#because he took my car for a thirty minute drive (leaving me with an empty tank ☺️) when i drive it all the time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunderlust · 2 years

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won't you keep lettin' me love you for a long time (rooster)

masterlist

pairing: rooster x f!reader

synopsis: you drive rooster home after one too many margaritas

warnings: fluff, smidge of angst (mentions of grief, death, bradley losing his parents)

wc: ~2k

note: a wise person - aka may - once told me to never scrap your writing, even if you’ll never use it again. I was gonna backspace the first draft of this - actually wrote it for another angsty Jake what’s new - but then rooster inspiration struck (roospiration, if you will) (actually don’t that just looks like perspiration) (I mean I’d love to have rooster’s sweat- nvm)

sorry long ramble aside here’s something short and sweet after my last angsty fic 💕

“You’re way too good of a friend to me,” Rooster grins sloppily as he slumps over the bartop in front of you. Honestly, he’s pretty lucky they had just wiped down the counter. At any other moment, it’d be sticky with beer and sweet and sour and he’d run the risk of getting a pistachio shell stuck to his mustache.

“Yeah, perhaps I am,” you half-seriously agree with a smile and slide a full glass of ice water towards him, then lean back in your own chair to observe a drunk Rooster trying to manage a few gulps while smiling like a goober at the colorful liquor bottles lined up on the shelf.

The bar’s been long empty, most aviators having taken their leave thirty minutes after the last call. Bradley usually heads out earlier than this - doesn’t like staying out late and messing up his perfectly curated bedtime routine. But tonight was a reunion of sorts with his old classmates, and they went through quite a few margaritas.

You joined about an hour ago, and Bradley immediately elected to sit with you and engage in wonderfully mindless chit-chat. You’re not complaining at all - every moment you can spend with the gorgeous aviator is a moment to cherish. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to get all the gossip on his current students at TOPGUN - like the three that are involved in a devastating love triangle that’s most definitely exacerbated by Bradley always grouping them - a move he most certainly took out of Pete Mitchell’s book (“They need to focus on the job, not distract themselves with high school theatrics,” he ranted to you earlier).

“Hold on, wait,” Bradley suddenly says, then springs himself upright and focuses hard on you. “If I squint just right...” he screws up his face, almost going cross-eyed. “I can see two of you!” Bradley’s mustache quirks with his smile, and his entire face lights up like the sun. “Goddamn. What a sight.”

“You’re hammered,” you scoff in an attempt to conceal how much the term of endearment affects you, how it makes your entire body feel warm and tingly because you secretly love it when he’s this open and brazen with you, tossing out flirtatious remarks with no hidden agenda besides trying to put a smile on your face.

“I’m not hammered - they call me Rooster,” he replies breezily and you swat at his shoulder, turning away to hide your smile and raising your other hand to flag someone down to close out Bradley’s tab.

After handing over your card (despite Bradley’s drunken attempts to sway the bartender against letting you pay) - you finally stand up. “Need a lift back home?” you ask him with a teasing lilt to your voice. It’s a rhetorical question - he’s got no other way home besides an overpriced Uber - but he still hums thoughtfully. Slowly, he lifts his head and surveys you while drumming his fingers on the wood.

“I.... think that would be best,” he declares, determinedly slapping the counter and attempting to slide off the barstool in a suave manner - it looks more like Bambi on ice, but you can’t deny that it’s still incredibly endearing. He looks up to flash a brilliant, a bit lopsided smile at you. “I’ll see if ‘Nix can pick me up early to grab my car in the morning.”

You laugh, slide your purse off from the back of the chair, and think to yourself about how he’ll have to find out for himself tomorrow that he didn’t even drive here.

Your car rolls to a stop right outside a quaint, one-story bungalow, and you shift into park before unlocking the door and sitting patiently. Bradley’s quiet - as he’d been the entire ride home - and you chance a brief look at him. He’s sitting up, now looking straight back at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Evidently, there are one too many thoughts running around in his tequila-addled brain.

“You okay?” you ask him, eyes seeking out his in the darkness of one AM.

A few seconds of silence roll by, each ticking louder with your beating heart. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “Think I may have had a bit too much.”

“I’ll say,” you snort. “You didn’t even say anything when someone queued up Foghat earlier.”

“Fuck Foghat,” Bradley groans out and leans back against the headrest. “And fuck Jake for ruining a perfectly decent song.”

You hum reassuringly and eye his dark figure carefully, watch the shadow of his chest rise and fall steadily, and find yourself matching his breathing. “You sure you’re alright?”

His head lolls to the side as he appraises you. Finally, he lets out a long sigh. “Yeah, I just...” he trails off, fingers tapping mindlessly on the console. “You’re my best friend,” he says at last. “And you’re so... good”

Bradley shifts into the tiniest sliver of light, eyes glinting with the reflection of the street lamp glowing outside. You hold your breath, not sure if he can even see you or what he means by it, or what will come out of his mouth. “You’re so kind and good to everyone. Even me. And I don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve you,” he says with so much sincerity your heart breaks at him thinking that he’s not deserving of benevolence, friendship, or even love.

You open your mouth to object, to reassure him that it’s very much the opposite, but he beats you to it with words that make your heart bounce around wildly in your chest, yearning to jump right out and press up against his. “I wish my mom and dad got to meet you.”

It punches all the air out of you, and you just sit and look at him solemnly, somehow at a loss for words.

Bradley has carried grief with him since he was four years old. One day, he’s learning about all the different species of dinosaurs from a book his uncle had gifted him, and the next day, he finds out that his dad won’t be coming home, and he’s discovered something new - a little thing called loss. And years later, loss greets him once again with a bittersweet kiss on both cheeks as it tears away his loving mother and his traitorous Uncle Pete. And for some time, it’s just Bradley and his grief, the dynamic duo, a force to be reckoned with as he swears to uphold his father’s legacy, to make Carole and Goose proud (even Maverick, on a subatomic level).

You know some time back, he figured out why Mav pulled his papers - to appease Carole, sweet Carole, who didn’t want her son to see the same fate as Goose. You know Bradley wonders if his parents would be disappointed in him for still following his dreams. The worst part about losing his parents is that he’ll never know how they’d feel about the man he’s become. It’s especially easy for him to believe he hasn’t done enough.

“Bradley,“ you start, throat closing up as your mind races, as you search for the right sequence of reassuring words. “I think you deserve the world.”

You think back to the early days of getting to know him - shortly after you’d moved to San Diego and found him in some dive bar near the ocean. You remember coming back to the bar with your coworkers on Thursday nights, wistfully sending glances his way across the room and trying to muster up the courage to talk to him, ask him to hang back for a drink, ask him if he likes pancakes or waffles in the mornings because you want to know what to make for him after rocking his world (that last sentiment may have been heavily gin-fueled). It was a simple crush at first.

You recall the day he slid up next to you, bought your next drink, and asked you to join him for a round of darts (which you failed miserably at - somehow it’s much harder in real life than GamePigeon). You remember the laughter, the neverending conversation, the comforting feeling of having a new friend. A great friend - one who always lends a listening ear, makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, who brought you his mom’s famous tomato soup when you got the flu.

Phoenix says he’s usually stuck in his head and thinks too much - but in the time you’ve known him, he’s never spared a second thought when it comes to you.

In a rush, you return to the present, where he’s sitting in front of you with glistening eyes and a drunk mouth speaking words you know cross his sober mind every day. His face is crumbling with emotions that he usually keeps under lock and key because he can’t let it get in the way of his job, can’t let it mess him up when he’s flying or teaching. For whatever reason, this is the side of him that he only feels comfortable enough to show you.

Slowly, you reach over the console to interlace your fingers together and pull his hand up to your mouth to press a sweet kiss to the back of it. He squeezes once. “You know that they’re always here,” you tell him. “Every part of them that they’ve given up has made you the wonderful man you are now. In that way, you always have them with you. And they’d be so damn proud of you. I wish I had the chance to meet them, but I know they’d agree.”

He’s nodding his head with your words as if he’s shaking them around his mind in an attempt to instill their meaning. “And...” You press another kiss to the back of his hand. “I’d say you’re my best friend, too,” you say, whispering mock-conspiratorially.

The grin that slides over his face makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, flying around wildly, completely shredding your intestines but that’s a problem for later because right now Bradley, who has to be the love of your life, is smiling like he just won the lottery, like he’s the luckiest man in the world. Suddenly he’s leaning in, reaching a hand out to brush a piece of loose hair behind your ear and then cup your cheek lovingly, and he’s kissing you like you’re the air he breathes.

You return with fervor; his mustache scrapes roughly against your nose and you can still taste the cheap sour marg mix on his tongue and you can definitely sense how drunk he is by the lack of coordination he exhibits every time your teeth clash together. But it’s real and raw and beautiful all at once, and he’s kissing you like he did the first time all those years ago, as he did on the beach when you said yes to forever, as he did months ago after you exchanged I do’s in a small but beautiful ceremony.

You’ll always prefer messy kisses over anything else, and you’ll always love Bradley with his grief wholly and unconditionally.

Bradley, now seeming to be the slightest bit soberer, breathes in deeply, pulls back slightly, slowly grazes your cheekbone with his thumb as he tries to look at you in the darkness of what must be one-fifteen now. “Thanks,” he says genuinely. Doubt is still festering its prickly self inside him, but he’s grounded now and is comfortably tethered to you.

“Always,” you promise to your best friend, to your partner, to your husband, then surge forward to press another kiss to his lips before moving to unbuckle his seatbelt. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replies ardently and pulls you in to kiss your forehead, then turns to fumble for the car handle. He pauses and lowers his head to look out the window where his Bronco is parked right next to yours. “Hold up - I didn’t drive tonight?”

You stifle a laugh and grab your bag from the back seat. “Think your age is showing, honey.”

Bradley squawks out in indignation and stutters through a couple of rebuttals before sighing and burying his face in his hands. “I hate this. Why did you let me drink this much?”

“I showed up later, babe,” you tell him. “Think you can blame Jake for the margs.”

Another groan sounds out from him. “Of fucking course it’s Jake’s fault.”

With a little bit of coordinated effort, the two of you manage to walk (stumble, in Bradley’s case) up the stone pathway leading to the front porch, unlock the door, and step into your shared home together. And later that night, you lay down next to a softly snoring Bradley, think about all the moments that brought you to him, and drift away on the feeling of utter devotion.

#rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster one shot #rooster imagine #tgm fic #sol writes

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mellophase · 2 years

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Post-Mortem: My Heart Bled Out At Prudential Center (A True Story of Music and Human Connection)

I went to MCR’s first show in Newark a few weeks ago. I travelled over six hundred miles (something I didn’t really realize until after the fact, somehow, and I was appalled at myself for doing it) to see them in their home state. I’ve had some time to process the experience and recover from flying there and back and being awake for thirty-two hours because EWR was way too cold to sleep in, and I want to just write down the experience and some things I came away with because I’m not quite sure it was all real. This is super fucking long so I’m including a break. Hope you enjoy!

It was quiet the morning I left. No one besides I, my partner, Ticketmaster, and God knew where I was going that morning. My brother knew I had tickets, but didn’t know when I was going. It was stupid in hindsight-- Newark isn’t necessarily the kindest city in New Jersey nor the US, and I’d never been there on my own before. My mother knew I would be out of town, but she thought I’d be a two hour drive away, not a two hour flight. I’m old enough to make my own decisions, of course, but even at 20 years old, she’d never be comfortable with me going to Jersey. I went down to my car and couldn’t even manage to turn the radio on. It was 4:30 in the morning. The sun hadn’t even risen yet. I felt anxiety swell as I pulled into the economy lot at the airport and killed the engine. My headlights stayed on for a minute, illuminating the empty spot in front of me. I had passing thoughts about who I would call if I somehow locked my keys in my car or I left my headlights on by mistake and my car battery died. I dismissed them quickly, “keys, wallet, phone-ing” myself till I felt sure that I actually remembered and then it was dark except for the streetlights.

The shuttle ride to my terminal was quiet other than a man across from me making jokes with the driver (he and his wife were going to Savannah, to a beach, and told me I’d like Newark if I was a city bird. I am not, but it was sweet of them to say.) TSA was unremarkable and uneventful, and I sat in concourse B to do my makeup. I had a little drawstring bag with all the essentials someone could need-- eyeshadow, liner, phone charger, ear buds, a sketchbook, granola bars, and my wallet. I had flown alone so many times before, made some little excursions across a few tri-states, but even I could tell this one was different. I texted my partner the whole two hours before my flight took off, trying hard not to chew my nails and chip the shockingly even black polish I’d so carefully put on while watching the Georgia livestreams Sunday night. I held my breath through the entire taxi process until we took off in the air, a solid 7:00 in the morning, Eastern Standard Time. The sun was just starting to rise, and I was enjoying the soft pinks and purples of the sky. The photos could never do it justice. Nor could it do the bright pink of the sun justice when the man in the seat next to me (14 B, a sweet guy whose wife and son were a couple rows ahead of us) drew my attention to it. I spent most of my time looking out the window. It was the first time I’d flown on a clear day and could actually see the world pass by. There was nothing below me I recognized besides the Appalachian Mountains as we passed them, and it made me smile to see them, knowing I’d be leaving them behind for a day. It was quickly replaced by awe once I saw the familiar landscape of New York City, a sight I hadn’t beheld with my own eyes since I was 16. Then Newark appeared soon after. I held my breath again as we landed at 9:38 AM, and a swiftly turned off Airplane Mode to text my partner to let them know I was safe.

The walk after that was a blur-- departing terminal B, a very kind staff member helping me figure out exactly where I’d have to transfer to get to Newark Penn Station (and texting my partner a quick “Fuck Chicago” because everyone in EWR was more helpful than anyone in O’Hare ever was in all the times I’ve been), and then I was finally on the train to Newark. I could see Prudential Center out the window as we passed, and I felt my heart in my throat. It was so large it was like a beacon.

I stepped off into Penn station, and was immediately hit with the smell that only large cities seem to have-- the smell of exhaust, sewage, and grit. It was such a difference from where I grew up: clean mountain breezes, humidity, and honeysuckle permeating the air so thickly it was sickening. I remember murmuring to myself as soon as I got off the train: “This is insane.”

Then again as I stepped out of the station: “This is insane.”

Again as I walked down Market Street: “This is insane.”

And once more as I saw Prudential Center across the street: “This is insane.”

To this day, I don’t think I’ve uttered those three words more than I did that day.

I was horrendously early, especially for someone with a seated ticket, so I grabbed a coffee before I headed over toward the venue. I met a girl who was also attending the show (she was from Georgia, and she was so kind). We walked over to the venue together, but she was waiting in the GA line, so I bid her farewell. I sat at the benches by Ford Tower, watching hockey players enter and exit the building and drew little nonsense drawings in my sketchbooks (Frank in his outfit from Revenge, Lunchbox (the dog), and Gerard with iced coffee) before tweeting The Homeless Gospel Choir asking for drawing ideas. They asked me to draw their band, and I did in about 40 minutes. I’d only brought pencils with me, so it was sketchy and a little rough, but they loved it anyway. I found out they edited the drawing to make the lines stand out more, and posted it to their Twitter account. By this point, it wasn’t even noon. Still six hours and some change to kill before doors opened.

It was then someone I had seen sitting by the corner came up to me. Dorian|Kate. He was one of the people I remember the most that day because we spent around five hours together just chatting. She was kind. Asked if I minded him smoking around me, I didn’t but I didn’t smoke (but totally asked for a cigarette hours later, and she made sure it wasn’t my first because “I refuse to give someone their first one”). He drove three hours to be there, and they were an artist. We talked about our favorite albums, how we found MCR, the people important to us, and all sorts of things. (She follows me here now and if you’re reading this-- hello! I hope you made it home safe). He drew ‘Very Much Alive’ on my neck for me and laughed when I made a joke about how that was the most homoerotic experience I’d had. I wrote on her arms too, but I don’t remember what she asked me to do. He gave a homeless woman (who we found out was named Tammy) money for her birthday, and spoke to her in the most kind and understanding way I have ever seen. I was fascinated. I am always nervous around strangers for the most part, and I know she is a kinder person that I ever could have been. I wouldn’t have helped (partially because I wasn’t able to), but she didn’t hesitate in the slightest.

I waited with him in the GA line for a while, making sure I wasn’t numbered. I was there to have fun. I met a couple of girls, friends from out of the country (one from London who was just there to drop off and support her friend who was born in Egypt, but now lives in the UAE. They met at a music festival in 2016, and have been friends ever since!), a girl from Newark, and another from New York. I said hi to someone I knew from Twitter. The hours passed quickly, and when I was able to find the energy to speak, I was able to make some wonderful connections with the lovely people around me. I even got to meet three members of The Homeless Gospel Choir: Derek, Maura, and Megan! I gave them my drawing, and they gave me a sticker (and a hug. Derek asked if he could before he did it, which I greatly appreciate because I don’t usually like being touched) in turn. I learned they were from my hometown, and Derek jokingly said I should meet them for wings when they were back in town, and I told them they knew how to reach me now, so just say the word.

As lines tend to do, GA had to move, and so did my friends. It was still another hour until doors opened, so I said goodbye for the time being, and went to go wait by the doors. There was a small group of people sitting by the steps who let me join in on their little circle (who I found out later were Jo, Joy, Lizard, and KJ-- artists I had long admired and appreciated for how they captured the band. Though I’d been following KJ for a lot longer for a piece of Hozier art they’d made years ago. There were also a couple of people I don’t remember the names of because I was very nervous and overwhelmed. I was only able to remember everyone else’s names because I had known of them before I barely heard their names because I'm a little hard of hearing and couldn't focus fast enough to lip read). We chatted back and forth, and I was so nervous I could have thrown up because I was around people I admired a fair bit. I met another man, Brian, who they were all familiar with, and he was kind to me as well. We didn’t speak much, but his eyes were as kind as the people I sat in out little circle with. I was gifted a pin, and they let me take an extra one for my partner who couldn’t attend the concert due to them living overseas. Every one of them was all gentle smiles and kind hearts.

A staff member for Prudential Center announcing that backpacks would not be allowed in the center made my blood run cold, and my heart weigh heavy in my chest. What money I had on me (I had been budgeting before the concert. Saving what I could to buy a shirt, my train tickets, parking at the airport, and some small food items to keep me from having a blood sugar crash. I’d only been able to go to the concert due to a Delta gift card I’d been given for my 20th birthday and the ‘Buy Now, Pay Later’ option with Ticketmaster) was all in cash, and it was $8 compared to the ten I needed to buy a locker. This was it. The show was over before it had even started. I very, very quietly asked if anyone in the group intended to get a locker, but already was pulling up the NJ Transit app to pull up my return ticket to EWR and check the train schedules. There had been no intention to, but Jo offered to get one. That kindness was the whole reason I get to write about this experience now, and I don’t think they will ever understand just how much that means to me.

We stood in line once they started directing us to line up at the doors, and we chattered for a little longer, though I was mostly listening at this point. We said quick goodbyes when they opened, and I agreed to meet them outside the center after the concert, and then it was just another hour before the show.

I found my seat quickly enough (Section 20, row 14, seat 13), and some kind strangers took my photo in front of the stage before the show. I was texting my partner again, though it was on and off as it was well past 11PM in the UK, and they were exhausted. Once they were safely asleep, I meet my seat neighbor, Julianna. She was local, and this was her first time seeing MCR. Her fiancé was in the pit that night, and she got tickets a lot later than he did, so she was running solo that night in her own way, the same as me. Again, there was back and forth conversation, and I learned that she was a speech therapist, she loved Anthony Green and Circa Survive, and that her fiancé had a band at one point in time and was touring, but was now working in music management. I told her about my partner, how I got back into My Chem (DM’ing my now partner on Twitter back in July of last year when I barely knew them asking “You talk about this DILF [Cherri Cola] a lot. What is he from?”), and about my experiences so far that day.

As The Homeless Gospel Choir took the stage, I let myself get lost in the music. Half their set was introduced with “this is a protest song” and I couldn’t help but smile. I couldn’t hear all the words clearly, the unfamiliarity of them making it a little hard for me to understand, but I could feel their energy, even though I wasn’t right in front of them. Then that little fifteen minute break before Thursday took the stage. I’d seen Thursday two weeks before at a tiny little venue a state over from mine. Same as last time I saw them, I didn’t know a single word, but I still enjoyed everything they brought to the stage. I was familiar with them though digging deeper into the origins of MCR as well as learning about LS Dunes and The Future Violents. I was enjoying the set, and then I felt my heart cinch as I heard the dedication Geoff made before a song:

“This song is for the human rights of everyone in this arena. This song is for reproductive rights. This song is for the right to express your gender and sexuality in a safe way.”

I was never a part of the punk scene in my city. I did so many extracurriculars in high school I never left. I spent 13 hours a day in that building five days a week, and spent weekends there or on the road for band, theater, and speech and debate. But I wondered, had I been involved, if I would have met people like him. People who were so relentlessly strange, and honest, and good. Pepple who had more compassion for their fellow humans than I have ever seen.

The set continued on, they were beautiful— and then they hit me with two more gut punches. One was bringing our Gerard for Jet Black New Year, followed by Anthony Green joining then toward the end of their set. I watched in awe, and my hands were shaking. Not only was awe present, but a distinct feeling of warmth (and a tinge of jealousy— getting to play in a band with your best friends is always something I've ached for, and now they get to play with each other and I felt a little sick). I wasn't inconsolable, but I was quiet during thay half hour before MCR took the stage. I talked to Julianna, cheered for vacuum guy, but I hardly remember it all.

When the static started, I felt my gut heave. I had barely anything left in my stomach, but I felt like I was going to loose everything I had in my body regardless. Bones. Blood. Internal organs. Everything was going good. be ripped out of me. Even as I heard the opening riff of Foundations I felt that tug. I felt a pull so deep inside of me. I had a distinct remembrance of telling people how much performing with a group meant to me. How connected I felt to this group of people. It was overwhelming to feel that not only with the group performing, but the entire arena itself. Everyone was cheering, crying, waiting with bated breath to see what they would do next, singing, screaming— it was breathtaking. I was hit with one moment of sheer joy after another as the songs shifted, even though I'd heard them all before, seeing them in this light was heaven.

Once more, I felt myself choking up as Gerard invited a friend to the stage. Geoff entering for Best Day Ever made that deep, longing ache settle in my chest again. It wasn't a song I knew well, but it was beautiful all the same to watch him and Gerard interact. Men who had known each other longer than I'd been alive. How much that affection and admiration was so very clear even after all this time. By the time they reached the encore, I was a mess. I was silent through Demolition Lovers, and cried my way through The Kids From Yesterday ("This is a song that we play just for us"). Ray's solo had me entirely entranced, and I could feel every emotion from the past day pour out of me. I was so deathly convinced that I was dying. The weight in my chest and the pounding of my skull from my screaming could have been enough to knock me to the floor. I envisioned the blood pouring from my hands, my eyes, my stomach. All because of the way I felt my heart and view had been ripped away and rearranged in the span of an hour and a half. I was silent as I left the center, giving Jo only several quiet thank you's as they returned my bag to me, and then walking to the station. I talked once I got to my platform. A lot. I talked the whole 45 minutes, and I listened in turn. I met some students from New York. A parent who said they received the ticket as a gift, and who said they were so thankful to be able to see them live and listen to them again after a period of trauma where they weren't able to.

Then the train home. Trying to sleep in EWR despite how cold it was. Silence for hours upon hours until TSA opened. I walked through, and just sat at my gate, getting up occasionally to make sure I didn't loose blood flow. Then called my partner once they woke up for the day. The flight home was equally as uneventful, but I had time to think. A lot. I thought about everyone I had met. Everyone who had shown kindness to me and others. Everyone who experienced what I had.

The spell was broken for a little while as I returned to my home state. Especially because I saw the mother of one of my acquaintances from high school. She'd known me since I was a soft, round 12 year old, and here she was seeing me covered in makeup and a Mikey Fuckin Way shirt looking like I hadn't slept in days. She gave me a smile and told me "I thought that was you". The pleasantries we exchanged were brief, but the haze returned as soon as I was behind the wheel of my car and alone with my thoughts again.

I walked out of that concert with more motivation than ever. I wanted to connect. To create. To bring someone solace when they need it and touch the hearts and minds of everyone I could. Even though I was exhausted, the first thing I did when I got home was pick up my guitar and wail. It wasn't good. It wasn't about being good, though, it was about the fact that if I didn't create something right that second, it would all be worth nothing. Every ounce of energy and goodness that had been pushed my way in the past 48 hours was for nothing. I finally collapsed on my bed after a while, too exhausted to do anything but succumb to the exhaustion. But it was still everything I'd ever wanted. It was my secret. One that was between me, my partner, all those strangers, MCR, and whatever god had chosen to smile down upon me enough to let me experience it all.

#essay #this is a long sappy way of saying mcrnj1 was the best night of my fucking life #i will never know anything like it again #my chemical romance #thursday band #the homless gospel choir #frank iero #gerard way #ray toro #mikey way #thank you to everyone who was nice to me and kept me sane #thank you for making all of that so special

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messers-moony · 3 years

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So Perfect 2 | J.P

Paring: Young!James Potter X Fem!Lupin!Reader

Summary: James falls in love with a bookstore called, Lupin’s Library, and can’t believe what they’re going through.

Preparing for a date seemed easy enough, except when it’s with a twenty-five-year-old man that already has a child. Granted, the twenty-five-year-old man was handsome, very handsome; maybe that’s what made this so hard. Every dress that she tried on didn’t seem to fit or didn’t seem to look right.

Y/n was looking at her appearance in the mirror when a light knock was heard on her door, “Come in!”

Remus almost dropped the tea he was holding for her, “You look spiffing.”

“Spiffing?” Y/n crossed her arms with a stupid smile, “That’s all you could come up with?”

“Dashing, beautiful, gorgeous?” Remus shrugged, “I'm not good at this whole thing. ‘S why I’m into blokes, remember?”

Y/n hummed, reaching for the tea he was holding for her, “Thanks, Remmy.”

