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#he knocked on all the doors on my street until he got my address
mncxbe · 7 months
Note
OMG OMG, what about, Bsd characters(pls include jouno, I'm starved of content from him) with a drunk s/o, that is all like "I have a boyfriend/girlfriend, don't touch me(or sth else, but u get the gist-)" ALSO if you don't want to do this, don't. <<<:
Ok I love the idea. I tried to make it as silly as possible hope you like it♡♡
Note: I have some Ango content for tomorrow👀
°☆○
Strawberry Daiquiri
𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒐, 𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓
𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: silly/ fluff♡
𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒐
starting off with our blind king; let's assume that you're so drunk you don't recognize him
he's amused by your act at first, but the longer you keep it up the more frustrated he gets
he does find it cute that you're so loyal to him tho; also worried that you're so drunk
surely teases you about it the next day
Although he may not seem like it, Jouno was a supportive boyfriend; your unyielding determination was his favourite quality. He didn't see any problem with it until one day you decided to beat Fukuchi in a drinking competition.
"I'm telling you Sai. I got this" you said as you walked into the captain's office with a handful of bottles of sake.
Your boyfriend only rolled his eyes and went back to his business. He returned three hours later when he finally managed to finish the last of his reports. Knocking at the mahogany door he gently pushed it open, stepping inside the room.
"Captain" he saluted with a small bow and Fukuchi waved at him, utterly unaware that the man couldn't see it.
Just then, your voice echoed through the room; a high pitched groan.
"Naah captain I'm sure I'll beat you. Pour more for me." Your words were slurred and Jouno could sense your hightened body temperature, a sign of clear intoxication.
Fukuchi chuckled, filling your cup again.
"You think you can take it? You look quite plastered to me"
"I'm not done 'till you are."
A smile rose to Jouno's lips as he caught the hint of resolve in your voice, but he knew by your fast heartbeat that you should probably stop drinking soon. He walked to your side, gently seizing your forearm.
"Let's go home Y/N. I think you've had enough to drink tonight"
"Huh? Fuck off dude I have a boyfriend." you said nonchalantly, yanking your arm away.
For a brief moment Jouno was baffled, hand frozen in mid air as he watched you down another glass; but then he snapped back to reality.
"Hey Y/N look at me." he said playfully, seizing your chin to make you look up to him. "It's me, Sai"
"Sai..." you contemplated, his name rolling off your lips in a low hum "Ah Sai"
From across the table Fukuchi let out a low chuckle. "Take her home, Jouno. She's drunk"
"No I'm not. I ain't stopping 'till I get you... uh..-till you give up" you mumbled, causing Jouno to sigh.
"We're out of alcohol Y/N" added Fukuchi, dangling the last empty bottle before your eyes.
"Please dear let's go home" Jouno cooed, his fingers gently intertwining with yours and you eventually got up, holding on to the back of your chair for support.
"I consider this this a draw, captain" you said sluggishly and Fukuchi nodded.
"Goodnight to you two"
With that, Jouno snaked an arm around your waist and walked with you out of the office, down the halls of the Hunting Dogs's headquarters and on to the crowded street. He raised a hand to hail a cab and as soon as the yellow vehicle pulled over, your boyfriend opened the backseat door and placed you inside; then joined you in the backseat.
Jouno gave the driver your address and the car drove off towards your apartment.
"Are you feeling ok darling?" he asked in a concerned voice and you nodded, scooting closer to him.
"Yea I am..." After a moment of silence you added in the same slurred, giddy tone. "Say, are you really my boyfriend? You're handsome."
Jouno blushed furiously at your words, his lips curling into a sly smile. "You bet I am pretty girl."
The lights of the city came and went in blurry waves, causing your head to ache. You leaned your head on the crook of Jouno's neck, shielding your vision. He only chuckled, placing one of his hands on top of your head.
"Go sleep darling. I'll wake you up at home"
You mumbled a mhm before closing your eyes and, drunk on love and sake, drifted into a deep slumber.
𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊
such a tease; will make fun of you about it tomorrow if you don't recognize him
he's a smooth operator
he's all like: "Aww sure my sweet lady. How about you tell me more about that boyfriend of yours then?" and just sits there listening to you praise him
probably carries you home and puts you to bed after
It was Yosano's birthday and she decided to take the Agency members out for a drink at a local pub. The place was cozy, dimly lit; low, wooden tables lining the sides of the room. Peach Pit's "Alrighty Aphrodite" sounded through the speakers in the corner of the room.
Not only three hours in you were plastered, body hunched over as you rested your arms on your table. Seeing your state, Dazai made his way to your side and took a seat next to you.
"Everything alright bella?" he hummed cheerfully, causing you to moan.
"Ah shut up. My head hurts." you whined, holding your head between the palms of your hand. "And just so you know I already have someone so... [you hiccup] just let me be."
"Oh I see" Dazai chuckled, placing his drink on the table. "Why don't you tell me more about that boyfriend of yours then."
Only then you raised your head, eyes half lidded as a tender smile rose to your lips. "My 'samu is such a darling. So handsome and smart. He gives the best hugs you know?"
You casually wrapped your arms around your own body, demonstrating your words. "Just like this. And he's so handsome and... he's caring. I love him lots ya know?" you went on.
Dazai chuckled upon hearing your words. "Is that so?"
"Yea. And- Hold on mind if I just?" you asked, leaning your aching head on his shoulder "Mm this is better. Anyway, 'samu's the one for me. I just know it. Did you ever feel this way about someone?"
"I did. I do, in fact." he replied, taking in your sleepy features: your cheeks were flushed, nostrils slightly flaring as you steadily breathed in and out, lashes fluttering shut.
"That's nice then" was all you said before dozzing off on his shoulder.
Your boyfriend smiled again and placed a chaste kiss on the crown of your head.
"I love you too, bella" he said in a hushed voice before downing the rest of his drink, the golden liquid warming up his insides just like you did with his heart and soul. [so cheesy of me nah]
𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂
poor baby is so confused at first
he frowns so much
if you do end up recognizing him and get all giddy and affectionate he's gonna blush so much omg
probably asks you not to get drunk again cuz he's lowkey scared you'll get brain damage
"Piss off. I have a boyfriend" you said with a blank expression as you brushed his hand away from your shoulder, swaying your hips towards the bar.
Akutagawa was left speechless, utterly confounded by your sudden actions. 'What the...' he thought, walking right after you. The roaring music in the bar made it impossible for you to hear him calling out your name.
"Hey Y/N. Cut it out will you" he hissed, seizing your wrist.
"Let go of me" you pleaded, trying to free yourself but ended up stumbling backwards. If it weren't for Rashōmon you would've fallen flat on the hard floor of the bar; the black tendrils wrapped around your waist, bringing you back to your feet.
After you managed to regain your composure your glassy eyes met his, gazes locked in a drunk daze. Then a sign of recognition flashed in your eyes and your lips curled into a soft smile.
"Aww Ryuu baby" you giggled, arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him into a tight hug. "I'm quite drunk baby"
"I can see that..." he stammered, trying to hide the rosy blush that bloomed on his cheeks upon hearing your endearment. "Want me to take you home?"
"Yea I'd like that sweetie" you continued in the same slurred voice. You pulled away from him a bit but your faces were still mere inches apart, a giddy smirk on your lips; fingers toying with the tufts of his hair.
Just when Akutagawa was about to walk towards the exit your lips found his and you pulled your body flush against his. The kiss was sloppy and warm, the taste of alcohol on your sugary lips causing your boyfriend to moan lightly. His hands came to rest on your hips, pulling you closer to him.
After a few moments he gently pushed you away. His face was red as a tomato.
"Come on Y/N. Let's go home"
"But I wanna kiss you mooore" you pouted and attempted to kiss him again but he leaned slightly back, chuckling.
"How about you kiss me at home? I'll let you kiss me all you want." he said awkwardly but it wad enough for you to take a step back.
You grabbed his wrist and marched through boisterous crown and towards the back exit of the bar where you car was parked.
"We better hurry then" you added playfully, voice muffled by the sounds around you.
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berberriescorner · 6 months
Text
Until The Cops Come Knocking
Characters: Kevin Atwater x Black!Reader.
Summary:  A simple house call turns into a pleasant surprise.
Warnings: Let’s see, just a smidge of spice. Fluffiness and flirtation included. There are a few sprinkles of profanity. There may be instances where you cackle loudly.
Word Count: 2,700+.
A/N: I know. You’re shocked I took time away from my baby daddy, Rio. It’s just something about Atwater and Halstead, though. Wait until you see what else I’m cooking up for those two. I honestly couldn’t tell you how this random idea came about. That’s the joy of being a Libra. My imagination just keeps going and going. IT’S LIBRA SZN BABY♎️! Enjoy my sweet lovelies.
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Song Inspo💞:
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Boot-covered footsteps thumped down the winding stairwell of the run-down apartment building. The creaking door of the entrance swung open as both detectives released an exhausted and irritated breath. Both men took in their surroundings as they approached the large pickup truck they arrived in. Seeing nothing lurking about, Jay slid into the driver’s side as Kevin took residence in the passenger seat. The men released another irritated sigh before Halstead spoke, “This damn case has us running in circles. There has got to be something we’re missing here.”
“These dead ends are wasting valuable time. If we don’t get a hold of things soon, this sick psycho will slip through our fingers. For all we know, he could be halfway to Mexico by now. None of these witnesses are going to cooperate.”
“We’ll figure something out. We just have to find a way to convince them we can protect them and their families from this monster. We should wrap this up for the night, though. We’re both too tired to follow up on any more pointless leads. I say we head back to the precinct, check in with the team, and call it a night.”
The men agree it’s probably the best bet as Jay turns over the engine. As they begin the journey back to the precinct, a call comes in over the radio. There are multiple reports of a noise complaint about a party at a property in a neighborhood only minutes from their current location. Atwater shrugs his shoulders at Halstead.
“I mean, we are only five minutes away. Might as well check it out real quick.”
“It’s probably some spoiled-ass rich kid throwing a kegger,” Jay responds. “Let’s just get this over with,” he chuckles, shaking his head.
“It’s strange. This address sounds familiar. Have we ever answered any calls or done investigative work on this street,” Kevin questioned.
“I feel like I’ve been here with Haley or Voight, but I can’t say for sure.”
Kevin gave him a slight head nod as his phone vibrated in his left pocket. Checking the notification brings a small smile to his face. Atwater’s eyebrows twist in confusion as he reads the message. Jay glanced in his direction, laughing at his friend's facial expression.
“Bro? Are you good? If you stare at that screen any harder, it may glitch,” he joked. “What’s wrong? Are you in the dog house or something? And please don’t hit me with that, “who says I’m dating anyone nonsense.” The girls are on to you. You’ve been missing happy hour for months now. Giving us the excuse that you’re tired. You’ve turned down every woman within the last four months.”
Kevin ignored most of what Jay said, returning to the initial question. 
“It’s this text, bro. Either words are missing, or I’m being butt-texted. Is that even a thing,” he asked, still puzzled.
Before Jay could respond, another text came through. Kevin read the three-word text and guffawed. His tongue wet his bottom lip before the bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He was fighting the heat from the three words on his screen.
Mamas🤤😈🫶🏾: need fuck daddy
Baeee🙈💓🫶🏾: Oh! That’s how you’re feeling, mamas? I thought you were out with your girls tonight.
Mamas🤤😈🫶🏾: M so tips feels so goods need daddy😩🤤.
Baeee🙈💓🫶🏾: Drop your location, baby. I’ll come to get you. I’ll scoop you when I finish up here. Stay put, love.
Mamas🤤😈🫶🏾:
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“I see you’ve deciphered the message. What’s up,” Jay asked.
“It’s nothing, dog. It’s just a little inside joke. You wouldn’t get it,” Kevin lied.
“Your reply sounds suspicious as hell. I would question it further, but we’ve arrived at our destination.”
“Damn! You can hear the music from the gate entrance. Don’t they have security? It is a gated community.”
“They’ve visited this house twice already. They told neighbors to call the authorities a third time.”
“This should be fun,” Atwater responded dryly.
Jay was the first one to approach the door. With a gentle nod, both men positioned their hands on their holsters, and Halstead gave a firm knock. 
“Sounds like a bunch of drunk women,” Kevin whispered quickly, releasing a small laugh.
“Dear Lord. It sounds like we’re about to interrupt girls' night. Brace yourself, brother, if these women are as drunk as they sound. It could get a little handsy.”
“If one finger lands on you. Upton’s going to kill you. You have to stop falling for your coworkers, Halstead. You take the term work wife too seriously,” Kevin jokes.
The door swings open, halting Jay from giving a rebuttal. Both men angle their heads down, spotting a redhead who is no more than four foot eleven. Her gaze creeps over the detectives slowly as she mumbles, “Good Lord. Money well spent.”
Jay and Kevin look at each other, confused by her words. They identify themselves, but it goes ignored. Another woman joins the redhead. She appears to be Filipino and just as tiny as her friend. Kevin starts to identify himself, but both women turn toward the rest of the group.
The redhead purrs, “Ladies, get your ones ready. The entertainment is here!”
Both detectives look flabbergasted as they try and correct them. The ladies are seriously inebriated. None of the words leaving the detectives’ mouths are getting through. Red continues, “Ms. Maid of Honor! Do us the honors and get the Bride-to-be ready for her lap dance!”
Her fellow tiny friend squeezes between both men, pulling them inside the house.
“Wait a minute, sweetheart,” Jay tries to reason.
“Hold on there, ma’am. You’re mistaken,” Kevin interjects.
Surrounded by a pack of drunk and lust-filled women, Jay attempts to talk over the boisterous crowd, “Ladies! Let’s keep things calm-.” He’s thrown off as someone grabs his ass. “Come now, ladies. Let’s keep things civilized and respectful.”
Kevin cackles as Jay’s face starts to redden. That is until one of the women starts running her hand up and down the veins of his forearm. The women begin catcalling them, going on about how sexy they are. “If I would’ve known they were sending strippers this fucking sexy. I would’ve paid double. Cuff me, Mr. Officer,” the redhead panted.
Kevin stepped back and politely removed the thirsty woman’s hand from his person. He started to reiterate that they were the actual police. Those words stuck in his throat as he felt dainty arms wrap around his waist. As if that hadn’t thrown him off guard, the unidentified woman began thrusting her hips, humping from the back. Just as he was about to turn around and reprimand the stranger, he heard a familiar voice. To Kevin’s surprise, he turns around to find you, his tipsy girlfriend smiling and slapping his ass. Jay looked at his friend in shock as his face lit up with laughter at your slurred words.
“This ain’t no strippaaa! Back off, you thirsty bald-headed hoes! I’m just joking. Not really. This MY MUTHAFUCKIN’ MAN! My man, my man, my man, my man! We go together. Real bad.”
“Okay, Yung Miami. You need a break from TikTok, baby,” Kevin teased.
Jay, assuming his friend was enduring harassment, attempted to diffuse the situation and calm you down. Kevin releases a deep chuckle, patting Halstead on the back.
“It’s all good, bro. Shortie can touch me however she wants,” he insists, licking his lips and staring at you with hungry eyes. “You lit, ain’t you, mamas?”
Halstead looks on in complete and utter confusion. “She’s beautiful, man, but don’t forget we’re on the clock. Voight would have our asses for indulging in this.”
Atwater smirks at Jay as he shrugs his shoulders. His eyes travel back to your face. Kevin reaches out, placing his hand on your waist. He tugs at you, pulling you into a quick peck.
“Relax, Halstead. Little mama’s telling the truth.” 
Jay, looking at him puzzled, waited for Kevin to explain. 
“Halstead, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend. We’ve been dating for the last six months. It’s an odd way for you to find out, but yeah. Jay, this my lady.” 
Embarrassed, you released a tiny giggle, burying yourself into Kevin’s side. Pulling back, you looked at him in a lust-filled, drunken haze. 
“Hiii baby,” you slurred, smiling ear to ear.
Kevin smiled back, biting his lip, “Wassup, beautiful? Listen, we hate to break up a wonderful time, mamas, but it’s pretty noisy. As a courtesy to the neighbors, could you tell the crew to simmer down a little bit,” he said in that tone that always made you shiver. 
“Okay, baby,” you smiled, nibbling your lip.
Atwater leaned in closer, whispering in your ear, “Yeah? You can do that for Daddy?”
Releasing a shaky breath, you nodded yes in reply.
“That’s my good girl.”
Jay looked at Atwater with raised eyebrows as you settled the girls down.
“Very impressive. Teach me your ways, bro.”
“No can do, brotha. If it’s in you, it’s in you. Can’t be taught, my man,” Kevin boasted.
You managed to calm the girls down. They all relocated to the kitchen to make a fresh batch of margaritas. Your best friends, who had answered the door, instructed you to find out if Kevin’s partner was single. They trotted off heartbroken after telling them Kevin had mentioned a girlfriend to you before.
You stumbled back to your chuckling boyfriend, who wrapped you in another bear hug. Pulling away, he looked at you like you had been caught red-handed.
“I know you’re the maid of honor, but did I hear the word strippers? Yes, I’m almost certain that’s come up several times since we arrived. You don’t need all that swinging in your face. Come on, my little drunken love. We’re taking you home. Your little ass is about to pass out. How much alcohol have you had?” 
“I’ll go,” you stand on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “If you take me home and put me to sleep, just the way I like.” You finish, biting his ear playfully. 
“That can be arranged…for tomorrow. I want you sober, mamas.”
Kevin laughs at your drunken pout. “You’ll be out like a light before we make it to the house. It’s going to be alright, love. Sleep it off some, and I promise I’ll break you off afterward.”
“Let’s go so I can get you back to your car, bro. You’re not having sex in my truck,” Jay joked, but at the same time, he was serious.
“Halstead, be easy on the jokes now. I’d hate to have to inform Hailey about the many times you got groped tonight.”
Kevin gingerly swept you from Jay’s truck, transferring you to his own. He managed to buckle you into the front seat and nearly made it out of the parking lot unnoticed. His head shot back with an exasperated sigh as the exit to the precinct flew open.
“Nice try, Atwater. We want to meet your gorgeous lady friend Halstead’s exact words. Better watch your girl, Kev,” Burgess taunted. 
Hailey followed close behind, hands on her hips and a smirk on her face. “You honestly think Jay was going to keep your secret? Not a chance, Atwater. Before you try to snitch, I already know how he was treated like a sexy piece of meat tonight,” Hailey sassed.
Kevin shushed the women and directed their attention to your sleeping frame. “You two can give her the third degree another time. I’m taking my little party animal home,” he whispered, looking at you with adoring eyes. “I’ll bring her by the precinct to formally introduce her soon. Just not tonight, ladies.”
“Bachelorette parties are the best. I’m looking forward to mine,” Upton sighed.
“Jay should be worried if Burgess is throwing it. I’ll see you two tomorrow. Let me get my sleepy baby to a comfortable bed.”
You had slept the entire ride to and from the precinct. Kevin carried you into his home, taking you straight to the master bathroom. You began to stir as he placed you on top of the vanity.
“How long was I out,” you groaned.
