#and the lines and blue corner are what we call ''classic blue'' or ''old blue'' but at 69% opacity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dameronscopilot · 2 years

Text

I’ll Be Your Bright Side

Pt. 1 - We'll Find a Way of Chasing the Sun

Benjamin “Benny” Miller x f!reader

Summary: In the three years that have passed since you first crossed paths with Benny Miller, he’s easily become the most important person in your life, without a single doubt. He’s your best friend. But as time goes on, it’s becoming more and more difficult to differentiate between the rapidly blurring lines of friendship and something more—the far deeper feelings that keep you up at night.

Feelings that have the potential to wreck everything if he doesn’t feel the same.

Word Count: 6.6k

Content: fluff, a bit of angst, first meetings, pining, (eventual) best friends to lovers, a very shitty ex, protective benny, soft benny, the triple frontier boys doing what they do best

SERIES MASTERLIST | Part 2

You glanced over at Benny, your eyes taking in the way the sunlight generously outlined his hair in gold, strands gently billowing across his face as they lazily rode the wisps of air crawling through the cracked open window beside him. The corners of his mouth curled upward in a soft, content smile, his blue eyes nearly sparkling as he reached a hand out to turn the radio knob up, tapping the fingers of his left hand on the steering wheel as he hummed along to the familiar classic rock tune crackling through the speakers of his pick up truck. Brushing a finger over a worn down button to roll your own window down, you tossed your head back and grinned as the warm breeze from outside caressed your face, thick with the salty, sun-kissed scent of the ocean.

Despite the uninhibited happiness and ease that you felt riding shotgun down that lazy, winding road with your best friend at the wheel chasing the setting sun, moments like this made it increasingly difficult to continue to tamper down the ache of the sharp tendrils of longing that had taken root in your chest. In the years since Benjamin Miller had entered your life out of pure happenstance, he had unknowingly carved out a corner in your heart, one that only grew bigger, deeper, and more insistent as time went on.

Three Years Ago

The bells hanging above the antique shop’s front door jingled softly, and you glanced up from the book that you were reading, dog-earing the tattered page and setting it down on the counter. Two men walked in carrying cardboard boxes, the taller one stopping to run a hand through his hair as he glanced around, clearly in search of an employee. If it weren’t for the state of the various items peeking out of the boxes in their arms, you would have thought they had walked into the wrong place. Your regular customer base was typically a good thirty to forty years older than these two men, who were far too attractive to be milling about in a dusty old shop full of things from decades long past.

You called out a greeting and waved a hand so they could see you around the collection of grandfather clocks in their line of sight and began to make room on the counter, which was currently covered in an assortment of books, lampshades, an extensive collection of fountain pens, several teapots, and other odds and ends.

The other man, who was wearing a baseball cap, reached you first, carefully putting the box down in the spot you had cleared off for them.

You smiled at them both and asked, “How can I help you guys?”

Gesturing to the box in his friend’s hands and the one he had just put down, the man in the hat replied, “Does this shop…buy things? I was cleaning out my mom’s storage unit, and some of the stuff I found looked like it might be valuable, I guess? I’m not really too concerned about the money, to be honest, I’d just feel bad tossing everything if there’s something that might be valuable to someone.”

You briefly peered into the boxes before nodding eagerly. “Yeah, of course! If you give me a few days to sort through it all, I can give you a call later this week and let you know which items we can take.”

The man—Frankie—jotted down his name and cell number on the form that you handed to him, giving you a grateful nod of thanks as he went to leave. His friend began to follow him, only to stop after a few steps, turning around to glance back at you. He smiled and gave you a small wave before heading back toward the door.

You called Frankie three days later to let him know which items the shop wanted to take off of his hands, and as promised, the purchase price was neither here nor there to him. He was just happy that they wouldn’t all be banished to thrift store purgatory or a landfill somewhere—yet, anyway. He let you know that he’d drop in soon to pick up the payout and whatever was leftover from the boxes.

Frankie’s friend walked in the next day, hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark blue jeans as he approached the front counter—which he found with ease this time. You tampered down the excited little thrill that rose inside of you upon seeing the blue-eyed stranger again; you did have a boyfriend, after all.

A boyfriend who’d steadily started to become distant after your move to Florida from New York just over a year ago, who you had a sinking feeling was fucking one of his co-workers at the new office he had transferred to. Not that you’d stoop to his level in retaliation, you opted for wallowing in your suspicions armed with ice cream and sad movies as you miserably contemplated what to do.

You were shaken from your thoughts as the man spoke, a sheepish look on his face, “Sorry, Frankie got a little caught up at work, so he asked me to drop by. I don’t know if you remember me, but I was with him the other day, so I hope it’s okay if I take his stuff?”

Biting down the stupid, ridiculous response that boldly danced on the tip of your tongue—one about how you doubted you’d forget a face like his—you said brightly, “Oh yeah, of course! I… remember your shirt, actually.” Smooth.

You gestured to the faded black Kiss shirt that he was wearing, and he nearly blanched when he looked down at it as he quickly replied, “I did laundry yesterday. Uh. So, it’s clean. It’s just…my favorite shirt.”

His cheeks reddened slightly as he suddenly became very interested in a small hole at the bottom of the right sleeve of the shirt in question, and you bit your lip to stop yourself from giggling.

“Of course. Um, let me go grab the box for you. I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared into the back room for a moment, coming out with what was left of Frankie’s items, a white envelope with a check inside of it sitting on top. You walked around the counter, and the man quickly stepped forward to take the box from you, holding it with one arm as he held a hand out. “I’m Benny, by the way. Benny Miller”

You introduced yourself in return, and you were momentarily disarmed by the shy smile that spread across his face as he repeated your name softly (at which point you tried not to think too hard about the way it sounded coming out of his mouth) and mused, “Well, it was really nice to meet you.”

The corners of your mouth followed suit, and thus began your friendship with Benjamin Miller.

—-

After a subsequent run-in with Frankie and his friend Santiago at the grocery store the next day, and then another with Benny and his older brother Will at the gym, when you walked into a bar one night the following week, you instantly recognized the group of voices that eagerly called out your name from across the room. A few heads turned in response to the commotion, which had come from a table where all four men were seated. And thus your plans to sulk over your shitty boyfriend-shaped predicament alone were quickly upended.

Whether it was a result of the way you and Benny hit it off like long lost best friends who had surreptitiously been reunited, the ease with which you could out-sass Santiago and put him in his place, the way you naturally took Frankie’s side whenever the guys ganged up on him, or the rare laughter you brought out from Will and his serious demeanor, you instantly got on better with them than any of the other unremarkable acquaintances you’d made since you moved into town.

Upon seeing you kick back an alarming amount of shots in a short amount of time, Will nudged you, asking if you were okay. You hiccuped, vaguely waving a hand in the air as you announced to the table that you had come to the bar because your boyfriend was working late for the third day in a row, and you were fairly certain the only thing he was putting in was not extra time at the office but rather his dick in one of his co-workers.

Will frowned, and he opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by the sound of Benny slamming his empty beer glass down on the table as he exclaimed to the others, “Uh, we’re all looking at the same girl, right?” gesturing at you. Your cheeks burned, and he continued, “Yeah. Your boyfriend sounds like a fucking idiot.”

You sighed, taking a sip from the cold glass of water that Frankie had nudged your way and mumbling, “I’m the idiot for moving all the way from New York with him.”

Benny slipped away shortly after that, only to return to the table with a mischievous look in his eyes. You glanced over at him curiously, but he simply grabbed a handful of pretzels from the bowl in the center of the table and turned to listen to what Santiago was saying. Ten minutes passed, and suddenly Frankie started choking on a sip of his drink. You turned to him, following his gaze to see your name and Benny’s flashing on the karaoke screen projected on the wall behind the bar’s small stage.

You opened your mouth to say something but were interrupted by the telltale notes of “Wonderwall” that began to pour through the speakers. Santi snorted as he glanced from Benny to the oversized Oasis t-shirt that you were wearing, rolled up at the sleeves and half tucked into your black jeans.

“You didn’t,” you stated plainly, staring at Benny.

He shrugged, raising his eyebrows and biting his lip as he grinned, hair falling into his face. “I absolutely did.”

Frankie was snickering as you crossed your arms defiantly.

“Come on sweetheart, don’t leave me hanging,” Benny drawled, walking over to stand in front of you as he held out a hand and looked into your eyes imploringly.

“You have like two seconds before someone starts booing,” Frankie piped up, as the song was just about to reach the opening lyrics.

“Oh, fuck it,” you grumbled as you slipped your hand into Benny’s, dashing over to the stage with him.

Whatever you had been expecting before you approached the stage, it wasn’t the surprisingly talented singing voice that Benny Miller had been hiding beneath his artfully messy hair, vintage band tees, and perpetually breezy attitude. Though your own singing talents left something to be desired, you couldn’t be bothered to care as Benny dramatically dropped to his knees in front of you and belted out the chorus. Rolling your eyes, you met his infectious enthusiasm with equal fervor, reaching out to playfully ruffle his hair, and you could hear raucous cheering coming from where Frankie, Santiago, and Will sat watching.

“Because maybe You're gonna be the one that saves me…”

—

Two months passed by in the blink of an eye after that night, during which time Brad continued to grow more distant as he was supposedly undertaking a large, demanding project at work. You’d nearly scoffed when he told you that one morning, brushing a chaste kiss to your forehead before heading out the door. Every fiber of your being was screaming for you to confront him, to put the nagging voice inside of your head to rest, but a small part of you still held onto the shred of hope that you were overreacting. That he was a better man than someone who would ask his girlfriend of three years to move a thousand miles away with him, only to let his affections stray. You’d blanketed yourself in a cool shield of indifference as you choked down your suspicions, afraid of the broken, empty shell you’d inevitably be left with when everything came flooding out.

You didn’t have much time to dwell on your own thoughts, which far too often threatened to trickle into a dark corner of self-loathing, because your new friends quickly absorbed you into the folds of their tight-knit group. Will, Santiago, and Frankie felt like the older brothers you’d never had growing up as an only child, and you eagerly leaned into the ease of the familial camaraderie they offered you.

And as for Benny…he was a different story. A story you were hardly ready to inspect up close and the last thing that should have been on your mind given your current situation. The way he treated you never crossed the boundaries of the right side of propriety—despite his playful nature, he was a gentleman at heart. But, perhaps just based on the fact that you spent more time with him than the others, there was something else buried deep in the core of your interactions—an unwritten page waiting to be written, a house that had not yet been built.

Brad was the unfortunate elephant in the room when you spent time with the guys, who quickly took the hint that you were too caught up in the throes of your denial to address the impending demise of your relationship head-on. You didn’t want to talk about it. Yet. And so if Benny didn’t ask questions and simply took it upon himself to distract you with silly dog videos, impromptu minigolf nights, and middle of the night snack runs when he could tell you were on the cusp of spiraling, well, you couldn’t fault him for that.

The decrepit rest stop where you had parked the fragile remains of your feelings went up in flames on a seemingly innocuous Wednesday afternoon when you were cleaning the house after work. As you pushed the vacuum underneath your bed, you heard the telltale sound of something getting caught in the roller, and you flipped it over to find a bright green pair of satin panties stuck in it…which absolutely did not belong to you.

Unceremoniously dropping the vacuum to the floor with a clatter, you stalked over to your phone and texted Benny, declaring an impromptu bar night with everyone, despite the fact that you already had the same plans for Friday evening. Benny, bless him, didn’t even question it. Instead, he sent you a selfie from the gym, his hair messy and sweaty underneath his backwards baseball cap, winking with a finger gun pointing toward the camera. A text that said, “On it,” followed, meaning he would take care of corralling the others as well.

Two hours later, Benny, Frankie, and Will picked you up, and you arrived at the bar to find Santi had already grabbed a table and ordered several pitchers. Benny slid into the booth beside you, his thigh pressing against yours, grounding your thoughts as you tried to reign in the anger and despair flooding through you. He tentatively placed a hand on your knee, which you hadn’t realized you had been nervously bouncing, and you sagged against his side. You felt something cool brush against your fingers as he filled a glass for you before turning to join in on whatever Will and Santi were discussing. He knew you’d talk when you were ready. They all did.

A notification for a text from Brad flashed across your phone screen once you were a few glasses deep, thus finally breaking open the warped, splintered boards that you had haphazardly nailed over your treacherous dam of emotions. You sighed loudly, not even bothering to read the text as you instead went to your photo album, opening up the picture that you had taken of the damning evidence tangled up in your vacuum cleaner. The guys looked up as you slid your phone to the middle of the table, downing what was left in your glass in one gulp. You felt Benny stiffen beside you.

“I’m…assuming those don’t belong to you,” Santiago observed carefully.

You laughed a little too loudly as you replied, “No, Santi, unfortunately I’ve never felt compelled to purchase a pair of radioactive green underwear. Maybe if I was shooting a space porno on a greenscreen…”

Frankie choked on his water, and Will reached over to pat him on the back as he sputtered.

Benny helpfully supplied, “Want us to kick his ass? Or me, mostly me. I think I’m the most qualified.”

You snorted, “You’d probably knock him out cold with one hit.”

Your phone screen, which had dimmed, lit up again with another text notification from your boyfriend. The bright flash caught Frankie’s eye, and he glanced over at it, taking a pointed sip from his glass as he remarked, “Brad’s a stupid fuckin’ name anyway.”

Will nodded sagely in agreement, and you let out a sound that was somewhere between a huff of laughter and a whine of despair as you dropped your head into your hands. “How am I supposed to go home to that asshole tonight?”

Shrugging, Will said simply, “You don’t.”

You looked up at him, furrowing your brows. “Well I don’t exactly have any family or anyone else around here that I can bum it with until I figure something else out. I guess I could get a hotel though—”

Santi grumbled as he interrupted, “You have four friends sitting in front of you.”

Your fingers stilled, pausing in their quest to meticulously fold the paper straw wrapper you were holding, and you said uncertainly, “I…you guys haven’t even known me that long. I couldn’t ask that of any of you.”

Benny let out an indignant puff of air in response, and Will spoke up again, “Emelie and I have a guest room at the house. You can crash with us until you decide what you want to do.”

You’d met Will’s girlfriend several times already, and while the two of you had indeed hit it off, the automatic response that curled in your gut was your innate need not to depend on other people, lest you become a burden to them.

Benny watched the quiet struggle play out across your face as your mouth began to curve downward into a small frown, and he quietly pleaded, “Don’t say whatever lame excuse I know you’re grasping at straws to think of right now. Let us help you.”

Sighing, you acquiesced with a nod, incapable of formulating any sort of a valid argument otherwise thanks to the headache that had begun to settle its way into your temples. Benny slung an arm over your shoulder, the scent of his cologne invading your senses as he spoke, “We should head out so you can pack some things before he gets home from work.”

As to be expected, when you finally checked your text messages from the back seat of Frankie’s truck, Brad had let you know that he would once again be “running late” at the office. Mmkay. You rolled your eyes, nearly growling as you closed the messaging app, and Benny reached over to pluck your phone from your hands, dimming the screen and placing it face down on the seat between the two of you.

When you arrived, Frankie left the truck running, waiting in the driver’s seat as Benny and Will trudged up the steps and into your apartment with you. Despite the amount of time that you had spent with all of them, not even Benny had been inside yet. It’s not that you had made a secret of your new friends, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to mix the one bright spot in your life with the upsetting place that you had recently come to realize no longer felt like home. After toeing off his boots in the entryway, you watched for a moment as Benny slowly made his way through the living room, his eyes taking in the abstract art that hung on the walls, the kitschy knick knacks that adorned the shelves, and the variety of houseplants in mismatched pots that were strewn about, all of it so very you. Will stood off to the side watching his brother, but he didn’t say anything.

Benny huffed a quiet laugh as he picked up a small stuffed gnome that had been left tossed on its side hidden behind several picture frames, its pointy purple hat bent in the wrong direction.

You gave him a smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes as you said, “I love that little guy. I found him at a yard sale right after we moved here. Brad hates it though, as you can see.”

Benny grumbled in response as he readjusted the hat and reached up to carefully place the gnome on a higher shelf, one that was out of Brad’s reach.

After filling a small duffle bag with enough things to get you by for a few days, you walked out into the kitchen holding the underwear on the tip of a pen. You scrunched up your nose in disgust as you dropped them on the counter, reaching into the drawer in front of you to pull out a notepad. You hastily wrote, “Don’t fucking call me,” on the yellow lined sheet, ripping it off and slapping it down next the bright green lump of fabric.

You turned to grab your water bottle from where it sat drying beside the sink, bringing it over to the fridge to fill it up. When you were finished, you looked to see Benny hunched over the note. Coming to stand beside him, you saw that he had written ‘ASSHOLE’ in bold, capital letters beneath your message. You shook your head, elbowing him in the side playfully, and he shrugged, looking down at you with a grin.

—

A few days later, you were sitting in Will and Emelie’s kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee beside the latter as the former stood at the stove, dutifully watching over the sizzling bacon in front of him. There was a quick knock on the front door, followed by telltale sounds of the younger Miller brother letting himself inside as he was wont to do, kicking off his shoes and making his way into the kitchen.

Emelie peered over her cup and eyed him with a knowing look as she glanced from him to you, innocently stating, “Benjamin, you’re up early.”

Benny rolled his eyes, sinking down into the chair beside you and plucking your mug directly out of your hands, helping himself to a sip. You opened your mouth to say something, but he beat you to the punch as he pointedly said, “You never finish a full coffee. It makes your stomach hurt. I’m just helping.”

Will wheezed from across the room, and Emelie outright snorted before getting up to grab plates and cutlery.

You’d decided almost immediately that you were staying in town, but you needed time to find a decent one-bedroom apartment that was in your price range. In the meantime, Will had suggested that you store your belongings in their two-car garage, which had more than enough space. Hence why Benny was willingly awake and dressed before 8:00 a.m., ready to lend his muscled arms for your moving day (or what he had snarkily dubbed, “Fuck Brad Day”). Brad normally left for work at 7, which would give you all plenty of time to orchestrate the mass exodus of your worldly possessions without his presence.

You had given in to exactly one phone call from Brad following the vacuum disaster, in which he had sharply veered from pleading for you to come back to gaslighting you to the point of tears, blaming you for not “tending to his needs” in bed often enough after the move and taking a nasty swing at your other various insecurities that he knew would send you over the edge. At the time of the call, you were standing in Frankie’s backyard for a barbeque. You had walked further into the corner of the yard as Brad’s stinging barbs hit you in the gut, turning away to brush at the tears that had sprung free from the corners of your eyes. You had tried to swallow down the choked sob that escaped your throat, which was only amplified by the demeaning laughter that echoed from Brad’s end of the call, when you suddenly felt a hand brush your shoulder. Benny had stepped in front of you, his blue eyes stormy as he gently took the phone from your hands and put it up to his ear. Though his voice had been steady, you didn’t miss the way his clenched fist shook slightly as he said, “Don’t ever fucking call her again,” hanging up before Brad could respond.

Emelie had to go to work, so she wished you luck as you headed out the door, Benny joining you in your dark gray Jeep Wrangler while Will backed his SUV out of the garage. Though you had initially toyed with the idea of renting a moving truck, Will had loudly scoffed at the prospect, claiming that you could save money and make due with the vast assortment of vehicles found amongst your friend group. You met Frankie and Santi ten minutes later in the parking lot of your apartment building, where they stood waiting beside Frankie’s truck with a large stack of cardboard boxes, newspapers, and packing tape. Santiago gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before you led the charge toward the building’s entrance.

Your hands trembled slightly as you fished your keys out of your purse, anxiety flooding through your veins, and Benny wordlessly took them from you, turning them in the lock and swinging open the door. Brad seemingly had yet to trash any of your things, but your plants looked to be desperately in need of a good watering. As Frankie and Santiago began assembling the boxes, you plucked a pad of sticky notes out of your pocket, placing the small, blue rectangles on all of the larger items that were yours so the boys could start loading them up without confusion, like the sectional couch, the end tables on either side of it, a blanket ladder, a standing lamp, the flat screen television mounted on the wall, and several appliances in the kitchen. While it felt petty, you had only moved into your shared place with Brad in New York a year prior to coming to Florida, and everything you were taking now had been yours in the first place. He could buy his own fucking television.

Benny and Will began to dismount the television while Frankie and Santi wrestled the pieces of the couch through the narrow doorway, and you made your way into your bedroom to empty your closet and drawers into large black garbage bags. You hefted one over your shoulder, pausing when you heard a familiar, irritated voice call out from the living room, “What the hell?”

You dropped the bag to the floor with a groan, walking out of the room to find Brad standing there with his hands on his hips, eyes flicking back and forth between where the sectional had been and the empty mounting bracket on the wall.

Frankie swiftly made his way over and stuck out a hand to Brad as he casually said, “Ah, you must be Bert.”

Your ex’s lips curled downward into a frown as he glanced down at Frankie’s hand. “It’s Brad.”

Frankie nodded as he clapped a hand on Brad’s shoulder, “Right, yeah. Same thing. Cool.”

Brad glared at him and turned his attention back to you expectantly as you teetered on the edge of a fight-or-flight response, feeling vaguely nauseous. He was supposed to be at work, what the fuck was he doing here? Benny’s eyes met yours from across the room, and you took a deep breath before responding, “I’m taking the things that I bought. I didn’t think that would be a problem.”

Brad’s eyes swept across the mostly empty shelves and walls, which Benny had made quick work of packing up. His eyes narrowed as he bit out, “This is ridiculous. Don’t be stupid. Just put all of this shit back and come home. Where the hell are you even going to go?”

“That’s none of your business,” you said shortly.

He sneered, turning to look at the others. “Ah, so which one are you fucking?”

Something clattered to the ground, but you barely heard it over the sound of the blood that was rushing in your ears. “I’m not fucking anyone, because I’m not a cheating pig,” you snapped.

Brad snorted, ignoring your comment as he spread his arms out and carried on, “Fair warning, fellas, the sex isn’t even that great anywa—”

Your ex was cut off as Benny slammed him up against the wall so hard the shelf beside them shook. He seethed, “I’d shut up now if I were you.”

Despite the fact Benny was towering over him, Brad’s eyes went wide and he outright laughed in his face. “Oh, tough guy. You the one that I talked to on the phone? She’s not worth it, man. You’re better off heading over to the strip club or something.”

Brad yelped as a fist cracked across his face—your fist. You tugged Benny’s clenched hand down from where he had been on the verge of doing the same thing before you quickly strode over. The last thing you needed was Brad trying to press charges against one of them. Instead, Benny leaned in close to him and hissed, “You didn’t fucking deserve her. Now get the fuck out of here.”

Benny backed away, and Brad stumbled forward, Will swooping in to catch him by the elbow and shove him out the door. You looked down to see your fingers were still curled around Benny’s wrist, and you let go, your arm falling back to your side limply. He looked down at you, blue eyes clouded with concern.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Giving him a reassuring nod, you replied, “I will be.”

Following Brad’s forced exit, the rest of the move was fairly uneventful, though Santiago took a concerningly long time in the bathroom at one point, and you had a sneaking suspicion that some of Brad’s toiletries may or may not have been compromised, based on the conspiratorial look he shot Benny when he eventually walked out.

—

You eventually found a cozy apartment not far from Frankie’s place, one with exposed brick in the kitchen, ample natural light for your plants, and a tiny balcony that had just enough room for a small, round table and two chairs.

One morning a few months after you moved in, you were hefting several bags of groceries out of the trunk of your car when you heard someone park behind you. Turning around, you saw Frankie get out of his truck, hands in his pockets. He gave you a little wave as he hurried over, taking half of the overpacked bags from you.

You gave him a grateful smile before tilting your head in confusion, “Are there plans that I forgot about today?”

Frankie laughed softly, looking down at his shoes and shaking his head. “No, uh, Benny and I were driving around checking out yard sales when we—well, he—found something for you. The bed of my truck is full of tools and other shit, so he went to get his so he could bring it over here.”

You raised an eyebrow, and as you looked behind him, your eyes caught on something large and colorful sitting in the front seat of his truck. “And…what’s that?”

Frankie threw his head back with a sigh, “Fuck, right. Yeah. There’s uh, that…thing, too.”

Benny pulled up just as you put the grocery bags back down and strode over to open Frankie’s passenger door, only to find a gigantic stuffed gnome with a haphazard white beard and a wonky patchwork hat made up of a variety of fabrics and patterns buckled into the seat.

Panting, Benny—who had run over from where he parked across the street—came to a stop beside you. “Do you like him?! I found him at a yard sale this morning. I may or may not have come very close to fighting a toddler for it.”

“Stupidly close,” Frankie added.

“You bought me a giant gnome,” you said dumbly, your brain short circuiting at the thoughtful gesture.

Benny nodded eagerly, reaching over to unbuckle it and take it out of the truck.

“And…you buckled it into the seat,” you added.

He snorted, peering over at where Frankie stood behind you, nodding in his direction.

“Frankie told me there was, and I quote, ‘No fucking way’ he was driving around town with this thing in his truck. But clearly he had a change of heart and took an interest in its safety. That was real sweet of you, Fish.”

Frankie mumbled something about seatbelt laws before scooping up the rest of the grocery bags and heading toward your apartment. You looked back over at Benny, a fluttering feeling tickling inside of your chest, and you crushed him in a tight hug, squishing the gnome between the two of you.

“Thank you,” you murmured, and you felt his responding puff of laughter rustle against your hair.

Later, after your other surprise made its way out of his truck and into your apartment—a large, open-backed shelf for your plants that nestled perfectly against one of your floor-to-ceiling windows—you and Benny sat on your couch, your feet lazily propped across his thighs while one of his hands mindlessly tapped a rhythm against your bare ankle. Frankie had left, toolbox in hand, after securing the shelf to the window frame (“I’m preventing a plant avalanche, stop asking questions.”)

The movie that you were watching came to an end, and Benny turned to you and asked suddenly, “Why didn’t you move back to New York?”

Caught off guard, it took you a moment to respond, and he clarified, “You hadn’t been living in Florida that long after that asshole…what was his name…Bart?”

“Brad,” you rolled your eyes and shot him a pointed look, knowing damn well he hadn’t forgotten his name.

Benny waved a hand flippantly, “Yeah, well, fuck him either way. There’s only one important name that begins with a ‘B’ around here, and it’s not his.”

You raised an eyebrow, “No idea who that could be.”

Benny tickled the bottoms of your feet, causing you to yelp, but when you tried to pull your legs back, he held them in place and continued, “Anyway, so you stayed here. Why? Don’t you have family and friends back in New York?”

Biting your lip, you contemplated…how to tell Benny. How to tell him that from the moment you met him (and Frankie, Santiago, and Will), something loud and tiresome and restless inside of you had finally settled. You had been unhappy for a very long time in New York, crawling up the walls and out of your skin, desperate for change, a purpose, a sense of direction. And thus your overwhelming desire to take flight was what led you to agree to move down to Florida with Brad without a second thought.

The change of scenery took off the edge, but it wasn’t until the day that Frankie and Benny walked into the antique shop that you truly felt something begin to loosen in your chest. It was as if you had been perpetually crawling on the floor on your hands and knees, kicking up dust and debris, desperately in search of the final missing piece to a complicated puzzle—one that slotted into place with them. With him.

But no, you couldn’t tell Benny all of that.

In the weeks and months that followed, you had grown even closer to the boys. But Benny? He was something else entirely.

Benny was the one that immediately volunteered himself to be the keeper of the spare key to your apartment, and subsequently he became the person that forced you out of your miserable cocoon of self-loathing and pity in the wake of your breakup. When you’d turned down one too many invites to come out with the guys, he made a habit out of bribing you to leave the house with hot coffee in one hand and a bag of your favorite fast food hash browns in the other. He took you out for long drives in his truck, letting you pick the music while he showed you all of his favorite hidden sightseeing gems and underappreciated landmarks in the surrounding cities. He spent more time on your couch than his own, sitting side by side with you as you ate take out food and watched bad horror movies, quoting them line for line. Benny had quickly become the closest friend you’d ever had.

Your best friend.

And between the fragility of your feelings after Brad, which left you in no state to consider another relationship anytime soon, and the fact that you weren’t even ashamed to admit that you’d probably shatter into a million pieces if you potentially ruined the friendship you had built with Benny…well, that’s what led you to desperately try to snuff out the overwhelming crush you had unwittingly developed on him.

Not that it worked.

It would never work if he kept looking at you like that. Like he was looking at you right now.

Like it meant something more. Like you meant something more.

You took a breath before finally answering, “I’m…not really close with my family, and I kind of grew apart from my friends after college. Honestly, I wanted to get out of New York and live anywhere else way before Brad’s work offered him the promotion. Florida’s kind of grown on me, despite the alligators. And I’ve met some pretty great people that I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to just yet.” Benny tilted his chin upwards at the compliment until you continued, “You know, like Will? Honestly, such a solid guy. My favorite Miller, I think.”

Benny balked in indignation, “I went to four different grocery stores to find you mint chocolate chip ice cream last night!”

Something inside of you warmed considerably at that, and you winked and blew him a kiss before standing up to go and make coffee.

Current Day

Gravel crunched underneath the truck’s tires as Benny turned off of the main road and pulled into a small parking lot, coming to a stop in between Santiago’s car and Will’s SUV. You could hear excited voices carrying over the sand dunes, where the rest of your friends were waiting for you both to arrive for a bonfire on the beach to celebrate Will and Emelie’s engagement.