“No problem.” He replied, taking a seat on her twin bed, “So, are you excited?”

“Nervous.”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah, I mean, he’s already got a child, Rem!” Y/n said exasperated, “If this goes well, then he’ll expect me to be Harry’s stepmother, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

Remus placed two hands on his shorter sister's shoulders, “You’re going to be fine. No one is more prepared for that than you are.”

“I’m regretting this.”

“If you don’t go on this date, then I’ll never call Sirius.”

“That’s not fair!”

“It is.” Remus replied, “How about this-”

“Oh no, you only do this when you know you’ll win.” She murmured.

Remus smirked, “If you go on this date and have fun, I’ll ask Sirius out. If you don’t go on this date at all, I’ll block his number.”

“But you and Sirius are perfect for each other.” Y/n whined, “And so are you and James.” Remus countered.

Y/n pouted, and Remus smiled, “Now go have fun on this date. James is waiting outside.”

“Are you shitting me?!”

Remus laughed, “Nope!”

Y/n scrambled to grab her things, and Remus watched amusedly, “You’re the worst, Rem!” She yelled as she began to leave the bookstore.

“Love you too, sis!”

The door closed behind her, and she was releasing breaths of air. James turned to see her out of breath and a flush on her cheeks. It made him smile. She looked absolutely breathtaking too. Y/n’s hair was styled, and her dress looked dashing on her. James offered her his hand, and Y/n took it with a gentle smile.

“Sorry for making you wait.” Y/n apologized, “Rem was no help.”

James chuckled, “It’s fine.”

James opened the car door for her, and she got in. Instantly she felt out of place. Y/n hadn’t been in a car since high school and ever since then had taken public transportation or walked. She and Remus didn’t have money for a vehicle, so they made do with what they had. The seats were black leather, and the car didn’t have a spec of dirt on it.

He got into the driver's side of the car smoothly and took notice of Y/n’s awestruck expression, “I take it you like my car?”

“I’m sorry.” Her expression turned sheepish, “It’s been a minute since I’ve been in a car.”

James quirked an eyebrow, “Remus and I walk or ride buses to get by.”

“Well, I’m glad I could be with you for your first experience back.” They both laughed.

It was so easy with James. Conversation flowed like water, and the air was light like clouds. His hand went from the shift to intertwine his fingers with hers. Y/n’s face flushed, and James smiled genuinely. James couldn’t remember a time when a girl made his heart race and butterflies fill his stomach like this before.

When they arrived, Y/n was starstruck. It was fancier than she thought. Her heart pounded, and insecurity filled her body. James made his way to her side of the car and opening the door for her again. He helped her out of the car and felt her hand tremble just the slightest bit.

“You look beautiful.” James assured, “No need to be worried.”

Y/n swallowed thickly, “Hey,” James turned her face to his, “If I thought you were underdressed, I would’ve told you. You’re gorgeous, and I think you’ll be the prettiest girl in the room.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her another one of those beautiful smiles before walking up to the hostess, “Name?”

“Should be under Potter.”

The hostess smiled, “Right this way.”

James motioned for Y/n to go first, so she followed the hostess to the table. Y/n sat down, and James sat across from her as the woman set down two menus. Maybe it was a force of habit, but she couldn’t help but let her eyes travel to everything around her.

He smiled, slightly amused by her way of checking everything around her. It wasn’t the fanciest place that he could’ve taken her - there was much better - but he didn’t want to overwhelm her. It wasn’t pitying that drew him toward her, though. There was something about her that made him feel like a teenager again.

The place was made of what appeared to be a dark wooden material. The lights were a dim yellow, and the tables were polished beautifully. The booths were comfy and with red cushioning. The atmosphere was cooling and dry.

Y/n had opened her menu and began to survey it, “Pick whatever you want.”

“Are you sure?” Y/n asked, “I really don’t mind-“

“This is a date.” James reminded as he held her hands from across the table, “Let me treat you so well that you a second date.”

Y/n blushed, “You’ve already done that.”

“I have?”

“Shut up.”

James chuckled, kissing her knuckles, “Whatever you want, love.”

Half of the food on the menu Y/n hadn’t even heard of. Granted, she and Remus never really ate out much as kids. Usually, their mother - Hope - would cook them dinner as their father - Lyall - got home from work. Dinner was generally around seven-thirty or eight o’clock.

The dinner went by gracefully, with lots of banter and getting to know each other. It wasn’t until the end of the date where James had paid despite Y/n’s efforts, and they got into the car where he had asked the dreadful question. They both sat in the parking spot when James had turned to her.

“How do you feel about children?” James asked and quickly added, “I know that you’re good with them because of the reading on Saturdays but, I mean, about having children?”

Y/n wrung her hands, “I never really thought about it.”

“Why?”

“I have two jobs and a sick brother to take care of.”

Y/n replied, “Kids don’t really fit in. I’d also have to have a significant other to have children. Which I don’t have.”

James nodded, “Okay, but if you were to have a significant other.”

“I mean, I’d like to.” Y/n shrugged, “My life is just hectic right now. Bringing a child into this life wouldn’t be fair.”

Okay, so this isn’t going anywhere, James thought; I need to be blunt, “How would you feel about being Harry’s stepmother?”

She swallowed, “James….”

“I know that’s a hard thing to answer right now. Especially with us just getting started.” James added, “But if you aren’t interested, then this isn’t worth starting.”

“No, I know and understand.” Y/n said, fidgeting with her hands in her lap, “I’m sure it’s hard to find someone, you know, already having a kid and all.”

James nodded.

“I’d love to be Harry’s stepmother.” Y/n replied as James’ face lit up, “But I still have the bookstore, the bar, and Remus to take care of as well. It’ll be stressful.”

“I’m not asking you to be a stay-at-home mother.” James chuckled, “I’m just asking that at the end of the day, you come home to us.”

“And hopefully,” James smiled sheepishly, “Sirius can knock Remus off your list.”

Y/n chuckled, “Hopefully. Remus is a handful.”

“He seems nice.”

She snorted, “Until you officially meet him.”

“Well then,” James smiled, taking her hand in his as he began moving the car, “Looks like we’ll be having double dates.”

Y/n squeezed his hand as he began to drive. The car drove effortlessly over the unpaved roads. Light music played in the background. The sky was a beautiful blue littered with sparkling white specks. The moon was crescent and barely a sliver. James had gotten to a stoplight when he spoke up again.

“My house or yours?”

“Whichever.”

James smiled and turned the wheel to the left, “Okay.”

It didn’t take long to realize that they were going to his house. His neighborhood was much different than hers. Granted, she lived on top of a bookshop, but it was still different. James lived in the suburbs. The houses were breathtaking, and the streets looked clean. Asphalt roads were freshly paved, and sidewalks looked new. The homes were family-sized, but they looked ginormous compared to her and Remus’ studio apartment only suited for one.

James pulled into the driveway, and Y/n was flabbergasted. It was a two-story house, mostly white concrete, and the accents were a dark brown color. The grass was freshly cut, and the vegetation was trimmed. The backyard appeared to have a pool and a patio area, but Y/n could barely tell over the solid fence.

His keys jingled as he placed the key into the slot and the door opened with ease. Gently, he motioned her to go first. The floors were dark oak wood, seemingly similar to the dark paint on the accents of the house. Everything was so clean, exactly like the car, not a spec of dust laid on the surfaces.

A movie was playing on the television in the room on the right. The kitchen was on the left, and the sitting table was in the room beside it. James shut the door behind him, locking it. He took off his coat and shoes, placing them at the front door. He smiled.

“I take it you like the house?”

“It’s beautiful.”

James smiled, walking to the kitchen, and Y/n took off her shoes before following him. He sighed when he opened the fridge, and Y/n had taken a seat at the barstool in front of the island. James picked up an empty bottle of wine that was still residing in the fridge.

“You keep empty bottles of wine in the fridge?” Y/n questioned as James rubbed his face with his hands.

“No. Bad habit of Sirius’.”

Y/n quirked an eyebrow, “He lives here?”

“He acts as he does.” James muttered as he recycled the empty bottle, “But no, Sirius lives a couple of doors down. But I feel like he should be paying rent here.”

Y/n laughed, “Regardless, I’ve known him since elementary school, so he’s like my brother. Harry calls him uncle and everything.”

“That’s adorable.” Y/n said, “Do you have any actual siblings?”

“Nope. Jus’ me.” He answered, motioning to himself, “Sirius has a younger brother named Regulus.”

“His parents obsessed with constellations or something?”

“Supposedly.”

“Where is Harry now?”

“With Sirius.” James replied, taking out a full bottle of wine, “Told him I might get him tonight or might not.”

Y/n took the glass of wine he offered her with a smile, “Mind if I ask why the tv was left on?”

“My cat.”

“Cat?”

“Technically, not mine.” James explained, “It’s my ex-fiancées, but she left him here, so he’s mine now.”

“And your cat likes the tv?”

James nodded, “What's his name?”

“Moony.”

“Moony?”

“Yeah. Harry named him actually.”

Y/n smiled. They continued to talk, and the night kept going on by. It was well past midnight when James drove her back home to her shared apartment. The car ride was silent, primarily with music playing lightly in the background once again. He walked her to the door of the bookstore before bidding her goodnight.

Gently James pressed his lips to her forehead, “Goodnight, get some sleep.”

“You too…” Y/n muttered, blushing as she walked into the bookstore.

She hadn’t even made it up the steps when Remus began talking, “Had a good night, I presume?”

“You’re a dick, ya know?”

He smirked and closed his book with a thud, “Runs in the family.”

Y/n gasped playfully, “You ass!”

Remus chuckled as they both walked up the steps, “Seriously though, good night?”

“Yeah, really good night.”

439 notes · View notes

strangelysamantha · 3 years

Note

Hi! Can I request a jj x reader where they’re dating but have a massive fight right before a kegger so they’re ignoring each other all night. And then during the party her drink gets spiked and jj and the others take her home and look after her. Then the next morning jj is crying and apologising for not looking out for her. Thanks

scared for you ☆

jj maybank x reader.

warnings: swearing, underage drinking, spiking of drinks, blacking out, verbal arguments.

words: 2,649.

summary: when a fight breaks out between you and jj, he can’t help but be petty and ignore you. this causes you to be left alone at a kegger.

request? yes, and my requests are still open!

a/n: hi hi hi, more stories coming tonight! thanks for the request, and if you enjoyed please like and comment! i appreciate it. they/them pronouns are used for the reader. <3

my masterlist

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“jj, why are you so upset?” you questioned jj, and he hesitated, before finally speaking up. “really? why am i upset?” you nod, waiting for his response, but he doesn’t continue. you roll your eyes, “yes. why are you so upset?” you continue tying your shoes, preparing yourself for the kegger that already started thirty minutes ago. “i wasn’t that upset, but the fact you don’t even know why i’m mad just annoys me more.” he looks away from you, avoiding eye contact. you look up at him. “are you serious? you can’t just tell me what i did?” he stays silent.

you finally stand up, standing in front of him. his eyes look down at you, “i’m upset because you blew me off, claiming you had a family issue.” you frown. “j, i did have a family issue.” he shakes his head as if to say he didn’t believe you. “you really don’t trust or believe me?” he shrugs. “no i don’t fucking trust you, especially after all the shit you’ve done.”

“are you fucking kidding me? it really was a family issue. i should be the one upset here since you don’t even believe me.” he crosses his arms together. “you believe you should be the one upset?” he questions. you scoff, “yes! you don’t believe me, and you are blowing this whole situation up.” you try to continue but he interrupts you, “i’m not blowing anything up, stop acting like this is all on me. god, you are the one being secretive and shit.” you frown, “instead of automatically getting angry, why don’t you talk to me about it?” he shakes his head. jj storms off not answering you, the door slamming shut behind him.

you sit in silence, trying to even understand what had just happened since it all happened so fast. you contemplate going to the kegger alone, finally deciding to go. you assumed that jj would be going, and you thought it would be best to try and go so you could fix what just happened as soon as possible.

jj had left you, and he took the car. luckily, the beach wasn’t too far, and you could easily walk. you walked for about five minutes before you arrived. you eagerly search around, trying to find any familiar faces but you fall short. you didn’t recognize anyone around you. you approach the party closer, having people occasionally greet you, but none you were genuinely close too.

you see jj hanging out with john b and pope. you smile softly, glad that he was here instead of doing something reckless. you look over at him, and he looks at you, before immediately redirecting his eyes. jj had made a vow to himself that he would ignore you tonight. he didn’t want to blow up on you, but the biggest reason was he just didn’t want to talk to you anymore. you frown at the realization. since jj was ignoring you, you decided to do the same. you walk towards a small group of people, randomly introducing yourself.

they applaud you on your boldness, immediately letting you inside their small group. “so what are you up to?” a guy with brunette hair smirked at you. you smile, “i’m just here.” you shrug, not entirely sure what you were actually doing at a kegger, practically alone. usually if you went somewhere where you had no one to hang out with, you would leave. today was different though. you avoided looking at jj, and jj did the same. his eyes never even looked your way, too focused on john b’s lame attempts of trying to flirt with sarah.

the group you settled yourself into was slowly dying down. one girl in particular decided she had enough and headed home, her girlfriend going with her. the other two guys left, going farther down the beach to play football. that left you alone with the brunette guy, and his best friend. you hadn’t drank anything, not wanting to have a horrible hangover.

“are you sure you don’t want us to get you a drink? i mean, it would seriously loosen you up, and you could possibly get your mind off your current issues.” the brunette smiled, you had actually become his acquaintance. you bite your lip slightly, thinking. “i mean sure. why not.” you laugh slightly and he chuckles, “right on. i’ll be back.” you nod, watching him walk away.

his other friend smiled down at you, “are you from around here?” you nod. “yeah, what about you?” he smiles, “just here for a trip. we are actually heading back home tomorrow morning.” you frown. “ah, that sucks. did you enjoy your time here?” you ask, making conversation. he nods. “pretty fun town. the water was the best part. the ocean view was always so beautiful.” you nod at his response, silence falling over the two of you.

his friend came back, three solo cups in his hand. “cheers, to your guys on the last day.” you take the red solo, clinging it with theirs. “cheers.” they say together. you bring the drink to your lips, swallowing it. “it was so-.” your mind became clouded, and you couldn’t even think about what you were trying to say. “guys?” your eyes widened as your voice felt hoarse. your mind felt empty, and confusion washed over you. before you knew it, your eyes were closing, and your body began to feel limp and light. the last thing you heard were the two boys laughing. “too easy.”

the boys held you up, grabbing you by the waist. whispering amongst themselves while they carried you to their car. before they even made it halfway, john b stopped them. “what are you two doing?” he stared at you, limp in his arms. his heart hurt seeing you like this. he stared as they stood in front of him, silent. pope joined john b, “what is going on?” popes eyes set on you, anger boiling inside of him. “oh you know man, just had too much to drink.” john b shakes his head. “no. we know them. they hardly ever drink.” the boys raise their eyebrows, “is that so?” john b nods, walking towards them. “who even are you? never seen you before. and since i don’t know you, that leads me to believe that they don’t know you either.” the boys glanced at each other for a moment. “your right. we don’t know them.” they swiftly push you into john b, john b falling back at the sudden movement.

the culprits ran towards their car, hopping in and driving off. john b held you up, pope joining in, making it easier to lift you. john b looked at pope, pope already thinking the same thing. “how the hell are we going to tell jj?” pope shook his head. “let’s just get them back to your house. then we can think of ways to break the news to jj.” john b nodded in agreement. john b and pope carried you to the twinkie, pope getting in the front seat, john b held you close to make sure you still had a pulse and they hadn’t done anything yet. “they are knocked out for sure.” john b spoke up.

“it’ll be a few hours before they even have a chance of waking up.” john b frowns, he just wanted you to wake up now so he knew you were actually okay. once pope had made it to john b’s house, the two of them carried you inside, placing you on jj’s bed. you laid limp on the bed, the two boys watching you in horror. “shit! reposition them! that looks so uncomfortable!” pope scrambled to the bed, immediately straightening you out. he took your shoes off, placing them at the end of the bed. pope took the blankets, tucking you inside the bed.

“are you ready pope?” john b looked at pope, seeing his eyes widened. “what do you mean, are you ready pope?! i’m not calling jj!” pope glanced at john b, bewildered. john b rolled his eyes. “fine but i’m putting it on speaker.” pope nods, patiently waiting for john b to grab his phone.

john b dials jj’s number. it rings twice before jj answers. “yo john b! what’s up.” john b frowns. “jj, you know how you left the party?” pope sighs while he watches this whole situation unravel. “yeah, i wanted to get out of there. i couldn’t stand watching everything, well y'know.” jj laughed, “so glad i left though. i’m doing good.” pope interrupted him. “john b! just tell him already.” jj stopped, “pope? tell me what?” jj held his breath, waiting. his mind was spiraling with every bad thing that could have happened.

“uhm. jj it’s bad. pope and i, we were at the beach. we noticed these two boys… and they drugged-.” before john b could even say your name, jj cut him off. “no.” pope rolled his eyes, seeing jj immediately shut john b down. “no, guys. this isn’t funny. you can’t say this shit as an attempt for me to come home.” john b groaned, slamming his hand on the kitchen table. “jj! will you stop with the shit! this isn’t a joke bro. that would be fucked up.” jjs breath gets caught in his own throat. “you mean…?” john b frowns, “yeah.” jj immediately hangs up, getting ready to go to john b’s house.

when jj arrives, john b and pope give him the rundown on what had happened. they decided to wait to invite kiara, since she had to work. jj slowly walked to his room, scared of what he would see. when he saw you, passed out on his bed, his heart shriveled up. water glistened in his eyes. he couldn’t help but blame himself. he wasn’t there for you. he didn’t protect and watch after you.

he immediately leaves the room, pulling pope and john b into a hug. “thank you. thank you for protecting them when i couldn’t.” john b frowned. “jj- you can’t put this on yourself.” pope nodded. “how could you have known?” jj shakes his head. “i should have been there, i should have stayed.” john b smacks him on the side of his head. “get your shit together jj.” jjs mouth opens in shock. “this isn’t the time for you to spiral. you need to go in there. wait for them to wake up, and you need to make sure they are okay.” jj nods, heading to his room.

jj hated seeing you like this. he sat on a chair in the corner of his room. occasionally checking your pulse to make sure you were still with him. he prepared you water, and was already thinking of what he should make you for breakfast. at around four am, jj had fallen asleep. he didn’t mean to, in fact he wanted to stay awake so he could be there for you when you woke up.

jj woke up at seven am, he immediately looked over at you, seeing you in the same position, and still asleep. his heart hurt. john b and pope weren’t there to ground him, so his thoughts took over. how could he leave you alone? how could he even let this happen? why was he fighting with you in the first place? was it really worth it? these questions continued to invade his mind. he couldn’t hold back the tears as he was silently sobbing in the corner of the room.

the outer banks sun was shining through jj’s thin window curtains. you stirred, waking up. when you were fully awake, you heard faint crying. this caused you to turn your head to see what was going on. “jj?” you frown, seeing him in such a distressed state. you immediately sit up, and become light headed. you didn’t know exactly what had happened. the last place you remembered you had been was at the beach, but somehow you woke up in jj’s bed. you smile, hopeful that jj wasn’t mad at you anymore.

“jj?” you say once more, louder so he could hear you. his head turns towards you. his face was stained with tears, his hair wild as you assumed he ran his hands through it multiple times. before you could ask any questions, he’s already bombarding you. “are you okay? do you remember anything?” you shake your head, your mind going back to last night. “the last thing i remember is going to a kegger, and meeting a group of people because you were ignoring me.”

he stayed silent. he was right. he was the reason, he- “jj? what’s on your mind? was it your dad again?” you frown. your arm reaches out to cup his face. he pulls you into a hug. “no. not my dad. last night… uh.” he pulled away, giving you some space. “last night you were drugged.” your eyes widened. “what?” the tears began to fall from his eyes once again. “look. i’m so sorry. i should have been there for you. i could have prevented this. i’m so sorry. i didn’t want this to happen to you. if only i had stayed, if i was there i would have punched those two guys in the jaw.” his eyes shut, you take your hand to wipe away his tears.

“jj. it’s okay. nothing happened to me, did it?” you wait, slightly scared at what his response would be. “no. nothing happened, john b and pope saved you in time.” you nod, relieved. “jj. i’m okay. nothing happened to me, please. john b and pope saved me. it's not something you should work yourself up about.” he slowly nods, not entirely agreeing. you open your arms, hugging him. “okay. i was really scared for you.” you frown at his words. “jj-,” he cuts you off. “i just… i can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if john b and pope weren’t there.” you shake your head. “you can’t think about that. jj, im here. i'm fine, we are okay. we shouldn’t think about the past, it’ll only make matters worse.”

he listens, a frown still hung on his lips. “okay. well i want to make you a special breakfast!” your eyebrows lift at jj, “you?” he smiles, and you continue. “you want to make breakfast?” he nods, “yes!” you stare at him, “okay. sure.” you get entirely out of bed, his hand immediately finding your waist to ensure you were steady. “first let's get you changed.” he pulls a t-shirt of his from his closet, and a pair of shorts you’ve left over. he hands you the clothes before turning around to let you change.

you put the outfit on, handing him your outfit from yesterday. he puts them in the dirty laundry hamper, walking you to the kitchen. you watch amused, seeing jj pull out a bunch of different ingredients and spices. “what are you trying to make?” he turns around, shocked that you even have to ask him. “duh, i’m making us pancakes.” he smiles up at you, as he holds the carton of milk. “oh right. okay. i’ll let you do that then.” john b walks out of his room, joining the two of you in the kitchen.

“why are you guys so loud when it’s literally eight in the morning?” you laugh, “hey!” you call out to him and he jumps at your loud voice. “what?” you stand up, pulling him into a hug. “thank you.” he smiles. “i’m glad you are okay. we are always going to be by your side, regardless if we are all fighting or not.” you nod. your attention from john b shifts to jj, seeing him as he is dancing around the kitchen with a bowl in his hand. “oh. jj is cooking?” john b smiled, “this will be good.” you nod in agreement, “definitely.”

#jj maybank #jj maybank obx #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank story #jj maybank x reader angst #jj maybank angst #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x gn!reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks one shot #jj maybank one shot #jj #maybank #jj maybank outerbanks #jj maybank outer banks

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libraford · 4 years

Text

The short version: We had a serial thief at the flower shop. She’s retired recently and I think that due to Covid she really means it this time.

The long version? hoooo boy, here we go.

This story, and others, are viewable on Tablo

There are rules and there are rules.

In dealing with shoplifting in retail, there are rules on how one engages with a thief. The handbook, if there were one, would consist of a single word.

Don't.

Don't pursue, don't interrogate, don't accuse. Let them take the merchandise, let them get away. Let them return the Cricut machine for an equivalent amount on a gift card to be exchanged once again for drugs.

Let them.

There is no handbook on how to handle Flower Thieves. Prior to working in a flower shop, I never thought that this was a problem.

Life is surprising.

I'm sure some of you have figured that out by now.

The Flower Thief is notorious, and she has a system. There are days when you simply know that she's going to be in.

"Break the heads off the flowers before you throw them away," Grandpa will say. "She's going to be here tonight, I think."

And sure enough, she would be. At 6:45, a quarter til we close- the Thief would announce her arrival. Loudly.

"Heeeeey, baaaaaaby!"

The very first time I encountered the Flower Thief, she came in through the back door.

"Oh Hiiiii, Darlin'- ain't seen your face around here: you must be NEW! I'm Wren, you know- like the bird? Well, Kyle and I have an agreement that I come and work for y'all sometimes. You should take out this trash, it stinks to high heaven. Anyways, nice talkin' to ya, see ya later."

I may only be a little bit psychic, but I've spent enough time around liars to know insincerity when I see it. Kyle, at the time, was the manager of our store and I have it on record that he's tried to throw her out of the building once or twice.

While I was taking out the trash, her pile of purchase became so tall it towered over her. I watched Clark massively undercharge her for the sake of getting her to go away.

She has a pattern.

She comes in during the design classes because she knows that when there's twenty people in the store, there's not enough people to watch her and make sure she's not stealing. "There's a class today," she asks as if it's not literally every Tuesday. "Don't worry I know you all wanna get out of here on time."

The Flower Thief announces her presence in a grand way and then makes her way to the back to grab a trash bag or an empty box and then proceeds to bury any spare parts she finds in the cooler in the trash bag, hiding them under the things that she's actually buying.

After that, she checks the garbage cans for things we might have thrown away that will last another three days and stuffs them underneath her other ill-gotten goods.

Just when you think she's finished, she'll go through her pile of flowers and say: "You know what? I don't need this eucalyptus." And she'll go back into the cooler with it, stuff it in her purse, and walk back to the register.

And when she's all done being sneaky, she asks one of us to come ring her out.

This is the part that no one wants to do. Because ringing out the Flower Thief means haggling with the Flower Thief.

"Oh baaby, you know I don't pay those prices."

"Oh baaaby, I only pay $19 for roses."

"Oh baaaaaaaaaby, those carnations were on special."

She'll talk you down to under $100 with a sob story:

"Oh baaaaby, you know I'm donating this spray to the family. It's for that woman you know- you know the one. She got herself murdered a couple nights ago? Two children and she was pregnant too! Pregnant! Can you believe it? Who murders someone with child? What's the world coming to? So I need a good discount to make sure we treat this family right because they got a looooong road ahead of them."

"Oh baaaaaaby, you know this one's for that car crash over on Cleveland Avenue? I hear he was taking care of his dying father himself, so it's such a shame for him to go first like that."

"Oh baaaaaaaaaaaaaaby, this is for that little boy that shot himself, isn't that sad?"

Thank you, Sister Mary Loquacious.

And you nod because you don't want to come off as an uncaring sociopath. And while you're nodding and adjusting the price for her sad, sad consequence and mulling over how good she is for donating to these people in their time of need, she steals some greens from the trash can and sticks them in her bag.

She hands you crisp $100 bills. You check them and she makes jokes about how she printed them this morning. They're legit. Counterfeiting isn't why she went to prison.

