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capriciouslyterminal · 1 year

Note

63 + steddie for the writing prompts ✨🫶🏽💗

Oh the grotesquerie the two of you have wrought by submitting answers to this writing prompt, more at the borrom.

“You’ll be right here? In this spot? You listening to me, Harrington? Because if you get…distracted or wander off to chase co-eds around the old stomping grounds and I get back here to find my get away vehicle gone, my vengeance will be swift and terrible.” Eddie asks with a tremor in his hand on the handle that cranks the passenger window up and down in Steve’s old new truck.

He kept trying to turn that tremor into a beat on the drive over, something fast and loose with two hands on the already cracked dash, but it’s like he can’t catch it all the way. Like it dies out before anything real can come of it. Eddie has a lot of half songs right now, things Steve hears him hum that never reach words.

He’s only picked up the guitar when he’s alone, and Steve only knows that because he’s noticed how it’ll be left in new places when he comes to visit.

Eddie doesn’t sound very swift or terrible but Steve, because he’s a good friend, doesn’t comment.

He looks like he didn’t sleep a wink last night, but he was standing out by his mailbox even though Steve’s driven up to the porch to collect him eight out of ten times. He smelled like freshly mown grass from across the street when he’d climbed into Steve’s new old truck, which meant he’d probably been out there glaring into the middle distance for a hot minute.

The window’s as tightly shut as it can be, looking like the glass would pop out if you shoved it a bit too hard. But Eddie’s still refusing to let go of the handle, looking out of it like he’s standing in an open doorway.

Like he’s stranded, hanging out in the open air, and just waiting for someone to see him.

Like if the handle didn’t stop where there was nowhere else to go he’d just keep cranking and cranking to have something to do with his nervous hands.

Eddie has asked him a similar question, given him a similar instructions on where to park his new old truck (the Beemer finally gave up the ghost at the end of April and Steve’s on his first monthly payment for the new truck that’s squashed him and Eddie up in the front seat with his cane jutting out of the back) in triplicate by now because it took a minute to get out here from the sticks.

Steve has gained a new appreciation not just for Jonathan Byers’ piece of shit car, but also for how well-scheduled he had to have be to not end up late to school everyday like Steve would have most definitely been if he’d lived all the way out here.

Steve gets to park in the handicapped spot in front of the administrative building because Wayne’s let him borrow the tag to hand from his rearview (Eddie had it in his pocket but shoved it in the glove-box like he didn’t want to remember that it was there) because Eddie may be up and about but he still can’t handle too many long distances after having his body cracked open and stapled back together after his insides got blended by bats.

Steve’s to keep the truck running the whole way (not just using the battery to tune into your God-awful radio stations, Eddie had said) in case an unaccounted for morning janitor or some kid who’s here to weasel some points into their finals tries to murder Eddie and they have to make a run for it.

In theory only teachers should be here, locked in their rooms with piles of papers to grade by the end of the week. Needless to say, Eddie Munson didn’t come back to school after Spring Break. He was in the hospital, recovering from wounds that he had apparently sustained battling the serial killer who’d used him as a scapegoat, but even when he could have come back he’d been politely told that maybe it would be a good idea to just sit the rest of the year out. They’d wave his fourth quarter grades and the finals, and just count his third quarter ones which had been frozen at barely passing. Mid-army crawl.

He hadn’t walked across the stage, but Eddie Munson was a high school graduate in the eye of the state. Wayne might not have gotten an invitation, and they might not have called his name at the ceremony, but they had his diploma. All he had to do was come and get it.

That’s what Miss Valentine the administrative assistant said when Wayne had called about all this, about the last thing he needs to hand over to the government to complete his leap into a new identity.

The government’s promised remedial courses if Eddie’s not ready for college, or a new name in a town of their choice if he was tired of school, and all Eddie has to do is hand over every document that remained with his name on it.

His driver’s license (which had been in his wallet in his pants pocket the whole time), a flyer touting him as the frontman for Corroded Coffin (which had been hidden away in his van), a fifth grade report card (all A’s, one of a kind, taped up in Wayne’s locker at the plant), and this diploma (which had to be retrieved by somebody in the family instead of a government weirdo whose presence would be scrutinized like nobody’s business).

Apparently everything else (participation certificates for talent shows, name tags from club fairs, and his social security card) had gone down with the ship and was smoldering in another dimension, which at least meant that wrapping up this disaster was easy for the shadow government. They got everything they wanted and the list wasn’t even too long.

All they wanted was for Eddie Munson to tie every tube of Hawkins's that ever fed him life or shit tight tight. They wanted him to make a clean break of it.

To show how he took his licks and maybe committed murder in the public eye but was thoroughly cleared on paper if anybody came around asking. He just needed all of his documents, all traces of his life, burned so thoroughly that nobody could find him out when he leapt into the rushing rapids of the rest of the world. Never to be seen again.

Eddie’s not ready for leaping though, if you ask him (which Steve has with his heart in his throat) even though he wants it so bad he’s practically drooling. Even though he’s been penned up with his uncle in a rental house out near the old Byers place, near the woods where people have stopped going and started warning their kids away from.

The most social interaction he gets anymore is grocery drop-offs and getting shuttled to the appointments he couldn’t skip in preparing for a new life. Being checked out like Steve to make sure bat saliva didn’t carry mind-controlling parasites. Heading to a dentist out of town to get a cracked tooth from hitting pavement hard fixed on government money. Collecting the fragments of his existence. So far Steve’s volunteered to do the driving for a lot of these outings, like he’s trying to cash in as much time with Eddie as he possibly can.

Eddie hasn’t said when he’ll leave. He hardly talks about it at all, actually. It’s Wayne who tells Steve not yet in a voice that says he’s only telling Steve this because he dragged his nephew half-dead out of another dimension and that’s the only thing that could have him chip away at his nephew’s silence.

He’s still adjusting, Wayne says, and Steve doesn’t pry if it’s about the pain or the thought of what came next after you survived the end of the world. Either way Steve, with his headaches and the way he’d almost thrown up the first time he’d tried to fill out a college application, kinda got it.

But Eddie wants the diploma in his hand, and he wants it now, and he wants to get it on his own. It was a hassle just to convince him to let Steve drive instead of just hot-wiring the van himself because Wayne’s hidden the keys and now it’s a hassle with a set of very specific instructions. In triplicate, having turned off the radio in the middle of Peter Gabriel wanting to be your sledge-hammer just when Steve was starting to groove with it.

Steve is not to come into the school with Eddie (even though he argued this would ensure no murder attempts) because right now Eddie does this thing with his life where he designates parts of it as challenges to be overcome on his own two feet. Like some kind of alligator clamping its jaws shut on a carcass, the shit you’d need to pry loose and probably get holes in your arms for your troubles. Eddie’s determination was the shit that broke bones before he’d let go.

Steve is only to leave the car, run in and save the day if he hears the sounds of a scuffle that Eddie might not be winning. He isn’t to come in too early because Eddie’s pride is tender and honestly he’d love to win a fight right now.

Steve knows all this.

He’s nodded along twice before, played thoughtful driver, but now he’s starting to get pissed.

Because they’re parked, Steve’s got it, but Eddie’s still looking at Steve and talking at Steve in this way people do sometimes.

Like he’s a dog with something already in his mouth or seven years old and likely to forget that you can’t microwave a bag of popcorn for longer than four minutes or it’ll start to smoke.

He’s only forgotten two bags of popcorn and almost started some fires, but he was seven the first time and coming down from a concussion the second so he wished Robin would stop telling people about it.

And he has never put anything in his mouth that he didn’t fully intend to be there.

But still there’s that look, like Eddie thinks Steve’ll forget and wander off to skirt-chase when this clearly is a thing and Steve knows how Eddie can get about things.

��Dude, I’ve got it. No moving from this spot, no turning Gretchen off, no intervening unless your ass is sounding thoroughly stomped. You’re in, you’re out. Easy.”

Steve pulls down his sun visor to check his hair, which he does to keep himself from saying something shitty. It’s a habit he developed a while back, like a smoker learning to quit. Something else to replace the physical sensation of his mouth opening and stupid shit pouring out. The relief, the dark burn of getting some of the attention off of him.

Instead he’s just got good hair.

He doesn’t know exactly what he’d say, maybe something about not having to be here because it’s true that he didn’t have to beg to swap shifts with Daisy the newly graduated hire and lose his unaffected sheen with the youths to shuttle Eddie to his crucible (Eddie’s word, Steve’s not entirely sure how Arthur Miller fits in here he didn’t read more than the first act of that shit), but he can tell it would be mean.

And sometimes Eddie wants him to be mean, to show up when he’s stuck on the couch and call him names until he’s up in Steve’s face. To snip at certain spots so he can snap back in a way that would make Henderson look wounded or Robin go white-lipped but Steve just gives as good as he gets.

But this isn’t one of those times. This is a time where Steve thinks that way way down, in spite of what he says, Eddie wants Steve to be here. That he wants Steve at his back, keeping the truck running, because maybe the reason he’s been repeating his instructions for the third time is he can’t make himself get out of the car.

“Gretchen’s awful,” Eddie says, finally tearing his gaze away from scanning the empty parking lot with a heavy certainty that somebody with a baseball bat or Molotov was going to pop up calling his name from behind a bush. Steve looks away from the mirror, leaving it down with the little light still glowing, to meet him halfway.

“Oh, come on. You’ve said that about all my name choices.”

“Yeah, because I have to save myself and the rest of our friends from associating with a guy who names his truck Stacy.” Eddie’s face has gone sour like he’s remembering a bad taste. It’s the exact same face he’d made when Steve watched him chug expired milk straight from the carton and the face he’d made when Steve had first introduced him and Gretchen (then Stacy).

“Okay, so maybe she’s not a Stacy–.”

“And she’s not a Lucy, a Diana, a Megan, a Lauren, a Frida, or a Whitney.” Eddie’s hands don’t tremble as he ticks the names off on his fingers, or as he sweeps his arms about like a king gesturing to a bounty of land. “Just look at her, Steve. Look at this truck and figure out a name that doesn’t come from the back of a Mattel box. She’s a woman, not a girl.”

Steve has, obviously, had this lecture before and is, honestly, more than a little offended. He always is.

“I still stand by Frida but any of those would be better than Moon Child or Eowyn, or any of your other weird ass selections and you know it.”

“Your uncultured ass would consider itself lucky to be ferried about by a shield-maiden of Rohan and you know it,” Eddie says tartly and Steve knows he’s being bated to ask what a shield-maiden is because yeah it does sound kind of hot, but instead of taking a bite Steve lets the silence stretch a bit like the languid pulling taffy.

He watches Eddie deflate a little when the momentum suddenly goes flat.

“You know the longer we wait,” Steve finally says, “the more likely it is that somebody will show up.” He folds up the mirror without looking, exposing the whole of the almost empty parking lot like the sudden swell of being in the middle of the ocean.

Eddie turns back to the window like he doesn’t want to look at Steve, like he’s checking that it’s still just them and Miss Valentine’s station-wagon put in park (the other teacher cars loom from their respective parking lots).

It is, and Steve doesn’t think anybody else has much reason to be here.

“I know,” Eddie says like he’s looking away from a needle. Like he wishes he was already moving, already back in the car. Like he can already feel the jolt of each step to the double-doors.

A part of Steve wants to snidely goad Eddie with the promise of Dairy Queen from a town over (he’s already taken off work, might as well make a day of it) while another part wants to take his hand and let Eddie lean on him instead of the cane. That part wants to walk every step of the way with Eddie and feel the pads of his fingertips, to hold his hair back if he wanted and trace the nape of his neck. To bend his body down and let Eddie walk on his back, to make a kinder road the only way he could think of. To tell him you did so much good that you deserve more than a piece of paper.

But those two parts are eternally locked in a stalemate in Steve’s gut, so he just closes his mouth and sits there with Eddie. Lets Eddie look and look out the window for a while longer.

“Promise you’ll be here when I get out?” At this Eddie doesn’t look at him and Steve doesn’t blame the guy. His voice is small, like a hand hooking in the back of your shirt that begged you not to turn around as much as it said not to go. His face is hidden by the drape of his hair and Steve wants to part, to tuck the closest side behind Eddie’s ear, more than he’s wanted a lot of things.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Steve says easily, keeping both hands on the wheel and not reaching out.

Eddie nods once. Twice. Three times. Triplicate. He takes a breath and holds the swell of it in his chest.

Then he flings his door open and reaches back for his cane.

He almost dings Steve in the forehead in his sudden haste to get out the door, to extricate the cane from the little space of the second row of seats that could really only fit one person comfortably and not lose momentum, before he starts walking.

But when he looks back, just before taking his first step, it isn’t much of an apology. It’s an acknowledgement, a thanks, and a tribute.

Then he starts walking, and the click of his cane and the scuff of his steps off the asphalt is like the laying of a bricks. The building of the road that would take him out of here.

Officially welcome to i love you you dope, my Julie & Julia style magnum opus fever dream that I've decided is great on Christmas break but will probably kill me by February.

I will be answering all of p0ck3tf0x's 100 Ways to Say I Love You prompts, one a day style, until they're done. Here's the prompt list:

And here's an A03 link to this fic and where you can also see the collection and follow one woman's descent into madness:

Get ready squad it's gonna be a hell of a ride.

@p0ck3tf0x I hope this is okay, your list is amazing!

#stranger things #stranger things fic #steddie #steddie fic #my take on the “Steve takes Eddie to get his diploma” scenario that makes me cry #p0ck3tf0x #my writing #oh Jesus help me this is gonna be hard #Watch okay the fics will become way shorter next week when third quarter starts

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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years

Note

PLEASE pluck Ricky from obscurity like you did Zach!!!

Right so you are all fairly keen on this guy because I also got these:

Pick You Up

Ricky Hauk x reader

Word count: 1700 ~ Warnings: None really. Light angst. Kissing.

Lovely gif by @ithinkwehitametaphor

You’ve not lived in this town long. The first time you use the gas station, the tall, skinny guy behind the counter glances at you from under his ball cap, the red brim only serving to bring out the slices of amber in his soulful brown eyes. There’s a crease in his cupid’s bow, the thumb print of a God proud of his work. He rings up your service, gives you a collection time.

When you park up back at home, you see it. A note under your unused windscreen wiper.

Autumn in her eyes

Her hair ropes of burnished gold,

Kissed by corners of the

Falling leaves. Will seasons pass

Before I look upon her

Once more?

The poem was from him. You know it. You know it because the next time you bring your car back, when winter’s starting to bite chunks out of the temperature, you see him write something on your receipt in the same loopy scrawl. He sees you looking. Ricky is embroidered on his navy blue overalls. A flush creeps up his cheeks, and you wonder how old he is. Twenty? You could cry over his perfect cheekbones.

“It should be more than that?” you ask when he rings you up.

The corner of his mouth curves up. “Returning customer discount. No one will miss a few quarts of gas.”

There’s a worn, tattered book propping up a wonky corner of the cash register. A Poem for Every Day of the Year.

And when you arrive home, there’s another scrap of paper under your windscreen wiper.

Winter’s grasp is far-reaching

Fingers dug in tight

But footprints thaw frozen ground,

A smile melts frostbite

Inch by Inch

You fold the paper carefully, tuck it under a magnet on your fridge, next to the one you already have. Wonder what it means. If he writes poetry for all his customers.

iii

Before Winter ends, your exhaust pipe crashes off the end of your car and you narrowly miss swerving off the road in shock at the huge bang it makes. You drive right to the service station, and like a dream, there he is, the huge roller door of the workshop open, and he’s bent over another car, his ball cap on backwards, overalls half-unzipped. Heat is pumping out of the workshop interior and you park your car. As you shut the door, Ricky looks up, and his face goes slack for a second, before he plasters a polite query on the handsome canvas. “Uh, hey. Can I help you?”

“Exhaust pipe fell off on the highway,” you sigh. “I know she’s a hunk of junk, but I just can’t afford to replace her, not yet.”

“I’ll give it my best shot.” Ricky holds out his hand for the keys, a smear of grease on his thumb, and you stare at his palm for a moment, wondering what his hands would feel like on your skin. If he’d leave a fingerprint of grease behind.

You wouldn’t mind much, if he did.

You have to leave the car overnight, eventually. Ricky comes into the tiny office with the noisy watercooler and tiny wall-mounted TV that only shows one God-awful news channel. His hands are shoved into his overall pockets and there’s a streak of engine grease on his cheek.

“Uh, I’m sorry, but she’s gonna have to stay in until tomorrow. My boss has gotta check the weld, and he’s stuck in the snowstorm one state over.”

“Okay.” You’re not cross with him. What would be the point?

Ricky looks from the clock to you. He probably has a hot date you’re keeping him from, you think with a little sadness. “Um, I’ve gotta lock up now. I can drive you home. If you want.” He jerks his thumb at the window to his right. A beaten up red truck sits outside.

“Thank you. That’d be great.”

The snow has started to fall in earnest. Ricky locks up the gas station and pockets the keys as the shutter finally closes up tight. He opens the passenger door for you, waits until you’re safely strapped in before he gets in on his side and starts the engine. “You’ll have to direct me.” He tugs off the ball cap and stuffs it in the glove box.

“Wait,” you say, as his hand hovers over the stick.

He glances at you with an eyebrow raised, that poet’s mouth set solemnly, his tiger iron eyes so large in his face, larger somehow with his thick hair sticking up at all angles, and he looks so young but like he has an old soul. Like he’s seen so much; too much, and he is so tired.

“Why did you write me those poems?”

Ricky looks away, chewing his bottom lip.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“So what?” he throws back, still not looking at you. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you wanna hear?”

Your heart cracks down the middle. “No, it isn’t. They were beautiful. I kept them.”

His gaze shoots to yours. “You are beautiful,” he says, very soberly.

And you lift your hand to his cheek and then he’s kissing you, earnestly, his lips soft and sweet and unpracticed. Not that you’re experienced, but you estimate yourself as perhaps half a decade older than him. He groans into your mouth and desire skitters through you. You part your lips for him and he finally touches you, just a hand on your thigh, his palm warm through your worn, old jeans.

The drive to your house is full of thick, syrupy tension. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the way Ricky subtly adjusts himself during the ten minute trip.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to help him out with that.

He parks outside your building, and you kiss him again before you leave, nipping at his tempting lower lip, making him curse, low and sweet in that sinful, husky voice, still a little thready with youth.

“I’ll work on your car first thing tomorrow?” he half asks, half informs you, as you open the passenger door. The cold wind arcs in, biting at your skin. “I could pick you up. Early. If you want.”

You nod. “Okay. Thanks.”

Ricky catches your hand, tangles your fingers. “Guys like me write poetry about girls like you because it’s the only way we’ll be with you,” he mutters, and there’s something so sad and resigned in the depths of his butterscotch gaze.

You don’t know what to say, and if you kiss him again you run the serious risk of being arrested for indecent behaviour in his truck.

He’s early the next morning. You’re not ready.

“Come up,” you say through the buzzer, and in a matter of moments you’re opening your apartment door to him. He holds the service station ball cap in his hands, wringing it nervously, and his overalls are half-unzipped to reveal a plain white t-shirt. He smells of cheap cologne and minty toothpaste, and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Want a coffee?” you ask. “I’ll be five minutes.”

“No, thanks. Uh, I’m fine.” He stands by the door, like he needs permission to sit down.

You rush around, calling your boss to remind him about your car situation. He’s stuck at home anyway due to a snowdrift, so he doesn’t chew you out.

Pulling on your winter boots - hopefully they’ll see you through to March - you step out of the bedroom. Ricky’s leaning over your kitchen counter, scrawling something on a post-it note. He jerks up, guilt sketched on his angular face.

“Sorry.”

“Not at all.”

He folds the paper over. “Don’t read it.. Til later.”

He turns to face you, hesitates, wariness and want and need laid bare in those gorgeous hazelnut eyes.

“Could I… kiss you? Maybe?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and Ricky cups your face in his broad, callused hands, and lowers his mouth to yours, and the kiss starts soft and sweet, explorative, and then you slide your hands up his shoulders and tangle your fingers in his thick, tattered-silk hair, and he backs you into the wall, his lips urgent on yours, licking into your mouth, and you drink him in like you’re starved for the taste of him. He groans against your lips, one hand slipping down your back to palm your ass, and-

And your phone rings shrilly from your bag. Your work mobile.

You and Ricky spring apart.

“I’d better get that.”

It turns out to be a shitty sales call, but the moment’s been broken. You mostly manage to ignore the distended shape of Ricky’s jeans, but his face is red the whole drive to the garage.

When you arrive, a man who you guess to be Ricky’s boss is already there, opening the shutter. Ricky turns to you, his hand hesitant on your thigh. “Maybe…. Maybe you’d wanna see me again?

You cover his hand with yours, link your fingers. “I’d love to see you again, Ricky.”

His smile lights up the dreary winter day.

*****

Special thanks to @dornish-queen without whose watchlist, this fic would never have happened.

Tagging the Pedro pals! @gamingaquarius @a-seeker-of-imagination @songsformonkeys @alldatalost @dornish-queen @lackofhonor @alienprincesspoop @beccaplaying @cryptkeepersoul @keeper0fthestars @winters-buck @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @jaime1110 @nelba @heatherbel @thewayofthemandalorian @agirllovespasta @seawhisperer @holographic-carmen @mrschiltoncat @mourningbirds1 @emmy-dandiliom918 @trippedmetaldetector @starlight-starwrites @oloreaa @thegreenkid @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @buckstaposition @pedropascallion @pajamasecrets @knittingqueen13 @skdubbs @opheliaelysia

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bugsandchatons · 3 years

Text

when you weren’t mine to lose (2)

Summary: Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It’s been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they’ll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she’ll cross to save him.

A/N: thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reblogged, liked, commented on the first chapter! That first response was incredible and so encouraging and I love all of you so much!

*****

[[on AO3]] {from the beginning}

[two: for me, it was enough]

When faint, barely-there morning light filters in through the slatted blinds and sneaks in from the skylight overhead, Marinette blinks awake to a solid warmth at her back and an arm slung over her hips. A bare arm, no leather gloves in sight.

Marinette sighs. It’s happened again.

She keeps her eyes forward - ignoring both the press of his uncovered palm to her skin and the static prickle of awareness that follows his unconscious touch - and finds what she’s searching for in a little black blur, curled up around Tikki at the furthest edge of the pillow. He might even be snoring.

“Plagg,” she hisses. “Plagg. Claws out.”

He yawns with a luxurious and unconcerned stretch. “Hmmm. No.”

Marinette reaches out and pokes him. “Get him out of here.”

Plagg groans and opens one slitted, bleary eye. “When are you going to put us all out of our misery and tell him, Pigtails?” Tikki tries to shush him but he only hums, thoroughly unrepentant. “Oh, just think of all the extra sleep we’ll get then!”

When would she tell him? Marinette bites down on her lower lip. The weekend, maybe. Next week, absolutely. The perfect moment had to come eventually.