By the time you had managed to pull the bug spray out from where it had rolled underneath your seat, Benny was opening the passenger door for you, holding out a hand to help you down. You slipped the can into your backpack and went to step down, only to be caught in Benny’s arms as he wrapped you up in a hug and placed you on the ground. Still embracing you, he rested his chin on top of your head as he said quietly, “You’re my favorite person, you know that?” before releasing you and slinging an arm around your shoulders, leading the way down the worn, sandy path to the water’s edge.

---

SERIES MASTERLIST | Part 2

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always welcome and appreciated!

#benny miller x reader #benjamin miller x reader #ben miller x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #garrett hedlund #benny miller #ben miller #garrett hedlund fanfiction #dee writes

439 notes · View notes

whileiamdying · 2 years

Text

How "Twin Peaks" shaped the entire golden age of TV

"Mad Men" and "Breaking Bad" wouldn't exist without David Lynch and Mark Frost's dark, strange, intricate series

By JAMES ORBESEN PUBLISHED JUNE 22, 2014 9:00PM (EDT)

"Mad Men" and "Breaking Bad" wouldn't exist without David Lynch and Mark Frost's dark, strange, intricate series

If we do indeed live in a golden age of TV, when exactly did this age begin? Did it start in the desolate sands of New Mexico? How about on the upper floors of a Manhattan office building? Maybe on some deserted island? What about New Jersey’s Meadowlands or, going back even further, some dark corner office in the depths of FBI headquarters?

No, this golden age grew out of a small, tree-ringed town in Washington state. A little place, with damn fine coffee and world famous pie: Twin Peaks.

With its upcoming Blu-Ray release, “Twin Peaks” is being repackaged for a whole new audience that missed out on its April 1990 debut. This might indicate some sort of lingering nostalgia or demand for this premium format. However, this show, influential as it is, seems almost forgotten. Who talks about David Lynch and Mark Frost’s televised masterpiece these days, one of the first water-cooler shows? Almost 25 years old, this short-lived series casts a large shadow on contemporary television.

Many of the defining aspects of “Twin Peaks” can seem clichéd today: Its narrative intricacy, its darkness, its reliance on antiheroes. But that's just because we are by now so used to the show’s sensibility in our televised diet. What set this show apart has so thoroughly been assimilated that talking about it is like pointing to the sky and calling it blue. But this engaging, surreal and occasionally frustrating, 30-episode series about the hunt for a prom queen's killer was ahead of its time. Many of today’s modern classics owe it a debt audiences might not be aware of.

For instance, the show was a pioneer in seeding a dense mythology, complete with flash forwards, dream sequences, extra-dimensional spirits and otherworldly villains. Much like another trailblazing program, the British “The Prisoner,” this gave loyal watchers a sort of inside status and secret knowledge that could be analyzed and debated in small cultlike circles. This quality could be hair-pullingly frustrating, but helped immerse viewers. This aspect was wholly replicated by both Chris Carter’s “X-Files” and Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse’s “Lost,” two shows with fan bases full of encyclopedic knowledge.

“Twin Peaks’” overarching story lines and multi-episode narratives echo in “The Killing” and “True Detective.” The search for Laura Palmer’s killer could be the hunt for Rosie Larsen’s. The two are even killed in the same setting: the Pacific Northwest. Instead of the typical one-and-done detective story, a staple of a “Twin Peaks” contemporary, “Murder She Wrote,” the mystery wore on, eventually webbing to encompass more threads than the sleuth could possibly handle.

“Mad Men’s” cast of double-life-leading ad executives also has origins in “Twin Peaks.” Don Draper’s upstanding and conformist exterior is contrasted with his tortured, reckless inner self. Much like high school golden girl Laura Palmer, who secretly prostituted herself for vast quantities of cocaine, outside and inside do not match.

On “Breaking Bad,” Walter White’s transformation from mild-mannered chemistry teacher to drug kingpin mimics the extra-dimensional BOB, a metaphor for the darkness inside us all, from “Twin Peaks,” who sneaks in and slowly corrupts formerly upstanding members of the town. Loving Leland Palmer, Laura’s father, becomes corrupted to the point where he commits the ultimate crime.

Even the look of “Twin Peaks” has defined modern television. Lynch brought a whole new sensibility to the medium: This was a show that looked like a movie. Through the editing and attention to cinematography, Lynch expanded the vocabulary of the small screen. Compared to “Twin Peaks”’ main competition on Thursday nights, “Cheers,” the difference couldn’t be starker. The wide, flat, utilitarian angles of that sitcom clashed with “Twin Peaks”’ quick cuts, multiple locations and composed shots -- to quote Lynch, they were “pretty as a picture.”

Dramas made before “Twin Peaks” now look undeniably dated. It’s like comparing those sad, fixed-camera sitcom holdovers, like “The Big Bang Theory” or “Two and a Half Men,” to the free-flowing, dynamic hand-camera work of “Arrested Development” or “The Office.”

However, these are all surfaces. The true debt modern televised masterpieces owe to “Twin Peaks” is that it brought the hand of the show runner to the forefront. Mark Frost and David Lynch were both granted a level of creative control that ensured their vision made it to the screen. All television is a collaborative process and it is hard to work out exactly who contributed to what. But, with Lynch’s strong, authorial voice, cultivated previously in, perhaps, his greatest film, 1986’s “Blue Velvet,” “Twin Peaks” had a feel unlike anything else on TV at the time.

The pilot episode, which registered some of ABC’s highest ratings at that time and bears the strong evidence of Lynch’s stamp, is filled with edges that would have been sanded down without a clear artistic vision. An actor flubs a line and it’s kept in the final cut to add a bit of naturalism. A faulty fluorescent light flickers on and off during an autopsy scene, furthering the audience’s discomfort. Set dresser Frank Silva is accidentally caught in the reflection of a mirror during a shot, almost accidentally making him the series’ main villain. All of these wrinkles were kept in at Lynch’s insistence.

The role of the show runner is clearly essential to understanding our current golden age. Trying to make “Mad Men” without Matthew Weiner's attention to detail, you end up with period flops like “The Playboy Club” and “Pan Am.” They look right, but feel all wrong. Art by committee ends up looking like a Spirograph painting: Jackson Pollock without the Jackson Pollock.

The truncated first season of “Twin Peaks,” only eight episodes long, was heavily curated by Lynch, whether directly or through his choice of directors. However, once he departed to direct 1990’s “Wild at Heart,” the show slowly lost focus in its second season. Without the driving mystery of Laura Palmer’s death, both drawn out and resolved too quickly in a piece of painful fence-sitting, the series petered out. “Twin Peaks,” despite all its innovations, died an ignoble death, hemorrhaging viewers. Not even Lynch’s sort-of prequel film, “Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me,” could salvage the show.

Still, “Twin Peaks” lit the way for modern television’s renaissance. Despite its short life and many flaws, the DNA of this show has mapped itself onto contemporary TV. We’ve absorbed it and expect it, now, in our great dramas. When tracing our golden age’s roots, look to a place covered by green.

6 notes · View notes

cloverdaisies · 6 months

Text

NOWHERE TO RUN

tbz scream (1996) au

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 @: cloverdaisies

description: if the landline rings, remember to answer the questions 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. you don’t want to be locked in a house with a masked killer. a tbz au based on & inspired by (scream 1996).

warnings: mentions of violence, murder, blood. this is a work of fiction !!! however, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 … 🔪💀

member: tbz x you

channel: @deoboyznet

word count: 5k+

NEWS ANCHOR: “The murder of two high school students in the small town of Saltclover has led to the closure of their local high school due to an outbreak of pranks. Students wearing a costume sold as the grim reaper or as their calling it ‘ghost face’ have been heartlessly terrorizing this suburban school after the incident. This is Madeline Fox, Channel One News.”

♫ PSYCHO KILLER - TALKING HEADS plays faintly in the distance. ♫

🔪 10PM IN SALTCLOVER, 30th October 1996

“AGHHH!” A group of kids scream as a man adorning a ghostface mask whips his around from the corner of a tree. Then they scream again as they see another one behind them.

“Got ‘em.” Juyeon rips the mask of his face, high fiving Changmin as they both chuckle with enlightenment.

“Guys it’s not funny to be wearing those, nevermind scaring the little ones.” You sigh, stood on the front porch with a bowl of candy tucked between your elbow.

“They’re literally middle schoolers, too old to be trick or treating anyway. Besides what? You scared?” Changmin laughed, rubbing the mask in your face before walking inside, Juyeon chuckling shortly behind him.

The crackling of the log fire in the living room created a warm ambience, lighting up the room in an orange light. Duvets and pillows all messily lined across the floor as halloween played on the television on the opposite side of the room.

“And then she screams, the ghost is right behind her. She runs away he catches her and guts her like a fish. It was all a dream though.” Changmin burst into maniacal laughter before tucking himself into the sheets beneath him.

“What if, he caught her, bit off her fingers and became known as the finger ghost.” Juyeon adds with spooky jazz hands, crouched in front us, the both of them kept chuckling and watching your reactions, but nothing.

“You guys, two people we know literally died can you not take this a little bit more seriously?” You asked cocking an eyebrow towards the two boys who stared back blankly.

“The more fear you feel, the more you manifest the danger y/n.” Changmin sighed, grabbing the television remote began flicking the channels for another movie.

Eventually all the horror films that you’d all seen around 3 times over sent all 3 of you to sleep. As you slept soundly with locked doors, closed blinds, a black cat perched upon your windowsill looking out into the moon.

🔪7PM SALTCLOVER, 31st October 1996

♫ BACKSTREET BOYS - EVERYBODY, playing through the stereo system. ♫

Halloween was usually a time of harmless fun, where most normally functioning teenagers dressed in silly costumes and pretended they were in a movie as they trashed somebody else’s shitty house party. Unfortunately with a serial murderer running around it was hard for most of society to have fun, knowing someone in a grim reaper mask could show up any second and take your life from your hands. The boys didn’t seem to let such nuisance bother them as they all showed up to your home, wearing costumes from the classics to movie characters to musicians.

“Guys let’s play ring of fire!” Kevin suggested, suitably clothed in a ruby red leather outfit that resembled Michael Jackson’s from the iconic Thriller music video - seemingly he’d put a lot of effort into crafting the costume, that was much like Kevin. The boys each sprant to the kitchen to table, placing a huge cup in the middle of a circle of cards before each looking at Sangyeon hopefully, who wore a blue jumpsuit, in hand a Michael Myers Mask from the famous horror movie ‘Halloween’

“Oldest first.” Sunwoo, the green power ranger pointed towards the cards waiting for him to pick, a silly smirk painted on his face. “Youngest last.”

“That’s unfair but whatever.” Sangyeon grabbed a card picking up the 9 of hearts and flashing it to the table. “Nine is rhyme, so death.”

“Breath.” Haknyeon, wearing all black with a batman mask, quickly added as they began to go around the table reciting words that rhymed.

“Why’d you pick that? Because you’re breath stinks?” Hyunjae laughed pulling a silly face to the boy who hid behind a chuckle at the remark.

“I was actually thinking about yours.” Haknyeon replied cleverly, sticking his tongue out like a child and then looking at Sunwoo expectantly.

“Meth.” Sunwoo added bluntly.

“What I’ll be doing when I leave this place.” Chanhee, rolled his eyes taking a polite chug of his drink since he couldn’t think of a word that rhymed. He wore all red with glitter on his eyes, his skin glowed off the colour and his neatly arranged side part brought everything together.

The sound of the landline ringing and rattling on the kitchen wall interrupted the circle, Sangyeon sighed and got up as the rest of the boys chatted and carried on with the game.

“Hello Sangyeon. You know …”A mysterious low voice taunted him on the other end of the line, you could almost here the cheshire cat grin across the long eerie pause he left. “I think there’s a snake in the room, I see you’re wearing Michael’s costume quite appropriate for someone who is willing to stab their friends in the back.”

“Who’s this?” Sangyeon furrowed his brows and adjusted his posture as he awaited a reply from the caller.

“Answer the question right to survive, who said this ‘Changmin is so insufferable, I have no idea why we are still friends with him’? Little cut throat to say about a friend right?”

“Oh shutup, prank call another house.” Sangyeon almost let out a cackle at how pathetic the call was in his head, probably just one of their high school friends trying to scare him.

“If you hang up you die. I can see you smiling, how about I cut one into that face of yours smart ass.” The mysterious caller grew angry, spitting down the wire hating the ridicule and how unserious Sangyeon thought he was.

“Okay, listen I said it and what?” Sangyeon smiled, since he knew the answer even if this guy was going to kill him, he was going to be correct anyways.

“Incorrect.” The caller replied with a dubious snicker, the sound of him licking his lips grotesquely sounded crystal clear through the speaker.

“What?” Sangyeon laughed in disbelief, he definitely had said that to a few people before so there was no way on earth it wasn’t him - at least in his mind.

“Sunwoo said it, you agreed remember? Don’t you?” Suddenly, Sangyeon’s memory jogged, despite having repeated Sunwoo’s words he wasn’t the first person to say such a thing.

“Who are you?” Sangyeon demanded to know the caller’s identity, his anger made evident as he gritted his teeth and gripped the halloween mask between his fist damp with fear.

“You didn’t even get to the next round. It was horror movie trivia! Snakes don’t survive in this world and as they always say oldest first!” The caller laughed before the phone was slammed into the receiver by Sangyeon, who then stormed up to the bathroom to cool off.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sunwoo asked, as he looked around at the silence on the table, the boys each staring blankly at each other as if there was something he’d missed whilst he’d went to retrieve a beer.

“Well, I walked past and whoever was on the phone said he’d been talking about Changmin behind his back with Sunwoo.” Jacob replied talking a sip of his drink obliviously, wearing a red polo and green apron with a shitty cardboard prop that read “PIZZA DELIVERY” in his own hand writing.

“Listen Changmin, we didn’t mean it like that-.” Sunwoo tried to excuse himself before Changmin who had dressed as Chucky slammed his palms on the table and walked out, tears in his eyes, into the garden for some air, Hyunjae following closely behind him in his Boy George costume.

“Guys we shouldn’t figh-” Younghoon tried to mediate but ultimately failed, the white garments and halo clearly not doing him any favors in trying to play peacemaker in this little argument.

“Let’s not try solve this right now, quite frankly I can’t be bothered.” Juyeon slammed his beer down on the table next to you, picking up the lasso for his Indiana Jones get up and also walking out on to the patio to observe the night.

“Roger that.” Eric further got up, his blonde hair slicked back and an orange scarf tied around his neck. He made probably the most accurate ‘Fred’ from scooby doo you’d ever seen.

🔪 HEY Y/N, WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?

🔪.

It made you happy to see everyone dressed up and get together at times like this, however you couldn’t bare to see everyone argue over such childish stuff like he said this? he that? bullshit.

Still the party is lively nethertheless, Juyeon appears from the patio seemingly having brought more beers from the garage in his hands.

Before he even began to speak a bloodcurdling scream bellows through the hallways, the sound of footsteps dashing downstairs and muffled tears getting closer to the kitchen.

“It’s Sangyeon, he’s dead! The front door is wide open, someone came in and killed him.” Chanhee screams, the palms of his hands covered in blood, trembling in fear with tears falling down his face. Juyeon gets up and dashes up the stairs followed by Sunwoo and soon Hyunjae as he hears the commotion.

Kevin calls the police, on the kitchen landline and you run to hug Chanhee and sit up down on one of the chairs as you shush and cradle him.

Soon sirens were arriving and red and blue lights flashed through the windows, who could of done this? It can’t be one of us? Surely.

🔪. 2.AM IN SALTCLOVER, 1st November 1996

News Anchor: “A killer is indeed on the loose, at a local house party where locals teens were celebrating the halloween season, they found their friend in the bathroom murdered. The police have advised no one to leave their homes until further notice.”

♫ SOMEBODYS WATCHING ME - ROCKWELL ♫ playing over the following scene.

“I mean how did he even get into my house? You don’t understand I’m terrified!” You fiddle with the wire of the telephone as the police search through your home. Eric on the other end of the line agrees, tries to calm you down a little bit, but at the same time he’s seemingly also chill about the situation.

You’d all been questioned on the scene, and whilst they tried to catch the killer who could be nearby, any extra evidence collection was postponed until further notice.

“We’re all done here.” A police officer pops his head through the crack of your door, you quickly ended the call, briefly saying bye to Eric. “Are you sure you’ll be okay tonight?” He further asked taking off his hat and giving you a comforting smile.

“Yeah I’ll manage.” You reply with a nod, knowing you were smart enough to keep everything under control on your own.

As the officer and forensic clean up team left, you closed your bedroom door feeling to ill to use the upstairs bathroom with the events of tonight. Before the landline began to rattle and ring on your bedside table again.

“What Eric?” You laugh picking up the phone expecting him to be there on the other end of the line again like he always was, yapping for hours and unable to control his talkative tendencies.

“Hi y/n.. how’s your evening.” A low unrecognizable male voice speaks through the line, you tangle your fingers in the wire and stand to look out of your bedroom window.

“Who’s this?” You ask with an eyebrow raised, a shiver tickling your spine at the sheer depth of his voice.

“How about I get to know you first, what’s your favorite horror movie?” He asked tauntingly, his breath heavy and menacing.

“Hmm.. Probably Friday the 13th why?” You answered the question before rolling your eyes, thinking a man had probably been looking for people to prank call in yellow pages and stumbled across you.

“Well answer me this question, I can see you looking outside but no one is there honey.” He spoke with a sly chuckle after pretty much every word he said and that’s when slight fear started to cross your mind.

“Exactly no one’s there, you’re just trying to scare me liar.” You laugh at him trying to scare you, after all there’s plenty of creeps out there and so many ghostface wannabes. He couldn’t possibly strike twice in one night.

“Oh but don’t you see I am.” With that a firework was set off on your front porch causing your breath to fall short, watching the red lights hit your window causing you to fall back on to your bed clumsily.

“What do you want from me?” You tremble slightly but assert confidence in your voice as he tries to taunt you from the outside.

“Oh I just want you to answer my questions.” You could hear the nature from outside, the trees rustling behind him as he spoke.

“What if I just hang up?” You asked before you heard him begin shouting down the line in a vicious tone about how idiotic you were being.

“Then I’ll gut you like a fish you clever bitch.” He spat clearly violently annoyed you were not taking him seriously, which irked him to the core. Covering your mouth, you realized he was being serious, this is what happened to Sangyeon on the phone? tears beginning to well as he begins to ask his question.

“In the movie Friday the 13th, what happened to the camp in 1958 that made it close?” He asked you a question about the movie you’d seen so many times, you can’t possibly get it wrong.

“Oh,I know this! Jason drowned and everyone thought he was dead..” You bit your lip anxiously, hand shaking, but you knew it ! That’s how Jason got away with it, they all thought he was dead!

“Incorrect. That was in 1957, there was a serial murder at the camp in 1958-” After he spoke those words you slammed the phone down, you should have thought more about your answer but you couldn’t help but think he would have killed you if you’d gotten it right anyway.

You almost wanted to crawl into a hole as the phone line ended, before you heard an immense crash echoing through halls and coming the front door. Footsteps creaking on the staircase, the end was near as the black fabric of his suit trailed the wooden floors.

You grabbed your star light, the metal cage that housed a bulb was the sharpest object in the room before creeping towards your bedroom door, locking it, ready to strike. You weren’t the dumb character in their horror movie, you were the smart one who put up a fight, you will be the one that escapes.

A knock at your door made your heart beat faster before a series of banging, splitting the wood of the door as the killer burst through in the grim reaper mask, gripping a sharp silver dagger.

You threw the lamp with every bit of strength and the killer fell to the ground with the metal wires of the light lodged in his stomach. You ran past him before he got up and chased you down the staircase, grabbing anything on your way and throwing it right at him. You tried to get out the front door but it was bolted shut and ghostface mask grabbed the back of your shirt holding you against him with the knife to your neck. Complying with him by putting your hands up before suddenly breaking free of his grip and pushing his hand away, it was clear he wanted to hear you scream and at least hear you suffer before being able to kill you.

After managing to escape you dash into the kitchen, throwing a chair to break the patio doors which were likely also locked and ran around towards the back gate, also bolted shut and nowhere near budging.

The killer stood at the end of the alleyway next to your house, slowly stepping closer as your back pressed against the back gate. Next to your foot there was a brick that prevented the gate from swinging open in the night, grabbing it you lobbed it straight towards the killer, hitting him square where he was already injured.

“How dare you kill my friends asshole.” You yelled at the top of your lungs before placing both feet on the metal bars of the fence and jumping over with a struggle, barely landing on your feet. You ran onto the street in front of your house and yelled for help, before you saw headlights driving towards you.

The worn down brick red car only belonged to one person you knew, Juyeon who stuck his head out of the window and called your name as you looked at him with fear in your eyes. Panicked with no other option, you ran towards the passenger door swung it open with the last of your strength and got in.

“Darling what happened?” Juyeon looked at you with concern, his eyes then scanning the wind mirrors and rear view as you told him to drive over and over again in pure terror that you wouldn’t make it out in time.

“He got in again, he was asking me about all these horror movies and tried to kill me-“ You rambled on out of breath, your body covered in tiny cuts and bruises from all the falling and colliding with things.

“Well you escaped, that’s the main thing.” The only words Juyeon could find were those, as he exhaled his smoke with the burning cigarette he held outside the car window.

“I guess so, why are you driving up here anyway?” You manage to gather your thoughts and slightly move away from the original problem at hand, since if you thought about it anymore you would force yourself into a heart attack.

“I was actually coming to check on you, I mean your parents being away is not exactly ideal in the current climate. Your phone line has been engaged for the past hour.” Despite this being a believable statement, you still couldn’t understand his suspiciously peaceful composure.

You looked at him observing his tranquil features as he looked back you with a pair of innocent doe eyes, almost a face you believed read “how could little ol’ me do anything wrong?” Perhaps you were overthinking everything.

“What?” He looked at you confused, making sure to do a double take at the face you were pulling. “You don’t think I’m the killer do you?” He added a slight chuckle of disbelief before pointing to himself with his other hand on the wheel.

“No. Obviously not. He was in the house, you’re here.” You shake away your thoughts and turn your attention to the view from out the window, the houses, the cars and anything else you could analyze but him.

“I think you’re suspicious, I can’t lie.” He took another puff of the cigarette and shook his head, the black streak of hair he kept gelled moving towards one side.

“I’m not! The more you say I am the more I’m going to assume.” You started to get a bit frustrated with his assuming accusations and and waved your hands to confirm your point just to end his train of words.

“Yeah well you know I wouldn’t to do that to you.” He sighed, flicking the but out of the window and returning both hands to the wheel with a sad face.

🔪5AM SALTCLOVER, 1st November 1996

🚔 COUNTY SHERRIF’S POLICE DEPARTMENT

“Deputy Lee I swear I’m telling the truth. He was there the phone rang, my patio door is smashed through because I was trying to escape.” You try to plea with the officer questioning you, seemingly not believing your story since the door had been smashed through the wrong way at the back.

“I mean look at her she’s all cut up, I don’t understand why you can’t believe her. It will be her next if you don’t do anything, just record it for your brothers sake” Juyeon chimed in, being a witness and also arriving just in time to save you from the mess.

“Look I’ll record it y/n, because it’s you and I know you wouldn’t do that to me. But if you are lying to me and giving false leads you’ll hear about it. Don’t bring my brother into this again.” Deputy Lee was unfortunately Sangyeon’s brother and having to work on a case that involved the murder of his little brother was clearly taking a toll on him, like the rest of us he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

🔪 LEE JUYEON’S HOUSE, FARMLAND OUTSKIRTS OF SALTCLOVER

“Did he wear the costume?” Hyunjae burst in with the rest of the boys, his first question being rather on brand for his lack of care about the situation since all he knew about murder was the movies. Maybe that was his coping mechanism.

“Did he threaten to slice your guts?” Changmin further asked in the parade of questions, not asking if you were okay first because in his eyes, ‘oh well you look fine.’

“Are you okay?” Younghoon asked, Kevin and Chanhee crouching beside the bed you were sat on and making an effort to hold your hand and smile at you bitter sweetly.

“She’s staying here whilst her house is investigated top to bottom for trace of the killer, plus she’s much safer here.” Juyeon stood beside you, his arms folded across the clean white tank top he was wearing.

Interrupting the chaos of the entourage that had come to visit you, the landline began to call again faintly heard from the down the stairs.

“y/n it’s for you sweetie.” Juyeon’s Mom stepped through the door with a smile, letting you know she was going out for the night with Juyeon’s stepfather to a salsa party.

“Hi sweetheart, it’s not over yet. Which door am I at? Guess right.” The same mysterious voice almost whispered down the line as your hands begin to tremble.

“No… No.. Stop doing this and leave my friends alone.” You yell as the boys watch you from across the corridor, shaking in fear of their own.

“Which door? you stupid bitch.” The killer on the line grows angry, he could be at any door at any time who knows? You had to get this right, you can’t lose anymore friends.

“The patio.” You blurted out thinking of the patterns in horror movies and how he would usually break in the past few weeks.

“Incorrect.” He laughed at your petrified screaming, making a fake buzzer noise across the line to taunt you. With that the bathroom swung open revealing ghostface, you began running into the bedroom and locking the door. Juyeon grabs a pistol from beneath his bed and aims at the door that was thrashing. Hyunjae grabs a chair whilst the others hide behind the bed.

The killer wearing the costume store ghostface bursts in, snatches the chair from Hyunjae and battles with him, eventually crushing him beneath the chair as the others scream. Juyeon guides you out of the room behind him and hides you in the closest closet whilst he stands outside telling the others where to hide.

You could hear Sunwoo above all the screaming seemingly battling with Juyeon to get him to move to his own hiding spot, whereas Juyeon insisted he had the weapon he had to be the one to get rid of the killer.

“Don’t kill me. Please this isn’t a god damn movie and I want to be in the sequel.” You heard a shrill voice from outside the closet, muffling your whimpers you clamp your hand over your mouth, until all falls silent on the upper floor and chaos sounds out downstairs. You burst out of the wardrobe to see that Juyeon is gone and on the floor lies Chanhee still breathing but barely, stab wounds oozing with blood across his body.

“Chanhee get in the wardrobe I’ll be back, I’m so sorry.” Tears of fear falling from your eyes like mini waterfalls, as you helped him into the safe place and closed it gently to not alert anyone of his whereabouts, he can survive this, you just have to be quick.

You ran into the kitchen where you saw Eric, knife in hand trying to fend of the murderer but clearly to scared to even use the weapon, you grabbed one of the tall breakfast bar stools and pinned the killer to the counter with its legs with all the adrenaline you had you were able to move quick enough.

“WHO ARE YOU?! TAKE THE MASK OFF.” You screamed at him as he was stuck, he surrendered and brought his hand to his head, gently tugging off the mask.

There stood Changmin drenched in red smudges of blood, smiling like a maniac and laughing at the scene as if you were nothing to him. These years of friendship were nothing to him, what happened? Why? Too many thoughts crossed your mind upon seeing him of all people behind the mask that you almost dropped the strength of the chair you were holding.

“What happened to you? Have you become a psycho, you’ve watched too many damn movies.” You spat with unreal fits of rage at how a friend could’ve done this to all of you, how could he kill his lifelong best friends? After just a few horror movies…

“Psychos are psychos y/n don’t you dare blame it on the movies.” He used the phone voice changer to taunt you. before pushing the chair and you to the ground and grabbing your arm twisting it behind your back and holding a black handheld gun to your head.

“Where’s Juyeon? Where’d you get that gun?” You panicked as you saw the item in his hand, struggling to release yourself from his grip as Eric stayed cornered in the kitchen not knowing whether to strike or not.

“It’s all part of the game y/n, you should have answered the questions right.” Changmin laughed cackling at how pathetic your fear had become to him, that sweet boy you knew years ago had lost himself to a few movies.

“Don’t touch her.” Another ghostface mask appears, there can’t be two, all along there was two? Who else would have done this to you? The mask is pulled off revealing Hyunjae?… “The deal was you wouldn’t touch her.”

“And the deal is off.” Changmin smiled with a cheerful voice, clearly being the mastermind of the situation between the two of them. Shock overtook your fear and you broke out of Changmin’s grip with a sharp snap.

They began to argue like children before Hyunjae snatched the gun out of Changmin’s grip with a struggle, shooting him to the ground.

“Princess don’t be angry. He made me do it, he told me we would be together and we could be happy just us two.” Hyunjae stepped closer to you wielding the gun in his hands, pointing it closer towards you without a finger on the trigger.

“No Hyunjae, you’re a fucking psychopath. You were apart of this all along.” You couldn’t hold back the tears of betrayal that fell from your eyes, as he took the gun and traced it down your jawline looking at you with bright proud eyes.

In the corner of your eyes, you saw Juyeon quietly sneaking into the room, his torso littered with stab wounds blood seeping through his white tank top, visibly and seriously injured. However in his hand, he held the dagger of the original killer, you stayed quiet, not looking at him and stalling Hyunjae who had you pinned against the counter.

“It’s almost over now darling, just Eric left! be my prize! Just me and you, everyone else is gone! They’re dead! Although you would look gorgeous with your guts loose too.” He looked at you with the same bright eyes he always did, as if nothing he was doing was wrong he was about to turn to kill Eric, however, that’s when he screamed.

Juyeon pushed him to the ground, the dagger slicing straight through his chest, blood seeping through the costume as Hyunjae groaned in the pain he’d been able to deal but not tolerate.

“It’s over for you, asshole. Who’s scary movie is it now?” Juyeon laughed before wincing, the hole in his own stomach bleeding profusely.

“Juyeon lie down.” You grabbed the back of his head as he began to fall to the ground, you had no tears left to cry and now you had to be the strong one. You lied him down and began putting pressure on his wound.