“About an hour,” his lips brushed against your forehead. “Do you think you can handle showering on your own? Or do you want me to help you, love?”
“I want cuddles in the shower. Shit! I don’t have my overnight bag. What about my hair,” you whined.
“You gon’ be good, sweetheart. One second.”
Kevin started opening cabinets and sitting items next to you on the vanity. His face spread into a shy smile when he saw you holding back tears.
“Why the watery eyes, mamas?”
“Two things. First of all, sir. Bless your parents. I’ve never had a man love me this way. Baby, you went and bought all my hair care products.”
The both of you looked lovingly at the pile on the counter. Kevin had purchased every single product you had in your bathroom. Everything you usually brought with you lay there.
“What was the second thing?”
“I’m an emotional drunk.”
“Yeah, I kind of guessed that,” he chuckled. “You can sleep in my clothes. I’d prefer you slept naked, but that’s up to you,” he licked his lips.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“If I’ve sobered up enough for you to slide up in it,” you purred.
“I’d say you’re thinking pretty clearly, love. Let’s get cleaned up. I’m starving, and I got a taste for something sweet.”
“Yeah,” you questioned breathlessly.
Kevin stepped between your thighs, kissing you hungrily. Releasing your lips a few moments later, his hand brushed against the outside of your shorts. “Yeah. It’s nice, soft, juicy, and delicious. You gon’ give me a taste, love?”
“Start the shower before I come all over this counter.”
Hours later, the two of you lay in bed panting and satiated. The room rested in a comfortable silence. Your head rested on Kevin’s chest as his fingertips drew patterns against your naked skin. His lips left a litany of kisses across your temple. He pulled in a breath before speaking.
“Baby girl,” he whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Move in with me. I want to build a life with you. I know it’s only been six months-.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted to ask you another question, though,” he playfully scolded, giving your butt a light tap. 
You looked at him and smiled sheepishly.
“Sorry, continue, baby. Either way, the answer is yes.”
“Cool. So we’re getting married then?”
“Ye-wait. What?”
Kevin flipped you both. Lying on top of you, he brushed the hair from your face.
“Marry me, mamas? I know it’s way too soon-.”
You kissed him to shut him up. It lasted long enough to calm his fluttering heart.
“Yes.”
Without another word, he kissed you hard, stealing your breath. Tender touches morphed into desperate touches. In an instant, the room filled with pants and moans as he slipped back into you. Thrust mirroring thrust, as Kevin drove you to the brink of ecstasy until your tired body would no longer allow it. He littered your face with kisses as the both of you whispered words of affirmation until sleep claimed you both.
The aching in your bladder woke you as the morning sun crept into the bedroom. Not wanting to wake your sleeping giant, you wiggled free. Tip-toeing into the bathroom, you quickly relieved yourself and washed your hands. You unboxed one of the toothbrushes Kevin bought, quietly falling into your morning routine. Standing in the mirror brushing your teeth, your free hand brushed curls from your face, and you froze. The toothbrush dangled in your mouth as you stared into the mirror, shock written on your face. Hand frozen mid-air, you gawked at the beautiful diamond sparkling on your ring finger. You startled as a voice sounded behind you. Kevin stood in the doorway, muscles rippling, in all his naked glory, staring at you in the mirror. He walked up behind you, pressing his chest to your back, and whispered against your neck, “I always come prepared, baby girl. Notice it’s the correct size and the cut you like. Do I know my woman or what,” he bragged, finishing with kisses to your throat.
Throwing a finger in the air, you quickly rinsed your mouth and toothbrush. You placed the brush in the holder as you spun around, snatching Kevin’s hand. Pulling him back toward the bedroom, he questioned, “Where are we going, love?”
“Back to bed. I’m going to suck the soul out of you. Then I’m taking my ass to the kitchen and cooking you breakfast in bed.”
Fuck I love this woman.
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Hope you enjoyed it, my sweet babies! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!
tagging:
@darqchilddaydreamz @4everbrookemarie @starrynite7114 @nightlywords7 @amorestevens @sunshine-flower @boomclapxox @astoldbychae
@skyesthebomb @tbugger01 @thatbrowngruul
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highdramas · 1 year
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hey bae!! can i pls request a fluffy steve harrington imagine, s3/s4 er’s with the fake dating friends to lovers trope? ty!!
eeeee i loved this!!! i drew some inspo from to all the boys i've loved before <3 love a shy reader moment!!! thank you for sending and i hope you enjoy [wc: 3249.] <3
--
you don't know how the letters got out. how the hell would the letters have gotten out?
you're going through things to get rid of in preparation of going to college-- sure, you were just going to school in indianapolis, but it was better than staying this hell hole of a town even one second longer-- but the hatbox was gone. no, not gone. worse. it was empty.
the expletive you let out has your father screaming from down the hall. "what did i say about language?!"
"sorry!" you squeak as you continue to throw clothes over your shoulders, furrowed brows. "no, no, no..." you groan and cover your face with your hands. this is cruel. god is a cruel, petty thing, you decide.
haven't you been good? you volunteer at the humane society. you never got detention in high school. you'd never stolen anything. you liked to think that you were a good person-- quiet, maybe. introverted, definitely. shy more than anything. and, well, that's how you got into this debacle in the first place.
a hopeless romantic by nature, you could never fathom truly confessing to the loves of your lives. especially considering all of those loves definitely did not feel the same way towards you. i mean-- was king steve going to have a crush on you? no way. which was why it was easy to write your love confession on the page, seal it up, address, stamp, and all-- and place it in the hatbox to never be seen again.
until now.
"honey--" you hear your mother call from downstairs. "someone's asking for you on the phone."
"who?!" you yell back, gripping the banister.
"steve harrington."
your blood goes cold.
you would take ten extra volunteer shifts at the humane society if it meant that all of this would go away.
you shuffle downstairs and take the phone from your mom, leaning against the wall, glancing from right to left as if he was really there with you. "hello?"
"and his hair-- he has the most gorgeous hair i've ever seen. i want to run my hands through it and--"
"STOP!" you run your hand over your face and squeeze your eyes shut. "oh my god, literally, please--"
"oh, c'mon. i'm giving you shit. you know, this whole letter is really sweet. you're a good writer. and sending right before you go off to college? bold move. i respect it." steve's voice has the warmth of a smile embedded into it. you can picture him on the other line, the crisp strawberry stationary in his big hand.
you don't know why you had picked strawberries for steve. it seemed fitting at the time.
breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth, you say slowly, "that wasn't meant to get to you. and, for the record, that was written, like, three years ago."
"wow. you wound me. well, either way, really boosted my ego. i figured i would come by and thank you in person. you live off church street, right? the little green house?"
stammering, you can barely get a word out before he says, "okay, cool, i thought so. see you in ten."
and he hangs up on you. just like that.
it reminds you exactly why your crush on king steve went away in the first place.
--
steve makes it to your house in eight minutes. he comes right up to the door and knocks, and when you open it, frantic and frazzled and with your sweater on backwards, he looks you up and down.
"your tag's sticking out." he tucks it back in for you. "and... it's backwards."
"i realize that now."
"great."
for a moment you're just staring at one another. then steve cracks a smile. "c'mon. can i get you, like, a milkshake or something? you look a little shaky, some sugar would probably--"
but everything goes silent. because approaching your door behind steve is ryan stewart, holding a letter of his own.
"fuck," you hiss under your breath, eyes darting to steve.
"woah, she curses! cool. i always thought you were super uptight, you know--" his words are cut off when you take him by the face and bring him to you, your lips crashing against his. it's slightly awkward; you're mostly kissing his top lip and your noses are crushed together a bit. but his hand finds a home on your waist and you feel his fingertips grip into your skin slightly. when you pull away, you can feel the fire on your face. and when you look over steve's shoulder at ryan, you feel a sick sort of triumph.
"milkshakes sound great, steve," you say the words loud enough for ryan to hear and you wrap your arm around his, calling over your shoulders to your parents that you'll be back soon. the look on steve's face is nothing short of befuddled, but when he turns around and sees ryan stewart standing there with a letter in hand, something seems to click into place.
he shifts your position from an awkward arm lock to a natural draping of his arm across your shoulder. he offers ryan a smile that says-- hey, can i help you? "hey, stewart," he says, nodding his head at him as he walks by.
ryan opens his mouth to say something but steve has already shuffled you into his car. he even opened the door for you. by the time the two of you are inside and steve is driving away, ryan has barely turned in his spot.
silence fills the car. you touch your bottom lip and you feel steve's eyes on you. "well," he begins. "your technique could use some work, but not a bad kiss, all things considered."
dumbfounded where you sit, you slowly glance over at him to see him wearing the biggest smirk imaginable.
and some of your lipstick.
you groan and cover your face with your hands, a muffled, "i'm sorry." getting out. barely. all you can hear is his laughter and when you drop your hands, you can't help but admire just how pretty he looks when he's laughing.
"you don't have anything to be sorry for. a pretty girl kissed me? wow, what a hardship." steve looks over at you. "i'm more curious as to what ryan stewart did to make you kiss me like that."
crossing your arms over your chest, you look out the window. "okay, well-- remember when i told you about the letters?" he nods his head. "well, like i said, you're not the only one who got one. you, ryan, eddie munson, and a boy from summer camp when i was twelve. instead of risking embarrassment and putting my feelings out there, i wrote the letters. and i always felt better when i did."
steve is quiet for a moment before he says, "that's sorta sad, and doesn't answer my question, really."
you roll your eyes and continue. "well, ryan's letter was different than the other ones. it was... a heartbreak letter. ryan and i had dated for six months last year but wanted to keep it a secret. from everyone. and then he ended things with me and got with someone else. prom king and queen." your head falls back against the headrest. "so i wrote how i felt. just like i always do. and you know what? you getting your letter, fine. eddie? he'll be nice about it. the boy from summer camp? who knows if he even got his. but that letter getting out..." you shrug, feeling meek in all the worst ways. "i didn't want him to feel sorry for me. or think that i'm sad and hung up over him, because i'm not. and you were... right there. and i wanted him to see that someone else would kiss me. in public." you press your lips together. "i realize that also sounds sad."
"it does, but not because of you. it sounds sad because ryan is a total dickhead." steve pulls into the parking lot of the diner and he turns and looks at you. "i think i have an idea."
--
"this'll never work."
"it'll absolutely work," steve says with a grin. "it'll make ryan jealous as hell, and remind girls what they're missing when they're not going out with me. i mean, it's basically foolproof. and at the end we go our separate ways with no ill will for one another. c'mon-- give credit where credit is due."
you slide your milkshake closer to yourself and take a long sip. "well, how long do we do this for?"
"you're moving away in three months for school. that seems like a good chunk of time, don't you think?" steve leans forward on his forearms. "look, i know i say a lot, but you don't have to do this if you don't want to. it was just... an idea." he shrugs and you don't know if you've ever seen steve so... sheepish before.
"no. no. it's... it's a good idea, unfortunately." you pause. "but there's going to need to be rules!"
"rules! rules, we can do rules. easy. what rules are you thinking?"
"well... how much time are we going to spend together? how much will we kiss? we're gonna have to go out in order for people to see about us and hear about us, so where are we gonna go? what about--"
steve's hand reaches out and covers yours. it's warm, and calloused slightly. like he's a star baseball player. "we'll figure all of that out. i promise." his thumb swipes across your skin. "contrary to popular belief, i do know how to date someone. how to make someone feel... special." he peers at you. "i can do that stuff for you, too. you know--" he clears his throat. "to make it all more believable."
breathless, you nod your head. "yeah," you smile. "believable."
--
you and steve harrington were the absolute talk of hawkins, indiana. one month into this... experiment and everyone had an opinion, everyone had a comment. even the kiss in front of ryan had become public knowledge. ryan told one person, one told another person, who told five people... and suddenly, after feeling mostly invisible through your high school career, you feel very visible. almost uncomfortably so.
but steve is a good partner in it. there's a reason why you wrote him a letter those years ago-- maybe even then you had seen something in him that other people didn't always recognize. regardless of the bravado, you always felt like there was something... soft about him. a soft underbelly that few people ever got. and now, you know that you were right all along.
because after a day at park, rolling around in the grass and reading to steve and looking around to see who's watching... he could be anywhere else. but he's here, at your house, with you. watching grease.
"your hair kinda reminds me of danny's," you say with a smile. you reach across the couch and run your hand through it; in the weeks that you've been putting on this ruse, you've gotten extremely comfortable around steve. that part is not fake. not one bit. "i like it."
steve smiles and settles further into your couch. "well, does that make you my sandy?"
"i guess so." you scrunch your nose up. "but i never really liked sandy's ending. i mean, why should she change herself to fit in with everyone else? she knows who she is. i never thought that was fair." you scoot a little closer to steve, subconsciously. you'd both agreed that no one could know about your arrangement, especially not your parents. so you supposed that sitting close to him on the couch wasn't that weird.
even if your parents weren't home.
"it's not fair. sandy was cute before the jumpsuit." steve shrugs his shoulders and looks over at you. there's a silence as you two stare at each other. "i'm cool with you being my sandy," the corner of his mouth turns up and he opens his arms. "c'mere."
"steve-- my parents aren't home, we don't have to--"
"it's not for anyone to see. you don't like to cuddle?"
you huff and settle into his arms, your cheek squished against the strong plane of his chest, your legs stretched out across the couch. "of course i like to cuddle."
"that's what i thought."
you both fell asleep like that. you're awoken by steve's gentle touch, brushing your hair from your eyes and shaking your shoulder. "hey-- hey, baby, we fell asleep."
you grumble but don't make any moves to get up any time soon. you feel steve's laugh on your cheek more than you hear it. "alright, you leave me no choice--" you groan in discontent when he slips out from under you. but then he's scooping you up into his arms.
steve takes you up the stairs and into your bedroom, laying you down gently. he pulls back the covers and tucks you beneath them. your eyes flutter open to find him watching you with a lovely smile. truly lovely-- it's the smile that gives you butterflies. "you can't stay?" you whisper, and if you were fully awake, you'd be mortified for asking such a thing.
"don't want to get you in trouble." he pushes your hair back and kisses your cheek, your forehead. "i'll come by in the morning, take you to breakfast. how's that sound?"
you nod your head and yawn. your hand rubs at his arm, a matching smile on your own face. "okay."
"okay," steve whispers. he leans forward and kisses your cheek again. "sweet dreams. see you in the morning."
--
you're not sure how three months went by so quickly.
you also don't know how to reckon with the fact that they went by so quickly because you loved every single moment of them.
it wasn't just that steve was a good fake boyfriend-- steve was just a good person. a good friend. every moment that you spent around him, you wanted to bottle that moment up and live in it forever. he was, whether you wanted to admit it or not, your favorite person.
ryan was an afterthought. none of this was for him, anymore. this... it was all for steve.
"where should i put this one?" steve asks, holding up a box labeled books. "you have, like fifty books boxes. do you even get a bookshelf in your dorm?"
your childhood bedroom is in tatters, picked apart and almost all packed up for your drive tomorrow. you'd be staying at steve's tonight prior to your drive. an occurrence that wasn't all that rare, anyway. you always slept side by side, and it always ended with his strong arms wrapped all around you.
steve and the kids would be there for your send off. another wonderful addition to bringing steve into your life-- the kids that came along with him. dustin was your favorite, but you weren't going to tell that to the others.
and while three months ago, you couldn't wait to get out of hawkins... you don't feel that same excitement now. you're still excited, definitely, but... you have something that you're going to be missing, now. you hadn't exactly planned for that.
you have someone who you'll be missing.
"i can always make room for books," you say, turning your nose up at steve. "you can set it there," you point to another stack of boxes. "thanks for helping."
"'course. that's what a boyfriend's there for."
silence falls over the two of you and you think that steve realizes what he said, because he suddenly goes rigid as he sets the box down with the others. "i mean-- like, a friend. a boy that's a friend. and also your fake boyfriend. i--" he sighs and rubs his face. "fuck."
setting down the tape in your hand, you turn your attention more fully to steve. his hand drops and he meets your gaze and for the first time, you can see everything written all over his face. like he's dropped a mask that's been hiding his real, true feelings. or maybe you'd just been too blind to see it. "say that again."
"a boy that's a friend?"
"no. before that."
he pauses. "that's... that's what a boyfriend is there for?"
you nod your head slowly. "is that... is that how you view yourself? with me? my boyfriend... for real?"
steve's cheeks start to go pink. "i mean... i know you're my best friend. and i know that i fucking love being around you. and i know that... i know that shit started to get a little blurry for me. probably a few months ago. i-- you know, i just... i don't really feel like i'm pretending anymore." he blinks and you can see the nerves on his body. it's what leads you to cross the room towards him and take his hand in yours. "is that... is that what you want?"
"steve," you whisper. "you got a letter in the first place because when i was fifteen i was crazy about you. and i think... i think i've always been a little crazy about you. so... yes. that's what i want."
gentle fingertips trace down your jaw. "i guess not much changes, anyway." he smirks a little. "we've been dating for..."
"three months. two days." you shrug your shoulders as his eyes widen. "i pay attention, i guess..."
steve laughs and he brings you in by the waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "that's my girl." he goes quiet. "i'm gonna miss you. i was always gonna miss you, but... you know, indianapolis isn't far. i'll come and visit. you'll come home for holidays. we'll... we'll be fine."
your fingers run through steve's hair. "i'm gonna miss you too. what you said earlier? about me being your best friend? you're mine too."
he squeezes your waist and it wrings another smile out of you. steve makes you hopelessly lovesick, in the best of ways.
--
steve ended up driving up with you, helping you set up your dorm alongside your parents. and after you shed your tears when your parents left, after you anxiously paced the floor anticipating the moment that steve would have to leave. "hey, hey, hey," steve finally says, stopping your movements. "i have something for you before i go."
you open your mouth and he shakes his head. "no, no. let me do this." from his back pocket, he procures a letter. complete with your dorm address and a cute stamp in the top right corner. he holds it out to you. "i want you to read this when you miss me most. not tonight-- tonight, i want you to go and have fun and make friends. your roommate seems cool. i'm talking, like, october." he pauses. "can you do that for me?"
your eyes shine with unshed tears. "steve..." it's practically a whimper. you look up at him and you say, "i love you."
wrapping himself around you, his hand rubs your back. "i love you too," he whispers into your ear. "never loved anyone like this before."
butterflies swarm in your stomach. and you still don't know how those letters got sent-- but you've never been so thankful for fate working its magic than you are for that letter being sent, and bringing steve to your doorstep on a warm may afternoon.
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my-own-walker · 6 months
Text
Jigsaw Falling Into Place
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Anonymous asked: Can you do some smut ab evan himself?
note: i am getting back into writing more small stories because i don't wanna get bored of the series haha. trying something a lil different
summary: in 2011, indie musician/rockstar reader has had a thing going with evan peters for a while. neither of them can stop thinking about each other. it's high time they talked it out.
warnings: sm*t, being delulu with a celeb fantasy, f1ngering, p in v, rushed plot lol
+
I loved doing strange things in the name of art. Even if it meant stirring up a bit of controversy. I had my fair share of weird music videos and clothing choices that turned heads. It's what you need to do to get noticed.