What she went to prison for was drug trafficking.

"Do you need some help," you ask, trying to be a good citizen.

"Oh no, I got it," she insists. "I'll make it in two trips. I'm stronger than I look!"

And don't you dare get caught looking to see what she put in the bag or she will give you one hell of a lecture.

By the time all of this has passed, the class will be over and there will two minutes left in the work day. She's spent thirty-seven minutes in the store. Your register is unbalanced because now you don't have enough small bills to balance it and only have one $100 bill to get you through tomorrow.

And that's why there are rules.

On occasion, a new person will break the rules not knowing that there's rules. One such occasion was when Clair decided to be helpful.

"You know what? I don't need this eucalyptus," Wren said.

"Oh! I'll put it back for you," Clair suggested. And before Wren could protest, it was out of Wren's hands and nowhere near her purse.

It was mentioned to Sage, who only worked for us one summer, that Wren had failed to pay for something and she immediately chased her out into the street.

Wren drives very fast.

If you cross her too many times, she'll make sure you never forget it. One day, she stomped her way in through the front door, angry.

"You ain't treated me better than a damn THIEF," screamed the Flower Thief.

Grandpa, who was helping Blue make a wedding bouquet at the time, departed from the desk. "Beg pardon?"

"A thief! You been treating me like a thief ever since they made you manager and I'm sick of it! I see you bringing in your henchmen, following me in the cooler, chasing me down the street. Treat me with some damn respect."

Words were exchanged. They were not kind. We thought we'd seen the end of her.

But she was back one week later, doing the same damn thing.

So now there are rules.

If you make something and there's an excess of flowers left over from the pack, you have to make something out of the leftovers or she'll pick through them and stuff them in her bag.

If you cannot make something out of them, you must throw them out.

If you throw them out, you must break the heads off first.

The trash cans must be emptied every night before 5:00.

We do not keep trash bags in plain sight.

Break down all empty boxes, or she will use them in place of trash bags.

Do not leave any food or drink where she can find it.

Do not leave any half-used rolls of floral tape where she can find it.

Do not let her know anything about you- lest she use it against you.

If you speak of a Thief, you summon a Thief- speak quietly, and never her name or you invite trouble.

The basic rules one makes when dealing with pests. Or fairy-folk.

There are rules and there are rules and there are rules.

If you want to keep a pest away, you make these sorts of rules. But if you want to get rid of a pest indefinitely, you have to remove their food source. And Wren's food source was her discount.

You start exercising your right to say 'no' to a customer in small ways.

She saw a bunch of carnations in the trash and said:

"Oh baby, these are still good! I'll take them off your hands for you!"

"They've been sitting without water for hours."

"They're still good!"

"They were out in the sun."

"Oh baby, I've been working with flowers for 40 years and I know that these will still be fine for a couple of days!" She picks a bunch of them out of the trash and shoves it in my face. "See, it's still stiff- it's still good!"

"Okay," I said. And before I could stop myself: "Full price."

Her eyes just about popped out of her skull. If it were just a little bit colder, I would have been able to see steam coming out of her ears.

We stared at each other for about a minute, waiting for the other to flinch. She took the bunch away from my face and threw them back into the trash. While she was in the cooler, I took the liberty of snapping the heads off of them and burying them further into the garbage.

And so began a war between the flower shop and the Flower Thief.

She came in: every single night. And each night, she got me.

Again.

"Oh no, baby! These carns are supposed to be 39 cents a stem. I can bring up the email."

"Sure." She brings up the email. "I see that they are 39 cents but... this was for Saturday."

"Yea, and I bought those carns on Saturday and you charged me full price!"

"Saturday."

"Yeah."

"You didn't buy these on Saturday. You bought them Friday."

"Well I didn't know that they'd be on sale, so I need them for that price because I didn't know they'd be on sale."

"The sales are one-day only. I can't adjust a sale from Friday to reflect Saturday's sale... on Sunday."

She made a noise that reminds me somewhat of a cement mixer.

And again.

"I got a bad banner last time, can you print me a new one?" She shows me the banner in question. It's white. The 't' and the 'h' in 'mother' ran together.

"Sure."

"Okay, I need it to say 'Beloved Mother' and I want it in pink."

"Sure."

I print it. I ring her up $5.

"Oh baaaaaaby, no, that one should be free."

"Grandpa said- banners start at $5."

"Oh, but you sold me a bad one last time."

"We haven't sold you a banner in three weeks. How long have y'all had that body sitting in your cooler?"

She grumbled, and paid.

And again.

"I swear you been workin' every night this week! You must be tired," she said, nerves plain in her voice. "When do you get a day off?"

"When the work is done."

"That ain't what I'm askin'. When's your next day off, baby?"

"I stop working when the work is done, Wren."

She narrows her eyes, which is a fun change from them bugging out of her skull like a fruit fly. "You don't ever get any days off?"

"When the work stops, I rest."

And again.

"I'll be in and out, I know y'all want to get out of here on time," she said- announcing her presence to the entire class. She piled her stuff across the register counter and Grandpa began ringing her up.

"Oh baby..."

"No. We're doing away with the discounts."

There are twenty people in the workshop for the class and Grandpa doesn't want to make a scene. She pulls her into the back, and I choose to make my instructions louder to mask the sound of them yelling.

"So you're going to take your hypericum berries and you're going to cut the stem to about ten inches-"

"How can you do this to me?"

"And you're going to slowly fill the vase with these berries to kind of set the shape of the arrangement."

"After all these years and this is how you treat me?"

"Fun fact- you might know hypericum berries as their more common name: St John's Wort! St. John's Wort has been used as a medication for depression prior to modern medicine." You see- I, too, have taken notes from the Chattering Order.

"You can't do this to me," Wren said, stamping her feet like a toddler.

"But I wouldn't recommend eating them. However, they do smell somewhat like baked brown sugar."

Stamp, stamp, stamp.

Wren threw herself into the cooler and began putting a bulk of her flowers back.

"This is robbery," I heard her say to Grandpa at the register.

"Is it now?"

And again.

She came in and immediately reached for a half-empty box of oasis bricks (the green sponge material that we use to hold flowers.) She said few words to me, few at all. She talked to Carrie about how she was going out to the country for awhile, to take care of her nephew's property. She needed to stock up. And oh- don't worry about it, she knows what she's doing. She's part of The Family.

She is in no manner of speaking, a member of The Family that owns this shop. Not even a third cousin.

I saw her beeline for a rose I'd set in the trash. I picked it up, opened my mouth, and bit the head off of it. She stood in the middle of the workshop, absolutely stunned.

Rose petals have the vague texture of arugula, by the way. Slightly sweeter, though. Tough to swallow in one go.

She ran back into the cooler and didn't talk to me.

I began taking down numbers.

27 bricks of oasis. One pack of roses. Ten calla lilies. 1/2 pack of assorted greens.

I punched the numbers in to the register. As if sensing something was amiss, she emerged from the cooler.

"$54? What do I have that's $54?"

"The oasis. They're $2 each."

"Oh no baaaaaby, they're $1."

"I can text Grandpa and ask her."

"... that won't be necessary. Why are you charging me $22.50 for roses? You know my prices by now!"

"22.50 is the price for a pack of roses."

"22.50 is everybody prices."

"Welcome to 'everybody.'"

"I ain't paid a price increase in 7 years!"

"The price of milk went up, Wren. So does everything else."

She was seeing red, I knew it. There's a vein in her forehead that pops out when she's angry and it's the same shape as the river that runs through my home town. She sized me up, as if wondering if she could take me.

I'm 256 pounds of 4H beef, and I have a knife. Try me.

"I'm gonna call Kyle on this."

"Do it." A lifetime of retail has made me immune to 'I'd like to speak to the manager.'

She grumbled and put things back. Carrie offered to watch her, I held up my hand.

"Can you do something for me on these carns? They're the last pack in there and they're lookin' kinda ratty."

"9.50."

"9.50's the regular price."

"Regular price is $14."

"No it ain't."

"Is today. You're taking our last pack and we need those for funerals."

She put them back.

She gave me a credit card. It seemed fake, but it ran. Every time I see here, she's got a different card. Did she print this one this morning, too? At least she stopped trying to sell me on Bitcoin. As you can see, it made her incredibly wealthy.

She gathered her things and left. "Guess I'm getting the rest of my flowers from KROGER!"

There are things you want to say. Like... I hope they enjoy your company just as much as we do. Or: Haven't graced them with your presence in awhile, huh? But at the time, it was better just to watch her leave with her minuscule bunch of flowers. I get a choice in where I loan my voice.

Not here.

Is it over? Nah. She'll be back for another round. But one day she'll finally retire in the way that she's always threatened to. And then? Then it can be as over as it ever will be.

It is shocking to come from a history of retail, where you're not allowed to even hint at the idea of a customer being wrong, where you have to override every single price change to get the scores up, where you have to just let them steal your things and pull the wool over your eyes...

... to flat-out telling someone 'no.'

"No."

It's such a great word.

There are rules and there are rules.

And there are thieves that the rules are made for.

And there are words like 'no.'

And all those things are magic in very human ways.

7K notes · View notes

keanureevesisbae · 3 years

Note

You're on a roadtrip and in the middle of nowhere, your car breaks down. Obviously your phone died too - what happens next?

This, is very interesting and my horny brain figured out what would happen next 👀👀

Walter Marshall x fem!reader

Wordcount: 1.5k (yes, a lot happens)

Warnings: Fingering, squirting, unprotected sex 👀

‘Piece of shit,’ you mutter under your breath. You cannot believe this happened again and to make matters even worse, you're in the middle of fucking nowhere. Last time your car decided to break down, at least it happened downtown, meaning there were around five men who saw you hopelessly staring at your car, not knowing what to do and offered their help.

Now, you’re by yourself.

You grab your phone from the passengers seat, only to discover the most horrible thing that could ever happen to you.

Your battery died.

It’s probably around thirty minutes until you reach some sort of civilization and it’s getting darker and darker.

Oh no, is this how people get murdered?

Great, now you’re not only by yourself, but you also scared yourself by envisioning horrible scenario's. You pop the hood of the car, only to realize that everything looks the exact same and you have no idea where to start. Why do the problems have to be so complicated? If it were a flat tire, you probably would’ve managed to fix it, but this is on a whole new level of complex.

A car stops behind yours and your heart stops for a few seconds. Please don’t be a serial killer, please don’t be creepy in general. You peek around your car, only to see the very familiar truck. You’ve seen that car around in town, including the owner of it.

You watch him step out of the vehicle. His shoulders are broad, his strut is confident and his brows are furrowed, but that is nothing new. When he sees it’s you, one corner of his mouth curls up. ‘Sweetheart,’ he says and you can’t help but slightly giggle when hearing that nickname.

Detective Walter Marshall is a very well loved customer at the cafe you work at, mostly because he comes by every day and has become a reliable income. He always orders one cappuccino to go and sometimes he goes a little crazy and orders a cookie with it as well. He rarely smiles, but recently you noticed that whenever you took his orders, you not only earned yourself a very lovely 'Sweetheart', but also a small smile. Sometimes, he would even go as far to asking you what your plans were for after work and when you answered with whatever the plans were, he would simply nod and tell you to not have too much fun without him.

It was cheeky and slightly flirty, but it was always within the four walls of the cafe and nothing happened. You wished though. Walter Marshall was a very desired bachelor in town.

‘Hi detective,’ you say with a smile.

‘Car trouble?’

You nod. ‘Yes, it’s just that my car gives up from time to time.’

‘I see, I see.’ He rolls up his sleeves and stands next to you, examining everything. He starts to say something about some sort of liquid/fuel-thingy, but you have no idea what he means. Not only are you distracted because it’s too complicated, but also because of his outstanding beauty. No man in town tips to him.

Of course you fantasized about him, just like everyone else. There was quite the age gap between you, a rough fifteen years, but that never stopped you from having the most disgusting, NSFW dreams about him.

‘What?’ you ask him, when he looks at you, obviously waiting for an answer.

‘You weren’t listening,’ he chuckles. ‘That’s okay. What I said was that it’s too late to call for a tow truck and that I can’t fix it right away. We can leave your car here and I can drive you to your place if you want.'

'But what if it gets stolen?'

'How?' he asks. 'The car doesn't work, right?'

You shake your head. 'Maybe it's for the best. It's a stupid car anyway. The only reason I have it, because I got it for free.'

'Maybe that should've been a red flag. Free cars are rarely reliable.'

You scoff. Dammit, you hate it when other people are right. 'You sure you want to give me a lift?'

Walter scoffs. ‘I’m not gonna leave you in the middle of nowhere by yourself.’ He closes the hood of my car and adds to it: ‘Besides, I don’t want anything to happen to my favorite barista. You’re the only one who hasn’t messed with my cappuccino.’

You shouldn’t giggle or feel nervous, yet you do both.

‘Come on, go grab your stuff and we’ll go.’

You walk over to the driver’s side and lean over the seats to grab both the key from the ignition and your bag. Then you realize that you are wearing a pretty short skirt and your underwear is a bit on the flimsier side. You hear an approving hum from behind you. Part of you wants to die of shame, the other part however makes sure things heat up in between your thighs.

When you get out of the car and close the door, Walter has his arms crossed in front of his chest. ‘One condition, sweetheart,’ he says, taking the bag from your hand.

You frown. ‘For what?’

‘For me to give you a lift back home.’ He holds out one of his hands and says: ‘That piece of fabric you call your underwear, please.’

You blink your eyes once, twice and the universe how many times after that, mostly because you cannot believe those words—those dirty words—left his lips. His expression barely changed. It’s the emotionless look you are so used of seeing, but the words that take you by surprise.

You have had many dirty daydreams, but handing over your underwear in the middle of nowhere wasn’t one. You hook your thumbs behind the waistband of your panties and push it down your legs. When you step out of them, you hand them to Walter, who nods in approval.

The two of you walk towards the passenger’s side of his truck, when he grabs you by your hip and turns you around. With your back pressed against the door, he lets his hand slide underneath your skirt between your thighs. Your lips slightly parted, as his rough fingers knead the soft flesh of your thighs. ‘Do you have any idea how much I’ve been wanting this?’ he asks you. ‘It’s always those pretty smiles,’ he continues, ‘the way you lean over the counter in those tops with a deep neckline and how you bite your lip when you’re focused. Have you got a clue of what that does to me?’

‘No detective, I don’t,’ you whimper.

Walter smiles at your desperation, as you’re already grinding against his fingers. Fuck, he knew deep down what you could be, but this he didn’t expect. He dips in one finger, but when he discovers how wet you are, how ready you are for him, he pushes in another.

Your pleasured moan fills the emptiness around you. You’re a loud one too, Walter thinks to himself. You sure are the jackpot. His fingers brush against all the right spots. He watches your eyes rolling back, your breathing become ragged and your thighs and walls clenching together. ‘Beg for it,’ he says.

Instantly, you obey. ‘Detective, please, please, can I cum?’

There is no way you are truly real.

He barely has the change to answer, when you tumble over the edge. When you have to hold onto him since you can’t trust your own legs. When you squirt passed his fingers down your legs. The sobs and strained moans that leave your lips, make him grin in satisfaction. He roughly slams his lips against yours and within a second you melt against him.

He pulls out his fingers and without letting go of your lips for one millisecond, he opens the door of his truck. ‘They always say you are such a lovely young lady. So innocent and sweet,’ he says to you. ‘But you’ve got a dirty streak.’

You bite your lip and let out a sweet giggle when he turns you around, bending you over the passengers seat of the truck, your toes barely finding the ground. As Walter uses one hand to knead the soft flesh of your ample behind, the other unzips his pants and pulls out his cock. After pumping it a few times, he lines himself up at your throbbing cunt, before pushing himself in entirely.

The sounds that leave your lips, make him go feral. Part of him wants to take the time, worship your body and look you in the eye as you fall apart in his arms. But that part doesn’t have the upper hand now. The part that wants to destroy you, rail you, fill you is completely taking over.

There is no stopping now. Skin slapping against skin. His groans mixed with your cries of pleasure. He can feel it, your warm walls that feel so good around him, start to squeeze his hard member. ‘Detective, I’m close again,’ you wail.

‘Let it go, sweetheart,’ he tells you and on cue you start to shudder, your orgasm washing over you and that’s enough for him to reach his limits. He holds your hips tightly, probably imprinting you with some bruises, as he paints you from the inside.

He gives himself a few seconds to regain himself, before he pulls out and watches it all drip down your legs. You’re limb, barely able to stand on your legs. Your skirt is still bundled up near your waist, revealing your beautiful round bottom.

He grabs you by your arm and pulls you against his body, pressing his lips on yours. ‘You’re gonna make a mess on my seat,’ he says.

‘You’re fault,’ you mumble against his lips, only for you to earn a sharp slap on your behind. ‘Sorry, detective,’ you whisper. ‘How— Where do I sit then?’

He smiles. ‘Right on my cock as I drive you to my place, because we’re not done yet.’

✨ Okay, I'll see myself out now ✨

#walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall smut #walter marshall drabble

429 notes · View notes

komotionlessqueenmm · 3 years

Text

One man's trash, is another man's treasure.

(1-4)

Short story # 6

2,355 - Words

Fandom - House of Wax (2005)

Paring - Bo Sinclair X Reader

Summary - The reader finds herself & her 4 month old son stranded in Ambrose. While Bo finds himself enamored with the woman, wanting nothing more than to protect and provide for the two of them.

Warnings - Some dark topics, talk of abusive relationships, eventual blood & death, eventual smut. (I'm not sure what else tbh)

Notes - Italics mean the reader is singing.

Pt. 1 ~ Pt. 2 ~ Pt. 3 ~ Pt. 4

----

"No no no." (Y/n) sighed as her jeep sputtered and died, white smoke bellowing from under the hood. "Please don't do this." (Y/n) muttered under her breath, pulling the jeep off to the side of the dirt road, despite her desire to keep driving. "Damn it." She hissed under her breath when it died completely, flipping the four ways on instinctively. The baby fussed tiredly from the backseat, drawing (Y/n) full attention. "It alright my love." (Y/n) cooed before exiting the driver side, sliding onto the back seat, she comforted the infant. "Sh sh sh you're alright baby." She cooed as she brushed his hair away from his face, kissing his little hands. The baby's cries subsided, and he cooed up at his mother. His wide and bright eyes melting her heart, as he peered up at her. Allowing the child to suckle on her finger, (Y/n) used her free hand to check her cellphone, hoping to call triple A. "Of course." She sighed under her breath, tossing her phone into the front seat, after finding it dead. (Y/n) jumped at the sound of someone knocking on the window, looking to find a man standing there smiling at her.

"Oh you startled me." (Y/n) chuckled when she opened the door, leaving her child in his car seat. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare ya." He chuckled with embarrassment. "It's alright, no harm done." (Y/n) brushed it off before offering him her hand. "My names (Y/n)." He shook her hand with a smile. "Lester." He then pointed to the jeep. "Car troubles?" He asked as he let go of her hand. "Yeah I'm not sure what happened to it." (Y/n) sighed as she turned her attention to the jeep. "Mind of I take a look?" He tilted he head a little. "Please do." (Y/n) smiled quickly moving to pop the hood. "Where you headed?" Lester asked as he inspected the engine. "Anywhere." (Y/n) leaned her hip against the side of the jeep. "Running from something?" He asked impulsively. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked that." Lester quickly stammered. "It's alright..." (Y/n) cleared her throat. "Someone actually, I'm running from someone." She admitted. "I'd appreciate... I'd appreciate it if you'd forget ever meeting me after this." (Y/n) added. "Well a pretty face like yours would be hard to forget, but don't worry your secret is safe with me." Lester smiled, his honesty making (Y/n) smile. "Thank you Lester." Her appreciation making Lester grin. "You're welcome (Y/n), but I'm afraid I cant do much about your jeep." Lester's smile turned to a apologetic frown. "Are you sure?" She frowned a little when he nodded his head. "Well I appreciate you trying." (Y/n) sighed softly. "I could give you a ride into Ambrose, Bo owns the garage he could help you I'm sure of it." Lester suggested. "Oh I'd really appreciate the help!" (Y/n) beamed her excitement making Lester smile.

"Give me one moment." (Y/n) quickly moved to the other side of the car, unbuckling the car seat, she hulled her baby out of the car. "Oh you've got a little one." Lester observed with slight shock. "I hope that's not a problem." (Y/n) bit her bottom lip nervously. "N-no not at all." Lester stammered. "You need me to grab anything?" He asked. "Could you grab the stroller from the back?" She asked. "Sure thing!" Lester moved to grab the stroller while (Y/n) shouldered the diaper bag. "Let me lay a blanket down in the bed of my truck real quick." Lester explained as he carried the stroller to his truck, (Y/n) nodded her head in understanding as she closed up the back of the jeep, locking the doors before she joined Lester at his truck. "There we go." He murmured to himself as he laid the blanket out, laying the stroller on top of it. "Don't want to stain that up." He explained with a smile, (Y/n) smiled then looked to the cab of the truck. "I think I'll have to hold him in the truck huh?" She observed, sitting the car seat in the tailgate to unbuckle the infant. "I'm afraid so." Lester rubbed the back of his neck a little. "Oh let me get that." He moved to grab the now empty car seat. "Oh it locks into place on the stroller." (Y/n) explained pointing to where the car seat went. "Well ain't that convenient." Lester smiled as he latched the car seat into place. "Yeah it's really nice." (Y/n) agreed with a smile.

They rode in a comfortable silence for about ten minutes, before Lester struck up conversation. "So what's the little guys name?" He asked as he glanced towards the baby, quickly casting his gaze back to the road. "He's names Von." (Y/n) smiled as she lovingly stroked the baby's back. "Dose it mean something?" Lester asked with genuine curiosity. "I got it from old Norse, it means hope." She explained. "That's really cool!" Lester beamed excitedly, making (Y/n) chuckle softly. "If you don't might me asking... Where's Von's pa?" Lester asked after a few minutes. "That's who I'm running from..." (Y/n) admitted, finding it easy to confide in him. "He do something?" Lester asked. "When he found out I was pregnant... He tried to kill me." (Y/n) murmured softly, her words making Lester frown. "A neighbor heard the commotion, and he saved me. My ex went to jail, but he has friends in high places, and was able to get released last month." (Y/n) paused for a moment. "I received full custody of Von after my ex was sentenced, and when he got out I took off." She swallowed thickly, subconsciously touching the scar on her mouth from where her ex had slashed her with a knife. "He's a dangerous man, and I'm terrified that he's going to come after me, to finish what he started." (Y/n)'s confession upset Lester, he wasn't upset with her, but with her ex, a man he didn't even know.

"I'm really sorry to hear that." Lester cleared his throat, swallowing the emotional lump that had formed. "We'll be in Ambrose in a minute." He added. "Ah hell." He sighed at the sight ahead. "I forgot this road washed out last month in a storm." Lester explained as he parked the truck, I gotta flip my hubs into four-wheel." Lester explained, as he opened his door. "Oh I don't want to trouble you any more than I already have." (Y/n) reasoned. "Oh it's no trouble, I'm happy to help a pretty lady and her baby." He offered her a friendly smile, before setting to work. After he had finished his work, Lester hopped back into the truck with a grin. "Now hold on, I'm gonna take it slow but it's still gonna be bumpy." He explained as he put the truck into drive. (Y/n) nodded her head in understanding, cradling Von against her chest firmly, in hopes of not disturbing him to much. True to his word Lester took the drive nice and slow, the truck rocking this way and that as the tires rolled over some of the larger rocks. "Here we are." He murmured as they cleared the ruble, and made it to solid ground again. "Welcome to Ambrose (Y/n)." He smiled at her as he drove onto town, parking outside of the gas station. "Wow this place is really cute." (Y/n) hummed as she looked at all of the rustic buildings. "I'll go see if Bo is in." Lester offered as he hopped out of the truck. (Y/n) had nodded her head exiting the truck herself a moment later, her legs desperately needing to stretch. "Hello my sweet." (Y/n) mused at Von, who cooed up at her, a little drool dribbling down his chin.

"Bo's not in." Lester sighed as he exited the station. "He should be back soon though, he doesn't typically leave the garage empty for very long." He explained. "Well I guess I'll have to wait." (Y/n) smiled softly. "I could wait with you." Lester offered. "Oh no it's alright, I've already taken up so much of your time." (Y/n) declined his offer. "I'm sure I'll be alright, like you said he shouldn't be gone long." She reasoned as she subconsciously began bouncing Von gently. "Alright here let me grab the stroller for ya." Lester smiled as he opened the tailgate, grabbing the stroller he attempted to set it up. "The red leaver on the side, push it, then pull the stroller up. It'll lock into place with a click." (Y/n) explained, pointing to the red leaver. "Got it." Lester chuckled softly as he pulled the stroller up, smiling when it clicked into place. "Thank you Lester, for everything. You've been a real help." (Y/n) sat Von into the stroller, strapping him in before she turned her attention to Lester. "Here I've got some spare cash." (Y/n) quickly pulled her wallet from her back pocket, pulling out the thirty dollars she had. "Oh no I can't take that." Lester shook his head. "Please it's the least I can do." She smiled before taking ahold of his hands, placing the money in his palms. "What about your jeep, how are ya gonna pay for that?" Lester voiced his concern. "I've got some prepaid cards, I'll be alright." (Y/n) assured him, smiling when he finally nodded his head in agreement. "Alright... But if ya ain't got enough have Bo call me, I'll help ya out I promise." Lester smiled when (Y/n) nodded her head in agreement. "Thank you again Lester." She shook his hands before releasing him, waving as he hopped into his truck, and drove off.