“POLICE!” Deputy Lee walks into to the kitchen, mortified at the scenes of the house, it was over, it was all over. The surviving boys were rushed into hospital to recover, for you and Eric it was time to heal emotionally together, because it was all you had.

🔪6AM SALTCLOVER, 5TH NOVEMBER 1996

And in the end, it was most of the boys that survived their injuries, having lost most of your childhood friends it was rough but after living a life of loss, you had to deal with what you had.

Haknyeon wasn’t doing well, he’d managed to escape the house that night but entered intensive therapy and you’d visit him sometimes but he didn’t seem to trust you guys since the entire thing. Fair enough.

On the bench seated outside the hospital, you held 4 bouquets of flowers, one for Juyeon who saved you that night, One for Sunwoo for being so brave and trying to save his friend, one for Chanhee who needed them more than anyone right now even if he wasn’t awake.

“Eric?” You asked kicking your legs waiting for the visiting hours to open on the hospital ward they were situated.

“Hm?” He hummed, listening to music through his walkman and looking up at you thoughtfully.

“Do you think we could have changed things?” You asked with a sigh, the question that had plagued your mind for weeks.

“Probably. But it’s over now, we’re safe.” He replied and brought you into his touch to pat your head comfortingly as the birds sang melodies of the early morning around you.

It was all over, but unfortunately you’d lost too much.

“I just can’t believe they’re gone.” You burst into tears as Eric brought you in for a hug immediately, trying to hush you back into composure.

That’s if you believe they’re dead, or is it all just a game.

🔪.

a/n: so guys ! happy late spooky season 🎃 here at cloverdaisies! this has been in the works for a while and i would love to thank @winterchimez for proofreading my plot and @kimsohn encouraging me to finish it ! 🤍 if you’re reading this remember to go support deoboyznet!! you’ll find plenty other fics and writers there if you don’t know about it already :) ! this fic may not be everyone’s cup of tea but it certainly is mine ! this is massive dedication to original scream franchise, one of my biggest interests outside of kpop… it’s a bit longer than usual for me as well but yk <3

137 notes · View notes

bandjili · 1 year

Text

Laurel and hardy on the trail of the lonesome pine

DOWNLOAD NOW Laurel and hardy on the trail of the lonesome pine

#Laurel and hardy on the trail of the lonesome pine movie#

#Laurel and hardy on the trail of the lonesome pine free#

The more I listened to the track, the more I became convinced that we should give it a shot as a single. The other song I chose for this album was “The Trail Of The Lonesome Pine” from “Way Out West” (1937) – the one which begins with a member of The Avalon Boys singing & playing guitar in a barroom scene Oliver Hardy then joins in while Stan listens approvingly to his mellifluous tenor voice before joining in but not with his own vocal chords but lip-synching to the deep tenor voice of actor Chill Wills! I made sure that some of my favorite Laurel & Hardy songs were included such as “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” from “Swiss Miss” (1938), “In The Good Old Summertime” from “Below Zero” (1930) and the early ragtime tune “At The Ball, That’s All” sung by The Avalon Boys (joyously delivering such lyrics as “Take your partner and you hold her, lightly enfold her a little bolder”!) and to which Stan & Ollie performed their famous dance on a street corner. The BBC made audio dubs for us of the films in their possession and I spent a joyous few months in early 1975 choosing and editing at Abbey Road Studios what eventually became the LP called “The Golden Age Of Hollywood Comedy”.

#Laurel and hardy on the trail of the lonesome pine free#

With the help of the BBC’s Alan Howden, I contacted the late Irving Feld who, through his Overseas Programming company in San Francisco, was the European representative of the Hal Roach film catalog we did a licensing deal for the soundtracks and Irving gave me free rein to use whichever clips I wanted. I had been label manager at United Artists Records in London since 1968 and had long been a fan of the boys George Garabedian’s US label Mark 56 had issued some Laurel & Hardy LP’s containing soundtrack extracts but nothing had been issued in the UK and I felt that there was a market for a single soundtrack album which would highlight not just their dialog but also some of the songs that provided memorable moments in their movies. In the 1970’s, BBC Television regularly broadcast and endlessly re-broadcast both the shorts and the features that Laurel & Hardy made for Hal Roach. Since that single was the most successful record I was ever responsible for releasing, I thought you might enjoy my version of how it came about.

#Laurel and hardy on the trail of the lonesome pine movie#

Just after Thanksgiving, Todd Everett forwarded me a link from Steve Hoffman’s online Music Forum in which someone asked how “Trail Of The Lonesome Pine” by the classic movie comedy duo Laurel & Hardy became a major UK hit back in 1975. The song was also recorded by Vivian Stanshall and (as "Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia") by Tokyo Blade.Anybody interested in the real story, as told by Alan Warner? 2 in the UK Singles Chart, thanks largely to being championed by disc jockey John Peel on his Radio 1 evening show. Released as a single, the song reached No. In 1975, at a time when Laurel and Hardy films were popular on British television, the UK branch of United Artists Records produced an album of dialogue and songs, Laurel & Hardy – The Golden Age Of Hollywood Comedy, that included "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine". Reilly as part of the 2019 biographical film Stan & Ollie. This stage routine was performed by actors Steve Coogan and John C. It was performed by Laurel and Hardy with The Avalon Boys and featured a section sung in deep bass by Chill Wills, lip-synced by Stan Laurel in the film, with the last line in falsetto (sung by Rosina Lawrence) after Ollie hit Stan on the head with a mallet. The song was featured in Laurel and Hardy's 1937 film Way Out West. It appears to have been first recorded in New York on 28 March 1913 by the Spanish-American tenor Manuel Romain and released in June of that year on issue number 1743 of the Edison Blue Amberol Record label. The chorus is: In the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, On the trail of the lonesome pine- In the pale moonshine our hearts entwine, Where she carved her name and I carved mine Oh, June, like the mountains I'm blue- Like the pine I am lonesome for you, In the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, On the trail of the lonesome pine. Inspired by John Fox, Jr.'s 1908 novel of the same title, the song expresses the singer's love for his girl, June, who lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine" is a popular song published in 1913, with lyrics by Ballard MacDonald and music by Harry Carroll.

DOWNLOAD NOW Laurel and hardy on the trail of the lonesome pine

#Laurel and hardy on the trail of the lonesome pine

0 notes

pokiesaround551 · 2 years

Text

Wooden pokie machine

The Video Pokie Machine, how they came about.

Vintage Coke Machines | OldCokeM.

Poker Machine for sale | eBay.

Pokie machine - Buy pokie machine with free shipping | Banggood Shopping.

How to win on a Pokie Machine | The Pokies King.

Pokies Machine - What Are The Eight Extraordinary Facts About it.

Play For Free Gnome Wood Pokie Machine.

Pokie Machine Manufacturers - Safe Pokies.

The Top 6 Wood CNC Machines & Routers of 2022 (All Prices).

Toy Pokie Machine.

WoodMaster (Master Woodcraft & Hobby Machine Co... - VintageM.

Woodworking Equipment for sale | eBay.

Wanna own a pokie machine for home use- Is it legal to have one.

The Video Pokie Machine, how they came about.

Reel Spinners Pokie Machines Reel spinners are pokies machines that display the results on mechanical reels. Originally, there were five reels on the traditional pokies machines. The three reel slot machine is much simpler and has become a favorite at the casinos. Video Slot Pokies Video slots do not have any moving parts.

Vintage Coke Machines | OldCokeM.

They are preferred to be small, versatile and with a classic design. Up until the end of the 1950's most machines were formed with round corners and many with embossed (raised) letters. These we refer to as to as round top machines. After 1960 these machines were made with square corners, so naturally called square tops. Please browse through. Poke and More - Wooden Ladle Back to all Menus BOWLS Pick from our signature bowls, or build your own. All bowls made to order. HAWAIIAN POKE BOWL - tuna, sushi rice, avocado, sweet onions, red cabbage, crushed macadamia nuts, coconut flakes, sesame seeds, rice seasoning, and nori slivers in a traditional soy rayu sauce (little spicy) DRAGON BOWL Z. Buy the best and latest pokie machine on offer the quality pokie machine on sale with worldwide free shipping. | Shopping UK.

Poker Machine for sale | eBay.

The tool will sit above the working area, moving along the X, Y, and Z axes, carving the wood into the desired shape. Essentially, it's an automated milling machine that uses tools to create what you want through digital instructions, making it a programmable CNC wood carver. 1429 Uncharted Sea - Start your high-seas adventure with this 5-reel 25-payline pokie machine designed to resemble an old-school map set against the wooden surface backdrop. The game features both Wilds, that can only appear on reels 2, 3 and 4, and Scatters, that can start free spins bonus round.

Pokie machine - Buy pokie machine with free shipping | Banggood Shopping.

Custom Designed Pokie-Machine Styled Jukebox $2,699.00 MODEL: CDPJ11 Availability: In Stock ADD TO CART VIEW DETAILS QLD Maroons - Pokie Jukebox $2,800.00 MODEL: QLDPJ84 Availability: In Stock ADD TO CART VIEW DETAILS NSW Blues - Pokie Jukebox $2,800.00 MODEL: NSWPJ Availability: In Stock ADD TO CART VIEW DETAILS Sold out. Budget for more spins, not higher wagers. If you want to win on the pokies, you need to spin the reels, sometimes a lot. Budget for a lot of spins in a session. If you have $50 to play through, play a $1 slot 50 times, rather than a $10 slot five times. Set a budget and stick to it. Once your cash has gone, don't be tempted to spend more.

How to win on a Pokie Machine | The Pokies King.

More chilli pokie machine for sale. Just like a lot of pokies in market these days, More Chili Pokie Machine features 25 pay lines and five reels. It also features scatter symbols and free spins. You can find it in QLD and VIC regions featured in Helix XT cabinets.

Pokies Machine - What Are The Eight Extraordinary Facts About it.

Pokie Magic - Totem Treasure 2 is an Aussie style slot simulation (also called a poker machine or a Pokie). Play the pokies at home. The one time price gives you FOUR great games - Totem Treasure 2 5 reel, 6 reel, 7 reel and Special Edition. Besides your woodworking equipment like tools and machines, you will also need some basic supplies for your woodworking needs. Items like square measures, tape measures, wood glue, drill bits, nails, screws, pencils, awls, rasps, abrasives, cleaners, solvents, and rags are just some of the supplies you will want to keep on hand. About eBay. Buy the best and latest pokie machine on offer the quality pokie machine on sale with worldwide free shipping. | Shopping.

Play For Free Gnome Wood Pokie Machine.

This free-standing, fully functional pokies machine has a carved solid oak frame, ball and claw feet, and gorgeous metal housings. These machines are highly sought after. If.

Pokie Machine Manufacturers - Safe Pokies.

With a wide gamble range, the Big Red pokie machine is an ideal game for every player. Gameroom Show sells pre-1940s vintage slot machines in excellent, working condition.... A vintage wooden hi-ball machine with hammer, C. 1930, original paint finish and rubber headed hammer, penny in the slot. Dimensions 210 cm x 6 cm.

The Top 6 Wood CNC Machines & Routers of 2022 (All Prices).

To download the casino and the pokies games on your PC follow the simple steps below: Choose an online casino that offers pokies, Click on download to have the casino software, the download will start and your browser will ask if you want to save the casino software. ( file); Click 'Save File' to install the casino software on your PC. Play For Free Gnome Wood Pokie Machine.... Gnome Wood will place 25 active lines in front of you, allowing you to change how much each one is getting in the bet, but without the option to deactivate any lines. The minimum bet will be set to $0.25, while the maximum one reaches $25. The line bet is going to be selected from a range of $0.01 to $1.

Toy Pokie Machine.

It is not because pokies machines are bad objects of entertainment but because they are taken as an addiction by the players which harm many families and affect the. Pokie Machine Manufacturers Australia is home to hundreds of thousands of pokie machines, the largest majority of which are situated in New South Wales, boasting over. We know the first slot machines were introduced in the 1950s. Video poker machines appeared in brick-and-mortar casinos a few years later. Australians have a penchant for abbreviating words. Legend holds that the word "pokies" is the short form of poker machines. The name eventually stuck to the more popular slot machines through time.

WoodMaster (Master Woodcraft & Hobby Machine Co... - VintageM.

Poker Slot Machine Gambling Game Machine Casino Game Machine 7X in 1 Slot $447.00 Free shipping MEGA DOUBLE POKER ELECTRONIC DRAW POKER FULL SIZE MACHINE WITH DOLLAR VALIDATOR $299.95 Local Pickup VINTAGE Waco 1972 Draw Poker Cordless Electric Game Complete in Box! $6.99 0 bids $6.25 shipping Ending Wednesday at 11:48AM PDT2d 7h.

Woodworking Equipment for sale | eBay.

The Shogun pokie machine is iconic out of all the shogun pokies developed by an Aristocrat in Australia. Some will say it is not their favorite out of the aristocrat pokies, whilst others will say it is the best of the aristocrat pokies ever made. Either way this is certainly a pokie worth the attention and careful explanation. The value of old slot machines is highly dependent on how many of the original parts it has and whether or not the machine is in working condition, and if you're trying to sell an antique pokies machine these factors will influence the value: The aesthetic appearance of the machine The condition of the machine.

Wanna own a pokie machine for home use- Is it legal to have one.

This Skee Ball online pokie takes all of the elements of the popular game and places them into a fun and engaging gambling machine! You'll get to play Skee Ball yourself in the main bonus feature. There is even a part where you pick toys to win additional prizes. Here are the key features for this engaging pokie. 4 player Toy Crane Machine.

Other content:

Retro Bowl Unblocked Poki

Christina Press Pokies

Supernova Game Poki

Diamond Dreams Pokies Australian

Tween Girls With Jard Pokies

1 note · View note

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨1

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Yay, mob Clark. And I know what you’re saying right now, enough with Clark Kent! I get it haha. Promise, for a while, this will be the last I do of him. I have Lee fic in the work right now, the early development of medieval Peter, and I’m still sitting on some Loki ft. an exchange student... and then all my other series of course!

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You stood against the wall, chewing your lip as you looked around the gallery. You should be ecstatic, you should be floating around on a cloud, but all you could feel was crushing anxiety. It was truly a dream come true; your art hanging on the wall. Only three pieces, but it was there, and your name was below it in print.

You tugged on the waist of your dress and teetered in your heels. It was a borrowed outfit, you couldn’t afford anything appropriate to the upscale venue. The classic starving artist, or almost. You slipped your phone from your purse and up your sleeve. You subtly checked the time and for the little chat icon in the corner. Still no message.

Marcus was almost an hour late. He texted just after the event opened to warn you he was caught up with work but you worried he wouldn’t show up at all. It wasn’t his fault his boss was a jackass but you weren’t prepared to face this alone. You dropped your phone back into your slender purse and snapped it shut.

Vanessa, the gallery owner, made you flinch as she appeared almost out of the air. You smiled at her shyly and stopped chewing your lip.

“You should mingle,” she said, “you have an interested buyer. You might have a few more if you come out from the corner.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so nervous,” you confessed, “I-- thank you so much for this opportunity.”

“You earned it,” she touched your arm daintily, “all those hard hours working the back room, I couldn’t not hang a few pieces.”

You fixed your posture and tried to seem as confident as her. Your income came solely from hours of at-home data entry as you volunteered at the gallery in your few hours between. It was all worth it and maybe if you sold something tonight, Vanessa would feature you work again and you wouldn’t need to spend the bulk of your days staring at tiny font.

“So, where’s this buyer?” you asked hopefully.

“That’s my girl,” Vanessa trilled, “he seems very interested.”

She led you across the room, stopping to greet other artists and old friends with a kiss on the cheek and deep laughter. You’d met them all before as you were often working at these events. It was your first time as one of them.

When at last you neared your little stretch of the wall, a man stood with his head slightly back as he stared at your proto-renaissance portraits. He was tall and his broad shoulders strained the rich fabric of his jacket. His dark hair was neatly parted and a slight curl marked the front above the shadow of scruff poking out along his jawline.

“Mr. Kent,” Vanessa chimed, “I found her.”

He turned to look at you and his deep blue eyes struck you. He smiled between you and the gallery owner, his chiseled jaw even more defined by the gesture.

“This is Mr. Kent,” she introduced you in turn, “I believe he was interested in the larger piece.”

“All three, if you don’t have another buyer lined up,” he intoned, “I think they belong together.”

“All of them?” you raised your brows, “well, I, yeah, I guess--”

“We can put something together for you,” Vanessa interrupted your awkward stuttering, “let me just mark them.”

She took the silver pen she kept on a chain around her wrist and scribbled in the corner of the tags to mark them as sold. You were slightly numb at your disbelief. You were a bit reluctant to part with your work but the check would ease your grief.

“The way you use colours,” he said as he faced the paintings again, “I’ve recently had some work done in my house and I hate the sight of naked walls.”

“Thank you,” you said as you stepped a little closer and looked at your delicate strokes.

“Pardon me,” Vanessa rushed away as she beckoned to one of her assistants and prattled orders.

“Vanessa tells me you’re a new artist,” he said.

“New in a sense,” you said, “I guess, I’m officially an artist now.”

“Oh? I’m flattered. Your first buyer?”

“Besides some online fanart, yeah,” you replied, “so, Mr. Kent, what do you do?”

“Clark,” he corrected, “and a little bit of everything.”

An awkward silence took over and was thankfully interrupted by your name. You turned as Marcus rushed over and his shoes slipped on the polished floor. He reached you and kissed your cheek as he caught his breath.

“I’m so sorry, I got caught in traffic on the way over and then my oil light started flashing,” he gasped out.

“Hey, you’re here,” you rubbed his shoulder and straightened his tie without thinking as it hung at an angle.

“So, you sell anything yet?” he asked.

“Yes, actually, um, Mr-- Clark,” you gestured to the man standing patiently to the side, “he just bought all three.”

“Damn,” Marcus said, “guess I can hold onto my savings.”

“Marc,” you nudged his arm with your knuckles, “you know we can’t afford your cheesiness.”

“Sorry, uh,” Marcus laughed at himself, “I’m Marcus.”

He held out his hand and Clark shook it. His eyes strayed to you as his features sharpened just a little.

“You two…?” he ventured.

“Five years,” Marcus announced, “guess we’re going steady.”

“Oh,” Clark nodded placidly, “are you an artist too?”

“God no, I can hardly write my own name legibly,” Marcus kidded, “I’m a developer.”

“Computers,” Clark mused.

“Yeah, computers,” Marcus scoffed, “and you?”

“Own a couple businesses,” Clark shrugged.

“Must be successful if you can hang around here,” Marcus said and you elbowed him in embarrassment.

“I guess,” Clark smoothed his dark purple jacket and checked his watch, “I’ll let you two be. Maybe I’ll find something to go with these fine pieces.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, “I’m happy to see my work go to a good home.”

“I hope to see more in future,” he returned kindly.

He turned and carried on to the statue constructed of can tabs and greeted another suited man. You looked at Marcus as he leaned in to read the tags beneath your paintings. He stood and looked at you with wide eyes.

“Holy shit, ten grand?” he hissed.

“Pretty good pay for one night,” you chirped, “glad you could make it.”

“Sorry again, I… I had to redo some code. Adam was in a mood so,” he shook his head and sighed, “let’s not talk about it. Let’s celebrate.” He peeked over at the server with a tray of stemmed flutes, “and you can decide what you’re going to buy me with that check.”

“Hush,” you chided as you took a glass of champagne, “now is not the time to go over bills.”

🎨

At the end of the night, you watched one of the assistants take down your canvas and you helped wrap them in paper and twine. As you finished a loopy knot, you were surprised by the figure beside you. You looked up and set the smallest piece atop the larger ones. Clark smiled as you moved to let him pick them up.

“All yours,” you said, almost mournful to see them go.

“Thanks,” he said as he tucked them easily under his thick arm, “I forgot earlier but do you have a card? Are you open for commissions?”

“You must have a lot of walls,” you looked down and opened your purse, “I have a card and I could try a commission.”

You slid out one of the cards that had lingered in your wallet for more than a year. You handed it to him and he read the flowery font before tucking it away in his jacket.

“I do… have a lot of walls,” he said with a smirk, “I’ll give you a call once these are hung.”

“O-okay,” you kept from wringing your hands and closed your purse, “thank you… again.”

“My pleasure,” assured, “have a good night.”

“Yeah, good night,” you said and watched him go.

You let out a breath and smiled to yourself. You would talk to Vanessa and get your cut of the check before you went. Then you could worry about getting Marcus home. He’d had a little too much champagne and you’d left him in the backroom so you could help with the clean-up.

Vanessa bid goodbye to one of her featured artists as you neared. She turned to you and threw up her hands in delight.

“Wonderful, darling,” she said, “you earned that wall.”

“Thanks,” you grinned bashfully.

“Really. That man has never bought a piece before,” she smirked, “I’ve been dying to get into his wallet for years.”

“I never saw him before…”

“Oh, well, yes, he has not been to many of these either. I often see him at other galleries,” she explained, “I hope you have some more for the next.”

“Um, yeah, I should be able to--”

“I’ll have the check for you tomorrow,” she patted your shoulder as her eye was caught by another, “go get your boyfriend out of my studio.”

You accepted your dismissal and turned on your heel. That was just Vanessa, steely but slightly flighty as well. Besides, you were exhausted and you would likely be dragging Marcus into a cab.

You found him slumped at the paint-splattered table. You shook him awake and smiled dopily as he opened his eyes.

“Babe,” he pushed his arm around you.

“Marcus,” you drawled in disappointment, “let’s get out of here.”

“Huh?” He looked around and hiccupped, “oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You had a long day,” you assured him as you rubbed his back and let him lean on you as he stood, “I’m just happy you showed up after all that nonsense.”

“Of course, babe,” he slurred and you helped him through the door.

You kept your head down as you slowly sneaked out past Vanessa but you didn’t miss her side-eye. It was best to be as covert as possible. You came out through the door and nearly dropped Marcus.

“Jesus, can I get a little help?” you snipped as you looked around for a yellow cab.

“Sorry, baby, sorry,” he got his feet flat but it hardly helped take his weight off of you.

You raised your hand to hail a cab and he slipped down your arm. Your ankle bent as you turned to try to catch him before you dropped him entirely. He was saved from hitting the ground as he was caught by another. You looked over his head as he was pushed up to his feet again.

Clark kept his arm behind Marcus as you stared at him, “oh my god, thank you.”

“No problem,” he said as he steadied your boyfriend, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied as you lifted your foot and kept the weight off your ankle, “I just need to get a taxi.” You raised your hand again as you tried to see past the large man, “if you don’t mind getting him in--”

“You can ride with me,” he said brusquely as he turned with Marcus and peered back at you, “this way.”

“We can’t--”

“On that ankle,” he said as you began to limp after him, “you won’t get him out on your own.”

“Really, I’m fine--”

“I don’t mind,” he said coolly as he came to a silver sports car and balanced Marcus against him as he opened the door, “I’ll need an address.”

“Uh, oh,” you folded your hands, “thank you. Really, you’ve done too much.”

“It happens. I’ve had these nights,” he put Marcus across the seat and folded his legs up and shut the door, “you can take the front and tell me where I’m going.”

You hesitated and he opened the front door. You neared and hissed as you stumbled on your ankle. You caught yourself on his arm and quickly retracted your hand as you apologized.

“It’s alright,” he said as you sat in the front seat. He knelt and gently took your ankle. His thumb rubbed the swollen joint, “you really banged yourself up.”

“I’ll be okay,” you assured him, “thanks.”

He let go and stood. He waited for you to turn your legs into the car and gently closed the door. He rounded to the other side and got in as he fished around for his keys. He turned the engine and gripped the wheel with one hand as he took out his phone. He placed it on the magnetic holder and his fingers flicked over the screen.

“Address?” he asked.

You recited it and winced as Siri responded, ‘calculating route’. You shrunk against the luxury leather and glanced at him. He let out a huff and steered into the mostly empty street.

“I’m sorry about all this--”

“No, don’t be,” he glanced in the rearview, “he must be happy for you.”

“Yeah, uh, I think he is,” you said as he followed the map directions, “I am too. I mean, it will go along way… uh, well, you know, things can be tough or--” you shrugged, “I mean, it’s not about the money.”

“Yeah, but it’s nice to be paid,” he said lightly, “and I don’t mind paying for good art.”

You looked out the window as your cheeks burned. You could smell his cologne, subtle but strong. You played with your purse as your nerves brewed in your chest. You watched the sidewalks and the street lights as your surroundings grew more familiar.

He pulled up to your building. It wasn’t the greatest area and the brick façade was faded and cracked. Before you could get out, he was at your door. He offered his hand and helped you out as you leaned on the car. He let you go and opened the back and lifted Marcus out. He hooked your boyfriend’s arm over his shoulder and offered his other arm.

“Come on,” he said.

“Look, you don’t-- there’s an elevator.”

“I’d feel better if I got you inside,” he insisted, “especially in this area.”

You relented and took his arm and limped beside him up the steps. You took out your keys and went ahead of him as he dragged Marcus in. You went to the elevator and hit the button. The doors glided open and you stepped inside. He stood close in the small metal box and Marcus murmured dumbly at his side.

The doors dinged and he let you out first. He followed you down the hall and you unlocked your apartment and waved him inside. He carried Marcus to the couch at your direction and you leaned against the armchair as you bent your leg to check your ankle.

“You should put some ice on that,” Clark said as he neared, “get some sleep yourself.”

“Yeah, I will,” you assured, “thank you, again.”

You felt embarrassed as you eyed his expensive suit and looked around your tiny apartment. It must have been laughable to him. He hardly seem bothered as he retreated to the door.

“I’ll let you then,” he said, “and thank you. I really do like your work.”

The door shut in his stead and you heard his footsteps down the long hall until the door at the end swung open. You glanced at Marcus and shook your head. You weren’t as happy to have had him at the show then.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #series #mob au #mob!au #mob!clark kent #portrait of a dangerous man #dark fic #dark!fic #superman #au #dc #dcu

925 notes · View notes

nashibirne · 3 years

Text

PICK UP

Trucker!Sy is back! I had so much fun writing him, so I decided to write a follow-up to Truck Stop. In this one Sy initiates a little role play. I hope you like it just as much as part 1. If so, please leave me a reblog, comment or like 💜. Thanks!

Pairing: Syverson x reader/y/n/you (f)

Word count: 2.3 k

Summary: Sy wants to pick up a little bird at a bar. This is a follow-up to Truck Stop but you can read it without knowing part 1.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, PWP, smut, sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, roleplay, cream pie

Unbeta'ed. English isn't my first language. Mistakes ahead and they're all mine.

Credits: I don't own Captain Syverson

Find my other fics on my masterlist!

Taglist:

@lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @artandotherdelights @notabronte @littlefreya @luclittlepond @eldarwen333 @meowpurrbooks @marantha @liliumdream @enchantedbytomandhenry @greensleeves888 @witcherfan @margauxmargaux07 @radaofrivia @m07belzen @a-little-counter-esperanto @starstruckkittyangel @mary-ann84

Off we go....

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Imagine, you liked the little role play, your girlfriend surprised you with so much, you want to return the favor. You didn't tell her what you've planned, you've just told her to show up at that bar and to play along....

I am nervous, I mean like really nervous, which is silly, because it's my girlfriend I'm going to meet in a few minutes. But then again, tonight she's not my girlfriend. She's going to be a random stranger, sitting at the bar, catching my eye and I'll try to pick her up.

I enjoyed her surprise the other day so much, our little the-trucker-and-the-hitch-hiker-role play, I want to return the favor and so I told her to come to the "Midnight Cowboy" at 8 o'clock and wait there for me at the bar. And that's why I sit here in a dark corner booth with a good view at the entrance and the barstools, glancing nervously at my watch again and again. I'm really not sure if this is going to be a success. I've never been the type for one-night-stands or flings. I've always been in long-time-relationships, with my first love at high school, with two women in my twenties, with my ex-wife and now with y/n. All my relationships started the classical way. You meet through friends or through your job or at a party, you start dating, you fall in love and get serious.

Never before have I tried to hook up with a woman just for one night at a bar, guess I'm an old-fashioned boomer but well...that's me. The door opens once again and I raise my head hoping it's her but it's just a middle-aged couple with matching outfits and a tiny dog on a leash. Oh, wait, there she is, y/n follows right behind them. She looks so pretty, my heart skips a beat. It's still hard to believe that a woman like her wants to be with an ordinary trucker like me. She's dressed up, wearing a pretty summer dress that's sexy in an innocent way. It's not showing much skin but I know what a great body hides underneath, I know the curves that are wrapped up in the light blue fabric with the floral print by heart and that's why it's so promising and hot to me.

She takes a quick look around before taking a seat at the bar. I duck my head and hide myself from her eyes. I don't want her to see me, not yet. She smiles at the bartender and makes her order. It's cute how she's sitting there, fumbling with the colorful bangles on her wrist that match her outfit, glancing at her watch. She's nervous too and to be honest that's a big relief.

The guy at the other end of the bar keeps looking at her and he's not very subtle. Actually it's more ogling than looking and I feel the jealousy rise in my guts. She's my woman and I should be the one undressing her with his eyes. Well, to be honest I am. I just can't keep my eyes off of her, her gorgeous body and her lovely face. The bartender places a cocktail in front of her, it's a Tequila Sunrise, and she takes a sip, before checking the time again.