My band and I received some negative press when I said some...choice words about men in an interview. Why people were shocked that the female lead singer in a band had strong feminist viewpoints was beyond me. In my time away from working, aka, hiding from the controversy, I spent time socializing.
Being in my early 20s, I felt my freedom was stifled by my schedule and record label obligations. Now that I was being forced to step away, I had time for a social life. I went to more parties and met cool people. One of which being this guy, Evan.
Although we never said it to each other, I think we both knew.
From the moment we locked eyes, I knew one thing; I wanted to know him. I'm not sure if it was him or I that moved toward the other first, but we met in the middle of the crowded room, like a fucking movie, and he said:
"You look...you look very nice. B-beautiful, I mean. Damn, why can't I speak?" He looked around bashfully, saying 'I hope no one heard that' with his eyes.
I returned the compliment with a lopsided grin and a simple, "I'm Y/N."
After a lengthy conversation off in a corner somewhere, I wrote my number down on the back of his hand and took off, fucking off back to my apartment to seem mysterious. I waited by my cellphone with bated breath, seeing if he'd follow the "three-day rule." He texted me within an hour of me leaving.
We saw each other regularly for weeks after, continuously finding reasons to hang out. I was a spellbound darling in the haze of a precious love story, fawning over a starry-eyed boy.
My desire to seem aloof and therein more appealing, though, made me act coy in his presence. I could see it in his eyes that he felt the same, but I wasn't about to make that my problem. My fear of rejection kept me from overstepping the line of friendship.
Another drunken night at a bar after seeing some indie band play left me with some bad press again. I got caught mouthing off to a photographer who was hounding me in the street. A classic story, right?
Due to that, though, I was seriously put in time-out by my label, them advising me to stay home for a while. To avoid nightlife, that is. Just until it all blew over. I sat bored in my apartment, trying to write songs when my cell phone buzzed.
E: hey!!! how are u?
you heard :/
E: yeah. bummer :^(
i'll be fine. more time to b productive!
E: what are u up to now?
about to make dinner :D
E: ooo whatcha makin?
salad!
E: make enough for 2?
I can ;)
E: what's ur address? i'm coming over
I threw my phone onto the couch and sprung into action. I had to make the space look as presentable as possible for his visit. We had known each other for about a month, but neither of us had been to each other's place.
It took him next to no time to arrive. The knock at the door announced his arrival. I physically dropped what I was doing to let him in, anxious to see him.
He stood outside my door, rosy cheeks and bleach-blonde hair making his appearance seem almost ethereal. His eyes sparkled when he saw me.
"Come in," I smiled, gesturing toward the open space of my living room.
"Wow, it's nice in here," he cooed. I parted from him to return to making dinner. I watched as he observed the space and meandered over to the sofa, flopping down a a large sigh.
"What's the matter?" I asked, laughing.
"It was an ordeal getting in, is all," he chuckled, leaning forward in his seat to peer in at me.
"Why? My doorman is rather nice..." I returned.
"No, I made sure I got in in a way that I couldn't be seen," he explained. "I know you probably don't want to get caught with a mysterious guy sneaking into your apartment,"
"And why's that, Evan?" I challenged, finishing up and heading into the living room to sit with him.
"Big news, and all," he said, bashfully. "All things considered."
"I'm not worried about it, honestly," I assured him, putting a hand on his arm. "I've found that once you've ruined your reputation, you can live quite freely."
He coughed lightly and pulled at the collar of his sweater before sitting back with his arms crossed, very obviously checking me out with a smirk on his face. I ran my hand through my hair and adjusted the way I was sitting. So many words to say, but neither of us had the courage to do so.
All at once, Evan's lips were on mine. At first, I tensed up and pulled back, then, I relaxed into it, putting a hand on his cheek. We kissed passionately, his arms eventually snaking around my waist and pulling me even closer.
"My god," he gasped, pulling away. "You're fun to kiss."
I could only reply with a bashful laugh, my cheeks burning red.
"I've been wanting to do that for a while," he exhaled.
"I've been wanting you to do that for a while," I returned, resting my hand on his chest. He looked down at the touch and back up at me with a glint in his gaze. The moment lingered, and I was spellbound in the light of his undivided attention.
"I never pictured myself getting this far. I don't know what I'm doing, quite frankly," he admitted, his brows turned up in disbelief.
I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his, pausing for a moment before giving in to the need to kiss him again. We pressed our foreheads together in the tightest embrace, this being the result of weeks of restraint.
Although we never said it to each other, I think we both knew.
His left hand threaded in my hair, his right still firmly wrapped around me, I was lit on fire. The all-consuming moment made it hard to breathe. I wanted him all at once. I wanted his very essence to touch every part of me. Every cell and fiber and bone in my being.
It mattered not what was going on in the world. The problems and the hurt and the unrest. At that moment, it wasn't our fight. Not our war. No longer a worry.
Evan was the only thing that mattered. Him.
"I need you," I murmured against his lips, grabbing the fabric of his shirt in my hands and pulling him on top of me.
It was like diving into the ocean, too swept up in the current to realize I was drowning in him. His hands were all over me. Pulling at my clothes and feeling at the glimpses of bare skin underneath.
I wanted all of it.
Just as I tugged his sweater over his head. Just as he pulled at my t-shirt. Just as I undid his belt. Just as he slid my skirt down over my knees. Just as he threw his own jeans across the room. A warmth spilled into my chest and spread outward. His presence soaked through my skin.
His lips ran up my neck and stopped next to my ear. "Okay?" he whispered.
"Yes," I breathed.
He spread my legs apart softly before lining himself up with my entrance. I moaned in his mouth when he penetrated me. He kissed me until all I could breathe was him. I ran my hands up his naked back as he found his rhythm.
I lost track of time. I was intoxicated by the heat of the moment, the warmth of his body, the waves of intense pleasure. There was something there that was real and raw and rare. We fit together like a jigsaw falling into place.
Before long, I found myself ready to succumb to the waves of pleasure. Evan must have seen it, because he paused for a moment, to say: "Not yet, beautiful." He pulled out of me and kissed me all over my body, tauntingly slow.
Then, he slid his fingers into me, setting a lazy rhythm that made my back arch and my toes curl. I existed at his very will. And all at once, after clinging desperately, I let go with a light moan. The pressure boiled over. Shudders shook me as I rested my forehead on his.
Evan's hands tightened on my waist. "Alright?" he asked, making sure he had permission to enter me again. I nodded.
He slid in. My arms were wrapped around his shoulders, my uneven breaths fanning his throat. He came with a masculine groan. The moment soaked through my skin. I could have lived in it forever.
We lay together in momentary bliss, I stroking his sweaty hair, him tracing shapes onto my arm with his finger.
"I love you," he whispered, before pausing entirely and saying a bit louder, "god, I mean, I love, holding...you."
I chuckled softly and guided his chin up to kiss me again. "You do?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.
"I didn't mean to say that but yeah, I think I love you," he replied bashfully.
"Well, I think I love you, too, Evan," I smiled. He hugged me tighter, inhaling deeply in the crook of my neck. "God, I forgot all about dinner," I spoke after a beat. "Are you hungry?"
"No, not for salad," he laughed. "If I'm being honest, I don’t even like it. I just lied to get to your apartment."
+
DID MY BEST TO "TEXT" LIKE IT WAS 2011 FORGIVE ME!!! CRINGE!!! This was a fun one to write hope u like it and pls lmk if you do!!! (but not if you don't)
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loversj0y · 9 months
Note
Cornelia street for your 200 event? Congratulations by the way!!
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event masterlist
pairing: wilbur soot x gn! reader
TWS: lots of drinking, anxiety as well
notes: this one was tough to write solely bc... toe breakup. sigh. makes it hurt to use this song tbh. also i just couldnt focus writing this one so if it seems a bit off, thats probably why
wordcount: 1.6k
taglist: @l0veb0mb1ng / @core-queen / @zooone / @lillylvjy / @ghostsacrosslndnfields / @melunnek
The first time you officially met Wilbur was at a random party. It was a summer party one of your classmates had set up, and she told you it would be a small ordeal. The opposite occurred, which truthfully, you should’ve expected given that it was a party to celebrate the classmates moving into their final year of Uni. You didn’t hate the party atmosphere, it was a nice party even if it was more crowded and louder than you’d expected. You had a few drinks and a few good conversations before stumbling into Wilbur. 
You did literally stumble into him, tripping over someone’s shoe and landing against him. His drink knocked into you as well, spilling all over the front of your shirt.
“Oh, holy shit, are you alright?” He asked quickly, holding onto your arms.
“I’m alright, yeah, sorry. Are you?”
He smiled, “I’m fine, don’t worry about it. Let me help clean you up.” He pulled you to the bathroom, closing the door and muting most of the party droning out with it. 
“We had english together, last semester, didn’t we?” He grabbed a towel, drying your shirt off. 
“Uh,” you flushed, “I’ll be honest, I barely payed attention to that class. I was playing Minecraft on my laptop in the back most days.” 
“Oh?” He laughed, “Good to know I wasn’t alone then. I’m Wilbur.” “Y/N. If you can’t tell, I’m not great at first impressions.”
He smiled, “Well, if you want, we could always have a redo.”
“A redo?” You chuckled, “How so?”
“Hm,” he thought, “How about we act like we were too drunk to remember meeting tonight? And then, I know a good, quiet bar downtown where we can show up separately and pretend we don’t know each other until one of us gets the courage to go up to the other?” He grinned up at you.
You laughed loudly, and he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, “Okay, yeah. That sounds great.”
You and Wilbur did go to that bar. In fact, it became a common thing for the two of you to go that little dive bar every weekend. It was a bit further from campus, a good thirty minute walk, but it made up for it in the almost secretive energy the bar had, making it easier to hide your growing anxieties and embarrassment about just how close to Wilbur you’d gotten. What started as the fleeting thought about how attractive he was had manifested into a strong crush, one that toustled you like a wave everytime you saw him. It got harder to keep your composure around him. And the best way to combat the shaking hands and stuttering words?
Shots, obviously. As the two of you joked, you both got progressively drunker. To the point where neither of you were able to safely get home. So a cab it was.
When you got in the cab, drunkenly stumbling in, the cabbie asked where he was taking you both.
It occurred to both of you that neither of you wanted to be alone right now, it was only a matter of boldness now.
You looked at Wilbur, “I rent a place on Cornelia Street.”
Wilbur nodded, leaning into your side a bit, “Okay.”
You told the cab driver your address, and he drove quickly, probably not wanting to risk the two drunk college kids puking in his cab. The drunkenness started lightening up on the drive, Wilbur only left tipsy, while you were on the comedown of your drunkenness.
You and Wilbur split the cost once you’d gotten there, and you held onto his arm as you pulled him upstairs. It felt like a stepping stone, a new era of your relationship, to have him come over to your apartment, even if you were still drunk. 
Stumbling in, he looked around, “Your place is really nice.”
“Thanks,” you smiled softly, walking over to the couch with him. You both sat down, probably far closer than you would’ve been if either of you had any sense of personal space or decency left in you.
“You sure you’re good with me staying here tonight?” You snorted softly, “Of course, Wilbur. I’d rather you stay here than try to walk home alone.”
“Aww, someone cares about me,” You flushed a bit, leaning your head against him, “Maybe I do. What about it, hm?”
He wrapped his lanky arms around you, squeezing you, “You sap,” he placed his chin on top of your head, “God, everything you do makes me just want to kiss you more,” he admitted.
“Wait- what?” You asked, suddenly feeling incredibly sober. 
“Yeah,” he hummed, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
You pulled out of his grasp, sighing, “You’re drunk.”
He chuckled, “You’re the drunk one here, your tolerance is far worse than mine.” You hated admitting that was true.
“Then, were you serious?”
He looked down at you, quiet while he looked over your face and coming to terms with the fact that you were not drunk enough to forget what he’d said, “Yes.”
You reached forward, taking his hands, “Can I… kiss you?”
He nodded quickly, pulling one hand free to rest on your cheek. You pulled him in the rest of the way, kissing him slowly. He tasted sweet, like strawberry liquor and smoke, and it felt like a consequence you’d gladly pay for.
Months went by. Wilbur was always with you, even if you and him hadn’t set an official title to your relationship. You went from autumn air, dancing in the moonlight on your room, wearing his jacket to classes, playing games, the rains of spring, opening windows for the summer air, all to end up here. Graduation had passed a few weeks ago. Wilbur was staying in town, he’d already found a job. You were between two. There was one in town and one pretty far away.
The only thing keeping you from choosing the one where you’d get to stay here, where you’ve lived and loved, was that you didn’t know where you stood with Wilbur. With everything that you two have been through, you still didn’t have an official label. And you kept meaning to talk about it, but you kept putting it off out of worries and concerns. You thought he was leading you on. You knew why you hadn’t talked about it, but why hadn’t he.
It felt selfish to think that, communication was a two-way street after all, but you just could’nt help your own anxieties sometimes. 
So instead of jumping into his arms, you jumped to conclusions. That he was leading you on, that he wasn’t serious about this. So, you planned on leaving. 
You packed a bunch of your things, getting in your car and starting to drive off, without a goodbye. You hadn’t even made a decision on the jobs either, but you were just going to head home for now.
You were about ten minutes out when Wilbur called. You almost didn’t answer. 
“Hello?”
“Hey, love, where are you? I just showed up to your place and you’re gone.”
“I’m leaving, Wilbur.”
He laughed, at first, “Yeah, yeah.” When you didn’t joke with him, he’d gotten far more serious, “What do you mean?”
“I’m just leaving.” “Without saying goodbye?” You never would’ve left if you had. You aimed for bitterness in your words, some part of you almost wanting to start a fight. “Like you’d care much.”
“Darling, why wouldn’t I care?”
“Why did you never say we were dating?”
He was silent, “Wait, is that what this is about? I- I wanted to talk to you about it, but I just panicked, darling. I-”
He paused, seriously considering what he was going to say next, “Darling, I love you. And if you come back now, I promise you, you will never wonder again, because it is within my full intentions to make sure the entire world knows exactly how you are mine.”
“I-I love you too,” you responded quickly. You’d never turned around faster.
That night, you and him sat on the roof, and finally solidified everything you were. You finally selected your job in town, and you couldn’t help but see Wilbur in the city you looked at from that rooftop.
“Look at that,” Wilbur hummed, staring up at your apartment building.
You held his hand tightly, looking up, “Oh, yeah. It’s almost weird to look at.” You smiled. 
He stood behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You had moved out a year ago now. You and Wilbur found a nice place to live together, and you had been living together since. It was a worthy move, but it still felt weird to look up at your old apartment. 
He nodded, “God, do you remember the first time I cooked for you?”
You laughed, “Yeah, it was our first official date. I had to open all the windows to get the smell of burning out.”
“It was a cleansing fire, I think.” “You would think that,” you laughed louder, leaning into him, “It was good though. A new beginning of sorts.”
“Especially for several of your pans,” he snickered, kissing your cheek softly. 
You chuckled, nodding, “Some of them definitely needed it.” You smiled, sighing softly.
You couldn’t say it outloud, you didn’t want to make Wilbur worried. You just knew that if any residual fears you had about Wilbur leaving you proved true, you’d never be able to walk here again, the entire apartment a reflection of your relationship.
93 notes · View notes
runnning-outof-time · 2 years
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The Beauty that Saved the Beast | Tommy Shelby x Reader
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Request: yes by anonymous
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader
Summary: All (Y/N) was trying to do in taking over as the chef's assistant at Arrow House was get her father out of his absurd contract. She wasn't aiming to thaw out the heart of the man who owned the sprawling estate, but that's exactly what she ended up doing.
Warnings: smoking, drinking
Word Count: 5058
A/N: I got a bit carried away on this one haha...there was no logical place to split it though. If you couldn’t tell by the title, this is based loosely off of the story ‘The Beauty and the Beast’. The request (which was fun to write) asked me to use my favorite Disney story. I’ll admit that I’m not into Disney so it was a bit tough for me to think of one. I like ‘Moana’ but I didn’t think that it would lend well to the Peaky Blinders universe haha, and @padfootdaredmetoo already wrote a beautiful rendition of ‘Tangled’ so I went went this tale. I hope it makes sense. Enjoy! :)
I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR THOUGHTS & COMMENTS HELP ME WRITE!
Let me know if you want to be tagged in stories similar to this one!
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A letter was sitting in (Y/N)'s postal box at the end of her street. She studied it the second she got it out, her eyebrows furrowing at the lack of return address. So she went about opening it. Her eyes widened when she started to read what was written.
(Y/N),
I'm writing to let you know that my state of health is decreasing rather quickly.
Unfortunately, my employer is not letting me leave his estate, as it would break the rules of the contract I have signed.
I cannot physically go on with working here. So I have spoken to my boss in hopes that he might spare me despite what the contract says.
Please do not worry for me. I will be alright.
All my love,
Father
Her heart dropped at the contents of the letter. Her father had been employed by Thomas Shelby, a rather ruthless businessman who had his companies based mostly out of Small Heath, but called an estate in Warwickshire home. He had been working as his assistant chef for almost a year now, and had no complaints with it. Until just a few months ago.
There supposedly was a rift within his family, and Mr. Shelby no longer trusted anyone. So he drafted up a new contract which stated that his employees had to live on the property and could not get out of the contract once it was signed. (Y/N)'s father had no choice but to sign it. They had very little money, and Mr. Shelby paid well. But now that his health had taken a turn for the worse, (Y/N) was afraid that she wouldn't be able to see him again.
(Y/N) had to think of something to do in order to get out of the position he was in. There had to be some way that she could have his boss change the contract. Mr. Shelby wouldn't let an innocent man die under his watch, would he?
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The first thing that struck (Y/N) as she was driven up to the house of her father's employer was the sheer enormity of the structure. It looked as if it could reach the sky, and stood with a foreboding nature before her.
She thanked and paid the driver as she exited the car before walking up the few steps that the front door had. She then knocked on the large, wooden door before stepping back slightly and hoping that someone would answer.
Moments later, an older woman was opening the door. "Can I help you, ma'am?" she asked, confusion filling her features as she looked on at the unexpected visitor.
"I'd like to talk to Mr. Shelby, please," (Y/N) responded, trying to keep her voice level although she was feeling her nerves rise with each passing second.
"Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked with furrowed eyebrows.
"No," (Y/N) shook her head. Nobody told her that she needed an appointment. "But my father works for Mr. Shelby. He's the assistant chef: Mr. (Y/L/N). I wanted to see if I could talk to Mr. Shelby about his contract," she explained anyway, hoping that she'd still be able to get some time with her father's boss.
"I'm not sure, ma'am. Mr. Shelby is a busy man. I can check for you though. Please, come in and wait in the foyer," the woman said as she opened the door further to let (Y/N) walk inside. The entry room was just as grand as the rest of the house, and (Y/N) took in all of its details as she watched the older woman walk up the steps and disappear down a hallway.