At her telling silence, Plagg sighs, loud and dramatic. He ignores both Marinette and Tikki’s protests for him to be quieter. “Fine, fine.” He floats off the pillow, waving one small paw. “You know the drill, ladies.”

Tikki zips out of sight as Marinette drops her head back onto her pillow, takes a deep breath, and feigns an award-worthy sleep.

Right behind her, Plagg murmurs to Chat - no, the boy who wears Chat Noir’s mask, the boy whose arms she sleeps in several times a week but whose uncovered face she’s never seen. She feels him stir against her back, hears his flustered stammering as snatches his rogue hand back and he pulls away. The green flash of his transformation stains the back of her eyelids. Then, Chat’s clawed fingers brush her hair off of her cheek, so softly she could almost pretend it was part of a dream. He rises, carefully tucking the blanket back into his vacated place.

They’re playing with fire, she knows. Most mornings, Chat is gone before she wakes - Marinette can’t imagine how he hasn’t spotted Tikki yet - but the days she has to kick Plagg into gear are surely the most dangerous; Chat is right there, sleeping against her back, and all it would take is a stray glance. Just an accident and everything they’ve fought to keep in the dark would unravel.

They should have stopped months ago, and yet…

“See you later, Marinette,” Chat whispers. The affection there, the gratitude, makes her heart ache. It’s why she can’t turn him away, why she can’t call it quits.

The mattress shifts with his weight, the terrace hatch creaks, and then he’s gone.

With a heavy sigh and something raging in her stomach she can’t find a name for, Marinette rolls over and checks her phone. She doesn’t have to be up for school for at least an hour. She lets her eyes fall closed as she sinks back into the pillows and pulls close one in particular; the one that carries the faintest trace of sunshine, like the boy she knows best. If not by name, then at least by heart.

***

An hour and a half later find Marinette in a mad dash from her closet to her desk, with a shoe in hand that doesn’t match the one already on her left foot. Tikki chases after her with a hair ribbon.

“Have you seen my other shoe?” Marinette drops to her knees to scan under the desk. Her school bag greets her, gaping open and spilling contents onto the floor. She huffs and pushes her hair out of her face. One problem at a time.

“Hold still,” Tikki says, before zipping around one of Marinette’s wild pigtails, looping the ribbon somewhat haphazardly through her hair. Satisfied, she points. “Now, check under the chase.”

“Thank you,” Marinette gasps, making a dive for the correct ballet flat before reaching back to pull the ribbon tight. “What would I do without you?”

Tikki only smiles. “The time, Marinette!”

Marinette groans. “I’m so late.”

“If you had gotten out of bed when Chat Noir left, you would have had plenty of time.” Tikki’s observation pulls Marinette to a halt, frozen while precious seconds slip away.

“I...I can’t get up when he goes,” she argues, knowing even as the words leave her that they make very little sense. Tikki gives her a skeptical look, and Marinette can’t even attempt to start finding words to explain.

The picture comes to mind of what it would be like, rising when Chat does. Of him and her together, rolling out of bed and preparing for the day ahead, of shared glances and shy smiles, gentle teasing, and sleepy affection. Fingers in her hair and kisses pressed to cheeks in goodbye. The scene is so unbearably intimate, somehow even more so than going to sleep to the sound of his slowing breaths. It would, undoubtedly, take them across the still-somehow-platonic borderline they’ve been hovering on for months and dump them solidly into uncharted territory.

No, it’s safer to prevent the opportunity from arising at all. The simple truth of it is this: if she falls back into sleep after Chat Noir leaves, it keeps him caught somewhere firmly between sleeping and waking, a dream she can tuck away when daylight comes.

Marinette frowns, patting her hands to her suddenly too warm face. Tikki gives in first, breaking the standoff and bumping sweetly into Marinette’s cheek before diving into her purse. “Come on Marinette, let’s go!”

In what might be considered record timing, Marinette scoops up her school bag and books and dashes out the door and down the stairs. She skids past her mother with a hasty goodbye and out into the front of the bakery, past her papa as he organizes a package for a customer. He calls out a quick, ‘Slow down, Marinette!’

As soon as she glances over her shoulder to reassure him, she runs straight into something solid, something that grunts on impact.

“Oof. Oh, hey Marinette.” Adrien’s hands come up to cup her elbows, always catching her before she can fall.

Of all the boys and bakeries in Paris, he walks into mine. Marinette scrambles backward, her face flaming. “Adrien,” she gasps. His hands fall away from her. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t - what are you doing here?”

His cheeks redden and for a moment, Marinette stares. He seemed almost flustered by her question, but Adrien being flustered by her is a ridiculous, impossible thing.

“Not that you can’t be here!” She hurries to add. “It’s a public place! It’s just - this isn’t school! And you’re supposed to be there, not here, and I’m late, which means you’re late, and…” she trails off with a hopeless flail of hands.

Adrien watches her outburst with the beginnings of a smile. “I’m going to miss our first class, but I should make it to school later. My cousin is arriving today for a visit and Father is letting me go with Nathalie to meet Félix's train.

Papa steps up behind and passes Adrien a box of pastries over Marinette’s head, accepting his thanks with a grin. He claps a massive hand down onto her shoulder, making her jump. “Marinette, you’re going to be late!”

Before she can open her mouth, Adrien speaks up. “We could give you a ride. The car’s waiting just outside.”

“I-” Marinette hesitates. Papa simply steers her towards the door and out onto the sidewalk.

“Thanks so much, Adrien! What a good friend you have here, honey,” he adds to his daughter, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Have a good day!”

As she’s all but shooed to the car with Adrien, Marinette takes a breath and reminds herself that’s exactly what they are. Friends. Good friends, even. That was enough.

Adrien, she’d come to learn, was like the sun in the sky. Endlessly warm, bright, and oh, so easy to love - but far away and forever out of reach. She could only drift so close before she burned.

The front passenger window rolls down and Nathalie nails them both with a look more severe than Marinette has seen on akumatized villains. Adrien meets it, unfazed, as though he’s slain monsters far worse. “Marinette’s running late and we’re passing the school anyway, right?”

There’s a beat of silence, a twist of Nathalie’s lips, but she nods once and disappears back behind tinted glass. Adrien offers Marinette a radiant smile and opens the car door for her. She reflects it back at him and climbs inside, mercilessly snuffing out the flutters in her chest as she goes.

He slides in beside her and as the car starts moving, he fidgets - adjusting his seatbelt, drumming his fingers on the bakery box, or reaching up to fiddle with his hair. She stares, certain she’s never seen him so unsettled before.

“Are you okay?” Marinette asks. He jumps, just a little.

“Oh, yeah.” He puts on his front-page cover smile. “A bit nervous, I guess.” At her silence and raised brows, Adrien gives in. “Well, last time Félix visited, he deleted the messages you guys sent to me, then pretended to be me and got our friends akumatized.”

Marinette looks down at her school bag and picks at the zipper teeth with her thumbnail. She remembers all too well - it was her last real attempt to confess her feelings for him before deciding maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. After all, the one time she’d found a way to shape the words, they’d never made it to his ears.

But being Adrien’s friend was enough. She was lucky. He had so much fondness to hand out he practically burst at the seams with it, and stepping out of the shadows of hiding from him and into the light of his high esteem was a lovely, wonderful thing.

“I just hope he doesn’t cause trouble this time around,” Adrien adds in the face of her silence, his hand going up to scratch at the back of his neck.

Marinette offers him a sheepish smile. “Well...he can’t do much worse now than he did last time, right?”

Adrien blinks and laughs, unbridled and free, like she’d startled the sound from his chest. “Yeah, I hope you’re right.”

When the car comes to a stop outside Françoise Dupont and Adrien’s bodyguard gets out to open the door for her, Adrien turns to face her. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“I’ll take notes for you,” she offers.

He gives her that smile - the one so soft it melts her defenses away to nothing. “Thanks, Marinette. You - you’re, ah. A good friend.”

She barely registers the sting of it these days. If anything, this time the words bring with them a flicker of recognition, a hint of something that flirts with her memories and dances just out of reach. She makes it out of the car and halfway up the steps before glancing back, watching Adrien’s car as it turns the corner and leaves her sight.

Tikki zips up from Marinette’s purse to her shoulder, taking shelter behind her hair. “You okay, Marinette?”

She sighs. “I just...sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Tikki.”

Tikki offers a sympathetic hum. “About what?”

Marinette waves a dramatic hand in the direction Adrien disappeared in. “I mean...there’s Adrien. And most of the time, I think I’m just fine, but then he smiles at me, and I…” she trails off, chewing on her lower lip. “But then there’s Chat.”

Then there’s Chat. Those words could define her life. He was an ever-present shadow, woven into her heart in a knotted mess she had no idea where to start untangling.

Tikki stays quiet for a second before saying, “I think it’s okay to love them both, Marinette. If there’s anything I’ve learned about humans, it’s that you have such an endless capacity for loving, and I think that’s beautiful. Can that ever truly be a bad thing?”

It was our love that did this to the world, my lady.

The memory comes to her as it often does, unbidden and with force enough to steal her breath. Marinette shakes her head fiercely, as though the nightmare itself could be so easily dispelled. “Maybe it could be,” she whispers. “Chat Blanc-”

“Might never happen again,” Tikki interrupts, her little voice firm. “That was just one possibility out of hundreds - thousands, even. The future isn’t set in stone, any little thing could change it. So letting your fear stop you from telling someone you love them...that’s letting Hawkmoth have control. And who knows,” Tikki adds, brightening, “if you and Chat Noir do share your identities, it might make things-”

“There you are, girl!”

“Alya!” Marinette squeaks. She swipes a hand through her hair, scoops Tikki into her palm in a move she hopes is inconspicuous, and lets her escape back inside her purse. “Hey!”

“With just a minute to spare,” Alya teases, looking up from the time on her phone as she falls into step with Marinette and leads the way into the classroom. “Guess what? I think I’ve almost managed to convince Carapace to give me an interview for the blog!”

From the corner of her eye, Marinette sees Nino shoot them a surreptitious glance as they pass. She grins. “Oh yeah? Have you been stalking him?”

“Only in the name of journalism,” Alya says, a mischievous smile in place. “I see Adrien was at the bakery this morning.”

Marinette slides into her seat. “Stalking him, too?”

“You’re one to talk. No, he posted it.” Alya holds up her phone and shows Marinette a picture of a box with her T&S logo, complete with Adrien’s caption - Sweetest place in town!

“He’s going to get into trouble with his father for the free advertising,” Marinette notes, though the observation does nothing to quell the blooming fondness in her chest.

“Until your parents start designing clothes instead of cupcakes, I think it’ll be okay.” Alya tucks her bag away under their bench before asking, “So, how was that?”

Marinette doesn’t need to ask what she means. “It was fine, Alya. We’re friends.” She’s been saying it so often over the past few months she might as well have the mantra tattooed somewhere plainly visible. To head off Alya’s inevitable protests, she adds, “Besides, I’ve been, uh, sort of talking to someone else.

Shit.

The speed with which Alya whips around to face her would have been funny, had Marinette not just thrown herself to the wolves without a means of self-defense. Alya’s scrutiny alone is a force to be reckoned with. “I thought you and Luka gave up on all that months ago.”

“We didn’t - first of all, we’re friends,” Marinette stresses. “We decided we’re better off that way. And it doesn’t matter, it’s not Luka.”

“Ooh, been holding out on me, Dupain-Cheng?”

Marinette regrets ever opening her mouth. “No. It’s nothing. We’re taking it slow - I mean, its uh, not even worth mentioning. Really.”

“As if you’re getting out of this that easily. Spill. Do they go to our school?” Alya’s already scrolling social media on her phone.

Marinette sighs. “Alya, slow down-”

“Do they have an Instagram?”

The idea of Chat Noir running an Instagram has Marinette biting down on her lip to hide a smirk. What a cat-covered, pun-laden nightmare that would be. “Oh no, Chat - ah, he’s shy.”

“Chat?” Alya demands, something sharp in her gaze.

Oh, no.

“Chad!” Marinette hurries to say. “It’s Chad, of course. Chad, uh, Norway.”

Alya blinks, arching one perfect eyebrow. Marinette blinks back, guileless. She hopes her face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Chad Norway,” Alya repeats, drawing the name out. “Do you know a Chad Norway, Nino?”

Nino glances at them, opens his mouth, then catches on to the gleam in Alya’s eye and seems to think better of it. He waves his hand frantically, a clear ‘I Do Not Want To Be Involved’, and turns back around in his seat, pulling on his hat down over his face for good measure.

Marinette could have hugged him, but Alya is not so easily deterred. She takes her boyfriend’s abandonment in stride. “So where’d you meet this Chad Norway?”

Marinette glances at the door. She’d take anything - the teacher walking in to start class, an Akuma barreling through the window - anything to end this ridiculous conversation she’d plunged herself into. “The - bakery! He, uh...comes in on the weekends, sometimes. He doesn’t live around here, which is why you haven’t met him, of course,” she forces a laugh.

Alya just stares, endlessly skeptical. Marinette pastes on a smile. “Well,” Alya starts, “you’ll have to introduce me to this Chad Norway next time he comes to town.”

“Oh, sure, yeah.” Marinette flaps her hand, feeling every bit the liar she’s become. Between secret identities and complicated relationships, she’s told plenty. When Ms. Bustier walks in, Marinette can finally breathe, despite the dagger-sharp side-eyes Alya keeps throwing at her.

It isn’t until much, much later, after an interrogatory lunch break and afternoon classes and she’s walking home alone, that Marinette realizes Adrien never did make it into class.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fics #ladynoir #marichat #ml fic #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrinette #fic:when you weren't mine to lose #you guys are amazing have an update a day early #this is the peace #before the violence

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

Text

Rewind Chapter 3

Awareness came in pieces, like waves lapping over the shore, slowly bringing back each sense. Ford yawned and rolled his neck to ease out a crick. He really should stop sleeping sitting up.

The warm form cuddled against him stirred and he placed a soothing hand on their head of soft curls until they stilled, burying their face in his shirt. Ford hummed happily and let his head rest back against the headboard, content to just stay here forever…

…wait a second.

Ford’s eyes flung open with a jolt.

What had he been thinking, falling asleep? Sleep was the one thing he couldn’t afford! He looked around quickly, heart pounding. He was still sitting against the headboard of his bed, pillows propped behind his back and a child-sized Stanley curled up in his lap, the way they had been when he must have fallen asleep part way through telling stories of his previous discoveries. His journal lay open at his feet. To his relief it was bereft of cryptic code and taunts. Bill must have been busy, or perhaps had not noticed Ford’s slip-up. He hadn’t been possessed.

Ford cursed himself. How could he have made himself vulnerable like that? The portal was wide-open for the taking! And there was no telling what Bill Cipher would do to his brother – his child brother, who was currently helpless and foolishly, trustingly snuggled against the front of Ford’s turtleneck.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn’t change the past, only the future. Now he had other things to concentrate on – namely, building a Bill-proof barrier, since his investigation on how to cure Stanley had hit a snag – he had none of the components he would need to start reverse-engineering a cure. The sun peeking through his window told that he must have been sleeping for at least an hour. Morning was already slipping away from him.

“Mmmph.” Stanley mumbled. Ford’s hand was still in his curls. Ford couldn’t resist ruffling those curls as Stan pulled his head up, yawning and blinking sleepily. “F’rd?”

“Good morning, Stanley.”

Stan rubbed at his eyes. “Whaza time?”

“Time to start working. Come on, up you go.” Ford lifted his brother from his lap. Stan whined at being put down on the covers.

“Nooooo, ‘s cold!”

“Then hurry up and get moving.” Ford swung his legs over the bed and stood. “I have a lot to do today.”

Stan grumbled the whole time. He was still wearing that old shirt. Perhaps Ford should get him something that fit better? No, it would be useless in a day or so anyway.

Ford spoke to himself as he walked.

“Now, I’ll have to go as soon as possible to get that hair – what’ll I do with you? Oh, children need to receive their daily nutrients, don’t they? Hmm, when was the last time I ate?” He couldn’t recall. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter, I’m an adult, I can stand to skip a few – hmm. Weeks? No, that can’t be right. I should eat too. I have coffee? Is it safe to give a child coffee?” He opened the fridge and stared in dismay at the rows of empty shelves. “Oh. That’s why I haven’t eaten. Guess I’ll just have to – buy some supplies. Yes. Come along Stanley, we’re driving into town.”

“Who’stha whatnow?” Stan stumbled into the kitchen after him. That was right, his brother was certainly not a morning person. Ford wondered again how ethical it was to give a child coffee. Probably shouldn’t risk it.

“Town, Stanley. I have to do some shopping. And come to think of it, you’ll need someone to watch you…” Unless he could just leave the child locked in a room? Ford wasn’t exactly familiar with babysitting protocol. Maybe it was better to just bring him along for now.

He dropped one of his old coats around Stanley’s shoulders and ushered him outside. The coat was a good call – it was still freezing. Ford was climbing into the car when he hit another snag.

“…ah.” He didn’t have a booster seat. Stanley would be riding in the back seat, it seemed.

Luckily the town was still waking up, so it was quite simple to walk in, grab some supplies, pay and leave without having to deal with the hustle of crowds. Ford pulled up in his driveway with a relieved sigh. He thanked his lucky stars that Gravity Falls was slow to wake on a Sunday… wait, no, what day was it?

Didn’t matter.

With his arms full of groceries, Ford nudged the door open with his foot. He could hear Stan grunting under the weight of his own load as he placed the bags on the kitchen bench.

Maybe he had gone a little over the deep end, Ford admitted to himself as he went about sorting groceries. He hadn’t realized until this morning that his fridge was empty. That did explain the hollow feeling in his stomach though. Come to think of it, when was the last time he ate? Not counting the copious amounts of coffee and energy drinks he ordered weekly.

It also explained Stan’s rumbling stomach. Honestly, Stan should have said something if he was hungry!

Said child wobbled his way into the kitchen with a shopping bag in his arms. Ford took it and started unloading it as well. Marshmallows – he didn’t remember buying those. Maybe Stanley snuck them into the cart. Ford could remember the gleeful giggles he and Stan would break into when they’d managed to sneak a treat into their mother’s shopping cart. Stan was always better at it than Ford.

Ford shook his head to clear it. He had no time for nostalgic thoughts anymore. He snagged two frozen single-serve pies plates and started searching for clean plates to put them on. Finally he found two with only a few crumbs on them – he brushed one off and placed it in the microwave, trying to remember if he’d paid his electricity bill recently.

He must have, because the microwave was heating and glowing when he pressed the right buttons. Ford sighed and leaned against the bench to wait.

Stanley was in the process of pushing a chair towards the table. He paused to let out a gigantic yawn, rubbing his eyes with his too-big sleeve.

“Tired?” Ford found himself asking. Stan nodded and yawned again.

“Mm hmm.”

“Did you have trouble getting to sleep?” The uncomfortable position must not have helped.

Stan finished pushing the chair and now he crawled up into it and rested his elbows on the table. On closer inspection he did look tired, dark bags collecting under his eyes.

“Nah.” Stan rested his cheek on one hand, squishing his round face slightly. “Just had weird dreams.”

A shiver ran down Ford’s spine.

He hadn’t even considered if – what would happen if Stan made a deal with Bill Cipher? Had already made a deal? It would explain why Bill wasn’t in Ford’s dreams. Ford hadn’t warned his brother about the demon, he’d been so sure that Bill would focus on him and him alone, but Stanley was vulnerable here and Ford hadn’t even thought about it-

“Did you make a deal?” He demanded. Stan blinked at him blearily.

“What?”

“A deal. In your dream. Did you shake anyone’s hand? Talk to anyone?”

Stan shook his head with another yawn. “Don’ think so.”

He was a child, Ford reminded himself sharply, a child that didn’t grasp the significance of what was happening. He needed to have patience. Or else Stan might clam up and refuse to talk to him further.

“Stanley.” Ford forced his tone to stay even and slow. Stan send him a curious look. “I need you to tell me everything that happened in your dream. It might be important. Okay?”

Stan frowned. “Uh – okay. Are you gonna interpret my dream, like Ma does?”

“…something like that. But it’s very important you don’t leave out any details.”

“Okay.” Stan hummed for a minute, in thought, before he brightened. “Oh, yeah! So I was in my car – I mean, I don’t have a car, but it was a dream and you just know stuff in dreams so even though I don’t have a car I knew it was my car – and it was all snowy outside. I think I was stuck in a snow bank or something. Hey Ford, where do snowmen keep their money?”

The microwave beeped. Ford placed the hot pie in front of Stanley and searched for a fork. “A snow bank. Continue.”

Stan pouted. “You ruined my joke!”

Ford handed him a fork. Stan sighed and poked at his pie while Ford started heating up his own. After a moment the child continued, his voice uncharacteristically somber.

“It was really cold. Like, really cold. I could see my breath and it wasn’t even cool. Haha – cool. I… didn’t know cold hurt so much. It was like my bones were made of ice, all cracking and popping.”

“Was anyone in the car with you?”

Stan screwed up his face in thought. “Um, no. Just me.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, I had some matches and I was lighting them for warmth, but then they ran out.” Stan paused for a moment with a frown, comedic on his childish features. “I, um, was looking for some more in the glove box and a gun fell out. An’ I don’t know where I got it but I know it’s mine. S’ gotta be, if it’s in my car, right? But I don’t remember where I got it and I don’t know if it’s got any bullets in it.”

Ford nodded along. If Stanley could recall the dream so vividly, it probably wasn’t a normal dream, the likes of which tended to fade as quickly as they had appeared. But so far it didn’t seem like Bill’s style.

“What happened then?”

Stan bit his lip, wincing. “Um, you remember how we used to play Russian Roulette with soda cans? How we’d shake one up and take turns opening ‘em and try not to get the fizzy one?”

Ford got a bad feeling in his gut. “Of course.”

“I, um, I can’t remember why, but I wanted to find out if it had bullets in it. So I put it to my head and pulled the trigger.” Stan pulled a face like he’d tasted something sour. “There was this click and I guess it was empty because nothing happened. So I put it back and curled up all small, because it was still super cold, and I think I went back to sleep.” Stan shrugged with one shoulder. “Then it ended.”

Well, there was a lot to unpack there, and Ford could unpack it later. The microwave beeped to signify his breakfast was sufficiently warmed. He took it and slid into the seat opposite Stan.

“Is that everything? No one talked to you? How clearly do you remember it?”

“S’weird.” Stan admitted, pulling off the top of the pie to get at its insides. “So normally dreams kinda fade, all fuzzy-like, right? But the ones I had last night aren’t fading. It feels real but not-real.”

“Vivid?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stan shrugged. Ford took a bite of his pie and was chewing before he registered what had just been said. He spluttered a little.

“Ones? Plural?”

“Uh, yeah.” Stan shrugged again. “The other one was weirder. Do you wanna know about that one too?”

“Do I – why wouldn’t I? Why didn’t you mention that?”

“Well, it was shorter and way more blurry. I couldn’t even see anything so I don’t think it really counts as a dream.”

“Tell me.”

Stan scrunched up his face. “You sure? It’s kinda silly.”