Okay, it's time for my entrance, to let the games begin. I take my beer and leave my comfortable booth to sit down at the bar. I choose a stool diagonally across from my sweet little bird to make sure it's easy to have eye contact. When she sees me she presses her lips together to suppress a grin. She gives me a quick, curious glance before she lowers her eyes on her drink. I have a swig of beer and keep looking at her to get back her attention. If I wasn't her boyfriend I probably would freak her out by staring at her like a psycho but I don't know what else to do. Luckily she knows I'm not some kind of creep and so she gives me a look and a delicate smile eventually. I return the smile, nodding at her and I raise my trucker cap a little to greet her.

She giggles and looks away, pretending a shyness that's not typical for her but very fitting for our little role play. While she fakes innocence I try to strike her as a man who knows what he's doing and who knows the rules of this game. We keep on exchanging glances and smiles but I have to make a move eventually and so I do what I consider to be smooth and I beckon the bartender to come over.

"Another beer for me please and another Tequila Sunrise for the pretty lady over there."

"Sure."

He gives me a nod and brings me a new bottle of beer just seconds later before mixing her cocktail. He places it in front of y/n, talking to her and they look in my direction at the same time. He goes back to polishing glasses and she flashes me a bright smile, mouthing 'thank you' over the country music that's a little too loud for my taste. I mouth a 'welcome' back and raise my bottle to her. She takes a sip of her drink with a sexy smirk but averts her eyes again.

Time for the next move. I get up and walk over to her with big confident strides and a bit of a swagger. I know women like the way I walk and move and y/n is no exception.

"Mind if I join you?" I smile at her with what's supposed to be a flirtatious wink. She looks me up and down skeptically.

"Why?"

"Umm…" I'm not prepared for this question and I don't know a single pick-up line that wouldn't be an absolute cliche or totally sexist, so I decide to stay close to the truth. "You just caught my eye. You're not only pretty but you seem to be an interesting person. So…" God, I suck at this. Please don't make it too hard for me, little bird.

"You can tell I'm an interesting person just by looking at me for ten minutes straight?" She gives me a teasing smile and I can't help but laugh.

"Okay, that sounds strange, I know. Let me try again, okay?"

"Okay."

"I saw you sitting here and you caught my eye. You're beautiful on the outside and I just hope on the inside you're beautiful too and hopefully an interesting person...so... I'd just like to get to know you by chatting a little." I shrug and give her a sheepish smile because I feel like an idiot.

"Well, honestly, that's a great answer. Much better than the usual pick up crap. So, yes, please..." She pats on the seat beside her and I sit and turn to her.

"Thanks. I'm Tom, by the way. But everyone calls me Sy."

"I'm y/n. Nice to meet you...Sy. Sy is short for?"

"Syverson. My last name."

"I see. Sy. I like the sound of it. Feels good on my tongue." She smiles again and I'm at a loss for words for a moment. Cheeky little bird. Time for a bold move. "I may have more things to offer that feel good on your tongue", I grin with a smirk.

"Oh, really?" She raises an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"You'll find out...eventually...maybe." I wink at her and raise my bottle. "Cheers."

"Cheers, Sy." She takes a big sip from her Tequila Sunrise and I look her deep in the eyes. "So what are you doing at this bar, all alone, y/n? Or are you waiting for someone?"

"No. I'm not. I'm here on my own. Actually I was so lonely at home, bored and unsatisfied so I decided to get out and about a bit."

"And you're lucky you found me. I'm known for keeping women entertained and satisfied." I may be overacting a little but I hope my little bird plays along. "Women? More than one at the same time?" She smiles at me innocently.

"One after another of course."

"Lucky me, I'm first in line tonight."

"Right." I laugh and she joins in, patting my thigh playfully. "You're a funny guy, Sy. So what do you do besides satisfying women? For a living I mean."

"I'm a trucker."

"Oh, that's great. Do you have your own truck?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Cool. I like big machines. Strong engines, roaring loud but running steady with a lot of power. Hard to handle but a smooth ride…"

"I bet you do." I give her one of these smirks she finds so sexy and she grins before she takes the cherry from her drink to take it in her mouth. The whole cherry, complete with fruit and stem. She chews, swallows and spits out the stone, placing it on her napkin carefully, but where's the stem, I wonder. Fascinated, I watch her tongue move around in her mouth for several seconds and then she opens her pretty lips and sticks out her tongue, presenting to me the cherry stem that now is knotted. She takes it and places it right in front of me. I gulp and look her straight in the eyes. "Did you just knot the stem with your tongue?"

"Yeah. I'm good with my tongue." She holds my gaze and licks her lips and I feel my dick twitch in my jeans. Jesus. My girlfriend is Audrey Horne and I feel like Dale Cooper all of the sudden. Fascinated, aroused and confused by her. "You mean you know more tricks than this one?" She leans in to whisper in my ear. "Many more." When I turn my head her face is just inches away from mine and I stare at her mouth, leaning in. She does the same and as soon as our lips meet we share a hungry, passionate kiss.

It takes us ten minutes to pay, leave and get to my flat that's just around the corner. As soon as the doors of the elevator close behind us y/n literally jumps me. I grab her by her ass and press her body against the wall, kissing her feverishly while she rubs her pussy over my hard-on.

When we reach my floor I carry her to my apartment, we're still making out and so I keep on stumbling, crashing into the walls of the hall several times. I manage to open the door, while y/n is licking my earlobe and kissing and sucking on my neck which makes me moan.

I put her down and drive her towards the wall until her back is pressed against the rough surface. We keep on kissing with animalistic passion and hunger and I grab her wrists and pin her hands above her head, parting her legs with my thigh at the same time. She immediately starts riding it. I use my other hand to caress her tits and our moans get louder.

I let go of her hands and sink down on my knees. I hitch up her skirt and press a hot kiss on her vulva just to pull down her panties then ever so slowly. I grab her leg and place it on my shoulder before I start to eat her pussy. God, I love this...to taste her juices, to smell her arousal, to hear her soft moans and sighs.

"God, Sy…" Her voice is thick with lust and I can tell she's close already. I go on, keep on licking and sucking, I give her pleasure with my mouth, my lips, my tongue and I know she loves the way my beard scratches her sensitive skin. I work my magic on her clit and she cums soon with a long lustful moan, whispering my name while her fingers run over my scalp. I get up and she pulls me close for another kiss, she loves tasting herself on my tongue. She tugs on the hem of my shirt and I strip it off and throw it away. Her hands run over my hairy chest and when she pinches my hard nipples I let out a feral growl. "Babe...I need you. I want you." I pant out of breath.

"Fuck me, Sy."

I open my fly in a hurry and get my dick out. It's so hard it almost hurts and I just want to stuff her sweet little pussy with my fat cock. My jeans drop to the floor and I grab her by her waist to lift her up. She wraps her legs around my hips and I place my hands on her ass, squeezing her cheeks. I move her in the right position to enter her and make her sink onto my dick. I glide inside of her and immediately start to thrust. I fuck her fast, I fuck her hard, I fuck her deep and we both love it. I groan and grunt like an animal. My brain's stopped working, it's just basic instinct and lust now and I get closer to the edge with every raw thrust.

Her little shrieks and the way she moans tell me I hit exactly the right spot and the fact that she's about to cum again makes me even hornier, driving my arousal to new heights. I get higher and higher and when she calls my name from the top of her second climax, scratching my back, her whole body shivering, I explode inside of her. I orgasm with a loud groan and keep on thrusting when I cum, savouring every single second of this hot play's grand finale. I pull my cock out and take a step back, still out of breath. I look at her and she's a mess, her clothes crumpled, my cum running down her thighs. I cup her face and kiss her tenderly. "I've ruined your pretty dress."

"Forget the stupid dress, baby. You've made my day."

She kisses me back and it's the beginning of a long night full of love making - of two people who know each other well and love each other much, having sex that is even better than the spectacular fuck of these two, who pretended to be strangers. And I can tell you, she showed me all of her tricks that night.

#henry cavill #cavillry #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #captain syverson #captain syverson pov #captain syverson x reader #syverson #syverson smut #syverson fic #captain syverson fanfiction

314 notes · View notes

honeyedhoseok · 3 years

Text

Blue | 01

genre | jeon jungkook x reader; lifeguard!JK but this isn't really a lifeguard fic; soulmate!au if you squint; smut; angst

word count | 9.9K

summary | that summer with jungkook was blue--a shade that carries with it a tinge of melancholia that you should have accepted from the beginning.

or,

to say that you fell in love with a color was an overstatement, but to say that you fell in love with him was an understatement.

a/n | i've been writing this to avoid my responsibilities. hope you enjoy! <3

series masterlist

It rained the first day Jungkook worked at the pool.

You’d heard the news of a few new lifeguards starting that day, but you’d been too busy serving ice cream at the snack bar to really get anything other than a quick glance at the lifeguard stand before you were locking eyes with the next greedy customer in line.

It was the beginning of summer, with the air sitting hot, dry and heavy on the normal patrons of the pool: older moms who sunbathed and gossiped with their friends while their kids splashed in the shallow end and gave the lifeguards something to do. Teenagers too cool to actually get in the pool littered the sides, only dipping their feet in while using expensive Ray Ban frames like a headband to hold their hair out of their eyes while they talked with their friends.

The forecast had mentioned some scattered storms, but normally that just meant getting everyone to come inside for a few minutes until it passed. The storm that day, however, had plans of sticking around a little bit longer.

You were passing a cup of strawberry shortcake soft serve out the window when the first clap of thunder sounded, followed by a lightning storm that sent the lifeguards in a tizzy. Multiple whistles blew at the sudden appearance of a storm, and the atmosphere was a rush of splashing and commotion as people made their way out of the water and to their belongings scattered in chairs on the sides.

“Well, that came out of nowhere,” your coworker, Jihyo says, sidling up beside you to look at the clouds looming over what was supposed to be a normal day at the pool. “Wonder if we’ll get to go home early?”

“I hope not,” you reply. “I need these hours, damn it. The Blooming Festival is in a few weeks, and I plan on taking off at least three days to soak it all in.”

Jihyo rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you’ve only mentioned it, maybe, every day I’ve worked with you so far?”

Serving ice cream at the pool was just a summer job. You were working there to make some money so you could do things with your friends, put gas in your car, and occasionally splurge on a new outfit or pair of shoes. It was supposed to be as normal as every other summer you’d worked there in between college semesters—until he showed up.

In fifteen minutes, the pool was shut down completely; all of the patrons were packed up and back in their cars after an announcement from your manager that the storm was forecasted to not let up for at least another hour and a half.

“Oh, we’re definitely going home,” Jihyo says, shutting the serving window and twisting the lock. “When’s the last time Seokjin shut down the pool indefinitely?”

You purse your lips, leaning back against the counter behind you and looking out at the pouring rain behind Jihyo. The wind was starting to pick up now, leaves and debris filling the once-clean surface of the cerulean water of the pool.

You start to make a bitter remark but the sound of heavy, slapping footsteps cuts you off, followed by a loud pounding at the back door. Jihyo looks toward the source of the noise with furrowed eyebrows, tilting her chin up stubbornly.

“More twelve-year-olds coming to demand that we restock Moose Tracks?”

“Hey, Moose Tracks is a classic!” you call at her back as she goes to unlock the door. “It’s not their fault you keep picking unpopular flavors to order each week—like Mint Chocolate Chip!”

The back door opens, and the shop is suddenly flooded with voices following Jihyo back into the small space.

“MCC is the goddamn classic, Y/N,” Jihyo says, stomping back into the conversation like she never left off. “Don’t ever bash it again, or I’ll stop ordering Sea Salt Caramel for your uncultured ass!”

You want to laugh, but you’re too distracted by the hoard of boys—lifeguards—trailing behind her. Yoongi and the two new guys crowd your space suddenly, and you find yourself backing up into one of the corners and trying not to look as embarrassed as you felt for just arguing with Jihyo over ice cream flavors, of all things.

The boys are soaking wet, puddles collecting at their feet on the tiled inside of the kitchen, but they seem unphased by it as they huddle in. Thankfully, one of them comes to your rescue.

“I’m with her,” he says, giving you a nod. His smile fills up his whole face as he talks, making his eyes turn into little crescent half-moons. “Sea Salt Caramel is where it’s at.”

The other lifeguard doesn’t say anything, gaze focused over your heads outside where the wind is knocking sunbathing chairs over. You realize then how tall he is—possibly half a foot or more than you—and the thought that if you were close enough, your nose wouldn’t even brush the dip of his clavicle, has your cheeks burning.

He and the half-moon lifeguard have similar builds: long, lean body statures, almond-shaped eyes, the same dark hair that falls in wet strands in their eyes. You wonder if they’re related. Maybe the taller one is the older brother, you think.

“The great ice cream debate,” Yoongi murmurs suddenly, sounding bored. “How about we have some and solve this problem once and for all?”

As he reaches for one of the serving spoons, Jihyo’s arm flies out, smacking it out of his hands. It falls with a clatter onto the counter, and he looks at her with an animated expression of surprise and disgust.

“Uh-uh,” she says, wagging a finger at him. “It’s like Seokjin’s only rule for us.”

“Seokjin can kiss my—“

As if on cue, the back door swings open and Yoongi shuts his mouth as Seokjin comes in, looking incredibly dry due to the floor-length plastic covering hanging from his umbrella.

Leave it to Seokjin to own something as extra as that, you think.

“Get comfy,” he says as he steps out of the plastic, shaking water off the top that splashes onto your scuffed, white Keds.

You gaze down, realizing only then that none of the lifeguards are wearing shoes. Yoongi’s pinky toe is edging dangerously close to a melted puddle of chocolate ice cream you forgot to clean up, but you don’t have the guts to tell him in front of your manager, so you shoo the thought away and focus on the grim look on Seokjin’s face. He’s chewing gum and looks slightly annoyed at the thought of all five of you huddled inside instead of doing work.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he says, “but I need you guys to stay here until the storm calms down. It should pass in an hour or two.”

Jihyo frowns. “And if it doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll send you home.”

She grins triumphantly.

“And I’ll need you to come in early tomorrow to clean up that mess out there,” Seokjin adds, giving her a sickly-sweet smile. He blows a bubble with his pink chewing gum for emphasis, the pop resonating in the small space.

Yoongi frowns and Jihyo’s mouth drops open. The new lifeguards seem as surprised as the other two, and they eye Seokjin curiously, probably trying to figure out what kind of manager he is. Even after all this time working for him, you don’t really know the answer to that question, either.

“Any more questions?” he asks, tone leaning somewhat on annoyance. But then again, that’s how Seokjin always sounded.

Jihyo shakes her head and Yoongi gives him a deepened frown in answer.

“Good. You,” he says, looking pointedly at Yoongi and mimicking his annoyed expression. “See to it that Hoseok and Jungkook get acquainted with the rules.” He steps inside his clear cocoon of an umbrella, reaching down to zip it up above his head. “And I’ll let you know when it’s safe to go outside and clean up.”

Jungkook, you think. You know immediately that it’s his name because it just fits him. You feel yourself rolling the unspoken syllables around the inside of your mouth, wondering when you’ll get the first chance to say them aloud.

Yoongi salutes half-assedly, and Jihyo elbows him in the side after Seokjin turns around and makes his exit. After the back door is shut, the five of you visibly deflate, and Yoongi sucks his teeth.

“That guy,” he mutters. “One of these days—”

“I wish you’d learn your lesson and stop messing with him,” Jihyo says, interrupting whatever nasty comment was about to spill from his mouth. “It’s probably because of you that Seokjin wants us to stay, instead of going home in this god-awful weather.”

“Why doesn’t he like Yoongi?” Hoseok asks, eyes flickering to the chestnut-haired, simmering boy to his left.

“His most recent offense?” Jihyo ponders, crossing her arms over her chest as she thinks. “Not showing up for his shift—threedays in a row.”

“I was sick,” Yoongi says dryly, narrowing his eyes at her. “What did you want me to do? Not stay in bed and get better?”

“Oh, your bed must suddenly have relocated to the pool hall at five in the afternoon, huh?” she says, tilting her head to the side in mocking. ��Snapchat locations don’t lie, Yoongi. If you’re going to play hooky, do it better.”

Hoseok chuckles. “Damn, man.”

Yoongi, never one to back down from an argument, flicks his brown fringe out of his eyes. “Why don’t you teach me then, Little Miss Stomachache?”

“I had cramps!” Jihyo says indignantly.

“You’ll learn that being around these two is like being around an old married couple,” you murmur to Jungkook and Hoseok as Yoongi and Jihyo’s voices rise louder and louder in contest. “They get along like cats and dogs.”

Jungkook grins at your comment, and you think your heart stops a little in your chest before starting an accelerated rhythm that has you feeling light. His lips pull back prettily over his teeth, his cheeks balling a little from the force of it.

“I’m thinking cats and dogs might actually be more civil than this, to be honest,” Hoseok says, gesturing to an annoyed Yoongi threatening to rub his clammy, wet feet on Jihyo’s bare, shorts-clad legs.

In the time that you had worked there, there were very few civil moments between Jihyo and Yoongi. You think that maybe they were civil when Yoongi first started, and you remember faintly a comment made by Jihyo that Yoongi was “cute” and maybe that they exchanged numbers at some point—but then rumors went around that Yoongi said Jihyo was too loud and controlling, and Jihyo said he was a selfish bastard, and you think they’ve been sworn enemies ever since.

“You’re probably right,” you say finally, giggling at Hoseok’s comment. You stop abruptly when you see Jungkook’s eyes fall to your mouth at the sight of it splitting open with a grin. They linger there for a moment before he speaks for the first time since entering you and Jihyo’s space.

“What did you say your name was, again?” he asks.

His voice is soft and low, almost a lilted hum, and it catches you off guard in comparison to his very boyish, young features. You expected it to be higher, to sound almost preteen-like, but it’s nothing of the sort—it immediately has you questioning how old he is in comparison to Hoseok.

“Y/N,” you say. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, I guess.”

Jungkook smiles again, and this time it feels like one especially conjured up for you.

“Y/N,” he repeats, the sound of his tongue rolling over the syllables sends a little zap to your insides. “You um, have a little something there, on your shirt.”

He takes one hand out of his blue swim trunks and points to your breastbone, where a dark splotch of chocolate ice cream sits over your sternum.

“Aw, fuck!” you murmur, facing burning as you spin around on your heel, grabbing the nearest hand towel and dabbing at your shirt. “These kids—”

“It wouldn’t stain like that if it was Mint Chocolate Chip,” Jihyo sneers suddenly, cutting whatever Yoongi was about to say to her off. She grins triumphantly at the stain, returning to your argument from earlier. “Would it?”

You flip her the bird, still dabbing at the fabric—but you can’t help but revel a little in the cute smile Jungkook gives you as he watches you fuss over yourself, digging around the kitchen space for anything to save you from the ice cream on your shirt.

After that fated day, your mind lingered on Jungkook incessantly. At the pool, you glanced at him more often than not from the serving window of the ice cream stand, committing him to memory. You found yourself reminiscing over the upended triangular shape of his upper body, the lithe muscle covering his shoulder blades, the image of a whistle poised between his rosy lips, his teeth pressed tightly against the metal, his body wet and glistening as he rose out of the pool—

“You’re literally drooling, Y/N,” Jihyo says, breaking you out of your reverie by snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Why don’t you just, I don’t know, go talk to him?”

“I will,” you say indignantly. “I told you—I’m waiting.”

“It’s been three weeks.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, nodding. “Still waiting.”

“Jesus,” Jihyo sighs. “I didn’t want to do this, but you know he’s only here for the summer, right?”

You freeze in the middle of cleaning the counter. “He’s what?”

“You heard me—you have less than three months, Y/N,” Jihyo says firmly. “I know rushing isn’t your style but, uh, you might not have a choice this time.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me!”

You hate how your voice sounds pitiful and whiny, but your heart is literally sinking at this news—three months? Less than three months? Where was he going? What would you do with your time when he wasn’t there to look out the window at? It dawns on you suddenly that you won’t be there in three months, either. School started back at the end of August—your sophomore year.

“Why didn’t you let me know you were interested in him?” Jihyo crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ve been watching you fawn over him for all this time, just waiting and hoping you’d confide in me, but no.”

“What was I supposed to say?” you retort glumly. “That I like the lifeguard that seems the least interested in my existence? Yeah, no, I’ll save myself from that sadness train going nowhere, thank you very much.”

“Maybe I can help you,” Jihyo says with confidence, turning to the window. “Hey, Jungkook!”

You freeze. “What? What are you doing?”

Jungkook looks your way, raising an eyebrow above his black Ray Bans. Jihyo leans out of the serving window, beckoning him over with a wave of her hand.

She turns to you. “Look how easy this is going to be.”

You swallow to combat the sudden tightness in your throat, watching with bated breath as Jungkook climbs down the lifeguard ladder and walks to you two, his feet slapping a little on the wet cement surrounding the pool.

“What’s up?” he says, pushing his sunglasses back on his head and unknowingly releasing the full intensity of his doe-like eyes.

You inhale a small gasp that Jihyo obviously hears, because she lightly presses her Ked-clad foot on top of yours below the counter.

“Me, you, Y/N, Hoseok,” Jihyo says with a confidence you could never muster. “Dinner and a movie on the boardwalk this weekend?”

Jungkook’s eyes pass from hers to yours for a split second, and your pulse picks up speed in your veins. If he seems surprised from the random invitation, however, he doesn’t let it show on the easy-going expression that he wears.

“Sure,” he says. “Can you remind me when it gets a little closer? I’ll have to make sure my parents don’t have anything planned.”

Jihyo flips her hair over her shoulder, casually producing her phone from what feels like thin air. You blink down at her hand, realizing this was her plan all along.

“Put your number in,” she says. “I’ll make us a group chat. We should probably have one anyways, since we work together. You know?”

Jungkook nods and puts his number in before handing it back to her. A commotion happens in the water behind him, and he glances over his shoulder with concern. “I should probably head back,” he says. He gives you both a small smile before he flips his sunglasses down over his eyes again, hitting a slight jog back to the lifeguard stand.

When he’s out of earshot, Jihyo texts rapidly on her phone. When she’s done yours vibrates three times in your pocket: the start of the group chat, you’re sure.

“And that, my friend,” she says, giving you a grin that could rival the Grinch when he decided to steal Christmas, “is how you get the ball rolling!”

Unfortunately, Jihyo’s plans—which she has annoyingly coined as Operation: Get Y/N Laid—don’t stop there.

On Thursday, just two days before the plans, she convinces Hoseok to come with her to something before the meet up that’s going to coincidentally make them late so that you and Jungkook have time to be alone.

When she tells you this, it’s as she’s making a double scoop chocolate cone, but you can’t help the overwhelming urge that comes over you to put your hands around her neck.

“Ack! Y/N! Let go!” she says between breaths with wide eyes. “I’m going to drop the ice—”

“You’re so dumb!” you yell, squeezing a little harder. “That’s such an obvious ploy to get us alone, he’s going to realize it!”

Jihyo finally squirms out of your grip by turning her head and licking your arm. The warmth of her tongue makes you recoil, and she gasps with relief as air floods back into her lungs, looking at the now-lopsided cone in her left hand.

“Now how am I supposed to give this to that little brat outside?” she says, frowning. “His mom will come and eat me alive if I hand this slop out of the window.”

“You probably deserve it,” you say sourly. You lean your hip into one of the counters, crossing your arms over your chest. “Take your plans back, Jihyo.”

“I can’t,” she says calmly. “Hoseok is already in on it.”

“He’s what?!”

“He’s in on Operation: Get Y/N Laid,” she says again, with that same ridiculous manner of calm, like you didn’t just make her life flash before her eyes thirty seconds ago. “Stop freaking out—he wants to give you some time alone just like I do. So, he’s not going to say anything to Jungkook. The plan will go on like normal, you will just have to do a little acting when we don’t show up on time. Got it?”

In all honesty, it’s not the worse plan she has ever come up with. But you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing so, so you keep your current frown plastered on your mouth for a little longer to let her know your displeasure with the sudden turn of events.

“Oh, don’t you go all pouty on me,” Jihyo says, wagging a finger at you as she trashes the cone you messed up and grabs another. She scoops more ice cream out of the container below her, giving you a look that reminds you of a mother watching her children open Christmas presents after telling them they weren’t getting anything for months. “You’ll thank me later—right after you tell me if Jungkook has anything worthy of talking about.”

“I’m sure he does,” you respond indignantly, falling right into her trap. “He’s intelligent.”

Jihyo hums a nod before brandishing the new cone, two scoops of chocolate perfectly centered and balanced on top of each other. “Before long this will be you two—are you a top or a bottom, though? I forgot.”

You groan in anguish as Jihyo lets out a cackle, opening the window to your stand and handing it out the impatient little boy that waits outside. You’re grateful for the breeze, although its simmering warmth does nothing for the same feeling that has settled high on your cheeks, dusting pigment there reminiscent of a similar shade of red Jungkook sometimes sports on his swim trunks.

The day of the boardwalk date, you find yourself sprawled out on the floor in front of your closet in your underwear and bra, contemplating why you ever purchased every single item of clothing in your closet.

These kinds of freak outs are normally reserved for the pressing dates in life—first day of college, nights out with the girls, birthdays—but today, you find yourself freaking out over the instance of having to wear the perfect outfit in order to feel comfortable around Jungkook.

Comfortable, and most importantly, pretty.

You shuffle through your two final picks, laying them across your bed in order to get the full effect of what they might look like on. They were both incredibly simple—your college wardrobe either consisted of exercise shorts and t-shirts and hoodies or going out clothes that were much too revealing for a fun night on the boardwalk. But you fret over them some more, so much that you almost have a nervous breakdown and text Jihyo to call the whole thing off.

But the slight hum of your phone vibrating your bed stops you before you can do so. It’s from Jungkook, and you heart beats a little off kilter at the sight of his name popping up on your phone screen.

Jungkook 5:15PM : We still meeting at 6?

It’s directed to your group chat with him, Jihyo and Hoseok. You take a deep breath. Jihyo had told you that she wasn’t going to respond to any messages until the last minute, to really sell her “emergency” that she had to bring Hoseok along on. You were driving separately, as was Jungkook, but the two of them had decided to conveniently carpool a day prior.

Y/N 5:18PM : I’ll be there! Park at Pier 14, it’s the closest one to the boardwalk

Jungkook 5:20PM : Yes ma’am 😊

You smile down at your phone, biting down on your bottom lip softly as you read the message over a few times before clicking the screen lock button. You prop your hands on your hips, deciding that it’s now or never. The nights got chilly in the summer when the sun wasn’t beating down as heavy, and you hated being cold. So, you choose the outfit on the right—a simple, oversized pullover and bike shorts, paired with some scuffed white sneakers, and rush into the bathroom to get ready so you’re not late.

You get to the pier at exactly 6:01 and search around for a parking space.

A part of you feels like this is a bad plan. Especially when you look down at your phone after cutting the engine and realize that Jihyo has texted you something that makes your stomach drop.

Jihyo 5:59PM : Haha…bad news

Jihyo 5:59PM : DON’T KILL ME

Y/N 6:02PM : Please, no!!! What is it!!

Jihyo 6:03PM : The check engine light on my car came on as I was leaving Hoseok’s. Don’t panic. We are waiting for AAA to come get us and take us back to his house so he can drive. I repeat: DON’T. PANIC.

“Okay, okay” you say to yourself, taking a few calming, deep breaths in. “At least she has a plan? This can still work out. I’m not panicking. Yet.”

Y/N 6:03PM : When are they estimated to be there?

Her messaging dots appear and disappear for a few minutes and your anxiety skyrockets.

Y/N 6:06PM : JIHYO

Jihyo 6:07PM : between 6:45-7PM…

Y/N 6:08PM : THE MOVIE STARTS AT 7:05 YOU ABSOLUTE

There’s a knock at your window that has you almost jumping out of your skin. When you look up, you’re met by the wide grin and big, childlike eyes of Jungkook. He peers at you through the tinted glass, looking a little sheepish at having scared you on accident.

All your anxiety about Jihyo having an actual emergency disappears as you unclick your seat belt and scramble out of the car to join him.

“I really didn’t mean to do that,” he says, stepping back and giving you space to swing your door open. “Is everything all right?”

“What?” you say. “Oh, yeah. Everything is fine. Well—sort of.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you. “Did something happen?”

“Jihyo is having car trouble, so her and Hoseok are going to be late.”

You bite down on your bottom lip, shifting your weight from leg to leg. The outing was supposed to be all of you as a group—and originally, them being a little late wouldn’t have been such a problem. But you were thinking thirty minutes max, not an hour and a half!

You’re relieved when Jungkook shrugs. “Oh, okay,” he says. “Well, I’m still cool with walking around until the movie starts if you are ?”

You nod with enthusiasm. “Right—we’re already here, might as well go do some stuff?”

Jungkook smiles again, and you finally take a good look at him. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt under a black zip-up hoodie and a pair of chinos—a simpler outfit that looks way too good on his tall, lean frame. You hadn’t seen him in much other than his swim trunks because the only time you two really saw each other outside of this singular moment, was at work.

Of course, you weren’t complaining about that aspect. You could probably pencil out in detail the muscles of Jungkook’s upper chest and stomach, the way water rolled off them when he got out of the pool, the way they flexed when he pulled his whistle to his mouth. That is, if your drawing skills weren’t absolute shit—so bad at that a kindergartener could probably put you to shame with snapped Crayola’s and disproportionate stick figures.

The sun has already sunk below the horizon, taking with it all the heat and warmth of the day and leaving you with a slight breeze that could give you goosebumps if you let it, and a sky the deepened color of cornflowers.

It’s twilight, you realize, as you trail beside Jungkook from the parking lot cement onto the wooden planks of the boardwalk. A backlit, blue-hued time of day that you absolutely adored during the summertime because you still had just enough light accomplish the activities you wanted to.