(Y/n) sat on the curb outside of the gas station for about thirty minutes, gently rocking the stroller back and forth, letting Von sleep peacefully. "Go tell Aunt Rhody, go tell Aunt Rhody, Go tell Aunt Rhody that the old gray goose is dead." (Y/n) sang the old lullaby. "The one she's been saving to make a feather bed. The old gander's weeping, because his wife is dead." She reached up turning on the small battery operated fan she had attached to the stroller for Von. "The goslings are mourning, because their mother's dead. She died in the mill pond from standing on her head." (Y/n) smiled at the sight of birds flying in the distance. "Go tell Aunt Rhody that the old gray goose is dead." She finished the lullaby, softly humming in her throat the last line, drawing out the lullaby a little longer. "You've got a real pretty voice." A man called out softly, his sudden appearance making (Y/n) freeze up momentarily. "Oh thank you." (Y/n) smiled up at the handsome man, rising to her feet as he tossed his cigarette off to the side. "My names Bo, I own this shop." He introduced himself, offering her his hand. "I'm (Y/n)." She smiled shaking his hand. "Is there something I can help you with?" He asked. "My jeep broke down a few miles down the road, I got a ride from a man named Lester into town. He said you'd be able to fix my jeep for me." (Y/n) explained, idly continuing to rock the stroller back and forth. "I'm sure I can." He smiled. "Do you know what's wrong with it?" He asked as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I have no clue." She chuckled softly. "Well can you explain what happened?" Bo asked with a small chuckle of his own. "Uh it made this sputtering kinda sound, like it was running out of gas, but the meter said I still had over half a tank. And white smoke started coming out from under the hood, then as soon as I got the car off to the side of the road the engine died." (Y/n) explained to the best of her memory. "When was the last time you put oil in it?" Bo asked with a small tilt of his head. "Last week." (Y/n) replied quickly. "Has it been giving you problems before today?" He asked. "None." (Y/n) shook her head, not having had any issues with her jeep since before today.

"Hm I have to have my brother tow the truck back here, before I can determine what's wrong." Bo explained. "Of course." (Y/n) nodded her head in understanding. "I'll have to call him from the house, my shops phone has been broken for two weeks now. You can come with me if you'd like, give you a chance to relax somewhere a little more comfortable with your little one there." Bo offered as he glanced to the stroller, a friendly smile on his handsome face. "Yeah sure that would be really nice, thank you." (Y/n) smiled as he nodded her head, following Bo to the house on the hill. "What's his name?" Bo asked as he looked into the stroller at the sleeping toddler. "Von." (Y/n) smiled. "I like that name." Bo admitted with a grin of his own. "Thanks it means hope in old Norse." (Y/n) explained. "Well I like it even more then." Bo's smile widened a little when (Y/n) giggled softly, a notable blush painting her cheeks. "You know you and Lester have been some of the nicest people I've met in a while." (Y/n) admitted. "In my experience some of the nicest people are from rural areas like this." Bo mused, his statement making (Y/n) nod her head in agreement. "Yeah it's nice." She hummed with content as they reached the front porch.

----

Part one is complete!

Let me know what you think!

Oh and let me know if you wanna be tagged in the next parts!

Love ya!

PS this is the lullaby (Y/n) was singing, its called Go Tell Aunt Rhody.

333 notes · View notes

quokkacore · 3 years

Text

with great power I [lee jeno]

summary: there are two things jeno loves most about his life. one being spiderman, the other being you, his best friend. there’s just one issue: after your father’s death, you decide you hate both spiderman and yourself.

pairing: lee jeno x reader

genre: superhero au, high school au, coming of age, best friends to strangers(ish) to lovers, fluff, ANGST, minor crack

warnings (for this chapter): language, violence, gun violence, the mafia, parental death, police presence, sexual references, bullying (ily san im sorry), the dreamies being dicks to each other, police corruption, towards the end jeno experiences something similar to sensory overload, americanized names, pop culture references, VERY jeno centric

song rec: we go up - nct dream // any song - zico // 21 questions - waterparks // talk (remix feat. megan thee stallion & yo gotti) - khalid // sunrise - ateez // i really like you - carly rae jepsen // dare - gorillaz // stray kids - the tortoise and the hare

word count: 10.5k

a/n: this is so late...... i blame attack on titan. but hey!! better late than never :] a huge thanks to @doderyscoffee for beta reading <3

main masterlist // story masterlist

chapter one: jeno and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

Jeno despised Tuesdays. He was pretty sure that Tuesdays despised Jeno as well because all of his worst days just so happen to be Tuesdays. He was 96% sure that, if there was a god, his day off was on Tuesdays, or that the planets aligned in such a manner on Tuesdays that it caused universal despair and misery. If he was to take Donghyuck's word for it, his chakra attracted negative energy the most on Tuesdays.

When Jeno was 5, his goldfish Pippin had died on a Tuesday. When he had his ass handed to him on the playground by San Choi in the third grade, it was a Tuesday. And in the seventh grade, he'd failed his Spanish test, missed his bus and walked home in the rain only to find out that his Aunt Sunny was at work, he'd left his keys in his locker and that had to wait an hour before she got home to unlock it for him, all on a Tuesday.

And wouldn't you know it, here he was, late for the first day of senior year, which was, of all days, a godforsaken Tuesday.

In his eternal wisdom, he'd stayed up gaming with Renjun until two in the morning, and because of it, slept through his three alarms, one set at six-thirty, the other at 6:45, the last one at 7:00.

He'd woken up at 7:17, to the sound of his elderly neighbor's pet chihuahua barking at a pigeon, checked the time, immediately panicked, sped into the shower, gotten dressed in a haste, grabbed a few granola bars from the pantry, and ran out the door while trying to jam his backpack closed, and managed to catch the train at 7:40, which took about twenty minutes to get to his stop, plus a ten-minute walk to school, and class started at 8:10. Not to mention he’d have to stop by the office and pick up his schedule. At best, he’d be five minutes late to his first class. But tardies were tardies, regardless, and the last thing he needed was to lose his perfect attendance streak.

He fished out his phone while standing on the train, waiting for his stop, scrolling through Instagram, and liking random pictures. A ping! from his phone caught his attention, then two, then a third. He smiled softly when your name popped up on his screen.

[7:48 AM]

y/n: pssst

y/n: shithead

y/n: where r u ????

[7:49 AM]

y/n: i can sEE u online on ig u know

jeno: …… i'm on the train

jeno: woke up late

y/n: YOURE GONNA BE LATR

y/n: LATE*

y/n: ON THE FIRST DAY OF SENIOR YEAR

[7:50]

jeno: probably, yeah

jeno: it's the school district's fault, why would they make the first day of school on a fkn TUESDAY

y/n: ohhh yeahh its terrible tuesday

y/n: [sent an attachment!]

[7:51 AM]

jeno: SHUT UP

jeno: you're not funny >:(

jeno: how dare you laugh at my misfortune

y/n: au contraire im hilarious

jeno: meanie :(

jeno: im gonna be late i hate it here

jeno: it'll end up on my permanent record and i'm not gonna get into college and then i'm gonna die,,,

[7:52 AM]

y/n: sometimes ur worse than hyuck i swear

y/n: FIRST OF ALL permanent records dont even exist !!!!!! its propaganda duh

y/n: also ur literally never late

y/n: im sure o n e tardy wont do anything chill

y/n: dont be stupid youll be fine

Don’t be stupid. Too little, too late, he thought, already having got off the train at a previous stop. Now, he was looking for an unoccupied street or alleyway, which, for once, was easy, taking a deep breath before he did the exact opposite of what you’d told him not to do. Don’t be stupid.

The buildings are low, he thought to himself, it’ll be easier to see me.

Don’t be stupid.

Too late!

Thwip!

Jeno didn’t hesitate to use the web fluid to pull himself up onto the wall, climbing in a haste, before running and jumping onto the next building. He quickly built up a quick pace, using the web fluid occasionally to swing onto a building slightly out of jumping range.

Signs in English, Chinese, Korean, and Spanish flew past him as he seemingly flew over the Queens traffic, leaving Flushing behind and crossing quickly into College Point quicker than he would if he took the train. He glanced to his left and caught a view of the bay, and far across it, the LaGuardia airport watchtower.

Jeno had lived in New York City his entire life. He knew Queens like the back of his hand, knew every dingy alleyway, every sketchy street, which restaurants to avoid if you didn’t want to get food poisoning, which convenience store aunties were the nicest and didn’t pinch his cheeks too hard. It was his home, and most likely would be for the rest of his life.

But seeing it like this, flying past him below as he glided with ease from building to building would never cease to be a sight to him. It was like watching from the perspective of an outsider, seeing people in their cars, walking along the street gave him a brand new perspective. A Jeno’s eye view, he called it, since he was pretty sure he was the only one in New York City.

Another noise from his phone brought him back to reality. He shook his head, stopping briefly to catch his breath and fish out his phone briefly.

[7:57 AM]

y/n: let me know when u get here !!!

No time to respond, he put away the phone and continued his trek to school. He had less than ten minutes to get there. But he knew he was already at least five minutes away, much quicker than he would be if he had decided to stick to the train. He smiled a bit to himself, feeling ever so slightly smug.

The hustle and bustle of the city definitely proved challenging to find a place to land without many eyes, but he figured it out eventually, landing behind a dumpster in an alleyway behind a restaurant that he knew was about three or four blocks from the school. He figured it would be a lot better to take it on foot from here. The notebooks he was carrying in his backpack bounced up and down with every step he took.

After what seemed like forever, the gates to the school appeared in his view, and Jeno felt a joy in his heaving chest, something he would have never thought would happen upon seeing the absolute hellhole that was Samuel Morse High School.

[8:06 AM]

jeno: just did >:D

Picking up his schedule was both quick and insanely long. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping his left foot while the secretary found his schedule and handed it to him. “Kibum, please hurry,” He muttered, and Kibum raised an eyebrow at him, but his gaze was teasing. “That’s Mr. Kim to you, in school at least.”

He handed Jeno his schedule a few seconds later. “Tell your Aunt to come pick up her casserole dish, by the way. She left it at my house after my last viewing party.”

“The Bachelor?”

“Please. We’re too classy for that. Drag Race.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Jeno,” Kibum said, staring up at him from his desk, his gaze now much more serious, “Get to class. Happy first day of senior year.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim.”

He managed to make it to chemistry class at 8:09 with seconds to spare. His eyes quickly scanned the room upon entering, hoping his friends were in the class with him. He caught a few familiar faces, most of which, like San Choi's, he wished to avoid. No one paid him any mind. Everyone was still speaking to the people next to them, no doubt exchanging stories of summer vacation.

A hand shot up towards the back, waving at him. A smile stretched across his face as he registered your face, feet not hesitating to carry him towards the empty seat next to you. His heart skipped a beat at seeing your smile, and he tried his best to ignore it.

“Hey,” You greeted, “That was fast. I thought you said you were gonna be late.”

Jeno shrugged, eyes landing on the dark shade of the lab table. “The train was a lot faster than I expected, apparently.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why do you smell so bad?”

“I, uh… ran a little.”

You grimaced, and Jeno tried to casually sniff at his slightly sweaty clothes. It’s not that bad. “I still don’t understand why you won’t let me drive you to school. You’re literally next door.”

“I don’t know,” He answered, rolling his eyes, “Maybe it’s because when it comes to that truck, you are absolutely insane. You won’t even let me drink water in that thing.”

The truck in question, a faded red 1998 Chevrolet S-10, had been your gift to yourself for your 17th birthday. You’d spent two summers saving up to buy yourself a truck, and that was what you were able to get for what you had. To say it was a huge piece of junk on wheels was an understatement.

The thing smelled like mothballs no matter how many air fresheners you bought it, the engine sounded like an old man having a coughing fit, and there was a very suspicious stain in the backseat that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times you scrubbed it. But for some reason, you treated it like it was your own baby. The amount of times you’d yelled at Jaemin for trying to put his feet on the dashboard was too high to count.

You mirrored his movement, eyes rolling as you sighed. “At least let me drive you home after school today. Maybe you can stay and we can finally watch Blade Runner.”

You’d been trying to get him to watch the film for almost a month now, begging and pleading because you insisted that he’d love it. He offered an awkward stare, before opening his backpack and pulling out a notebook. “Can’t,” He mumbled, “I’m headed into Manhattan. I have my internship afterwards.”

“Oh, yeah,” You said nonchalantly, eyebrows shooting up as you remembered, “Park Industries.”

He was about to reply when Mrs. Baker, the chemistry teacher, finally entered. She’d been working at SMHS for 30 years and had never, apparently, been nice, if his Aunt Sunny’s stories were anything to go by. However, she had apparently always spoken as if she smoked two packs a day. She was rambling about the importance of making the most of senior year academically, adult responsibilities, college, and whatnot. You and Jeno exchanged glances often throughout the monologue, hoping it would end soon.

“Enough of that,” She said after what seemed like an eternity, “Everyone quiet down, I’m going to call roll.”

Names were quickly called, and Jeno was ready to pull out a pencil and start working with you until Mrs Baker demanded a switch in seats, beginning to call on random names in an effort to deter everyone from speaking.

"Please not with Choi, please not with Choi," Jeno muttered under his breath, glancing warily at San, who was staring ahead, looking bored.

San had had it out for Jeno ever since day one, in first grade. For some reason, everything Jeno did seemed to annoy the other boy. He wasn't funny enough, or too nerdy, or too quiet. Jeno was always too much or too little for him.

You touched his forearm, and he looked towards you.

“You’ll be fine,” You said softly, trying not to alert the teacher, “You’re not gonna get paired up with him, and you can take it to the office if you need to.” “Yeah, because I’m sure Coach Peralta would be thrilled if someone tried to get his precious midfielder in trouble.”

“Choi, San,” Mrs Baker’s voice rang throughout the room, and Jeno braced himself for the worst, eyebrows furrowing with worry.

“You’ll be sitting with… L/N, Y/N.”

Jeno’s shoulders slumped, but your face remained impassive. You picked up your stuff, and pouted silently at Jeno in apology, before making your way to the front.

“Lee, Jeno,” Mrs Baker called a few minutes later, “You’ll be sitting with Jang, Yeeun.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. Yeeun is nice, Jeno thought to himself, I could sit with Yeeun. She wasn’t part of his main friend group, but he had tutored her in math during sophomore year in exchange for her helping him with Spanish, and they’d been pretty friendly ever since.

“Hey,” Yeeun greeted as Jeno sat down, and Jeno smiled at her.

“Remember, these will be your assigned lab partners for the rest of the semester. No changes, no exceptions.” Mrs. Baker sat down at her desk, before beginning to talk about something Jeno didn’t really pay attention to.

You exchanged glances with Jeno, and he gave you a look of sympathy as you gestured at San with your eyes. San was talking to you about something—probably bragging about some soccer achievement—but you weren’t paying him much attention. Jeno swallowed something growing in his throat as he looked at how your hair looked today.

It was nothing relatively new, the same hairstyle you used on most days. But still, there was a bit of a shine to it. He wondered vaguely if you had changed your shampoo, the other day you’d been complaining about how itchy your normal shampoo made your scalp—

“You still haven’t told her about how you feel?” Yeeun asked quietly, and Jeno’s head snapped back to look at her, eyes wide.

“W-what? Me. Like Y/N…” He laughed nervously, trying to keep his voice down. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding Yeeun’s accusatory stare. “You’re hilarious, Yeeun. Tell another one.”

Yeeun shook her head. “You’d better hurry before someone else snatches her up, Jen. She’s not gonna wait around for you forever.”

“I don’t like her, Yeeun.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey! Jeno Lee!”

“Hey! Jaemin Na! What do you want!” Jeno answered as he sat down, mimicking Jaemin’s tone next to him.

“Well, for starters, a million dollars, and second, a date with Yiren Wang, but I doubt you can help me with either of those, so...”

Jeno glanced at the rest of the table. Along with Jaemin, Mark, Renjun, Donghyuck, and you were watching the interaction between the pair. “Where are the munchkins?” Jeno asked, noticing Chenle and Jisung’s absence. No one could really call them munchkins anymore. That nickname dated back to middle school, before the two underclassmen had gone through growth spurts.

“Eh, they should be here soon,” Renjun said, chewing on a french fry, “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty good so far, I guess. I got AP Calc with Mr. Washington later, though. That man wants me dead.”

You rolled your eyes. “He doesn’t want you dead. I’m telling you, you and Hyuck have been spending way too much time together. You’re being more dramatic than usual and Hyuck’s being more… weird than usual.”

“And just what is so weird about being enthusiastic about senior year, Y/N?” Donghyuck asked, shaking his head, “It’s our last year in this hellhole, I’m excited that we’re finally getting out of here. And besides—”

“Please don’t bring up the fact that you’re abandoning us next year.” Chenle seemingly appeared out of nowhere, sitting next to Renjun, Jisung following quickly behind him.

“Hi, Sungie,” You said with a smile, and Jisung smiled back. “Hi, Y/N.”

“What were you saying, Hyuck?” Jaemin looked at Donghyuck, who had taken the quick interaction as an opportunity to take a bite of his sandwich. His wide eyes darted to the slim boy, cheeks stuffed with chicken.

“Oh,” He replied after swallowing, “This is gonna be my year. I’m getting male lead for the winter musical and no one is gonna stop me.”

“Do you even know what musical you guys are doing yet?” Mark asked, “What if it’s like… Shrek?”

Jisung made a face. “There’s a Shrek musical?”

Mark nodded, and Renjun laughed.

“I don’t know about male lead, if it’s Shrek. You should try out for Donkey,” The Chinese boy joked, “With those front teeth, you’re a shoo-in.”

The entire table was silent for a moment, before snorts and chortles started pouring out from everyone except Donghyuck.

“Fuck you, Huang.”

Renjun flashed the friendliest smile he could muster. “Not if you paid me a million dollars.”

The subject remained on extracurriculars, everyone in your group except for Chenle and Jisung now wary of college applications. Donghyuck had been in theater ever since middle school, Renjun was in the robotics club and the debate team with Jaemin, who was also in the student council. Mark was on the math team with Jeno, and you had founded the film club.

"You're not gonna believe who asked to sign up for film," You huffed, looking kind of confused. The rest of the table looked at you expectantly, and you pursed your lips, almost as if you were trying not to laugh.

"San Choi."

Renjun scoffed. Jaemin raised his eyebrows before letting out a single, humorless laugh. Jeno made a face, poking his plastic fork at you.

"What is San Choi doing asking to sign up for film?"

"Fuck if I know. He said he needed one more extracurricular if he wanted to get into some college in Florida and he liked going to the movies, so he wanted to try out film."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I swear there's nothing in that guy's head but hot gas. It blows my mind."

"He's a dick," Chenle grumbled, "I'm still not over how he and Wooyoung taped Jisung to the flagpole last year."

Jisung scowled. "I thought we agreed to never bring that up again."

“Do you think they’ll finally calm the fuck down this year?” Jaemin wondered, looking wistful.

You took a sip of your coke and shook your head. “Doubt it. They’re not the hateful eight for a reason.”

The mood at the table turned tense, until Jaemin frowned at his french fries, before sighing and clapping his hands together dramatically. “I would like to hear,” He mused, “About the nuance that theatre gives the cinematic masterpiece that is Shrek when converted into musical form.”

Donghyuck beamed. “Oh, it’s amazing. You see…”

If it was difficult to get Donghyuck to stop talking in general, it was impossible when it was about theater.

The conversation continued on until the bell rang, and the eight of you had to go your separate ways. Jaemin and Jeno had the same class, so they both walked together down a relatively calm hallway. Jaemin looked both ways, before finally lowering his voice.

“So, you’re going to see Mr. Park today?”

Jeno nodded, looking down at his shoes. “He said he wanted to give me an assignment. Says there’s something big going on.”

Jaemin’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Did he say what kind of something?”

Jeno shook his head, pouting slightly. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

Once school was out, Jeno was getting ready to get onto the subway once again, this time heading towards Midtown. It was only day one and, as Jeno had predicted, Mr. Washington probably was out to get him, because he’d swamped the class with homework.

As he left the school, he spotted you in the parking lot, leaning against your car door, texting someone. He glanced at his phone. He still had plenty of time, he figured. He walked over to you, and when you looked up, you smiled.

“Hey!” Your voice had that signature tone of enthusiasm to it, and Jeno smiled back immediately.

“Hello,” He sing-songed. “So, I was thinking… are you free on Friday night?”

You looked somewhere above his head, furrowing your eyebrows before you perked up again and nodded. “Yep! Why?”

“I’m free after nine. Maybe then I could come over to your house? So I can finally get you to stop harassing me about Blade Runner.”

You grinned, pumping your fists enthusiastically. “Hell yes,” You answered, “Do you want me to get like, some frozen pizzas or something?”

“Pizza sounds good,” He said. “Who are you even waiting for?”

You made a face that made it seem as if you’d just gotten a whiff of rotten milk. “Well—”

Your response was interrupted when the school doors slammed open, and eight figures poured out, carrying themselves with confidence Jeno both envied and despised. He frowned, trying not to react at their loud whooping and laughing. The Hateful Eight.

“Oh.” Jeno averted his gaze, meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah. If you don’t hear from me later it’s because I jumped out of my truck because I don’t wanna work with—”

“Well, hello, gorgeous!” San’s voice filled the parking lot, and Jeno took a deep breath. Your mouth stretched into a tight-lipped smile at the unwanted ‘compliment’.

“Hey, San.” Your friendly passive aggressive tone almost made Jeno smile. “I’ve been waiting here for like, fifteen minutes. You could have just given me your number and asked me to send you pictures of my notes, you know.”

He shrugged, turning his body so that his back was turned to Jeno. “Sorry, babe. Coach wanted to talk to us about the upcoming season. When he gets going, it’s hard to get him to stop. And besides, where’s the fun in just asking for pictures when I could come here, talk to you, and take the pictures myself?”

You didn’t respond, but rather pulled out your backpack and began digging through it. When you pulled out your notebook, you handed it to San, who flashed a wink at you. You barely held back a gag.

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll just be a minute.”

He walked over to the hood of your truck, and just as you were about to continue your conversation, two figures slung their arms around both of Jeno’s shoulders, causing him to flinch.

Out of the fifteen soccer players on the team, San and his best friends—seven of them, to be precise—were the worst. The others were pretty nice. But right now, seeing two of those seven surround your best friend made you uneasy.

Wooyoung was loud. He was also a temperamental brat. His dad owned three used car dealerships over in Brooklyn, so naturally, he thought he owned the entire world. He wasn’t someone who would get too physical in fights, like San, or Jongho, or Yeosang. But when he was angry, he could easily get you to jump into the stratosphere by yelling at you once. Over the years, he’d made several teaching assistants and substitute teachers cry, only getting let off with a slap on the wrist every time.

Yunho was terrifying for completely different reasons. He was friendly, but a little too friendly to the people he wanted to control. He could read people like books and could easily manipulate whoever he wanted. But he wasn’t afraid of getting physical either, especially not when he was built like a goddamn Power Rangers Megazord.

All in all, they definitely weren't anyone you wanted near you, near your friends. Especially considering how much they had it out for your friends.

"Hey, buddy," Yunho said, looking down at Jeno with a wide smile. "How was summer vacation?"

Jeno gnawed on the side of his cheek as he considered his answer. "Um, it was okay." He looked at you to catch your eyes darting between San, Yunho and Wooyoung, like you were analyzing the situation. "I kinda stayed in and played video games most of the t—"

"Cool, cool," Yunho answered, carding his free hand through his bleach blond hair. "What about you, Woo?"

"Oh, dude, it was so cool," He bragged, "I went to Brazil for like, a month. I went clubbing with Instagram models and shit, it was wild."

You stared at him as he patted Jeno on the back rather aggressively. "Where did you go? Have you ever even left New York?"

You knew the answer. Only a few times when the debate team went to compete in different states. Jeno spoke up again. "Well, yeah a few t—"

"Doubt it," Yunho scoffed. He craned his head back. "San, you done yet?"

"Almost!" San answered. Yunho turned to face you, and for some reason his smile seemed genuinely kind. “What about you, Y/N?”

You never understood why it was that the soccer team hated your entire friend group, but seemed to tolerate you. It made no sense.

So you shrugged. “Not a lot, I guess. Did my summer reading. Hung out with my friends.” You flashed a reassuring smile at Jeno. “Right, Jen?”

Immediately, he relaxed a little bit. “Yeah.”

San appeared from behind Yunho, Jeno and Wooyoung. “Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.”

You waved your hand, wanting them to get rid of them quickly. “Don’t mention it. But next time, just text me for my notes. I have to get to work, so…”

“Oh! My bad,” He answered with fake remorse, before unlocking his phone and handing it over to you. “Here. For next time.”

You stifled a deep sigh, punching in the numbers hesitantly. “Just for homework, got it?”

San took his phone back, holding a hand over his heart and raised his head. “On a gentleman's honor,” He declared, and you bit back a laugh. Jeno looked like he was going to hurl.

“San!” The team captain—Hongjoong—called from a few feet away, “Are you guys done yet or what?”

“Coming!” San yelled back.

“Alright, we’ll let you go,” Wooyoung said, patting Jeno on the back again, a bit too harsh for comfort. “Bye, Y/N! See you around.”

The three of them stalked off, leaving you and a very frazzled Jeno. “Dicks,” You muttered once they were out of earshot. “You good?”

Jeno shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

You tilted your head, frowning. “Jeno—”

“I gotta go,” He said quickly. “I’ll see you later?”

You nodded, offering a lopsided smile. “Yeah. Be careful!”

Jeno offered a deep bow, fluttering his eyelashes. “On a gentleman’s honor,” He sighed, adding a very bad British accent to it. You burst out laughing, eyes squeezing shut.

You didn’t catch the way Jeno’s shoulders relaxed at the sound.

I want you to know now

Baby, it could go down

I don’t wanna talk about it

Baby, let’s just go now

The train ride into Midtown didn’t take too long. He spent it digging through his backpack for his Park Industries lanyard, listening to music and thinking about you.

When you talk right to me

You gon’ have to do me

Every time you think you’re leaving

You running back to me

You’d met Jeno when you were six. Truth be told, he didn’t really remember. For him it was like you weren’t there at one point and by the time you were, you were thicker than thieves. It was a difficult time for him. He had just lost both of his parents, and was moving in with his Aunt Sunny and his Uncle Jinki, who were barely out of college at the time. He’d had to move to a new school and basically restart his entire life. You were the first sense of stability in his life for months.

