland, and going out to parties every night.

So it cost, what, around $100,000 to make Dookie?

MD: Yeah. We kept the advances low, because you gotta pay all that shit back. Everyone knows you can't become an instant millionaire just by signing, because there are so many people that want a piece of you.

BJ: We hang out with mostly punks though, and they don't want anything we have. They could care less. And a lot of our friends don't even agree with us being on a major label.

Is Green Day angry?

BJ: No, I'm not angry, like, walking around all the time with a frown on my face. But the way my music is interpreted is very angry.

MD: When you feel really strongly about something, you want to let it out in the most powerful way possible.

Like the way you baited your old high school principal from the Warfield stage recently?

MD: I think he was an asshole. He treated me with no respect. And for high school initiation, we got our heads shaved--that's the kind of small-town shit we had to deal with! Sometimes they made you push a penny up the street with your nose. But that's life, and anywhere you go, you're gonna hate a lot of shit in your life. You'll be handed

Dookie?

MD: Yeah. Yeah, you'll be handed dookie through all parts of your life. And see, what you need to do is just deal with the dookie, build upon what you have, and make something out of the dookie, you know? Like an adobe dookie building!

* * *

Several months later, and Dookie is oozing its gooey way into the public consciousness big time. The fading summer heat sticks crackling to the Berkeley sidewalks as punks--many sporting monstrous green or fuchsia mohawks--zing by on skateboards by day, and huddle in Telegraph Avenue doorways by night, conserving feral body heat the whole time. It feels like another world here, a throwback to the Bay Area's DIY/hardcore scene of the early '80s, when squatters reigned supreme and burlesque Broadway--fueled by all-ages shows at the Mabuhay Gardens, On Broadway, and even an occasional GBH or UK Subs booking at the Stone--made weekend conversions to "Punk Playground, USA." It was the best of times; it was the worst of times--despite relentless touring, most of these bands sold bupkus in the way of records, and few, save Metallica, ever held pen in shaky hand over a major-label contract.

Billie Joe saunters into the Berkeley coffeehouse in rumpled jeans and a grease-spattered flannel shirt; his once-green-and-tufty tresses have grown out into Wally Cleaver waves and been dyed a Rod Stewarty blond. He looks like one of those feisty punks of yore; like he could hold his own through sheer physical endurance in the wildest of thrash pits. There's a new authority about him, the way he strides confidently to the counter, orders a pint-size glass of coffee, then swims through a sea of late-lunching yuppies to grab a table. The singer doesn't seem to notice them at all. Or maybe he's just too tired from nonstop touring to really give a shit. He smiles a goofy grin, revealing a set of generally crooked or chipped choppers, with an entire half of one front tooth missing. But there's such charisma behind it, the same kind of "Who, me?" innocence that little kids use. Billie Joe, you might say, has quickly become the Bart Simpson of the alternative set.

How else could you explain his uncensored performance at a certain outdoor arena where--in a hyperspeed set lasting only 30 minutes before management threatened to pull the plug--he a) unzipped his fly and paraded his privates around for all to see; b) handed a stunned fan his beat-up, sticker-plastered guitar and urged him to play it; c) destroyed a $600 microphone by smashing it into the stage, then destroyed a second mike he was handed as well; and d) encouraged half the venue to chant, "Rock 'n' roll!" and the other half to respond with, "Shut the fuck up!" He then closed the show with a proposition--"They'll be really angry with us, but what we could do is rip out the seats!" he told the audience, which promptly gave Green Day a standing ovation. Billie Joe not only shrugs off such shenanigans as artistic license, he gets away with them! He's even encouraged to continue by fans who empathize with his uppity "fuck authority" attitude.

But the facts were all on the table as Billie Joe sipped his house blend that afternoon, and it didn't take a fortune teller to read 'em. Green Day was hitting big time. Fast. And the sheer enormity of the undertaking, the weight of all its accordant responsibility, was just beginning to hit him. He looked older, wiser, and spoke in more grownup tones about his future, which then included a pending marriage to longtime girlfriend Adrienne. You could practically feel this new maturity encircling him like some protective aura.

* * *

=Where do all these punks on Telegraph come from? They can't all be local and homeless.

I think Telegraph has just become this cultural mecca for punk rockers, because most of 'em who are on the Avenue aren't even from here. They're from Arizona, Minneapolis, New York, Florida. They just come out and end up squatting in houses in Berkeley. Why here? It's the climate, and the scene itself--Gilman Street and Maximum Rock 'n' Roll are in this area, and have a link to each other. But at the same time, it's separated, because there are so many different factions of punk now. There are the squatters, the pop-cores, the mods, the crusties. And all these types of people come out just to check it out. Plus, there's the best coffee in Berkeley, and a lot of 'em are real super coffee-drinkers, just pounding cup after cup all the time. It's pretty rare to come across a punk who doesn't drink coffee. I can't drink too much coffee myself--it gives me the shakes at night, so I just have a little bit during the day. Then I can smoke dope and go to bed.

=What's the attraction in squatting or homelessness for these kids?

For a lot of 'em, it's the first sense of freedom that they've had. It's like, "You mean I don't have to be home by midnight?" They've pretty much told their families and schools to go fuck themselves, so they go off and do their own thing. When I was 17, I did the same thing. And I had this total sense of freedom, where no one's telling you what to do, you don't have a clock to punch in on, you don't have people breathing down your neck; you don't have any deadlines to meet. You have this endless schedule where you can stay up all night drinking with your friends, or do anything you want.

=But isn't "Coming Clean" about leaving behind your wilder ways?