Not that you needed to worry about light at a time like this—the bright boardwalk stadium lights are almost blinding, and because it’s the weekend, the two of you find yourself periodically weaving in and out of the crowd that seems to get busier and pushier the further you walk.

Jungkook takes the lead, his taller frame holding more of a reason for people to move out of the way than yours. You watch the back of his head the whole time, noticing the way his raven hair reflects the light—shiny and clean and looking incredibly soft.

“How about a snow cone?” he calls over his shoulder. “It looks like there might be somewhere for us to sit up there.”

He points ahead and you call out an agreement to him, hoping to be heard over the ruckus.

You realize that the crowd isn’t going to let up anytime soon—people have no qualms about walking in between you two, and you find yourself speeding up in order to not be further separated from him.

At some point Jungkook glances behind him again and realizes your struggle. He slows his pace, and you happen to look down and realize he is holding out the long sleeve of his hoodie for you to hold on to.

“Don’t get lost,” he says with a grin. “This snow cone will be worth it, I promise!”

You return his smile, holding onto his arm with a light touch as he continues to lead through the crowd. You curse Jihyo silently in your head—despite her fake emergency turning into a real emergency, she was right about one thing: time alone with Jungkook was something you couldn’t pass up.

When you finally make it to the snow cone cart, you let go of Jungkook’s arm quickly. He looks at you with suspicion as you snatch away, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a shit-eating grin, like he knew exactly what he was doing to your racing pulse by offering you his touch.

“What flavor do you want?” he asks, looking at the menu stand on the right. “My treat.”

You both immediately point to Tiger’s Blood, and Jungkook seems pleased with you.

“Good choice,” he says. “If you picked Pina Colada, I was going to lose it.”

You giggle. “You don’t like coconut?”

“No,” he says, frowning. “I snuck some of my mom’s Malibu one time without realizing and I almost barfed.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. You realize that you still don’t how old Jungkook is, and while he orders your snow cones, you look at him with scrutiny. There was something young about his eyes and face, the roundness of the tip of his nose and cheeks making you believe he was younger than you. But his body—good grief, his body—and the sharpness of his jawline and said otherwise.

When you’re both seated at a picnic table, you decide to ask him.

“Why?” he says. “How old do you think?”

You take a timid bite of your snow cone, relishing in the satisfying crunch of ice between your teeth. “Hmm, I know you’re college-age. Just wondering how old.”

“That story I told about sneaking alcohol was from a few years ago,” he says, laughing. “I’m twenty-one.”

“Oh.”

“You’re only nineteen, right?” he says, but it doesn’t seem like he cares much that you’re younger.

You nod. “But my birthday is in September.”

“So is mine,” he replies with a grin. “We’ll have to try to celebrate together, somehow.”

You try not to let on how happy his suggestion makes you—that months from now, you two will be friends that throw parties together, or possibly more—and you settle into your seat, munching happily on the cold treat that is slowly turning from ice to mush in the paper cone in your hands.

“So why the pool?” you say a few moments later. “Did you work at another one before ours?”

Jungkook blinks. “I have my CPR certification from another part time job I had at a gym,” he said. “I don’t know why they made us get it, honestly.”

You laugh. “Maybe in case one of the meatheads lifted too much at once?”

“Maybe,” he says, grinning. “But the gym couldn’t work around my school schedule anymore. So, when I came home I saw the pool was looking for a new part-time lifeguard and I applied.”

“You only come home during the summer?”

Jungkook nods, but a look of annoyance flashes across his face before he answers. “There’s not much for me here, honestly. I like school and being on my own, away from my parents.”

“I get that.”

It was something you could both agree on. You didn’t realize freedom could taste so sweet until you moved into your dorm on campus. You could stay up when you wanted, sleep when you wanted, go out when you wanted. As long as you kept your grades up and didn’t lose your scholarship for your parent’s sake, you were literally allowed to do whatever your heart desired.

“It’s too far away to fly back and forth, anyways,” Jungkook adds, suddenly. He tilts his paper cone back, dumping all of the remaining liquid into his mouth before crumpling it in his left fist.

“How far?”

“California.”

“Oh. Why there?”

Somehow, you were taken aback to hear that he’d chosen a school so far from his home. You wonder suddenly if the sullen look he’d given your earlier had more to it than you realized.

Jungkook ignores your question—like you expected—and stands up. You scramble to finish the remains of your cone and he holds his hand out for your trash. You give it to him, feeling the slight brush of your fingers against his palm that reminds you of earlier when he’d offered his arm. He doesn’t this time, but you find yourself wishing he would again. Or that you two were close enough for you to reach out and grab it without his permission.

“That’s a story for later,” he says, giving you a look meant to soften the blow of his hard statement. “I don’t want to talk about it right now—it’ll ruin the mood.”

You nod slightly, bringing your bottom lip back between your teeth to gnaw on. You hadn’t meant to upset him.

“Is there anything you want to do?” he asks, looking around. “We have about thirty minutes before we should head back to the car for the drive-in movie.”

The boardwalk was in full swing as the night progressed, the sky now a deep shade of indigo behind him. You stand with him, leaning onto your tip toes in an effort to recognize any signs further down the wooden path.

“The arcade, maybe?” you suggest.

Jungkook fake clutches at his chest, staggering with clumsy steps to one side. “A woman after my own heart,” he says theatrically. “I might faint.”

You laugh loudly and roll your eyes to cover up your own heartbeat thumping wildly in your ears. You use the rush to match his energy: “I’m only saying it because I want you to win me a plushie.”

Jungkook smiles, his eyes full of light and mischief at getting to show off his skills. “That, madam, is a deal. Let’s go.”

Jihyo still hasn’t texted you by the time you and Jungkook exit the arcade.

You want to send a scolding text to her, but in reality, you don’t really care if they show up anymore. Jungkook seems to have forgotten they were coming—he doesn’t look at his phone once while you two flit from game to game in the arcade.

You’d watched from the side as he entered a water pistol race with a few other patrons of the boardwalk. He sat down on a stool right in the middle of everyone, leaning over the gun and closing one eye for better accuracy. His tongue poked out between his lips, his form rigid and unyielding until the announcer blew a whistle to start the race. You held back a laugh at his seriousness, pressing a hand to your mouth in case he looked over at you.

He did, but only once the flashing lights above his booth went off, signaling him as the winner. He’d hopped off the stool and raced over to you, placing a hand above your elbow before pulling you over to claim your reward from the prize table.

You chose a blue and white dolphin that was just big enough to be slightly comical. Jungkook carried it over his shoulder as you two walked back toward his car, giddy from the excitement of playing carnival games and teasing each other all the while.

“Okay, but you wouldn’t have even beaten me at basketball if yours didn’t come to my side and knock my shots off course constantly!” Jungkook insists. “You’re a sneaky little thing.”

“Why can’t you just admit my two-pointer is better than yours?”

“Y/N,” Jungkook says, shaking his head in disappointment. “I’m almost six foot and you’re what—five-one? You simply can’t be a better shot that I am because of your genetics. I’m sorry.”

Your mouth drops open. “I’m literally five-three!”

“Minus two.”

“Oh, whatever!”

Jungkook laughs loudly, throwing his head back from the force of it. You pout alongside him, but you can’t help the telling smile that creeps onto your face. You like this side of Jungkook—it was so different from the stoic and quiet lifeguard you knew him as before.

“The drive-in is just a block that way, right?” he asks once you two come up on the parking lot. He shifts the dolphin higher on his shoulder, stopping in his tracks to turn and look at you. “I can drive us in my car, if you want.”

Your eyes widen a little at his suggestion. You didn’t even think about the fact that if Jihyo and Hoseok weren’t here, it would just be you and him watching the movie together.

“Oh—um, I mean,” you stumble over your answer. “If that’s okay with you?”

“I offered, didn’t I?” he says with another laugh. He gestures to the stuffed animal perched on his shoulder. “Plus, we’ve got a nice seat cushion, here.”

You smile and nod before following him to his car. It’s a little navy SUV—something you didn’t expect him drive at all. He seemed like a “car guy” for some reason, one that would have driven something old and sturdy and loud.

“This is—cute,” you say, for lack of better wording.

Jungkook sucks his teeth. “Man, why does everyone say that?” He groans. “This thing is great on gas, okay? And look at all this trunk space! I mean, if you lived all the way in California—"

“Hey, hey,” you say, holding your hands up in defense. “I’m sorry, that was terrible wording. Did I say cute? I meant cutely efficient. You didn’t let me finish.”

Jungkook laughs again, nodding. “That’s what I thought you meant, yeah.”

He throws your dolphin in the backseat and then opens the passenger side door for you to get in. Your cheeks are hot as you move past him to settle into the seat, giving him a timid smile as he shuts the door behind you. You watch him walk around the front of the vehicle, lit up by a neighboring car’s headlights for just a fraction of a second.

He’s handsome to you while doing the most mundane of things, and your heart hurts at the thought. You couldn’t have a crush on him. He was your coworker for one, and for two, he didn’t live there. He went to school across the country, and he was only home for three incredibly short months. There would be nothing to your relationship, so you couldn’t let yourself fall into the trap of having a crush on someone so, well—unavailable. You pinch yourself hard on the thigh as a seal of reminder: this could not, would not, happen.

The slam of the car door brings you back to reality. Jungkook presses the start button on his dashboard before clicking his seatbelt across his upper body.

“You good?” he says, looking over at you with a furrowed brow. When you nod, he backs the car out of the space, his hand on the back of your headrest for good measure.

You take a few uneven breaths in and out at the action, forcing yourself to remain looking out of the front windshield and to not turn your head towards him even a fraction. You know doing so would put your faces at an incredible proximity, and you what the hell did you just pinch yourself over if you weren’t going to stick with it!

“Any word from Jihyo and Hoseok?” he asks. “It would be cool if we could still get dinner with them afterwards, at least.”

You pull your phone out of your crossbody. The screen lights up to no new unread messages, so you sent Jihyo a quick text in your private chat.

Y/N 6:58PM : Update?

It sends but doesn’t get read immediately in normal Jihyo fashion.

“Hm, maybe the tow truck is there, and she can’t talk,” you say. “I hope everything’s all right.”

“Me too,” Jungkook says. “But this is fun—with just us two.” He pauses, glancing over at you. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, of course,” you say quickly, giving him a smile. “I’m having a great time.”

He seems sated by this information, but you’re not sure why. “I’m glad.”

Jungkook drives you to toward the movie parking lot—a grassy field with neat rows of cars guided by a parking attendant in a bright, orange vest—and Jungkook reverses in the directed spot in the middle row of cars. You can see the screen perfectly, but only out of the back window from the way he parked. That does little to deter your excitement, though.

“The screen is huge!” you say in awe, twisting in your seat.

You look on as it plays movie trailer previews for remaining months of the summer, and the thought flits across your mind just how many you might get to see with Jungkook before your time was up.

“You’ve never been to a drive-in?” Jungkook asks. “We gotta make this one extra special, then.”

You look over at him with an eyebrow quirked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jungkook begins, unlocking the car doors, “I’m pulling out the big guns.”

He hops out and heads to the trunk of the car. You scramble after him, shutting the passenger door behind you and joining him where he stands with the trunk popped open. You watch as he lowers the second row of seats flat after moving the dolphin plushie and a conveniently-packed duvet. You look at him with raised eyebrows as he unfolds the blanket across the flattened seats, making you two a perfect spot to lay in the back of the car while watching the movie.

Jungkook sees the suspicion on your face and chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “I just thought we might want to be comfortable if we’re going to be watching a movie for two hours, you know?”

You ignore him and climb in through the open trunk, settling down with the dolphin as a cushion for your back. “Where’s the popcorn?” you ask, laughing. “This is perfect.”

Jungkook holds up a finger. “One moment, m’lady.”

He takes off from the car and you sit up on your elbows, watching him jog up to a stand at the front of the drive-in parking lot that was selling snacks and drinks for the occasion. You pinch yourself again for good measure when he comes back a few moments later, reminding yourself of your pact. Just because you two were alone, in the back of Jungkook’s car, laying down, about to watch a movie together, alone, didn’t mean anything!

The scent of butter and salt fills your nostrils as Jungkook returns, handing you the popcorn and drinks as he climbs into the trunk and settles beside you. He sits cross-legged and digs into the pockets of his chinos to reveal candy in both hands.

“Sour straws or gummi bears?” he asks.

“Gummi bears, but I want a sour straw, too.”

Jungkook laughs. “Agreed.”

As you two dig in, the beginning of the movie flickers onto the big display screen. People pass by Jungkook’s car on their way to the food stands at the front, and you and Jungkook settle against the giant dolphin propped on the back of the front seats.

“I’ll have to figure out a way to repay you for all of this,” you say quietly in between sips of fizzy Coke. “You keep paying for everything before I can offer.”

“Would you rather us go Dutch?” he asks in the dark.

He’s incredibly close to you—his forearm brushes against yours when he moves because the dolphin only spans so far when you lay it down. It wasn’t the biggest prize, because you didn’t want to carry around a massive plushie, but it certainly wasn’t the smallest they had, either.

On screen, the heroine is introduced going about her daily life. She gets ready, brushes her teeth and hair, puts on her makeup for a normal day at school. When she pulls up to school, a sleek, black motorcycle is parked in her usual spot. A little ways from it, she notices the culprit—an extremely handsome guy holding a bike helmet within the crook of his arm as a swarm of cheerleaders surround him like he’s the coolest thing since sliced bread.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “I mean, I hate the thought of depending on other people.”

Jungkook turns to look at you as you say this, and when you glance at him, there’s an emotion plastered on his usually friendly face that you can’t pinpoint.

“Consider it our first date,” he says finally, with a shrug. “Then you don’t owe me anything and you’re not depending on me, either.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. “Oh—um—well—”

Jungkook tilts his head down as he bites into a sour straw, pulling the candy away from his clenched teeth so it makes a small pop as it separates. He nudges you with his shoulder that is already leaning against your own.

“Did you see that?” he asks with a chuckle. “The stunt doubles are so noticeable in this movie—they have totally different builds than the main characters.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and manage a breathy laugh. A date. The word echoes within the chambers of your mind, repeating over and over like he just yelled it into a cave at the top of his lungs. It reverberates around your skull until you feel your skin buzzing from the meaning.

So much for your pact when he was saying things like that so casually. God, you couldn’t wait to get Jihyo alone to tell her everything.

The movie continues, and a glance down at your phone lets you know that it’s only thirty minutes in when Jihyo finally texts you back.

Jihyo 7:36PM : Hoseok and I aren’t going to make the movie. We’ll just explore the boardwalk until you two lovebirds are done and then we can get food!

You relay the information to Jungkook—leaving out the lovebirds bit. He nods in understanding.

“I figured they wouldn’t—but I’m glad we’ll get to see them,” he answers. “Hoseok texted me a while ago and said Jihyo’s engine light was on because she slams on her brakes too much. He thinks he has whiplash.”

You giggle. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

“My little mom-car doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?”

“I told you I liked it! I would totally pick my kids up from soccer at 6PM on Thursday in this!”

Jungkook throws a half-popped kernel at your forehead. “Rude.”

“You said the mom thing first!”

“Because I’m allowed to pick on Cheryl—she’s mine.”

“Cheryl?!” You dissolve into a fit of giggles. “Please—don’t tell me—”

Jungkook takes the weight of his shoulder pressed against yours and pushes you over with it before you can finish your sentence. You lean away from him but bring the force back with your own shoulder, fighting him for more room on the dolphin-plushie-turned-back-rest.

You two battle for a second, pushing against each other like children until Jungkook lifts his arm up and around you, cocooning you in his warmth and bringing you to rest fully on the right side of his body. He’s leaning a little against the corner of the back of the SUV and you are nestled within his side body, feeling the heat of his chest pressed against your cheek. You breathe in and out before you realize that maybe, you should move.

You go to sit up, but Jungkook says, “Wait, stay. You’re warm.”

It’s not you that’s warm—your face, sure—but Jungkook’s body feels like your own personal heater. You try to relax, leaning against him once again in a better cuddling position with your head resting on Jungkook’s chest, right below his collarbones. You can hear his heartbeat this way—thudding what you think is a little faster than normal underneath the layers of his thin hoodie and T-shirt.

“Are you comfortable? Can you see?”

You’re not sure, but you think he sounds a little breathless—from the sudden change in your positions, or the tussle before, you can’t tell which is the culprit.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting a little so that you’re more on your side rather than just leaning over onto him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” he says, and again, it sounds like there’s a hint of smile in his voice.

You can’t focus on the movie after that. Jungkook is too close, his intoxicating scent swirling into your nostrils with every inhale, your head rising up and down with each breath he takes. This was what friends did, right? This was totally friendly. He just wanted you to be comfortable. You repeat this to yourself as Jungkook’s hand—that was once just dangling over your shoulder—begins to trace soft patterns into your side.

You close your eyes, focusing on slowing the thumping of your heart, timing your inhales to let him know that this is okay. This is totally fine. You aren’t freaking out. You’re just here, enjoying everything that Jungkook had to offer you.

It’s fine. He’s fine. You’re fine. Maybe he was just touchy—some boys were like that, after all. Some friendly relationships included tons of skinship. You just weren’t used to it, and you needed to quickly acquaint yourself with the fact that this was how it would be with him if you continued to hang out.

Before you know it, you’re so lost in your thoughts you don’t catch most of the end of the movie. In fact, you don’t even realize it’s over until the credits are rolling and people are moving around you again, the sounds of car doors and trunks slamming as people get ready to move onto their next activity.

It’s only 9PM, but it’s dark outside—the blues of the sky that had enticed you so much once before had faded to an indescribable navy, a blue so deep that it looked black. If you focused, you could see the minute twinkling of stars past the stadium lights on the outskirts that blink on after the movie is over so everyone could exit in a timely and visible fashion.

Jungkook yawns, patting your side. “I think I fell asleep for a moment—I was so comfortable here.”

He laughs in spite of himself, and you give him a breathless chuckle in return. “Sorry if I made your side sore.” You get off of him, scooting over to give him a little room to sit up straight.

“Sore?” he asks incredulously. “Y/N, you’re like a feather. I’m not that breakable.”

Boy, did you know. Thoughts of his muscular stomach flash in your mind, and you will them away. He watch him reach up to close the trunk as people begin to move outside of the car, cocooning you two back into a comfortable darkness from the tints on the back windows.

“Still.”

“Still, what?” he says. There’s a small silence that ensues. “You’re so nervous around me. Is it me?”

“What?” you say, furrowing your brow. Your skin pricks with the same nervousness that you are about refute. “I mean—”

“I know I’m pretty standoffish at the pool, but I don’t mean to be that way,” he admits. “I just felt like I was in this new place with all of these established relationships and rules. You have Jihyo, and well, Hoseok and I are close, but we’re not best friends.” He pauses. “I was really surprised when Jihyo invited me out with you all.”

“Surprised,” you repeat quietly.

His words absolutely contradict the Jungkook you thought you knew. But maybe that’s how it would always be—you realizing he had his own motives and reasons for being the way he was, and you not understanding a bit of it until he decided to divulge you in them.

“Yeah, surprised,” he nods. “I feel out of place, here. If I’m being honest.”

“But you live here.”

“I don’t have any friends though, because I’m gone for nine months out of the year,” he says, shrugging. “I didn’t have any in high school, either. It was just—I don’t know. I didn’t like it here, so I didn’t see a reason to have any ties.”

You can’t really wrap your head around it, but you realize Jungkook is being vulnerable to you in this moment. You don’t want to make him regret it, so you reach out to him—the closest thing to you is his hand, resting on the duvet between you two—and you run your fingers over the soft skin in a timid, unsure fashion.

“Jihyo and I will never say no to new additions to our friend circle,” you say with a smile. “It gives us reasons not to kill each other if someone else is watching.”

Jungkook chuckles a little, holding your gaze. The trunk of the car is still closed, and most of the crowd has dispersed to other parts of the beach where the boardwalk is still alive and filled with weekend nightlife.

“That’s good to know,” Jungkook says softly, looking down at your hands on the blanket. He slides his underneath yours and links his fingers through the spaces in between.

“Y/N—” he says, leaning closer to you, “—thanks. Really.”

You lean closer as well, feeling the magnetism of your two bodies being pulled together in the dark. Your breath comes out in unmeasured puffs, threatening to give away how nervous you are. You’re glad Jungkook can’t really see you anymore, and you’re certainly glad he can’t hear the unsteady beat of your heart as your faces inch closer and closer. As the quiet of the night cocoons you two like a soft blanket, there is no noise other than your heartbeat in your ears as Jungkook’s mouth hovers over your own.

You feel his unsteady sigh outwards as he says, “Are you sure you’re not—”

You use your remaining courage to stop him before he can finish his sentence, closing the distance between your mouths into a soft, sweet kiss. It stays that way for a moment—closed-mouth and innocent—before Jungkook brings his hand to the back of your head and deepens it, pressing his mouth hard against your own in a way that is a command all in its own.

Your lips part involuntarily and Jungkook’s tongue presses softly against the ridge of your mouth, tracing the outline until he is exploring the inside with ease and expertise. As your tongues lace together, you find yourself placing heavy hands on his chest, slightly wrinkling the collar of his shirt with your nails before you slide your hands up and over his shoulders and hook them together behind his neck.

Your head tilts to the right and you push back against him, following the energy and putting it into the most passionate kissing session you’ve had—well, ever. Jungkook places his hands on your hips and pulls you over him so that you are straddling his waist, his experience showing as he places you right on top of his hardening member. You have no choice but to feel it between your thighs and the thin material of your bike shorts—a decision you certainly didn’t realize would come in handy when you’d picked them out a few hours ago in your bedroom closet.

You two kiss and kiss and kiss, getting lost within each other for what feels like hours. You can’t allow yourself to disassociate and think about anything other than what was happening in the moment—although there was a part of your brain that couldn’t believe it was happening, surely.

You were kissing Jungkook. Jungkook was kissing you—no, it was more than that. He was touching you: his hands making a lazy trail up your back, in between your shoulder blades and over the hump of your shoulders until they entangled in your hair and kept your mouth criminal to his. He was breathing you in: making a trail away from your mouth, down your jaw and neck, where he settled on sucking small, reddened splotches into the thin skin just around the collar of your pullover. You want more of him, but more would have to wait.

Jungkook pauses underneath you, much more intact with the real world than you are because he shushes you politely so that you can hear it: the tell-tale sound of your phone humming the vibrations of an incoming call.

“It’s Jihyo,” he says in the darkness, allowing the brightness of your screen to illuminate your faces, inches apart. He hands it to you, and you clear your throat in an attempt to sound less breathless than you actually are as you greet your friend.

“Where are you?” she asks—but it sounds more like a demand. “I know the movie is over by now. You haven’t answered my texts. Are you okay?”

“What?” you say but shake your head. “I’m fine, sorry. Jungkook and I were trying to find our way out of the theatre parking lot. It’s really crowded over here so we had to wait for our turn.”

In the light of your phone pressed against your cheek, you can just barely make out Jungkook’s knowing smirk in the dark.

“Hoseok and I are waiting at Pier 14. Did you two still want to get dinner?”

Jungkook nods in answer, leaning forward a little to press his lips softly against the center of your throat while you talk. You take a calming breath in and out as he mouths at the skin there, swiping his tongue over the space lightly before continuing to kiss away any of your troubles. You close your eyes again, feeling like you’re disappearing under his soft touch before you realize Jihyo is still waiting on your answer.

“Dinner sounds good,” you manage. “Text me an address—you and Hoseok can choose. I don’t care.”

You hang up before she can protest. Your mouth hovers over Jungkook’s, lips pressed together in a solid line.

“That wasn’t very nice,” you admonish him, placing your hands on his firm shoulders. “I was trying to talk.”

“I know,” he says in a soft tone, breathing out a laugh. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You better.”

He gives you one last lingering kiss—one that steals the breath from your lungs and makes you feel lightheaded before he lets you go. You feel warm all over as you two crawl toward the front of his car, returning to your seats while stealing knowing glances at each other.

You don’t want to dwell on the thoughts too much, but a lot had changed in the last hour that you couldn’t even wrap your head around, much less understand and come to accept. Your lips tingle as your mind flies through the events again, attempting to see you and Jungkook from a third-person perspective in your mind, but really just focusing on the way it felt when he was kissing you, touching you, breathing you in.

You knew one thing for certain, though: your pact with yourself was up. You weren’t just diving into the shallow anymore. You were in the deep end.

#jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts fic #bts scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts butter #bts jungkook #honeyedhoseok #blue

242 notes · View notes

fangirlings-things · 3 years

Text

First Costumer

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x female reader

Summary: you just got hired to do the job you always wanted and your first costumer, is no other but a Peaky Blinder

Word count: 2.1K

This is based on the moodboard below, made by my friend. You can find the original post here

A/N: I wrote this for @flowers-in-your-hayr 650 followers celebration. congratulations, love!! you're amazing, thank you for understanding my brazilian jokes lol and I hope you like this 💖

TAG LIST: @sophieshelby ; @charmingvalkyrie ; @inglourious-imagines ; @fairyofvoid ; @locke-writes ; @regalbanshee ; @captainshazamerica ; @lotsoffandomrecs ; @flowers-in-your-hayr ; @too-spoopy-to-be-frukd

You heard the doorbell ring and the sound filled the bookshop. Finally, a costumer. Your very first costumer. How exciting!

You got down of the ladder you had previously climbed to fix some of the higher shelves and passed your hands through your brown simple dress, making sure it was proper and in order. Mr. Cuthbert had taken a long time to finally accept you as an employee in his establishment and now, you had to make him proud.

You had always loved books. Since you were just a little girl, you mother had given you novels to read and you grew up living in many different ones from the reality you actually found yourself in. Books were your passion, your refugee, your ideal spot. To be able to work around them and make people happy by buying books, well, it sounded like perfection!

The costumer took his time to walk through the shop, eyeing the shelves like they were unusual strangers in the street and then, he got to you at the back of the bookshop. Your first costumer was a man.

He was tall. Not too tall, but just enoguh to make him able to look at some of the upward shelves without having to raise his head too much. His skin was white, giving a nice contrast with the black coat he wore. He had a moustache and you could only see a few strings of his brown hair, due to the cap he wore.

Then, you realized. After taking notice of the cap, the fine clothing made sense. No ordinary man in Birmingham had such fine clothes to wear, especially not in the middle of the week, during the lunch break time of the factories. Oh no, that man absolutely did not work in a factory. That man was a Peaky Blinder. His only bosses were the Shelbys and the Shelbys only.

"May I help you, sir?" you asked him with a polite smile, pushing to the back of your mind the realization you had just come to. It didn't matter who he was outside Mr. Cuthbert's bookshop. He was a costumer. Who clearly, for the way his eyes were going from one shelf to the other, intended to buy a book.

He focused his eyes on you and you saw that his stare wasn't harsh or the one of a demon, as many people said the Peaky Blinders were. His eyes were kind, even though there was an agitation in them that you couldn't quite comprehend. Maybe not even he could. "Yes" he said simply and as you kept staring at him, waiting for further information, the man looked even a bit disconcerted, like he wasn't used to having such attention upon him. "It is my sister's birthday this week and Ada, well, she really likes books, has a great shelf of them at her house. So I thought it would be a good idea to you know, give her a new book as a gift"

You couldn't help but smile. That man, whomever he was, seemed so genuine in everything. You could see the care in his expression when he spoke of his sister. It was a nice thing to see. The stories you had heard about the Peaky Blinders seemed to be all wrong. He was a normal person. Not some crazy, openly violent man.

"Do you have any specific book in mind?" you asked him, hands joined in front of your body and excitement filling your body because that was apparently going to be a successful sell. The man just squeezed his lips on a thin line, eyes going to the floor as if he was embarrassed. It got to you. "Don't worry, I am sure we can work something out. What kind of books does she like?"

He watched as you moved around the place graciously. Clearly you knew every corner of that place, every shelf, every single book and where it was. You looked at a particular spot, frowned then moved on like there wasn't anything interesting for whatever you wanted him to take to Ada. "Well, she's a communist, so she does like politics"

"Very well" you walked towards the politics shelf, searched the titles, but nothing particularly got your attention or seemed fitting. You turned back to the man. "Does she like classics that have to do with politics?"

"I think so, what do you have?" he asked, seeming kinda excited for what you would come up with. He accompanied you as you went to shelf on the other side of the corridor and pulled out a book. "Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo. It's centered around the French Revolution"

The man looked down at the floor again as a quite nervous laugh escaped his mouth. "I don't think that is a good idea. France does not give my family the best memories, you see"

"You fought the war?" you asked, smile fading a bit because of the seriousness in his tone. Maybe that's where his agitation was from. Maybe, he never did get back from France at all. He only nodded in agreement, still not looking at you. "Thank you, for your service"

He gave out a little smile, but you knew by the way the corner of his lips didn't rise too much that he was anxious to change the subject. Honestly, see the obvious hurt in him made you want to change it either. "Alright, no France. What about Bram Stoker's Dracula?"

"Dracula?" he frowned, eyes meeting yours in utter confusion at such a strange name.

The fact that he didn't knew about it made you smile as you began to describe que novel's story to him with a mysterious tone in your voice to cause suspense. "It's about an old man, Count Dracula, who lives in a castle and feeds on the blood of young women to survive. Sometimes he kills them so they can join him in the after life and also drink blood from innocent people"

The man laughed due to your clearly forced misteirous tone and the way you raised your eyebrows at him while speaking, seeming to forget the previous sadness that had overwhelmed him with the memories of the war. You were glad for it. "That sounds bloody awful, love"

You could not help but also laugh, trying to ignore the heat that took a hold of your face when he apparently without thinking, called you love. "It is, actually" then you shrugged, passing your hand through the said novel's cover at the shelf. "But is a fine horror book" you crossed your arms over your chest and squeezed your eyes in his direction. "Be honest with me now, will your sister like this one?"