Ford sent him a look and Stan sighed.

“Fine. In the second one it was all dark, I couldn’t see anything. Well, not at first. There was this… man.” Stan shuddered. “This, uh, really creepy guy. And he put me in a coffin? No, um, a car trunk I think. It was all dark and then I couldn’t see anything. Then there was just lots of noises, and rumbling, and it got all wet.”

“Wet?” Ford echoed. Stan shrugged.

“Yeah, all wet. And cold. Like I’d been dumped in a lake or somethin’! Cause the whole trunk started flooding, which was really scary. An’ I don’t remember how I got out but at some point I was swimmin’ up feeling like my lungs were gonna explode.” Stan shivered, hugging himself. “An’ my mouth hurt and the water tasted like metal an’ it was so dark. Then, um… I dunno, I woke up or something?” He frowned. “Wait, no, there was something else – about a llama that knew too much? It all kinda gets smudgy.”

Unsettling, certainly, and something to ask questions about later – but for now it sounded like Bill had missed his chance to mess with the Pines twins. Ford let himself relax slightly.

“Thank you, Stanley, for telling me.”

“So are you gonna read my future or something?”

“No.”

Stan poked out his tongue. Ford sighed. The matter aside, he still had to find someone to look after Stanley while he got the unicorn hair! But there was only one person in Gravity Falls he trusted, and…

Well, that person might not pick up the phone.

But desperate times called for desperate measures. Surely, surely Fiddleford would at least hear him out? And if that failed Ford could always lock the child in a room for a couple hours.

Mind made up, Ford excused himself to go make a call.

His palms were oddly sweaty as he dialed the number he knew off by heart and pressed enter. The phone rang once, twice, thrice in his hand. Surely a hopeless endeavor. Ford was sure he wasn’t going to pick up, when there was a click and a crackly voice sounded tiredly down the line.

“Hello?”

His old assistant’s voice sent his heart leaping in his chest. Ford hurriedly cleared his throat. “Fiddleford? It’s me, Stanford.”

In the half-second of frigid silence that followed, Ford began to realize he might have made a mistake by introducing himself.

“Wait!” He gasped out. “Please don’t hang up.”

“What do ya want?” Fiddleford growled out. He sounded so unlike himself that it made Ford pause. But – no. This was Fiddleford. His research assistant. His friend. The one person he could trust.

“I – I need your help.” Ford admitted. He plunged on before Fiddleford could interrupt, “I was an idiot. You were right – about the portal, about Bi- the demon.”

There was a crackly silence. Ford took a deep breath.

“I know that what I did is unforgiveable. I abandoned you and refused to heed your warnings. I understand if you can never forgive me. But please, I need your help to fix what I’ve done.”

“I aint goin’ near that portal!” Fiddleford’s voice lifted in both volume and pitch. Ford hurried to reassure him.

“No, no, of course not. That’s not what I need your help with. And it’s not for me, it’s for my twin brother.”

“You have a twin?” Fiddleford demanded, a lilt of curiosity sneaking into his tone. He sounded a little more like the man Ford knew. “Why didn’t ya tell me that?”

“Stan and I haven’t on the best of terms recently.” Ford explained. “Fiddleford, you’re a father, you know how to take care of children. I need you to take care of my brother – just for a little while.”

“Whoa, hold up.” There was shuffling on the other end of the line. “I’m gonna need ya to go back to the beginning. What did ya get yourself into this time?”

Ford chuckled humorlessly. “An experiment gone wrong. Stanley – my twin brother – has been reverted back into a child.”

A pause.

“Fiddleford?”

His friend let out a sigh. “Yeah, sure, course this is happening. Weird stuff always happens around you, Stanford.”

Ford chose to take that as a compliment. “I currently have my hands full. There is a spell – a magical barrier, in fact – that can protect us against the demon you warned me about, allowing me to disassemble the portal without risk. But to do this I have so obtain several rare ingredients. I can’t take Stanley with me, and I can’t leave him alone. I was hoping you would be able to watch him. Just for a little while!” He added nervously. “I know Stanley can be a handful but I’ll be back as quickly as I can and-”

“Ford, shut yer yap.”

Ford shut up.

“I’ll not leave a child alone, no matter what I think of his brother. When d’ya need him taken care of?”

Ford let out a breath and thanked any and all deities that may have lent a helping hand. “I was hoping, today? As soon as possible?”

Fiddleford groaned. “Fine, fine – but only for the kid!” He added. “And in the name of keepin’ that demon away. Not for you.”

“I understand completely.”

“Ya still at yer cabin?”

“Yes.”

“’Course ya are. Now, how old’s yer brother?”

“Ah…” Hmm. Ford had never been good at ages. He’d passed through them himself and never looked back. “He’s old enough to talk. And complain about not having clothes that fit. Maybe about as old as Tate was when I last saw him…?”

Another long-suffering sigh. “A’right, a’right. I’ll bring some old clothes of Tate’s, see if they fit, and I’ll watch the little tyke for ya. But I’m not goin near that portal. Or any of your hinky experiments, ya hear?”

“Certainly. Thank you, Fiddleford.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in an hour, maybe two.”

“Thank you.” Ford said again. Fiddleford hung up.

#fic #chapter 3 #gravity falls #The stans #stangst #rewind

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blackenedwhite97 · 4 years

Text

Storge (Familial Love)Pt.1- EraserMic x Student!Reader

This post includes: Mentions of loss of family, cursing, mentions of fiscal problems, mild violence and injury, a prominent homosexual relationship, and mentions and depictions of anxiety.

Original Request:

“Imagine living all by yourself. You’re a teenager that lost their parents years ago and refused to become a part of the foster system. So now you work and take care of your own apartment all while going to school at U.A. It was starting to take a real toll on you when Mr. Aizawa and Mr. Yamada approached you, like concerned parents. It could be written as platonic or romantic. (Not with the reader, I'm talking about Mic and Eraser)”

Authors Note:

As per usual I over wrote! This will be divided into two chapters. I went off on a bit of a tangent with this one but to be fair i wrote the first half over two months ago and the second half this week.

Word Count: 3.5k

(-15 degrees Celsius is 5 degrees Fahrenheit for my American bbs)

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

Chapter 1

It was bitterly cold out, the kind of cold that clung to your skin and left raw red noses and cheeks behind. It was a short walk from your apartment to the grocery store, it was all up hill and tonight, it was against the wind. The cold weather had come in fast; you’d lost your winter jacket last spring in a fire that took out half of your building. Annoyingly, it seemed that villains usually acted up in poorer neighborhoods, it was always the low-income apartment complexes that fell casualty to attacks. There was less of a hero presence, and while you had your provisional hero license you still weren’t allowed to patrol your neighborhood alone at night.

You hugged yourself against the biting wind, jewels of frozen rain whipping against your face. The dull golden glow of the grocery store doors was a blur through the tears forming in your eyes but none the less grew closer. The smell of sample soups and baking bread pierced through the onslaught of cold, a small pocket of warmth melting the air surrounding the doors. Two orange glowing heating lamps hummed on either side of the door, the awning keeping the rain from snuffing the lamps out.

The store was near deserted, not a surprise considering it was ten o’clock at night. In your general experience there were three types of people who shopped this late at night, shift workers, insomniacs and hungry stoners. You scurried off towards the baskets and faced the wall pulling the wad of bills out of your pocket, counting carefully. A lot of the first years at U.A. were in need of a tutor and you were in need of some cash, they passed their classes and their parents paid pretty well and as long as the session were between school hours and your serving job you could afford some actual produce every once and a while. You shoved the bills back in your pocket, there should be enough for the basics and something green.

You grabbed a basket and began your wander through the aisles, you knew what you were going to grab but it still felt nice to pretend you had options. You were rounding the corner to an aisle when a can pyramid of wet cat food collapsed into your legs, you stumbled back grabbing onto to a shelf of pickled herring to keep from toppling over.

“Fuck, sorry!” a familiar voice shouted. The ground tremored and a jar of herring shattered sloshing liquid down your arm. You looked up to see your English teacher, Mr.Yamada, one hand slapped over his mouth the other gripping a can of cat food.

“Fuck!” he cursed into his hand.

“I-it’s okay!” you laughed shaking the herring juice off your hand. Seeing your teacher in the wild felt weird on its own let alone seeing them demolish a cat food pyramid in a messy bun and exploding jars of herring. You couldn’t help but laugh, like really laugh. You dropped your basket and held your knees as you laughed. He joined in, the embarrassed blush draining from his face. The two of you laughed until a rather flustered older lady in a branded apron scurried down the aisle with a mop.

Mr. Yamada apologised profusely and promised to pay for the broken merchandise. The woman, however, lit up when she saw him and assured him that it wasn’t necessary. She must have been a listener of his radio show because eventually Mr. Yamada was signing the back of some crumpled receipt paper and she was smiling to herself as she walked back to the cash registers at the front of the store.

“Sh-should we clean up the mess for her then?” you asked looking at the abandoned mop.

“No, I should be cleaning up. You should be getting back to your parents, they’re probably wondering where you’ve been.” Mr. Yamada said scratching the back of his head and staring down at the felled cat food pyramid.

“Oh, uh-” you stuttered, it had been a while since someone in your life hadn’t known. It felt weird explaining your situation, you had gotten used to being on your own by now and the looks you got when you did were hard to bear. The looks that you used to read as sympathy had begun to wear on you as pity and with every new person that knew, there was one more person afraid to retraumatize you by bringing up anything family related.

“No, I’m all on my own, have been for a couple of years.” You sighed and sucked it up. He was a teacher, what was he going to go do? Teach you nicer? You knelt down next to the pile of cans and began a poor excuse of pyramid construction. “I-I can help!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Mr. Yamada said, a dark look crossing his face ever so briefly. He quickly replaced his grimace with a somewhat theatrical smile. “Thank-you!”

He joined you on the floor stacking cans, but clearly missing the point of pyramid stacking. “You were late for class this morning, everything okay?”

You blinked and kept your eyes trained on the cans. You had been honest so far, might as well keep going. “Yeah, sorry. I got off work late last night and was just so tired I slept through my alarms. It won’t happen again.”

“Nah, that’s okay. It happens to the best of us.” He waved a hand over his head and smiled warmly. Eventually he gave up on helping the forming of the pyramid and decided instead to just hand you the cans that had fallen out of arms reach. You thought about telling him you could reach them with your quirk but couldn’t bring yourself to endure having him go back to stacking.

“You know, if the whole hero thing doesn’t work out you could be a professional cat food pyramid stacker.” he laughed as he admired your somewhat lopsided spire of cat food cans.

“Glad to know my homeroom teacher believes in me.” You grumbled melodramatically.

“It could be a fun double gimmick!” he exclaimed waving his hands about. “Like how I’m a radio host and hero, you could, ya know-”

“Stack cat food cans and be a hero?” you entertained the ridiculous thought.

“Yeah, I see big things coming from it. Lifetime supplies of cat food, billboards of you swarmed in cats…” Mr. Yamada continued listing possibilities varying in absurdity.

You looked down at the puddle of pickling solution and glass and sighed, toeing a large piece of glass with your shoe. You grabbed a box of cereal you had been planning to buy and ripped open the top taking out the bag of cereal and putting in back in your basket. Then you placed your hand on the bottom of the box and turned it upside-down so the opening was facing the floor and focused on pulling the glass up into the palm of your hand. Like a vacuum the shards of glass were sucked up into the box and you flipped it over before releasing your gravitational pull.

“Smart.” Mr. Yamada grinned and grabbed the mop to finish the job. “We better get the glass and mop back to her.”

You grabbed your things and walked to the front of the store with Mr. Yamada, he with the dripping mop and you with your jingling box of glass. When the cashier from earlier caught sight of you two she turned bright red and apologized for leaving you to clean up the mess. Mr. Yamada assured her that it was his fault in the first place and he should have anyways. You nodded along when she spared you a glance between lovestruck gazes at your teacher.

A young man in the same branded green apron, noticing his coworkers lack of productivity, opened the next till and waved you through. By the time you were done with you whole grocery order for the week Mr. Yamada was also stepping away from his till with his two cans of cat food and a receipt inked with a red heart. Mr. Yamada paused at the door to zip up his coat and put on his gloves.

You did the same and zipped up your layers of hoodies and tugged your beanie over your ears, bracing for the frigid walk home. “Where’s your coat?”

“Oh, I don’t- I need a new one. I’m a ten-minute walk away, I’ll be oaky.” You said stuffing your hands into your pockets. It had been a while since anyone had chastised you about dressing appropriately, you felt a little bit of warmth fill your chest.

“It’s freezing raining out, fine my ass!” Mr. Yamada exclaimed, exasperated. The tower of pop cases next to him swayed. He winced and continued quieter. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“Thanks, but I should be okay wa-”

“It’s fifteen below and raining ice, you’re not walking.” He said. Something told you that it was settled, there was no arguing. It’s not that you didn’t appreciate the generosity, it would be nice not to have to thaw yourself out when you got home, but he’d have to see where you lived and that left a pit of embarrassment forming in your stomach.

“Thank-you.” You said quietly. He nodded and clicked a button on his car keys, a black car down the block humming to life under the heavy hail. The two of you stood under the heat lamps in a silence you were sure felt more awkward for you than from him.

“So,” you tried. “what’s your cats name?”

He smiled and looked at the food. “She’s Mr.Aizawa’s cat really, her name is Sushi and she’s a dramatic little snob who only eats fancy wet food.”

“But is she cute?”

“Adorable.” He beamed. “Okay, let’s make a dash for it.”

The two of you took off through the hail and practically jumped into his car, which felt like an oven on your chilled limbs. The car itself was nearly immaculate aside from a neatly folded up leather jacket laying across the back seat and the light dusting of white cat fur clinging to the cloth seats.

“Okay, which way am I taking off?” Mr. Yamada asked throwing the cans of cat food int eh back seat.

“Just straight down the hill until you hit tenth street, then take a right.” He nodded a pulled out into the slick road. The low murmur of the radio and hum of the engine kept the silence at bay, it had been a while since you’d been in a car you realized. You’d spent most of your commute time walking or on a bus, neither of which were particularly warm nor comfortable.

“So, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but who do you live with?” Mr. Yamada asked after a long moment of quiet.

“No one, just me and my sad wilted ivy named Sho.” You looked at him through the corner of your eye, he kept his eyes on the road a sad smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “I was already fifteen when my parents died, and I had no interest in being part of someone else’s family. So, I’m all on my own. Provided that I can prove I can take care of myself and show up once a month to a meeting with my case worker until I turn eighteen.”

The smile slipped and he slowed to a stop at a red-light, the light painting his weary features crimson. “Why don’t you have a jacket?”

You chuckled to yourself, most people weren’t so brazen with their questions. “Last spring the apartment complex I lived in caught fire during a villain hero show down and half of my apartment got torched, my coat along with it.”

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be swearing so much around you. I-I’m just…fuck.”

The light turned green and he turned the corner. “Turn into the third complex down the road.”

“You’re case worker, are they the one signing all your permission slips?” Mr. Yamada’s eyes were still trained on the road.

“Yeah, Mr. Nezu arranged it. Is that a problem?” You felt your stomach drop, you couldn’t afford to miss any training.

“No, no. I just-” he sighed and pulled off to the side of the road. The two of you sat there in the storm, the radio rumbling about power outages and low temperatures, and the hail beating down on the roof of the car. “I’ve been your homeroom teacher for two years and I didn’t know about any of this.”

“I asked Nezu to keep it to himself, I didn’t really want people to know. Everything was so new and upside down in my life that I didn’t want everyone watching me go through it, you know?” You tried to explain, fiddling with the handle of one of your bags in your hands.

Mr. Yamada stared out at the road for a moment, drumming on his steering wheel before blinking back into himself. He turned to look at you for the first time since you’d gotten in the car. “Yeah, I get that. Y/n, I am your homeroom teacher and you know you can come to me if you need help with anything, right?”

For the second time that night he made your chest bloom with warmth. It had been so long since anyone had fussed over you that didn’t know what to do with yourself. You kept picking at the bag handle in your hands. You nodded shyly, looking down at your hands willing the warm tears forming in your eyes away. The car was thick with a heavy quiet, it felt like a blanket curling around you. The car began to move again, and Mr.Yamada pulled up in front of the door to your building.

“Okay, well have a good weekend?” he asked as he unlocked the doors.

“You too!” I nodded and gathered my bags. “Thanks, for the ride Mr.Yamada.”

You open the door and got out of the car; the ice hailed down around you as you ran towards the door.

* * *

The storm had left the world covered in frost and had kept most people from venturing out the next day. For a Saturday in a busy city like Musutafu everything was quiet, so quiet that your manager told you to leave early for the night. It wasn’t as cold as the previous night, thankfully the wind had died down in the morning and the sky remained clear all day. With the streets so empty it felt eerie like something had been lost with the coming of the storm. You hugged your layers of hoodies closer to your body and trudged on through the snow filled streets.

You had tutoring sessions tomorrow afternoon which usually meant a free lunch or snack courtesy of your “student’s” parents. That thought got you through the night as you curled up under your bed sheets still wearing a hoodie to bed, having gone to bed with a nothing but a cup of noodles and cheap coffee in you.

* * *

You had made it through the weekend, mercifully all three tutoring sessions had supplied some kind of snack or drink, one even a full lunch. It was a good day indeed, exam season meant longer sessions which turned out to mean more food and more money.

The world still felt muted under that layer of snow that persisted through the weekend. Shops were slower to open, and chimney smoke greyed out the already pale sky. On Sunday night it snowed again, this time light fluffy flakes that made the city look pretty under the setting sun as you walked to work.

When Monday rolled around it was felt like everyone was rolling out of bed from a long nap, fresh faced with sleep still in their eyes. The streets and sidewalks were slicked with ice and made your walk to school a hazard. You fell a few times, bruises forming on your knees and hip as you made it through the gates of U.A.

You shoved your hoodies and beanie into your locker with raw red fingers and tried to warm up your pink nose in your palm before entering the classroom.

“Good morning, Y/n.” Mr. Yamada greeted as he passed behind you. “How was your weekend?”

“Good, thanks!” you let go of your nose and started to fumble with your books. “I worked pretty much all weekend, but it kept me busy and out of the cold.”

“Glad to hear it.” He looked at you for a moment, something unsaid behind his eyes. But then it fell away and he was back to himself.

“You’ll still be on time if you beat me to the door.” He started to walk in dramatic slow-motion, miming fake panic as you shut your locker and walked past him and crossed the threshold.

“Man, can’t believe I lost that race.” He grumbled as he followed you in, a goofy grin on his face. “GOOD MORNING!”

The room shook with his voice and the day started as it normally does, with Mr. Yamada rattling off announcements periodically using his quirk to make sure the students were all awake. The day continued, your next period a practical class co-taught with Mr. Aizawa and All Might. It was a routine rescue drill using the snow to their advantage and making a blizzard obstacle course. You’re team completed your run, faster than usual. You were glowing with pride, high fiving your classmates when Mr. Aizawa waved you over to him. Your celebration was cut short, he was a tough teacher and rarely offered any sort of instruction if it wasn’t constructive criticism.

“Mr. Aizawa?” you asked.

“Y/n,” he looked forward, hands in his pockets. “I’d like to see you in my room at lunch today. I have something I want to discuss with you.”

“Something you can’t talk about here?” You were in shit, you knew it.

He looked at you and you must have looked scared because his eyes softened. “Don’t worry, it’s not a bad thing.”

“Oh, okay.” You still felt uneasy about whatever it was he need to talk to you about but at least he wasn’t going to ring your neck for something you didn’t even know you did. “I’ll see you then.”

He nodded and looked forward again.

“Good job on the course.” He murmured quietly as you walked back to your team.

***

Lunch hour came and as promised you made your way to Mr. Aizawa’s classroom, 1-A, while your friends all left for the cafeteria.

Inside, Mr. Aizawa slouched deeply in his chair snoring and Mr. Yamada was perched on the edge of his desk reading a paper with one hand and drinking a coffee with another. Mr. Yamada looked up and nearly jumped off the desk clamouring to his feet, waking Mr. Aizawa. Despite the fact that everyone knew they were together you had never really been able to picture them as a couple until now. They both stammered out greetings and swayed awkwardly, steeling themselves for something.

“You wanted to see me?” you asked, their apparent nervousness somewhat calming yours.

“Oh, yeah!” Mr. Yamada shouted in excitement. “I have- a thing!”

He turned to Mr. Aizawa who was already picking up a shopping bag from beside his desk. Mr. Yamada waved you closer and took the bag from Mr. Aizawa, thrusting it out towards you. “I-I didn’t want to singe you out in class, so I asked Sho- Mr. Aizawa to ask you here. Um, anyways I don’t know if it’ll fit, if it’s doesn’t I can get a bigger one. Or if you don’t like it we can maybe go looking for one you like better…”

You took the bag from his hands a lump forming in your throat as you peered inside. You saw a furry hood and black quilted nylon all bundled up and you felt tears fill your eyes. You only vaguely registered Mr. Yamada’s rambling as you reached in and pulled the jacket out to look at it. It was a simple black parka with a grey faux fur hood. The tears openly spilled down your face and you looked up at the pair who were silently watching you with grins plastered on their faces.

You didn’t know what to say, so you just looked at them with tears running down your face for what felt like minutes. When you final managed to get words out all you could muster was a “Th-thank you.”

“Mr. Aizawa picked it out, if you don’t like it.” Mr. Yamada replied awardly.

“I-I like it. I love it. Thank-you, guys.” You sniffed.

“Oh, well in that case I picked it out.” He amended, earning an elbow to the ribs from Mr. Aizawa.

Read Chapter 2 of Storge here!

#mha #mha x reader #bnha #bnhaxreader #myhero #my hero academia #readerinsert #readerinsertbnha #readerxerasermic #readerxaizawa #readerxpresentmic #my hero academia fanfiction

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everythingshawnmendes · 4 years

Text

a/n: tom’s ig story with the chickens was so fucking cute, it set smt off in me. First piece of tom, don’t kill me cause it’s not shawn

summary: you’re a youtuber/actress and go shopping w ur mom and bf tom, then go home and adopt some chickens cause ur out of eggs. a lot of fluff and domestic tom ig its just that

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A post shared by Tom Holland Source (@tomhollandig) on Mar 22, 2020 at 5:08am PDT

You can’t believe how quickly that escalated.

One second you’re on set, the next, filming has been shut down for an indeterminate time for safety.

One second you’re out for lunch, the next, you find yourself at Costco helping your mom stock up for what seems like an apocalypse. Thank God Tom was with you, or you would have truly gone mad.

“MY. GOD!” Your mom exclaimed behind the wheel as she spotted the parking lot. “People are going crazy!”

“Parking at Costco is usually hard to find, but there literally isn’t one spot available.” Tom huffed, peeking his head out the window.

“So… what do we do?” You asked your mom, resting your head on Tom’s shoulder.

She looked over at you guys from her rear-view mirror and smiled slightly.

“Can you guys go in and I text you what to get?”