She stood for about ten minutes before the woman returned, beckoning her to follow her up the steps and down the hallway. "Mr. Shelby...Miss (Y/L/N)," she announced as both of the women entered the room that looked to be an office.
(Y/N) looked across the room to watch the man she was to meet stand from his chair. Her first impression of him was not what she'd expected. He looked young and in shape. She had a picture of a grumpy, portly old man in her mind when her father had written to her. She wasn't wrong about him being grumpy though. He had an expression on his face that was intimidating (Y/N) from the second she laid her eyes on him.
"Mr. Shelby, thank you for agreeing to speak with me. I am here about my..."
"I know why you're here," he cut her off in an abrupt manner before he waved her over to sit. Once they were sitting across from each other, he continued speaking, "now why is it that you think I'd make a change to your father's contract?" he looked over at her with raised eyebrows.
"Because my father is sick, sir," (Y/N) answered, trying to put up a confident front. "His health is quickly deteriorating and his contract is not due to be finished for at least another year. He will surely die while working here," she tried to plead to his emotions, although as she was observing him, she wasn't sure that he had any.
"Are you aware of the specifications of the contract that your father signed?" he asked, going about lighting a cigarette then.
"I am," she nodded, dropping her gaze slightly.
"Then why would you think that I'd go ahead with changing those specifications when I so clearly laid them out?"
"He's ill, Mr. Shelby," (Y/N) pleaded.
"He signed a contract," he insisted.
"I will take his place," she blurted out then, her words coming out before she had much time to think them over.
The man sitting across from her looked rather shocked at her sudden proposal. "You'll what?" he asked her to repeat what she'd just said, wanting to see if he heard her right.
"I want to take his place. He's taught me the finer parts of working in a kitchen. I'll take over his contract so that he can spend his final days at home, in peace," she explained her sudden idea, trying to ignore the sinking feeling she was getting in her stomach.
"You are aware that you would have to live here...and that you would not be able to see your father," Tommy laid out some of the stipulations of the idea that she was proposing.
"I'd be fine with that. Anything so that he doesn't have to suffer anymore," she hastily agreed.
"Fair enough. I will have it so that you are switched with your father. Your contract of employment will pick up where his left off and you will begin work tomorrow," Mr. Shelby made his decision, writing something down on a piece of paper as he spoke.
(Y/N) was relieved to hear this. Her father would be free now. "Oh thank you, Mr. Shelby," she expressed her gratitude to him, a smile on her face.
"I wouldn't thank me so soon," he responded, shaking his head as he looked over at her with a stony expression.
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In her few weeks of working for Thomas Shelby, (Y/N) found that his employees were actually able to leave the estate. On the days she was off, she frequently traveled into the city with Elle, a maid she'd found a friend in. When the ladies went into the city, they'd be accompanied by someone, usually a younger man, who would follow them wherever they went. So they could leave the house, but they could never really get away from Thomas Shelby.
On the days that she worked, which outnumbered the days that she didn't by many, she found that she was really only assisting in making food for Charles Shelby, Mr. Shelby's three year old son, and the other members of the staff. Mr. Shelby himself never seemed to be around to eat. In fact, he never seemed to be around at all.
Which confused (Y/N) when she was told by Frances, whom she learned was the head maid of the house, that Mr. Shelby had wanted to see her in his office. She was apprehensive about the situation, but she still followed the older woman out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her boss' office.
"Mr. Shelby...Miss (Y/L/N)," Frances announced, motioning for (Y/N) to walk into the office before she exited and closed the door to the room.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Shelby?" (Y/N) asked, feeling slightly uneasy at the moment. She had also learned in her time here that being called into the boss' office was never a good thing. She just hoped that she was putting up a good front; that he couldn't see her nerves.
"Yes. Come. Sit," he directed her, motioning to the chairs that were positioned to face his desk. (Y/N) nodded her head before she moved over and took a seat. Tommy sat as she did, the two of them now sitting at the same level directly across from each other.
"Did I do something wrong, sir?" she decided to ask, hoping that he wouldn't rip into her for speaking out of turn. The anticipation of finding out the reason behind her being in his office was eating her alive at the moment. She desperately needed to find out why he'd called her in.
"No," Tommy shook his head, picking up his cigarette from the ashtray on the desk so that he could take a drag from it. "It's quite the opposite actually," he informed her then.
(Y/N)'s eyebrows furrowed at his statement, "what do you mean?" she asked for more information.
"I was wondering if you'd want to sit with me at dinner tonight?" he asked, clearing his throat before he continued, "you've been doing fairly well at your job. I've noticed."
(Y/N) was surprised by his words for a few different reasons. For starters, she was shocked that he was inviting her to dinner, of all things, because the man did not eat. Secondly, she was surprised because it was highly unusual for a boss to be inviting an employee to eat with him. With those thoughts in her head, she made her decision. "That's very nice of you, Mr. Shelby, but I cannot accept your invitation," she told him, looking down at her legs then so that she wouldn't see his initial reaction.
"Why not? I wanted to thank you for all of the hard work you've been putting in," he didn't accept her decision and tried another angle.
"I believe that it is frowned upon for employees to sit at the same table as their bosses," (Y/N) told him, "and besides, you don't need to thank me. I'm doing the job that I signed the contract to do."
"So you're not accepting it?" he checked with her. It was almost as if he hadn't heard what she'd just said. Like he wanted a concrete 'yes' or 'no' answer.
"No, Mr. Shelby, I am not," (Y/N) gave a definitive answer, finding the courage to look him in the eyes. His icy glare just about made her confidence crumble, but she held her ground.
"Fine," Tommy nodded, being the first to break the stare as he looked off to the far corner of the room, "fair enough. That is all," he told her, waving his hand that held the half-burned cigarette to the door as a visual cue for her to leave.
(Y/N) stood from her chair but did not leave straight away. She clutched her hands together in front of her and took a deep breath, feeling an intense need to make things right. "I'm sorry, Mr. Shelby, I would love to join you, but I..."
"I said that is all, (Y/N)!" Tommy cut her off in an abrupt manner, his voice raising to show that he wasn't at all happy with her decision. (Y/N) jumped at his yelling, and he noticed this, so he took a deep breath and composed himself before continuing, "please, leave my office," he said the rest of his statement in a cold manner, his harsh stare focused on her. "Now," he added for extra measure when she didn't move. It was only then that (Y/N) sucked in another breath and tried hard to hold back her tears before nodding and turning to exit the room.
She made sure the door to his office was shut before she let her tears fall. The worst part about it was that she didn't even know why she was crying. She knew that Thomas Shelby was by no means a nice person. She knew that he ran things around the house with an iron fist. But why did he ask her to sit with him at dinner? Why did he compliment her work around the house just to cut her off coldly and practically force her out of his office? She had no clue. So she wiped her tears and headed back down to the kitchen. She had work to do, and she couldn't let a silly conversation with her boss get in her way from getting it done.
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(Y/N) was exhausted from the day she'd had. Between the meeting between her and Mr. Shelby, and all of the pointless drama that was going on amongst the rest of the kitchen staff, she was very ready to go to bed for the night.
She was just finishing taking off her shoes while sitting at the side of her bed when her roommate, Elle, entered the room. (Y/N) was ready to greet her happily, but when she saw her tear-stained cheeks, she knew that something had to be wrong. "What's the matter?" she asked, deciding to voice her concern.
"It's nothing, (Y/N), really," Elle brushed her off, shaking her head as she trudged over to her closet to grab her nightgown.
"It doesn't look like nothing," she gently pried, pointing out the obvious.
"I just got yelled at by Mr. Shelby," Elle divulged then, speaking in a hushed voice as if their boss had been able to hear their conversation.
"He yelled at you?" (Y/N)'s eyes widened in shock, "why? What did you do?" she needed to know more.
"The papers on his desk were misplaced. I swore that I did not touch them, but because I was the maid in charge of straightening up his office today, he placed blame on me," she explained what had happened, making (Y/N)'s jaw drop slightly. "He completely freaked out on me and I don't even know why. Some of the other workers were saying that he'd been brash with them earlier, but I never expected him to be like that with me."
"That's surprising," was the best that (Y/N) could think of. "He called me into his office earlier this morning to invite me to sit with him at dinner tonight. I turned him down," she then told her friend about her run in with their boss that occurred earlier.
Now it was Elle's turn to wear the shocked expression, "you turned him down?" she just about gasped at what she heard. "(Y/N), you never turn the boss down when he asks something of you."
"I didn't know, ok?!" (Y/N) defended herself before letting out a sigh, "I just thought it would have been inappropriate to accept it," she explained the thought process that she had.
"From now on, don't do that. Whatever the boss says, you need to agree to," Elle told her, "he can be a bit of a beast at times, but living here will be much easier if you take on the mentality that you must do whatever you need to to keep Mr. Shelby happy," she gave some advice then.
"I’ll remember that. Thank you, Elle," (Y/N) nodded her head, committing what was just said into memory.
"You're welcome," Elle smiled before she turned off the bedside lamp, making the room go dark. (Y/N) laid in bed that night with those new instructions going through her head. From now on, she wouldn't protest or question anything that her boss said. Instead, she'd agree to whatever it is right away.
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(Y/N) decided to stay on the grounds of Arrow House on her day off. She was too tired to go into the city. Mr. Shelby had been making things around the house tough for the last few weeks. (Y/N) had a feeling it was because of her response to his offer. She wanted to go make things right with him, but Elle advised her against it. She'd just have to wait out the storm and hope that better days were coming.
It was a rare, beautiful spring day in Warwickshire, and (Y/N) was eager to take advantage of it. She got herself dressed early in the morning and had breakfast before going back up to grab the book that she'd been reading. She found herself a bench outside and sat on it, opening up her book and getting sucked into the fictional world that it created.
The book got boring after not too long, and (Y/N) found herself more interested in the swaying of the trees than the words on the page. So she sat the book down on the bench and decided that she'd go on a walk. One of the things she loved about Mr. Shelby's property was the vastness of it. She could go for many walks and not take the same route twice. Today, she decided that she'd venture over towards the stables and see if any of the horses were out.
As she approached it, she saw that at least one was out in the large field. That horse happened to have someone on its back. In fact, as she got closer, she realized that there were two people on its back. Mr. Shelby had Charlie in front of him and it seemed as though it was the small child who was controlling the beast. (Y/N) hung back by the bushes as she watched them gallop around the enclosure. From where she was, she was able to hear her boss giving his son instructions and encouragement, and she was rather surprised to see the smile on his face. He looked like a completely different person. Just seeing them made (Y/N) smile.
After watching for quite a few minutes, (Y/N) decided to continue on with her walk past the fences. She didn't anticipate her boss and his son coming up along that fence while she was walking, but she simply couldn't stop herself from letting the boy know how good he was doing. "You're controlling that horse really well, Charlie!" she called as she smiled up at the boy. At this point, the horse's gallop had slowed so that it was now standing where (Y/N) had stopped alongside the fence.
"Thank you, Miss (Y/N)!" the boy said back, a toothy grin forming on his face.
"He's a natural, Mr. Shelby," (Y/N) then dared to look over to her boss, the man she'd been trying to avoid since the meeting in his office.
"He is. Gets it from his father, I think," he responded, a smile playing on his lips. (Y/N) was shocked by how different this interaction with him had been. She'd never think that she'd see Mr. Shelby smile. "You like horses?" he asked her then, his chin raised slightly to show his intrigue.
"I do. We used to own one...before the war," (Y/N) answered, glancing down slightly as she tried to keep the memories that acted as landslides into the darker ones at bay. Her family had sold everything they owned during the war just to make ends meet. The beloved horse was one of the first things to go.
"You're able to ride, if you'd like. Whenever you're free," he told her then, noticing the change that his question had brought on.
"Oh thank you, Mr. Shelby but I really shouldn't..." she cut herself off as Elle's advice rang in her head, "I'd like that. Thank you," she changed her tune and put a smile on her face.
Tommy looked pleased at her answer. "Good. Just tell the stablehands that I've ok'd it when you do," he told her then.
"Let's go, daddy!" Charlie exclaimed from in front of him, clearly becoming impatient with the waiting.
"Alright, son," Tommy said as he smiled at the child.
"I'll let you two go. Thanks again, Mr. Shelby," (Y/N) smiled up at them again as she prepared to continue on her walk.
"Don't mention it," Tommy responded before he clicked his tongue, signalling the horse to continue on. (Y/N) smiled as she watched them go, happy that she was able to experience this side of her boss. Maybe he wasn't a complete beast after all.
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(Y/N) was wiping her hands off by the sink when she heard her name being called from the entrance to the kitchen. She looked to her right to see her boss standing up against the archway. "Mr. Shelby," she gasped, her feet taking her in his direction, "why are you down in the kitchen, sir?" she asked as she stopped in front of him.
"I wanted to check on how my staff was doing," he answered before nodding his head towards the corridor he came down. (Y/N) nodded and followed him, stopping when he did about halfway in the hall. "And I wanted to extend an invite for you to have dinner with me this evening," he said as he turned to look at her again.
"Mr. Shelby..." (Y/N) trailed off, shocked by his sudden offer. But Elle's words were dancing through her mind within a second. "I'd like to join you," she answered him, a polite smile on her face. It still didn't feel right for her to agree, but she ultimately did it for the good of everyone else in the house. She remembered the tirade he went on the last time. And she was secretly hoping that she might get to see more of the other side of Tommy Shelby at this dinner. The caring side that he presented while out with his son.
"Good," was all he said in response, though (Y/N) swore that she saw the start of a smile forming on his lips.
"Is that all, Mr. Shelby?" she asked then.
"That is all," he nodded, "you may return to work." The two went their separate ways then; Tommy back down the corridor, and (Y/N) back into the kitchen. (Y/N) couldn't help but feel excited for later on. It's not everyday that you get invited to eat dinner with your boss...and she’d been offered it twice now.
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The dinner that (Y/N) shared with Mr. Shelby was thoroughly enjoyable, although it was rather weird for her not to be assembling it. Conversation, surprisingly, flowed very easily between the two of them. (Y/N) learned more about who he was as a person. That his wife had died just a year earlier, and he wasn't really speaking to his family at the moment. He also told her about the business that he ran, but she could tell that he was just barely scratching the surface of it with the information he gave her. It gave her an insight into why he held himself the way he did.
In return, she told him more about who she was. And to her surprise, he listened intently to what she had to say. Almost too intently for her liking...she had to stop herself multiple times from getting lost in his eyes and remind herself to keep talking.
Soon enough, their plates had been cleared and they were left sitting at an empty table. (Y/N) started to feel sad. She didn't want the dinner to come to a close. Luckily, Tommy had something else in mind. "Would you like to dance?" he asked her, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he took one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray that sat next to his glass of whiskey.
(Y/N) couldn't stop the butterflies from fluttering around her stomach at his request, "I'd like to, Mr. Shelby," she nodded her head. This time, she accepted his offer because she wanted to rather than because it was the right thing to do.
Tommy stood up from his chair and walked over to the gramophone sitting in the corner. After dropping the needle and starting the song, he waved (Y/N) over to where he was standing. She stood from her chair then and made sure to walk over slowly so that she didn't show how eager she was at the moment. "You can call me Tommy, love," he told her as he took her hand into his and settled his other against her waist. (Y/N) simply nodded as she rested her free hand on his shoulder.
They swayed slowly to the classical piece that was now filling the room. (Y/N) couldn't help but feel lost at the moment. She couldn't take her eyes away from his captivating blue ones no matter how hard she tried.
"I have something to tell you, (Y/N)," Tommy started after they'd been swaying for a few minutes.
"What's that?" (Y/N) asked as she waited intently for what he had to say.
"I've been interested in you since you came to meet with me about taking your father's position. There's something about you that intrigued me, and that motivated me to ask you to dinner. I shouldn't be feeling this, and I know that you think that it's wrong, but I cannot stop myself," he confessed to her. (Y/N) had to stop her jaw from dropping.
"Oh, wow, Mr. Shelby...er, Tommy, I..." she didn't quite know what to say.
"I understand if you do not feel the same, and I will allow it if you'd like to end your contract after this. I had to let my feelings for you be known," he told her, his head hanging slightly as he took her stammering for rejection.
"No, Tommy, I...I'm just surprised is all," she finally was able to make a coherent sentence. Her words and slight laugh made him raise his head slightly to the point where he was looking at her through his eyelashes.
"Surprised? A good surprised?" he wondered, hating how she was making him act like a schoolboy.
"I'd say so, yeah," she smiled as she spoke. A smile formed on Tommy's face as he glanced down at her lips before he leaned in slightly so that his were just brushing against hers. The breath got caught in (Y/N)'s throat as she stood centimeters away from him, her heart beating wildly against her ribcage. But he didn't kiss her right away. It was like he was waiting for her signal. So she gave him one, "kiss me, please, Tommy," she breathed against his lips, her hands reaching up for the lapels of his suit jacket as their lips met.
They continued to sway as they kissed, and (Y/N) was happy that both of his hands had moved to her waist because otherwise, she'd been a puddle on the floor. Tommy was the first to pull away, but he didn't move far. He rested his forehead against hers as they continued to sway to the music. Neither said a word for the remainder of their time together, all that needed to be said was exchanged through the kiss they shared.
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"Have you heard, (Y/N)?! Mr. Shelby has ended the contracts!" Elle exclaimed as she entered their shared room. "We're free to go!"
(Y/N) could practically feel the excitement radiating off of the other woman. "He did?" she questioned. Despite the amount of time that she and Tommy Shelby were spending together since the dance they shared, she hadn't heard about the end in the contracts.
"He did. I'm going to be leaving this afternoon!" Elle beamed as she grabbed her suitcase from underneath her bed. "Will you stay or go?" she asked then.
"I'm not sure," (Y/N) responded, an unknown feeling rising inside of her. "I'm going to see if I can speak to Mr. Shelby about my contract," she said, standing from the bed so that she could exit the room.
"The contracts are finished?" was the first thing she asked Tommy as she entered his office. Tommy glanced up from his work, to see who had spoken before he stood from his chair to meet her halfway.
"They are," he nodded as he reached out to run his hands up and down her forearms. "Will you be leaving?" he dared to ask her then.
"I'm not sure. If I stay, will there be a new contract to sign?" she asked, wanting to know all of the details behind this sudden shift.
"If you stay, you will not be held under the terms of a contract," he told her, his eyes matching hers as he spoke, "because it was you, love, who made me decide that these contracts are not needed."
A slight amount of shock filled (Y/N)'s features as she heard what he had to say. "Really?" she asked him even though he'd just told her so moments ago.
"Yes, really," he affirmed, a smile on his face, "you've changed me for the better, (Y/N)," he told her before he leaned in and kissed her lips.
They shared a few kisses before pulling away with smiles gracing both of their faces. "Then I will stay with you," she gave him her answer, her words only making him pull her into another kiss that she couldn't refuse.
From that day on, Tommy Shelby changed how he treated the staff at his house. (Y/N) stayed by his side, and she watched as he slowly went from being a ruthless, emotionless 'beast' to a man who minded others' thoughts and valued the work that they did.
The End.