Your mom lived next to his aunt and uncle. So naturally, you went to the same school and went on the same bus. And somewhere along the way, you two clicked. You’d introduced him to Renjun, Jaemin and Donghyuck. You were there to comfort him whenever he got pushed off the slide by San or Wooyoung.

He was there for you when your stepdad and stepbrother moved in when you were nine and you weren’t sure how to deal with it. He was there when your mom died when you were thirteen. He’d introduced you and your friends to Mark, Chenle and Jisung.

And you were there when his Uncle Jinki got killed when he was fifteen. And because fate had an especially cruel sense of irony, it had happened on a Tuesday. You didn’t know, but at the time, he had just gotten his powers. Your comfort and words unknowingly had a secondary effect: he made the decision to use them for good, and… well. The rest was history.

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Talk about where we're goin'

Before we get lost, lend me your thoughts

Can't get what we want without knowin'

Just like when he met you, he didn’t recall an exact moment where he realized he’d fallen in love with you. He knew there was a world where he loved you, but wasn’t in love with you. And he knew that there was a world here he’d fallen in love with you—he was living in that world now. He realized he was living in that world maybe when he was sixteen, and had been stuck in it ever since.

You were it for him. He’d had crushes before. But never something like this, where he was so aware of your presence around him. It wasn’t the way he was hyper aware of someone like San, or like Yunho or Jongho. It wasn’t out of anxiety or fear, where a shift in mood activated his fight or flight. He was aware of you in a way that only people who truly know each other do, where he could pick up on subtle changes in your behavior, but not out of fear. Rather, out of a desire to take care of you and to not have you worry about anything.

I've never felt like this before

I apologize if I'm movin' too far

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Figure out where we're goin'...

As the train rolled into the station that was a fifteen minute walk from Park Tower, Jeno put away his headphones and took a deep breath.

The “Jeno Tingle” as his Aunt Sunny called it—Jeno hated the term—had taken him a few years to gain control of. And while he could never truly turn it off, he could at least tune it out enough to be more at ease. The only time he did so was at school or when he was studying, just because he wanted to feel normal, and because being aware of everything going on around him really messed with his concentration.

Jaemin didn’t understand. “If I was able to tell whenever Seonghwa was behind me because he wanted to scare me into doing his chemistry homework, I’d never turn that shit off,” He’d said once. But truthfully, Jeno didn’t really care. Because while yes, he was still slightly scared of the “hateful eight”, he knew damn well that if things got to be too much, he could kick their asses if he wanted to.

It was his friends he worried about. He couldn’t be around them 24/7. You, not so much. He knew you knew how to fight. Even worse, he knew that San had the hots for you so you were off limits to the rest of them, be it bullying or flirting. But for everyone else… Well. He couldn’t hover over them like some guardian angel.

Now that the “Jeno Tingle” was on, it allowed him to sense everyone within a certain range around him. He could zero in on certain sounds with ease, and his reflexes became heightened. Halfway on his walk up Park Avenue, he jumped away from a chihuahua on its leash a second before it started barking at him.

When he entered the first floor lobby of the Park Building, he scoured the crowd of employees and visitors until he landed on one familiar face.

He'd met Doyoung about a year after his dad started dating your mom. Things between your parents were starting to get serious, and Doyoung was four years older than you were. When they moved into your house, Doyoung as your new stepbrother became the de facto chaperone and babysitter. If you wanted to go to the mall with Jeno, he had to take you. Every time you dragged Jeno to the movies, Doyoung had to go also.

To an extent, it wasn't that bad. Doyoung was cool, and he was smart—he was the one who got Jeno interested in computers and chemistry. He graduated high school at 16, and finished his bachelor's degree at 19. He'd also interned at Park Industries, and secured a job there almost immediately after college.

To an extent, he was the whole reason Mr. Park knew who he was, because of one incident. It was relatively soon after he started the whole vigilante thing. Jeno, still figuring out how to maneuver on the webs that shot out of his wrists, had accidentally crashed into your backyard late at night, when only Doyoung was awake. He was standing in the back door while he was waiting for his dog to finish peeing.

Initially, the older boy had freaked out, thinking that it was a burglar or something. When he yelled out that his dad was a cop and was asleep in the house, Jeno panicked, and pulled off his mask, holding up his hands.

“Woah, woahwoahwoah! Doyoung! It’s me, it’s me!”

Doyoung’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, paying no mind to the dog as it sauntered up to Jeno, before turning onto its back in a request for belly rubs.

"You're the spider guy everyone's been talking about!?"

"Spider man," Jeno had answered, voice cracking as he dusted himself off. He cringed at the sound of his voice. "...and yes."

Of course, his cover was blown, and he'd begged Doyoung not to tell anyone, especially not you. And while Doyoung had promised not to tell you, it didn't stop him from telling his boss.

That had been almost three years ago now. The rest was history, and after that Jeno didn’t have to run around in bright red sweatpants and dollar store swimming goggles. Now, he had a nanotech suit that allowed him to activate protocols of the suit through voice commands using something top-secret Mr. Park called D.R.E.A.M technology. Direct Response Engaged As Machine—yeah, Jeno didn’t get it either.

Doyoung offered Jeno a smile as he escorted Jeno past security, showing them his employee clearance pass. "Hey. How have you been?"

Jeno shrugged, recounting his day in minor detail as he was led into an elevator labeled authorized personnel only.

This elevator only went up to the 35th floor, seeing as everything past that was only cleared for a certain list of people approved by Mr. Park and his security team, and everything past the 90th floor were Mr. Park's private living quarters.

Now, as Doyoung led him to another elevator to head up to the 85th floor, which was always where Jeno got to meet with Mr. Park—which wasn't often, maybe once or twice a year—he wondered where he would be if he hadn’t surprised Doyoung that night. He would probably still be using those ugly red sweatpants as part of his disguise.

"How's Y/N?" Doyoung asked.

"Oh, she seems okay. That guy who hates me keeps coming onto her though. He's a huge douchebag."

Doyoung frowned. "He's not harassing her, is he? Because if he is—"

"He just won't stop flirting, even though she clearly isn't interested," Jeno said bitterly, "He isn't physical or anything. Trust me, it wouldn't end well for him if he was."

Doyoung wasn't quite sure how to respond to the younger boy's dark tone. He looked down, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So… how’s the apartment?” Jeno asked. Doyoung perked up instantly.

“Oh, now that Taeyong’s moved in and did his interior design thing, it looks great. He’s really done a great job at it.”

“When am I gonna meet this guy? He sounds cool.”

“He’s really cool,” Doyoung hummed, cheeks heating up. “Things are getting really serious.”

Jeno smiled at how flustered Doyoung, who was normally so level headed and calm, became at the mention of his boyfriend.

“You guys sound like a really good couple,” He said. Doyoung chuckled, waving his hand. “Oh, well—”

The elevator dinged, and Doyoung sighed. “I’ll tell you later. C’mon.”

The hallway it opened up to was lined with pictures of the company's history, starting from pictures of black and white of people in vintage clothing, to pictures in sepia tones to finally pictures of the current CEO at locations around the world: Chanyeol Park.

Jeno walked behind Doyoung as he led him down the hallway, before stopping in front of a door, and a friendly looking man in a suit.

Junmyeon was a part of Chanyeol’s Security and Intelligence team, and often sat in on these meetings with Jeno. The chain of contact also included him. If Jeno couldn’t contact Doyoung (which rarely happened), he’d contact Junmyeon. And if he couldn’t contact either of them, or it was an emergency, only then could he contact Chanyeol. So far, that had only happened once.

"Hey, Junmyeon," Doyoung said, "Mr. Park's 4:30 is here."

Junmyeon nodded, before smiling at Jeno and giving him a wave. "Hey, kid."

Jeno offered an awkward grin. "Hi, Mr. Kim."

Junmyeon rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Kid, you're making me feel ancient. I've told you a million times, just call me Junmyeon."

Jeno shuffled awkwardly, before nodding at the older man, watching as he pressed a button on his earpiece. "Hey, Yeol. Jeno's here."

The muffled response was barely heard, but Jeno automatically understood what Mr. Park said. Junmyeon turned to open the door, and let the pair inside. The “office”—if it could even be called that—opened up to more of a lounge, than anything. A wall of glass overlooked the Manhattan skyline, but Jeno knew that from the outside it looked only like a wall, due to camouflage technology developed by Mr. Park himself. As Doyoung and Junmyeon stayed back, closer to the door, Jeno took a few steps toward the man in question.

Chanyeol was standing a few feet in front of the glass window, working on a holographic model of a new piece of tech. His face was turned downward in a concentrated frown. He barely spared the teenager a glance as he said fondly, “Hey, kid.”

Jeno was used to this. Chanyeol wasn’t cold per se, but he wasn’t warm at all. He knew that Chanyeol cared about him, even if he didn’t really show it in a conventional way. Chanyeol was a very… eccentric man, so he had his own way of saying and doing things.

“Hi, Mr. Park. Um… you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yep! Needed some help from the friendly neighborhood Spiderman… A little birdie told me about something going on in Queens.”

“Queens?” Jeno asked, gripping the straps of his backpack. “You mean, other than the usual stuff?”

“Other than the usual stuff,” Chanyeol repeated, nodding. With a wave of his hand, the hologram disappeared, and another one appeared in its place. This time, instead of a 3D model, a few pictures and another, smaller 3D model appeared. Chanyeol turned to face him, frown deepening. He pointed at the model—a long, shiny oval-shaped purple stone. It reminded Jeno of an amethyst, but instead of turning white at the base, it turned to an iridescent jade tone. “You know what this is, right?”

Jeno nodded, remembering seeing the rocks all over the news when he was a kid. “That’s… that’s a Chitauri stone. From the invasion a few years back.”

Chanyeol nodded, standing up straight. “These stones have the potential to power weapons with no need to recharge, or change them out. They’re an infinite, extremely strong power source, Jeno, and in the wrong hands can be very dangerous.”

Jeno took a deep breath, feeling his stomach sink slowly. Chanyeol sighed. “Cleanup of the city after the invasion was long, and difficult, and obviously the government and the company weren’t able to get everything. It caused a black market to pop up. Now, the NYPD has been investigating it for years, but they have their limits… that’s where you come in.”

“M-me, Mr. Park?”

Chanyeol gave him a crooked, reassuring smile. He pointed at one of the pictures, which was of a man who most likely didn’t know he was photographed. He was walking somewhere, face looking angry and stern.

“You don’t know who this is, right?”

Jeno shook his head, and Chanyeol turned his head to nod at Junmyeon. “You’re up, tough guy.”

Junmyeon huffed, before walking up to Jeno. He put his hand on Jeno’s shoulder as if he could tell that he was growing anxious.

“Jeno, that’s Henry Duke. From what we understand on the intel team, he’s one of the cornerstones of the alien tech black market. He’s one of the top dogs. From what we understand, he likes to be present for all major negotiations that his group makes. A source of ours told us that there’s going to be a negotiation on Friday night not too far away from LaGuardia. We want you to go out there and just get a feel of what’s going on.”

“Just watch them, right?” Jeno looked at Junmyeon, who patted his back reassuringly. “Just watch. Don’t engage unless you absolutely have to.”

“You can do that, right?” Chanyeol said quietly, crossing his arms. “Because if not, then it’s totally—”

“Yeah, of course I can! Friday—shit, Friday. At what time are they supposed to be meeting up?”

Junmyeon furrowed his eyebrows, before answering, “Around eight or nine.”

Jeno bit his lip, thinking about the promise he’d made to you. It would just have to wait, he supposed. Chanyeol rarely asked anything this big of him.

“Alright,” Jeno agreed, “I’ll do it.”

Chanyeol grinned, clapping his hands together.

“Perfect.”

They discussed logistics briefly after. Doyoung would be on call with Jeno, his custom made suit allowing them to communicate, letting Doyoung see everything Jeno was seeing via a video feed coming from the ultra thin lenses placed in the white eye sockets of the mask. Doyoung would then report to Junmyeon, who would report to Chanyeol, who would probably report to the FBI. Jeno was only to engage if absolutely necessary.

After that, he set out on patrol. He usually found some discreet place to hide his backpack, and then went all over Queens looking for trouble, quite literally. Around five thirty, he stopped a robbery in Murray Hill. Then, around seven, he stopped a man from stealing a woman’s purse in Elmhurst. Nothing too much.

Around eight, he finally headed home, this time dressed normally, using the train and not web fluid. He walked home, tired, knowing that he’d immediately have to do that cursed AP calc homework. When he got home, he opened his backpack pocket to look for his keys, rummaging between his notebooks and other things.

Shuffling through his stuff, he furrowed his eyebrows as he couldn’t find them. Thinking back, he remembered this morning, when he’d left in a rush… and had very obviously left his keys on his desk.

“Shit,” He muttered to himself. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, remembering that Aunt Sunny had said she’d be working overtime tonight. He could very easily sneak in through his window, but he was pretty sure he’d locked it the night before, and it was too early. People’s lights were still on—anyone could see him if they just looked up, and then he would be screwed.

Huffing and zipping his backpack up, he marched up to your house, before ringing the doorbell. He shifted his weight back and forth, from his heels to the balls of his feet, until the door opened up. A familiar man with a face just like Doyoung's, but older, with graying hair and arms scarred and muscled from years of working on the police force stood in the doorway.

“Jeno?” Your dad offered him a warm smile. “Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” Jeno said, smiling back. He shifted nervously. “I, um… I left my keys in my room this morning, and my aunt’s working late, so… could I… maybe wait here? Y/N’s home, right?”

The man nodded. “Of course, of course. Come in!”

Your dad had always been super friendly, even from the day Jeno had first met him. You'd told Jeno once that he was the only real father figure you'd ever had. Once everything settled after him and your mom got married, you started calling him dad altogether. And since you and Jeno were practically glued at the hip, he got along with your dad almost as well as you did.

“Okay.” Jeno stepped in and set down his backpack at the base of the coat rack next to the door, as he’d done a million times before. Jeno stepped into the living room, and sat down on the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at your dad.

"I think Y/N's in the shower, but she should be done soon. You can just wait here if you want… have you eaten anything yet?”

“Uh, I had a granola bar on the train, but that’s it.”

“We have some leftover pasta here, if you want—”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim, really! I’m fine.”

Your dad nodded, sitting down on his recliner. “So, have you started your college list, yet? Y/N said you wanted to stay here in New York.”

Jeno nodded, pushing some hair out of his face. “Well, yeah. It would make things a lot easier, I think. I might want to apply to NYU, but I think I’ll just go to community college, or something.”

Your dad shook his head. “You’re a pretty smart kid, Jeno. I think you could get into Columbia if you set out to. Plus, Chanyeol Park doesn’t give out internships to anybody. That’s your secret weapon.”

Jeno smiled. “Well, you’ve got a point.”

Your dad gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Come on, trying won’t hurt!” Your dad made a face, and then rubbed his knuckles. “Have you been working out? Those muscles weren’t there the last time I did that.”

Jeno laughed, trying to think of an excuse. “Oh, a little bit? The house needed some fixing up over the summer, and I wanted to help Aunt Sunny, so…”

“Jeno?”

He turned immediately, eyes landing on you at the base of the staircase. You’d changed into an old t-shirt and pajama pants. Your hair was slightly damp. “What are you doing here?” You asked, with a curious smile.

His shoulders slumped, and he grinned sheepishly. “Terrible Tuesday strikes again. I forgot my keys.”

You grimaced. “Brutal, dude. You wanna come up?” Your eyes moved to your dad. “Or am I interrupting guy time?”

“Oh, definitely,” Jeno answered, playing along. He took a cocky tone as he rested his hands on the back of his neck. “Your dad was just telling me about how much the NYPD needs me.”

You stifled a laugh. You dad seemed to be holding back a laugh too. "Hey, you're joking, but if you keep working out like that, and if by some impossible chance, the college thing doesn't work out… We might just be able to catch Spiderman if we finally got some brain cells on the force."

"Ugh, dad," You groaned, unaware of Jeno's gut twisting, "Not again."

"Yeah, Mr. Kim," Jeno said, scratching the back of his head, "He's not that bad."

Your dad shook his head. "Look, I don't hate the guy. In all honesty, crime rates have dropped since he started doing his thing. But he thinks he's above the law, and his methods can be a bit… unorthodox sometimes. He’s been undermining us for years and his tech is state of the art. Makes me wonder about what we should do to modernize the force."

Jeno looked downward, wondering what would happen if your dad knew the truth.

"Well, I guess we may just never find out. Jeno'd make a horrible cop. He couldn't hurt a fly if you paid him a million dollars."

But you came to the rescue as you grabbed his backpack, and soon enough he was up the stairs with you, heading into your bedroom, laughing to yourselves when you heard your dad jokingly call out, "Fifteen inch distance, you two! Door stays open!"

He sat on your desk chair while you lay on your bed, limbs splaying out.

"So you left your keys."

Jeno groaned. "Don't remind me. I was in such a rush to leave, that I… I forgot. I'm so stupid."

You rolled your eyes, rolling over onto your stomach to look at him. "You're not stupid, Jen. You made an honest mistake because you were in a hurry."

Standing up, you walked over to him and leaned against the desk. "Seriously, Jeno. What's gotten into you, lately? You freak out about every little thing. It's starting to worry me."

Jeno shook his head. "I don't know," He admitted. "I think I'm just scared about how after this year, everything changes. Renjun’s headed upstate. Jaemin’s going to Boston. You want to go to LA. I think Hyuck and I are the only ones who want to stay here. I just… I don't want things to change."

Your expression turned sad as he continued. "Everyone is expecting great things from me. You're smart, Jeno. You can get into an Ivy. Or, you have a Park internship, you'll be fine. What if I don't want things to be fine? What if I want them to just stay the same?"

You stayed silent for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. Jeno was relatively level headed for someone your age, but even he had moments of doubt and panic. It made moments like these difficult. You sighed before grabbing him by the hand. Wordlessly, you tugged him over to the bed, sitting him down and leaning your head on his shoulder. He could feel the dampness in your hair seeping slowly into his shirt.

"I guess I understand what you mean," You mumbled, trying to reason with him, "But come on. You wouldn't really want everything to stay the same. You can't tell me you want to keep getting AP calc homework. And I definitely doubt that you'd want to have your ass kicked by San for the rest of your life."

Jeno looked at the floor. "You're right. But you know that's not what I mean—"

"I know," You huffed, "I'm just saying. Change… it's inevitable. The longer you fight it, the harder it is."

Jeno nodded. "This sucks."

"It does," You agreed, taking his hand in yours. "But at least we have each other's backs, y'know?"

Something of a smile appeared on his face. You were so close to him, leaning on him, stroking his knuckles with your thumb. He hoped you couldn't hear his heart pounding in his chest.

"We really do, huh?" His voice turned quiet, with a bit of a sleepy lull to it. He allowed his head to rest on yours. "You're so comfortable. Can I like, use you as a pillow for the rest of my life?"

You giggled. "I'll consider it on two conditions."

"Oh, you'll consider. How generous of you."

"Yes, I'll consider. Now, do you wanna hear my terms or not?"

Jeno raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead," He said, before putting on his best Marlon Brando voice, "Make me an offer I can't refuse."

Snorting, you lifted your head off of his. "Okay. One, you finish your calculus homework here before Sunny gets home."

He pursed his lips. "Okay, I could probably do that. What's the other one?"

"Let me drive you to school for the rest of the year."

Jeno stared at you, and you nodded, eyes wide. "Trust me, Jen. You wouldn't need to wake up so early! And plus, you can't text the guy manning the subway asking him to give you five minutes because you need to find your keys."

Jeno gnawed on the inside of his cheek. You did have a point, and to be honest, he could probably refrain from putting his feet up on your dashboard.

"Deal."

You grinned. "Awesome," You answered, before nodding towards his backpack. "Now get to work, Einstein."

The rest of the week wasn't that bad. Yes, you were absolutely batshit insane about your truck in the morning, but he soon realized he didn't really mind. Not when it allowed you both to spend some twenty extra minutes together in the mornings, and they were spent joking around and listening to your extremely varied playlist.

On the other hand, he was saddled with more and more homework, greater and greater expectations. The looming threat of Friday's mission rolled around, and it made Jeno feel like time was passing much too slowly but also way too quickly. There was so much on his mind. He had chemistry with you on Thursdays in the afternoon, which also meant that San was there. Which also meant that sometimes, his heightened senses would pick up on San dropping a tacky pick up line which made Jeno want to punch him in the jaw.

Finally, finally, Friday afternoon rolled around. As he bid you goodbye and promised to see you later, he tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach. The feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong. He went out on patrol, ready for Doyoung to set up the call and tell him where he needed to go. It didn’t help that there wasn’t a lot for him to do that day. Crime had seemed to slow down altogether.

When the time finally came, and the sun was beginning to set, Doyoung rang in at about 7, telling him the location. An old warehouse near LaGuardia airport, hidden from prying eyes. Jeno made his way to the place, avoiding security cameras Doyoung warned him about, and found a place to hide. There was a hole in the warehouse roof, which allowed him to peer right into the building without being seen. It was about thirty feet from the ground.

“Why is it always old, abandoned warehouses?” Jeno grumbled. He heard Doyoung laugh quietly.

“Beats me,” Doyoung sighed.

And so they waited. Jeno wondered vaguely if you were still working. He wasn’t sure. They made time talking quietly, until a black SUV rolled into the warehouse. “Woah, Doyoung,” He murmured, “Hold up.”

Jeno leaned forward, but quickly realized he probably wouldn’t be able to hear what was being said. “D.R.E.A.M, activate Heightened Intelligence Protocol.”

Activating Heightened Intelligence Protocol.

The protocol allowed Jeno to use the lenses over his eyes to zoom in on specific targets, as well as use a microphone embedded in the suit to pick up audio from far away and feed it directly into his ears.

He watched as three figures got out of the car, a fourth remaining in the driver’s seat. The trio stood in front of the car, and Jeno recognized the man in the middle as the man Junmyeon had been talking about.

“Alright, there’s Henry Duke,” He said, “The one in the middle.”

“Got it,” Doyoung replied, sounding satisfied. “Now all we have to do is wait for the other party.”

“Did Junmyeon’s sources say anything about who it would be?”

“No. They weren’t able to find that out. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jeno’s eyes never left the man. “Do you think it’s something international?”

Doyoung sighed. “I’m not sure. If it is international, then you need to be even more careful.”

“Got it. I think—Wait, here they come.”

A second vehicle, this one another black SUV, rolled up not too far away from the first car. The lights turned off and the engine sputtered to a stop, and four men stepped out of the vehicle.

Jeno’s stomach dropped, and of its own accord, his mouth let loose a quiet, “What the fuck,” as he registered the person leading them.

“What?” Doyoung asked, before realizing what—who—he was looking at. “...Is that my dad?”

“I think it is,” Jeno whispered, fingertips suddenly numb. Who was he kidding? They both knew who it was.

“So,” One of the men next to your dad said, “You show us yours, we’ll show you ours?”

Henry Duke clapped his hands together with an impish grin. “I suppose. Reagan, get the case.”

One of the two men standing beside him started off toward the trunk of the car. “It caught me off guard when I heard that the force wanted to purchase these. Almost made me wonder if this was your attempt at a sting operation.”

“What made you change your mind?” Your dad asked. Jeno swallowed at how cold he sounded. This wasn’t your dad, and it didn’t seem like Officer Kim either. This was someone Jeno had never met before.

“Honestly, Kim?” Duke raised an eyebrow, shrugging. “It was you. Your cooperativeness and willing to feed us information, as well as your… insurance agreement. And besides, you made a very interesting point when you said that the Avengers Initiative and Park’s alum Spiderman is ruining the way the law operates around here. That type of bitterness… hard to fake.”

Your dad huffed. “We’re fucking tired of it.”

The man leaning against the car your dad had stepped out of scoffed. “If this helps us catch the little asshole, then so be it.”

Jeno frowned. “I’m not little—”

“Jeno, shut up!” Doyoung snapped.

“—Alright, then.” The man holding the briefcase—Reagan—clicked it open, as if it were a prize reveal on The Price is Right. Five guns, all modified to hold glowing Chitauri stones were placed carefully together side by side.

“You know the basics. No radiation. Keep it away from security scanners and x-rays. They will blow up. And second of all, these are at half the price, along with the promise from the chief of police that my business won’t be touched, and will only be distributed to officers in on the operation and have agreed to turn off their body cameras when they decide to use these weapons. Should this not be a sting operation, we’ll be back here to negotiate.”

Jeno leaned forward, watching anxiously.

“Yes, sir,” Your dad answered, nodding. “We have the money here.”

“Hand it over, then.”

That was when Jeno made his mistake. He leaned forward too much, and proceeded to fall right through the hole, bringing down some scraps of the roof with him. As he tumbled through the air, the zoom on his lenses caused him to grow dizzy as he had no idea what he was looking at. He caught himself before he could fall, clumsily commanding D.R.E.A.M to go back to turn off the current protocol. His vision returned to normal, and he swung up onto a rafter holding the warehouse up.

“So, we have company.” Duke didn’t sound as amused as he had before. His face turned into a sneer. “Get him.”

In less than a second, before Jeno could say anything, five guns were pointed directly at him. He managed to swing away before any bullets could hit him.

“Jeno, get out of there now,” Doyoung ordered.

“What about the guns?” Jeno asked, swinging to another rafter. “They know I’m here, I might as well get them before I go—”

“No! Jeno, listen to what I’m telling you. You’ve done more than enough, and you need to let it g—”

Your dad aimed, and a bullet fired right at Jeno’s chest. For a second, he forgot that the chest area of the suit was lined with bulletproof material. While it didn’t shoot into his chest, it ricocheted right off him, and since he was in motion, it somehow caused the bullet to bounce back in the direction in which it came.

The wind was knocked out of Jeno, but it was nothing compared to watching the bullet land in the middle of your father’s chest. On the other line, he heard Doyoung yell, followed by the sound of something falling. And then, as he made his way back towards the hole he’d fallen out of, he couldn’t rip his eyes away from the body as it crumpled to the ground.