“Yeah of course, Mrs Y/L/N.” Tom clapped his hands together. “We’re an old couple, Y/N and I, aren’t we, love? Go grocery shopping together all the time.”

“Shut up, Tom. Every week we go, and it’s just you sitting in my cart, begging me to push you around.” You rolled your eyes at him. “Useless child, you are.” You poked him.

“Y/N.” Your mom said sternly in a tone you knew all too well. “Be nice to your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, be nice to your boyfr-“ Tom pouted at you, but stopped mid-word because you blew a big raspberry on his cheek. “Hey, that’s not a proper kiss, give dadd-“

“Okay, we’re approaching the entrance!” You said louder than necessary, your cheeks reddening. Your mom loved Tom, but no amount of closeness between the two would ever, ever make it okay for her to know about your little daddy kink.

The two of you scrambled out of the car and your mom opened the window.

“Wait, take my card!”

“It’s okay, Mrs, I can pay, don’t worry about it.” Tom leaned forward to tell her. Your heart fluttered slightly, he was just so cute, you thought.

“Don’t be silly, Y/N take my card.”

You huffed, letting go of Tom’s hand and reaching into the car to take it.

“Just let my mom pay, babe, she’ll never get over it if you do.” You said to him as the two of you turned around. “But you’re sweeeet.” You grinned bigly at him, eyes all smiley and squinty. He smiled back at you, and gave you a quick kiss.

“Alright, love, let’s go get a cart, shall we?” He walked with you to go get a cart, giving your butt a quick little spank.

“Tom!” You said through gritted teeth and laughter as you wiggled your hips to get his hand off you. “My mom’s car is still. behind. us.”

“Can’t help myself sometimes.” He laughed.

The environment in the store was crazy. Everyone was wiping everything down with wipes, some people wore gloves and masks. Quite a few people recognized you two, but everyone was social distancing, so the best they got unfortunately were some six feet apart selfies.

“Never thought I’d get recognized at Costco, to be honest.” Tom said.

“You’re… literally… Spiderman, Tom.” You looked at him.

“You never really get used to it.” He shrugged. “‘Course you might be, with all your Youtube subscribers and-“

“Oh, stop it.” You giggled, slapping his arm. “Okay, okay, my mom is spamming my phone. Jesus Christ. 4 bags of frozen vegetables, 36 cans of V8, canned tomatoes, flour, rice, oil. She’s gone crazy.” You looked up at Tom incredulously.

“We better get started then.” Tom rested his elbows on the cart and slowly walked alongside you.

Slowly but surely, following the crowd of anxious shoppers, you made it to the produce section. As you were picking out what kind of apples you should get, you hear Tom ask.

“Love, you want pineapple? Looks pretty good.” He called out from in front of you, holding up a pineapple.

“Yeah, thanks.” You couldn’t help but smile. You were so whipped for this boy, it annoyed you how much you smiled around him.

He carried on, weight resting on his elbows on the cart handle. You decided on the apples and went to join him, slipping your hand around his waist.

“Your ass looks cute in those sweatpants.” You grinned cheekily at him, as your hand give him a quick pet and he scoffed, putting his arm around your shoulder.

“So you can do it and I can’t? Unfair.”

He listened to you read off the list again and carefully picked out cartons of eggs, opening each box to make sure none were cracked.

“You know, I’ve never seen you behave so normally food shopping before.” You looked at him, a hand on your hip.

“We’re not just food shopping, we’re food shopping for your mum! I need to impress her with my potential future son-in-law skills.”

“Awe, I love you. You buffoon.” You said.

“Hey, don’t give me those big puppy eyes here. I love you too.” Tom said, returning to the cart and your side and kissing you swiftly on the top of your forehead.

“Our cart’s quite heavy already.” You pointed out.

“It’s okay, I got super strength.” He winked at you, earning jab on the arm. “You know, you’ve got to stop showing your affection by punching me.”

“I thought you had super strength.” You said, in a British accent.

“This woman.” He chuckled, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair.

“Hey, my mom just texted she wants oranges. You mind getting them, we can’t turn the cart back around with all these people.”

“Sure.” Tom headed off.

A little while later, as you’re pushing your cart that weighed a ton, you find your mom. She finally found a parking spot.

“Where’s Tom?” She asked you.

“Gone to get your oranges. Hey, are 10 kilograms of flour really necessary?”

“Yes, they are. You don’t know how long we can be stuck inside after this! Now, go get applesauce, those never expire. And get one for Tom too.”

You were going to quarantine with Tom, and you found it heartwarming your mom thought of you guys, often getting double of things.

“What took you so long?” You asked Tom when he finally returned.

“They have Easter chocolate!” He grinned, holding up two bags of chocolate eggs.

“See, I’m with you for a reason.” You took both bags and the oranges as well. “Come push the cart babe, it’s actually impossible now.” You laughed.

“Chocolate!” Your mom exclaimed.

“They had dark, so got that for you Mrs.” Tom pointed.

“Kiss ass.” You teased him.

Your two-hour long Costco trip ended and after helping your mom with the groceries, you and Tom were finally back at your home unloading your own stuff.

“Babe, we don’t have any eggs.” Tom pointed out.

“Oh no.” You said, flopping down on your couch and already on the verge of falling asleep.

“What are we going to eat in the morning?” His eyebrows furrowed, then plopped right next to you.

“Cereal.” You said in a muffled voice, head buried in a pillow.

“Mhmm.” Tom answered, wrapping an arm around your waist.

The two of you woke up some time later.

“Jeez, how long we been asleep?” You rub your eyes.

“I want my eggs.” Tom mumbled.

You looked online, and it appeared most supermarkets were all out, of a lot of stuff even.

“Where else can we get eggs?”

“Chickens!”

“Tom, that… sounds kinda fun actually.”

Next thing you know, you drove to a really nearby farm to get two chickens and you’re now in the backyard making sure your fences really work.

“-and over there is Chestnut. Be free, my friend, ooh!” Tom recorded himself, as he let one fly out of his arms.

You laughed. “You hold your phone like a dad.”

“What do you mean? This is how I record myself, here is the misses right here.” He turns to get you in the shot. “She’s looking cute n’ all, in my big sweater.”

“Hi guys, we own chickens now!”

“Hey, I’m a chicken dad!”

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic

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mist-sly · 3 years

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Sing of the Moon

Chapter Two: The Colosseum

I havnt uploaded in a while, been super busy with uni starting back. Currently working on chapter five which should hopefully be uploaded on AO3 this weekend! As well as some character art!!! Untill then enjoy chapter two!

“So, its true! That snake cheated!” Sirius shouted out. He had been pacing the conference room since he got to the UFC performance Institute to try and calm himself down.

“We can’t be certain of that Sirius. The only information we have is that the gloves that were worn during your fight had been tampered with.” Dumbledore said calmly. Sirius stopped pacing the room and looked at the old man.

He was furious. The moment Dumbledore called him that morning, he that it was true.

“Hold on Albus. Let us look at the facts here.” Fleamont Potter said. He along with James potter, Sirius best friend and four-time world boxing champion where sceptical when Sirius rang them that day. The idea that Snape had cheated and not one single official had noticed was not the most idealistic thing in the world.

“The gloves had been tampered with. We discovered this a month after Sirius lost his championship belt to Snape. Your officials missed it, leading to an unfair fight Dumbledore. The biggest fight of the year and yet you let one of the fighter’s cheats to win.” There was a sort of sharpness in Fleamont’s tone, but he did not seem angry.

“Yes, the gloves had been tampered with but there is no evidence that it happened before the fight. You have to see that the time gap between the fight and when you made this discovery is long.” Dumbledore said.

“I want his title revoked!” Sirius said, anger lacing his tone. Dumbledore looked up at him with a look of pity. A look that Sirius really did not want to see right now.

“How were the gloves tampered with?” James asked for the first time during this meeting. He and his dad had informed Dumbledore of the accusation but never actually got the look at the gloves. “Dana is still investigating but it seemed that one of the layers of padding had been replaced with-“

“Soft cast,” Sirius stated cutting Dumbledore off. The three men looked at Sirius confused. Dumbledore furrowed his brows before nodding. “Yes, how did you know about that?” Sirius ran a hair through his dark haired and closed his eyes tight. “More like how the fuck did he know about that,” he muttered to himself.

He hadn’t been able to get the interaction with the young man out of his head. He had gone through the possibilities on how the man could have known. He could have been a Snake, part of Snape’s team but then, Sirius knew that they wouldn’t let one of their own dress like he did.

There were so many questions revolving around that man. Who he was? Why did that girl call him ‘wolfy’? How did he get those scars? Or how did he get that fresh black eye?

So many things didn’t sit right with Sirius about the young man. That’s why Sirius wanted to find out everything, all the answers to his questions and further information about how he knew Snape cheated. However, that had to wait till after Sirius took care of business.

Fleamont let out a loud sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What are you going to do about Snape. The tampered gloves will not be let go unless we hear a proper solution.” Dumbledore smiled, opening a file and sliding it across the table. Fleamont picked it up and scanned its contents before handing it to Sirius. “A rematch, for the title?” Sirius hummed. Dumbledore nodded, his blue eyes watching Sirius carefully.

“Of course, a statement will have to be made to the press about the possibility of the tampered gloves being used in the title fight. A lot of media Sirius, you know what that means.” Sirius couldn’t help but smirk. Of course, this match wasn’t just for him. The press where like vultures for this type of thing. Fans would demand a rematch. It would become an even bigger fight, with bigger stakes. The UFC would be rolling in the cash that it would bring in. Sirius would be rolling in the cash.

“When?” he asked sliding the file back over to Dumbledore. “Well, your both scheduled fights. That books you till…. probably summer next year at UFC 264.” A year to prepare for a fight. A year to train and work harder than ever to crush Snapes greasy head into the ground. A year till he had his title back.

Sirius smiled and looked at James. The messy haired boy had his cocky grin on that only meant one thing. It’s time to cause a bit of mayhem. “I will get my agent to contact you and Dana. Its good doing business with you Dumbledore.” Sirius held out his hand which Dumbledore took.

James and Sirius stood outside the complex. There coats wrapped tightly around them. Fleamont having already left.

“So, what’s the game plan?” James asked. His dark skin shivering from the cold and his chocolate brown eyes looking at Sirius expectantly.

Sirius took a deep breath, exhaling and watching as the air condensed. “First,” he said looking at James. “I want to find that guy.” James raised an eyebrow at him, “and second,” he turned his attention back to the car park. “I want to know how the fuck he figured out the gloves were tampered with.”

James smirked as he watched Sirius storm away. A man on a mission. He shook his head and laughed. “This will be fun,” he said to himself before running after his best friend.

Sirius parked outside the same little coffee shop that he went to just the week before. His black Bentley looking very out of place in the rugged and run-down street. He and James had drove around for half an hour trying to find it. It was clear to the residents of the area that they were not from around these parts.

Sirius entered the coffee shop. The bell above the door ringing. The warmth and the smell of coffee pleasantly familiar to him. He walked over to the counter, James right by his side.

“Hello, what can I-”, Lils stopped when she noticed who it was. Her eyes darted from Sirius to James. She folded her arm in front of her and walked over to them. An eyebrow raised and her green eyes narrowing on them. “Up sider. What are you doing here?”

Sirius smirked at her and leaned on the counter. “Coffee. What else?” Lils rolled her eyes. “The coffee here tastes like shit. Nothing compared to that fancy stuff you two probably drink.” She was blunt. ‘Good’ Sirius thought makes this interrogation a hell of a lot easier for him, less sweet talking involved.

“Lils, that’s your name, right?” Sirius asked, running a hand through his hair to expose his enchanting silver eyes. The girl scoffed at him. Clearly his charm wouldn’t get him answers. “Lily, only my friends call me Lils.” She was snappy and sharp as a blade.

Sirius was about to say something when James leaned on the counter in between him and lily. “Hi lily. My names James, James potter. You might have heard of me, four-time world boxing champ.” He had that cocky grin on his face like always whenever he was chatting up a girl. He had put in his contacts prior to the hunt hoping to look more intimidating. Lily looked at him in disgust. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

James grin completely dropped. That was a first. Sirius rolled his eyes and shoved his friend out of the way. “I’m looking for that tall, skinny bloke. You know the one from the other day.” Lily just blinked at him. Sirius furrowed his brows looking from lily to James then back to Lily. “You know the guy with the caramel-coloured hair? He has amber eyes?” Still nothing. Sirius sighed and rubbed his face. “He had a scar on his nose and cheek, a fresh black eye with a cut in his eyebrow.”

Lily hummed and leaned forwards on the counter an amused smile on her face. “I didn’t expect you to name that many details Sirius Black,” lily said, a devilish grin growing on her face. That was a surprise. Sirius mouth dropped up; his eyebrows raised as he stood there frozen. “Knew who you were looking for the moment I saw that Bentley pull up outside.” Her grin was replaced with a warm smile that instantly made Sirius relax.

“So, what you want with wolfy?” She asked bringing three cups of coffee over to the booth that James and Sirius were now sitting at. She looked at both them and groaned sitting in beside James.

“He knew that the gloves in my last fight had been tampered with. Every detail he said was correct. I want to know how he knew.” Sirius stated taking a sip of his black coffee. The hot liquid burning his throat in the best way possible. A bitter taste settling on his tongue.

Lily hummed, staring at the cup of coffee she was nestling in her hands. She didn’t say anything. Her brows furrowing lost in thought. Sirius looked over at James, he was watching her closely with his chocolate eyes. James gently nudged her, seemingly snapping her out of where she had travelled to in her mind. She shook her head lightly and smiled at James.

“Sorry. I don’t know if I can help you with that.” She looked at Sirius a frown on her face. Her eyes where softer now. “Could you at least tell us where we might find him,” James asked. Lily looked down at her cup again, biting her lip.

She closed her eyes and scrunched up her nose. Her green eyes finding Sirius again. “I can show you were he is, but you can’t tell anyone about this place.” Sirius smiled and nodded, “yeah, sure- “ Lily cut him off again, “I mean it Sirius!” She said it so firmly that Sirius immediately shut up. She stared at him intensely, her eyes pleading him. This was important to her. Lily was helping him, the least he could do was promise her.

“I promise you. I won’t tell anyone, and I never break a promise.” Lily scanned his face for any indication that he might be lying. After finding none she nodded. “Ok…” she took out her note pad and pen from the pocket in her apron. Scribbling something down. “Meet at this address at Nine tonight. Tell no one that you’re coming. Do not knock on the door, just wait outside for me. Oh, and walk, your car will draw far too much attention.” Sirius let out a small laugh at the instructions, but lily’s face remained completely serious.

“Ok, Nine O’clock. We’ll be there.”

It was freezing. The nights always seemed so much colder in Gryffindor. The darkness lasting longer with every passing day, winter drawing closer.

Sirius shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. The blood in his finger turning cold and making them numb. He could see his own breath every time he exhaled as if he were smoking. Beside him, James pulled his white hat over his tinted red ears. A thick red puffer coat zipped the whole way up to his neck.

It was ten minutes past nine. They had arrived fifteen minutes earlier at the address lily had given them, just in case but they didn’t anticipate how cold it would be. They also had the added company of their friend, Peter Pettigrew. The small, chubby boy was wrapped up in gloves, scarf, and hat. The problem however with inviting Peter was that he winged about everything.

“Are you sure she didn’t just tell you to come here just to make you look like an idiot and freeze to death? Who even is this chick anyways?” Peter grumbled. Sirius rolled his eyes. That was the tenth time he had asked these questions. “Oh, shut up Peter,” James snapped. He was more than happy to come. Excited even. For him it was like a new adventure and the fact that he wouldn’t stop talking about the red-haired girl since they left the coffee shop, could also be a reason why he was so excited.

“Just look where we are! Have you even been to this part of Gryffindor before? For fuck sake, were standing outside an abandoned building,” Peter fired back, waving his hands around and gesturing to the building they were currently standing outside.

Peter was not wrong. The address Lily give them was a couple of streets away from the coffee shop. It was an old building. Glass littered the pavement outside it, the windows boarded up with wood. The brick wall had a large, spray-painted wolf, howling at the moon on it. The art itself was very detailed, silver spray paint had even been used on the fur and moon to make it shine and sparkle when the streetlight shone of it.

“She will be here,” Sirius said firmly, pulling the hood of his hoodie up. As if on que, the sound of heals clicking down the pavement echoed round the empty and abandoned street. Lily smiled as she walked towards them. James clearing his throat and straightening up. “Hi guys, sorry I’m late.” She stopped a give Sirius an apologetic look noticing him shivering before noticing Peter.

“Who’s this?” Lily eyes scanned Peter up and down, narrowing in as the small boy gulped nervously.

“This is Peter he’s a friend and employee of mine. He’s an analysist, helps find fighters styles and any mistakes they might have made in previous fights,” Sirius said, eyeing lily as she examined the boy.

Lily hummed and turned towards an ally. “Let’s get going, I don’t want to miss the fight.”

The boys looked at each other before following her. “Fight?” James asked, quickly walking beside her. Lily just rolled her eyes stopping in front of a large metal door. She banged on the door three times, making the boys flinch. There was a pause before lily banged on it once more.

The sound of locks roughly turning on the other side, bounced off the walls of the alleyway.

The door swung open. The boys all looked up as a very large man stood in front of them all. He was tall, taller than the young man Sirius was trying to find. His shoulders were broad and his arms huge. He wasn’t fat. Defiantly not fat with the amount of pure muscles he had.

Peter gulped loudly as James leaned over to Sirius. “How the hell do you find these people?” he whisper shouted. Sirius just blinked up at the man, making sure that he was real.

The man narrowed his dark blue eyes on them. A few strands of his dark red hair falling over them. “Who are you?” He grunted out, looking each of them up and down.

Sirius stepped forwards into the light of the doorway. He watched as the man’s eyes widened in recognition. “Sirius Black?” Sirius didn’t answer him. He was to transfix on the large scar that ran down the center of the man face. It started from the top of his forehead, ran down the bridge of his nose and out onto his left cheek. It truly made the man look scary.

“It’s rude to stare,” said the man, snapping Sirius out of state. He cleared his throat and looked away, just past the man to the inside of the building. “Sorry, that’s me.”

The man raised an eyebrow at Sirius before Lily finally decided to speak up, “Cain let us in, its freezing out here!” She yelled, pushing past Sirius. Sirius watched as the scary looking man smiled softly at her.

“Lily! How nice of you to stop by,” Cain said cheerfully. Lily rolled her eyes but smiled non the less. “Yeah, yeah. These guys are looking for wolfy, mind if we come in now?”

Cain looked past lily. His eyes landing on Sirius suspiciously. “Fine,” he said, moving out of the way to let them in. Lily looked back at the guys and grinned as they followed her inside. “So, what are professional fighters like you two want with a guy like wolfy?” Cain asked, pushing his way to the front.

“That’s private business,” Sirius stated as Cain lead them down a dark and damp hallway. The dark green wallpaper was peeling away, and the floors creaked with every step. Lights flickered overhead and the faded sound of shouting and cheering drew closer. “Suit yourself,” Cain shrugged.

Sirius looked over at James. The dark-skinned boy was looking around in complete awe. Sirius could understand why. The two off them had grown up in wealth and fame. Dirty and destroyed places like this weren’t exactly common in their world. “What is this place?” James breathed out.

Cain looked over his shoulder at them, an eyebrow raised. “You mean you don’t know?” He asked stopping outside a pair of double doors. The sound of shouting and cheering was louder now but still muffled by the metal doors.

The boys shook their heads. Cain grinned at them. “Well lads. Welcome…. TO THE COLOSSEUM!” He shouted pushing the two doors open.

Bright overhead lights shone into Sirius eyes as he walked through the doors. The group finding themselves on a balcony overlooking what seemed to be an indoor stadium. Rows upon rows of people cheering and shouting, the sound of bets being made and taunting sending a wave of electricity up Sirius spine. Right in the middle of it all was an octagon ring that Sirius knew all too well.

“You wanted wolfy, well there he is,” Lily said. A smile was plastered on her face as she leaned on the railing looking over the ring. Sirius’s silver eyes watched the two people fighting. His mouth suddenly felt dry as that familiar cameral coloured, head of hair ducked to dodge a punch. “It’s him…” he barley managed to whispered out.

Peter and James stood either side of him, watching the fight starstruck. “Sirius, mate. I hate to burst your bubble, but you described this guy as tall and skinny,” James said practically bouncing on his feet as ‘wolfy’ landed a hard left hook. “That guy is anything but skinny!” Peter gasped as if offended Sirius could ever describe the man like that.

Sirius gulped as the two fighters danced around the ring. The young man now facing towards him. His amber eyes were bright, sweat dripping down his forehead. His arms, legs and torso shining in the light. He stood up straighter, pushing his sweat drenched hair out of his face which only seemed to smear the blood that ran down his nose, everywhere.

Sirius blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing things right. His feet felt like they were stuck to the ground, unable to move or look away. Only one thought swam through his mind…

“Who the hell is this guy?!”

#wolfstar #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #James Potter #lily evans #MMA AU #Sing of the Moon #Chapter 2

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n-ctarinenga · 4 years

Text

Flower Boy [ boxer!calum ]

flower boy series | pt.1 | word count: 5,659 | masterlist

"Thank you so much! I'll have these to you as soon as possible. Goodbye!"

Talia grins, as she farewells the family whos portraits she had just finished shooting.

As much as she loves photography, there were only so many matching outfits and unhappy children a person could handle in a day, and with the family that had just left her studio, Talia had reached her limit.

Draining days were something she had gotten used to, business booming lately thanks to the kind words of a handful of past clients. With doors only opening just under a year ago, Valentine Studios didn't exactly have the longest history in town, but Talia liked to believe her dedication and skill made up for lack of experience.

Her mother hadn't really approved of the move, her ideals for her daughter being stuck a few decades in the past.

With the thought of her mother flashing through her mind, Talia couldn't help but sigh as she moved to pack up her camera for the night.

After the great disbandment of the Alisley family, it was nearly impossible for either of the Alisley children to communicate with their mother, but that didn't stop Yvonne from making her annual call to her kids, mostly about the percentage paid out to them every couple weeks from their father's estate royalties, which in Talia's case, was this morning.

From that point onward, it felt like the universe had decided to torment Talia today.

Starting off with the phone call, and most recently manifesting as a set of twins who refused to do any form of posing with their parents, Talia couldn't wait to go home and sleep so she could start the next day fresh and away from the negative vibes of the current day.

Once her backdrops had been rolled up, and her camera was safely stored in its bag, Talia finally had time to let down her dark brown hair, the two bright streaks of red framing her face. She took great pleasure in turning all the lights off, and locking the door of the studio behind her.

Taking a second to relax in her car, Talia looks at her phone, scrolling through til she reaches the contact of her brother, Brandon.

The Alisley family were estranged from each other these days, but that didn't mean that Talia and Brandon had stopped being lifelong best friends.

The two had always been close, only a couple years between the siblings. Growing up in a world surrounded by adults until they themselves were well into their teens, they were practically a package deal until they had both moved into their own apartments a few years ago.