It's also about coming to grips with your sexuality. There's one line, "Skeletons come to life in my closet." And it's like, "Am I homosexual or heterosexual?" You go through this adolescent stage in your life where you don't really know what you are, and one side is taboo because your parents brought you up to think being gay was wrong. And if you come to grips with yourself, that you happen to be gay or bi or whatever, well, that was one thing about punk that was so accepting--all creeds were welcome, all sexualities, everything.

=Was this something you went through personally?

Yeah, to a certain extent. But I don't want to go around waving a gay flag or anything.

=Well, you had a beautiful girl on your arm backstage at the last Green Day show.

That's Adrienne. She's cool. Actually, we're engaged. That's why it took me so long getting here today--I had to get this! [Rolls sleeve up on tattooed arm, points to a bandaged-on cotton swab] Blood test, dude! We're getting married next week!

=Has anybody tried to tell you you're too young for such a serious move?

Of course. There are a lot of people who've said stuff. My parents have been a little more understanding than her parents. I just called my mom yesterday and said, "Mom, I'm gettin' married," and she said, "That's fine, son. Have fun!" I can hardly surprise my mother nowadays. But [this relationship] has been a recurring thing for the past four years, and we just decided to get serious about it. She's coming out here, and we're moving in together, so it's like, "Why not?" I don't really have any wild oats to sow, or anything like that. I'm not into the "Gettin' chicks all the time" thing.

=I know a lot of girls who'll be really bummed that you're gittin' hitched. They all seem to have developed a crush on you...

Me?! It must be the teeth [grins again].

=OK, so maybe you didn't brush often enough when you were young. But you were busy developing a direction...

I wouldn't necessarily say I had a direction or anything. I just knew I wanted to write songs. It comes from...uh...I don't know. I have no idea. It wasn't any kind of cosmic force or anything like that; it was just a matter of having a guitar around and wanting to play it all the time. I've had the same guitar since I was 11--I bought it off this guy at a guitar store. And I still play it--you know, the blue one with stickers all over it? That's my blue guitar, and, for some reason, things come to life, and everyone calls it "Blue" now--"Where's Blue? Can I pick up Blue and play it?"

=And you let just anybody touch it?

Oh yeah! Blue's not prejudiced.

=It's interesting to note that the general public seems to think Dookie is your debut.

Yeah, but that's just the general public. There are people who've been with us since the beginning, who know how long we've been around, since our first 7-inch came out back in '89.

=And now you can afford to trash pricey microphones.

Actually, Warner Brothers paid for those. It was pretty nice of 'em. They looked really nice--I remember looking at 'em and thinking, "Nice microphones!" They gave me one mike and I took it and threw it down, and they gave me another, and at the end of the set I creamed it pretty hard, I guess. We toured Europe with this band Die Toten Hosen--we played nine dates with 'em--and we got charged for a microphone every night. I dunno, for some reason we just started smashing shit. We'd start throwing equipment around at the end of each set, and these kids would start grabbing Tre's drum set and throwing it, and then they started smashing the microphones too. And the bouncers just couldn't do anything about it.

=And you actually yanked your dick out onstage too?

I did. Totally. It was the real thing. I dunno. The bands that we were playing with were just boring. It was more like making a mockery of the whole thing. The big arena rock thing is just so dated now, like Journey or Queen. Which is why I think punk rock started to begin with--it was this reaction to all the dinosaur bands. So for me, that show was, "How can we make a complete mockery of this but at the same time have fun with it?" I like to leave people guessing, "Did he hate that or did he like that?" It's not that I don't care--it's more that I'm careless. I try to be as happy-go-lucky as I can, but you can become apathetic at the same time.

=Do you feel like Green Day is a part of, or represents, the so-called "slacker generation"?

There's one side of me that doesn't mind it, because it's a generational thing, and another side of me that says, "Fuck that!" The reason I wrote the songs is, I ended up going back to Rodeo, where I'm from, for a week. And then I said, "Fuck it," and left. But I managed to get several good songs out of it. A lot of my friends had just turned into complete burnouts. And these are kids I've known since kindergarten, because it's a small town and you know everybody. And it was all fixing cars, staying up all night on methamphetamines, smoking dope, and finding out all these rumors about people I haven't heard of in 10 years. Like, "Oh, did you hear about so-and-so, who got married, had three kids, and ended up shooting everybody in his family?" And it happened! It was a true story! You're there for one week, and you get caught up in it. You get so bored, all you wanna do is watch television. And there are no record stores, nothing around, so you end up hanging out with all these delinquents who aren't punkers at all, just cultural idiots. So I was watching all these people rot and rotting with them until I realized, "Shit! I gotta get the fuck outta here!"

=As they say, you can never go home again.

Oh yeah, definitely. Unless you get pregnant, like my sister did. Then you have to go. But I quit school my senior year--I just wasn't getting anything out of it. I was taking nine periods a day, plus night classes, which left me no time to smoke dope whatsoever. And my mom even suggested I drop out, because she was a dropout, too. I come from a long line of dropouts. I still have nightmares about being late with my homework assignments. When I finally went in to sign out of high school, the teacher went, "Now, who are you again?"

=And if that teacher could see you now!

A lot of people think you get this big connection with a corporate label, and you make millions of dollars, but they don't understand that you just don't make that much money. And when you do, it's easy to piss it away. I mean, every cent that I've made, I've pissed away. I'm not gonna say how I did it, but I don't have it But I don't think you necessarily have to be a punk to decide to say, "Fuck it." You don't even have to have a direction. It's just a matter of getting the fuck out and exploring things for yourself.

=But didn't you feel abject terror when you first set out on your own?

Nah, I didn't. Because, for some reason, I knew things were gonna be all right. You can create your own future as long as karma's on your side. And I'm a strong believer in karma. I think things can come back to you if you're just willing to give.

* * *

True enough. At least six million times over!

1995 Tom Lanham

#article #interview #articles #billie joe armstrong

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