The others around him scrambled to get back into their respective cars. Jeno was back on the roof now, trying not to hyperventilate. “I’m sorry,” He gasped, “Do—Doyoung, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to—”

“Jeno, you need to get out of there, now,” Doyoung said, voice raspy. “GO!”

So he did, and Doyoung cut off the call once he was out of the vicinity. Jeno didn’t blame him. He swung across buildings, feeling numb as he looked for the apartment complex roof where he’d decided to hide his backpack.

When he finally did, he changed in a hurry, before slumping against the wall and forcing himself to take deep breaths.

Doyoung’s dad—your dad—was dead. And it was all his fault.

He cried on the way down the staircase. He cried on his way to the subway. The entire time, he ignored people’s stares. Suddenly everything was too loud, and if he met someone in the eyes he’d just about break down in the middle of the station.

As he got onto the train, Jeno thought about all of the things your dad had done for you, and for Jeno. All the times he'd taken you both to Coney Island in the summer when you were younger. The year Pokemon Go came out he took the both of you driving around in his car so you and Jeno could catch as many Pokemon as you could.

He’d formally adopted you when you were thirteen. You were his daughter in nearly every sense of the word, regardless of blood. And now he was dead, because of a stupid mistake that Jeno had made.

What would you say if you knew? He didn’t want to know. Checking the time on his phone, he saw he’d gotten a message from you just three minutes ago.

[8:36 PM]

y/n: lemme know when ur outside!! :)

“Fuck,” He murmured, wiping his eyes. He knew he needed to stop crying before he got to your house, and he had about ten minutes before he got to his stop, and then another five minute walk to the neighborhood. He focused on taking deep breaths and taking long swigs from his water bottle in the meantime, trying to tune out the sound of other people talking and the sound of the train on the rails.

The walk was the longest five minute walk he’d ever taken. The flashing lights of convenience stores did nothing to calm him down. As the stores in his peripheral vision began transitioning into suburban homes, he felt his heart speed up again. The constant movement as he walked meant he missed his phone vibrating in his backpack as you rang his number.

After what seemed like an eternity, two familiar houses came into his line of vision, and his shoulders slumped as he spotted you on your porch, looking small and teary, curled up into a little ball. In one hand, you were clutching your phone.

His stomach twisted as he put on a confused tone, even though he knew damn well that you knew. “...Y/N?”

You stood up, running to him and burying yourself into his chest, crumpling into his arms. You would have fell over if Jeno hadn’t held both of you up.

“Jeno,” You sobbed, “You’re n-not go-onna believe it.”

He brought a hand up to caress your hair, holding back tears of his own as he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Y/N, what happened?”

taglist: @decembermoonskz @itsapapisongo @lenaluvs @crescentjen

#kwritersworldnet #nct angst #nct x reader #jeno x reader #jeno angst #jeno fluff #nct au #jeno au #kpop scenarios #kpop angst #kpop imagines #nct dream x reader #lee jeno x reader #my writing

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 10

Masterlist

Shoutout to my bestie @acollectionofficsandshit for all the drunk comments she made while betaing this one... Wish you guys could see them lol

Word Count: 4.8k

Recommended song: “Amnesia" by 5SOS

Pierre paces in his dinky trailer at the Circuit of the Americas and desperately tries to forget you exist. He had already taken down the pictures on the wall but the images were burned into his brain. He had shoved your shirt under his bed, having absolutely no idea how it had made its way halfway around the world to taunt him.

He was slowly unraveling like a spool of thread on a loom as you wove him irrevocably into the tapestry of your life.

The race in Austin started in less than two hours and you hadn't texted him. Not once in the handful of years he'd known you had you neglected to wish him luck before a race, even if it was 2 am your time or you had exams, you always took thirty seconds to warn him to be safe and finish well.

He was beginning to think you hated him for how he'd acted at the gala last weekend, jealous and possessive from afar. Talking to you would have been the better choice. But seeing you laugh and dance the night away had hurt too much. He’d slipped out early after Victoria assured him she could find a ride and sped home to fall apart.

He had only barely managed to piece himself together in time for the race.

Pierre checks his phone for the third time in as many minutes and swears under his breath. He didn't know why he expected it to ring and for your face to pop up at this point. Even if you called to tear into him, he'd still fall to his knees at the sound of your voice. He just wanted to hear you speak, didn't care what was said, only that he could latch onto your words and lose himself in them.

Hope sparks when his phone chimes but he nearly throws it across the trailer when he sees Charles' name.

Heard from her yet?

No. At this point I'm beginning to think I never will again.

Maybe she fell asleep early?

It's 5 pm in London. I'll bet you she's eating a bowl of takeout from the Chinese place down the street, not sleeping.

Its still possible. Don't dwell on it. This isn't the headspace you wanna be in before a race. Block it out. I don't wanna see my best friend wind up hurt today.

Pierre didn't reply, if only because Charles was right. Worrying would get him nowhere. After his shitty qualifying yesterday, he started thirteenth on the grid so he had his work cut out for him. Austin offered plenty of opportunity for overtakes; he could get the job done if his team made the right calls.

And if he made it to the podium, you would have to text him.

The thin mattress groans when he sits to unlace his hastily tied race boots. He folds his legs to sit criss cross and places his palms on his knees. The familiar pose already has some of the tension leaving his shoulders as his eyes slide shut. He breathes in for ten seconds, reflecting on what ails him. He holds the breath for five seconds before releasing it slowly.

He repeats the process until he comes to terms with the fact that you won't be wishing him luck. That was your choice; there was nothing he could do about it and therefore no sense reading into it. He had done all he could to convince you to trust him. The ball was in your court; he had to be patient and wait for you to take a shot.

“Focus,” he murmurs to himself, forcing any erroneous thoughts from his head. “Walk through the track.”

The circuit at Austin was challenging, consisting of a mix of 20 sweeping corners and scattered hairpins. He was almost lucky in a way to be starting so far back on the grid because turn one was only a few hundred meters from pole and their tires would be slightly colder and less grippy upon arrival than his would be. The few extra seconds afforded to him by starting thirteenth could mean the opportunity to leap frog past his rivals in the first corner.

The counterclockwise circuit meant he would have to keep an eye on his front left tire too, as it would wear faster than the others. He'd change gears an average of 66 times per lap, higher than similar length tracks like Monaco. Pit stops cost an average of nineteen seconds, meaning he would need to build a significant gap to the driver chasing him in order to avoid the threat of any undercuts.

There were too many variables occupying space in his mind to afford you a sliver of it.

Some time later he decides that his four leaf clover tucked safely in the worn leather of his wallet will provide all the luck he needs and switches on his pre race playlist after popping in his ear buds.

"Sights on the podium," he murmurs to himself, hand on the doorknob. "Let's race."

The bass flows through him as his feet carry him to the Alpha Tauri garage on autopilot, through the back entrance and to his plain white driver room. The familiar beats are a numbing salve spread on his frayed nerves, his anticipation rising like a crimson wave in his veins. He leaves his clothes in a haphazard heap in the corner and changes into the white fireproofs hanging nearby, thoughts momentarily veering to you knocking on the door and stripping them right back off.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he runs through his usual stretch sets until Pyry arrives to walk him through reflex exercises.

"How's your head?" Pyry asks, running him through more cool down stretches. "Do we need to take a minute and do some meditation?"

"Beat you to it," Pierre grunts out, pushing back against the hand on his head to work his neck. "I'm good."

"You sound better than you have all week, I'll give you that. Keep that focus, use it to propel yourself forward."

"Run me through the lineup again," Pierre requests, "I need something else to think about."

Because if he let his mind follow the path it wanted to, it would inevitably lead to you and undo the work he had done to avoid that. He needed to be empty of anything that wasn't racing, anything else was an unnecessary distraction that had the potential to end in disaster.

Pyry rattles off the grid in order of who Pierre needs to overtake, pausing between each name to give him time to recall their driving styles and potential chinks in their armor to exploit. He knew from tapes of previous years that Stroll often ran wide into turn one, giving Pierre the option to brake late and sweep up the inside. Vettel was half convinced the track was cursed, so his mind would work against him enough that Pierre could exploit it and get past at some point. He continued until he got to Hamilton and Max locking out the front row, where he would need a bit of luck to overtake.

"You got it?" Pyry asks, stepping back.

Pierre rolls his shoulders and nods.

"Get shit done mate," Pyry says and bumps fists with his driver. He slips out to allow Pierre a moment to center himself before slipping into his race suit, leaving it half unzipped and tying it around his waist before following his trainer.

Pyry leads the way to where the matte navy and white car waits, mechanics swarming it like studious worker bees tending to their queen. No one talks to him save his engineer because words from anyone else threaten to break his carefully constructed race mentality. If they wanted him to bring home points, they knew to leave him alone once he was suited up.

His mind is blank of anything but statistics as he twists his ear buds in and pulls on his balaclava and helmet. As his vision narrows to the sliver of track he can see through his visor, so does his focus. With forty minutes to lights out, he's directed out onto the track. He rips the wheel to the right as he exits the garage, getting a decent powerslide for his efforts.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would land on the podium, if only to see the look on your face when he did.

**********

It took an unfathomable amount of restraint to keep yourself from calling Pierre to wish him luck.

You texted Max instead, wishing him a safe and comfortable podium a half hour before lights out. He hadn't responded, likely already in the garage with his trainer going through his pre race routine.

The pace Max had set the day before had awarded him pole position and the margin between him and Hamilton had been enough that you were confident in his ability to hold off the Mercedes for all fifty six laps.

If you were honest with yourself, you were disappointed that the Alpha Tauri you so desperately tried to ignore would be starting in thirteenth. You try not to think about it, instead queueing up SkySports and opening your laptop for pre race coverage. You avoid the interviews in favor of listening to the commentators analyze the grid.

"It should be an easy win for Max as long as he fends off Hamilton until the first round of pit stops. The undercut works well here, as Red Bull proved last year, and I'm sure they plan on doing the same thing this year."

You hum in agreement, gingerly sipping your steaming tea. You really ought to consider a career as a sportscaster at this point based on how often you came to the same conclusions they did.

"I think one of the biggest shakeups is Russell starting all the way up in eleventh after his amazing qualifying for Williams yesterday. Think he can hold onto that position?"

"He's got some fierce competition not far behind in the form of Alpha Tauri. Gasly starts thirteenth- surprisingly far back on the grid given the otherwise flawless performance he's shown this year. But it seems likely that he should be able to overtake-"

You flick the tv on mute, unable to stomach listening to them sing his praises. You numb your mind with social media until the Formula 1 theme plays on your laptop, alerting you that there's a few minutes until race start. Tire blankets are peeled off and the drivers weave their way through the formation lap with the exception of Kimi who takes his traditional straight line approach to warm up his supersoft tires.

Most of the front runners are on ultrasofts, indicating a two stop strategy. It was Pirelli's recommended approach, and you were glad that Horner heeded their advice for once and let Max use the ultras in Q2. It would give Max the upper hand over Hamilton who starts on the yellow sidewall tire and thus slightly slower lap times.

Crofty and Brundle break down the notable turns as the cars line up on the grid, pointing out the sharp hairpin only a few hundred meters from pole position. If Max got away clean, he would be ahead of the cramped pack and have an even better edge over the silver arrows who would be forced to queue behind him.

The traditional "lights out and away we go" kicks off the grand prix, engines roaring into the first turn. Max does manage to get away clean and is awarded with an immediate advantage. Turn one proves tragic for the Alfa Romeo of Raikonnen and the Asthon Martin of Stroll who collide and cause Kimi to spin. They rejoin at the back of the pack, your eyes snagging on the navy and white of an Alpha Tauri as it streams past.

Your heart spins in a similar fashion when the GAS driver tag leaps up two places in the timing table, suddenly in eleventh due to the incident. Your gaze snaps to the laptop humming on your legs before you remember its Max's driver cam you queued up. The Dutchman is silent as his engineer relays information about the incident and informs him of the widening gap between those chasing him.

“Confirm received,” Gianpiero says calmly. No matter the situation or how heated Max got, he always kept his head. It was what made the duo such a good match and had likely kept Max from going off the rails on more than one occasion.

“Yeah,” Max says shortly, clearly pissed about how quickly Hamilton was approaching. “Let me know when I’ve got enough charge to get out of range.”

“Yep, will do. Just keep this pace and you’ll hold him at bay.”

Live coverage replays the incident between Stroll and Raikonnen from the view of onboard with Pierre. The instant the 10 on the halo appears in the center of your screen you suck in a breath. He yanks the wheel to avoid colliding with Ocon, who had to do the same to keep from hitting his teammate as they navigate through the carnage.

You chew on your lip and try to refocus on the battle between the front runners. Not much is happening in the midfield for the next thirty or so laps and Max just barely manages to build a solid enough gap between himself and Hamilton to dive into the pits comfortably without losing places.

Your phone rings and you answer it without checking who it was as the only person you wouldn't answer was currently occupied.

"Hello?"

"Why the fuck didn't they pit Daniel?!"

You grin, noting the blistering beginning on his front left tire as SkySports switches to his onboard camera. "Because he's about to pass Charles," you tell Dan's girlfriend. She didn't call you often during races. It was likely that she knew you were nearing your wits end and this was her way of offering support.

"He won't be able to with those tires- oh." She breaks off when Daniel passes a DRS detection zone and his rear wing opens, allowing him to pass the Monegasque with ease.

"Told you," you say with a touch of reprimand. "You're always too nervous about those things. Daniel knows how to drive, just trust him to get the job done and he'll bring home another trophy for your apartment."

"I don't live here," she points out and you roll your eyes. She had lived in London as long as you had known her, but she was almost always at Daniel's apartment whether he was in town or not. Daniel digs in as the camera follows him for a lap, highlighting the widening gap between the McLaren and the Ferrari.

"You basically do. At this point, you're paying rent for a dusty one bedroom apartment on the east side that you set foot in maybe once a month." She scoffs but you push on, "a waste of sterling if you ask me, when you're at Daniel's every time I ask you to do anything."

"You act like I never- there goes Pierre!"

His name sparks dread in your gut as your attention flicks back to the screen in time to see him overtake Bottas on the inside of turn one. He'd managed to claw up to fifth with the move, somehow gaining places while you weren't looking.

"Good for him," you croak, trying your best to be genuinely happy for him. He was pushing the car to the limit and you'd be amazed if he didn't wind up on the podium along with Dan and Max. Charles and Hamilton were the only ones in his way, and something told you Charles wouldn’t put up much of a fight when his mate reached his gearbox. Hamilton would prove a challenge but he had been making tiny mistakes all day. Nothing significant, though enough to add up to him barely holding onto second while Daniel rode his gearbox.

"He's got ten laps to get past those two," she murmurs as if momentarily forgetting you were on the phone.

"Can we talk about literally anything else please?" You whisper, half tempted to shut off the race completely.

"Babe, you have to face the music at some point. Either you never want to see him again or you love him, which is it?"

She never failed to be anything but brutally honest. You appreciate it because everyone else let you brush off your problems, but she called you on your bullshit. She would needle you about it until you folded.

"I think it's better for both of us if I pretend we never met, don't you?"

"Easier for you, yes," she agrees. "But it'll kill Pierre. You don't think you could keep in touch with him, just as friends?"

"I don't know if I can handle that. I can barely look at him without wanting to bawl my eyes out."

She sighs, pausing to contemplate what to say. Voice soft, she continues, "Why don't you just take him back? Clearly it's ruining both of you. Are you really gonna let the press wreck the best you ever had? I know its hard but-"

"I'm not like you," you cut in. "I can't just ignore the articles and the comments and pretend there aren't people out there that hate me for being with him. They came to my house, disrupted my family. Hell, Ben can't even go to school without being mobbed by his classmates demanding answers. If my suffering is what allows my family to go about their lives then so be it."

"If that's what you wanna believe."

You sigh, tangling your fingers in the hem of your shirt. "It is."

"Alright," she says, voice teetering on a knife's edge. "I know better than to try to change your mind when you're like this. He's on the podium by the way. Oh, and watch what you say to Max- Pierre will read into it."

She hangs up without a goodbye, leaving you to deal with the realization that the podium is indeed VER RIC GAS on your own. Your eyes are glued to the Red Bull and McLaren drivers, blatantly ignoring the one in the white suit as the anthems play and the champagne is sprayed, turning away to busy yourself with making coffee when Daniel hands his liquid filled race boot to third place.

You weren't quite sure how you were supposed to watch what you said to Max- there was no reason to in your mind. Max was your next closest friend on the grid and you had every right to congratulate him if you wanted to.

Resolute in your decision, you text Max and Daniel a quick congratulations before shutting off the TV and closing your laptop.

Max's insane custom ringtone he'd selected for himself nearly makes you jump out of your skin when it blares from your phone.

"Hey great race-"

"Did you see it? I wasn't sure if you'd watch it- did you see my move on Hamilton when he tried to get past me?" He was talking a mile a minute like he was still out on track. "I was like- and then Dan tried to overtake me on the final lap and I was like no way! And then-"

"Max," you chime in, dragging out the 'a' with a sing-song voice. "You're rambling."

"Oh right. Yeah but I made it! Led every lap and finished with another win."

"That's great." You force as much enthusiasm in the words as possible, trying to match his chaotic energy. "You did great. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm proud to be your friend. You beat a world champ!"

"It means a lot-"

"Who's that?"

You stiffen at the familiar cadence. You had assumed Max was back in the garage when he called, but he must have still been in the podium room. You could picture him in his race suit, smudges of grease and dirt staining the pristine white. Beads of sweat probably ran down his neck, begging to be brushed away by your tongue.

"Uh, no one," Max says in a lame attempt to cover up his digression. "I gotta go," he whispers to you.

"Let me talk-"

"Wait don't," you start, but the call ends abruptly and you blink. You stare down at your phone, completely dumbfounded. Of course his instinct would be to talk to you, to share the euphoria of a podium with you. It was the first victory in three years he wouldn't have you to celebrate with.

It was only a matter of time until his resolve popped like the cork on his champagne.

**********

Pierre's phone is in his hand as soon as Max hangs up. He hefts his trophy in the other, a wild grin on his sweaty face as he snaps a picture. He makes sure he's the only one in the frame, shamelessly wanting himself to be the center of your attention.

"Mate," Daniel pipes up, catching his eye, "you think that's a good idea?"

Pierre sighs, cutting the Australian a glare. "I'm just trying to fill her in."

"Wasn't your plan to give her space?"

"It's been a week, isn't that long enough?"

"Take it from me, sometimes it takes months for someone to figure things out. Hell, you know how long it took me to sort through my feelings for-"

"I know," Pierre cuts in. "I know. I just- a snap can't hurt can it? C'mon, I just got a podium! If it goes bad I can blame it on the post race jitters."

Daniel holds up his hands and shrugs. "You're a grown man. Do what you want."

Pierre studies the photo, scrutinizing the way his hair was plastered to his head and the awkward way he'd posed to keep anyone but himself out of the frame. It's his genuine smile that he knows will do you in, and ultimately the reason he sends it.

His phone is a lead weight clutched in his grip as he winds through the paddock, constantly stopped by vips and team members congratulating him. None of what anyone says registers, he just tries his best to match their mood and sputter praises about his team's contributions to his podium.

The snap you finally send back is only from the eyes up, but it's enough. He's surrounded by people in his driver room, but for ten seconds it might as well have just been him staring at a sliver of your face on a screen.

The tiny lines at the corners of your shining eyes tell him you're smiling, which is a step in the right direction even if you won't let him see your entire face. It's enough to reignite the hope that slumbered in his chest while waiting for you to pull the trigger and make a move.

He sends back a video of the people in the room, who cheer when they realize they're being filmed. 'Wish you were here,' is what he captions it and sends it without giving himself a chance to overthink.

Ten minutes pass with no reply.

The beer he’s already consumed have given him a pleasant buzz as well as an excuse to make a bad decision or two. He takes another video of the room to post to his Instagram story, 'Missing you' written in the lower left corner.

Fuck, he hopes you'll see it and regret leaving him on read. Instead all he gets is a text from Charles chastising him for stirring up drama.

Really Pierre?

Blame it on the alcohol, he texts back.

I know you aren’t drunk. You can’t form a coherent sentence when you are.

Guess i gotta drink more then

Pierre doesn’t turn anyone bearing alcohol away. He's two celebratory shots deep when Daniel finds him sulking in a corner. "You've got my girl texting me freaking out over your story. I've seen it and I gotta agree with her. Was that really necessary?"

"She left me on read," Pierre says like that was enough explanation. His head was spinning and it was getting hard to keep the room upright. "And it's the truth. I miss her like hell. I want her here. She was supposed to come, you know? I was gonna have her fly in with me on the jet. She doesn't start class again until June. I had this whole week planned out. I was gonna show her Texas- she’s from New York and..."

He trails off when he notes Dan’s pitying smile. Daniel sighs and runs a hand through his curls. "I know. I get it, okay? I know it's hard but you can't force it. You've gotta let her come back on her own, all you're doing now is pushing her away."

He was fucking clueless when it came to these things. He'd had you for a few precious moments and now that he'd lost you he didn't know how to act. His mind was running on hazy autopilot; he barely knew which way was up, let alone did he trust himself to make any sort of important decision.

He stares down at the shot he'd been handed at some point before throwing it back. The cheap whiskey burns his throat but he barely registers the sting. "Should I take it down?"

"She already saw it," Daniel says gently, as if he anticipates how bad the fuck up will hurt. And it does. It hits him like a tire wall at two hundred kph, knowing that you were probably ranting or crying on the phone with Daniel’s girlfriend. "But yeah, that's probably best. People are already wondering what happened between you two, no need to throw fuel on the fire."

"You're probably right-" Pierre cuts off when Charles arrives with a grimace on his face. He shakes his head and gives his friend’s shoulder a squeeze.

"For once I'm not the dumb one."

"You're a dick, you know that right?" Daniel says, allowing Pierre to delete the post. It takes him a few tries before he gets it down, but undeniably rumors will be circulating in the morning if they weren’t already.

"Honestly what were you thinking?" Charles demands, edging towards full blown yelling. "I told you to leave her be. The gossip stemming from this isn’t gonna help.”

The last thing he needed was someone else telling him how stupid his decision had been. At least Daniel had the decency to show sympathy.

"Honestly?" Pierre responds with the same intensity, his anger flaring. "Honestly, Charles, I was thinking that she was happy for me but was too afraid to take the leap. She haunts me. Every second I’m awake I have to force myself away from her. Even when I’m asleep I can’t get away from her. So I don’t know, maybe I wanted to haunt her too."

“This isn’t the way you win her back and you know it.”

“I know!” Pierre throws up his hands. “But what else am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me. She has no problem talking to Max or Daniel but apparently she draws the line at me.”

“You know it’s not-” Daniel's eyes flick to his phone and he fights back a grin. All it does is remind Pierre that he lost the person that could bring that sort of smile to his own face. "Fellas I wish I could stay and help but I gotta get going. Charles, I think Pierre needs another drink." He slaps five American dollars in the Monegasque's hand. "First one is on me."

Pierre is too deep in a spiral to care when his friend drags him from the party to a bar just south of the circuit. Somehow it was within walking distance; the floor was sticky and the lighting was for shit but he didn't care.

Pierre's focus was on downing shot after shot, erasing the broken image of you his mind had conjured up. He never should have posted the story. It only served to feed into what the media had been speculating for the past week and dredged up more tension between you.

Pierre stops checking his phone two shots later. The liquor provides a wet blanket over his senses, dousing him in cold water and scrambling his brain. He could barely remember his own name, but yours still lived in the corner of his mind.

Even drunk, he refused to forget you.

Two hours and who knows how much alcohol later, Charles helps Pierre back to his hotel room.

Pierre falls asleep as soon as he hits the mattress, head too blurry to dredge up memories of you.

#are you feeling the angst yet #pierre gasly #pierre gasly X reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 rpf #f1 rpf #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fanfiction

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Text

How could you do this babe?

In Breakable Heaven chapter one! Here we go!

Summary: Reader’s ready to celebrate her anniversary with her boyfriend, but things don’t go as planned.

Warnings: Cheating, swearing, drunk people

Word Count: ~2100

“…leave a message at the beep.”

You couldn’t help but be disappointed that he didn’t answer, but didn’t mind leaving a message. “Hey babe, I was able to close the bookstore early! I should be to yours in the next few minutes if you want to celebrate early. I know you like to have ample time to get ready, so I guess I just wanted to warn you. Anyway, I love you. See you soon.” You left the voicemail as you walked to your car. Tonight you are celebrating your three-year anniversary. You even changed into your brand new lingerie to surprise him, wearing a long coat to hide it in public. It felt a little bit wrong not wearing real clothes, but you were determined to make this the best anniversary celebration yet.

The drive to his apartment was relatively uneventful. A light rain started about halfway through the five-minute drive. As you pull up to his apartment building, you notice the lights on in his room. “Good, he’s home” you think to yourself as you open the door, shuffling inside from the muggy DC weather. As you approach the apartment door, you can hear the soft music of the playlist you made last month featuring all of Taylor Swifts most romantic love songs. Your heart flutters as you think of the kind gesture. Of course, he would be thoughtful enough to put on music as you arrived at his apartment. Unlocking the door and untying your coat at the same time proved to more difficult than anticipated, but you managed to nudge the door open whispering “happy anniversary baby” in the sultriest tone you could.

As you took in the rest of the apartment, your heart burst. There were roses everywhere. Candles lit a path to the bedroom. Maybe he did know how to be a romantic. Dropping your things on the counter and sliding your coat off the rest of the way, you tip toed into the bedroom to surprise him since he clearly did not get your message. The next sixty seconds felt as though time stopped. Or, more accurately, you froze and everything else in the world took on an impossible speed.

As you pushed open the bedroom door, three things caught your attention. First, you felt a surprising amount of resistant as you pushed the door over a bundle of clothes you didn’t recognize. Second, you heard the bed bouncing against the wall. Third, you saw streaks of auburn hair running through you’re boyfriend’s hands as he mercilessly pounded into a woman you didn’t recognize.