As of late, while Talia was diving head first into Valentine, Brandon was knee deep in The Vault, the gym he had started not long before Talia opened her own business.

Sitting in her car, Talia contemplated calling him for a moment, her finger hovering over the call button as she thought.

With both of them being so busy, they had barely had time to catch up over the last couple months, and after the day she had had today, Talia needed a bit of chill time with the only other person in the world who could understand her situation.

Their father always joked they could communicate telepathically, and after not seeing him for so long, Talia missed speaking her native tongue.

Deciding to make her way over to the gym, Brandon always telling her he was there any Friday night she would try to make plans with him lately, Talia constructed a plan for what she would do once she finally had convinced her brother to stop throwing himself into his work every Friday night.

With The Vault situated downtown, it was a bit of a drive in Los Angeles traffic, but with the thought of the Thai food just up the street from the gym in her mind, Talia couldn't find it in herself to care about the lengthy journey.

The radio softly played one of the many playlists made on Talia's phone as she drove along, windows down and the breeze lightly whipping her hair around as she did her best to relax while she had the chance.

While most people were finishing their work week, Talia, being the head photographer at Valentine, was still one day away from her own weekend, working every Saturday since the studio opened. This made it easier for families to get together for their shoots, not having to worry about getting back to work and getting the kids back to school, and Talia could tell her clients appreciated it, which made the extra day of work worth it to her.

Propping her head up, with her left elbow resting on the top of the door, Talia can't help the frown that flashes onto her face as she approaches the gym.

Expecting to see only Brandon's car and maybe another employee's, the full parking lot beside the building confuses her. How many people would be at a gym after hours?

The confused frown on Talia's face lingers as she parks her car next one she definitely recognised as Brandon's, climbing out and locking it before pocketing her keys and approaching a man who looked slightly familiar, noticing he was one of Brandon's employees as she got closer.

"Johnny," Talia smiles politely, the man turning to her with wide eyes as he recognizes her, "what's happening here?" She asks.

Johnny stutters for a moment, looking around like he rather be anywhere else in the world at this exact moment.

"Oh, here? Just some regulars here for a get together. Your brother left a few hours back though." He says quickly, tripping over his words slightly, almost like he was making a story up as he went along.

Suspicion courses through Talia at the deflective words of the man much taller than she is, and if she didn't already know him, she probably would have been intimidated by his size alone.

"I just parked next to his car though, and it's kinda odd for Brandon to leave the gym open." Talia laughs awkwardly, not trusting of the excuse she was being given when she knew her brother better than to leave not only his business open, but also his car unlocked outside it.

"I think I'll just check things out for myself thanks Johnny." Talia states, before taking a step forward towards the entrance.

Sensing her disbelief, and his face turning to one of panic, Johnny takes a step sideways, blocking the door from Talia's path.

"Brandon said that you were banned from Friday nights. I'm sorry Talia." He finally says, and Talia can't help the look of surprise that covers her face.

"Me? Banned from the Vault? I hardly think so mate." She laughs, taking advantage of the height difference between them to duck under Johnny's arm, easily pushing the door open into the gym.

Immediately, Talia is met with a wall of noise.

A crowd, some seated, some not, surround the central boxing ring at the center of the building. The usual smell of cleaning supplies and sweat is amplified by the stench of beer radiating through the whole building, but even then, the thing that grabs Talia's attention isn't the crowd or their behavior, but instead, what they're watching.

In the center of the ring, two large, well built men circle each other. Talia watches on in horror for only a moment before one man launches his fist forward towards the others stomach, and it's in this moment she realizes that the men aren't wearing gloves, but thin bloodied wraps.

The crowd roar with a wave of life as the punch connects, the second man doubling over and leaving himself exposed to an onslaught the first delivers without hesitation.

Even with the presence of Johnny behind her, the only thing Talia can see is the pure violence playing out in front of her, realization growing by the second as her eyes finally break away from the ring to where her brother stands at the back of the crowd.

She can't help but think her father might have been right about the telepathy, because almost as if he could sense her eyes on him, Brandon's own find her.

All of the colour drains from Brandon's face as he excuses himself from the black haired man he's talking to, running around the outside of the crowd to reach his sister, who stands frozen in place.

He says nothing as he grabs Talia's hand, pulling her sideways into the office room to the right of the building, easily tugging her past the back of the crowd that still stare focused into the ring.

The clinical white lights above them come to life as Brandon flicks the switch beside the door, shutting it behind him quickly before he turns back to Talia.

"What are you doing here?" He asks quickly, inspecting her as if she was a wounded animal ready to pounce.

Fighting her disbelief at the situation and his question, Talia's eyes go wide as a wave of anger washes over her at his question.

"What am I doing here? What the fuck is that shit, Brandon?!" She throws back at him, her voice louder and stronger than she expected it to come out of her.

Waving his hands panicked, trying to get her to lower her voice, Brandon tries to shush her, which only makes her more ticked off.

"Look you weren't supposed to see that-"

"Answer my fucking question or I'll start screamin' it." She threatens, cutting him off mid sentence.

An angry and frustrated expression settles on his face as Brandon let's out a huff, not knowing how to word his explanation and remaining silent while he tries to find the right words.

"Is this why you've been blowing me off for months? You got some fucking fight club bullshit going on here instead?" She questions further, her voice breaking slightly with stress.

"I can't tell you all the fucking details in one breath, Talia. I wasn't exactly expecting you to find out like this."

Brandon argues, throwing his hand up in annoyance, which only confuses her more.

"What makes you think you have the right to be angry at me when you're the one that has the explaining to do?"

"Fuck! Alright! I get it!" He whisper yells harshly, face twisting in anger and making the siblings look even more alike than usual, Talia taking a step back at his sudden outburst, "look, the money is gonna get cut off one day, I'm thinking about my future, OUR futures here. That's what this shit is about."

"And what exactly is this shit, Brandon?" Talia asks, aggressively pointing towards the door that barely separated them from the crowd.

"It's boxing. Same shit you see on TV, just, not as commercial."

"This isn't the same shit as on TV! Those guys aren't even wearing gloves!" She argues, smacking the back of her hand as she speaks.

"Bare knuckle and wraps get better bets, the guys make their own decisions on if they do it or not." Brandon defends as he crosses his arms.

Talia shakes her head in annoyance, her face twisting. Everything was happening so quickly, meaning she barely had enough time to process all the information being thrown at her.

"You're scared of mommy cutting off the royalties so this is what you do instead?" She asks.

"The money is gonna get cut off and it's gonna be sooner rather than later. Do you expect me to suck up forever? To hide Sam til she dies too? Mom hates both of us now and you know it just as well as I do."

Talia feels her throat tighten at his words. Her stomach felt like it was close to emptying its content as the gut punch of his words hit her at a hundred miles per hour.

"Shut the fuck up. You know I love Sam and you know I don't want to do it just as much as you don't want to. But you're right, it will be sooner if she finds out about this." She spits back.

Taking a step towards him, arms crossed, Talia holds steady eye contact as she looks up to her brother.

"You're not the only one she can fuck over. When she finds out and cuts me off too, what the fuck are we gonna do, huh?" She whispers harshly as the crowd outside the room bursts into life again, the next round starting.

Brandon breaks the eye contact between them as he stares at the ground, fists clenched at his sides as the obvious stress of the situation flashes across his face.

"She won't, not yet."

Talia rolls her eyes as her arms uncross, leaning back against his desk.

"Mom always finds out."

"She won't this ti-"

Brandon is interrupted by the office door swinging open, a tall man with blonde hair and a panicked look on his face ignoring Talia to address Brandon the second his eyes land on him.

"Hood's broken Knight's nose." He says in a rush, causing Brandon to groan, following the man out the door before turning back to Talia.

"Don't leave this office, I'll be back soon."

Talia throws her brother a sarcastic thumbs up before he rushes off, the door clicking shut behind him.

Talia felt like her mind was in the worst spin she'd ever experienced. Finally the late nights, the astronomical bills being excused as gym costs, the secrets, they all made sense.

As angry as she was with her brother, she was more worried about him than anything.

Seeing the crowd, the action in the ring, it was more than just the sparring she would see from time to time as she made the rounds to check in on things. These people were out for blood, and would throw as much money as they needed at it to make it happen. This wasn't the kind of thing she ever expected Brandon to be involved in, and it shocked her that he's involved in that world obviously as more than just a spectator.

Sitting down in the office chair, Talia rests her elbows on the desk in front of her, covering her face with her hands as she tries to take a deep breath to calm her nerves, but jumping as the crowd outside roars again.

This wasn't something she was familiar with, and the uncharted territory this laid out in front of her felt like a minefield. Both her brother's lies, and the violence they were hiding.

With her anxiety peaking as she sits deep in her thoughts, she nearly yelps as the office door flies open, a tall man coming in and looking around for someone, before their eyes finally land on Talia.

If the sharp jawline, dark eyes and deadly look on his face didn't take her breath away, the ripped and bruised skin under his eye sure did.

A seemingly permanent scowl was set on the man's face, and his height and all black outfit just added to the intimidating stance he has as he lets the door swing shut behind him.

Talia couldn't help but notice that the man is attractive, even with blood dripping down his face, noticing his hair closely cropped to his head, apart from the wild bleached curls that fell onto his forehead.

For a brief moment, the angry look on the man's face softens upon seeing the smaller woman sitting behind his boss's desk, but it's instantly replaced by a look of confusion.

"Who the fuck are you?" He asks, his voice deeper than she expected with an unfamiliar accent laced into his words.

Slightly taken back, Talia frowns, withdrawing from the desk and standing up behind it, her defensive nature quickly taking over.

"I'm Talia Alisley, who the fuck are you?"

This time it's the man that's taken back, his eyebrows shooting up as he scoffs, arrogance in spades and tension building by the second as Talia crosses her arms in front of herself.

"I'm Calum Hood," He says, and Talia freezes.

Hood. Was he the Hood that the blonde man was talking about? The one who apparently had broken the nose of the guy Brandon was checking on?

"and I'm guessing you're the precious little sister." He comments, and this time it's Talia that raises her eyebrow. Did Brandon mention her to these guys?

"Too right I am, so don't fuck with me and we should be fine. Brandon said he'd be back soon." She replies, sitting back down with her arms still crossed and the scowl on her face settling in while in his presence.

Deep down, Talia knew it was probably a bad idea to piss off the guy who was not only bleeding, but the cause of a broke nose two rooms over, but her pride and defensive nature was far more powerful than the anxiety swirling in her stomach.

"No need to worry about that, princess." Calum rolls his eyes in annoyance. If Brandon was gonna send him to his office, he could at least show up instead of wasting his time, and give him a warning.

Talia was thankful in that moment for the low light of the room on account of the desk lamp being off, hiding the blush that made her ears burn. Yeah, he might be a dickhead, but he was still an attractive dickhead.

Slumping down into the chair opposite Talia with a huff, Calum shakes his head, while Talia stays stone faced across from him.

"You alright?" She asks after a moment, referring to where blood still sits on his cheekbone.

Calum frowns at her attitude change, not aware of the injury that he sustained from Knight's ringed hand landing a right hook before Calum landed his own.

In his defense, Knight should have known better than to touch his gear.

With the confused look flashing across his face for a longer period this time, Talia can't help but roll her eyes.

"You're bleeding under your eye, bro." She points out.

As Calum reaches up to touch his cheek, the door opens, the blonde man from before walking in with Brandon in toe as Talia thanks her lucky stars.

"Not gonna lie I thought you would have left by now." Brandon says, looking at Talia first while her eyes stay on the actions of the blonde man opening a medical kit on the desk.

"Oh don't worry, I want to." She comments.

"So do I, can I go now?" Calum directs towards Brandon as the blonde man touches an alcohol wipe to his cheek, making his aggressive expression falter slightly.

"Once Luke says you're okay and once I've dealt with you, yes." He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Look," Talia says, standing up and holding her hands up in surrender, "obviously you've got a lot of shit going on here right now so we'll deal with this tomorrow." She gestures between them, walking around the desk and past the three men.

Letting out a sigh, Brandon sends her a look of appreciation.

"Thanks T, text me when you get home." He replies, to which she sends him a short nod.

"Luke, can you walk her out?" He asks, turning to the man getting up from kneeling in front of Calum.

"Yeah, no worries." He smiles, taking his gloves off and throwing them in the bin.

Walking out the door with Luke, Talia winces at the loudness of the crowd, thankful for the taller, now calm, man standing between them and herself.

"I'm Luke, by the way." He smiles kindly, holding his hand out for Talia to shake as they make it to the door.

"Talia. Gotta be honest, I wish this was under better circumstances." She smiles tightly back at him, shaking his hand.

"Yeah," he laughs, "me too."

As they make it outside, Talia leads Luke around the building to where her car sits, right next to Brandon's.

"Well, this is me." She says, signalling to her car with the keys in her hand. "Thanks for walking me past all of that."

"No problem. Drive safe." Luke says with a small wave to her, and she gives him an appreciative smile.

"You too. See you 'round, Luke."

Climbing into her car, Talia sighs, relaxing only slightly in the familiar surroundings.

As she pulls away from the curb, Luke sends her a final wave before walking back into the gym.

Driving away, the adrenaline of the situation starts to wear off, and the reality of the situation starts to sink in.

"God, I'm gonna fucking kill him." Talia mutters to herself, turning the radio up and going over the night's events in her head as she drives back to her apartment.

The next morning, Talia awakes with a rock of dread weighing down her stomach.

Her mind immediately flashes back to the events of the night before, and as she showers, gets dressed and locks her apartment door, it almost felt like she wore the dread of the impending conversation she needed to have with her brother as a scarf tied too tightly around her neck.

Instead of heading straight to the studio and editing the photos of the last few days as usual, Talia instead took a deep breath as she started heading back towards Vault, having a couple hours to hopefully get answers before her first clients for the day were set to arrive at eleven.

The parking lot beside Vault sat a lot emptier today. Only a handful of cars sprinkled around, and just like last night, Talia pulls into the space beside Brandon's car.

Taking a moment before walking in, Talia leans back in her seat, closing her eyes.

She was scared. Of Brandon's explanation, of possibly having to accept whatever the fuck she had witnessed last night, of walking out more confused than she was about to walk in.

Her and Brandon had grown up play fighting, and catching an odd round or two when their dad decided to watch Friday Fight Night, but violence had never really been part of their lives in a physical form. Apart from a questionable wrestling phase when she was 14, Talia couldn't even remember the last time she saw two people in a ring together that wasn't casual sparring when she would frequent the gym in its early days.

None of it compared to what she saw last night.

With what happened still fresh in her mind, Talia climbs out of her car, pushing the door shut behind her.

Johnny doesn't stand by the entrance this morning, meaning Talia easily walks into the gym, the door squeaking slightly in protest as she pushes it open.

It's almost like nothing had even happened. All the equipment that was pushed against a wall last night now sits in its normal place, the shelves of alcohol behind the check in desk now stocked with protein powders like less than twelve hours ago the counter wasn't a very convincing bar.

Hearing her come in the door, a couple people look up from what they're doing, sending Talia a polite smile before returning to their work.

Calum Hood is not one of these people.

Almost like the universe had put a glowing neon sign over his head, Talia's eyes instantly wander towards where Calum stands next to the black haired man she recognized as the same person Brandon was talking to last night when she arrived.

Noticing her too, Calum’s encouragement of his best friend is interrupted by his eyes catching a flash of blue hair in his peripheral vision.

While he knew any animosity towards the woman who could probably have him fired with a few fake tears was a bad idea to hold onto, he couldn't help but feel annoyed upon seeing her in what he thought of as his domain.

Face settling into a frown as she looks across the room to the man who easily got on her nerves last night, Talia almost doesn't notice Brandon coming up behind her.

"Hey." He greets quietly, holding a takeaway cup of coffee out to his sister. "Time for that talk, huh?"

"Yeah. Think so." She takes the coffee with a nod of thanks, and hesitantly follows him to his office.

Talia couldn't tell if Brandon was trying to suck up to her with free coffee, but after sitting down at the chair in front of his desk and taking a sip, tasting vanilla latte, she knows he is.

"So, where should we start?" He asks, settling into his seat with a heavy sigh.

Talia scoffs lightly, raising her eyebrow.

"The beginning would be good."

Brandon nods, looking down at his desk to avoid meeting her eyes.

"The fights started around one, maybe two months after we opened, so we've been hosting them for about fourteen months now."

Talia's eyes go wide, disbelief covering her face as she places her cup on his desk forcefully.

"You're telling me you've been hiding this shit for over a year?" She asks, anger already starting to build.

"Yeah, and if you haven't fucking noticed, it's not been the easiest thing to do." He snaps, before holding his hands up, taking a deep breath and rolling his seat back slightly to calm himself, too much tension already in the air.

Talia bites her tongue, looking down at her hands before she signals to him to continue.

"A friend of mine, Ashton, he was part of an illegal boxing league running out of a rundown place up in Hollywood. I saw him fight there a couple times, saw the conditions myself. The guy running the show was a complete asshole to his guys, but they all needed the money, so they stuck around." He explains, voice quieter than before.

"One night we got to talking. I asked Ash if he thought we might be able to make our own ring, give people a safer place to earn their money. Then we figured out how much we could earn from it, and with shit going so wrong with mom, I figured that if she pulled the rug out from under me, I could use the league as a safety net."

Piecing together the timeline in her head, and doing the best to absorb the information given to her, Talia remains silent and slowly nods along when needed.

"Him and I have built this thing from the ground up, and it's working for us. I manage the books, he manages the guys, and we take care of the admin together. With my connections to the rich assholes who have more money than they know what to do with, and with Ashton's connection to the guys who need that money and want to do it, we're doing really, really well, Talia."

This time it's Talia who avoids eye contact, looking down to her shoes as she curses the logical side of her brain for seeing sense in his story.

"How many people do you have fighting for you?" She asks.

Brandon let's out a heavy breath, waving his hand slightly.

"Around twenty, twenty five. We keep the doors open for the more occasional guy who needs the cash that week."

"And how often are the nights like last night happening?"

"Weekly. Every Friday, normally."

Seeing the hesitation on her face, bottom lip pulled between her teeth, Brandon sits forward to bring her attention to him, her eyes flicking up to meet his.

"I know this is a lot, and I don't expect you to be okay with it, but I do want you to know I'm being smart about this."

Talia sighs, taking a sip of her drink before speaking.

"I know you, so I don't doubt it. It's just so dangerous, Brandon. You can't expect me not to be worried about you."

Brandon laughs lightly, trying to lift the mood slightly.

"I would never expect you not to worry. It's not in your nature."

A small smile tugs at the corners of Talia's lips, and it's enough to ease his mind.

"Anything you want to know about the ring, the business, any of it, I'll answer as best as I can. I trust you more than anyone and I want to do everything I can to make you feel okay with this, and make up for holding it from you."

Talia hazards a look to her brother, seeing on his face that he's been open and honest with her.

"You know I always ask too many questions." She smiles, joking lightly as she referenced something she would hear almost daily from her mother growing up.

Brandon shakes his head as he laughs, taking a sip of his own drink.

"If you get too much for me, I'll just pass you on to Ashton. It's what normally happens around here." He shrugs slightly, before tilting his head.

"Actually, do you want to meet him? He should be around out there." He asks, and Talia mulls the idea over for a moment before agreeing. After all, it would probably be best to know who she would castrate if something happened to Brandon.

"Sure, might as well." She agrees, downing the last of her drink and tossing her cup into the small recycling bin under his desk.

Standing up and following Brandon out of his office, Talia can feel her nerves already starting to act up, and does her best to shove them down as she follows him towards the bench press where the black haired man who she now assumed was Ashton, and Calum stood.

"Hey, guys. I got someone for you to meet." Brandon says, catching their attention as they approach.

Ashton sends her a warm smile as she steps out from behind Brandon, which is a nice contrast from the cold glare Calum sends her way, which she ignores to return the smile instead.

"Ashton, Calum, this is my sister, Talia. Talia, this is the demon on my shoulder Ash, and my blue rock em sock em man Calum."

"We've met." Calum says bluntly, while Ashton raises his eyebrow.

"And we haven't. Nice to meet you, I assure you Brandon's told us nothing but good things." Ashton grins, holding his hand out for her to shake.

Talia takes his hand and can't help but notice how strong his grip is without what looks like any effort, and laughs lightly.

"I'd hope so, but I can't promise my staff have heard the same about him. It's nice to meet you too." She returns, letting her hand drop to her side before she acknowledges the man beside him.

"And yeah, charmed." Talia prods lightly, seeing Calum trying to hide the roll of his eyes from Brandon.

"Talia is gonna be spending more time around, getting to know the workings when she can. I said if she annoys me too much I'm gonna pass her on to you, so fair warning." Brandon informs them, tapping Ashton's arm as he directs his sentence to him.

"Fantastic." Talia hears Calum mutter, not loud enough for the other two to hear it, but just enough that she does.

This time, it's Talia that rolls her eyes at Calum.

As conversation is made, Calum can't help but feel hyper aware of Talia, and the sun shining in from the high windows casting sunbeams through the few red hairs that fell out of her bun and framed her face delicately. He would admit that Talia was pretty, beautiful even, but not audibly, especially not in front of the girl who felt no hesitation in sending him a death glare every few minutes.

The small group spend ten or so minutes talking with each other before Talia's phone rings, letting her know she should start making her way to the studio.

"Looks like I should be getting to work." Talia says, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

"What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?" Ashton inquiries, genuine interest in his tone, making her see why Brandon was such a fan of him.

Talia believed she could read people well, and from her first impression of Ashton, she got nothing but good vibes.

"I'm a photographer, I own my own studio called Valentine." She smiles proudly, and Ashton nods his head in approval.

"My girlfriend works just down the road from you I think! It's not far from Dominion Books, right?"

Pleasant surprise spreads across Talia's face as she nods, happy to have found a common link.

"Yeah! I think I might have seen you there in passing now I think about it." She smiles.

Brandon watches on with joy as he sees both Talia and Ashton getting along, so happy about it in fact that he didn't even notice Calum looking like he would rather be anywhere else in the world.

Talia says her goodbyes to the men before turning to leave, her attention being called back before she makes it too far.

"If you ever need a fill in hunk for a photo shoot, you know who to call." Ashton jokes, sending a wink in her direction.

"Yeah, you can get your brother to pass you my number any time." Calum says sarcastically, surprising her but also making her scoff as she takes a few steps backwards before turning around.

"In your dreams, darlin'." She calls over her shoulder.

As the door swings shut behind her, Calum feels like his feet are glued to the floor, the eyes of his best friend burning into him as Brandon excuses himself to mock throw up against the wall.

"What's that all about between you two?" Ashton asks Calum quietly, picking up his water bottle as Calum picks up his own, holding it up and speaking casually before taking a sip.

"No idea what you're talking about mate."

TAGLIST | @spicycal @calmlftv @irwinkitten @mrandleer @candidcal @lukeskisses @wallflowercal @brooklynsninenine @whereveryouares @everyscarisahealingplace

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood imagine #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer blurb #5sos #5sos fanfic

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preferredrealty · 4 years

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Wrong Place, Wrong Time - A Mob! Shawn Mendes Series

I recommend reading PULSE first, its the prequel to this.