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Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicalxdaydream @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @golden-hoax @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite
MASTERLIST
815 notes · View notes
iboatedhere · 11 months
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“I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday.”
TK sets the phone on speaker and puts it down on the counter so he can dig through the cupboard with both hands. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Paul. 
“I totally meant to but then the mayor had this thing and I felt a little weird ducking away on my first week on the job…” 
“Dude, I said don’t worry about it–ah! Found you,” he says as he pulls out the jar of peanut butter and twists open the top. “Ugh. Is peanut butter supposed to separate into liquid and chunks?”
“Is it chunky peanut butter?” Paul asks.
“Not according to the label.”
“Don’t eat that, TK.”
“Well then I have no breakfast.”
“Go grocery shopping.”
“That is easier said than done,” TK tells him as he drops the jar into the trash. “Anyway, congrats on starting your new job, happy for you, not upset that you didn’t call, I probably wouldn’t have picked up anyway.”
“Wild night?”
“Yes and no. I went out with Ethan and those guys—.” He pauses to let Paul groan. “And then they all ditched me—.” Another pause so Paul can groan even louder. “And then, Carlos took me out to this barbecue place that had amazing food and dancing—.”
“Wait–,” Paul interrupts. “Carlos as in Agent Carlos Reyes? When did the switch to the first names happen?”
“I guess something about watching me get my heart stomped on in public softened him to me. We’re friends, I guess. Friendly, at least. I don't know, but last night something happened…”
“Something bad?”
“Something…I don’t know. There was a moment last night when we were dancing–.”
“What kind of dancing?”
TK rolls his eyes. “What does that matter?”
“I want to know if you were grinding on your secret service agent, I feel like that’s important to the story.”
“It was line dancing, okay, there was no grinding. We barely even touched until this moment at the end where I bumped into this guy and Carlos got weird. He yanked me against his side and I thought we could kiss right now.”
There’s a long pause on the other side of the call until Paul sighs. “So it was something bad.”
“Why is that bad?”
“Because he’s your secret service agent,” Paul stresses, “and he works for your mother, and your life is in his hands on a daily basis.”
“He has nice hands,” TK notes and Paul makes a distressed sound. “He does. He was licking barbecue sauce off of them all night…it was hot. What do you expect from me, I’m only human with a strong pull toward oral fixation.”
“I didn’t need to know that.”
“Whatever,” TK says, “you’re just jealous I never wanted to makeout with you.”
“Everyone wants to makeout with me,” Paul corrects. “You know you can’t do anything about this, right?”
“I wonder if he would’ve tasted sweet like the tea we were drinking or spicy from the sauce.”
“TK, you can’t.”
“I know,” TK tells him. “I get it, I really do and I would never act on it. I don’t even know if I want to act on it or if I’m just upset about Alex and trying to move on and Carlos is just the guy that happens to be there.”
“I think that’s a good possibility.”
There’s a knock on the front door and TK grabs the phone. “I’ll keep my hands to myself and I won’t climb into his lap while we’re in the back of the car–oh god.”
“What?”
“Do you think there’s cameras here? Do you think they bugged my house for security reasons and he’s been listening to this conversation the whole time?”
“No, I don’t, but I do think there’s an NSA agent that’s been listening to this call the whole time.”
“Hello NSA Agent,” TK jokes and Paul laughs. “Are you hot? Do you want my tongue in your mouth?”
With Carlos on his mind, TK stops to look through the peephole. There’s no one there, and TK frowns as he unlocks and opens the door. 
There’s a plain brown package on the front step with his name and addressed typed in bold font and taped to the top. It’s too early for anyone to be out and about, but down the end of the street a FedEx truck rattles as it turns left onto 33rd. 
TK leans down to grab the package but a feeling of dread passes over him before he gets more than halfway. 
“Paul,” he says as he straightens up. “There’s a package on my front steps.” 
“Okay.”
“I’m not expecting anything.” 
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deepspacedukat · 3 months
Text
The Baker's Baker - Part One
So, this is the fic I made the poll about. 75% of you said you were at least open to other David Birney characters depending on the character, so here it is. I honestly have no excuse. David Birney played a hot character in "Murder, She Wrote" and I have caught the brainrot. Spoilers for S10E3 "The Legacy of Borbey House." I know I changed part of the story, but it doesn't stray too far from the original, hence the spoiler warning. I'm not tagging anyone for this fic, because, even though some Letant Enjoyers might like this, I don't think anyone came to my blog for MSW fanfiction lol. To those who choose to give this little brainworm a read, I hope you enjoy.
Cross-posted to AO3 here.
~*~
Lawrence Baker (MSW) x Reader
[A/N: Future chapters will contain smut/smut adjacent content, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]
Warnings: Mild rudeness, flirtation, mention of a missing person per the episode plot, vampire rumors, utilizing cupcakes for flirtation, readers owns and works in a bakery, reader has history with Borbey House but that'll be expounded upon in a later chapter.
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~*~
Cabot Cove was rife with rumors surrounding the property across the street from my front door. Borbey House had stood empty for a year and a half - some residents wondered if anyone would ever buy the place until a couple of weeks ago. I only caught a glimpse of my new neighbor as I was getting home one night. Dark hair, a darker suit, and the jaunty strut of a man who was utterly confident in himself - whoever he was, the new owner of the Borbey Estate was much flashier than the usual Cabot Cove crowd.
I only saw him once, though, along with a couple of curtain twitches from one of the upper windows. Any other time a person emerged from the house, it was without fail a harsh looking man with a square jaw. He and his employer both seemed rather ominous to anyone who believed in superstition, and the Borbey legacy was rife with those. All those mysterious deaths years ago...it was a wonder that anyone was interested in buying the place when it went on the market.
Legend had it that the original owner, William Borbey, had been a vampire, and given the new owner's tendency to avoid going out in the daylight coupled with how quickly gossip of any sort traveled through Cabot Cove, rumors about his condition spread rather quickly. I couldn't really blame the man for not wanting to immerse himself in the insanity that was a small town like this. I had hoped I'd catch another glimpse of him eventually, but after that first sighting, all I saw was his - was the man with a square jaw a butler or a chauffeur? Both, perhaps?
This morning, however, my luck changed - for better or worse, I couldn't definitively say. It wasn't often that our postman switched mail around, but today I'd opened my mailbox to find a letter addressed to one 'Mr. Lawrence Baker.' Glancing at the address confirmed my suspicions: this belonged across the street.
With barely a moment's thought, I hurried back into my house and dropped off my own mail, scooping up a box of assorted cookies I'd packaged in advance for the bakery in the process. There were plenty more where that came from, so I figured it couldn't hurt to give Cabot Cove's newest resident a warm welcome.
Straightening myself up a bit, I grabbed the misdelivered letter and the box of cookies and walked across the street. Before I even got the chance to knock on the door, however, it was practically flung open. Mr. Baker's butler scowled silently, expectantly down at me with cold, hard eyes.
"Uh, hi! I–"
"Do you have an appointment?" His question was clipped and rough. Was that a German accent? Interesting.
"No, but–"
"Then begone." With that, the door was slammed in my face.
Oh, hell no. Tall and scary that man might be, but I wasn't about to just let someone treat me like that.
I was secretly quite proud of the firm, confident sound of my knuckles rapping on the aged wooden door. Once more, it was thrown open, but before Mr. Scary got the chance to do something more drastic than slamming the door in my face, I held up the letter so he could see the typeface on the envelope.
"This was delivered to me by mistake this morning. I was just coming over here to give it to its proper owner." After a tense moment of silence, the letter was snatched from my hand. "And these are from me. I run the bakery on Main Street and I wanted to officially welcome Mr. Baker to the neighborhood."
Shoving the box into the stunned butler's grasp, I turned on my heel and started back to my house, standing as straight as possible to cling to my remaining dignity. Well, that had been slightly more humiliating than I'd expected. So much for being neighborly–
"Excuse me, miss?" A smooth, sophisticated voice called out from behind me before I was more than a few feet down the front walkway. Looking back, I saw a familiar dark-haired figure stepping around the gruff-mannered butler to stand in the doorway. Red-lensed sunglasses rested atop the bridge of his nose, but it was still undeniably the same man I'd seen that first night. Lawrence Baker, in the flesh. Up close, he looked...well, extremely handsome. "I'm sorry for the rough reception. Peter is used to dealing with less pleasant visitors. I'm afraid most people don't like an outsider invading your peaceful community."
Taking a few small steps toward the door, I gave my elusive new neighbor a tentative smile and attempted to ignore the way his pale blue button-down shirt clung to his figure so perfectly.
"It's alright, but I promise not all of us are quite so prickly. I'm sorry if you've been on the receiving end of any sort of intolerance," I said, and he leaned jauntily on the door frame as a grin stretched his lips. The lines on either side of his mouth spoke of the many smiles he'd worn over the years. "Anyway, I should really let you get back to your day. I just wanted to officially welcome you to the neighborhood. If you need anything, I live just across the street."
"I'll be sure and keep that in mind, Miss...?"
I introduced myself, keeping a respectable distance between myself and the front door. The longer I looked at Mr. Baker, the more I wanted to do something ridiculous, like take up sketching just so I could capture the shape of his lips when he smiled.
"I couldn't help but hear what you said a moment ago. You run the local bakery?"
"Yes, I do. If there's something you'd like that I don't normally offer, I take custom orders." My brain went somewhere it definitely shouldn't have, and I fought to keep myself from blushing.
Instead, though, I had some restraint. Excusing myself, I retreated quickly back to my own home. I took a seat in the kitchen and glanced at the timer I'd set for the cake in the oven. There was still a while until I needed to check it.
I had no idea how long I'd been sitting at my kitchen table lost in thought when a knock sounded at the door, jolting me back to reality. A brief flash of fear zipped through me at the prospect of Mr. Baker or his butler - somehow the name 'Peter' didn't full encompass that man's personality - coming to throw my cookies back in my face and threaten legal action if I ever set foot on their side of the street again.
"Why, you look as pale as a ghost, child!" Seth exclaimed when I opened the door. I'd almost forgotten that he and Jessica were coming over for lunch today. Inviting them in gratefully, I stole a quick glance across the street and was just in time to see a curtain twitch in one of the upper windows of the Borbey House.
There was nothing I could do but close the door as if to block out the storm that was my neighbor's red-tinted gaze.
"Are you alright?" Jessica's hand rested gently on my shoulder, and I gave her a grateful smile.
"Oh, yes! I'm fine. I just had a very odd encounter with the new owner of the Borbey place," I told her as we all made our way into the kitchen. A couple of hours passed, and with lunch consumed and my new cake recipe freshly sampled by the three of us, I'd heard several bits of gossip about Mr. Baker and his butler.
"You say he had red lenses in his glasses?" Seth asked as he cut himself another slice of cake. When I nodded my head, he hummed thoughtfully. "Those have a few uses medicinally, dependin' on the shade. He could be sensitive to light. Until he comes into my office, though, I'm afraid that's all I can say."
With a wry smile, Mrs. Fletcher leaned back in her seat.
"I doubt that will do anything to dispel those ridiculous vampire stories that have been making the rounds, lately." She was right, of course. "Be careful, dear, you might find him knocking on your door one night in search of something more than just cookies."
A laugh bubbled out of me, and I felt suddenly better than I had all morning. Trust Jessica and Seth to know how to lift my spirits.
"I'll be sure to wear a garlic necklace and keep a stake handy," I joked. Allowing my smile to fall in favor of something more serious, I switched topics. "Any news about...?"
Jessica and Seth glanced at each other and shook their heads.
"You'd be one of the first to know. The last tip-off the Sheriff had was a dud. Lady was in her fifties. Definitely not Laurel Perrin," Seth murmured setting his fork down. Had he already eaten his second piece of cake? Mentally, I marked that recipe down as a success. I'd have to make one or two for the bakery this week to see how people reacted to it. "I...I know you were her friend, and I don't mean to sound disheartenin', but the chances of Laurel turnin' up after all this time..."
The doctor laid his hand over mine where it rested on the table, and I looked pointedly down at the wood grain beside my fingers.
"I know, Doc. I just...I can't give up hope. Neither can Dave or Charlie. Not until we know for sure, one way or the other. You can understand that, right?"
"Of course, we can. Closure is a somewhat universal longing, especially for those closely involved in situations like this," Jessica murmured wrapping her arm around my shoulders in a reassuring hug. "Now, why don't you tell us how the new space for the bakery is working out?"
Never had I been more grateful for a change of subject.
--
Six days later, I was in the middle of serving who I thought would be my last customer of the night when the bell over the bakery door jingled.
"I'll be with you in just a moment," I called over my shoulder as I boxed up a dozen brownies.
"No problem, take your time." I blinked a couple of times as I finished up. I knew that voice. Forcing myself to stay focused on my current task, I served my regular customer and handed him his change.
"Thanks, Jim. Have a safe drive home, okay?"
"'Course, ma'am, and I'll be sure and tell the wife you asked after her," he said tipping his hat as he turned to leave. My heart thudded rapidly in my chest as I turned to the new arrival.
"How can I help you tonight, Mr. Baker?" The man in question was clad in a crisp, black suit that was probably worth more than my entire inventory, but the smile on his face softened his visage into something more personable.
And his eyes! I hadn't been able to see them properly when they were hidden behind his tinted glasses, but they were the clearest blue I'd ever seen.
"Would you prefer the socially acceptable answer, or the truth?"
Oh, color me intrigued! Clasping my hands and resting them on the counter, I narrowed my eyes at him playfully.
"Hm. Let's have the truth first, then the respectable excuse," I murmured, and he stepped up to the counter, tracing his fingertips over the refrigerated cases as he moved closer.
"Alright. I was fascinated by you the moment I saw you walking up the drive. The way you handled Peter's abrupt dismissal made me realize I'd made a mistake in avoiding contact with my neighbors," he said leaning one forearm on counter. "I wanted a chance to see you again...to talk to you longer than just a few seconds, and this seemed like my best bet. In my defense, I had no idea that I'd have such a gorgeous neighbor."
I forced the muscles in my face to remain neutral. No smiling, not yet. I had to be casual. If I let myself smile now, I might explode.
"And the respectable excuse?"
"Ah, that. Well, I heard about the special you were having on cupcake orders and thought I'd come take advantage of the discount," Mr. Baker said with a smile, and I bit my lower lip to stifle a laugh. "What?"
Crooking my finger at him, I coaxed him into leaning close enough to whisper in his ear, trying to add to his anticipation.
"The special is on brownies today, not cupcakes."
A warm, velvety laugh spilled from his lips as leaned back again.
"Oh, damn, there goes my airtight alibi," he mused when his eyes met mine once more. "I guess that blows my chances of you accepting my invitation to dinner..."
I couldn't hide my surprise.
"Dinner?"
"Yes, but I doubt you'd be interested in socializing with a man who can't even get his excuses in order beforehand," he teased. Giving me a shrug and turning to a cloche-covered tray of brightly-iced cupcakes, he pretended to study them as I forced my brain into gear.
"...What day did you have in mind?"
The wide grin he gave me lit up the whole shop.
"How about tomorrow night? From what I understand, your shop is closed on Sundays, isn't it?"
"That's right. Sure, why not? Tomorrow sounds great," I answered lifting the cloche off the cupcake tray. "In the meantime, if we're going to sell that poorly-constructed cupcake excuse, you can't leave here empty-handed."
"Ah, thank you. We wouldn't want the rest of the town to think you were in danger from a reclusive vampire," he muttered with a gleam in his eye as I boxed up an assorted half dozen cupcakes. "How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing at all. These are on the house."
His eyes went wide, and he placed one of his large hands gently on my arm.
"I didn't come here to swindle you out of your merchandise. I don't want you to think I can't afford a few baked goods."
"This has nothing to do with your ability to pay, Mr. Baker. Haven't you ever had someone do something nice for you before, just because they could?"
Something like comprehension flickered across his face.
"Not...in a very long time, no," he said just above a whisper, looking at me as though I'd transformed right before his eyes. Placing one of my hands over his where it still rested on my arm, I spoke just as quietly.
"Then it's about time someone did." A moment's weighted silence passed between us before I got back to the cupcakes, closing the box and sealing it with one of my labels. "There you are. And if you really want to do something to repay me, tell me this: what's your favorite dessert?"
He was silent for a moment while he considered his answer, but ultimately he shook his head.
"I'll have to think that over. It's serious business deciding something like this," Lawrence said with a faux stern expression plastered on his face.
"Oh, naturally. You can tell me over dinner, assuming you've selected by then," I said with an equally stern expression, but when a bright smile broke across Mr. Baker's lips, I cracked and let out a quick laugh.
"I look forward to your charming company tomorrow night, my dear," he said, and without a moment's hesitation, he caught one of my hands in his grasp and brought it to his lips. My heart fluttered in my chest, the traitorous bastard, and before I knew it, Mr. Baker had taken his box of cupcakes and left.
Resisting the urge to squeal or smile so hard that my face broke, I went to the door and flipped the sign from 'Open' to 'Closed.'
When I got home that night and exited my car, I glanced across the street. Instead of the usual twitching curtain, I was just in time to see both Peter and Mr. Baker in the latter's sitting room, nibbling on what were unmistakably a pair of my cupcakes.
If I'd been any happier, I might have floated away like a balloon.
--
"You're having dinner with the man? But neither you nor anyone else in town knows him very well," Doc Hazlitt protested the next morning as I chatted with him over the phone. He'd called to ask what day that new cake would be added to the bakery's menu so he could give me some extra patronage. Once I assured him it would be a Tuesday addition, he moved on to a rumor he'd heard about Lawrence Baker kissing my hand during business hours and leaving my shop with a box of desserts. I hadn't disabused him of the notion, hence his current state of agitation.
"Doc, I am perfectly capable of handling a simple dinner. I'm not a little girl anymore," I said, and a sigh crackled down the line.
"I know, I know, but I don't want you to get hurt. I was the doc in the ward when you were born, and I've known you all your life. Is it any wonder that I feel a little nervous about you gettin' involved with a man who's only been in Cabot Cove for a handful of weeks?"
"Y'know, that's another thing, Seth," I started as I cradled the phone to my shoulder and slipped a tray of scones into the oven. "People around here act as though every new arrival or outsider is here to pillage the town. Why can't someone move in and be given the benefit of the doubt for once? Mr. Baker is perfectly friendly–"
"–And rich, to boot, meanin' he is used to gettin' exactly what he wants–"
"That's enough, Doctor. You haven't even met the man. You have no right to judge him until you've at least tried to get to know him." I didn't even try to keep the reproachful edge out of my voice. "Please, at least try to be open minded. If not for his sake, then for mine."
"I'd still be grateful if you gave me a call tomorrow morning so that I know you survived the ordeal," he requested, and after a quick agreement, he finally let me go.
Seth was right to an extent. I barely knew him, and Borbey house, despite my personal history, was still surrounded by gruesome stories and the ghosts of its past. It wouldn't hurt to be a little cautious.