Apparently, your entrance was too quiet for either of them to be interrupted. All you could manage was to slowly retreat into the living room, closing the door, but knocking into a side table. You could hear them as they stopped moving, running to the door to investigate the noise. All you wanted was to get out of there though. Throwing your coat back over your lingerie, you grabbed your purse and keys, slamming the door shut. You didn’t even turn around when you heard him opening the door and calling your name. Whatever he had to say was not worth your time anymore.

You couldn’t get the image of the two of them in bed together out of your head. You were feeling absolutely everything at once. You felt betrayed. You felt sad. A small part of you was actually glad you had a reason to end it. It had never felt like the kind of relationship that would move on. But still, you thought you were happy with him.

But mostly, you were pissed. Rightfully so, but you had no idea where to go or what to do. Your blind adrenaline carried you to the car, and you wound up at a bar. You don’t even remember starting the car, much less driving, but you knew you needed something to drink. You ran inside, ordering tequila shots to drown the sadness, and sat at the bar. As you sat at the bar, contemplating your existence, a man walked up to sit next to you. You had your fair share of practice with this scenario. You had mastered the right mix “fuck off” and “sorry, I’m taken” to get men like this guy to back off with just a single look. But right now, all you could manage was a halfhearted grin that very clearly said “you do not want to deal with my emotional baggage right now.” It was all in the crazed look in your eyes, you were sure of it.

Nobody else came up to you while you were there. You couldn’t help but think over the past three years with him for signs that he was unfaithful. You couldn’t come up with any, the cheating bastard. He must have been pretty good at hiding the secret phone calls and date nights. But then again, you had your own secrets. Not that they would have made him feel like you do right now.

After sitting long enough to consume four shots of tequila, two vodka sodas, and one dark and stormy, reality set in. All you wanted was to curl up in a ball and scream. Or cry. You were obviously not returning to his apartment, but you couldn’t go back to your own either. There was too much there that reminded you of him. The idea of walking in there to see his sweatshirt on your couch made you feel sick. You were teetering on the edge of a full breakdown when the idea struck you. Penelope.

Penelope Garcia is your best friend. You met her at a Doctor Who convention the same day you met he who must not be named. She was there with Kevin, but they broke up a while ago. The realization that you could go to Penny’s couldn’t have come at a better time. Ha. Penny. You only call her that when you’re drunk. She’ll know what to do. You opened your phone, barely able to call up the Lyft to take you to her apartment. It’s honestly shocking you didn’t fall asleep on the seven minute drive there. Whatever, all you needed now was to get inside and forget about him.

After entering the building, you tried the elevator. Of course it was broken. It took you about thirty six minutes to hobble your way up two flights of stairs to Penny’s floor. With each step, you considered texting her to come get you, but you knew the second you saw her you would break down. You absolutely did not want to start sobbing on these stairs. Too many people could see you. Finally arriving to her door, you were exhausted. Mentally and physically drained. Knock knock knock “Penny?” Knock knock knock “Penny?” Knock knock knock “Penny?” you imitated the Big Bang Theory, knowing the small joke would make you smile, even if just for a second. When the door finally opened, you vaulted in for a hug, not even opening your eyes.

As you squeezed Penny, you finally broke out into a fit of sobs. Whisper yelling, you told her as much of the story as you could remember. “Penny, thank god. I left wo-ork early to surprise Dr-Dr-Drew for our anniversary – hiccup – but he was having s-s-se-sex with someone else…” you let out a strangled sob, not noticing how stiff Penny felt in your embrace. You buried your head into her as you continued “So I got very drunk and came here. Was he cheating on me this whole time?” You asked as your tears turned back to rage. “I even went out and bought this stupid, uncomfortable underwear to surprise him” you shout as your coat had begun to fall open again. After what felt like an hour of crying, but in reality amounted to no more than 60 seconds, you finally noticed something was odd. Two things lead you to a simple conclusion that was somehow difficult to comprehend in your drunk state.

First, Penny felt taller. Second, she was wearing converse. Upon noticing these two facts, your hands traveled up the body you were hugging until you found shoulders. Turning your head up, your eyes followed the path your hands had just taken. This series of events lead to the obvious fact that whomever you were hugging was absolutely not Penelope Garcia. Penelope was in fact not even in the foyer, but rather a very attractive, tall man with slightly curly brown hair and eyes like honey was staring back at you. And you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

Reid’s POV

Spencer hadn’t actually had anything to drink since arriving at Garcia’s. No, he just drank prior to that point. Normally, he didn’t drink at all when his team got together, but this was just worth celebrating. Another serial killer was behind bars for life because of the work the team did today. Hell, even Hotch and Rossi stayed for a few hours before they left. As part of the “young crowd” on the team, he had stayed at the bar longer than the two older men before the group of you retreated to Garcia’s. Hers was the closest apartment, and everyone else wanted to keep the party going. Spencer couldn’t help but join them, not wanting to return to his empty apartment after the long day they all spent testifying.

Finishing his second glass of water, he began to get up to get more and maybe some for the group when everyone heard the knocking. The group laughed as three consecutive “Penny’s” came from the door. “Reid, can you get that since you’re already up?” Garcia asked, motioning toward the door. “It must be Y/N. She always calls me Penny when she’s drunk.” He obliged. He obviously remembered Garcia mentioning Y/N before, but he had never met her. He swung the door open, expecting a drunk friend of Garcia’s. He was not prepared, however, for said drunk friend to throw herself at him, grasp him in an alarmingly tight hug, and start sobbing. He could barely make out what you were saying through the sobs hearing “surprise Drew”, “anniversary”, “sex”, and “drunk” before you practically screamed “I even went out and bought this stupid, uncomfortable underwear to surprise him.”

It was clear you meant to be pouring her heart out to Garcia, but you hadn’t yet realized who answered the door. For the first time in his life, Dr. Spencer Reid couldn’t think of words to say as you ran your hands up his body to his shoulders. You were clearly taking in the information required to come to the conclusion that he is not in fact Penelope Garcia. As your eyes met his, all he could do was stare. He made every effort to keep his eyes level with yours, but one glace was all it took to be ingrained in his memory forever. He wouldn’t have looked, but the movement of your coat caught his eye as it revealed the exact type of surprise you had planned for whoever Drew was.

The two of you were frozen, unsure of how to proceed. You looked just like he did- a deer in the headlights. Neither of you could move. Neither of you could speak. You could both hear Garcia’s voice as she stumbled down the hallway, but it sounded distant. It wasn’t until the mystery woman broke eye contact that he backed away. Trying desperately to control the blush he were sure had made its way to his cheeks.

Y/N’s POV

The moment was broken as you felt Penny turn you towards her. The flush on your cheeks only grew as you kept your eyes on the tall man as he retreated into the living room, not having said a word. “Y/N… Y/N? Y/N!” Penny had to yell slightly to get your attention. “What happened? What are you doing here? I thought you were celebrating tonight?” She asked rapid fire. You could tell she was also a little bit drunk.

You told her everything. The words practically falling out of you as you started crying again. “Oh babe, I’m so sorry. Here, let’s get you inside.” Penny started to guide you into the living room, but you froze “Wait! Can I borrow some clothes before I go in there? I don’t need to flash anyone else right now.” You whispered. Penny laughed, “Of course! Who did you fla- ohhh. Reid.” She said, trying to hold back the giggles.

“Yes. If that is the very tall man with the perfect eyes and the completely tuggable hair.” You responded, not quite filtering your thoughts, as you were still very drunk.

“I’ll be back in a jiffy!” Penny replied, not knowing how else to respond to the fact that you are very clearly attracted to the young doctor, but also going through shit right now. She would just file away this information for later.

taglist:

@mac99martin

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #Criminal Minds #criminal minds x reader

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runwithwolvcs · 3 years

Text

You Know I'm No Good - ten

you matter to me

Warnings: Drinking/drug use, Arguing, implying sexua! assau!t/tendencies

Authors Note: I have not added a tags list due to the trigger warnings, it will be back in the next update.

there are two types of tired i suppose

the one in need of dire sleep;

the other is a dire need of peace

Tallulah tried her best to fly under her family's radar leading up to Friday and she had her plan all set for her to go out to Port Angeles and still be home in time for her curfew. She had spending whatever time she wasn’t in school with Paul, helping him with little things around Uley's Bookstore, whether that be painting structures or filling shelves with books, Tallulah made sure on Thursday to tell him she would be hanging out with August and Rory on Friday so that if her dad asked him where she was he would be unknowingly involved in her lie.

After school on Friday, Tallulah quickly changed out of her school clothes into a striped, oversized crew neck and navy blue tennis skirt. Throwing her hair into a slicked back ponytail before rushing down the stairs, telling her dad she was off to see her friends, which wasn’t a lie, she just didn’t specify which ones.

Tallulah was practically shaking with excitement as she pulled out of her driveway, whether it be because she was excited to see her friends for the first time in 2 weeks or because she knew she wasn’t supposed to be seeing them, she was unsure of.

The drive to Port Angeles, Tally spent feeling unnerved. All the confidence had left her mind as she exited Forks. Something felt wrong. It’s not like she’s never snuck out and lied about her whereabouts before, the feeling felt different from the adrenaline that usually accompanied her. Out of the corner of her high she could see her phone light up, the incessant dinging of incoming text messages. She ignored them, telling herself it's because she knew better than to text and drive but mostly because she wasn’t prepared to read them. Had her plan already been ruined? Her phone ringing shook her from her thoughts, she grabbed it and checked the caller ID: Paul Lahote, its bright white letters. She wanted to let it ring, to just ignore him, but she couldn’t. Answering the phone and putting on her speakerphone, setting it on the passenger seat, she said as calmly as possible, “Hey, whats up?”, only to be met with an anger, “Where are you?”.

Tallulah was caught off guard by his tone of voice, she would have never expected it from him in the slightest.

“I’m just driving to August’s” she lied, she could hear someone telling Paul to calm down on the other end, with an angry laugh, he asked, “Oh yeah? Since when does she live off the rez?” before she could even respond, he continued, “Where are you really?”

“Why does it matter to you where I am?” she bit back, “Why does it matter?” he repeated her question, “Because you matter to me, Tallulah!” he all but yelled into the phone before the sound of the phone being dropped rang out into her silent car. She could hear the background commotion, but nothing was coherent to her as she was still trying to process what he had said.

“Tallulah?” a feminine voice rang through, “It’s Emily. Where are you, sweetie?” she asked calmly despite the audible commotion that had just occurred on her end of the phone. She wanted to lie again. It’s what she really wanted, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. “Port Angeles,” Tallulah said quickly before reaching over and hitting the end call before Emily could ask any more questions knowing she wouldn’t be able to lie anymore.

Pulling into the parking lot of the club they were all meeting at, she could see her friends standing next to Xanders sleek black car that he had been gifted on his 16th birthday. She thought she would feel more excitement when seeing Lina, Kit and Xander for the first time in weeks but all she could feel was the ache in her chest, or maybe it was regret. Parking her car, Tallulah quickly got out, grabbing her bag and shoving her phone in it, the onslaught of text messages she had received remaining unread.

She could hear Linas squeals of excitement before both her feet had touched the ground and two pairs of arms wrapped her up in a group hug, “I’ve missed you guys so much” she said as Kit and Lina let her free, big grins on all three girls faces.

“What about me?” a deep voice teased, she looked over to see Xander leaning against his car, smirking at her.

“Of course I missed you, just not as much as them.” she joked, making her way over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug before kissing his cheek as she let him go. “You’re a lot harder to replace than I thought you would be.”Tallulah said, earning her a scoff from him, “You would never want to replace me.” Xander spoke in all seriousness, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Everything was just like she left it, and she loved that. The group of friends got into the building no problem, the perks of looking older than you are, Tallulah thought to herself.

Lina and Kit went to get drinks for everyone while Xander and Tallulah found an empty booth, his arm never leaving her shoulders. They sat beside each other in the booth and she looked up towards him as he said, “I have something for you.”

She furrowed her brows, she could barely remember the last time he had given her something that wasn’t a holiday or a birthday, “You did?” she asked to which he nodded his head, digging into his jeans pocket, he pulled out a slick, thin grey rectangle. “Li said you dad tossed yours. Hide it better this time, yeah.” tallulah nodded her head in agreement before taking it from his hand, but if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t feel the need to have one anymore. She had no cravings for it, and no stressors that made her even want to use it, it would just end up collecting dust somewhere in her room until she could find an excuse to use it.

“I missed you too, y’know.” he said with a toothy grin, “Nothings been the same without you.” Tallulah smiled at that,glad to know her friends weren’t doing better than she was with the sudden change.

Lina and Kit found their table, four drinks with them, placing one in front of Xander and one in front of Tallulah, “In celebration of the crew being back together,”Lina said with a big smile on her face. Tallulah knew she shouldn’t drink considering she was driving but sipping the crisp alcohol would at least keep her friends off her case, so that's what she did for the next thirty minutes as they all caught up.

Before she knew it, Kit was pulling out onto the dance floor to dance with her and anyone else they could find. The music was loud and the adrenaline was pumping. She felt hands on her waist as someone came up behind her, her hips swaying with the music, she turned her body towards the person holding her firmly, turning to see Xander, she smiled brightly wrapping her arms around his neck, he bent his head down and said in to her ear, over the loud music, “You should come back with us tonight, you can crash at my place.”

Tallulah shook her head, “My dad would literally kill me, Xan.” he laughed nonchalantly, and she became very aware of how close their bodies were, “It’ll be fine, Luie, live a little. I really want you to.” he wanted her to, she thought to herself, looking up at him. He never tells her what he wants, he just does it. “I can't,” she said while standing on her tippy toes to say it into his ear, before she could flatten her feet he had turned his head and pressed his lips to hers, in a rushed, sloppy kiss. Much like the ones they had shared many times before. He pulled away first, “Xan, that's not gonna change my mind.”

He pouted like a little kid about to throw a tantrum, “But I’ve missed you so much and we don’t even know when we will be able to see each other again” he rationed to her, and Tallulah just shook her head, it’s not that she didn’t want to, it's just that this is how they always were together. One minute all over each other they next not speaking, “I haven’t even heard from you in the past two weeks besides that one phone call”

Xander rolled his eyes at her statement, “I can’t spend every waking moment talking to you, Luie, just relax,” he said. Before she could even respond his lips were on hers again, but all she could think about was how cold he felt. Not abnormally cold, just cold. It was uncomfortable.

Pulling back, she said, “We should go find the others,” to which Xander shook his head, “Come on, I haven’t seen you for weeks,” his hands were firm on her arms holding her in place as he leaned in again. Turning her head, his lips connected with her cheek. Now he was pulling back, taking a deep breath, trying not to lose his cool with her, “Really, Luie, you’re doing this again?”

“Doing what again? Is it such a crime that I don’t want to makeout with you in some dinghy club?” she asked him, annoyance laced in her tone. He shook his head, his shaggy hair falling in front of his face, “You always do this!” he exclaimed, “You can’t just act the way you have been all night, and then turn around and say never mind.”

Tallulah looked at him like he was out of his mind, “Yes, I can, Xan. And I am.” she said, standing her ground with him. “But Luie,” That fucking nickname, she thought to herself, “We don’t know when the next time we will see eachother is,” He used the same excuse as before. His hand was now on her lower back, holding her flush against him, “Stop, Xan.'' She tried to push him away, but with the awkward angle of her arms she found it hard. “You’ve always liked this, Luie,”he whispered in her ear, his lips brushed up against it as he spoke, “Get off!” she shoved at him, and before she knew it, he was being yanked away from her. Taking a few steps back to steady herself, she didn’t recognize the boy who had pulled Xander and as he took a step towards her, asking her if she was okay, she took a step back. Blood was pounding in her ears, lookin at Xanders retreating figure, no doubt going to find Lina.

A hand rested on her shoulder, the comforting warmth of it gave away who it was before she had even turned to look at him. Paul. Once she had turned to him she wrapped her arms around his waist, wanting nothing more than to feel the safety of the heat emitting off him. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.” She spoke quickly, and shakily. His arms encircled her, one on her back, the other in her hair, holding her head to his chest, holding her to him, “It’s okay. You’re okay.” he murmured to her softly.

“Embry, you take my car. I’ll drive her home.” Tallulah heard Paul saying, not lifting her head away from his chest. Embry. That must’ve been the boy's name who had pulled Xander away from her. She twisted her head and gave him a grateful smile as Paul gave him his keys before looking up at Paul, who was looking down at her. She could see the worry lines near his eyes and wanted nothing more than to smooth them out with the pads of her fingers. “Alright, let’s go.” his tone was serious, and she knew he was mad at her but trying really hard not to let it show given the circumstances.

“I need to tell my friends.” she spoke to him as if she was walking on thin ice, which she was.

“That guy-” Tallulah cut him off before he could finish what he was saying, “Not him, Lina and Kit..” she reassured as she let go of him, but he held onto her hand tightly, not wanting her to get lost in the sea of people.

It wasn’t hard to find Lina, who was subsequently also looking for Tallulah, “Hey! What happened with Xan, he stormed…” Lina trailed off, one look at Tallulah's face and she didn't need to put into words what had happened. She has seen this look on her best friend before. Like she’s just woken up from a terrible nightmare.“I’m going to head home, Li.” Tally spoke softly, she watched as Lina looked Paul up and down, trying to decide if Tal should go with him, “He’s cool, I promise.” she said while letting go of Paul's hand to wrap her best friend in a hug, “Call me when you get back to Seattle.” she said, before allowing Paul to lead her out of the dark club. She held onto his hand tightly, only letting go once they had reached her car, handing him the keys they both got in silently.

Tallulah only spoke up once they had left the parking lot and were heading towards the highway back to LaPush, “How did you know where to find me?” she asked softly, pulling her sleeves down over the palms of her hands.

“It’s a long story,” he said stoically. Tally furrowed her brows at his response, not satisfied with it at all, “We’ve got time.” she said looking at him, watching his face as he focused on the road.

“Well for one, there's only a few clubs in Port Angeles that allow minors to waltz through their doors.” he said angrily, but it didn’t feel like it was directed at her. “Please, don’t do this again, Tal.” he said looking directly at her, causing her to look away.

“I just wanted to see my friends.” she mumbled, looking down at her lap.

“You could’ve gotten hurt and no one would’ve known where you were because you told everyone you were somewhere that you weren’t.”he said, she could tell he was trying to keep his volume in check. To not yell at her like he had earlier in the evening.

“I was fine..” she pressed, which in her head, she was fine.

“Fine? You were fine?” he laughed. He really laughed, “That kid could've hurt you if Embry hadn’t gotten to you.”

Tallulah shook her head, tears pricking at her eyes. She didn’t want to cry, only children cry and she was not a child. “Xander wouldn’t have. I would’ve handled it, I always handle it.” she stressed, chewing the inside of her cheek as if it would keep her tears at bay.

It was obvious Paul was out of his depth here, so he let go of the steering wheel with his right hand, placing it in her lap. Letting her make the decision if she wanted to hold it or not, and she did. He had two small hands on either side of his large one, fingers clasped between. “You matter to me too, you know.” she said quietly, his voice from earlier in the evening replaying over in her head as it did all night long. He squeezed her hand as a response, letting the soft music from the radio takeover the silence between them.

#tw sex assault #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote x oc #paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #twilight wolf pack #twilight wolves #chapter 10

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ragingpancake · 3 years

Text

Hotel California

A/N: An Earthside AU wherein John is a college student on his way to Spring Break and Rodney is a hotel receptionist. NC-17. Reposted from my old AO3 account.

The midnight sky is gray and muggy, thick with heat and humidity. The air conditioner stopped working over a hundred miles ago and even the air flowing through the open windows isn't enough to cool the sweat beading on John's forehead.

In the passenger seat, Teyla's stretched out, humming along quietly with the static on the radio as Ronon sleeps on in the backseat, oblivious to each passing mile.

John reaches out and changes the station.

"I was listening to that," Teyla says dryly as the low twang of a country guitar fills the car. John gives her a sleepy smile in return and thumps his fingers against the steering wheel, drumming along with the beat in a last ditch effort to keep himself awake. "Perhaps it would be wise if I took over for awhile?"

"I'm good," John says dismissively. He trusts Teyla's driving almost as much as he trusts her cooking, which is to say not at all.

"I have been practicing."

"Not nearly enough for my liking," John says, grinning to take the sting out of the words. Teyla just rolls her eyes and goes back to staring out at the endless stretch of empty highway in front of them.

Driving out to California in Ronon's grandfather's beat up old station wagon hadn't been John's best idea. He's cutting two full days off their spring break with the drive there and back, but since Teyla had apparently grown up under a rock and had never taken a road trip, John and Ronon decided that their yearly trip to Long Beach was the perfect remedy.

"If you will not let me drive, maybe you would at least consider stopping for the night? We still have another five hours ahead of us and I would like to make it alive."

"Your faith in me is astounding."

"Much like your faith in me," she smirks. "Now please, find the nearest motel and pull over. I'm sick of looking at the inside of this car."

John can't argue with that.

---

It's another twenty miles and another state line until he finds a motel and by the time he climbs out of the car, he has to admit that stopping was definitely the right call; there's no way he would have made it another four hours and forty minutes.

Ronon grunts and snorts as Teyla smacks him awake. He's annoyed that they've stopped and he wants to take over driving so they can keep going, but John trusts his driving less than he trusts Teyla's. He's seen what Ronon has done to the trash cans outside of their apartment just trying to back out of the parking space.

"It's stupid to stop," Ronon grumbles as they trudge into the lobby of the seemingly deserted motel.

"I would rather get a few hours of solid sleep and then hit the road. If we continue to drive, we will be no good for anything tomorrow," Teyla says solemnly.

"Don't need sleep to surf."

"This is true, but I need sleep to finish the drive, so I say we're staying and sleeping," John says. Ronon stands just a little straighter and blinks lazily at John in what's most likely an attempt to intimidate him. It would work under other circumstances maybe, but John's just too tired to care so he waves Ronon off and slouches against the front desk, slapping his hand down on the bell.

It reverberates, echoing throughout the empty lobby.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hold your horses, I'm coming." The voice comes out of nowhere and whoever it belongs to sounds annoyed at the interruption. Seconds later, a skinny kid stomps out from behind a curtain, looking harassed and harried. He's wearing a pair of dark slacks that are at least a size too big and a white uniform shirt that's partially untucked and stained. His name tag reads 'Rodney'. "What do you want?"

"You get many people in here lookin' for something other than a room?" John drawls lazily.

Rodney snorts. "You'd be surprised. Double beds or...?"

John grins. "Double."

John watches as his fingers fly over the keyboard seemingly of their own accord. "Unfortunately, the only available room I have is a king with a pull out couch. Sorry." He doesn't sound very sorry about that.

It's not ideal, but John's exhausted and he'll be damned if he's getting back in that car. At least not until he's had a good five hours of sleep.

"John," Teyla says.

"We'll take it."

"Suit yourself. That'll be thirty five for the night."

John makes quick work of paying Rodney but he has to force himself to ignore the slight tingle when the tips of their fingers brush together. It has nothing to do, he tells himself, with the kissably crooked mouth or the hair that's curled almost delicately just above the nape of Rodney's pale neck.

Rodney stares at John for just a moment too long and John knows that he felt it too, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. "Right," Rodney says, clearing his throat. "If you'll just... follow me, I'll take you to your room."

It isn't easy, John thinks, to not stare at the barely-there outline of Rodney's ass. The baggy pants do a good job at concealing what's really underneath, but John sees enough to know what he wouldn't mind sliding into it.

He's halfway hard when Rodney slips the key card into the lock and pushes the door open. The hotel room is as nondescript and boring as every other hotel he's ever stayed in and after a quick once over, John's eyes return to Rodney just in time to catch Rodney staring. Again.

John can't help but smirk just a little.

Rodney flushes beautifully; he turns pink from the tips of his ears all the way down to his neck as he averts his eyes. "I um... I'll leave you to it, but if you need anything..."

"I know where to find you," John says.

Rodney nods, turns away and practically sprints down the hall.

---

The couch is worse than the one in their apartment, John decides as he tosses and turns, trying to find a comfortable position. Teyla and Ronon are already fast asleep, sprawled out comfortably on the large bed. John hates them just a little; he would have been more comfortable sleeping in the car.

He gives it another ten minutes and when he's no closer to sleep, he climbs off the couch and stalks out of the room, cursing Ronon and his ability to sleep anywhere and Teyla for being... well, for being Teyla.

He doesn't know where he's going and he's not sure what he's doing until he steps into the lobby.

Rodney's sitting at the front desk, hunched over something and John's cock twitches to life almost immediately.

"Hey," he calls before he can stop himself.

Rodney startles and looks up, blue eyes wide in surprise. "Uh... what... did you need something?"

He does, but John really doesn't know if it's something Rodney's willing to give but it doesn't stop him from slinking over to the desk. "What are you working on?" He asks conversationally. Mentally, he's kicking his own lame ass.

"Nothing that can't wait until later," Rodney says and then he flushes again and John can read the worry on his face; he's wondering if he's misjudged the situation.

"Cool," John says lazily. "You know, the couches in these rooms really suck."

"Yeah," Rodney agrees, clearing his throat just a little. He looks nervous and excited so John relaxes just a little bit.

"Don't happen to know a place that's a little more comfortable, do you?"

"As a matter of fact..." Rodney says.

---

Kissing Rodney is exactly like John thought it would be; his lips are incredibly kissable, but he's clumsy and awkward. It should turn John off, but it strangely enough, it doesn't. It just leaves him wanting more.

When they break apart, Rodney's breathing heavily, shoulders and chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His mousy brown hair is soaked to his forehead because even though it's a million and five degrees outside, apparently hotels don't believe in air conditioning their employee break room.

"It's hot as fuck," Rodney complains.

"Gonna get hotter," John says and leans forward, capturing Rodney's lips again.

---

The next time they break apart, Rodney's naked and writhing beneath John. He's about two thrusts away from shamelessly humping John's leg as John takes his time undressing himself.