Part 2

PLOT: When a ordinary waitress (Y/N) (Y/N) witnesses a murder after working late at the diner one night, the last this she expects is to catch the eye of Shawn Mendes, a known gangster.

Hope y’all enjoy! Feed back of any kind is appreciated💛🌻

“Now you make sure you get home safe, ya hear?” (Y/N) turned to smile at Deloris, the older waitress she worked with who treated (Y/N) like a daughter. “I will, I’ll text you when I’m home.” Deloris nodded pulling her think black coat on over the baby pink waitress uniform. “Have a good night with Jerome.” (Y/N) grinned knowing it was date night for the married couple of twenty years. With a cheeky wink Deloris walked out the front door, throwing a wave to (Y/N) as she locked the doors and shut the blinds.

Feeling energy left over from the rush of a Friday evening in the diner (Y/N) walked over to where the aux cord was connecting her phone hitting shuffle on her music.

Filling up the mop bucket she sang and danced along to the music as she cleaned, taking advantage of the wet floor as she slid along, a giggle escaping her as she almost slipped.

Putting away the mop and turning the lights off, she made her way into the kitchen she stopped and glared at the large garbage bag sitting by the door groaning. “Damn it Greg!” She huffed slipping on a pair of rubber gloves, as DNNC - Still Good busted through the headphones she just tucked into her ears. “Swear I’m gonna beat that boys ass some day.” She groaned nudging open the back door, heaving the heavy bag out into the ally behind the diner.

“We just started talking and taking to into fighting-“ she sang softly throwing the bag into the large bin outside. “We’re still gooood together-“ her eyes widened as she turned and found four men frozen mid fight staring at her. She slowly stepped back only to bump into a chest. Looking up at a ginger who was holding her arms by her sides she gulped and closed her eyes.

A scream left her lips as she watched the curly hair man shoot the two men in front of him as another guy stood wiping blood from his lip. The sudden adrenaline flooded her veins. Throwing her upper body forward she then threw it back, the back of her head colliding with the mans nose. “Oh fuck!” He yelled his grip loosening enough for (Y/N) to pull her arms free.

Without looking back she ran, her white Fila trainers beating against the concrete as she ran. Her lungs burned and tears stung the sides of her eyes but the adrenaline kept pushing her and soon she found herself sitting on the couch of her apartment with her hands tucked between her legs and her eyes staring unfocused at the blank TV.

It was like she was on Auto Pilot. She woke up with a pounding headache, showered, had breakfast and was off to work without a second thought.

Breezing through the morning, the usual people came in for breakfast before work then went on with their day.

Deloris stared at (Y/N) as she cleaned the same table for the third time before she smacked the piece of gum in her mouth, sticking the pencil she had he doodling with into her Afro.

“(Y/N)? Baby you okay?” She muttered as she put her hand on (Y/N)’s arm. Jumping as the girl whipped around with wide eyes.

“Honey what happened after I left you yesterday?” She asked ushering (Y/N) to sit down.

“I- He- They-“ she shook her head as tears filled her eyes. “There was a fight- a gang? I don’t know but I- I’m a witness to something.” She paused looking at Deloris with pleading eyes.

Deloris looked over her shoulder, the diner now empty beside one older couple at the far side. “Okay, okay now listen to me.” Deloris took hold of (Y/N)’s hands. “Did they see you leaving here?” She bowed her head as (Y/N) nodded. “Okay they’re going to come here. They’ll probably wait to get you alone. You act clueless. You didn’t see shit y’hear?” (Y/N)’s eyes widened as she nodded. The bell of the door breaking them apart as a family walked in. “Now get out of your head baby, if you clean this table once more it might fall through.” A giggle left her lips making (Y/N) laugh along standing. Auto Pilot taking control again.

It was later in the evening during the dinner rush that (Y/N) felt eyes on her. She had clocked the curly haired man out of the corner of her eye as she set down a families order before walking away with a smile, straight past him with her head held up confidently into the back kitchen as if to her a order.

Once the swinging doors shut her knees turned to jelly as she grasped the counter. Deloris looked up from the freezer she was digging through to find (Y/N) as white as their aprons. “Which one is it?” Was all Deloris said her eyes peeking out the hole in the wall they used to pass food out from the kitchen. “Curly hair, white suit.” Deloris nodded pulling the pencil from her hair and note pad out “find the strawberry ice cream will you?” She asked before disappearing out the doors.

With the ice cream in hand (Y/N) walked out the doors and stayed behind the counter making a strawberry milkshake, looking in the reflection of a cup above her to see Deloris taking his order and walking back. She tore the order off hanging it on the clip with the rest of them while standing next to (Y/N). “Big order, he’s gonna be here a while.” Chewing on her lip (Y/N) cursed softly before walking to the table next to his dropping off the milk shake. “Enjoy honey.” She smiled at the kid who ordered it before walking away.

“Just leave!” (Y/N) whispered to herself cleaning down the counter as the man sat with one arm over the back of the booth, the other playing with sugar packets on the table.

Deloris blew out her cheeks as she passed her with a large tray of dishes, walking into the back of the kitchen.

(Y/N) continued to clean, humming along to the juke box as she walked to the other end of the diner drifting off into thought, almost screaming when she turned to come face to face with the man.

“Jesus Christ! Can I help you?” She asked with more attitude than intended her hand squeezing the rag she was holding. “I don’t know maybe you can.” He grinned at her. “Do we know each other?” He questioned, eyes staring into hers waiting for some kind of reacting. Keeping her face cool (Y/N) pulled a confused face. “Sorry I can’t say we do?” Shawn tilted his head. “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere....recently.” She felt his breath brushing over her forehead with how close he had got, the sudden feeling of having her personal space invaded made her push a hand to his chest pushing him back.

“Look pal, I don’t know you. You don’t know me. End of.” She glared up into his eyes. Raising an eyebrow Shawn put his hands up with a grin. “My bad sweetheart, now that I think of it I’m sure I’d remember someone as beautiful as you.” Unable to stop it a scoff leaves (Y/N)’s lips as she props a hand on her hip. “It’s almost closing time, order something or leave.” She sassed before walking around him, making her way onto the back kitchen, dropping like bricks to the floor as the doors closed, the ringing of the bell at the door signalling he left.

Deloris dropped to the floor next to her, her eyes searching for any injuries. “Where did the sass come from?” She couldn’t help but giggle. “Hear that huh?” (Y/N) said with a small laugh as she lay flat on the ground feeling her heart pounding in her chest.

Shawn climbed into the back of Brian’s car with a smirk still on his face. “So?” Connor asked. Shawn leaned back in his seat nodding his head. “It’s her but I don’t think it’ll be an issue-“ he paused as he watched her dance through the window of the diner, the other waitress dancing with her holding a ketchup bottle as a microphone. “-I think I’ll come back tomorrow, just to be sure.”

Brian turned in his seat to face Shawn, his two back eyes and bandaged nose almost making Shawn burst with laughter. “You sure this isn’t about you wanting something else?” He let out a yelp and Shawn tapped his nose. “Just drive.” He grunted looking back into the diner seeing her laughing and was unable to stop a smile spreading onto his own face.

#shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes #shawn mendes x reader #shawn #mendes #mob!shawn #badboy!shawn #shawn x reader #pulse!shawn

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nat-roman0ff · 4 years

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all i want for christmas is us

an entry for @saintlymendes secret santa

for: nicole (@tell-me-when-ur-ready)

words: 2,092 warnings: some swearing, angst, and cavity inducing fluff (it is christmas after all)

Shawn looks down again at his phone, scrolling through the photos. Happy. Warm. Holiday season. Ice skating at his favorite park, kissing under the mistletoe, and posing in the matching pajamas his mum had bought for the entire family. A smile creeps up on his face and then disappears just when he starts to feel its warmth.

Last Christmas.

Last Christmas the photos were taken. Last Christmas they were happy. Last Christmas she had said yes to marrying him.

Now the photos just served as painful reminders of his current reality. Sitting alone in his half empty condo. He couldn’t bare to replace the things she took, just in case she decided to come back.

Odds and ends mostly; an end table she purchased at an antique store and lugged eight blocks back home on a hot August weekend, an ottoman where the two would sit on the floor across from each other and play cards all night over a bottle of her favorite red wine, an entirely empty wall that used to make up her vinyl collection. The half empty condo matched his half empty heart.

Shawn locks and drops his phone to his chest with a thud, opting for the sting of its weight on his sternum over the stinging of his broken heartstrings. He still hadn’t cleaned up the red wine stain from the carpet when she spilled it last Christmas. Getting rid of that was the last bit of her still around and, well, he needed to still hold onto something.

Karen’s rung three times at this point. She knew it was going to be a hard day for him, insisted he spend the night Christmas Eve but Shawn declined and instead drank himself stupid until three in the morning and passed out on the living room floor next to her red wine stain.

He thought about calling her, wishing her a Happy Christmas, or anything just to hear her voice. It hadn’t been a messy breakup, at least at first. She said it was too much too soon and the constant pressure from the outside world was starting to seep through their happy little bubble.

Time. It was always time that she needed. But after she returned the ring, the weeks faded into months and when he saw that first picture come up on his timeline he knew that their time had run out.

It was innocent enough; someone he knew through mutual friends but could never remember his name. Smiling, with her lips pressed against his cheek.

She was with someone else.

He blacked out that night, somewhere in the middle of a world tour in a foreign city and woke up the next morning by Brian dumping a glass of water on his head. He cried for a day and a half straight and then again when he had to tell his mum.

Time.

Everyone said it was all he’d need to get over her; the love of his life. He’d known it from a very young age, before the fame, before they’d ever exchanged a wayward glance at each other. He knew she was going to be the one for him, for the rest of his life.

Until she wasn’t.

Write about it. Was his first thought. Write until your fingers bleed and there’s nothing left in your head. Write out every memory, every feeling, every ounce of pain that courses through your God forsaken veins and then you’ll be rid of her. But Shawn couldn’t write. He couldn’t put down a single fucking word in the six months since she left. He just couldn’t describe it; there was no way to put into words how he was feeling, nothing that did it justice, nothing that captured the pathetic sadness that lingered in his bones about her.

It’s half past two when Karen finally got ahold of him. He’d lost track looking at photos, letting his memories replay on the walls of his condo over and over again. He watches the two of them dance in the kitchen at midnight and make love on the living room floor in the morning, wrapped up in each other’s arms. If he was miserable at home on Christmas, he was going to be even worse at his parent’s house.

Everything was the same as it was last year when Shawn finally walks through the front door of his parent’s home, right down to the smells. Except she’s not there. There’s a small box in the spot where the ring box sat last year on the tree and Shawn tries to blink away the onset of tears that threaten to come through. He wonders which cousin is getting engaged this year.

Asshole stole my idea.

“Everything alright, darling?” Karen asks in only that mum way. She knows it’s not. It hasn’t been for a while.

Shawn nods his head, “yeah, fine. Just...you know. I knew today would be hard.”

Karen smiles, “I know, honey. But they day’s not over yet,” she says with a wink.

Something in Shawn’s heart flutters.

“C’mon,” she starts, “let’s go open presents.”

An hour and two bags full of wrapping paper later the Mendes’ family is nearly finished unwrapping gifts. Shawn’s eyes glance over to the box sitting snugly on the tree branch. No one has reached for it yet, and as things are winding down he can’t help but stare at it, wanting to know the contents. It’s slightly larger than a ring box, but not enough to put anything substantial in it.

“There’s one more for you,” Manny points to the tree.

Shawn looks at the box and back to his father and he nods. Standing, he goes to the tree and opens the box with shaky hands. There’s a folded up piece of paper inside and he immediately recognizes her handwriting and that stupid gold pen he always hated. It smeared the edges of her letters, he never thought it would end up being something he missed. Shawn can feel the heat of his family watching him as he reads;

Shawn,

It’s been too long since we last spoke and I suppose I owe you a lot. See, time is a funny thing. It feels the most fleeting when you have none of it left and the most crippling when you’re looking down the barrel of forever. I needed time on my own, I needed time with other people. I needed to know that what we had was what my forever was meant to look like and to do that I needed to find out a little more about myself. So, as it turns out I actually DO like cucumbers, riding motorcycles, and being alone. But I still hate tomatoes, unicorns (don’t ask) and being away from you. I’m sorry for the pain that I’ve caused you. I know there’s never going to be a way I can take that away or make it up to you, but I want you to know just how sorry I am.

Meet me tonight at 6 where we had our first date (yes, the first-first one, not the second-first one, you’ll know what I’m talking about).

Love, Nicole

His ears are ringing when he looks up - eyes immediately checking the clock on the wall behind him: 5:55.

“Fuck - I gotta go!”

Shawn runs to grab his shoes and jacket. It’s faster if he runs, he thinks. It’s not far and his car is packed in with his relatives in the driveway and it would take ten minutes just for everyone to move out of the way. He sets off as the snow starts to pick up, slipping and sliding against the sidewalk pavement, breath coming out in foggy puffs.

He runs to the park by the high school. It’s not far, and he thinks he can make it in time. His cheeks are frozen, and snowflakes keep getting stuck in his lashes but Shawn just runs to her. When he rounds the corner to cross he sees her there, sitting on that same old dingy swing set that has somehow (despite looked rotted for at least the last twenty years) has never broken. She’s bundled up in her winter coat, looking down at her boots absentmindedly drawing pictures in the snow with the tip of her shoe.

The park had been their halfway point when they were kids; perfectly in the middle of each house when they didn’t want to worry about being around parents. It had been here that they had their first date in sixth grade; a picnic of PB&J’s that ended in an unforecasted rainstorm. She didn’t mind, and they splashed and danced in the puddles and went home a dirty sopping mess and he was sure that was the exact moment he fell in love with her. Even though he wasn’t sure what that meant yet. As all things do when you’re twelve, the relationship ended just as quick as it started and it wasn’t until six years later that things actually became serious.

But that’s another story for another day.

He’s not sure what to say when he approaches her. His chest is frozen from heaving in the frigid air and she just looks up from the swing and stares. He’s not sure it was possible for her to get more beautiful, but she somehow managed to. Her cheeks were pinked like his, her hair sprinkled with tiny snowflakes.

“I know how much we both love grand romantic gestures,” she laughs.

Fuck, he never thought he’d hear that laugh again and it literally warms his chest to.

“Nicole I -”

“Shawn I’m sorry,” she starts, “I have no way to ever make up what I did to you. I just...I got really fucking scared. You’re the only person I’ve ever been with and that terrified me. I didn’t know what it was like to be young and single or do something by myself. So I had to be alone -”

“What about that guy? The one you posted a picture with?” Shawn says.

Nicole slaps her forehead with her palm, “Shawn, Joe is my friend.”

He sucks in a breath of air, “oh.”

“There was never anyone else,” she pats the empty swing next to her, “there’s never going to be anyone else.”

Shawn sits beside her, it feels good to be this close again; to see all the little things about her up close that made her, her. All the little things he failed to appreciate before she had gone.

“So what does this mean now?” He asks.

Nicole reaches for his frozen hand and holds it in her gloved one, “I hope it means you still have that ring -”

Before she can finish Shawn pulls the chain of her swing towards him to bring her closer, and kisses her. Her lips are cold and chapped but so are his and there’s a brilliant warmth of familiarity that his bones recognize and he melts into her, wrapping an arm around her middle and holding on like his life depends on it.

(It does)

“So how did you even pull this off? Shawn asks when he pulls away.

Nicole smiles, “Karen helped me.”

He snorts, “I knew it.”

The park is so silent Shawn swears he can hear the snowflakes hit the ground, trapped in their own personal snow globe. They sit quiet for a moment, and Shawn is still trying to process what just happened. He can feel her still lingering on his lips; the same sickly sweet lip gloss she always wore.

“Do you want to go home?” He asks, looking at her through snow flake lined lashes.

Nicole nods, “I’d really love that.”

Shawn threads his fingers through hers and they walk hand in hand back to the Mendes household. He feels the gold circular piece of metal against his chest. He’s worn it there for so long he’s forgotten he has it.

He stops them in the middle of the sidewalk and bends down onto one knee onto the snow, reaching under his shirt and jacket to snap the engagement ring off the chain he wore around his neck.

“Will you marry me...again?”

Nicole nods frantically, “yes! Now get up before your jeans get wet.”

Shawn stands and pulls her into a kiss, threading his fingers through her hair until the both of them are out of breath.

“Hey Shawn,” she starts, lips still ghosting against his, “Merry Christmas.”

He smiles so hard it hurts his cheeks, “Merry Christmas, my love.”

#saintlymendessecretsanta #shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fluff

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sunshine--temptress · 4 years

Text

Untitled Shawn Mendes/Reader [Angst with a happy ending]

It's been a while since I posted anything so here we go! Originally posted on 'babyboyshawny', I deleted blah blah blah you know the drill!

Please enjoy x

°•°•°•°

There's a knock on your door and the last thing you want is to see someone. Your eyes are puffy and red from crying, your hair is starting to feel greasy and you've been wearing the same old sweatpants and bathrobe for the past three days. All you did is watching crappy movies and eat junk food. The break up was your idea but it doesn't mean you're dealing well with it. Not being able to see or talk to Shawn is torture and you miss him so much. You know you took the right decision, you didn't want to be someone’s dirty little secret. His management team wanted him to look available and had asked him to hide your relationship from the public.

At first you were okay with the idea and understanding but as the months passed it was getting harder to see a new rumor about Shawn being linked to every new popstar every damn week, not being able to see him whenever you want and when you finally had some time together it was always hidden somewhere. It was impossible to go on date, walking down the street holding hands. You talked to Shawn about it and he promised it wouldn't be for long, that he would convince his manager to let you two date publicly but he never did and you finally got enough. You finally found the courage to cut things off with Shawn.

The person at the door knocks again, you sigh loudly and go to open the door. There is a delivery boy standing in the hallway, holding a big bouquet of all your favorite flowers, when he moves the flowers to give them to you, the judgement in his eyes when he sees in what state you’re in doesn't go unnoticed.

“Yes?”

“Hi, these are flowers from-”

“I'm pretty sure I know who they're from,” you interrupt the poor boy, but right at this moment you can't even care if you are being rude. You take the little card on top of the bouquet of flowers and read it.

‘I'm sorry, I love you. S.’

Can't even sign his name. You feel more and more angered, if Shawn thinks he can win you back with some flowers he's deeply mistaken.

“I don't want them,” you say and the delivery boy looks confused, it clearly never happened to him before, someone refusing flowers. Everybody loves flowers.

“But-”

“No but, give them to my neighbor or the first person you'll see in the street, I don't care. I just don't want them.”

The boy is standing there, awkwardly holding the flowers, still hoping you will take them and make his job easier but you give him a little apologetic smile and close the door. As soon as the door is closed you feel yourself starting to shake and your eyes fill with tears. You realise you are still holding the little card and you can't help but reread the words on them. You read them until the letters don't make sense anymore and everything is blurry because of the tears.You let yourself fall against the door and slide to the floor. With your head between your knees you try to catch your breath and stop crying. You tear the card into little pieces and let them fall on the floor. You have no idea how long you stay on the floor, long enough to feel your ass become numb and your neck hurting from the position its in. Getting back up on your feet, you clean up the mess you made and go back to the living room. You fall on the couch and bury yourself under your blanket, falling asleep in a matter of seconds.

Of course the universe seems to be against you because you see Shawn everywhere, every magazine you look at, every time your turn on the tv, every time you open the radio his songs are playing... You have to concentrate very hard to no break down in public every time something reminds you of Shawn. The worst thing is that you have no one to talk to. Shawn had to keep your relationship from the public, but you had to keep it a secret from your friends and family. You told one friend, your best friend since kindergarten. You wish you could talk to her now but she is on her honeymoon, a month in Greece, and who takes a month long honeymoon? Well, your best friend apparently, and for a moment you hate her for having everything you want. It doesn't last, it's not her fault after all.

You just sit in your car, when you hear your phone vibrating in the front pocket of your purse. You answer without looking at the call id and your breath catch in your throat when you hear Shawn's voice.

“Hey,” his voice is soft, like he doesn't want to scare you, “how are you?”

“Shawn, you can't call me,” you say, ignoring his question. He must know how you feel.

“I miss you,” he whispers and once again your eyes filled with tears, and it's not the time, you have to get to work and you don't have time to touch up your makeup.

“Shawn, please stop.”

You reach for the glove compartment and takes the small tissue box out of it. Taking one, you try to pat your eyes dry without smudging your eyeliner.

“I miss you,” he repeats, “I need to see you.”

Breath in, hold, breath out, breath in, hold, breath out, breath in, hold, breath out.

“No, we can't see each other,” you finally reply. You can't see him because you know the second you lay your eyes on him you will cave in and it took you long enough to end your relationship, there is no way you will go back to him. Not so fast.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” you say, because there is no point in lying, you haven't stopped loving him.

“Then why did you broke up with me?”

The question angers you because you know he knows the reasons.

“You know exactly why Shawn and until things change, we can't be together. Please just, just don't call me anymore.”

Not letting him time to say anything else, to say it will change, that he will talk to his team, you hang up and put the phone back in your purse. You look at yourself in the mirror on the back of the sun visor to make sure you still look presentable, and it's a miracle your mascara and eyeliner didn't run down your cheeks. You close the visor and start the car. It will be a long day.

Surprisingly Shawn listened to you and stopped calling. He still send a text message from time to time, asking you how you are doing, telling you he's nervous about an upcoming appearance on a morning TV show or when he sees something that reminds him of you. You never reply, you want to, so bad, but you know you can't let him win you back with pretty words and empty promises. When you were together he promised many times that soon you’d be able to live your relationship openly but it never happens. You still wonder if he really talked to his team if he just said that to appease you, to make you stay.

Day turns into weeks and weeks into months and you still feel sad sometimes, you're getting better. It's easier to smile and laugh. Shawn stopped texting you a while ago and it hurts at first because you felt like he had finally gave up on winning you back. You know your thoughts are contradictory but deep down you loved when he messaged you random things but it also helped you when he stopped. You realise it's when you started feeling better.

When you open your tv and see Shawn, which happen all the time since he's back on tour, you don't feel like your heart is breaking, you don't shake and cry anymore. You still love him, with all your heart but you let go of your anger and prefer to remember all the good times you had together.

You wake up from the incessant vibration of your phone on the nightstand. You rub your eyes with the back of your hands and take your phone. It's only 7 a.m. and you have nine missed text from your best friend. Your guts twist, she never message you like that unless there is an emergency and as you swipe your finger across the screen to unlock your phone, you fear for the worst. You open the messages and all you see is eight messages in caps lock and your friend seems very excited about something. It must be important because she never do this.

[6:40] OH. MY. GOD.

[6:43] YOU'LL NEVER BELIEVE THIS

[6:47] COME ON WAKE UP!!

[6:47] WAKE UP!