Although, a benefit of spending time across the street was that I'd have a chance to change that surly butler's opinion of me. That was something I definitely needed to do, especially if I was going to be acquainted with his employer. Maybe with the right dessert, I could lower his defenses enough to show him I wasn't just a pest to swept out onto the street.
~*~*~
27 notes · View notes
heeseung-min · 2 years
Note
Yandere jungwon ex trope pls
[10:04]
"Y/n, open the door. Please."
You ignored the voice. You had enough of his shit. Jungwon and you already broke up two months ago but seems like your ex-boyfriend really can't move on.
"Y/n, honey. I just want to talk with you."
You were glad after the broke up, you changed the passcode so he didn't get into the house. There was actually one time he got into your house at midnight waking you up just to beg you to getting back together. You sucessfully made him walked out after threatening him with the police but still it traumatised you so much.
You tried to call your friends but none all of them picked up the calls. Jungwon also didn't stop knocking on the door.
"Y/n, please. I'm so sorry for everything. I will change myself to be better."
You can't trust the words anymore. Last time you got back together with him, he literally made a fuss about your outfits claiming you should not show any of your skin and even controlled your movements.
It's been five minutes silence. You slowly walked to tbe door and want to take a look from the peep hole but then you gasped loudly when Jungwon started to bang the door.
"OPEN THE DOOR Y/N. WHY CAN'T YOU GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE? I SWEAR YOU REALLY WANT TO SEE ME GOING CRAZY, HUH?!! OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!!"
You ran fastly to get your phone on the table and dialling the emergency number. You also locked every single windows and even pushed the shoe storage to the door.
"911, what's the emergency?"
"My-my ex-boyfriend is making a fuss at my house. He didn't stop banging on my door and even shouting when I didn't respond to him."
"Can you please tell me your address in detail?"
You described your address while watching carefully any movements at the window since the banging already stop.
"Okay miss. I need you to stay on the phone."
"Okay, please please hurry- AHHH"
"Miss? Are you there? Miss?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Breaking news, on Thursday night around 11 p.m. we got info there was kidnapping happen on Happy Street neighbourhood. The police stated they lost contact with the victim when they tried to get her stay on the call. Until now, the police seems couldn't find any clue about it."
____________________________________________
taglist💗: @stacey-stonem
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unicyclehippo · 5 months
Note
as someone who is also in fever recovery, i send a wish that you feel better and the word: acumen
thank you, feverish friend, i love you i hope you are feeling well <3 this is for you
//
high on the hill where the crows do not fly stands a house and a family that cannot die.
//
'uh - mister pock o'pea?'
there was a man at the door. barely. a young man, an intern in an ill-fitting suit and his first tie, talking to chetney even though he had made it perfectly clear he wasn't to be disturbed or interrupted in his goddamn wallowing. jesus fucking christ. a decade of work gone down the drain.
'what.'
'you got a call. from her.'
chetney didn't lift his head from his stack of files. they smelled of dense paper and ink and stale coffee. it was a scent that had always reassured him; it was the scent of industry, of hard work, of forms and files in triplicate and a paper trail being chased down but now it was just... nothing.
'what the fuck are you talking about?' he sighed. 'listen, if this is about the case, you can tell whoever it is - world news, i bet, they've been up our ass for weeks - tell them that it's over, alright? it's over. we're done.'
'no, sir - it's not a reporter. it's her. briarwood.'
chetney's head snapped up. 'delilah?'
'laudna.'
'laudna,' he repeated, turning the name over in his mouth. he hadn't had many dealings with the woman but those he had, chetney had walked away with a sour taste on his tongue. defeat, always, but also a horrid sinking gut feeling--for himself, for the world, and a little bit for her, too--that she was her parent's daughter through and through. for as bright as she was, there was nothing new in her--she was a creature of her father's design, dressed in her mother's striking fashion and features (and disdain). but this? this was new. 'what did she want?'
'to talk. said she wanted to tell you everything--confess, she said.'
'what?'
'i know. gave us a weird address too.'
'did she say what she wanted in return?'
'no, sir. just that chetney pock o'pea come see her at this address, as soon as possible, and she'd confess.'
chetney smiled wryly. 'does that sound like a trap to you?' he asked, even as he stood and grabbed his coat. at the intern's dumbfounded look, his smile widened. 'call me curious,' he shrugged. 'i've spent half my life chasing this family. ten years i've on this case alone--so if the heir to the throne wants to talk to me...i want to hear what she has to say. oh - but if you don't hear from me by, say, six tomorrow morning...'
'we'll send someone after you.'
'i was going to say look for my body off the coastline because that's plenty of time for the grim ripper to do whatever she wants with me.'
'uh.'
'lighten up, kid. it's a fucking joke.' chetney swung his office door closed, locked it. 'mostly.'
//
the taxi dropped him at the end of the street, refusing to take him any further.
chetney pock o'pea trudged up the hill through a cold mist until he came to a small house--even by today's cramped standards. the pavement leading up to it was cracked. tough weeds had shoved up through the concrete and died. trees had grown in the garden just long enough for their bark to twist into unsettling grimaces and the branches to hang, leafless and menacing. the house itself was old and horrid. it sagged like an ancient pumpkin, insides all rotted away to soft fluff. the stairs did not creak beneath his feet as he climbed onto the porch; instead, they squished, black water seeping out and dripping down into the dead grass.
chetney knocked. there was no answer. he tested the knob - unlocked - and pushed the door open, coughing into the dust that billowed up the instant he did so. it tasted like a billion health code violations.
'hello?'
for a long moment, silence.
chetney stood at the door, tensed, waiting to be attacked. he had his doubts that the woman was even here--why would the heiress step foot into this place, rundown as it was? but he couldn't deny the evidence in front of his eyes. clear as anything - a set of footprints leading deeper into the house, marked distinct against the dust that blanketed every surface.
'hello?' he called again.
the house wasn't large. four rooms, five at a stretch. he could see from his place in the hallway a sitting room directly ahead of him--a low fire crackled but it lent no heat to the chilled space--and there was a kitchen to his left. the door to his right was closed.
a figure moved in the sitting room, standing out of a low chair. it moved away from the firelight, disappearing out of sight. chetney inched backward to the front door - and then laudna briarwood stepped into view, framed by the doorway. her face in deepest shadow as the firelight flickered.
'mister pock o'pea,' she said, and with a tilt of her head the light found her and her welcoming smile and there was nothing unsettling about her at all but chetney still felt every alarm in his system go off. 'i wasn't sure you'd come.'
'yes, you were.'
her smile grew. 'i hoped you would. you've proved yourself remarkably dogged, chasing down my family's dirty laundry, turning over every stone in our path.'
'yeah, well, no point in it anymore. my case is dead. oh relax - i didn't mean it like that, don't look at me like that. just meant the judge's basically come down on your side already, what with the deaths and all. even before all that. was he in your pocket all along?'
'i'm sure i don't know.'
'right. like it wasn't the first thing the grim ripper did when you found out who'd be presiding.'
laudna shook her head. 'perhaps she did. it certainly sounds like her, is certainly within her capabilities. but i truly cannot say for sure - and that isn't why i asked you here.'
'right. you're confessing,' chetney said, and wandered forward into the house. 'boy, i sure would love that. one of you lot on record for something. a dream come fucking true.'
'what a way with words you have, mister pock o'pea.'
'agent.'
'agent,' she amended, and smiled like he was foolish to be concerned with such things. 'well. a dream come true, then. come in, take a seat. can i pour you a drink?'
'no. thanks.'
she led him into the sitting room and gestured for him to take a seat on the couch. he sat. the fabric was cold, a chill beyond the weather. a chill like no one had sat there in a decade. and the house was so small. maybe it was the dust, but he felt like the light of the fire didn't reach as far as it ought to, didn't burn as bright. the air felt heavy, the way it always did before a storm. chetney rubbed his nose. watched as laudna briarwood crossed to a drink cart and plucked a bottle of wine out of the mix. it was old. looked fancy enough. he was sure it was worth millions.
'i'm sure you think i've lured you here with nefarious intentions,' she said, perfectly conversational. 'i don't know how reassuring this might be but please, let me assure you that my motives regarding you are far from nefarious. i am truly glad you came, agent.'
'yeah, well, when the daughter of the most powerful man in the world invites you to a secret location, promising you everything you ever wanted...'
'you turn up with a tape recorder and hope for the best?' his hand twitched for his pocket. 'do relax, agent, i'm not upset. i have the highest regard for you and that would only have been diminished if you hadn't brought something. i enjoy your dedication to the classics, as well. a phone simply isn't the same as a tape recorder. ah - and you can keep it running, if you like. if you need my permission. i'm not sure what you can do with the recording afterwards but i won't stop you.' she poured as much of the wine into her glass as would fit. then, she set the bottle down and, eyeing him thoughtfully, poured a second drink. scotch. a generous three fingers into a crystal glass. she brought it over to him, holding it out between spindly fingers until he took it. 'i'm not, by the way.'
'not what?'
chetney searched for a place to set his glass. no way he was going to drink it - she'd probably poisoned it.
'his daughter.'
chetney froze. in all his years following the family, learning their every secret, was it possible he had missed one as big as that?
'please, don't strain. it's not worth it. i'm going to explain - i'll tell you everything, in fact, everything that happened. every shady deal, every blood-soaked contract, every death on our conscience.'
laudna took her seat opposite him, on a red cushioned armchair. it was deep and soft and obviously hers, for she was wonderfully comfortable in it, resting her glass on the arm of it and tucking her feet up onto the seat beneath her. she regarded him for a moment.
chetney looked right back.
her hair was down. he'd never seen her with her hair down, without the severe bun that she and delilah both favoured. without it, she didn't look all that much like her.
laudna swirled the drink in her hand. the liquid in it was dark, a red so deep it was almost purple.
'lets start this properly, shall we?'
'yeah.' chetney dug the recorder from his pocket and set it onto the side table, microphone directed toward her. it would pick him up clear enough just by virtue of closeness and he didn't want it to drop one word of her confession. 'agent chetney pock o'pea, here with laudna briarwood, who has consented to being recorded. would you state that again for the record?'
laudna smiled. she leaned forward ever so slightly and, in a crisp voice, announced, 'i am laudna briarwood and i have consented to agent pock o'pea recording our conversation.'
'the date is october thirty-first, twenty twenty-three. the time is -' chetney twisted his wrist. '- eleven twenty-three p.m. okay, miss briarwood. take it away.'
'thank you, agent. i suggest you get comfortable - this may be a rather long story. like i said, it is my confession. our confession, if you like. i'm sure i shall reveal enough that you may find my whole family guilty of everything that you accused us of, and yet more besides that. we are rather lacking in people to prosecute now, however. what with all the deaths and all, as you so succinctly put it.' laudna raised her glass and drank. savoured. a drop of red clung to her bottom lip. she pressed her thumb to it and swept it away. 'forgive me for delaying. if i'm being honest, i'm not entirely sure where to begin.'
chetney inched forward, elbows propped on his knees. the taste of the hunt was back in his mouth. 'why not the beginning? that day in the courthouse.'
she laughed. 'that was far from the beginning, agent pock o'pea. but,' she inclined her head, 'as good a place to start as any. very well. it all began that morning, when the briarwood family gathered to attend the first day of our trial. the case you brought against us. the case you brought against Whitestone.'
//
high on the hill where the crows do not fly stands a house and a family that cannot die. they traded much for power, glory, and gold but the price comes due for what must never be sold.
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i'll find my way (back to you) | todoroki x reader | part 6
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pairing - todoroki shouto x reader
summary -
Your life is going the way you want it to - a restaurant of your own, great friends and a mostly successful escape from the clutches of canon. It’s just the infuriatingly attractive and interested Pro Hero that complicates things.
(Todoroki Shouto x Reader: the one where you realize that dodging the world of Heroes is impossible. Especially when you’ve got Todoroki popping up at every turn.)
disclaimer - I am not Japanese and I am not a chef. This fic is the result of a lot of thinking and research. Isekai/reincarnation also plays an important role in the story so just keep that in mind.
cross posted on ao3 here
part six | masterlist
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“I accidentally friendzoned Todoroki Shouto,” you announce to your friends without preamble.
Satoshi, who's just taken a large gulp of water, starts coughing violently. Ichika thumps him on the back but it doesn’t look like it’s helping; he actually looks like Ichika knocked his lungs a few centimetres to the left.
“How did you manage to do that?” Ichika asks, with the longsuffering air of a school teacher.
(Yesterday, you apologized to her the moment you entered the restaurant, agreeing to go to the banquet. She handed you a list of people who’d be attending and their occupations — a list you’d be expected to memorise to avoid any social faux pas. And just like that, the two of you were back to normal, sharing warm smiles.)
You let out a half-wail, half-groan in response, the sound muffled by your hands as you cover your face. It wasn’t until early morning — when you were replaying your conversation with Shouto, a giddy smile on your face — that you realised how your words could be misconstrued.
“I wanted to tell him I appreciated him, but he might have taken it the wrong way! What should I do?”
Satoshi frowns, “Just talk to him. You’re overthinking this.”
“Really?”
Ichika sets your phone in front of you and nods. “He’s right.”
And so, you slowly reach out to it, to him — letting yourself take the plunge into the unknown, without worrying about what awaits you at the bottom.
Shouto responds to your message almost immediately.
Let’s cook at my place this time.
He sends you his address. You spend your train ride (exactly nineteen minutes, but it feels like forever) running your fingers along the rough jute of your bag. You walk along the streets of this neighbourhood, so different from your own. Living near the commercial district has made you used to constant movement — people going to work, vehicles humming as they travel to the next destination. Shouto’s house is in a considerably more expensive part of town, and while quiet, it doesn’t feel unwelcoming. It suits him, you think. Matches his personality.
Shouto opens the door the moment you ring the doorbell, your hand still hovering over the button.
"Hello," he says, eyes crinkling the tiniest bit.
He ushers you in, his hand naturally making its way to the small of your back. You hope he doesn't notice the shiver that runs along the length of your spine at the contact.
"For you," you say as you hand him the latest volume of the manga he's been reading lately. He'd mentioned that he hadn't been able to buy it because he was so busy.
He thumbs over the glossy cover, the protagonist staring back at him, determined, daring, in bright colours. The series is definitely popular. You had to get to the bookstore early to make sure they didn’t sell out before you reached.
Shouto’s smile crinkles his eyes. "Thank you."
In many ways, Shouto’s apartment is exactly how you thought it would be. A high-rise apartment with tasteful furniture, all colour-coordinated, and personal knickknacks in random places — a cup on the coffee table, two photo frames on the shelf.
One is of Class A at their graduation, rosy-cheeked and happy, in a huddle. Cellophane – Sero Hanta – has an arm around Shouto’s shoulders, who’s distracted by a burst of confetti to his left.
You shift your gaze to the second and pause. Shouto, Fuyumi and Natsuo sit around a beautiful older woman who must be Rei. They're all smiling into the camera, laughing. Natsuo’s arm is pulling someone with a shock of white hair into the frame but they’ve moved too quickly, turning them into an indistinguishable blob of colour.
Touya, you think, quietly noting the fact that they're all together in the photo. That's good.
Despite the fact that all of Japan was made aware of the Todoroki family’s secrets in the war, you’ve never brought it up with Shouto. He hasn’t either. It doesn’t bother you. The only reason you do know more than the average citizen — the only reason you even know their names — is because you have memories no one else here does. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you. You’ve never been one for digging up anyone’s old hurts anyways.
You turn and almost startle at the sight of a blindingly bright vase sitting innocuously in the corner, the messy paint vivid in its chaos. For some reason, it feels like it fits here too.
You let the sight of Shouto’s home settle within you, like a secret you get to keep, like a firefly seated on your palms. Every inch of the place is so undeniably him. You glance back at Shouto only to see him already looking at you. There’s nervousness hidden in his expression, but it turns into relief when you beam.
“You didn’t pick out the furniture, did you?” you ask, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips.
Shouto rubs the back of his neck, “My sister did.”
“And the vase?”
“My classmates and I went to a pottery painting session once. We ended up using every paint they had on this one. Class A tradition says that the vase changes hands every month, and the one who ends up breaking it has to pay every time we go out.”
“Why are you so certain it’ll break?”
Shouto shakes his head with all the certainty of someone who has lived in a dorm with Hero students — students with very strong quirks and too much energy — for three years, and solemnly says, “It will. Eventually.”
Your jaw drops the moment you see the kitchen.
“Is this heaven?” you ask in awe, running a reverent hand over the countertops.
His kitchen has an actual workstation-type sink — with a pullout faucet and a colander — that you spend a minute geeking out over. Plenty of natural light enters from the large windows to the side and the cabinets are fitted with lights underneath, strategically placed to cover the entirety of the counter. You’re pretty certain you’ve seen this oven and ventilation hood in a popular lifestyle magazine. The kitchen is very well-designed, all the way from the proper utilisation of space to the colour scheme.
Cooking here would be so cool.
“Good?” Shouto asks from behind you, his words dipped in amusement.
“Good,” you reply, a wild grin on your face.
Shouto smirks as he comes to stand beside you. The scent of his cologne fills the space in between, something clean and woody with a hint of spice, and you have to pull your attention away from the enticing way it clings to his skin. "What are we making?"
"Cold soba," you say, pulling out a packet of buckwheat noodles from your bag, "I remembered that you said it’s your favourite and -"
Your breath catches in your throat when you look back at him. He’s staring at you with this boyish, utterly happy smile and he looks equal parts touched and excited and —
Oh. Oh.
You are absolutely, completely, one hundred percent whipped.
Heck, Shouto could ask you to crack an egg open on your head and you’d do it.
“Where do we start?” he asks, taking the packet from your hands.
“Cooking the noodles.” You work on autopilot, still a bit stunned by the way your heart is pounding in your chest. “We’ll need water.”
Shouto pulls out a pot from one of the drawers and fills it up, setting it on the stove. He opens the packet and it’s only reflexes that make you stop him from tossing the noodles straight in.
“You need to turn on the stove first.”
“Right.”
The total cooking time, prep included, for cold soba is twenty five minutes. The recipe itself is very simple. You know for a fact that you can whip up a great mentsuyu in five minutes tops. It’s why you decided on making tempura too, saying it would taste nice on the side.
But if you’re being honest to yourself, you just want to spend as much time as you can with Shouto.
So you cook as slowly as you can, chatting with Shouto all along. You remember halfway through that you need chilled water, and putting it in the refrigerator now won’t make it cold enough. When you tell him, Shouto fills a bowl to the brim, dips in the tip of his index finger until tiny bits of ice are floating at the top. You laugh when he presents it to you, looking very proud.
He's good at distracting you. He leans over your shoulder as you work, making gooseflesh rise down your neck at the proximity. His fingers brush against yours whenever he hands you something, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
"Okay, taste this," you say, holding out a spoonful of mentsuyu.
Shouto’s face smooths over. Your shoulders tense up, absolutely certain that he’s up to something. He bends down with hand braced on the counter next to your hip, and instead of taking the spoon from your hand as you expected, he takes it in his mouth.
Your fingers tighten around the cool granite of the counter, breath stuck in your throat. Shouto is languid in his movements, pulling away with enviable ease. He licks his lips, not breaking eye contact for a second and murmurs, “It’s delicious.”