He squeezed his lips again, this time his features assumed a expression that clearly said 'sorry'. "I don't think so. Ada is a feminist. I think she would not like a story where a monster man kills women and faces no consequences"

"That is a very good point" you said with a sight and then turned around, biting your lower lip as you thought and thought about more options. The challenge on your very first sell was being quite exciting and you could say, interesting. Much of it of course, was because of that man. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head and you turned back to the Peaky Blinder with a smile. "What about On the Origin of Species? It's a book about pure knowledge, scientific one, about evolution. No France, no monster that slaughters women"

The man gave it a minute of thought and then returned your smile. "Knowledge and evolution. It does sounds like Ada" you both felt silent for a moment and then, he cleaned his throat and nodded towards the book you had just gotten into your hands. "I'll take it"

"Very well" you motioned for him to follow you and then made your way towards the back of the shop again, placing it in the cashier. "You want it wrapped up as a gift?" he quickly agreed and you raised two options of gift wrap in the air. A green and a blue one. He chose the green one. "You can also add a small card if you want"

"That is nice, thank you" he said and again, as you looked at him, the kindness in his eyes seemed to shine out from everything else.

You grabbed a gift card from the inside of a box where they were kept and placed a black pen upon it. "You can write it or if you want, I can write it for you"

"You should write it, I bet your handwriting is better than mine" he said and you chuckled, nodding as you agreed to his request.

"What do you want it to say?" you waited as he clearly thought about the question, looking unsure. With one of his hands, he took off his cap and then passed the other one through his hair. When he claned his throat, you were ready to start writing.

"Dear Ada, happy birthday" he looked at you as if that was it but then, seeing the expression on your face that clearly indicated you wished him to talk more, he thought for a second and then continued. " Since you like books so much, I hope you will like this one, that a very nice girl helped me pick" as you wrote with a smile on your face, you did your best not to raise your eyes to meet his. "I know I am not always a very good brother, but I love you. Happy birthday, Arthur"

"That was beautiful" you told him, letting go of the pen and starting to wrap up the gift carefully, slowly, in no rush to let the Peaky Blinder go away. Arthur. His name was Arthur. It was a beautiful name. Suited him just fine.

"Alright, then" his eyes went to the floor again, seeming now embarrassed because of your words.

You finished to wrap the gift in silence, then when it was done, you sighted and looked at the man. "If you want us to deliver the gift at your sister's house, in case you're busy, we have a delivery boy for such"

"That sounds good, I appreciate that" he replied.

You nodded in agreement and got a piece of paper, to then grab the pen again. "Can you tell me her adress, please?" he did so, and you wrote it down so the boy Mr. Cuthbert had hired a little while before you could do his part of the job later. "He is supposed to look for Ada...?" you left the question in the air, waiting for him to answer, eyes still on the paper.

"Ada Shelby"

Your eyes snapped up on the very same instant.

Shelby.

His sister was Ada Shelby.

He was Arthur Shelby.

"Something wrong, love?" he asked, and he didn't seem harsh like you expected him to, for the way you not in the slightly hid just how astonished you were to know his identity. His eyes were still kind, but a part of the previous sadness had come back.

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me" you wrote down Ada Shelby and then left the paper upon the gift, at the corner of the cashier.

"I'm used to that kind of reaction by now" he said with a nervous laugh, that carried absolutely no humor at all in it. Even if he was indeed used to the said kind of reaction, he clearly did not like it. You felt guilt consume you. "How much do I owe you?"

You told him the price, still lost in your thoughts and cursing yourself for being so stupid and rude. So rude. He gave you the money, you placed it in the due place. "Have a nice day" he told you and then turned around to leave, placing his cap back in his head and then his hands went to the pockets of his clothes.

You watched him leaving with a intense feeling of exasperation, tried to think fastly enough to say something and then before you could even really process what you were actually going to do, the words left your mouth. "Mr. Shelby?" he turned back around as he heard you calling, a bit of gentleness in his features. "If you ever need to buy another book, I am sure I can help you find something good"

His lips curled up in a smile, a pure one. A bit of the guilt you felt left your body like he had just taken it completely away, just by smiling again. "I'll remember that, love"

And then, Arthur Shelby left the bookshop.

#imagine #x reader #fanfic #imagines #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur x reader #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby fanfic #650followers

198 notes · View notes

tearsofgrace · 4 years

Text

I Love Led Zeppelin

written for suptober 2020 day 11: rock and roll

word count: 3.1k tags: so much zeppelin, HAPPY ENDING, that’s right i wrote happy shit, angst, fluff, love confessions

also on archive!

“I want to know why you chose them,” Cas said petulantly.

Dean turned onto the highway and glanced at Cas. “I told you. They’re just the best Zepp songs.”

Cas just stared at him. And Dean stared right back. The angel wasn’t winning this one. Because if he started talking, it would all become too obvious.

As if giving him a damn mixtape wasn’t already obvious, he thought. He looked away. Not because he was letting Cas win, but because he hadn’t looked at the road in a while and getting in a car crash wasn’t in the cards for today.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, man.”

“What about this one?” Cas asked, and Dean stopped listening to the music. It had been Cas’ idea to listen to the mixtape, and after getting over his shock that Cas still had it, he agreed. He loved Zeppelin, what could go wrong?

“Ten Years Gone” was playing, and he pushed back a smile. He remembered choosing this one, listening to the lyrics, knowing how perfectly it fit. Robert Plant had written it for an old girlfriend who’d made him choose between music and her. And ten years later, he looked back on where he was.

It was stupid. God, he knew it was stupid. But he’d chosen it because Cas hadn’t chosen his music: Heaven. Cas had chosen them, and here they were, ten years later.

“I chose it because I like the chords,” he finally answered as the song came to an end.

“Oh,” Cas said.

The opening lines of “Ramble On” came on and Dean smiled. God, he loved Zeppelin. He and Sam didn’t listen to music enough in the car anymore. It brought back memories. The good memories from his childhood.

“Why did you add this one?” Cas sounded so serious, so sincere. And this one, this one Dean could answer. It wasn’t like some of the other songs on the tape.

“Kinda loved the Lord of the Rings imagery, but if you tell Sam you’re dead.” Cas laughed softly and Dean joined him. “And,” he took a breath, “I don’t know, it’s kinda like us, right? Like we have to keep going, no matter what evils we’re facing.”

“I like it,” Cas said quietly.

Dean reached over and turned it up, singing along dramatically because he knew Cas would get a kick out of it. Sam would have called him annoying, but not Cas. His friendship (friendship? That what you want Dean?) was so different with Cas.

When the song ended, and “Whole Lotta Love” came on, he almost reached over to shut it off. A blush rose in his cheeks as he remembered picking this one, confident Cas wouldn’t know what it was talking about, confident he’d never have to confront Cas about it. He remembered recording it, his mind drifting to Cas even as he tried to stop it.

He was lifting his hand to the skip button when Cas covered his hand and pushed it back to the seat. Dean hated how much he wished Cas’ hand would just stay there. But it didn’t. It never did.

“I wondered about this one,” Cas said thoughtfully. Dean gulped, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. “It’s very,” Cas paused, and he could feel his eyes boring into the side of his head. He was sure his cheeks were flaming. “Very aggressive,” he finally finished.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” He let his eyes flick quickly to Cas and immediately regretted it. He looked so innocent, so clueless, but Dean could see the slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “C’mon, man it’s a great song,” he said, gluing his eyes back to the road.

“I thoroughly enjoy it.”

Dean gulped again, pictured Cas listening to it, hearing the lyrics. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and kept his lips firmly closed until the next song started.

The opening guitar line of “Stairway to Heaven” played and he immediately relaxed.

“Sam said you shouldn’t have picked this one. He said it was too overplayed,” Cas said before they were even thirty seconds into the song. And Dean almost ran them off the road right then.

“Sam knows about-” he cut himself off. No, that was too obvious. “Uh, why’d Sam say that?”

“I was listening to the song. And I told him you gave me a mixtape with your favorite Led Zeppelin songs and told him which song I was listening to. He said it isn’t even their best song.”

Shit. There wasn’t a chance in hell Sam didn’t know what giving someone a damn mixtape meant. At least Cas had been listening to “Stairway” but still. Dammit.

“He’s right,” he said, trying to control his voice. “It’s not their very best, but c’mon it’s a classic. I couldn’t just not add it. You have to admit, it’s a good song.”

“It’s my favorite on the tape,” Cas said.

Dean snorted. Of course it was. He wasn’t going to fault Cas for it, though. It was an amazing song. They let the song play out in silence, and Dean let himself let go. Just let it roll over him, let Cas’ presence steady him.

Next came “Kashmir,” which was another easy answer. It was a classic. But Dean always saw it as more than that. It was about the journey, not the destination, reaching for some distant horizon. That’s how he thought of his time with Cas. He got to enjoy the journey, even if they would never really reach the end, not the end he wanted anyway. It was gonna end bloody. One or both of them dead.

When “Going to California” started Dean smiled and went soft. John used to play this one after a really long hunt, and Dean hadn’t even learned the lyrics for years. He just loved the way it felt, the way everything weaved together and created a very specific feeling in him every time.

“I love this one,” Cas said quietly, as if to preserve the moment. “I like to think we can all get a fresh start.”

“Me too,” Dean answered. A fresh start. They’d had so many… way more than their fair share. But they still got more, still gave each other more, over and over. He didn’t know why Cas was even still with them, why he hadn’t turned tail and run ages ago. But he was glad for it.

“Black Dog” and “Travelling Riverside Blues” were next. He told Cas they were classics. Didn’t tell him that both of them were his mom’s favorites. Both of them were part of the reason she fell in love with John. Both of them made him think that maybe he could have something like that, even when he knew it wasn’t possible.

There were only a few songs left. And if Cas hadn’t figured it out already, these would make it painfully obvious that he chose these songs very specifically. That he chose them for Cas.

“Tangerine” started and he smiled. He loved how slow this one started, how sweet it was. He would never admit it out loud, but it was right up there with “Ramble On” and “Travelling Riverside Blues” for his favorite song.

He almost didn’t add it. Because it was so obvious. But also because it just wasn’t him and Cas. They would never have that sweet, innocent new love. There was so much baggage between them, so much to wade through before even finding a hint of love. But Dean knew it was there. If only brotherly on Cas’ side, it was there. And this song, this reminiscing on a sweet, beautiful relationship, it’s what he wanted with Cas. So sue him if he added it to the list.

“There’s a lot of love songs on this mixtape,” Cas noted. Dean glanced at him sharply, trying to gauge what he really meant. But with Cas, he always just said what he meant. There was very rarely a double meaning, a hint at something that wasn’t there.

“Yeah, there is,” he agreed, his breathing shallow. “Zeppelin has a lot of ‘em.” It wasn’t a lie… but Zepp also had plenty of non-love songs.

He almost sighed audibly when “Good Times Bad Times” came on next.

Cas didn’t have to ask at this point. He just stared at Dean until he answered the unspoken question.

“Chose this one cuz it’s our lives, ya know?” Dean ran his hands over the leather and glanced at the mile marker; they were just a few miles away from the town. Maybe they wouldn’t even make it to the end of the tape. “I mean, it’s mostly shit. But we have good times too.”

“We do,” Cas agreed seriously. And Dean allowed himself a small smile. He hated himself for loving that Cas had already listened to this start to finish multiple times, had kept it through multiple apocalypses, actually cared that Dean had taken the time to put it together. Because it didn’t mean the same thing to Cas. He wanted it to. But it didn’t.

There were only three songs left. They were as blindingly transparent as he could possibly be. And the fact they were on a homemade mixtape only added to it. But Cas… Cas wouldn’t understand.

“Fool in the Rain” was the beginning of the end. It wasn’t like it was one of Zepp’s most famous songs, but Dean had always loved it. It sounded almost idiotic on the surface, a lover waiting on the wrong block in the rain. But Dean had always seen it as more than that. Maybe he was being too deep… but, for one, there wasn’t anything in the song that suggested it was a man and a woman. And as a kid, he’d liked that. He liked to let it be whoever he wanted, let it represent whatever he needed. He wouldn’t get caught dead telling anyone else he’d even noticed that, but he’d always love the song because of that.

As he’d gotten older, he grew to love it even more. To him, it sounded like one sided love. Like someone who was waiting desperately for a sign that they would ever be loved back. But they were looking in the wrong place and they wouldn’t ever find it. As Robert Plant sang “My heart it sinks to the ground/And the storm that I thought would blow over/Clouds the light of the love that I found,” Dean resisted the urge to say something, to tell Cas, This is me. This is me because I’ll never have you.

“Why this one?” Cas prompted.

Dean cleared his throat. “Listen to his voice, dude. It’s amazing.”

He risked another glance at Cas, saw his eyes narrow and his head tilt, and knew he wasn’t satisfied with that answer. But it wasn’t like he could tell him the truth.

There were only two songs left. Two Dean had wanted to put on so badly that he couldn’t resist, no matter how obvious they were. He kept telling himself Cas wouldn’t even care enough to listen, much less to listen closely. Obviously that hadn’t worked.

Before he could turn off the music, claiming they were only five minutes out anyway, the soft vocal intro of “What Is and What Should Never Be” started.

Real smooth, Winchester, he thought. Putting a song about forbidden romance on a mixtape for your best friend.

“I understand this one,” Cas said.

Dean blinked and focused on the road, searching for the sign that would take them to the motel.

“You what?”

“I understand it. I don’t understand why you included it, but I understand it. Sometimes love just isn’t meant to be. Sometimes it isn’t possible, no matter how beautiful, how perfect it is.”

Dean nodded slowly. Was there someone in Cas’ past life he didn’t know about? Or even worse, someone he knew right now?

He didn’t respond to Cas. He didn’t know what to say.

They pulled into the motel as the final note played and Dean turned off the car, shutting off the music with it.

“What about the last song?” Cas asked.

Dean’s heart rate picked up and he felt his ears burning hot. He’d put it last. Maybe in hope that Cas wouldn’t get to it, or maybe because it perfectly closed what he was trying to say. What he felt.

“We, um,” he took a deep breath and let it out. “We have to check in, buddy, it’s late.”

“I want to listen to it, Dean,” Cas said, fixing him with those intense blue eyes. And really, no one could say no to that.

Dean restarted the car, trying to let the pleasant hum of Baby’s motor calm him down.

If the sun refused to shine I would still be loving you

The opening lines played through the speakers and Dean stopped himself from cursing loudly. He was fucked. He couldn’t sit in this car, with Cas, and pretend like this meant nothing. Like this was just another song that he really liked.

When mountains crumble to the sea There will still be you and me

He tried not to let his mind drift. Tried to ignore how silent Cas had gone. Tried not to think of those words the angel had spoken in the bunker so long ago. “Everyone you know, everyone you love... they could be long dead. Everyone except me. I'm the one who will have to watch you murder the world. So if there's even a small chance that we can save you, I won't let you walk out of this room.” Cas would have stayed with him, even while he burned the world to the ground under the influence of the mark.

Dean took a deep breath and anxiously ran a hand through his hair.

Kind woman, I give you my all Kind woman, nothing more.

Cas shifted slightly next to him, but he didn’t dare look up.

Little drops of rain whisper of the pain Tears of loves lost in the days gone by My love is strong, with you there is no wrong Together we shall go until we die My, my, my inspiration is what you are to me Inspiration look, see

So much pain. There was so much pain between them. It swirled and came to life whenever they spoke. But it didn’t matter, because Dean was never leaving Cas. He knew that now. He couldn’t do it without him.

As the guitar interlude played, he tried to calm down. To fight the panic climbing in his throat. This whole thing had been a bad idea. He should have never made the damn tape in the first place. His breathing slowed a little when the vocals came back. He could do this.

And so today, my world it smiles Your hand in mine, we walk the miles Thanks to you it will be done For you to me are the only one Happiness, no more be sad Happiness, I'm glad

The image was so clear in his mind. Him and Cas walked down an asphalt road, hand in hand, the sun in front of them and their troubles behind them. He would never have it, but it didn’t matter. He still owed Cas all his happiness, owed him his life, owed him everything. And he still never said thank you.

If the sun refused to shine I would still be loving you Mountains crumble to the sea There will still be you and me

Dean took a deep breath and looked at Cas. There was still almost a minute of instrumental in the song. It would be so easy, just to say that he liked the song. Or that it reminded him of someone. Or that he thought Cas would enjoy the sound of it.

Then Cas spoke, and he realized the angel’s eyes were wide and his lips were turned up in a smile. “Dean, please don’t lie to me. Why this one?”

He didn’t answer at first. He knew Cas would wait, and he did. They listened to the end of the song, and then the car went quiet. Dean turned the engine off and fiddled with the keys in his lap before looking back into Cas’ eyes.

“I guess,” he breathed in. He could do this. Why not? He couldn’t fuck things up with Cas more than he already had. He’d beaten him, nearly killed him, left him when he was vulnerable, yelled at him, taken him for granted. And yet, here he was. Right by Dean’s side, fighting to save the world again. “I guess I’m trying to say thank you, Cas. For sticking with us.”

Cas’ smile grew just a little, almost showing his teeth, and he held Dean’s eyes, as if waiting for him to go on. And Dean was going to leave it there, he really was. But for some reason, maybe the safety of Baby, maybe the soft way Cas was watching him, maybe the quiet begging to be filled, he went on. “I don’t want you to leave again. I don’t want to leave you. If we- If we beat God, then I still want you to stay. We take you for granted- I take you for granted. I know that. But I just- I want you here. I need you here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” he said quietly, reaching for the door handle.

“Dean,” Cas said firmly. Dean paused and looked up, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. “I love you.”

His eyes widened and his thoughts swirled. He was dreaming, he had to be dreaming. Or this was a trick, someone was possessing Cas, someone was hurting him, someone was-

“It’s me, Dean.” And everything else melted away. It was Cas sitting next to him. Cas who had just spent an hour listening to Led Zeppelin with him. Cas who wasn’t leaving. Cas who had told him he loved him.

“I love you too,” he said. And it didn’t matter that Cas had just told him he loved him. Didn’t matter that Cas made him feel so safe. Didn’t matter that in spite of everything--all his doubts, all his fuckups, all his anger--he actually believed Cas wasn’t lying. He was still terrified.

Then Cas leaned across the seat and pressed their lips together, and he stopped thinking. He kissed him back gently, reveling in the taste, the softness, the electricity.

When they pulled away, he laughed softly and grinned sheepishly at the angel. Then he ejected the tape from the car and handed it to him before pressing another kiss against his lips. There were a million things he wanted to say, to explain, but there was only really one that fit.

“Thank you.”

tag list {ask to be added or removed!}:

@fandomstuff67 @menjiiii @witchyanaels @starlightcastiel @chaoticdean @larryforeveralways @samhainsam @ghostsforcas @tlakhtwritesdestiel @wanderingcas @hallowena @spooky-things-do-happen-dean @jayus-fandom-writer @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @starrynightdeancas @radiantdean @piemaker-from-gallifrey @on-a-bender @eshaninjer

#suptober20 #these are the songs on the mixtape don't fight me #long post #destiel fluff #happy ending #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn fan fiction #destiel fanfic #deancas fic #destiel fic #destiel ficlet #my writing

402 notes · View notes

hockeyboysiguess · 4 years

Text

Jerseys and Dumplings

a/n: some good old friends to lovers Tkachuk for your Thursday!

warnings: swearing

word count: 6.3K

You yanked the restaurant door open harder than you’d meant to, but you were in a rush. A last minute assignment had kept you at work later than you’d planned, much later than you’d planned, and you were running later than would ever be considered fashionably late by anyone who made insane amounts of money to recite a bunch of shitty dialogue to a camera. You pulled at the bottom of your skirt to adjust it as you walked through the door before giving up. Your skirt was definitely crooked, your hair was definitely a mess, but your mother’s words played over in your head, “It’s never the job of a successful, powerful to look a particular way. Success is messy. Own the messy.”

“Hi, sorry,” you whisper-yelled to the hostess. “Uh, Hanifin? Pretty sure everyone else is already here.”

“Right this way.”

She was clearly unimpressed with your disheveled appearance and your tardiness as she looked you over from top to bottom from over the top of her glasses. You pushed thoughts of her and work out of your head to focus the evening. Meeting your best friend’s boyfriend was a hit-miss experience with Tessa as your best friend. She alternated between introducing you to immature, outrageous guys who were all about having a good time who always ended up cheating on her or guys who were basically the human equivalent of a completely dried builder-grade beige wall. This one was apparently some moderately famous hockey player, which automatically had you leaning him in the first column, but she pleaded with you to reserve judgment until you met him tonight. You were desperate for her to finally date a guy that was somewhere on the middle of her two extremes. She always countered by saying she wanted you to go on a date, any date. You brushed her off every time, telling her you were focusing on your career and yourself.

“There you are!” Tessa shouted, bumping the table harshly as she stood up to great you. “I started to think you forgot about us.”

“Sorry, babes,” you sighed as you let her pull you in for a quick hug. “I-”

“Got caught up at the office.”

You pulled back from her and glared at her. Tessa saying the words that all too frequently left your lips was just a little passive aggressive, usually your specialty. You rolled your eyes at her and she giggled before reaching out to the guy next to her to pull him to his feet.

“This,” she wrapped her hands around his forearm in a sort of death grip, “is Noah. Noah, this is the ever-discussed best friend slash somehow roommate even though I see her more out to lunch than I do in our apartment.”

“Thanks, Tess,” you mumbled. Noah offered his arms out to you gingerly and you accepted a soft hug. “Nice to meet you, Noah.”

“Really nice to finally meet you,” he smiled softly as you took your seats.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind.” The sing-song tone in Tessa’s voice drew a groan from you because you knew what was going to come next. “Stop it! Anyway, Noah brought one of his teammates along, so you weren’t third wheeling.”

“Is he invisible?” you asked with a wave of your hand to the empty seat next to you.

“Just in the bathroom, actually.”

You turned your head and were greeted with a bright, toothy grin and mop of curly hair. The restaurant was dark, but you could tell he had a beautiful pair of baby blues to go with his dimples and sharp jawline. Tessa has clearly hand-picked this one out of the Flames line up for you. He was exactly your type. You watched as his light eyes broke contact with yours and gave you a quick once look over, lingering almost indiscernibly at your chest and your hips.

“I’m Matthew,” he said, his smile starting on a slippery slope to a smirk as he sat down next to you.

You debated calling him out for checking you out, but Tessa rapped her foot on your shin, letting you know she was ready and waiting to give you a swift kick if she didn’t like how you were acting. People thought Tessa was soft. You thought people shouldn’t underestimate Tessa, so you swallowed your comeback and introduced yourself instead. Matthew gave you a quick nod, his broken curls bouncing with the sudden movement. A smile began to pull at the corners of your lips against your will and something in your chest told you he was going to be trouble if you let him be, so you resolved not to let him be. You watched his attention shift to the couple across the table and his face scrunch up in disgust. Noah and Tessa were seeming trying to figure out if it was possible for two people to become one via their open mouths pressed against each other.

“Come on, guys,” Matthew whined as one of his hands came down roughly on the tabletop, causing the silverware to click together loudly. Noah and Tessa separated at the sound, not at Matthew’s words. “The single folks don’t even have drinks yet. Can you save the foreplay until we at least have some alcohol in us?”

“Seriously,” you joined in. If Tessa was going to set you up against your will, at least it was with someone that hated Tessa’s fondness for wild amounts of PDA as much as you did. “Please keep all tongues, hands, and arms in your own seats tonight.”

“Genitals should remain their not upright and locked positions” Matthew added. Tess blushed at his words, causing Matthew to turn his head towards you. He cocked his head to the side, a mischievous look dancing in his eyes and pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Too much?”

You answered by continuing, “Excellent addition, fellow date attendant. Fasten your seatbelts as we expect there might be some turbulence on tonight’s date.”

“Turbulence?” Tessa asked, her voice a solid octave and a half higher than normal and her eyebrows raised, daring you to continue.

“Oh yes, turbulence,” Matthew cut in. “So, Tessa, where did you grow up?”

“I’m sorry, I’m back on turbulence,” Noah jumped in verbally and physically, a hand raised across the table.

“We,” you informed him, gesturing between Matthew and yourself, “are the turbulence.”

“Yes, thank you, good blind date I didn’t ask for,” Matthew nodded to you, curling bouncing again in a way that made you have to bite your lip to avoid smiling like a schoolgirl with a new crush. “You both worked together to set us up tonight, unasked for based on just how fed up my fellow date attendant seemed by my very presence. Esteemed co-worker, can you confirm, for the record, that you did not ask for this set up and that you’re just as tired as I am of your friends across the table setting you up with people?”

Matthew grabbed a breadstick from the basket in one fist and presented it to you like a microphone. You laughed softly, making an out of character smile crack across Matthew’s face before you both pulled yourself back into the accidental routine you’d created.

“Yes, yes, Matthew. I can confirm I was not made aware of your presence tonight and I have not asked Tessa to set me up with anyone at this time,” you replied seriously, putting on your best politician impression.

“You sounded like you were doing an impression of Tina Fey doing her Sarah Palin impression from SNL,” Matthew laughed at you. He couldn’t stop smiling as he turned his attention to your friends who had no idea what monster they’d created tonight. “As my good colleague Sarah Palin just said, neither one of us asked to be here. So now, we’re teaming up to see if we really approve of this union or not. So, I repeat. Tessa, where are you from?”

The evening was filled with you and Matthew teaming up to flip the script on your friends. You grilled Noah, with Matt’s support, and you offered some direction to his probing questions for Tessa. They took in stride though and you realized somehow, some way beyond your understanding, Tessa had fallen into a good relationship for the first time since you knew her.

Just after making a two-bite dent into your incredible dessert, Tessa pulled you to the bathroom with her, the classic story of girls never being able to pee alone floating at the excuse. When you left the stall, you were greeted by Tessa, arms across her chest, one foot tapping on the ground, and wry smile on her face.

“So, things seem to be going well with Matthew,” she said with a smirk and a soft nod. “Figured it would be sink or swim but didn’t think it would go quite this.”

“Oh, shut up,” you groaned as you turned on the water for the sink to start scrubbing your hands, “we’re just being friendly.”

“Are you kidding me?” she practically shouts at you. “He literally has not taken his eyes off you once all night. He’s so into you!”

“Tess, stop,” you told her with a sigh as you shut off the water. You grabbed a couple of paper towels before spinning on your heels to face her. “Seriously, Tess, he’s not into me. We’re just getting along as friends, okay? Be happy this didn’t blow up in your face for the first time.”

“You cannot be serious right now,” Tessa whined. She reached for your arm as you tossed the paper towels away, pulling your attention back to her. She bounced on her heels a little and gave you the most frustrated look she could muster. “He is into you. Noah thinks so too. Just, can you just try? For me?”

“I don’t want a relationship, Tess,” you replied curtly. “Why can’t you just accept that?”

“He’s perfect for you!” Her frustration with you was growing with each word that she had to say as she tried to spell it out for you. “He’s your type. I know I nailed that one. I know you have to think he’s attractive, so you can’t lie to me. You have really similar senses of humor. He totally thinks you’re hot, which you are. Don’t you dare, that’s not up for debate. Come on, babes. Give Chucky a chance.”

“Chucky is a murderous doll,” you retorted, skipping over everything else she’d said. “Look, Tess, can’t you just be happy I might have made a friend tonight? That’s growth for me right there.”

“But he wants to be your special friend!” she insisted, bouncing on her heels again.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the image presented by her bouncing and her words. She was channeling herself at age six for sure, an age you didn’t know Tessa at, but from the stories her brothers and mother told you, you were kind of happy you didn’t know her at.

“Jesus, did you just say that?” you got out between laughs. You sighed as you pulled yourself together. It was time you both escaped the bathroom as the boys were bound to get suspicious soon. “Look, I’m just not really in the sort of place to put myself out there at all right now. If Matthew really does want this and he really does try, I’ll think about it for real, okay? Does that work for you?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes before saying, “I mean, no, it doesn’t because he would totally give you the good dick right here in this bathroom and probably buy you brunch tomorrow if you actually showed the tiniest bit of actual interest in him, but, it’s the best you’re going to give me, so it’s fine.”

Your desire to leave the bathroom and get back to your chocolate cake overwhelmed the desire to correct Tess. You pulled her back to the table with you, collapsing into your seat and immediately diving back into the dessert you’d been hearing call your name since you’d left the table five minutes ago.

“You’re murdering that cake,” Matthew noted. “It’s impressive, honestly. Where does the cake go?”

“Hopefully out my pores tomorrow in the stupid hot yoga class Tess is dragging me too,” you replied, halting another bite on its way to your mouth just to answer. “I wanted to watch Love is Blind and Too Hot to Handle as our new best friend activity for the month. Tessa wants to do hot yoga, so we’re doing hot yoga.”

“So, you’re the boyfriend in this relationship?” Matthew joked, gesturing between you.

You dropped your fork to your plate and reached for your almost empty drink instead before replying, “Gender roles are a completely unnecessary societal standard, Matthew, and they do not need to be enforced by heteronormative men who play an incredibly heteronormative sport. Who is the boyfriend and who is the girlfriend is unnecessarily gendered, especially considering I’m clearly the left chopstick and Tessa is the right. ”

Matthew’s nose scrunched up when he laughed, a sight you were quickly growing used to over the evening, maybe even starting to like. He shook his head softly at you as he took a sip from his glass.