[6:48] WAKE UP!

[6:49] WAKE UP!

[6:53] YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS!!!!

[6:57] WATCH THIS!!!

The last message is a YouTube link. You click on it, not too sure about what you're about to look at. The YouTube app open and it's a fan video from Shawn's last show. For a second you almost close it, not sure you want to see whatever happens in this video but you trust your friend and she wouldn't send something that could upset you.

Shawn looks gorgeous, as always, he's wearing his usual tight black jeans and a deep red shirt, his messy curls falling on his forehead and you swallow the thick balls of emotions forming in your throat. You miss playing with his hair while he laid his head on your thighs. He's talking to the crowd and you realise you haven't heard a word he said when you hear the girl holding the phone scream an excited “oh my god”. You start the video again and this time you pay attention to what Shawn is saying instead of just looking at him.

“The next song is a new one, I wrote it for someone really dear to my heart. Last year I met an incredible woman who made me extremely happy, but I have been an idiot and I let her go. I don't know if she will see this, I hope she does, because I love her with all my heart and I don't want anything to keep us apart. I love you and this song is for you, this is ‘Because I had you’.”

Shawn takes his guitar from behind his back and you start crying at the moment you hear the first notes and the lyrics.

“I think it's time that I be honest Should've told you not to go Thought I knew just what I wanted I didn't know myself at all…”

The video ends and you don't know what to do, you're frozen in place, in the middle of your bed. You can't believe what just happened. Shawn really did that, you don't know if his management team let him do it or if it was his way of telling them to fuck off but either way Shawn did it. He did what you wanted him to do for months. You have to call him, you need to talk to him. He said he hoped you would see this and he said he still loved you.

You put your phone back on the nightstand, deciding to get dressed before you call Shawn. It will give you the time to get your ideas in order. You're standing in front of your closet, searching for your favorite sweater when there’s a knock on the door. You grab your bathrobe from the chair in the corner of your room and you shiver when your bare feet touch the ceramic tiles in the lobby. You open the door and Shawn is standing there, a small smile on his lips and your heart is suddenly beating so fast you fear it will leap out of your chest.

“Can I come in?” he asks gently and you move to the side and let him in. The door close behind him and you catch him by the lapel of his coat and crash your lips together, catching him off guard. He puts his warm hands on your hips, under your bathrobe and you sigh. Eventually you break the kiss but you keep your forehead pressed against his, breathing deeply.

“How did you know I wouldn't close the door in your face at the second I saw you?”

He looks at you and he has a sheepish grin on his face.

“I made sure you saw the video, I sent it to your friend asking her to send it to you. But honestly I don't know how you would react, I just hoped for the best.”

“I can't believe you really did that.”

“My manager is pissed at me but it's worth it if it means I get to have you in my life. He'll get over it, but I can't get over you.”

You’re smiling so much your face is starting to hurt but you just can't stop. You know you will have to talk about it but right now all you want is being close to Shawn. You take him by the hand and dragged him to your bedroom. Talking can wait.

#Shawn Mendes #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn Mendes fanfic #Shawn Mendes fanfiction #Shawn Mendes x reader #Shawn Mendes x you #Shawn Mendes/reader #Shawn Mendes/you #Shawn x reader #Shawn x you #Shawn Mendes fluff #Shawn Mendes angst #my writing

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

Happy Birthday, Steve Rogers

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary: Fireworks and ice-cream cake for your man. A/N: 1 of ?? Snapshots between you, Steve, and Bucky. In the same canon as Mystery of Love-- check it out first :)

It’s a sweltering hot evening in July when you carefully pat on the last of the fire-engine red lipstick in the vanity. Your hair is curled neatly in large, fluffy rings, brushing against your shoulders and over your back, and you carefully fill in your plucked eyebrows with dark powder until it becomes perfectly arched.

Then, you shimmy on the costume, making sure to smooth out the wrinkles and pull up the pantyhose.

“Baby, holy shit. Baby…”

Hot breath puffs at your neck as you try to fix the blue collar of the suit. You shoo your assailant away as his hands begin to unbutton the very button you had just fastened. He’s quicker and more dexterous, of course, and pops it open even as your hands fiercely guard it.

“Lemme take it off ya, please… He’s had all day. Pay attention to me, kitten.”

“It’s his birthday, you nympho!” You shriek with laughter as Bucky’s hands forgo the buttons completely and dives into the front of your blouse, grabbing onto your breasts. Twisting out of his grasp, you fix your chest and slip on the heels, trying your hardest to ignore just how handsome he looks with his hair out of his face.

“Get your uniform on and meet me on the roof in ten minutes, or so help me, Buck, no sex for a week.”

Your lover pales considerably and salutes you with as much acquiescence as he can genuinely muster before nearly flying into the closet. You laugh as you head into the kitchen, scooping the frozen ice-cream cake and stashed bag of goodies into your arms and dashing into the nearest elevator.

“You look lovely, ma’am.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimes

“Thank you, Fri.” You respond, “Is Steve back yet?”

“Captain Rogers’ ETA is four minutes, ma’am. Should I send him to the roof upon his arrival?”

“Yes, please.”

When you arrive, you’re greeted with cheers and whoops from the rest of the team. Tony has set up air conditioning units galore and even a small lemonade stand where one of his extra suits robotically passes out glasses to those who request them. They’ve opened up blankets and sit comfortably. Tony, however, refused and instead, brought his own personalized lawn chair, even as Pepper leans back on a blanket next to his feet.

You curtsy with pride, radiant like a sparkler on the Fourth o’ July… and speaking of…

Today, for Steve Rogers’ very patriotic and serendipitous birthday, you have dressed up as his very own USO Girl, reminiscent of all those tours he did with the United States Army. Bucky has joined you, requesting (and being granted) his old uniform from the museum. From next to Sam, said man saunters over, taking the cake and the bag from your hand and dipping you low before planting a kiss to your sternum—the only place you’ve allowed him to in fear of smearing any of your make up. But even there, you’ve dusted yourself with a layer of loose powder—glittery and perfumed.

“Get a room!” Tony shouts before rolling his eyes and taking a swig of his alcoholic lemonade.

It’s been like this all day, really. Usually affections are confined to the bedrooms, but this morning, you and Bucky made breakfast for Steve while he was away on his jog and took turns kissing him in the dining room. Then, the three of you splashed around in the pool for a while, feeling each other up beneath the blue-green water, refractions of your hands and thighs glimmering under the sun. After that, you took him to an early dinner while Bucky got a haircut and picked up the cake you’d placed in weeks in advance.

It was a delicately planned thing, because Steve Rogers is scrutinizing as hell and could unravel any half-assed plan unless you could be more cunning than him. And this time, oh this time, you were. After an entire day of teasing, with his brain a cluttered mess of arousal, you sent Steve away to pick up sparklers right as the sun was about to set.

The elevator to the rooftop dings open and Steve steps forward, three boxes tucked under his armpit, brows furrowed.

“Happy Birthday!” You all shout.

You bound up to him and jump right into his arms. The boxes clatter to the ground and sparklers scatter all over his feet.

“Oh!”

He flushes red when he sees the crimson pout of your lips leaning in.

“Happy birthday, Captain.” You whisper into his ear, hands clasped behind his neck, knees bent and ankles crossed, not giving a care in the world if everyone could see your panties. From Bucky’s sudden appearance against your back, it seems like they might have.

Setting you back down, Steve takes a look at your outfit—low-cut blue blouse with stars on the lapels, alternating white and red pleats on a skirt so short it makes him burn even more, and you’ve even got on the silk white gloves and heels to match. You grin at him, pearly teeth dazzling like diamonds against the red velvet of your lips.

Bucky smiles, moving to your side and slipping an arm around your waist, “Happy Birthday, old man.”

Steve gasps audibly when he notices, hand coming up to rest against Bucky’s neck, fingers dipping into the dark green collar of his dress shirt and gray of his jacket. He’s committed himself to the look—even cutting off his hair to mirror the way he’d been back during the war. Steve’s hand moves absently to Bucky’s jaw, rubbing against the smooth plane of skin. His heart flutters at the alleyway memory- the first time Bucky told him of his enlistment.

“Wow. Buck.”

“Get a room!” Tony yells again.

Sam joins in too, hollering at the three of you. Soon enough, Natasha does too, so finally, you take a step back and wander towards the rest of the team, grabbing two lemonades for the boys before placing the candles in the cake.

You click your heels over to Steve, swinging your hips back and forth to the tune of an imaginary jazz band and start singing Happy Birthday cheerily. Pepper joins in, grabbing Tony’s hand as he spins her around. At the end, everyone claps and Steve leans forward, blowing out the candles with a wide smile on his face. His eyes are fixed onto yours until his breath snuffs out the last flame.

Bucky serves everyone a slice, and against the breeze of the hot wind, frozen layers of vanilla and chocolate are a welcome reprieve.

Steve settles in the middle, kissing your shoulder softly before doing the same to Buck’s jaw, licking the salt of his sweat from his chin. Bucky growls playfully before taking another bite, purposefully smearing the cream over his pink lips—an overtly lewd invitation.

The sun now sits low in the sky, almost gone from the horizon completely. The darkness shields the others from seeing what’s growing inside Steve all day—and what now swells against the fly of his jeans. How could he not be frustrated? Bucky had woken him up with bites and nips before disappearing on a run. Steve thought he could catch up, but Bucky was nowhere to be found on his usual trail. Instead, he had looped back around to the compound and helped you make breakfast.

The sweet gesture turned even sweeter with the two of you driving him crazy in the dining room, sucking maple syrup from his fingers, pressing up against him while doing the dishes, kissing him. Then, in the pool--- good God, Steve thinks, how much can a man take?

You’d worn the smallest bikini—one he’d never seen before, and melted into the water on Bucky’s back. The two of you, moving against the blue, mesmerizing and wet, nearly made him come right there—right in the damn pool. Then you’d refused to shower with him—rattling off an excuse.

Dinner was no better. You entered in a lavender summer dress, tucked a wildflower behind your ear, and drove stick to a quiet rustic restaurant full of spicy aromas and candlelight. The way your eyes blazed behind the flickering centerpiece, how your hair slipped over your shoulder, how your lips bent and moved as you chewed. You knew full well what you were doing to him.

“Oh, shoot!” You had cried, right as you pulled the car into its usual parking spot, “I forgot the sparklers. Would you mind getting them? I want to help Tony set up… you know how he gets with these things.”

How could he say no? Especially with your big, doe-eyed stare, and that wildflower, a gathering of yellow petals accentuating your beauty so perfectly? You leaned over across the middle console of the car and pressed a brief kiss to his lips, deeply inhaling the scent of him. “Hurry back, the fireworks will start soon.”

Steve nuzzles your cheek as the first flare shoots into the sky with a shrill cry before bursting into an exploding chrysanthemum of red and white. The taste of vanilla and cake crumbles linger on his tongue as it slowly traces the shape of your ear. You had tricked him, and now it was his turn to control the day. His day.

“Captain!” You scold playfully, “My goodness!”

Your man is mostly sweet and rarely wild, so it takes you completely by surprise when he growls into your ear, “I am your captain, aren’t I?”

You turn quickly to face him, missing the next firework that streaks into the darkness. The boom of it drowns out his words for everyone save you and Bucky.

“Will you call me that tonight? All night?”

Bucky’s low chuckle is timed perfectly with the next rocket’s screech. “In a mood, aren’tcha, Stevie?”

“I’m your Captain too, Sergeant.”

The deafening crack of an exploding cluster blazes into the night overhead, pinwheels of blue sizzling and scattering, lighting up the shadows of Steve’s face. You watch his features darken with the night as the lights die. Bucky hums submissively to his left, leaning his chin against Steve’s sharp shoulder.

The next light is bright purple, washing all of you in violet, turning the blue of Steve’s gaze into an opulent amethyst. He licks his lips before it flickers away and your eyes need to adjust to see the shape of his mouth.

“I’m finished with cake and fireworks.” He states plainly, setting the plate of melted dessert down along with his fork. “And so are you two.”

Steve stands, brushes off his pants, and leaves without another word.

Another flare roars. Red this time, as you and Bucky stare at each other, the air hanging between you so heavy you could cut it with the cake-knife now lying uselessly by Pepper’s foot.

Bucky scrambles up, fixing the hat on top of his head when it teeters too far to one side and yanks you up with him. Your heel nearly breaks as you run behind, pulled along by your wrist. The explosions in the sky are nothing compared to how your chest feels right now— rumbling furiously at the mere thought of Steve’s hands twisting the night’s reigns over his fists. You feel a cool bead of sweat trickle down your chest, right on top of his Words.

“Where are you going!?” Natasha calls when Bucky nearly rips the elevator door open.

“We’re getting a room, like Tony suggested!” You shoot back, hopping in and bouncing on your toes.

“This was your idea!” Sam protests, but the door has already shut and both of you are slinking down out of view. Before the two of you are completely gone, they hear Bucky’s muffled cry- triumphant and celebratory.

“God Bless America!”

#fanfiction #mcu #marvel #steve rogers x reader #Steve x Reader x Bucky #Mystery of Love heli0s #soulmate au #reader insert

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mistymark · 5 years

Text

the one with all the ajax.

na jaemin x reader // 4.5k words // masterlist // send requests here

summary; in which y/n needs to clean her apartment and she finds a lot more than cleaning products in the apartment above her own

warnings: none its just fluff, they swear like twice

requested; no but u all requested jaemin so here's some jaemin !!

notes; this is a recreation of a Jimin fic I wrote,, so dont freak out if u recognise it,, I didn't steal it

“Yes, Mom, I know,” you spun in your chair mindlessly as you listened to your mother over the phone, the face of Ryan Reynolds frozen rather unattractively on your TV screen and your current course assignment staring blankly at you from your laptop. “Yes, of course I remembered! You wrote it on my calendar the last time you visited! Okay, Mom, I’ll see you tomorrow… tell Dad I said hi, okay? Okay, okay, yes, okay, uhuh, I know, okay, bye! I love you!”

Hanging up, you groaned, tossing your phone to the empty couch and glancing at your apartment. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, the oven and stove looked as if they had been set on fire at least twice, the couch was littered in crumbs of food you’d ordered from takeout stores, and their wrappers, boxes and containers lay empty on the coffee table. Movies and video games were sprawled across the floor, your desk was buried in paper, and your bedroom floor was barely visible beneath the catastrophe that was your current wardrobe and the boxes you hadn’t bothered to unpack since your parents had last visited you. Generally, you considered yourself a rather clean and tidy person, but in the past few weeks leading up to exams and your assignments, you may have prioritized other things over your apartment’s cleanliness.

You glanced at the clock, calculating how much time you had to get your place in order before your parents visited. You had just under 22 hours, but subtracting time to sleep, eat, your afternoon class and your evening work shift… you had about two hours. You clapped your hands together, walking to your kitchen sink and opening the cupboard doors underneath it, planning on using all your cleaning supplies to make the job as easy as possible.

As you bent down and peered under the sink, you groaned in annoyance at the meagre remains of your cleaning supplies; a few tile wipes and a mostly empty bottle of dish soap, which, when you tipped it up, seemed solidly attached to the base of the bottle.

You grabbed your phone from the couch, praying your best friend loved you enough to help you in this time of distress, and dialled his number. After three rings and Yangyang’s voice letting out a cheery “leave me a message!”, you sighed and put your phone back down. It was at times like these that you wished you lived in one of the college’s normal dormitories, rather than a random apartment block two streets away; your neighbours were mostly disapproving elderly women or drunk, potbellied men in their 30s who would flirt with you in the elevator.

You grabbed your keys in preparation to make a quick dash to the store, before realising that there was one other option. The two boys who lived above you, from whom you had the honour of receiving brief smiles and polite ‘hello’s on the way to and from your apartment, sounded like they were home. Taking the stairs two at a time, you knocked eagerly on the door of the apartment above your own, smiling at the little fish-eyed hole in the door. You prayed your innocent, smiling figure would be taken pity on.

“It’s probably the pizza!” A muffled voice could be heard through the door, and you weren’t sure if it was from the thick door or from food being stuffed into the boy’s mouth that made it so difficult to understand.

The door opened abruptly, and a boy around your age blinked at you in surprise, before a lazy smile stretched across his face at the sight of you.

“Um, hi, I’m Y/n,” you hastily stated, waving awkwardly, “We haven’t officially met. I live in the apartment below you and I was wondering if I could borrow some cleaning supplies? It’s kind of an emergency.”

“Jaems! Who is it?” A deep voice called from within the apartment, and you recognised it as the boy who had yelled about the pizza delivery beforehand.

The boy in front of you – Jaems – raised his eyebrows in surprise, but nodded as he stepped aside slightly. “Yeah, um, okay,” he quickly turned to face his apartment, gesturing to the inside, where two other boys were situated on the couch in front of the TV. “I’m, uh, Jaemin. Come in, come in. This is Jeno and Donghyuck; Jeno’s my roommate and Donghyuck doesn’t actually live here, but he’s the one that makes the most noise.”

“Hey!” One of the boys on the couch, presumably Donghyuck, threw a potato chip at Jaemin, and you could hear Jeno scolding him as you shifted your attention back to the boy in front of you.

Jaemin walked towards the kitchen and you followed, noticing, rather abruptly, that the apartment you were standing in was pretty much exactly like your own. The layout was the same, and though the decorations and the furniture were different to yours, they were arranged very similarly. The boys on the couch, Jeno and Donghyuck, were so focussed on their game that they didn’t even look at you, shouting to Jaemin to bring them more snacks.

“So… if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the emergency that requires all these cleaning supplies?” Jaemin opens a cupboard in the kitchen, revealing a much more sensible-looking collection of spray bottles, wipes, paper towels and bottles. Jaemin gestures to them dismissively, in a take-whatever-you-need way.

You smile gratefully at him as you squat down and begin to rummage through the collection. “Well,” you speak into the cupboard as he leans against the kitchen counter casually, “my parents are coming to visit me tomorrow morning, and, um, I guess you could say my apartment doesn’t exactly entice guests at the moment.” You look over your shoulder at him, and you can see that he has a very amused smirk on his face, and the way he looks at you suddenly makes you feel as though you’ve been friends for a while, or at least properly met before.

“I’ve seen you around,” he states, as if he’s just been able to place you. “Mail room and stuff.”

“You were at the New Year’s Eve Party next door, right?” You ask, remembering seeing him on the roof of the building next door, where the residents threw parties on the roof at every opportunity. You were almost certain he was there.

He laughed, “Oh yeah! Didn’t someone try to jump into the pool?”

“Nah, they got him down in the end. He was way too drunk to think straight.” You look back at him briefly, and you notice the way his eyebrows are furrowed slightly in thought.

Satisfied, you stand up, your arms filled with the equipment you’re positive you’ll need and smile at him thankfully, “Again, thank you so much for this, I feel like our first proper meeting should have been a little bit more traditional and I promise I don’t normally ask strangers for favours.” You laugh and you’re glad he does, too, before he raises an eyebrow at the number of things you’re holding.

“Okay, I have to see how messy your apartment is for you to need two – wait, no, three bottles of Ajax,” he snorts, counting out loud the number of other things you have in your arms.

Without realising he’s teasing you, you reassure him, “I promise I’ll replace everything in a few days, I just really needed these before tomorrow and I didn’t want to waste time running - literally running, I don’t have a car - to the store.”

He waves his hand at you, smiling good-naturedly. His smile felt reassuring and you felt yourself smiling back, “No, no, don’t worry about it. The only payment I require is seeing this apartment.” He pushes past you into the hallway, outstretching his arm to hold the door open for you.

As you both trot down the stairs, you nudge him with your elbow, “So, why do you have so many cleaning supplies, anyway? Who’s the neat freak?”

Instantly, his smile drops slightly and you realise your mistake. Hurriedly, you try to cover yourself, “I just mean, who’s the one that clea-”

His laugh cuts you off and you realise he was only teasing you, “You should’ve seen your face, oh, God,” he continues to laugh. “No, one of the counsellors, like those ‘big-brother’ students at our college - do you have one? - his name is Taeyong, he’s a real… neat freak, as you put it.” He glances at you from the corner of his eye to watch as you make yourself smaller, blushing, ashamed. The tiniest of smiles crosses his face as he shoves his hands into his pockets and continues, “Anyway, after our first year was over, and the program ended, he made us buy like ten bottles of everything so we wouldn’t run out and just never buy them again.”

You laughed, “Aw, that’s sweet.” As you arrived at your doorstep, you turned on him, lowering your voice in what you hoped to be a morbidly warning voice, “Okay, I’m warning you, what you’re about to see will most likely disturb you. Enter at your own risk.” You unlocked the door and walked into your apartment, dumping your weapons on the table and turning around slowly, attempting to figure out the most strategic attack.

You heard Jaemin gasp in shock and then begin to laugh so hard that he fell to the floor, “Y-you said that it was r-really bad but I,” he laughed between most of his words and what he said came out in gasps, “I didn’t think it would be this bad! Y/n, you’re really screwed.” He walked to the kitchen and picked up a half-eaten apple and what looked to be a hairy potato on a paper plate, “Forget cleaning supplies, you need a dump truck, holy shit.”

You pouted at him, “Hey, I have over an hour to make this place spotless! I’ll be fine!” You began to put on a pair of rubber gloves you had taken from Jaemin’s apartment and remove all the filthy dishes from the sink to fill it with hot water. “I really do appreciate you letting me borrow all this, and I promise to return and replace everything.”

You heard rubber gloves snapping behind you and you turned around to see Jaemin pulling another pair on, grabbing the dishwasher fluid and tossing it to you. “There is no way that you are going to be able to clean this mess in an hour, so I’m going to help you. But, I need to arm myself first.” You let out a laugh as he grabbed an apron from beside your fridge that read ‘kiss the cook’ in pink stitching, tugging the rubber gloves further down his hands and placing a mask over his nose and mouth, before quickly ditching the latter.

“Do you want a shower cap, too?” You teased, pointing a clean knife at him from your spot by the sink.

“Do you have one?” He answered, his eyes wide in mock hope, pausing what he was doing: trying to get the apron’s straps to loosen around his neck, before tying it behind his slim waist. With his waist accentuated, you couldn’t help but notice the perfect shape of his body, that you had gone unnoticed as it was hidden by the white t-shirt he was wearing.

In response, you stuck your tongue out at him in an all-too-mature way, before straightening, “Seriously, you don’t have to do this. I mean, we did just meet like… ten minutes ago.”

He shrugged as he pulled out a bin bag from your haul on the counter, “What better way to get to know the cute next door neighbour?” You stopped washing for a moment and you were glad that you weren’t facing him, for you were fairly sure the blush on your cheeks was rather obvious. Besides, he could be talking about you getting to know him, not the other way round.

He began to walk around your apartment, firstly binning your apple, furry potato and plate, then the takeout boxes, and the leftover banana peel on your desk. He hung the bag off a chair for future use and then appeared beside you again, mindlessly tapping on the counter as he spoke, “So what’re your parents like?”