The moment seems to freeze around you but you jerk away, a squeaked-out laugh making its way out your lungs.
“Of course it is, I made it,” you joke, a wide grin plastered on your face, desperately trying to tamp down your urge to kiss him right then and there.
Having all his attention focused solely on you is electrifying in the best way possible. It's like having the first bite of an incredible dish — it leaves you craving for more. But your fear, your apprehension has always been your worst enemy. Shouto is your friend. You just want to make sure you don’t mess up this friendship in the process.
In your peripheral vision, you think you see his brows furrow. You push the bowl away from you, untying the knots on your apron. The tempura is warm when you set it in the bowls Shouto passes to you. They're beautiful — pale white ceramic with blue lilies outlined in beloved detail. You thumb over a leaf, wondering how much time the artist put into it, how much they must have cared about the bowl nestled in your palms.
Shouto digs into the meal with gusto, coming back for seconds and thirds too. He'd be great in a food advertisement, you think idly, when your eyes catch on to the curve of his neck as he swallows. You drum a random melody on the tabletop with your fingers, gathering the courage you need to say what you’ve had on your mind since yesterday.
"Hey," you start. "Are you free next Saturday?"
Shouto thinks about it for a minute. "I should be. Why?"
You begin to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “There’s a banquet that we — Ichika and I, I mean — have been invited to. It’s this annual event to celebrate culinary achievements in Tokyo. This year they’re raising money for a nonprofit that focuses on fighting food scarcity too. I was wondering if you’d like to be my plus-one?”
“I’d like that.”
His response is immediate and your head snaps up in surprise. Shouto’s smiling, a dusting of red on his ears. “What time is it?”
You grin, breathless.
The next week is mainly chaos. The good kind.
Ichika drags you out to buy outfits for the banquet and drills you on the names of culinary elite until you’re sure you could recite it in your sleep. Meanwhile, you also wake up early to go to the farmers’ market and talk to your vendors. They throw in a little extra after you tell them how great the ingredients were last time and they teasingly rib you for all the layers you’re wearing. You sniff and pout, but you can’t hold the laughter in, giggling a moment later.
Your crew seems to have taken the last staff meeting to heart, because their focus is off the charts. The kitchen at Elements is bursting with energy and the atmosphere pushes everyone even more. You spend nights throwing together drinks for them to taste — the challenge from one Bakugou Katsuki still clear as ever in your mind. Your inspiration is bursting at the seams and you experiment more, throwing together flavours and tweaking them until they’re perfect.
Shouto’s texts are like a bubble of happiness in the rush of each day. They’re as random as ever, of course. He sent you a picture of a tree the other day, with a single word — Squirrel. You had to zoom into the branches to spot the little creature, happily gnawing away on a nut.
Things are good, and with each day you’re looking forward to the banquet even more. That’s why your heart jumps into your throat when you watch the morning news on Friday.
Drug Traffickers Attack Local Warehouse. Three Dead, Fourteen Injured.
The images they show next send chills down your spine. A midnight fight over a shipment of illegal drugs, bought and stored by a rival gang, gave rise to a fire — and the warehouse was filled with very flammable items.
Seventeen people were caught in the blaze before Heroes could save them.
You watch clips of reporters hounding the Heroes on site for statements. Deku comes forward, face blackened by the smoke and eyes shadowed. He tells the facts in a calm, reassuring voice, stating clearly that the investigation has begun and the people responsible will face legal consequences. It works for the most part. The public, while rightfully worried, has enough faith in their heroes to get the job done.
The news channel switches back to clips of the fire as the anchors speak. You dig your nails into a pillow when you spot Shouto running into a burning building, coming out minutes later with a child in his arms. He’s safe, you tell yourself. They would’ve reported it if something happened to him.
Despite your best efforts, your logic can’t soothe your worries entirely. You finally send him a few texts to check if he’s okay, asking him to contact you when he can.
Later, you throw yourself into work headfirst, letting the minutiae of your job pull you away from your spiralling thoughts. A little before lunchtime, Ichika drops in to tell you that Shouto is waiting outside. You toss your apron aside, running right towards the back door and freezing when you finally see him.
“Hi,” Shouto gives you a sad smile. He’s standing in the middle of the tiny yard, hands tucked into his pockets.
He has a mission, you think, somehow certain of it before he even says anything.
The signs are all there. You scan him from head to toe as you step closer, noting how his eyes are ringed with dark circles and his posture is slumped — thankfully, there’s no sight of any injuries besides the obvious exhaustion. Your heart clenches and you grasp his hand, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Shouto quiets for a minute, before starting again, hesitant. “I actually came to tell you something.”
“Hm?”
“I won’t be able to come to the banquet with you tomorrow.”
The words hang in the air between you for a minute.
Shouto's clearly waiting for your reaction, his grip on your hand growing tighter ever so slightly — like a tether, like he can keep you from flying away.
His disappointment is palpable. Fueled by the need to cheer him up, you say, “Hey, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. I assume it’s confidential?”
Shouto nods.
"It's a shame you won't be there. We could've made fun of my old boss together," you joke, trying to lighten the mood.
"I'll come to see you as soon as I can," Shouto says. His eyes are storm clouds, electric blue and thunderous grey, and you know he'll stick to his word.
You pull your joined hands up and press your lips to his hand for the briefest second. A kiss for luck.
Smiling, you say, “Just make sure you’re careful. That’s all I ask.”
The autumn sunlight wraps around the two of you like a blanket, like the warmth of a promise kept. 
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ep6bastogne · 9 months
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BOB appreciation week, day 6: in which gene makes a house call
happy BOB week day 6, everyone! my contribution to the celebration is a (rough draft!) snippet of a baberoe postwar fic i’m currently working on. bonus: this fic actually fits today’s yellow/orange prompt as well, but for that you’ll have to stick around to read the finished product! :)
ETA: a heads up that this snippet doesn’t really feature babe in person and also ends on a sad note. i can promise that the final fic will have a happy ending though!
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Philadelphia was loud in a different way than Gene had expected. Not that he was unaccustomed to loud environments—he lived in New Orleans, after all—but, aside from the familiarity of shouting and music from every bustling street corner, the symphony of this city was in the key of the unrelenting wailing of streetcar horns, the piercing whistle of the train. It took Gene a moment to get his bearings. Even two years after coming back to the States and finally sinking into something as close to a civilian rhythm as he was likely to get, his day-to-day pace was decidedly slower.
It was also decidedly warmer than this. His breath came out in spreading white puffs before him, and the overcoat he sported had been his father’s and was too broad in the shoulders. It got caught around his ankles as he climbed into one of the cabs parked outside the train station. He felt at once very tired and very young, like he was a little boy who had spent the day playing dress-up. In the backseat, he pulled out the square of paper and spread it out on his knee, soft at the edges and the folds from being carried around in his pocket and re-read so many times: 1903 South Front Street, written in Captain Nixon’s neat, even script. The cab was already zipping down the street before he finished relaying the address to the driver. People had places to be in this city.
He stared out the window without seeing as the cab whisked him down busy roads. He was due back in New Orleans late the day after next and hadn’t figured out accommodations for the evening, more out of anxiousness than any kind of unfounded hope or expectation. It wasn’t like him to embark upon a trip with such poor planning and preparation, but he hadn’t been sure, until he was actually seated on the train, that he was going to go through with any of this.
The house they stopped in front of was a shabby brick structure slotted into a long line of identical shabby brick structures—a rowhouse, Babe had called it. There was a cement stoop and a little canopy above the door. Even the worn red of the brick and the blue ceramic ashtray tucked into the doorframe appeared washed out, a little tinged with gray, in the weak winter light. But through the front window a Christmas tree was visible, outfitted in tinsel and lights and buckling under the weight of more ornaments than Gene had ever seen in his life. It made for a sweet, cozy scene: a home.
Gene’s hand only trembled a little when he raised it to knock against the front door. Was it tremendously silly, traveling all this way under the guise of checking up on Babe? Probably. He was here, though, the deep, cloying need to know how Babe was doing too great to be felled by something as earthly as logic.
When the door swung open, Gene found himself blinking in surprise at a nonplussed Bill Guarnere. Bill recovered quickly and seized his hand, pumping it enthusiastically. “Well, look who it is!” he shouted. “How special's a guy gotta be for the doc to start makin' house calls?”
His was not the familiar face Gene had been expecting, but it was welcome anyway. “Sergeant Guarnere,” Gene greeted him, mostly to provoke the exaggerated roll of Bill’s eyes at the persistent formality.
Bill ushered him into the inviting warmth of the house. Gene followed him down the front hall, silently observing how quickly and deftly he moved on his crutches. It was a relief to see that same old liveliness in him that Gene was accustomed to, that it hadn’t been stamped out by the war and the way he’d left it. He gestured for Gene to stay in the front room and disappeared into the kitchen.
“You come here lookin’ for Babe?” he called.
“I did,” Gene responded. “Is he at work?” He moved closer to the fireplace, holding out his hands to warm above the flames for a moment. There were a few framed photographs on the shabby little mantle. Gene leaned in to take a look. That must be Babe’s parents, a little man with his same toothy smile and a slender, kind-faced woman who had his warm eyes.
The frame beside it held a black and white image of an elderly man standing proudly beside what looked like an old barn in a cornfield. Leaning against the frame was a much more recent, unframed photo of Babe and Bill, maybe taken the day Babe had returned from the war; he was in his dress greens.
“Ya just missed him. Left for Florida two days ago.”
Oh. Somehow Gene had not accounted for the risk that Babe might not be home. He supposed, now, that he had left himself open to that possibility when he decided, too dredged up with nerves and uncertainty, not to call or write ahead. It was the exit strategy he had left up to chance. He tried to swallow down his disappointment and said, fighting to keep his voice even, “What’s he doing down there?”
One of the photos showed three people Gene didn’t recognize: a pretty young woman with blonde pin curls, standing between two tall men who looked like they were probably her brothers. One of them wore a Marine uniform.
“Visiting some family for the holidays.” Bill came to stand next to Gene, slipping a beer into his hand. “I’m just keepin’ an eye on the house for him. You know, collectin’ his mail, drinkin’ his booze.” He clinked their bottles together with a wry grin.
“I didn’t know he had family in Florida,” Gene mused. Babe had told him about cousins all over the country, but he’d never mentioned anyone further south than Alabama. His eyes fell on the photo in the center of the mantle, the largest of the bunch, and seemingly the newest, in a lovely gold frame that caught the reflection of the Christmas tree lights. He recognized the same blonde woman, this time in a satiny white gown and veil, clutching a bouquet of flowers almost bigger than her.
“He doesn’t,” Bill responded.
The man next to her was grinning toothily from ear to ear, his hair sticking up a little in the front in a familiar way—
“His wife does.”
There had been times during the war, after he’d made all his rounds and done his supply checks twice over, when he’d find himself unable to do anything but sit around and wait until someone got hurt and called out for him. Time always passed in a funny way during those moments. He served no purpose, no function, until he was needed. It was like he fell out of time, unmoored. The urgency and tension of action made everything move so quickly, and in contrast, each dormant second seemed to stretch itself out thin as thread, ready to snap. You’d lose track of how long you were sitting there, to the point where the world around you would distort too, into something slower, more lethargic.
Time was doing that funny thing to Gene now, except there wouldn’t be a barrage of artillery to spur him into action. He was on the train back to New Orleans, he was standing in Babe’s living room, he was half-buried in a foxhole in Bastogne. No—that wasn’t right. He was nowhere.
His wife. Babe’s wife.
Their faces were bright and shiny with joy. Her tiny hand rested in the crook of his arm. In his full dress uniform, he looked the perfect picture of a man of duty, strong and handsome and young. Unmarred.
Distantly, Gene became aware of a hand on his shoulder, and Bill’s voice slipping through the haze as if from several miles away. He was asking if Gene was okay.
Any of the questions he might have had, about when this thing had happened, and how, died in his throat. They didn’t matter now. He blamed the long travel for the way his voice warbled, and it was obvious that Bill saw right through it but was too kind to catch him in the act. He made up some flimsy lie about how he was just passing through and he was very sorry but he couldn’t possibly stay and it sure was a crying shame he’d missed Babe, but hopefully he’d catch him the next time he came up here. All the while Bill watched him carefully, his brow dipped low and uneven above his eyes, which were at once discerning and so gentle, betraying a little of his confusion but mostly just sympathy. They both knew there wouldn’t be a next time.
The one thing Bill wouldn’t capitulate on was paying for his cab back to the train station. He shoved a fistful of bills into the driver’s hand and leaned his head through the window. “Don’t be a stranger, Doc,” he said. “I hope to see ya again real soon.”
Later Gene would lock himself into the cramped, tiny washroom on the train and press the heels of his hands to his eyes in a futile attempt to abate his devastated tears, but for now, he gave Bill the widest smile he could muster, and thanked him profusely for his hospitality and kindness, and asked him to please not tell Babe he had been here.
-----
thanks for reading, more to come soon! in the meantime, check out my other work on ao3!
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smartycvnt · 15 days
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Title: Happy Together
Pairing: Alex Cabot x Reader
Prompt: "The world could be on fire and I'd still be happy as long as I'm with you."
Word Count: 1101
The courtroom was eerily silent as they waited for the next witness to appear. Barkov was the big witness for the prosecution, but he was nowhere to be found. Ash had played along with all of Taft's stupid rules to make sure that everything went smoothly, and as the seconds ticked by, she knew it was all for nothing. Ewing was the kind of guy that Taft would have loved to see walk free, despite the alleged crimes.
"Ms. Clark, it is part of your job to make sure that your witnesses arrive on time. I have no choice but to move on from Mr. Barkov's testimony. Do you have any other witnesses to call?" Judge Taft asked. Ash tried not to let herself become too irked as she stood up to address him.
"The prosecution rests at this time, your honor." Ash's voice was dripping with sarcasm as she addressed Taft. Behind her, Alex was smirking. This case had nearly gone to sex crimes, but Alex was busy and Elizabeth agreed to let Ash take it instead. She was coming hot off of a big joint win with Novak in White Collar, one that had gotten both of them offered promotions. The opening in vice wasn't what Casey wanted, so Ash happily took that one.
Ash would deny it, but she sulked when she sat back down in her seat. Taft excused himself for a moment, and Ash knew that she had been completely screwed over. The announcement that she had "insufficient evidence" was bullshit, enough so that even Ewing's lawyer looked surprised by Taft's call. Ash didn't even completely wait for the official dismissal to be over before she stormed out of the courtroom muttering obscenities about Taft under her breath.
"Taft had no right throwing my case out like that. Oh, but how bad of a guy could Ewing be? I mean, they go to the same country club and once he got out on bail, he donated to Taft's church," Ash ranted. Her fists were balled up as she paced around her aunt's office. The offer to switch to private law sounded better and better everyday, but Ash couldn't just leave her friends at the DA's office.
"A guy like that will get caught doing something else. I hate telling you to just be patient, but he'll get his eventually. Both of them will," Mary promised. She hated seeing her niece so upset. Losing a case was rough on everyone, but Ash knew what her last name meant. She wasn't the first lawyer in the family, and if things in vice continued this way, she would surely be remembered as the disappointment.
"Ms. Clark, Alex Cabot is here to see you." Ash perked up a little as the secretary announced Alex's arrival. Mary pushed the button to unlock the doors and let Alex in.
"Hey, I thought I'd find you here," Alex said as she walked over to where Ash was still pacing. They had been together for a few months, since Alex's last falling out with Olivia. Before that, they'd been friends. Alex's family was well known, as was Ash's. They had sort of grown up together, even if they had been in different social circles in school until college. However, it was during Ash's internship for Donnelly that they had actually become friends.
"We can go in a second, I know that I promised you dinner after our cases were through," Ash sighed. Alex could see how hard this loss was hitting her. Vice was supposed to be easier, but this case had knocked Ash down a few pegs. Alex hated seeing Ash so upset, but she wasn't really sure what to do or say that would make things better.
"I don't want to rush you." Alex nervously played with her hands behind her back. Ash shrugged it off and grabbed her coat. She quickly said her goodbyes to Mary before she took Alex's hand to lead her out of the office. They walked along the street together, something that Alex had just begun to get used to. Ash didn't like calling her own cars or cabs, she liked walking around the city. The younger woman had a story for nearly every single street that they walked down together.
Alex's trial was practically over, but she didn't want to bring it up in fear of upsetting Ash over her loss. Donnelly had paid Alex a visit when the news got out about possibly getting a federal trial on top of the state one. It seemed that Alex had gotten a monumental win whereas Ash had gotten the first big loss of her career. Alex knew that it wouldn't matter in the long run, not unless Ash just took the easy way out and started at Mary's firm.
"So, how did your trial go?" Ash asked. Alex seemed hesitant, so Ash was quick to reassure her that everything was fine. "Just because I lost my case, doesn't mean I don't want to hear about your win. That's one less creep out on the streets, it matters Alex."
"You were so upset earlier, I didn't want to trigger anything again," Alex mumbled. Ash reached across the table and grabbed Alex's hands.
"Right now, it's just you and me, and do you know what that means?"
"No," Alex answered honestly. There was a multitude of things that Ash could have said in that moment. Alex didn't want to get her hopes up for some declaration of love only to be blindsided with a stupid joke.
"It means that I couldn't be happier-," Ash rubbed her thumb across Alex's knuckles, "-legitimately. The world could be on fire and I'd still be happy as long as I was with you. Hell, you could probably set me on fire and I'd still love you."
"I promise that I would never set you on fire," Alex said with complete sincerity. Ash cracked a small smile, one that had Alex smiling at her in turn. "I love you too much to do that."
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esthermitchell-author · 6 months
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(1/5) The Starmaker's Daugher (FanFic based on Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett)
NOTE: This is a 5-Part story (each Part is labeled clearly) that takes place starting a year after the end of my related Post-S2 novella, "Rescue Me". It has sexually suggestive commentary and situations, but NO explicit sexual content. For best reading, please read parts in order, even if they may be posted out of order.
Part I: The Wonder
Heaven -- 1 year after Restructure
A small, squealing giggle echoed through the corridors of Heaven. Angelic heads lifted from their tasks in consternation and surprise. That sound was unfamiliar in Heaven, and no one seemed to know where it came from.
"Muriel, what is that noise?" Archangel Saraqael asked their compatriot, a frown furrowing their brow.
Muriel, being somewhat familiar with Earth and humans, blinked, their eyes going wider by the second as they identified what they believed the sound belonged to. "I... I think that's a baby."
Saraqael looked perplexed. "What is a 'baby'?"
"It's a small human." Muriel held their hands out in the approximate size of a human infant. "They're... well, I'm not entirely sure where they come from. But humans seem to think they're wonderful!"
"What's it doing in Heaven?"
Muriel's brow furrowed. "I... I have no idea. Shall I go have a look?"
"Yes. Quickly." Saraqael waved them off. "And if you find it, take it to His Excellency. We don't have anyone capable of taking care of it, here. Perhaps he can figure out where it belongs."
