MCR Imagines And Oneshots

♪^Lips, tongue, skin | P.P.

(A/n)

Suggested by the-mellokid while we were drooling over Party Poison fanarts 😎

This is actually not strong smut, but if y'all wanna a second part, let me know!

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"Here," I mutter as handing the paper back to Fun Ghoul – he grins happily with it, observing the small heart with wide eyes and holding it like if it was the most important thing in the world, currently.

"That's awesome, thank you!" He doesn't even look at me before jumping away to wherever. Ghoul spent some good ten minutes trying to get me to make one of these hearts for him, which are basically folded paper. Apparently, Poison refused doing it for him, so he recurred to me, knowing the red-haired had taught me how to make these some weeks ago.

Poison follows Ghoul with their eyes and shakes their head to themself, finally approaching to take the seat beside me. "Annoying."

"You're the annoying one, you could've easily done it for him, but no!" I roll my eyes, leaning my head against their shoulder, practically slouched over the seat, nuzzling them lightly.

A low grumbling comes from Poison, but their attention is mainly on the radio they've got in hands, fidgeting with it in what I assume to be a poor attempt of fixing the object after stubbornly refusing to let Jet do it instead.

I met Poison some years ago. Both of us are similar, in a way, but the fact actually set us apart for a long time. Now that time enough has passed for us to look back and think well about what has happened, it's clear things weren't exactly our fault and, if we're going to talk for real about this, there was almost a start of a good friendship in one of the first times we talked to each other, when we were in a party.

Unfortunately, things started taking another way when people started noticing us and seeing us as competitive extremes battling to be the greatest influence in the zones and I don't know when did we get lost in the reality of the rumors. Nothing that a few drunk confessions couldn't solve, fortunately.

"I think we should go out later," I mutter as taking a hold of Poison's jaw and turning their head to press our lips together. They hum, like if saying they'll think about it.

Stupid.

Give me attention.

A comfortable silence falls between us. I observe Poison. The sun is bright out there, almost setting itself, thankfully in a direction the light is not hitting us and, still, the light that comes from the outside casts over Poison. The light tones contrast against the dark ones of the diner, making them look so beautiful – well, they are beautiful, but they're aren't any less or any more, what's be impossible, right now, it's just a different kind of beauty.

My eyes drift towards the radio. All the seriousness and concentration Poison has almost had me believing they actually know what they're doing, what is immediately proved wrong once I take a look at their job.

Telling them what they should've done will just gain me problems, so I just move to show what needs to be done, briefly, just a hand motion towards one of the main parts and I believe they're able to take it from there. All that time observing Dr. D and Cola fixing radios sometimes do turn out to be useful, sometimes.

Some minutes go by. Poison gives up. Predictable. A sharp sigh escapes their lips as they roll their eyes, just placing the radio on the table rather carelessly – carelessly enough to show their annoyance, but not that they'll cause any useless damage to the object, which will probably continue there until someone like Kobra or Jet decide to fix it instead because Poison will not be touching it again and admit they failed on something.