As you continued to clean, he grabbed a rag from somewhere in the kitchen and began drying your dishes. “Well, you know, they’re parents,” you shrugged, “I guess we’ve always been kind of close, I miss them like crazy now that I’ve moved out, even if I hated living with them. They’re kind of strict, real neat freaks,” you glanced sideways at him and caught the left side of his mouth hitching up in a smile, “but, I mean, they’re my parents and I love them. They worry about me sometimes,” you gestured around the room, “but I guess it’s warranted.”

You laughed with him, and he looked at you quickly before focusing back down on the plate, asking about what you were studying and the conversation quickly drifting to your hobbies, places you’d visited, things you still wanted to do… Conversation with Jaemin was easy and simple, and you hoped this wasn’t going to be the last time you saw him.

You passed him a bowl and turned to him, grinning, as you allowed the dirty water to run from the sink down the drain, having finally finished the dishes, “We should put on music. Make this a little more fun, you know?”

He pouted jokingly as he dried the bowl, “You’re not having fun?”

You laughed as you hit his chest lightly and walked over to the small speaker buried under piles of paper and bills on the small side table by your front door, and then dancing over to Jaemin in the kitchen. He laughed at your dorky dance moves, throwing his head back as he put the bowl down and joined you, swivelling his hips and squatting awkwardly as he danced.

You continued dancing as you finished the job; he danced as he wiped down your counter, you danced as you put the freshly dried dishes away, he danced as he vacuumed your couch of all the crumbs, and you danced as you put all the movies away underneath the TV. You learned he was actually a really good dancer, and it made you feel a little bit more nervous and self-conscious, until he started to bust out his own choreography, making you laugh until your insides hurt.

You made him take a break and offered him a drink, telling him to help himself to anything in the fridge as you quickly tidied your bathroom.

“Oh my God, Y/n!”

You quickly rushed into the main room and found Jaemin staring into your fridge, “What? What is it?”

He turned to face you, a look of amused bewilderment on his face, “You have nothing in your fridge but mustard, pickles and coconut water! How are you even alive right now?” His eyes were wide as he looked at you teasingly.

You rolled your eyes and retreated back into the bathroom to wipe down the now almost empty counter, making a comment about how you were doing perfectly fine surviving off of ramen and takeout, before Jaemin appeared in the doorway, “Seriously, though, if your parents see that, they’re really going to worry about you. Come on, we’ve got half an hour left, we’ll go to the supermarket, get a bunch of food to stock your fridge and then you can go to class.”

You sighed as you looked around at your bathroom, “I still have to wipe down all the windows and the shower, and my room is still a bit of a mess…”

He looked around, “If we’re quick, we’ll have enough time to wipe everything down. Your room… you can probably get away with that if everything else is tidy. I mean, your parents wont be going in there anyway, right? Come on.” He held out his hand and smiled as you pulled off your gloves to grab it.

He tugged your arm, attempting to pull you out of the bathroom, but he miscalculated where exactly the wall was and ended up slamming his back into the wall and pulling you into him, causing you to stumble and crash against him. You felt blood rush to your cheeks as you looked at his shocked face; his eyes were wide in surprise but you didn’t miss the small smile he had tugging at the left side of his mouth.

You couldn’t move as he held your gaze, and you watched as his eyes briefly glanced down to your lips before he turned his head to the sink mirror, “Um, should we get going?”

You felt your free hand clench into a fist in an invisible cringe and you looked down, noticing how close your bodies were, “Y-yeah, we probably should.”

You stepped back and went to grab your keys and purse, purposely keeping your back to him. You scolded yourself for even thinking about kissing him. Despite his attractiveness, intelligence, kindness and humour, you couldn’t let yourself get involved with someone you had just met, though it felt like you’d grown quite fond of each other in the past two hours.

He walked by your side to the store a few streets away and grabbed a trolley, guiding you to the fruits and vegetables section. You groaned and followed him. As he was picking from the apples, he glanced upwards to look at you, standing on the other side of the fruit boxes, puffing your cheeks out in boredom. He quickly returned his gaze to the fruit, his face a darker shade of pink, his ears burning a bright red.

You began walking around the vegetables section, before noticing the cookies in the aisle beside them. I mean, who was going to pass up the opportunity to buy cookies? Certainly not you.

From between the shelves, you had a perfect view of Jaemin, and for the first time since you’d been introduced, you allowed yourself to stare. Am I being really creepy right now?you thought, holding a box of Oreos. It’s warranted, you assured yourself. I mean, look at him.You watched him look up from the next box of fruit, pears, and a look of surprise crossed his face as he realised you weren’t standing across from him.

He turned around, scanning the area for you, before placing the pears into the trolley, and then pushing it towards your aisle. You quickly ducked and walked speedily to the other end of the aisle, laughing to yourself as you childishly ran from him.

Jaemin immediately recognised your coat disappearing behind the corner of the shelves, and a grin instantly broke out on his face as he ran down the aisle, pushing himself up and over the trolley in pursuit, gliding easily down the aisle. You thought he hadn’t seen you, and you stood at the end of the aisle, carefully leaning forward to peer into the fresh produce section, assuming he’d come from that direction. You jumped in surprise as a trolley rolled up to you, “Hey, stranger, you need help looking for something?”

You turned around, a smile covering your face shyly and you briefly recognised how attractive he looked at that moment, an eyebrow lifted in playful challenge and a beautiful smirk, his eyes slightly creasing at the corners and the black jacket he’d grabbed from his apartment before you’d left. You weren’t going to lie, that jacket was a very nice jacket; it made his shoulders look broad and accentuated his slightly thinner-than-expected waist.

You shrugged playfully, “I don’t know, where do they keep all the… what’re they called? Oh, that’s right, notfruitandvegetables?”

He laughed, his head dropping down in mock disappointment as he walked down the aisle with you, dismissing all the things your parents were more likely to disapprove of, or just any parents really. “Really, Y/n, I don’t think they’d be ecstatic over seven boxes of Oreos.”

“BUT THEY’RE ALL DIFFERENT FLAVOURS,” you protested, before mumbling, “and besides, shouldn’t I at least be buying food I can actually eat?”

He cracked a grin at that, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you took over the trolley, “Aw, poor Y/n, can’t buy all the flavours.” He pouted at you and he poked your cheek with a grin. “But…” he began, “I’m sure one box couldnt hurt, right?”

The next day you were bombarded with your parents an hour earlier than expected, but luckily you were only making a few final adjustments to the cleanliness of your bedroom when they arrived.

You spent the day with your parents, showcasing your apartment, assuring them you were eating and washing When you left for lunch, you realised you forgot to bring your father’s birthday gift with you, and quickly ducked back upstairs to retrieve it. On your way down the stairs, rushing to catch up with your parents, you passed Jaemin and Jeno on their way up, bags of groceries in their arms, determination on their faces as they tried to carry all their groceries at once in order to not waste another trip up and down the multiple flights of stairs.

Jaemin winked at you as you passed, and you managed to catch up to your parents quickly. “I didn’t know there were other students living in your building, Y/n,” you mother commented, sliding her sunglasses up her nose as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

“They’re new,” you stated. “They’ve only been here for a couple of months, I think.”

“The tall one is pretty cute,” she nudged you with her elbow, teasing you.

“Sure, Mom. Jeno is ‘pretty cute’,” you rolled your eyes at her, sliding into the Uber you’d ordered.

She looked surprised at your tone, “What? You don’t agree.” She hesitated, before a wry smile made its way onto her face, “Ah, I see. You like the other one. What’s his name?”

“Jaemin,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling like you were twelve years old and not an adult, currently living away from home.

You waved to your parents from the door to your apartment block as they got in the taxi. You crossed your arms in front of yourself and watched as the car disappeared behind a corner.

After checking you had your wallet in your pocket, you made your way to the supermarket, a small smile on your face as you remembered walking the same way just the day before, but with Jaemin. Quickly grabbing a few products you remember having stolen and used from the boys’ apartment, you paid and made your way back home.

You ran up the stairs to your apartment, stopping briefly at your apartment to return your purse and wallet, before turning back to the staircase and moving to the floor above, grocery bag filled with cleaning supplies. You knocked on the door quietly, wondering if he even expected you to repay him for his things.

You prepared yourself, feeling your heart beating heavily against your chest, and heard the identifiable click of the lock on the door sliding out from its cradle on the doorframe. The door opened about halfway and you tried not to let your breath escape defeatedly. Jeno stood in the doorway, smiling in welcome.

“Hey, Y/n,” he greeted happily, controller in hand. “Jaemin’s in his room.” He nodded his head in the direction of the younger boy’s bedroom and opened the door a little wider to allow you in. He went back to the couch in the living room, where Donghyuck and another boy sat, patiently waiting for Jeno’s return with their controllers, whatever game they had been playing was paused. Donghyuck raised his hand in greeting and the other boy shot you a smile as you passed. “Thanks for those, by the way,” Jeno jutted his chin out at the bag of cleaning supplies that you haphazardly placed on the kitchen counter as he sat down on the couch again, reaching for the remote on the table in front of him.

You nodded at them and walked to Jaemin’s room, the only door that was closed in the tiny hallway. You knocked, sucking in a breath.

“Yeah, I know, I’ll be out in a sec! Just start without me,” Jaemin called from behind the door.

You coughed awkwardly, “Um, no, it’s, uh, me. Y/n.” In your mind, you were facepalming yourself, but part of you began to panic because what the fuck were you going to say to him? Why didn’t you just dump the products and leave? Or send a note? Why were you showing up at his bedroom door?

The door opened abruptly and you stood face-to-chest with Jaemin. Your eyes widened as you were met with his bare chest and you quickly shifted your gaze up to look at his face, which proved to be a feat a lot more difficult than it sounds.

“Hey,” he breathed, his arm still holding the door open. He stared at you and it was if he could see inside you, scrutinising every little part of your face, reading your mind.

You rocked back and forth on your heels, your smile rather awkward, “Hi.” You watched in slight awe as the corners of his mouth lifted up. A mere reaction that had your heart thrumming loudly against your ribcage.

“Um-,” you were immediately cut off as his head ducked down to kiss you, his lips pressing against yours suddenly. His hands found their to your sides as your arms lifted up to rest on his shoulders. You prayed he couldn’t hear your heart hammering in your chest as you smiled into the kiss.

When he pulled back, you didn’t take your arms away from around his neck, but he didn’t seem to mind, grinning back at you and then dropping his head to laugh to himself. For a moment, you were worried that this had all been some kind of joke and you felt your stomach drop in shame and embarrassment. You began to retract your arms, but his hands caught yours and placed them back on his shoulders, smiling at you widely, “I’ve wanted to do that since New Year’s.”

You cocked your head in confusion, so he cleared his throat, clarifying, “We bumped into each other on the roof, right when the countdown had just begun, and we’d been talking for a bit, so I kind of wanted to kiss you.”

“Really?”

“Well, yeah. But you were a little drunk, so obviously I-“

“No,” you grabbed his hand in yours, trying to get his attention and make him look at you. “Were you really going to kiss me? I think you should prove it.” You cocked an eyebrow at him challengingly.

“Oh, really?” He teased, pulling his head back a bit to look at you fully. You noticed him look over your head at something behind you, before rolling his eyes, grabbing your hand and tugging you into his room, shutting the door behind you.

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di-in-al · 5 years

Text

Californian Gold (Part 2)

Part 1

Pairing: Billy x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, bullying (if you squint)

Notes: Here’s Part 2 as promised! It’s mostly a filler chapter, but lots of you and Billy. The tag-list is open! So feel free to ask. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

_______

Billy sang along with each word that blasted through the radio in his car. His car was extremely clean seeing that it belonged to a teenage boy. His leather seats were flawless with no burns or tears in them, and everything else was shining. Except for his glove compartment that was wide open and full of cassettes. Your hand grabbed the first one that stuck out. The words DEF LEPPARD were on the front with bright colors and pictures.

“You a car person?” His voice went from singing to suddenly questioning you. His eyes didn’t leave the road in front of you, instead his hand questioned you more than his face did. You really didn’t know how to answer that question. You weren’t voluntarily a car person, your dad making you learn the way a car worked for instances like these.

“Yeah, I guess.” He took the short response to keep quiet, or just go back to his obnoxious singing rather.

Eventually, you pulled up next to your car. It had stopped smoking for the most part and it now sat idly like it usually does. You silently gave it a scowl and cursed it for putting you in this position. Billy went on about something as you pulled your hood back up. Now that the engine had time to cool off, you could see the radiator reservoir was bone dry.

“Here Doll, you fill it up. I’ll look underneath for the leak.” Before you had the chance to protest, he ripped his jacket off, tossing it on the hood of his car. He had a white wife beater on underneath that was halfway tucked into his jeans. He quickly slid under the car and you couldn’t help but watch. His long legs were the only thing you could see, but damn that was nice too.

“Go ahead and pour. I’ll watch and see where the leak is.” You got to it, only to stop when you heard him start sputtering.

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop.” He cried, crawling out quickly and you could help the laugh that escaped your throat. His face was covered in black liquid, and it transferred to his arm as he wiped it away from his eyes. You couldn’t help but try and hold back the laughs from coming out, but you failed. Terribly.

His irritated eyes watched your lips and then proceeded to wipe his hand across your face with a mischievous grin. With that, you stopped. He watched as your mouth suddenly turned sour, and any remnant of happiness left your face.

Billy watched as you cowered back into your shell. You wiped the dirt from your face and proceeded to your car. Your turned your engine over, successfully turning it on and hearing it roar to life.

You couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed that this ended your eventful evening, but at the same time, your mind wandered to your Dad. He was probably worried sick. Your peripheral caught Billy wiping off the oil angrily and grabbing his jacket.

“Look Billy, thank you so much for helping me. I really appreciate it. I do. I’ll see you around, yeah?” Your hopeful eyes went back to his. It was then, you could see his friendly demeanor change to his typical asshole self. His eyes hardened and his plump lips turned up into a sour expression.

“Yeah, no problem.” With that, he threw his jacket back on, and ripped his keys out from his pocket. After he sped off down the long road, you let out a long sigh. He did seem like a semi-decent guy. They thing that made you stop and think was, why would he treat you like that and playboy all of the other girls. He wouldn’t.

You tried to not read into it too hard and continue on your mission to get home to your dad. You hopped in the cabin of your car and took off towards home.

The faint sounds of the tv going was the first thing you heard after walking through the dark doorway. Until there was a click and the feeling of cold metal against your temple. You froze, dropping the grocery bags that were in your hands.

“Daddy?” Your voice came out as a broken whisper, and your eyes traveled to his large form next to you. His eyes softened from the hardness that consumed them. You’ve seen that look in his eyes many times before. Ever since he started staying in the house more and more, he became worse when it came to his flashbacks and being over protective of you.

“Y/N/N?” He dropped his elongated arm and ran his empty hand over your shoulder. “Where have you been? Are you alright?” His raspy voice came out a mile a minute and you reached down to pick up the now busted milk carton and frozen pizzas.

“Yeah Daddy, the car broke down. A buddy from school helped me. Radiator hose has a leak.” Your voice was now calm, and how it usually is. Not the terrified rendition that was heard a few moments ago. The mood that filled the room calmed down along with the casual talk and he uncocked the gun and went to put it away. His hand traveled along with the counter towards his room.

The new house has thrown him off.

He walked back into the kitchen slowly, and opened his eyes towards you. His cloudy eyes reminded you of just how vulnerable he actually is. He was lucky enough to come home from the war with his life, his sight however, was left in Vietnam.

“Now tell me about this hose.” His calming voice was directed towards you, and you flicked the light switch, letting light flood into the room. Boxes still lay around, neither of you bothering to unpack anything yet.

“I dunno, I was driving and smoke just started coming out from the hood. I’ll go see if there’s a car part store around here.” He nodded, turning away from you and facing the tv.

“You still want some pizza?” His gray colored curls shook along with his head and you chuckled. “Me neither.”

You shoved the frozen frisbees into the freezer and went to clean up the milk.

“You still have that .38 I gave you? You need to keep that by your bed and take it with you in your car. We don’t know this town yet and I don’t want anything happening to you.” His voice carried through the two different rooms and you sighed. You totally forgot about that thing. It had to be in a box in your room somewhere.

“Yeah, it’s in my nightstand.” You lied, not feeling bad about it. You weren’t too fond of the thing, but you kept it to make your dad feel better. You’d never need it and you knew that, but it was your dad that always thought of the worst scenarios.

“Good. I’m going to go sit down. You going to bed?” You threw the milk covered paper towels in the trash can, and turned towards him.

“Yeah I think so. Got school early tomorrow.” After saying your good nights, you walked up to your room.

You worried about your dad. He suddenly wanted to move to Hawkins, and coming from him, it was a weird move. He never wanted to leave the house in Florida, let alone move all the way up here. You lived your entire life there and so this move was hard for you.

You walked through your doorway, and walked around the room, careful not to run into any stacks of boxes. You ran your hand across the wall, feeling for the light switch. You flicked it up, light coming from the old ceiling fan hanging from the ceiling. It looked exactly how you left it this morning.

Except for the man standing by your window.

A scream formed in your throat, until you recognized the three stories of hair that frantically was moving back and forth. Steve’s eyes were huge, his index finger held up to his lips to tell you to be quiet.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?!” You squeaked, his voice catching in his throat. You both stood, staring at each other and he was looking around frantically for an answer. “Well?!”

“I-I just wanted to make sure you were okay! That whole phone call thing freaked me out. What happened?” His brown eyes went back and forth between yours, and you watched as he goofily tried to explain his presence.

“My car broke down and Billy showed up when I called you. We fixed it, I’m fine. That still doesn’t explain why you came through my window?” The wind blew your sheer curtains around from where he left the window open.

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t want to come through the front door. Your dad is scary. Like Hopper scary.” You didn’t know what the hell that meant, but you went with it.

“Okay well, I’m good. You could’ve just asked me at school tomorrow, but thanks for checking on me.” After you finished speaking, he just nodded. He proceeded to stand there awkwardly and you chuckled.

“You should go home, we have school in the morning, yeah?” He smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. Sorry for scaring you. I’m sure you’re sorry for scaring me so we’re even. See you tomorrow?” He began climbing out of the window, and you pushed some hair behind your ear.

“Course, night Steve.” Right before he jumped off into the pile of bushes under the window he nodded.

“Night Y/N.” He took off to the next house and walked in the front door. You closed your window, being sure to lock it. Never had to do that in Florida.

The drive to school was awful, but you made it. Barely. Billy’s car was already parked in the same spot as yesterday. You decided to park next to him, seeing as your class was right through the door in front of this parking lot.

You saw Steve and Nancy sitting in his car, talking. You threw your Walkman on, and headed inside hoping to sit in your first period class and read some more of Dracula.

You got a couple pages in before class started and you felt pretty good this morning. A huge contrast to yesterday.

“I came through the door today.” Steve’s voice came from above you, and you nodded with a laugh. His tall frame sat down in the desk next to you and you both waited for the teacher to come in. You were totally immersed in your book and the music coming from your Walkman to hear your name being called. It wasn’t until your Walkman got ripped from your head that your attention was averted to the person standing next to you.

Billy stood there with nothing but a leather jacket on his torso. His smug smile made you nauseous.

“What?” Your voice came out a bit harsher than you meant to, but you were almost happy that it did. He looked around to the majority of the people watching, and chuckled.

“Never took you as the bookworm type.” He ripped the book from your hands and your anger immediately went through the roof. You held your hand out calmly, but slightly shaking.

“Give it back to me. Now.” His lips turned into an elongated oval, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh yeah?” No one noticed the teacher walk in, and he just sat there and watched the situation unfold. He had an itch to make an example out of someone this early.

“Give it back to me, Asshole. Or I shove that book so far up your-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hargrove! Y/L/N! Detention after school!” His loud booming voice rang through the classroom and that’s when everyone corrected themselves and faced the board, getting their materials out and acting like they were completely innocent.

“Excuse me? He took my stuff!” Your eyes bore into Mr. O’Connell’s and he raised his eyebrows in question.

“Does that matter? You were spitting profanity like nothing and Hargrove was bullying. You both deserve it. Now, either get your stuff out and learn, or get out of my classroom.” He was pointing at his door by this point and all you could do was let out a huff.

Billy put your book back on the desk softly and gave you a wink.

That’s when the war started.

After your final class of the day, you headed outside for a cigarette and to put your stuff in your car. You watched as a group of boys hopped on their bikes and took off towards the woods. Mr. O’Connell saw you and watched as you smoked your cigarette.

“Y/L/N! Detention! Now!” The groan that escaped from your throat was loud and you killed the light of the cig under your boot. You headed back inside only to be fretted with Steve’s face.

“Sorry Y/N. I’ll see you later.” He walked out, joining Nancy and walking to his car. You’d also have to explain to Joyce why you were late on your first day.

You headed into the classroom where detention was held, seeing a couple people already in there. You flipped down in the only isolated desk left, and stared at the paint chipping off of the white wall.

“Well hey there.” You didn't even bother to turn around and entertain him. “Y/N?” He began playing with the sleeve of your jean jacket and you ripped it from his grasp.

“Fuck off Billy.” The malice in your voice was thick, and you thought it might’ve worked until he started running his finger along the back of your neck.

“Hargrove, I will break every finger to put on me. Try me.” You whipped around and slapped his hand away. Y/E/C eyes stared at his baby blue ones, noticing the mischievous look they were giving off. “Seriously, leave me the hell alone.”

“But you’re so fun to mess with. C’mon Y/N, I’m just playing with you. It’s supposed to be fun.”

You thought that if he was any closer, he might’ve been able feel the heat radiating off of you. The anger began bubbling in your veins and you gave a bitter chuckle.

“No, it’s not fun. You’re just choosing to be an asshat. Leave me alone, or I will kick your ass. I mean it Hargrove, you will be sorry.”

With that, you stood, ignoring the cries of Mr. O’Connell’s protests and flew out of the classroom. You made a beeline for your car and lit another cigarette on the way. The cool air was a huge contrast from your skin. You hopped in, shoving a Scorpions cassette in your radio and took off towards Melvald’s.

This is why you hated people.

When you arrived, Joyce was happily restocking a shelf and humming to herself.

You walked in, the chime above you catching the attention of Joyce.

“Y/N! I’m so glad you’re here.” She wiped away her bangs from her brow and gave a big smile.

“You ready to get started?”

For the next couple hours, she walked you through the many steps of working there. Apparently she’d been working here a little over ten years, and knew all of the ins and outs of the small business. The phone began to ring, and she excused herself. You really think you’ll like it here, it’s quiet and no people.

She came back in a hurry, her face had a worried expression plastered on it.

“I’m sorry to leave you here by yourself, but I really need to head home. My youngest son..isn’t feeling well.” You immediately began wagging your hand at her and shaking your head.

“It’s not a problem. Really.” With that, she grabbed her purse and headed out. Her tires squealed as they ripped out of the parking spot and she took off.

You looked around and sighed at the lack of presence. You reached down and grabbed your book, immersing yourself in that to keep occupied until close.

__________

@speedmetalqueen @asheseiler @ietss

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