"Right!" Muriel took off like a shot, walking quickly through the corridors, listening at every corner and door, following the small cooing and giggling sounds. At least it sounded happy. They smiled to themselves. Until they got to the one place they weren't supposed to go without permission.
The door opened into darkness for a long moment, before a wave of blue-white light rolled outward toward where they stood, and they heard the laughing squeal again, this time far louder than before.
Why was there a baby in the starlight chamber? This was no place for a human child!
Moving carefully into the chamber, Muriel sharpened their gaze to try and see better in the darkness. It didn't help that the continual, rolling flashes of light nearly blinded them. As they moved along, they suddenly stumbled over something that felt like a basket of some kind and heard a small babbling sound.
Looking down, their heart melted as they looked into a handled basket lined with blankets, with a small, wriggling baby wrapped in still more blankets in the middle of the basket.
"Well, 'ello there, little one," Muriel addressed the baby in a hushed voice. "What are you doing here? Oh, well, I'll take you to Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley. Don't worry -- I'm sure they'll figure out where you belong right quick. They're very clever!"
The baby had fallen silent, looking up at Muriel with wide, bright green eyes that seemed to be soaking in their explanation. Scooping the baby up, basket and all, they hurried from the starlight chamber, hearing the baby whimper slightly as they carried it out of the room, heading straight for the lift to Earth.
Surely, Mr. Fell or Mr. Crowley would know where this baby came from, and where it belonged.
******
Soho, London -- Moments Later
The streets of Soho were still and quiet, draped in pre-dawn darkness beneath the smattering of stars that could be seen through the light pollution of a even a sleeping city. Muriel paused before stepping off the lift with their unsettling but adorable bundle. The chances Mr. Fell would already be about were good. As far as Muriel knew, Mr. Fell didn't have any more use for sleep than any other angel. But they worried knocking at the bookshop door would wake Mr. Crowley, who seemed to rather enjoy sleeping.
The baby started shifting and making restless sounds like it was about to cry.
"Oh, no!" Muriel whispered, trying to shush it. "Shh. Shh. Oh, please don't cry!"
The fussy, scrunched up face glaring back at them was all it took to make up Muriel's mind. Plunging into the early morning streets of Soho, they hurried over the road to the front door of Mr. Fell's shop and rapped timidly on the glass pane.
Strange sounds came from inside the building – faint thumping and groaning noises that had them worried they should alert someone to an attempted kidnapping. Drawing a deep breath, they steeled themselves to face renegade agents of Hell, and pounded loudly on the door, calling out like they'd seen on the telly during their six months here on Earth. "Police!"
Dead silence came from inside the shop for several minutes, and the baby whimpered in the basket Muriel held. Then, she heard what sounded like someone on the wrought iron stairs inside, before the window shade over the door moved slightly. This was followed by the sound of a key in the lock, before the door opened on a disheveled-looking Supreme Archangel in surprisingly rumpled clothing.
"I-Is everything all right, Mr. Fell? I heard noises and… Oh, are you ill?" The flush to his face unsettled them. They'd heard humans could get quite flushed when ill. Surely, angels didn't experience such maladies, right? They'd never known an angel to even be ill, before.
A chuckle came out of the darkness behind him, before Mr. Crowley appeared, his red hair equally mussed, wearing jeans and nothing else, some kind of bruise forming at the juncture of his throat and shoulder. "He's fine, Muriel."
Muriel dropped their gaze, uncertain why, but feeling like they interrupted something.
"S-sorry to bother you, Mr. Fell. It's just, well..." They shifted so he could see the basket and its contents. "Can I come in?"
"Of course," Mr. Fell said instantly, opening the door wider before shooting a glance Muriel couldn't read, but that looked quite intimate, toward the demon standing just behind him. "Go put a shirt on, Anthony. We have company."
Mr. Crowley smirked, leaned in to murmur something to Mr. Fell Muriel couldn't hear and was sure they didn't want to, then sauntered off toward the stairs again.
"Now," Mr. Fell smiled kindly, glancing between Muriel and the baby. "What's this all about?"
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The Adventures of Lester Papadopoulos and the Scrap Master
A Trials of Apollo Fic 
Lester's life has been a on a steady decline ever since he left his abusive family to go be on his own. The days at his new job at his local coffee shop are monotonous and unrewarding until one day he gets robbed by a human traffic light that insists things around here start changing. Lester just wished the "here" she was gentrifying wasn't his life.
Or: A platonic Meg&Apollo coffee shop au 
Chapter One
Lester threw his head to the table with so much force the resounding crack could be heard all through the coffee shop.
Kids if anyone ever tells you to get a job at a coffee shop you tell them to stuff some hot coals up their nose, because that’s what spilling hot coffee on yourself then violently banging your head against clear frosted acrylic countertops feels like. An experience also known as Lester Papadopoulos’ average work day.
From behind him Lester heard about the only sound capable of making his day worse, discounting his father’s voice, -which he never did for the fear for his own life- Reyna snickering.
“Clean up not going too well Lester?”
“I thought,” Lester said in a mumble against the counter, “that the coffee would have cooled down after closing.”
Reyna lifted an eyebrow. Lester didn’t know that for a fact, he was too busy crying onto counter tops (huh, Crying onto Counter tops? That sounded like a good indie band) but over his years of being the most mocked person in any room he entered he’d picked up a seventh sense to devine when people were judging him.
“You know we just closed minutes ago, right?”
“Yeah. I was the one that flipped the sign.” Okay now both eyebrows were up. Seriously Lester was surprised that this kind of stupidity coming from him was still surprising her.
“Okay. You do know how time works right?”
“Yes.” Lester mumbled, all too aware that his nose was bent at an angle that made him sound like a person doing a bad Big Bird impression.
“Okay then. Are you alright?”
Lester snorted, No, Lester thought, but I don’t want to inconvenience you any further with my presence, woman who shot me down for a date and laughed in my face not even two weeks ago, and is also one of the most brilliant people I know.
“Yes.”
“Good because there is a little girl knocking on our door and you’re much better at turning people off than I am.” Reyna chuckled to herself like that was the funniest joke in the world. Lester sighed because if it hadn’t been targeted at him he actually would have found it funny. Currently it just felt painfully accurate to reality.
“Fine, I got it.” Lester picked himself up from the counter and brushed off his apron. There, now he looked about as presentable as anyone could after a ten hour work day. Gods he missed being on the family payroll.
Lester metaphorically hiked up his skirts and went up to the glass doors to shoo off some kid.
Truly his father was wrong, he was doing so well without him.
Lester had to blink to make sure the windows on the doors hadn’t been replaced with mirrors and he wasn’t seeing the reflection of the traffic light from the street, because there was no earthly way a parent would actively choose to dress their child like that.
Lester opened the door and addressed the fashion disaster question, “Uhm, excuse me but we’re closed. And we have a no loitering policy, so-”
“Do you guys have any leftovers?”
“Do we have any… leftovers?”
“Yeah, you know? Like food that is past its sell by date and, ya know?”
Lester blinked and observed the girl past her abysmal fashion choices. He could figure why a kid would be asking for something like that. The girl was on the shorter side with hair that might have once been a page boy cut but had long fallen out of maintenance. Her outfit, past being the last choice of anyone with common sense, was also stained and she smelled like the dumpster outside his apartment building.
This girl looked like a what if  scenario where the lost child in a grocery store was never found by their parents and grew up amongst the produce. Then going on to sustain their home in the store through wacky Home-Alone-esk shenanigans, eventually ascending over piles of outdated meats to become the grocery store scrap master.
“Might I ask why you want to know that?”
The girl peered past Lester, “Because I wanna eat it, duh.” She seeped so much sarcasm into that “duh” that even as a worker in retail he couldn’t help but be offended by the condescension.
“As a top thinker I object to the idea that that was the obvious direction of this conversation!”
“A top thinker?” The girl squinted at him, and, yeah, Lester had to admit that wasn’t his best comeback. In his defense he had just slammed his brain into a hard counter top only moments before.
“Yeah!” Even if it wasn’t his best strategy he would do what he always did, double and triple down on whatever stupid thing he said. It was a tactic that never went wrong.
“Okay. So are you going to answer my question or not?”
Lester sighed, he didn’t have the patience for this during the workday much less after, “Yes we do and you can.” He didn’t need to check, despite being relatively close to a big highway there wasn’t often much business at this little joint.
It was originally one of the reasons he picked it, Lester was painfully aware that he wasn’t much of a people person. Not that he didn’t like people, no he loved people! They just tended to not like him.
Something you and I have in common , he thought, looking at the girl, oh master of scraps . “Would you like some?”
The girl harrumphed, again acting like yes was the most dumbly obvious answer to the question “do you want to eat the leftovers of the leftovers of the coffee shop industry in America after starbucks.”
Lester shucked the door open and trudged in. He would let the girl have some food. What would be the harm? He waved to Reyna, who was currently trying to blend her eyebrows in with her irises, that or she trying to tell him “what the fuck” with her eyes over the fact that he had brought the girl in that she deliberately asked him to get rid of.
“Alright, over here-” Apollo waved the girl over to the counter where he normally emptied out the stale pastries into trash at the end of day. He was cut off when the scrap master barreled past him into the back of the shop, knocking his shoulder into his body with the force of a linebacker’s full charge. (don’t ask how lester knew what that felt like)
“Hey!”
The girl’s pageboy-post-apocalypse poked itself over the counter as she raided the shelves. She shoved some muffins and several cake slices that definitely weren’t meant to be transported by kindergartener's backpack into her bag. Then before Lester could stop her she planted a whole cupcake, paper wrapping and all into her mouth.
Perhaps realizing she had done something wrong her eyes locked with Lester’s and went as wide as her mouth.
Reyna, who had been wiping down tables, decided now was the time to intervene and the scraps master must have developed some eighth sense along the line of Lesters’, and backed off the sweet shelves.
Seemingly understanding that she had limited her own time allowed in the shop she spun around. Her eyes impassively scanned her surroundings, until they lasered in on the sweetener packets, and abandoned whatever kind of decorum she might have had before -which apparently she did because whatever she was doing now was definitely worse- and shoveled handfuls of the packets in her backpack.
Finally getting over the shock of the whole scene Lester started walking to the girl, like a soldier ant marching to their death in a battle against the neighbor kid’s boot. The girl made a mad dash to the door, snatching one last croissant on her escape. Lester, the savant under pressure that he was, stuck his foot out to try and trip her.
Look, he did intend to let her keep the food. It was a lost cause at this point even if he wasn’t going to in the first place, but the sweetener packets? Really? What kind of situation was this girl in where she needed to steal sweetener packets?  
It felt like she took them just to take them, which Lester felt was just a dick move.
Luckily, or unluckily if you were the last scraps of Lester’s pride being yoinked by the scrap master, his foot missed the girls’ by about a meter so her escape remained unimpeded all the way to the door which she burst out of in a flash of traffic light colors.
“What just happened?” Reyna’s voice snapped Lester out of his shocked reverie trying to puzzle together an answer to that very question.
“I think we just got robbed by Dora the Explorer glow in the dark edition.”
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ilovewriting06 · 1 year
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I Love Him
“Just shut up Danny!” I watch as Danny rolls his eyes before he calmly spoke, “Y/N, I’m not trying to be the annoying big brother I’m just trying to warn you.”
I sigh angrily, “Then stop being so overprotective! I’m a big girl I can take care of myself! And I sure as hell can decide who to date!” Danny rubs his hand down his face before groaning, “Y/N, I’m trying to protect you. He is not someone you should get involved with!” I started this annoyed and then got a little mad but now, now, I’m absolutely livid, “WHY!? IS IT BECAUSE HE’S YOUR PARTNER!?” Danny looks up as his jaw twitches before he yells, “NO! IT’S THE FACT HE ATTRACTS ALL THE FUCKING CRAZY’S WHO ARE OUT FOR BLOOD! I DO. NOT. WANT YOU. DATING STEVE!”
My eyes cloud with tears out of anger, anger at the fact my big brother is trying to keep me from someone I’m in love with and anger at the fact he’s bad mouthing my boyfriend, “WELL TO BAD! I ALREADY AM!” I watch as his face falls and then fills with disbelief and rage, “YOU’RE WHAT!?”
I storm upstairs without answering to grab a bag and some of my clothes as Danny quickly follows angrily. I throw some of my clothes into my bag and storm to the bathroom to get my stuff from in there as well. The whole time I’m packing Danny is yelling questions until he grabs my bag as I turn around to ask, “Where are you going?” He’s calmed down a little but he’s confused and still a little mad. I jerk my bag back before storming down the stairs and towards the door. When I open the door I yell, “Away from you!” And with that I’m out the door and calling an Uber at the end of the street.
Once in the Uber I give them Steve’s address and silence my phone as it keeps ringing and pinging. When the car stops at Steve’s house I thank the driver and head to the door before walking in. I didn’t knock because there was no need to, I had a key so he wouldn’t care.
As I step through the door I call out, “Steve!?” When I don’t get an answer I throw my bag on the stairs and walk to the back door. When I walk out the door I smile as I see my boyfriend and his trusty companion enjoying a nice swim yards from the shore. I walk down to the beach and watch my two favorite boys enjoy themselves.
Eddie is the first to notice me and comes swimming towards me as fast as he can before hitting ground and running to me wagging his tail so hard his body wiggled. I chuckled and pet him, “Hey buddy, did you enjoy your swim?” I looked up as I heard Steve, “I’d say so, look at that smile.” I smiled as Eddie looked between Steve and I with a smile and his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth.
I smile but turn serious as I remember why I’m here. I look at Steve and he goes from happy to worried. He walks closer to me before cocking his head to the side like Eddie, “What’s wrong Y/N/N?” Tears fill my eyes as I latch onto Steve and my tears mix with the salty ocean water dripping down his bare chest.
He pulls me closer protectively, “Talk to me baby, what’s wrong?” I sniffle and wipe my eyes before licking my lips, “I tried to tell Danny, like we agreed on. And I started it hypothetically like ‘hey Danny what would you think if Steve and I went out?’” I pause and take a breath as Steve tensed and held me tighter as he saw my heartbroken expression, “He laughed thinking I was joking but when he figured out I was being serious, he lost it. He said he didn’t want me dating you because you attract psychos and went on ranting about how dumb of an idea it was. I know I should have calmed down and tried to deescalate the situation but I was so mad. I was mad at him for trying to control me but more so mad at the things he said about you and I lost it and yelled that I was already dating you. He flipped out and I grabbed a bag shoved my stuff in it and stormed out.”
Steve sighed and kissed my forehead, “You should talk to him, Y/N/N.” I sigh against his chest and shake my head before pulling back and looking into his worried blue eyes, “I can’t. I can’t stand to be around him right now. I love him but I love you more and if I have to lose him to be with you, then so be it.”
He cupped my face with love and worry all over his face, “I love you, God you’ll never know how much but I can’t let you do this. I won’t let you ruin your relationship with your brother because of me.” I furrow my eyebrows as my eyes fill with tears again, “You-you want to b-br-break up?” He shakes his head frantically as he rubs his thumbs on my cheeks, “No! God no, you’re stuck with me now. I’m saying that I’m going to force you to talk to Danny.” I nod before burying my face in his shoulder, “I will, but right now I just want you.” I didn’t mean that in a dirty way and he knows that so when he suggests we go in and cuddle I know he means just cuddle.
Steve and I were curled up on the couch with my legs thrown over his, my head laying on his shoulder, and my hands holding the arm he had wrapped around my waist tight against me. Eddie of course was curled up beside us as some random show played on the tv. Neither of us were focusing on it we were just enjoying the feeling of being each others arms when there’s a frantic knock on the door. I sit up and look at Steve with wide eyes knowing who’s on the other side of the door.
Steve lets out a breath before standing after I move my legs. As Steve walks towards the door I stand and watch carefully ad Steve opens the door before my brother shoves past him, “How dare you! How can you shag my baby sister behind my back might I add and-,” Danny stops mid sentence as he looks at me and scoffs before walking towards me, “Why am I not surprised? Why did I think you went to a friends house while you could simply just go to your boyfriend’s house? What the hell is wrong with you!?” Steve grabs Danny’s shoulder and pulls him back, “Come on man leave her alone.”
I look up at Steve with a small smile as Danny grabs my arm and starts to drag me towards the door with Steve following close behind looking pissed, “Danny let go of me!” He keeps going as I watch Steve’s jaw twitch knowing he’s on the verge of killing Danny, “No! You and me are going home, and then I’m sticking you back on a plane to Jersey!”
This son of a bitch, I plant my feet firmly and he turns around ready to yell at me and I slap him across the face, “Get your hands off me Daniel. I love him and you can’t change that so suck it up and deal with it or get the fuck out of my house and my life.” Danny lets go of my arm in disbelief and shock and Steve comes to stand behind me and puts his arm around me in a comforting way as Danny splutters, “What?” I chock back a sob and Steve pulls me closer, “I kept this from you and yeah I probably shouldn’t have but I knew this is how you would react. You are Steve’s partner and I don’t need you falling back so he can get killed, especially not now.” Danny furrows his eyebrows in confusion as does Steve, “I’m pregnant Danny.”
I watch as Danny stumbles backwards and Steve comes to stand in front of me with wide eyes, “Yo-you’re what?” I force a nervous smile and do the jazz hands, “Surprise.” He looks at me and blinks before he breaks out into a smile before picking me up and kissing me as I squeal. When he sets me down he kisses me again and I smile a genuine smile before Danny cuts in, “How long have you two been together exactly?”
Steve and I look at each other before he speaks, “About five months.” Danny blinks taking in the information, “I feel so many emotions right now I don’t know what to do. Am I happy about this? Absolutely not. Am I going to get used to it and suck it up?” He pauses and I squeeze Steve’s hand out of nervousness before Danny continues, “Yeah, I will. I am no way under any circumstances happy about it but I don’t really have a choice. You guys are happy apparently more so than I could have imagined and I don’t want to lose you, either of you.” He stops and looks at Steve, “I love you like a brother but I promise you that if you hurt her I’ll personally chop off your dick and shove it down your throat.” Steve gulped before nodding, “Noted.”
Danny sighed before stepping forward a little, “I trust you Y/N/N I really do, I'm just hurt you didn’t tell me sooner and I want to know how long you’ve known you were pregnant and if that’s why you told me.”
I sigh, “I went to the doctor two days ago and no it’s not. Steve’s been trying to get me to tell you for a little over a month and I tried to tell you last week but then you were mad at Steve for getting shot and I knew it wasn’t the right time.” Danny nodded and smiled, “You’re having a baby! My little sis is having a baby!” I laughed at how fast he went from angry to calming down to excited, “Yeah I am.” He smiled and looked between me and Steve before something dawned on him, “Oh lord help us all, that child’s a McGarrett he’s going to be stubborn as fuck.”
Steve rolled his eyes as we all laughed before I raised a brow, “He?” Danny nodded, “It’s my prediction.” I shrugged, “Well seeing as Steve and I are having twins you have a very high chance of being right.”
Again Steve and Danny looked at me and in unison yelled, “WHAT!?”
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