“Says the girl who pitched to watch a bunch of trash Netflix dating reality shows that are all pretty heteronormative, right?” Matthew countered with a nod of his glass to you.

“Garbage is not heteronormative,” you replied. “Trash TV is just trash TV, Matthew. Don’t read too much into it. I still haven’t gotten to watch any of it though.”

“If you need someone to watch with, hit me up,” he told you. “I need an excuse to get drunk on a Wednesday night and sounds like it I would need to be incredibly drunk to watch any of that.”

“So, this Wednesday then?”

—————

Standing in front of Matthew’s apartment door with a wide variety from your favorite Chinese takeout place in one hand and a six-pack from your favorite local brewery five days later, you were beginning to regret the life choices that led you to this particular moment. You didn’t have much time for the regret to sink in though before Matthew opened the door.

“If there is something the resembles a dumpling in that bag, I will be your servant for the rest of your life,” was Matthew’s verbal greeting.

“You’re about to be my servant then, but it’ll be worth it. These are the best dumplings I’ve ever had,” you informed him as you pushed past him into his apartment to drop the bags and beer on the counter. You started pulling containers out of the bags as you continued, “I will say you should never Google this place. I’ve only ever ordered via Grubhub delivery before today. I did pick up and this place honestly looks like the architect was drunk and the builders forgot their glasses for the entire build and I’ve never been more horrified, but the dumplings are killer, so I’ve just decided to put it in a box and try to forget I ever saw where they originated.”

You heard a beer crack open beside you and Matthew’s large hand came into view as he set it in front of you. He was close to you, closer than you had thought he would be. You could feel his tall frame behind you, his loose t-shirt brushing against you as he set the beer by your hand. His arms brushed your softly, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Good brewery pick,” he complimented you, his lips near your ear as he spoke. “Also, if you give me food poisoning from your weird Chinese food place, I’m released from my servitude.”

“You know the word servitude?” you countered, trying to pull your mind out of the gutter it was sliding headfirst down with sarcasm and chirping him.

Matthew laughed lightly and shifted himself closer to you. He leaned into you, his chest gentling coming into contact with your back with each breath you took. His large hands gripped the edge of the counter on either side of you. He towered over you and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what it would feel like to let him bend you over this counter right here and now.

“Mm, I know a lot of things that might surprise you,” Matthew laughed in your ear.

He pulled back without warning and you released a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Matthew shifted over to the opposite side of the counter, grabbing a beer and popping it open on his journey. He didn’t say another word before turning on his heels and heading toward the couch. Your brows furrowed as thoughts began to swirl and bleed together in your mind. Was that just all in your mind or was that nothing that your mind turned into something? You didn’t have time for something like this. The fact that you’d found time to have dinner with Matthew within two weeks of meeting him astounding given your inconsistent hours and his season. No, you didn’t want him to be flirting with you, you decided, so he wasn’t. You came over looking for a friend, so that’s what you were here for, the only thing you were here for.

“Hope you can use chopsticks,” you told him as you sat an overly full plate of food in front of him a few minutes later.

“I play hockey. I wasn’t raised in a barn,” he threw back at you, a joking smile on his lips.

“Okay, okay,” you laughed with a roll of your eyes.

Matthew tossed the remote as you with his free hand as he brought a dumpling to his mouth with the other, dropping the entire thing into his mouth in one go. You watched his eyes go wide as he bit down for the first time. He looked at you in disbelief as he chewed.

“Holy fuck me,” he told you through a full mouth. “I want to marry whoever made this.”

“Now,” you open Netflix on his TV, “you get me, Tkachuk.”

Matthew had already shoved another one in his mouth by the time Netflix loaded the first episode. Matthew was in food heaven, shoving dumpling after dumpling into his mouth. You laughed a little as his stuffed cheeks. He looked like a curly-headed chipmunk and you told him just that as you grabbed another container of dumplings out of the bag on the counter. He almost chirped you back, but when you dropped a full container in his lap, the chirp died before it had even fully formed.

“I think you’ve ruined dumplings for me from everywhere else in the world. Also, is that guy hot? I feel like they’re just trying to convince us he’s hot when he’s not.”

You were amazed he was able to pay any attention to the show with the speed at which he was consuming food. It was equal parts impressive and disgusting.

“He’s alright,” you shrugged as you reached for your beer. “Not my type. You’d be better off asking Tessa.”

Something you’d said finally beat out the interest of the dumplings. Matthew dropped the container to the table and skewered a dumpling with his chopsticks in exchange for a beer and turning his attention to him. He raised an eyebrow at you before he spoke.

“A type, huh? I wouldn’t happened to fit that type, would I?”

He took a sip as he watched you roll your eyes at him. He chuckled a little against the edge of his bottle at your response.

“Why would you think you would?” you countered, barely pulling yourself together in time to say something within an acceptable response time.

Matthew shrugged casually before replying, “Noah asked me specifically to come the other night and after meeting Tessa, I have a hard time believing she let Noah pick whoever he wanted since that was definitely a set up and blah, blah, blah, so I’m definitely your type, right?”

“Mm,” you hummed as you took a sip of your beer to try and disguise the anxiety his question had brought on. “My type is definitely guys who are obsessed with trying to be my type. It’s so sexy how much you need my validation right now.”

Matthew’s head fell back as he laughed, curls shifting back in tandem. His mouth opened wide as he laughed a full belly laugh at your words. One of his hands came to his stomach as his laughs became breathier and he slowly brought himself back down.

“You’re something else,” Matthew mumbled through a smile, beer on its way back to his lips and soft shake of his head with his words.

“I’m a goddamn goddess and you know it,” was all you had to say to get him laughing again.

—————

“Let’s fucking go, Calgary!” Tessa screamed next to you out of the blue, jumping to her feet as she shouted, making you and several other people around you jump a little in their seats.

“Jesus,” you sighed. “Tess, can you take it down a notch or eighteen, please?”

“It’s the Battle of Alberta, baby!” she shouted in response, a wide drunken grin on her face as she retook her seat next to you with a flop.

The referee blew the whistle, stopping play, and you pulled your attention back to the game with a soft smile on your face. You looked down the ice to see someone wearing a red and black jersey tangled up with a white and blue one. You craned you’re neck to try and see who it was, your breath catching in your throat at the idea it as Matthew. Your eyes were flying back and forth between the ice and the screen, trying to see a number or part of name to figure out if it was him or not. Your racing thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the glass in front of you. You were greeted with a smile that was slowly becoming more and more familiar, just with a mouth guard hanging between his teeth, and some curls peeking out from under a helmet.

Matthew waved at you with two gloved hands, his light blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at you. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You were relieved he was standing in front of you, a goofy smile on his face, rather than down the ice in that fight. At least the linesman has managed to break it up by now. Matthew’s eyes broke contact from you to give you a once over. He pinched his jersey between his gloved fingers and his eyebrows furrowed down as he looked at you

“Where’s your jersey?” he shouted, though you had to read his lips to actually understand him

You just put your hands out next to you, palms up, and shrugged with a slight pout sticking out your bottom lip. You didn’t own any Flames gear of any kind, certainly not the Tkachuk jersey he was probably looking for. He shook his head at you and glared a little, just to get a small laugh out of you, before he turned his attention back to the game.

“Look at your guy!” Tessa said way too loudly for how tender she’d said it, hands stacked over her heart. “He likes you so much.”

“We are just friends,” you countered firmly, which made Tessa frown.

“He likes you! Aren’t you going over to his place after the game? You should make a move,” she nudged you in the ribs with her elbow.

“I’m picking up exactly four containers of dumplings and we’re watching exactly two episodes of Love is Blind because we’re going to finish up the episodes before they go on vacation with their new fiancés, okay?” you told her. “That’s not exactly a hot date. Besides, I don’t want to make a move. I like him, as a friend.”

“Okay, whatever,” Tessa rolled her eyes at you. “You keep denying that I set you up with a good one until you can’t anymore. Chucky is so smitten with you, he’ll probably wait for you for a ridiculously long time, like rom-com style long time, babes.”

—————

It was your new routine. Well, it wasn’t regular enough to really be a routine. Matthew would text you when he felt like he hadn’t seen you recently enough and demand you show up that same day with dumplings and your sparkling personality. You had tried to deny him, push him off a day or two due to work, but he might be the only person you’d ever met more stubborn that you were. Over garbage television shows and Chinese food, you’d made an actual friend out of him and despite Tessa’s insisting that both of you wanted more.

“Oh, suck it!” Tessa shouted as the Bruins pulled out a last-minute OT goal against Edmonton. She hated the Bruins, but you were pretty sure the only thing Tessa hated more than your insistence that you didn’t want to date Matthew was Edmonton.

You sighed, realizing you’d lost the bet you’d made with her, even though you picked that Edmonton would win to piss her off. She was shouting and jumping up and down, trying to rub her win in your face, but a text cropping up on your phone was pulling your attention.

Tkachuk: pls get five orders of dumplings and bring them right over

You: worked hard today huh?

Tkachuk: you know I fucking did. See you in 30?

You smiled softly, catching Tessa’s attention in the middle of her winning tirade.

“Is that Chucky?” She was already leaning over you, trying to get a glimpse of your phone screen. “Are you ditching me for him again this evening?”

You glared up at her and tilted your phone back, hiding the screen from her view. She stated to glare back, but then her face softened as the corners of her mouth started to pull up. You caught a mischievous glint in her eyes start to form she spoke.

“Hey, the bet was that I get to pick your outfit next time you go out, right?” Tessa asked hesitantly.

“I mean, yeah, but your face is scaring me a little bit here,” you replied, concern for yourself dripping off each word.

“And out could just mean when you go to see Chucky in a few minutes, right?” Her excitement was beginning to leak out, but you couldn’t understand why. “Because since you’re leaving, that’s going out, right?”

“I mean, I guess- Tess, what are you getting at here?”

Tessa didn’t reply. She ran out of the living room, cursing as she banged her elbow on the corner as she turned into the hallway. You heard some rustling in her room, followed by another curse, before she came bounding back into the living room. She tossed something red at you, a borderline evil smile on her face as she did so. You grabbed the red garment. As soon as your fingers touched it, you had an idea of what it was based on the fabric and you groaned as you flipped the garment in your hands. You were greeted with Tkachuk in large bold letters when you looked at the back of the jersey.

“I’m not wearing that to Matthew’s apartment,” you whined, letting the jersey fall into your lap.

“Ah, yes you are. You lost the bet. You wear what I let you to wear,” she told you, waving off your complaints. “Besides, Chucky gave it to Noah to give to me to make sure you wore it to next game anyway. We’re just getting you in it earlier than he had in mind, that’s all.”

You sighed as you stood up to head to your room where you exchanged your comfortable, worn in sweatshirt for the new, crisp jersey. When the red fabric finally hung off your body, you turned and let out a groan when you saw his last name on your back. You knew he wasn’t going to let you live it down the entire time you were with him, but Tessa’s wrath was worse than Matthew’s chirping would ever be.

Tessa was laughing as soon as she caught site of the red fabric, but you didn’t give her much time to feel satisfied with her handiwork. You grabbed your wallet, keys, and phone and headed out the front door. You paused as you sat in the driver’s seat of your car. Tessa had said Matthew wanted you to have the jersey to wear to the next game you went to, but why was he insistent enough to get Noah to give Tessa one of his jerseys? Why didn’t he just give it to you himself?

You tried to analyze the gesture as you waited in line at the restaurant. You’d taken to just coming in for pick up since you’d been unsuccessful in forgetting just how terrifying seeing this place for the first time was. You never called ahead anymore. You just showed up and the chef knew to start making dumplings for you. They were ready when you got to the counter to order, so you paid, grabbed your food, and returned to your car quickly. You decided the gesture was probably nothing, just Matthew being odd per usual, and tried to force the thought out of your mind as you drove over to his place.

The thought hung around as you parked in his spare parking spot. The parking pass had gone from being loaned out to every guest to living in your car after the fifth dumpling and trash television visit. He said you were his most regular visitor and he was tired of having to leave to put it in your car for you since you always argued that you’d brought him food, so it was the least he could do. Your mind was racing, trying to figure out if all of it added up to something, or if you were adding up things that didn’t really exist to get to an answer that definitely didn’t.

You only got one knock in before Matthew opened the door. He moaned when he saw the bag in your arms.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said, his eyes trained on the brown paper bag his hands were reaching for the entire time he spoke like a prayer had been answered.

You laughed at him and let him take the bag from your arms before following him inside. He dropped the bag on the counter and began grabbing containers and chopsticks while you kicked off your shoes. You let out a long sigh as you prepared yourself for the chirps that were bound to come when you took your coat off and the jersey was finally in his line of site. You chewed your bottom lip between your teeth as you spun around to face him.

Matthew was frozen in place, a partially opened to-go container on the counter in front of him and chopsticks about to be ripped apart in his hands. His eyes were trained on the flaming logo on the front.

“Tessa made me wear it,” you admitted quickly. “I lost a bet and she made me wear it.”

Matthew slowly put the chopsticks down and one of his hands came up to his mouth. His hand was on his chin, thumb crossing his lips as he shifted his weight to his other hand braced against the counter’s edge. His light eyes were darker than you were used to as they scanned up and down your body. They came to rest on the number partially visible on the shoulder. He moved his hand from his face to hovering in front of him with his index finger outstretched. Slowly, his index finger began to make small circles as he looked at you.

“Oh, you’re rubbing this in now,” you huffed, hands going to your hips.

Matthew just shook his head softly before he swallowed hard, then said one word, “Spin.”

You sighed, knowing he wanted the full picture for future ammunition, but you wouldn’t get to enjoy your food until you gave him what he asked you. You slowly let your feet shift across the floor, moving you in a gentle circle, giving Matthew a perfect view of his last name across your back. You closed your eyes as you reached the point in your circling where you’d have to see him again. You didn’t need to see the smug look on his face.

You heard Matthew sigh and you knew whatever he was about to say next was going to be brutal. Instead, all you heard was his feet shuffling quickly across the floor before you felt his hands on you, pressing you back against the nearest wall. Your eyes flung open when you made rough contact with the wall. Before you could fully process it, Matthew’s head dipped down and his mouth was on yours. You almost pulled back, but he was kissing you in a way that took your breath away. You couldn’t not fall into the moment with your palms coming to rest on his chest, but you needed some sort of explanation and you weren’t even sure if this was really what you wanted, so you pushed gently on his chest and he instantly separated from you.

“What the fuck?” you breathed out at him as you lifted your eyes to look at him.

He was towering over you, his arms boxing you in on either side of your head. His eyes were even darker than they had been and while you could usually read Matthew like open book, you couldn’t recognize the expression on his face.

“I can’t be your friend if you’re going to look this fucking good with my last name on your back,” he told you. His words were so matter of fact, as if it was the most obvious thing the world. “You have absolutely no idea how bad I want you right now.”

“Matthew,” you said between deep breaths, “I don’t know.”

“You know,” he said, his baby blue eyes locking your gaze on him. “You know you know. You’ve known since that first dinner. Tessa knew too. Hell, even Noah knew, and you know how fucking thick he is. We’re not supposed to be just friends. You,” he sucked in a breath through his teeth when he broke eye contact to look down at the jersey while balling some of the red fabric in his hands, “you are too perfect for me to be my friend. God, it’s like someone took everything I ever wanted and put it all in one perfect, stupidly sexy girl, except that someone made her fucking oblivious to her own feelings.”

Matthew let out a soft laugh and shook his head as he released the fabric from his hands. His eyes rolled up to lock with yours again.

“You can’t stand her and tell me that kiss wasn’t different,” he continued. “stop being so fucking thick for two seconds and you’ll really feel it. I know you feel it. Because if somehow, I feel this goddamn strongly about someone, and they don’t feel a single ounce of something for me, then I must have really fucked up in my past life and deserve to have the perfect girl right between my fingers and feel her break my heart instead. Like, fuck, you know this is different, that this is something that stupid kinds of special. Just let yourself feel it. Let me in, baby. I’m right here. You’re not gonna fall. Nothing is going to break. I’m right here. I’ve got you, if you want me to.”

Matthew was wrong. You felt the walls you built to keep you from having to put yourself out there, from having to risk anything, start to crack under Matthew’s gaze. His eyes started bouncing from feature to feature on your face, trying to figure out what was going on in your mind since you hadn’t said a word yet. When his baby blues met yours again, the walls broke, and you felt everything. You felt everything he said and somehow, so much more. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked his mouth down to yours. He kissed you back instantly, his hands reaching down to the backs of your thighs to pull you up to his height. Your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands moved to your torso, yanking at his new favorite piece of clothing you owned to get under it and feel your skin under his palms.

You broke the kiss to breathe. His mouth moved to your neck as you tangled your fingers in his curls.

“I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to wear this while I do it,” Matthew breathed out against your neck with a faint tug of the jersey, “if that’s alright with you.”

“Little aggressive,” you told him with a tug of his curls. Matthew pulled you away from the wall, switching to support your weight so he could start walking you towards his room.

“Oh, shut up, would you?” Matthew laughed against your skin. “If you actually have objections, fine, but the peanut gallery is closed for anything other than curse words and my name for the next few hours, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Tkachuk.”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl writing #hockey imagine #hockey writing #hockey fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

spideyanakin · 3 years

Text

Dead Poets Society (Chapter 1)

Tom Holland x reader

Synopsis - 1959, your grandfather being the headmaster of Welton Academy - an all boys Boarding School, wanted you close to him after your parents death. Forcing you to join beyond any rules to be a student there. Despite strict rules you still fell in love with one. But Tom seems to be loosing the will to live when his strict family forces their wishes on him. Can one amazing teacher change your lives forever?

Series Masterlist 🍓

Normal Masterlist🧚🏼‍♀️

Chapter 1 - A poem

September 1

And another boring year...

You thought to yourself as your chauffeur parked in the school’s courtyard.

You looked at the great red brick buildings with little peaks that almost made it look like a castle and let out a short sigh. It didn’t feel like home - but it was what it was forced to feel like it.

“Ah, Headmaster!” One of your grandfather's favorite teachers greeted as you dragged your suitcase along the pavement floor and up the steps.

“And how have you been Y/n?” He turned to you as you waited for your chauffeur to open the door.

“I’m doing great, thank you.” You nodded as he gave you a smile, and you could see in his eyes that he still wasn’t use to having a girl in the school and hated the idea.

Honestly, you didn’t mind being in an all-boys school. You had your group of friends - god bless you were at least allowed to talk to a boy.

Life at Welton wasn’t bad -you just wished it was a little less boring.

Everything went by as usual. Like every September 1, you unpacked your things, changed into your special assembly uniform; the same as everyone, it was shocking your grandfather let you wear pants. Maybe he agreed with you because he thought skirts might be too distracting? You didn’t know but you were happy with it. You dressed like a guy and you liked it, it made you feel like you were truly a part of the school.

Next was the classic 2-hour lecture from the teacher council about your specific rules considering you were a girl in an all-boys school. The same thing you heard every year; no being alone with a boy in a class or dorm. Never enter a boy’s dorm. Don’t come too close. No touching. The basics of your life at Welton.

After that, you’d sneak into the kitchen for a snack and head to the start of the year assembly.

“So!” You made an entrance into the boy's corridor, seeing the mass of boys walking back and forth between rooms and earning a look from the occasional parent who accompanied them on their first day. “How were your summers?” you leaned on a doorway of a room filled with your best friends.

“Summer was good.” Tom gave you a smile before returning his stare back to unpacking his things. Your stare lingered on him for a second.

He looked godly in his Welton uniform, little badges and pins of honor hooked to his collar. His chocolate curls were falling perfectly to frame his face. He looked like God had carved him himself.

"It’s a shame Tuwaine left." You sighed.

"Yeah" Paddy; a boy with curly red hair, glasses, and freckles all over his face replied.

Harry who was engaged in a conversation with your other friend Sam smirked when he noticed the way you were staring at Tom. Harry cleared his throat and crossed his arms together. “Mine went well, how bout you, Sam?" He turned to the third boy in the room.

Sam had curly almost red hair that was slipped back - the same uniform as everyone else with pins on his collar; just like the ones you, Tom, Paddy and Harry had. When you looked at Harry and Sam next to each other, you could bet they almost looked like they were brothers. The same face shape, noses almost the same, and matching brown eyes.

“Mine went well.” Sam stretched back onto his chair.

“Mine as well.” Paddy nodded.

“Hey have you guys seen the new kid? Seems a little stuck up.” Another redhead came by the door and as if on cue the new kid in question walked into Tom’s room, joining the party.

“Oh shut up.” you shoved Cameron’s shoulder as he left. Your stare turned back to the new boy.

“Don’t listen to Cameron.” You and Tom said in unison, sharing a smile when you did.

“They’re right. Don’t listen to him.” Harry patted his shoulder and sat back on Tom’s bed.

"He’s an ass" Paddy chimed in.

“I’ll remember that.” He gave the lot of boys a shy smile before his eyes drifted back to you. His cheeks turned red and he brought his stare back to his suitcase. “I’m still surprised there’s a girl in the school.” He lightly chuckled.

“Yeah, I don’t know what I’m doing here either.” You laughed back. “Welcome, I’m Y/n” you nodded and met his blue eyes. “I would shake your hand but I’m not allowed to touch boys. Headmasters orders. And shoving Cameron doesn’t count.” You smirked.

“And that’s why we love her!” Harry pointed out, slightly raising his voice. Everyone clapped at Harry’s words.

“I’m Harrison.” He nodded back. “Harrison Osterfield”

“It's nice to meet you, Harrison.”

You suddenly felt someone creep behind you and that someone knocked on the already opened door. You looked up to see who it was and met the face of Tom’s father.

He turned to you and eyed you with angry eyes like you had nothing to do here. Or have no right to come near his son in general.

“Father! I thought you left?” Tom looked surprised and your eyebrows went into a frown at his mere presence.

“Tom, I have just spoken with Mr. L/n” Your face twisted at the mention of your grandfather, “I think you’re taking too many extracurricular activities.” You felt your blood starting to boil. Tom was your best friend, and you knew how much pressure his father was putting on him. Puppeteering him into doing everything as he wished, never listening to a thing Tom had to say about his life. He had no say in his life and it made you sick. “I think you should drop the school annual.” The man concluded.

“But I’m the assistant editor this year,” Tom explained and you eyed Harry who was looking at you with a knowing glance.

“Well, I’m sorry.” His father’s voice seemed lifeless and it made your skin crawl.

“Father I can’t, it wouldn’t be fair!”

“Fellas, could you excuse us for a moment?” Tom’s dad walked out of the room, almost bumping into you as you did.

Tom gave you a tight smile and you looked awkwardly between him and his dad. “I’m not allowed in dorms.” You pointed shuffling on your feet, disappearing in the next hallway.

You felt sick to your stomach. You glued yourself to the wall and listened to the conversation. The boys did too from his dorm. When his father was finally gone, you went back into the main hallway and eyed the boys who all came to circle Tom.

“Why doesn’t he let you do what you want?” you frowned.

“You just should tell him off Tom,” Sam added.

“Oh, that’s rich. Like you guys tell your parents of?” His eyes seemed glossy and it didn’t help the frown you were making. “Mr. Future lawyer, and Mr future Banker.” He eyed Sam and Harry.

“What are you going to do..?” You mumbled.

“Drop the annual.” He turned to you with sad eyes. Ones that made you want to let him melt in your arms and tell him everything would be ok. "It’s not like I care about this stuff anyway" he mumbled before walking away.

“He’s not going to get away with this.” You huffed and turned on your heels starting to walk away for yourself.

“Where are you going?”

“Diner.”

September 2

“Do you know who the new teacher is?” Sam whispered to you as you walked down the hall towards English. You shook your head no.

“Something Keating I think,” Tom answered.

You looked at him carefully. After a good night sleep and an entire morning, you had concluded that you shouldn’t confront Mr. Holland just yet. Or at least not set Tom to do it yet. You had to think of a plan first.

You sat in your usual seat - top left corner of the class. ‘The best spot without distractions’ as your grandfather would say. You turned around when the teacher wasn’t there and started talking with Harry, Sam, and Tom who sat on the three seats around you. You smiled at Harrison who sat a seat behind and he took it as his cue to lean in so he could join the conversation.

But before a word could be shared - the teacher came out of his office, whistling.

You turned around and watched the new face as he took slow steps towards his desk, passed around it, and walked down the aisle towards the door. Everyone carefully eyed his every move.

“Well come on.” The teacher waved and everyone looked at each other - but you didn’t wait, you followed orders with a happy smile; happy you were going to leave this dusty classroom.

You all walked down a staircase until you arrived in a room filled with trophy cases and old annual photos. You all awkwardly stood as a group and stared at the teacher.

Mr.Keating cleared his throat. “O, Captain! My captain!” He scanned the class. “Who knows where that comes from?” Everyone was silent. You looked around before speaking up.

“Walt Whitman Sir. Poem about Abraham Lincoln.”

“Very good.” He nodded. “You must be miss L/n?”

“Yes sir.”

“In this class, you can either call me Mr. Keating.” He looked at you. “Or if you’re slightly more daring, O captain my captain.” Some students chuckled but you straightened your back and answered.

“Alright, O Captain, my captain.”

“See, now she’ll be getting top grades” He pointed at you with a smile.

“Now, let me dispel a few rumors” Mr. Keating started telling his own story, about his life at Welton back when he was your age, and you found every word fascinating.

You all admired him in silence as he started the class in a rather unusual way. You opened your book when he asked one of the students to read a poem. Chuckling when the teacher would come up with clever ways of answering arrogant students.

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. The Latin word for that sentiment is Carpe Diem. Anyone knows what that means?”

“Seize the day.” Sam nodded.

“Very good” He nodded and walked around the space. “Seize the day.” Mr.Keating repeated. “Why did the writer use these lines?”

“Because he’s in a hurry,” Harry answered from the back of the group.

“No. DING!” He slammed his hand in the air as if he was ringing a bell. “Thanks for playing anyway.” You looked at Harry and grinned, raising impressed eyebrows. “Because we are food for worms. Believe it or not each one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold and die.”

“Now that’s joyful,” Sam whispered to you and Tom making the both of you crack a smile.

“I want you to take a look at all these young men. They were just like you once.” The whole class started looking at the old yearbook photos that hung on the wall. “Some of you might even think their lives ended up being boring. And that’s why I want to teach you - Carpe Diem” He smiled. “Make your lives extraordinary.”

“That was amazing.” You gushed as you and the boys walked down the corridor just as you were out of English.

“I found it creepy.” Sam frowned. “Do you think he’ll test us on that stuff?”

“Don't you get anything Sam?" You shook your head and laughed. "I can’t wait to have more of his classes. Changes from boring teachers.” You smirked. “Well, I’ll see you boys around.” You waved your hand before starting to part ways.

“Wait! Study group tonight?” Paddy questioned before you could take a step forward.

“Sure.”

“Oh, I can’t.” Sam chimed in. “I have to have diner at the Danburry’s house tonight.”

“The Danburrys?” Tom questioned.

“Friends of my dad.” He huffed. “They’re probably in their 90′s or something.” He rolled his eyes.

“Alright. Well, I'll see you two in classic civ.” You nodded before heading towards French history - the one class you didn’t have with them.

September 3

“Mr. Holland, could you read the opening paragraph of the preface entitled ‘understanding poetry’ ?”

As Tom started reading, Mr.Keating drew something on the board and you carefully watched - thinking about how total bullshit what Tom was reading was.

Something about scientifically rating poetry using a graph. Why were you even learning this? Wasn’t art about your own point of view? Not about some stupid rating with how well the poet’s written their lines.

You sighed and leaned in onto your palm as you dozed off, listening to Tom's voice but not the words. You had such high hopes for this teacher... You started blaming the education system.

“Excrement,” The teacher said once Tom was finished, catching your attention. “That’s how I feel about this theory. We're not laying pipe - were talking about poetry.” You smiled when you realized where he was going with his point. "Now I want you to rip out of that page.” He bounced on his heels in anticipation. “Go on. Rip out the entire page.”

When the class all looked at him with blank eyes he said it again. “You heard me, rip it out. Rip it out!” You smirked before ripping out the page, the sound echoing through the classroom.

“Thank you Mrs. L/n.” Everyone looked at you like you were crazy but you kept a proud smile on your face.

“Tell you what, don’t just rip out that page tare out the entire introduction! I want it gone, history! Leave nothing of it! Rip it out! I want to hear nothing but ripping!” The class echoed with laughter and the sound of paper ripping. “It’s not the bible - you’re not going to go to go to hell for this.”

“Now in my class, you will learn to think for yourselves! You will learn to love and savor language! No matter what anyone says words and ideas can change the world.” He continued. The second you heard that sentence you looked at Tom with a knowing look.

“See think for yourself, Tom!” You almost screamed as you were walking towards the yard. "Do things of your own free will!”

“Easy for you to say.” He shook his head. “Your grandfather agrees to everything you ask him.”

“That’s not true he’s strict on me too.” you pointed out “I just make him hear what I have to say. Give him a piece of my mind. No matter what anyone says words and ideas can change the world, Tom.” You smirked.

“Oh no - I don’t like this.” Tom turned to Sam. “She’s turning into First Mate.”

"Don't listen to him." You shoved Tom's shoulder. “How was your dinner, by the way, Sam?” Suddenly he had a dreamy look in his eyes.

“Amazing.” He gushed and bit his lip. “I met the most wonderful girl to ever walk to earth.”

“Really?”

“LOOK WHAT I FOUND!” Harry ran in almost bumping into you. "LOOK, LOOK, LOOK!"

“What is that?”

“Keating’s old annual! Look!” He handed it to you. Sam and Tom read over your shoulder.

“No way!” You smiled as you saw a picture of him with acne, a baby face, and braces.

“What’s the Dead Poets Society?” Tom wondered out loud.

“HEY MR.KEATING!” As if on cue he was walking by. “SIR.” Harry kept calling but no reply.

“Are you dumb or what?" You turned to Harry. “O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN.” At your words, the teacher turned in his steps with a smile and walked towards you. “We were just looking in your old annual.” You turned the book around and handed it to him.

“Oh my god.” He chuckled as he took the book, chuckling to himself. "Oh wow."

“What’s the Dead Poets Society?”

“I don't think your grandfather and the present administration would look too favorably upon that.” he laughed to himself.

“Why? What was it?” Tom wondered.

“Can you keep a secret?” You all leaned in to listen.

“The Dead Poets were dedicated to sucking the marrow out of life. We would gather at the old Indian cave and take turns reading from the best poets. Even some of our own verses. And in the moment we’d let poetry work its magic. We were romantics, we wouldn’t just read poetry, we let it drip from our tongues like honey. Spirits moved, gods were created - not a bad way to spend an evening eh?”

“Sounds fascinated.” You sighed in admiration. Mr. Keating smiled asking you to burn his picture before walking away, whistling the same tune as the first day of class.

“Dead Poets Society.” You mumbled. “I say we go tonight.” You stated and looked around the boys. “Everyone with me?”

“Yeah 100%.” Tom grinned.

“Wait a minute where’s this cave he’s talking about?”

“It’s beyond the stream I know where it is.” Tom nodded, eager to try this.

“I’m in.” Harry nodded and placed his hand in the middle. You and Tom did too. Paddy nodded before placing his hand in the center as well, leaving an unsure Sam and Harrison.

“What if we get caught?” Sam turned to you.

“We won’t” You shook your head. “C’mon it will help you get your girl.”

“How?” Suddenly you got his attention.

“Poetry.” You wiggled your eyebrows.

“Alright, you win.” he rolled his eyes before placing his hand in the center.

Everyone’s stare shifted to Harrison.

“I don’t do poetry.” He shook his head.

“C’MON!” Everyone whined and with a smile of disbelief he put his hand in the center too.

September 4

“Are we going back today?” Harry wondered as he looked at the forest ahead.

Last night had probably been the most fun you all had since forever and neither of you wanted to miss a single second of The Dead Poets Society. You had spent the night chanting, and reciting the most beautiful verses, even coming up with your own just like Keating had said. It was thrilling and you all loved it. It finally felt like living. Truly living.

“I think yea. Like last night, around 11″ Paddy nodded.

“Sounds good.”

“I think I’m in love.” Tom blurt out as he looked at you in the distance. Turning his stare to Harry.

“Bout’ time you admit it.” Sam scoffed.

“You don’t understand.” Tom shook his head. “I’ve always liked her, even loved her. But I think everything shifted since Mr.Keating arrived” Tom sighed with a smile as he looked at you and all the boys raised an eyebrow. “It’s a side of her we’ve never seen. She was born for the words Carpe Diem. She’s not scared of seizing the day. She never was, we've just never seen it before.”

“I agree.” Sam nodded along. “She’s the best girl out there - she even tops Chris in my opinion. I would 100% marry her if I wasn’t already in love with Chris.”

“Hey!” Tom punched his shoulder.

“Sorry, Tom but it’s true.” Paddy agreed. “and you know it very well. She’s the best girl in the world. She doesn’t care about gossip or all the weird evil stuff girls do. She’s not scared to jump in the mud when we play rugby - She’s not even scared to play with us!” He chuckled making everyone nod.

“I say Carpe Diem.” Harry stretched his arms and laid back on the grass. “You don’t meet a girl like that everywhere.” He pointed out. “Especially one that likes you back.”

“How do you know she likes me back?” Tom looked at his nails.

“It’s obvious.” Sam shrugged.

“It really is.” Harrison’s stare shifted to you.

You were talking with Mr. Keating. Wearing the usual uniform. Yours was always clean compared to the boys. The jacket was obviously borrowed from Tom - obvious to the boys at least. You knew the teachers wouldn’t notice. Your hair was loose and small curls fell on your forehead. You had your hands in your pockets as you nodded to something. Tom sighed when he looked at you.

“Alright. Carpe Diem.” He punched the grass and took out a piece of paper from his bag accompanied by a quill. He scribbled faster than his hand could process and in a matter of minutes he had a poem - one with everything that had been stuck inside him. Everything he dreamed of telling you.

“Here.” He chewed his bottom lip as he handed it around the circle. Each of them carefully read it - and each of them were stunned with the words on the page.

“She’s going to love it.” Harry shook his head in approval.

“It’s beautiful.” Harrison agreed and Sam gave Tom a pat on the back.

“Hey boys.” you smiled as you walked towards them and sat on an opening around the circle. “What’s this?” You raised an eyebrow when you spotted the piece of paper that had been passed around.

“Nothing.” Harry shook his head and handed it back to Tom who felt his cheeks warm up.

“Just something I wrote.” Tom shook his head and looked away, tucking the paper back in his bag.

“Well, then if you’ve written it, it’s a tragedy I don’t get to read it.” You sighed.

“You’ll get to read some of my other works.” He smiled.

“Good.” You smiled back - a smile that made Tom melt on the spot.

When you looked away, Tom handed it to Sam who handed it to Paddy who was sitting next to you, and sneaked the paper in your bag.

That afternoon went by faster than lighting. After English classes with Mr.Keating, and dreaded trigonometry you were happy when you got to sit on your desk and work on a project Mr.Keating had set you.

You sighed as you rested your back against your desk chair. You looked up at the clock and bounced your leg in anticipation when it still wasn’t time to run to the cave and start tonight’s meeting.

You looked around your desk, deciding what you were going to work on next. You slipped some of your books out of your bag and a note fell on the floor.

You raised an eyebrow.

You recognized the note from earlier in the afternoon, It was the one Tom had apparently written and all the boys had gotten to read.

You opened it to reveal a few lines in Tom’s handwriting.

To the one who took my heart,

I have loved you ever since I saw you,

as my love for you is as boundless as is It true.

Heaven is where you and I kiss each other,

So if you want to take it further,

and make end to my silent suffer.

I will be yours forever,

Dead Poet’s Honor,

Carpe Diem.

- T

Ps: I love you.

You folded the letter. A huge blush creeping on your cheeks. You couldn’t help the smile that was creeping on your lips. Your heart was pounding and you decided that thinking of an answer for tonight was better than sitting around and doing trigonometry work.

When it was finally time you grabbed your boots and coat, jumping out the window, and running in the grass towards the forest and along the stream. You kept the poem firmly in your hand, holding it to your heart as it beated faster than lighting.

After dodging some branches and almost slipping you finally arrived at the old Indian cave, glad you remembered where it was.

It looked exactly like it did yesterday. The same wet hole, decorated with rocks on all sides. An opening in the middle where the moonlight shined exactly in the center. And the same five goofballs that sat with you yesterday.

Tom stood in the middle the big poetry book that was dedicated to the Dead Poets in hand, waiting for you to start the meeting. You locked eyes with him and he saw the paper in your hand, becoming a blushing mess when he saw it.

The look in your eyes said everything.

You jumped into his arms, Tom dropping the book to hold you. You crashed your lips to his, kissing him like your life depended on it. He took a step back in surprise, taking a second to realize what was happening.

When he did, he finally let himself melt into the kiss - kissing you back with everything in him.

“WOOOOOOOO FIINALLY!” the cave echoed with claps, and chants, making you smile into the kiss.

“I love you too.” You mumbled as you pulled away tightly holding him by the shirt.

“I might have taken your heart but you shot me with your honey like darts.” You recited, answering every line of his poem. The boys grinned and kept cheering as they realized what you're doing.

“As I return that boundless love that makes my heart flutter,

Heaven is where you and I kiss each other” You smiled and looked into his eyes, quickly getting lost in them.

“So let’s take it further,

and end our silent suffer.

Because I will be yours forever.

Dead Poets Honor.” Tom smiled at your words taking your face in his hands to bring you into a kiss.

“CARPE DIEM BOYS!” You screamed punching the air joining on the multiple chants that the boys were making. You slipped out of Tom’s grip and turned around with open arms "Let’s start this meeting shall we?”

Maybe this year wasn’t going to be so boring after all.

Taglist - @justifymyfeelings @slytherinambitious @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes @criminaly-supernatural @trustfundparker @tomhollandreads @prettysbliss @ksmy-99 @bi-lmg @nerdy-collector-festival @lovely-blackinnon @hunnybunimdun

#Tom Holland x reader #Tom Holland imagine #Tom Holland x you #Tom Holland x y/n #Tom Holland #Peter Parker x reader #Peter parker #Peter Parker x you #dead poets society fan fiction #dead poets society #dps au #dps #Peter Parker imagine #imagine #marvel #spider man #spider man x reader

60 notes · View notes

alittleimagine · 3 years

Text

just a favor pt. 1

derek hale x reader

prologue

Derek looked tense. You understood why- it wasn’t every day a person brought a fake significant other for a holiday dinner with their parents- but, it simply wouldn’t do.

You had this. You were going to be the best fake girlfriend the Hales had ever seen. Hell, if Derek’s purported terrible taste in women was true then you were likely to be the best girlfriend they’d ever seen fake or otherwise.

Now you just had to make Derek believe it.

You jotted down ‘basketball fans’ in your notebook and tapped the pen to your lips. “We should probably discuss any pet names.” You said. Your natural inclination was to watch him until his ears turned pink again, but he already looked ready to lose it at any moment and that was the opposite of your goal this time around. Instead, you kept your eyes on your paper, even if you watched him from the periphery.

When you’d met with him days ago to start getting details together it was obvious he had no idea what he was doing. That was fine, you had plenty of experience with fanfiction and Hallmark movies.

From the corner of your eye you could see Derek glance your way. He didn’t look alarmed, per se, but he was far from relaxed.

“Pet names?”

“Yeah. You know- honey, babe, snookums?” There was no way in hell you would ever seriously call Derek snookums, but if calling him things like Sugar Butt or Honey Bunches made his ears turn that pretty shade of pink you would have some fun with it. “If we’re going to use any kind of nickname we want to get in the habit so it sounds normal and not weird.”

You angled yourself toward him, dropping the pretense of reading the same five lines on your notebook.

He furrowed his brow, looking deep in thought. “I don’t know. Jennifer hated pet names.”

Jennifer. Hated enough that even sweet Kira had ranted and raved for weeks after she dumped Derek. If this was going to work, you thought, he could not talk about her.

“Okay. New rule number one. If you want your family to believe you are over your heinous ex, it’s best not to mention her.” You said. “As far as you’re concerned any mention of Jennifer should prompt a ‘Jennifer who?’ in your mind. New girlfriends don’t like the mention of old girlfriends.”

He winced. “You’re right.”

“Also, screw whatever Jennifer liked or didn’t like. I’m asking

Derek Hale, what you’re comfortable with.”

For a moment he said nothing, then nodded resolutely. There was the slightest loosening of his shoulders and you smiled to yourself.

“You can call me whatever. Except snookums.” He added in a rush.

You snorted.

“I don’t know what I’ll call you though. It might just be Y/N.”

“That’s fine. Go with whatever feels normal. I’m probably going to call you babe. Or Derek. Or D- you can blame Stiles for that one. Who knows.” You shrugged. Without thinking about it, you wrote ‘babe’ onto a separate line of the notebook.

“Are you really taking notes?” The car slowed as you pulled up to a light and Derek took the opportunity to look over at the little blue and gold journal you’d been fiddling with for most of the car ride.

“Not quite,” you said, unsure how to properly explain it, “I’m never going to review the notes or study them. But, jotting things down just helps me organize my thoughts and remember things. We’re planning a classic fake dating holiday shenanigan here- you want me on my A-game.”

“I can’t believe you even agreed to this.” He muttered as he started driving again.

Malia and Kira had not been surprised at all when you’d told them. Kira had spit out her apple cider when you barged into the coffee shop you’d planned to meet them at and declared that you were now dating Malia’s cousin (Kira never failed to give you a good reaction), but after hearing the rest there had only been knowing nods.

When you’d moved to Beacon Hills Derek had been almost a year into the ill-fated relationship with Jennifer. You’d been introduced to both of them at the same time by Stiles and Jennifer had seemed like a perfectly friendly person, but the face Stiles made when they turned their backs had been plenty indication that she was not the most well-loved.

You never spent any time with Jennifer directly. As you began to fold more and more into the close circle of friends you noted that she never went to movie night and she never joined the girls for sushi. Lydia had insisted that they’d tried to be nice and include her in the beginning, but that hadn’t lasted long.

“There was pretty much zero chance I would turn this down.”

The truth was Derek was a babe and so much your type it was almost painful, but you’d always assumed he didn’t like you very much. When he’d asked you to fake date him you’d figured either he didn’t dislike you as much as you’d thought or he was really desperate. Either way, you couldn’t say no.

“Because you’re a little crazy?”

You flicked his arm with your pen. “Never mind, rule number one is don’t ever call your girlfriend crazy. Don’t call any woman crazy just to be safe.” You said.

“Noted.” He looked like he was trying not to smile and that was reassuring. “But, really, why would you say yes to a Thanksgiving pretending you’re my girlfriend in front of mostly strangers?”

You shrugged. “How often does an opportunity like that come up?” He didn’t need to know that you wanted to become friends and that it wasn’t hard to pretend to be head over heels for him. “Besides, you looked really desperate. Who was your next option? Stiles in a dress?”

The image flashed in your head the moment you said it.

“I should have said no. That would have been hilarious.”

“If you’d said no I would have had to fake some terrible accident.”

You snorted. “And they say I’m dramatic.” You tapped your pen to the paper and wracked your brain for anything you might have missed. “Okay, let’s walk through it.” You said as you turned in the car seat to face him.

“Kira and Malia will arrive tomorrow morning, and they are prepared with our basic story. Which is as simple as possible. The more detail you give unprompted, the easier it is to spot a lie. I got to town, thought you were way hot,” Derek flushed and you added another mark to your mental tally, “but you were with Jennifer. You guys broke up, you got over it, we were hanging out with everyone else, you realized I am also way hot, we got together. Simple.”

Derek, blush slowly fading, nodded again. “And if they ask for details we tell them about running into each other a couple of times on our own. At the pizza place first. Then the coffee shop the next time. And talked.” He said it like he was still trying to memorize every detail.

“I kissed you first. And tada, we’ve been together since then.”

You’d kept it all simple and common on purpose. No one questioned such an every-day story. Both of Derek’s sisters had been to Beacon Hills to visit him since you’d moved to town so there were restrictions to keep in mind as well.

A thought struck you. “Hey, pull over into the next gas station.”

Derek glanced at you quickly. “You need something?” He asked, already flicking the turn signal on.

“Park to the side.” You said, then waited until he’d pulled all the way into a parking spot to unbuckle your seatbelt. You looked at him very seriously.

The crease in his brow deepened. “Is everything okay?” Hesitantly he turned his body to face you.

“We need to kiss.”

“What?” Forget his ears and neck, you were sure Derek was red to the tips of his toes. He gaped at you and looked around the car once as though some invisible passenger had more information.

“Relax. Breathe.” You had discussed physical contact days ago. He knew to expect casual touching from you and cheek kisses were a given. He knew that there was a chance you’d have to kiss-kiss because, as you’d said, ‘assuming we won’t is a surefire way to have a kiss demanded’. “I’m not talking making out, heavy tongue action, getting steamy in the 7-11 parking lot.”

He ran a hand over his face.

“But, chances are the occasion for us to kiss will come up. I don’t know about you but I don’t typically make out in front of my mom, but kissing on the lips seems pretty standard.” When he nodded you went on. “So we should probably not have the first time we kiss be at that awkward moment. No one will believe us if we can’t even find each other’s lips.”

Derek leaned his head back against the seat and took a deep breath. “You’re right.” He said.

“I know. I usually am.”

He rolled his eyes but it seemed like the casual arrogance was doing something to relax him. He sat up straight and turned to you again. “Let’s do this then.”

You adjusted in the seat, folding a leg under you and leaning forward. You expected Derek to be hesitant like he’d been about every other step of the way, but he seemed resolute when he reached forward to wrap his hand around the base of your skull and pull you in.

The kiss was chaste- nothing but a warm press of his lips to yours, but the heat of his hand against your neck was extremely distracting.

You pulled back first, schooling your expression into something you hoped read amused and not like you wanted to give that another shot.

Derek quickly sat back into his seat. His face gave nothing away, but you thought you could see pink crawling up his neck.

The place where his hand had been only a moment ago now felt cold. Unconsciously your hand moved to cover the spot while you leaned back in your seat and buckled up. “There.” You said. Your voice was steady and casual. “Now that that’s done, we can keep going.”

Derek cleared his throat and glanced your way before he buckled his seatbelt and pulled out of the parking spot.

There was a tension in the car that you hadn’t felt before the practice kiss. It could not be allowed to continue.

You reached down to pick your notebook back up. You clicked the pen open and tapped it against your bottom lip. “So, let’s be honest, which of your sisters is going to want to embarass you most?”

Derek groaned.

#derek hale x reader #derek hale imagine #derek hale #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #derek hale x you

177 notes · View notes

daydream-believin · 3 years

Text

Flowers Have Feelings

summary: it's valentines and you're making some gifts for your good pal douxie,,, also confessing

warnings: swearing probably, no proofread cause tired

word count: 2659

a/n: i've been struggling with writers block. i guess. i've returned to this only to write like, a paragraph so many times. which is bad cause like cheese designed the bouqeut and this should have been done ages ago. idk idk bon appetit

tags: @yagirlcheesely, is for you

image below: sketch of the bouquet

You jumped out of bed and slammed your alarm. Today was the day. You had to get everything ready today. Tonight would be the presentation. The night you finally do it. The night you confessed to your closest friend and crush, Douxie. Also happened to be Valentine’s day.

Your friends may have told you: “Just be patient. Drop hints. If he likes you, he’ll let you know.” But you weren’t about that passive love life. You liked to grab that strawberry cow by the horns. Subtly was boring and took far too long. You were in love with your friend and you were gonna let him know frankly if it killed you. It probably would, to be honest.

As confident as this makes you sound, you were aware of the possibility of him not liking you back, and that was okay. Sure, your heart would be shattered and you might not be very peachy for, say, a month or six, but you accepted that. At first, you had resigned yourself to just adoring him secretly. But you quickly grew impatient with that. What were you afraid of, really? Him letting you down gently, and ushering you two into an era of awkwardness? Okay so maybe that was worth considering. But not really. You wouldn’t let it come to that. Even if he did turn you down, you weren’t about to let that fact taint your friendship like that. You two were very close, and Douxie wasn’t the kind of guy to suddenly treat you differently after such a thing. Just a few weeks of awkwardness at most before all was forgotten (on his end at least). Only a problem for you. But, boy, it would be really, really nice, and not awkward, if he reciprocated.

You and Douxie were thick as thieves. There wasn’t a thing you hadn’t told each other. Not a secret between a pair of buddies as close as you. Oh, one thing, you know. The fact that you had caught feelings, that was definitely something you had kept secret from him. As eager as you were to do so, you couldn’t just drop a bombshell like that at any old time. That’s why you chose today of all days to confess; a little extra luck from St. Valentine. A little magic to give you a boost, placebo or not. This was going to happen. This was going to work.

You strapped on your helmet, safety first, before heading out on your bike. You cleared your schedule for the day cause you weren’t really sure if everything would work out or not. You could have everything done and ended wrapped up neatly in a few hours, or you could have a complete disaster on your hands, which could take up all your time. Time you would happily give, since you were determined for everything to be perfect. It was also nice to know you didn’t have to come in to work later,, lest you spend the whole night, crying your eyes out. You shuddered at the possibility. You were gonna stop thinking about that now. Yeah, only confidence now.

You may be a teensy bit sleep deprived. Only a teensy bit. You chugged a monster this morning, you’ll be fine. It wasn’t your fault you were up all night researching flower language. There were so many flowers, and those flowers had so many feelings. Eventually though, you managed to settle on a bouquet of roses, daisies, and dandelions. Fern leaves for greenery too. Greenery was important for flower arrangements. It tied the whole thing together. While it wouldn’t be the most on theme color scheme, the yellows, whites, reds, and greens, would mix together prettily. You definitely didn’t have to go as far as this, and you were banking on the fact that Douxie even knew flower language, but it was sweet, it was romantic. And you were going to be romantic about this, dammit.

Daisies, for friendship. It was really important that you communicate just how much you valued Douxie’s friendship and how nothing would change between you two if he were to not return your feelings. Red, red roses, classic romance. There was a reason the blooms were so strongly associated with the valentines holiday itself; no one sees a red rose and thinks of anything other than love and romance. A clear message to your beloved. And well, the dandelions? Cheery, beautiful, resilient, common weeds, never to be approved of, finding the strength to bloom despite assholes like Merlin’s best efforts. Dandelions were Douxie’s favorite flower.

Too bad the florist didn’t even consider them to be anything but said common weed. You had included them in your order when you called it in and you could hear the florist laugh, but muffled as if he put his hand over the receiver, before returning to the phone to inform you that you would have to add them yourself. Pretty rude, if you say so. No matter, hand-picked dandelions would be romantic, anyways. Even if no one else knew about it but you.

You placed the bouquet neatly into the basket of your bike. You’d pick the dandelions to complete it later, right before the big confession, in order to keep them fresh. But as of now, the bouquet peaked out of your basket, the floral fragrance wafting up to your face as you made your way to the next store.

Last week, you had seen such an adorable little box of chocolates. It had chocolates shaped like little skulls, flowers, and ghost cats, and the box had a silly pun about death. Goth chocolate, def. It would have been perfect for the edgy wizard in your life, but alas, it was way too fucking expensive. Like obscenely expensive. But no matter, you’d just steal the idea. How hard could making chocolate be anyway?

You left the grocery store with your haul safe in your skull-patterned reusable shopping bag. Wizard-chic and eco-friendly, it was your favorite bag. The contents of the much-loved bag? Melting chocolates, a jar of marmalade, a jar of raspberry jam, a jar of strawberry jam, and a new roll of wax paper, since you were out. Now you weren’t as ambitious as to make your own jam here. This was a failsafe. There are only so many ways to ruin chocolates if you did not make the chocolate nor the filling yourself. Now just a quick run in the stationary shop on your way home for a cute box, and you were all ready to start your chocolatier career.

* * *

Douxie was getting antsy. Not many patrons had paid a visit to his bookstore this afternoon. Which was strange for valentine’s. and it left him with nothing but his thoughts to entertain his anxious mind. Doux had a lot to worry about. His band had a gig in a new town, so he wasn’t sure how they would be received. He was waiting on a shipment of books that was supposed to show up days ago. It may have gotten lost. That Lake kid was getting himself into more and more trouble these days and it was starting to become hard to help out without overstepping his vaguely imposed bounds. But most of all, at the very moment, he was worried about you.

You had asked him to meet up for dinner tonight. Okay, pretty normal for a Sunday night. Not that the weekend meant anything to either of you, but you normally set aside Sunday for dinner hangout. So nothing to abnormal. But then. Then, you said, something… Douxie actually can’t recall what you said, per se, just that it was along the lines of “we need to talk.” And that your tone sounded nervous. He did not like that one bit, nope nope. He had spent a great part of the day just revisiting every interaction the two of you had had in the last month or so, desperate to figure out if he did something wrong. But he was coming up blank, for all his efforts. Across the room, the clock ticked on. It would be closing time soon enough, and then he’d no longer have to wonder just what he did wrong, as you would be there to tell him directly. Fuzzbuckets, he couldn’t wait.

* * *

You wiped the goopy chocolate off of your cheek with the back of your hand. So far this wasn’t a total disaster. You had at least seven chocolate skulls filled and drying in the molds. The white chocolate seemed to have melted smoother than the regular chocolate? The regular chocolate ones looked kind of lumpy. You hoped they came out of the molds okay. Not to mention the ones you already messed up. A little mountain of chocolate pieces and jam had started rising from your table top corner.

It had been lots of fun at the start. melting the chocolates with a double boil, planning out which molds would be which flavors. But actually filling those molds? A messy, messy ordeal. You had chocolate and jam all over your kitchen, up to your exposed elbows, and even a little in your hair. But that was okay. You’d clean the kitchen later. With the molds in the freezer to set, your priority now was cleaning yourself up rather than the kitchen.

And you cleaned up nice, if you did say so yourself. You got the chocolate out of your hair, and had on a fresh outfit, taking a little time to put effort into your style. You looked snazzy, but not too fancy. You needed to stay casual. Something that you hoped would make Douxie be like ‘wow they look pretty okay’ but not freak him out with formality. Yeah. This was good.

Your watch beeped. Okay, you needed to get out of here, no more dilly dallying. You pulled the candies you made out of the freezer. Moment of truth. Thank the stars, all of the chocolates came out of the molds smoothly without breaking. You arranged them in the cute circular box you set up earlier and folded the tissue paper over them. They all fit in perfectly. The cheesy valentine card, the most important part, didn’t quite fit on top of the candies, you’d have to put it with the bouquet. You slid the lid onto the box and fastened a bow around it with a blue ribbon. Maybe this was a bit overkill, but Douxie knew how to appreciate the dramatic. He’d love it, you were sure.

Last but not least, you headed to the greenspace across the street from your apartment for the final ingredient in your Douxie wooing, dandelions. You were lucky that the empty lot had recently bloomed an entire garden’s worth of the yellow things. The chilly breeze mussed up your newly-fixed hair as you danced about gathering the tiny flowers, adding to the bouquet until you felt like it was enough. Which took longer than you had hoped. You definitely could have kept adding in more dandelions but your watch beeped once again and you had no choice but to make peace with the level of yellow and book it to the bookstore where you and Douxie were supposed to meet before heading out for the night.

* * *

Hearing the ding of the door chime, Douxie turned around to kindly inform the customer who came in that he wasn’t open, but the words caught in his throat when he was met with your smile. There you were, standing in the shop with a box in one hand and flowers in the other. You looked cute. Really cute. But Douxie chased that thought away. He fumbled with the book he had been re-shelving. It fell out of his hand unceremoniously, landing with a thud.

“Hey,” Doux managed to get out. “What’s all-”

“These are for you!” you shoved the presents into his now empty hands. That courage you had earlier? Gone. Your resolve? Dissolving as we speak. You had to get this over with before you chickened out. He was just so good, okay. And why did you think this was a good idea. Douxie looked down at the gifts in his hands confused, before blushing. If he could have reached a hand behind his head and rubbed the back of his neck he would have.

“I didn’t know we were doing Valentine’s, uh. I feel bad I didn’t get you anything.”

“Oh! Don’t be. I just,, felt like doing something nice for you and uh, special,” Douxie tilted his head. You took the box, freeing up his hand. “These are chocolates I made, like, like you’re supposed to do.” You waltzed over to the counter to place them out of the way. “The bouquet is the real star here, uh, I picked them out very carefully.” You tucked your arms behind your back. “I, uh- I brushed up on flower language, and I hope I got it right.”

Now Douxie may have been a Victorian once upon a time but he had barely any surviving memory of the frilly flower language people socialized through in those days. But thankfully, the blooms in the bouquet in front of him were straight forward enough that he did in fact get the message without taking too much gear turning in that noggin of his. Although, the friendly daisies with the red roses were kind of sending him some mixed signals. He knew what he wanted them to mean, but he could just be misinterpreting. You seemed to notice his hesitation.

“Um, there’s a card too. In the flowers somewhere. That. Probably explains what I’m trying to say a little clearer.” You carded your fingers through your hair. You had anticipated not being able to really speak with your voice, as you barely could now, so you’d written it all out on the card as backup. But damn, that card had everything on it. You maybe got a little carried away. There wasn’t going to be any going back from this.

Douxie dug out the card from amidst the blooms. It was handmade, with a cheesy little drawing on the front complete with a pun. And then he opened it. It was almost solid black with ink. Yeah, you had written that much in there. Both sides. And a little on the back. Wow. Doux tried his best to keep up a poker face while reading it but failed quickly as the first few lines alone left him flushed. It was true, everything was on it. From how much you adored Douxie as a person, to how much you valued his friendship, to how pretty you thought he was, to how you longed for something more, with him? Douxie felt like his hands were getting the card all sweaty.

It was nerve wracking watching him read that card. It seemed like he was finished, since his eyes stopped raking through it, but now he was staring intensely at the words written on the pages, in a trance. He broke focus, looking to the bouquet, back to the card, and then finally settled on you.

“Wow.”

“… is that a good wow?”

Douxie caught you by surprise. He pulled into a hug. “Yeah, a good wow.”

You and Douxie’s first non-platonic hug? Yes please. You didn’t even mind the flowers pressing into your back. Okay so a few rose thorns were poking you but that was fine. Douxie smelled like something you couldn’t name, but it was spicy, and cozy. He let you go sooner than you were ready to, but he grinned at you as he left to rummage through his things in the back for a vase. He turned to you as he proudly displayed them on the store’s counter, right where he could look at them all workday,

“So, where are we going tonight? For our first date?” Doux chuckled, “and, technically, our first Valentine’s day too.”

#valentines💘#douxie x reader #douxie x y/n #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie casperan x reader #hisirdoux x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux casperan imagine #douxie casperan imagine #tales of arcadia x reader #tales of arcadia imagine #douxie #hisirdoux casperan #my writing

111 notes · View notes