"Torture," Rodney wheezes.

John responds by leaning over and swallowing Rodney's cock.

It's effective in shutting him up.

At least for a minute.

John has had a series of one night stands before. Plenty of college guys--and girls because he's not picky--but none have been as vocal about being fucked as Rodney.

When John finally slides in between those round ass cheeks, Rodney moans and whines and pleads and begs. He arches against John, crying out for more, more, more and John doesn't hold back. He thrusts against Rodney over and over, burying himself deeper and deeper each time.

"Fuck, Rodney," John gasps and he can already feel the orgasm building low in his belly. It hasn't been this quick since the first time Kenny Lewis blew him in the passenger seat of his uncle's van, but it doesn't matter because he can feel Rodney already trembling beneath him, his cock red and weeping between them.

He's close, but Rodney's closer.

Rodney's whimpering now and clinging to John harder with every thrust. He'll have marks and bruises for days, he thinks, but it's worth it when Rodney cries out and John feels the warm spray of come on his chest.

He leans down and buries his face against Rodney's neck as he rocks his hips desperately, torn between needing to come and wanting to prolong it.

He tries to hold out, but suddenly he's coming hard enough that his vision goes hazy and when he's finally spent, he collapses on top of Rodney, breathing heavily.

John rolls off of Rodney after a minute and reaches for his discarded boxers to clean himself up. It feels wrong to just dress and go, so instead, he slumps back against the couch beside Rodney, their shoulders brushing occasionally. John thinks he should say something, but he isn't sure what.

It's Rodney who breaks the ice.

"That was..."

"Yeah," John agrees. "I should..."

"Yeah."

John doesn't move.

---

When John jogs into the lobby late the next morning to check out, he's surprised to find Rodney still hunched behind the counter, staring at a text book. He doesn't seem to hear John approach, so John clears his throat, grinning when Rodney jumps at the sound.

"What?"

John drops the key card onto the counter and slides it towards him. "Just thought I'd come say goodbye. We're heading out."

"Where to?"

"Long Beach... four days of nothing but surf and sand."

"Thrilling," Rodney says dryly. He takes the key card and clicks the computer keys. "You um... come this way often?"

"Just once a year," John says and he thinks he imagines Rodney's face falling just a little.

"Well then..." Rodney says.

"Yeah," John agrees. "I uh... my friends are waiting for me at the car, but I just..."

"You should go."

"Yeah. I..." John sighs and turns. He takes a step toward the doorway and then stops. "Hey Rodney?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe... maybe on our way back through..." He trails off.

Rodney looks hopeful. "If you need anything..."

"I know where to find you," John grins before he turns and walks out of the lobby.

#sga fic #fandom: sga #stargate atlantis #mcshep #pairing: mcshep #sexytimes #john sheppard/rodney mckay #john sheppard #rodney mckay #ronon dex #teyla emmagan #earthside AU

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Hello! I truly love your writing! Would you consider a continuation of that piece where Jules stays with coops for a week? Or just some snippets of what they get up to?

Here’s part 1, folks! It’s about 3k words and I’m thinking there will be three or four parts total, released over the next couple days. I hope you enjoy it!

Sweater Weather and Jules credit belongs to @lumosinlove!

“Jules.” A series of gentle knocks echoed down the stairs and Sirius smiled into his coffee cup. “Jules, it’s time to wake up.”

Regulus snorted. “Bet you five bucks he has to drag the kid down.”

“Deal.”

“Jules.” Remus knocked again, sounding more exasperated. There was a heavy sigh and the door clicked open; after a moment of quiet, someone yelped. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Go away!” Jules groaned. “An’ give it back!”

“It’s time for breakfast, get a wiggle on. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

“I’m cold.” More rustling noises followed before Jules appeared at the top of the staircase, bundled in Remus’ sweatshirt—which was really Sirius’, but it didn’t matter—and scowling. His bedhead was outstanding.

“Bon matin,” Sirius said with a smile when Jules sat heavily in the chair next to him and put his forehead on his arms. “How’d you sleep?”

“I don’t like your fiancé.”

“Oh?”

“He’s mean.”

Sirius winked at Remus as he rolled his eyes and pulled a cereal box out of the pantry. “What did he do?”

“He stole my blankets with no warning.”

“That is such a lie,” Remus scoffed. “I knocked on your door for five whole minutes before I came in!”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” Sirius said, walking over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Reg owes me five bucks now.”

“Sweet, we can get more Oreos.”

“Oreos aren’t on your diet plan,” Jules sulked as Remus passed him a bowl of cereal and milk.

“How do you know?”

Jules mumbled something and shoved his spoon into his mouth. The night before had been hectic, with Sirius driving the Hope and Lyall to the airport while Remus helped set Jules up for the night. Regulus came back from hanging out with Leo around ten pm; by that time, Jules was still wired for sound at the idea of a week-long sleepover. He finally went to sleep around eleven thirty and Sirius and Remus crash-landed into bed, exhausted.

Practice was going to be hell.

“Why do we have to wake up early, again?” Jules asked around a yawn.

Sirius ruffled his hair as he sat down again. “Practice starts at ten. Eight o’clock is not early at all.”

He squinted at him, confused. “How early do you usually wake up?”

“Seven, seven-thirty.”

Jules shuddered and turned back to his cereal while Remus plonked himself down in Sirius’ lap with a coffee cup, looking moments away from falling asleep again. “Children are exhausting. Why did we get two of them?”

“Hey!” Jules and Regulus said in unison, clearly offended.

“We’ve got terrible judgement,” Sirius laughed.

“Older brothers are the worst, right Jules?”

“Totally. Are you coming to the rink with us?”

Regulus shook his head. “Sorry, buddy, I’ve got college stuff to work on. Want to help me with paperwork?”

Jules made a face. “I’ll pass.”

“We’re leaving in forty minutes, okay?” Remus said, stretching his back as he stood up and left Sirius’ lap cold and empty. “Jules, please take a shower.”

“I smell fine!”

“You didn’t take one yesterday or the day before. Scoot.” Jules rolled his eyes and got up. “Don’t give me that look! And put your bowl in the sink.”

Sirius and Regulus shared a glance as Jules put his stuff away and trooped up the stairs. “Hi, Hope,” Regulus snickered.

Resignation overtook Remus’ face and he sighed. “Fuck. I’m turning into my mother already. Reg, you should take a shower, too.”

“I smell fine!” The withering look from both Sirius and Remus made him raise his hands in surrender and wander off to his bedroom. “I’m nineteen, not nine!”

”And yet we still need to babysit you,” Sirius called back. Finally, they were alone. He hopped up to sit on the counter and grabbed Remus around the waist as he passed by, pulling him back for a hug. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Good morning.” Remus kissed him gently, bracketing his hips with his hands. He looked tired, but happy. “I’m actually pretty excited to have Jules stay with us. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Ne rien. It’s good to have people here.” They kissed for a moment longer, listening to the shower running upstairs and Regulus’ rummaging noises down the hall. “I swear to God, he’s like a raccoon.”

Remus laughed and leaned his forehead on Sirius’ shoulder. “He definitely sounds like one.”

“At least his room’s clean.”

“Cheers to that. He’s heading back tomorrow, right?”

“Mhmm. Dumo’s been bugging me for, like, three days.”

Remus hummed, wrapping his arms around Sirius and snuggling into him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. We’ve only got a little bit of time before Jules is out, so we should get dressed.”

Remus groaned, but released his limpet hold. “That was so close to a perfect sentence.”

Sirius paused just before hopping off the counter and raised his eyebrows. “If we have extra time…”

“Come on, you,” Remus laughed, tugging him off the counter by the hand and hurrying toward the stairs.

---------------------

They arrived at the rink at 10:05, and Sirius began bracing himself for the inevitable chirping as soon as he stepped out of the car. Jules bounced on his toes in excitement as they walked toward the building, laden with their hockey gear and still a bit frazzled from the mad dash out of the house.

“Is this the munchkin?” Moody asked when Remus knocked on the door to the PT office.

“Yep.” Remus looked down at Jules, whose eyes were wide and more than a little nervous as his grip tightened on Remus’ jacket hem.

“Alastor Moody,” he grunted, holding a hand out that Jules tentatively shook.

“Jules.”

“Wanna see how bones work, kid?”

Instantly, his nerves disappeared. “Yeah!”

Moody winked at them as he led Jules toward the joint models on the far wall and Sirius let out a slow breath. “He’ll be fine.”

“God, I hope so. If anyone can drive Moody off the wall, it’ll be my little brother,” Remus murmured as they headed off down the hall.

The yelling started the second Sirius opened the locker room door. “You’re LATE!” James shouted, grinning from ear to ear. “Hand over the badge, Captain.”

“We still have fifty minutes until practice starts, shut your face.” Sirius socked him on the shoulder and set his bag in the stall.

“What, pray tell, was the reason for this tardiness?” James leaned over and batted his eyelashes.

Remus rolled up a towel and smacked him on the ass with it. “My little brother.”

“Jules is here?” Leo perked up on the other side of the room, and Sirius saw several of the guys look over in excitement, as if they were hiding him in one of their bags.

“He’s staying with us for the week since my great-aunt passed away.”

“Shit, Loops, I’m sorry.”

Remus shrugged. “I never met her, but my folks went back for the funeral. Moody said he’d keep an eye on Jules during practice.”

“Lupin, Black, you’re late,” Coach Weasley said from the doorway, giving them a look over his glasses. “Do we need to have a conversation?”

“No, Coach,” Sirius said as he pulled his pads over his chest.

“I hear you’ve commandeered my head PT for the day.”

Remus shook his head. “If Jules starts bugging him—”

“I’m kidding, Loops.” Arthur’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Moody loves kids. This’ll be good for his disposition.”

Finn snorted. “Can’t get any worse.”

“I expect all of you on the ice in twenty. Any stragglers are doing laps outside!” Arthur slapped the edge of the doorway before ducking out into the hall again; his sneakers squeaked on the freshly-washed floor and Sirius stifled a laugh as he finished buckling up.

The five minute delay did not have a terrible impact on his pre-practice rituals, which he took a moment to be grateful for—they had a scrimmage planned, and he didn’t intend to lose. Once warmups were over, they moved into running plays, until finally the whistle blew and Coach called out the teams. Remus ended up on the other side and he slapped Sirius’ ass with his stick as he passed him, grinning over his shoulder before stopping next to Dumo.

Jules and Moody came out to watch a few minutes in; Sirius caught a glimpse of his wide eyes when he saw the speed of the game and smiled to himself. Everyone else seemed to notice the new arrivals as well, because their effort doubled and suddenly the plays were running smoother than ever.

Showing off for a ten-year-old, he thought with a shake of his head. Talk about baby fever.

Remus sped through the defense, weaving back and forth until he was nearly face-to-face with Sirius. His whole face lit up and he braced; when Sirius went to check him, he dipped sideways at the last second and slipped the puck right through his skates, catching it on the other side and zipping toward the goal at top speed. The goal light went off and Talker whooped, checking him in celebration.

“Lupin! Where’s that been all season?” Arthur demanded, though he was laughing. “Christ, guys, thanks for finally waking up!”

“Where the fuck did you learn that?” Sirius asked as they headed back for the face-off.

“You think you’re the only one who skates in the basement?” Remus said with a cheeky grin.

The whole rink buzzed with energy throughout the rest of the scrimmage—once or twice, Sirius realized even he was showing off a little for Jules, who cheered louder than fifteen thousand fans whenever someone scored.

Arthur shook his head when the final whistle went off. “Everyone say ‘thank you’ to Julian.”

“Thank you, Jules,” they chorused. Jules looked like he was about to die of happiness.

“I need to get him in here more often,” Arthur muttered as they headed to the locker room to change into their gym gear. “Let’s get that energy for every practice, okay? Not just the ones with Little Loops.”

“What are you talking about?” Kasey laughed.

Arthur fixed him with a look. “Don’t bullshit me, Winter, all of you were showing off for the kid.”

Remus blushed all the way to his ears, and the rest of them mumbled some half-assed excuses until they were shooed away. “I put the new schedule on the mirror,” Sirius called over the noise. “Try to pay attention to it for once.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Logan reached up and patted him on the shoulder as he passed; Sirius dragged him back into a headlock to ruffle his hair. “Ow, fuck, okay!”

Logan did not, in fact, stick to the schedule. He was far too busy tossing the lightest medicine ball they had with Jules, who staggered slightly whenever he caught it. Both looked absolutely thrilled.

Sirius, on the other hand, was glad for the opportunity to do a fair bit of ogling while he spotted Remus—who stuck to the schedule, Sirius had never loved him more—until he finished his bench-pressing rotation. He was strong before being a player, but now…well, it was safe to say he could sweep Sirius off his feet literally and figuratively.

“Re, Re!” Jules ran over when Remus finally sat up, then paused and made a face. “You’re sweaty.”

Remus pulled him in for a hug, making him shriek and wiggle to get out. “I am, yeah! Isn’t it great? Here, lemme just—”

Jules flailed, but he couldn’t get out of Remus’ hold in time to avoid the head nuzzle that plastered his hair up on one side with sweat as the guys laughed. “Ewww!”

“Did you need something, buddy?” Remus asked at last.

“Well, now I need a shower.” Jules grimaced. “I was going to ask if you guys actually do ice baths.”

“Of course we do!” Kasey cut in before Remus could quickly divert the topic. “And your brother loves them.”

Sirius had to turn around to muffle his laughter as interest lit on Jules’ face. “Really? Can I see?”

Kasey opened the door dramatically. “Right this way, Little Loops.”

Two of the ice baths were full when they arrived and Sirius did not miss the pained look on Remus’ face at the sight, nor did he miss the devious smile on Kasey’s. Jules hurried over to one and looked over the end, practically sticking his whole face in. “Woah.”

“Pretty cool, huh? You want to know what the best part is?”

“What?”

“Oh, Christ,” Remus muttered.

“Loops, will you do the honors and make sure your darling little brother has a good time?” Kasey asked, the picture of innocence. Remus sighed and stood next to the ice bath, silently begging Sirius for help with his eyes as Kasey motioned Jules over. “Alright, so you take one of these, and then you have to be super careful as you aim. Lucky for you, you’re learning from the best.”

Remus winced as the first ice cube smacked him in the side of the head and gritted his teeth as the second went down the neck of his t-shirt. Sirius schooled his expression into the mildest, sweetest smile he could muster. “He’s not doing anything,” Jules whispered. Remus began taking deep breaths.

“He will.”

“Try me, Wint—oh, sh—” Remus muffled a squeak as ice went directly down his spine. “Hoo, boy, that’s cold.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you censor yourself,” Kasey said, amazed. “It’s uncanny.”

“Are you done?”

“I could do this all day, but it’s my turn to make dinner tonight and Nat gets hangry if I’m late. Good game, Little Loops.” Kasey and Jules high-fived and Remus shook his shirt out; no less than four ice cubes clattered to the ground.

“Young man, you are in such big trouble,” Remus growled playfully as he swept Jules over his shoulder and began tickling his knees. Sirius dodged the squirming legs and held the door open for them as they walked back into the hallway. “You’re okay hanging out with Moody while we get our stuff together, right?”

“Yeah! He’s got the coolest knee statues.”

----------------------------------

Dinner was anything but a quiet affair; all three of them had taken a nap when they got home, then had a dance party in the kitchen while Remus taught Jules how to actually cook chicken so nobody got food poisoning. Sirius was torn between begging them for the details of that particular story and wanting to stay as far away from it as possible.

Regulus and Jules got into a fierce game of footsie under the table that only ended when a small foot—he still didn’t know which one it was—slammed into the base of Sirius’ knee, hard enough that it would certainly leave a bruise. “Ow.”

They both froze, shared a look, then silently went back to eating. “Practice starts at nine tomorrow,” Remus said around a bite of broccoli. “That means wake up time is six thirty, okay? We’ve got a game on Thursday and it’s super important that we’re not late again. Reg, what time are you heading out?”

“I was thinking noon-ish? That way I can get my stuff set up while Dumo’s still at practice. Don’t want to bother him.”

Jules turned to him with the biggest, saddest eyes Sirius had ever seen. “You’re leaving?”

“I live with Dumo, remember?” Regulus hesitated. “I’ll be at the game, though.”

“Can I sit with you?”

“Absolutely.”

That seemed to placate him, and he turned back to his chicken happily. Sirius nudged his brother, giving him a significant look, which was met with an eye roll that couldn’t quite cover the fond flush on his face.

Jules and Regulus took care of the dishes after dinner and Sirius stretched out on the couch to the sounds of the kid’s excited chatter as he recounted the day’s events. Remus flopped down on top of him, settling between his thighs with a contented smile. “Today went well.”

“Yeah, it did.” Sirius began running his fingers through Remus’ soft hair. “I think Moody is about thirty seconds away from adopting him.”

Remus laughed against his chest. “I think so. It’s pretty cool seeing him so excited about PT stuff.”

“It is.” There was a slow sigh and Sirius raised his eyebrows. “What was that about?”

“I just realized that even though Reg is leaving tomorrow, we won’t have the house to ourselves for six more days. It’s been two weeks.”

Sirius closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the armrest. “Fuck. I didn’t even think about that. Think we can dump him on Dumo for a night?”

“We can handle six days, right?”

“Yeah, totally.”

There was a beat of silence. “This is going to be difficult.”

“If we make it to the three-day mark, I say we break open the Oreos as a reward.”

“Sounds good to me—oof.”

They both groaned as an extra hundred pounds of person squished on top of them. “Dishes are done!” Jules chirped.

“Did you wash your hands?” Sirius wheezed, blinking the dark spots out of his vision. Remus’ chin was digging into his upper ribs.

“Yep! Regulus wants to watch a movie. I think we should watch Jurassic Park, but he says it’s terrible—”

“He what?” Remus raised his head slightly and craned his neck to look back at the kitchen. “Regulus!”

“What?”

“You don’t like Jurassic Park? I thought you had taste!” Remus pushed off the couch and Jules wrapped all his limbs around him like an oversized koala. “We’re watching it tonight and you’re going to like it. Come on, baby, we need to make sure your brother has culture.”

Two hours later, as the credits rolled and three people snored gently, Sirius smiled to himself. He could handle a week of this.

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ghost-of-winters-past · 3 years

Text

can’t blame me for falling (when you look at me like that)

summary: On the road to see your old childhood friends with Bucky, you found yourself wishing you’d never reach your destination. Oh, the line between friendship and love could be so thin, especially when Bucky kept looking at you like that.

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

warnings/synopsis: AU, mutual pining, swear words, another friends to lovers because honestly we love to see it. Requested by the wonderful @barnesbabyy You have no idea how much fun I had writing this! Feel free to request again whenever! (4.3k words) Also, I have a smutty part 2. Raise your hands if you want it.

"Fucking hell." The black duffel bag stuffed to the brim with clothes, toiletries and a few bags of chips hit the ground with a heavy thud. The zipper had only closed halfway so that the football tricot you had thrown in last was still sticking out of it. Waving your arms in the air like some kind of flightless bird, you tried to get back control of your body while your feet were busy sliding over the iced patch on the New York sidewalk. "You okay over there?" Bucky sent you a bemused look, his tousled, brown hair sticking into every direction due to just waking up. "No. I almost just died!" you shot back with a dark look after finally managing to not smack face-first onto the street. Muttering a few obscene swear words, you took Bucky’s offered hand and let him help you off the slippery ice. "Yeah, looked pretty bad. Was already planning which headstone I was gonna buy you." "Haha, really funny." "Admit it, you would miss me," you then added and watched Bucky picking up your bag from the pavement. "Jesus Christ, woman. What’s in this thing?" he groaned and still hauled it into the car trunk as if it weighed absolutely nothing. Show-off. "Just some essentials," you shrugged and went to round the car so you could finally get on the road when Bucky suddenly opened the bag and started to dig through its contents. "Hey! Get your filthy paws out of my stuff!" "What the hell do you need five king-sized packs of Reese’s Cups for?" he asked with a raised brow and an amused smirk tugging on his pink lips. "You know we’re only gone for like five days, right?" With flaring nostrils, you ripped the sweets from his grasp. "One for every day! And now you’re not gonna get any of these, congratulations!" you huffed, pushed him to the side with your elbow and stuffed the candy back into your bag. Beside you, you could hear Bucky laughing, a deep rumbling belly laugh that made something flutter in your stomach. Maybe you had caught his flu after he kept annoying you to take care of him last week, insisting he couldn’t leave the bed and needed someone to make him soup and bring him lemon tee every two hours. Normally you would have just told him to suck it up and quit being a baby like he always did when you were sick, but when he had looked at you like that with his stupid big blue ocean eyes you just couldn’t say no.

"Can we leave now? There’s supposed to be a lot of traffic and I wanna at least get to North Carolina before sundown." You didn’t even wait for his answer and just slid into the passenger seat where you had already bunkered some water bottles and salty pretzels. Just in case you or Bucky would get car sick. You were already buckling up and hoisting your socked feet up onto the dashboard after kicking off your boots. With a little sigh, Bucky got into the driver's seat. A groan rolled over his lips when he saw your propped-up feet. "Get your smelly feet off my dashboard." "My feet don’t smell, asshat," you said, stretching to reach the radio to try to connect your phone cable. From the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky shaking his head before starting the engine and mumbling something along the lines of being rude to the person chauffeuring you along half of the American east coast under his breath. Miley Cyrus' deep voice started to blare through the speakers and you could hear Bucky’s annoyed sigh, but chose to ignore it. Everybody knew the person in the passenger seat had the power over the music. "Let’s go!" you yelled and put on your sunglasses as Bucky expertly wove into traffic. There were at least nine hours of road ahead of you for today and you couldn’t wait to get going. The sooner you left, the sooner you could finally see Sam and Steve again.

"Hey, let’s play a game!" you excitedly suggested after about thirty minutes of driving. Bucky chuckled. "If that means you turn off the music, I’m in." You turned the music down. "Okay. Fuck, marry, kill." Bucky threw his head back, groaning annoyed. "That’s not the driving game I was thinking of," he said. You shrugged. "Don’t care. You start. Sam, Steve and me. Go." Giggling when he threw his head back again and let out an even louder groan, you turned around to face him and crossed your legs on the seat. "First of all: Kill Sam. That’s not even a question." Agreeing, you nodded your head. "I really don’t wanna answer the rest." "Oh come on!" you yelled and playfully shook his shoulder. "No!" he yelled back, a laugh rolling over his lips right after. "Bucky!" "Okay, okay!" Grinning, you watched him think about his answer for a while. His eyes wandered over to you for a few seconds, his cheeks reddening a little. "Say it!" "I refuse!" "Bucky, say it!" "Don’t force me to do this!" "Say it!" "Fuck and marry you, dammit!" It was dead silent. You were confused. "That’s not-" "I’m not gonna do shit with Steve! I’m either gonna fuck and marry you or nobody at all!" Slapping your hand over your mouth, you tried to hold in your laugh. "That’s not what I meant," he mumbled, embarrassed. "You love me," you started to tease him, dragging out the love in a high voice. "No. In fact, I’m gonna throw you outta the car right now." Bucky started violently pushing at your upper arm. "Get your fucking eyes back on the road!" you yelled and slapped his hands away, trying to catch your breath from laughing so hard that your eyes had teared up.

You had been sitting in the car for just over three hours when you had to make your first pit stop to get gas. Passing through most of Pennsylvania with just a few complications due to traffic, you were now just about half an hour away from crossing the border to Maryland. You were currently filling up the tank while Bucky escaped to the toilet. He had complained about needing to pee for at least 45 minutes, and you had just blown him off by reminding him that he should have gone before you left New York this morning. He was like a little child, telling you that he didn’t need to pee this morning so he didn’t go and when you had noticed the almost empty tank, you had let him wobble off while taking care of getting gas. "You want me to drive for a while?" you asked as you saw him coming back towards the car, a content look on his face. "Nah, I’m still good. You can drive tomorrow." "Okay, I’m just gonna pay real quick and then we can hit the road again," you said, putting the tank cap back into place and grabbing your wallet from the passenger seat.

Waiting in line to pay, your gaze wandered out of the big shop windows onto Bucky. He was standing in front of the open car door, languidly stretching his arms above his head so that the hem of his blue shirt kept riding up. Even from the distance, your breath hitched a little as you saw the toned sliver of skin that was now exposed to the cold February air. You had seen him without a shirt many times, and every time you had to suppress the need to run your hands over his defined muscles. Constantly you had to remind yourself that friends usually didn’t do that. The veins in his arms were almost bulging out, and you could have kept watching him for ages if the cashier wouldn’t have cleared his throat at that moment and ripped you from your observations. You put a bar of chocolate and a bottle of coke on the counter and proceeded to pay before heading back to Bucky. He was now sitting in the car again, his feet dangling out the open door and typing away on his phone. He quickly put it away when he saw you approaching.

"Can you gimme the chocolate?" he asked after getting back on the highway. "Not when you’re driving, you’re gonna kill us!" He sighed exasperated, knowing you were referring to the one time the two of you were driving upstate and he almost swerved off the street trying to open a bag of skittles. "It was one time, get over it!" You let out a little scream as he tried to reach for the chocolate in your hands, the car immediately swaying a little to the right. "Okay! I’m gonna give you a piece when you put both hands back on the wheel. Ten and two o’clock, mister!" Bucky let out a little huff, opening his mouth to complain when you held a piece of chocolate in front of his mouth. Not taking his eyes off the road, he gently closed his lips around it. The pillowy skin grazed your fingertips, sending an electrocuting tingle up your arm and then down your spine. You could feel your heart thrumming in your chest as you slowly lowered your arm. Clearing your throat, you got back to stuffing your own and suddenly very hot feeling face with chocolate.

You had been watching fields and trees passing you by with your arm propped up on the car window. After your little gas stop, it had been silent between you two. When Bucky had looked over to you after another hour of driving, he found you sound asleep with your head resting on the cold window. A small smile spread on his lips when he heard your quiet snoring. Careful, he first slipped one arm out of the sleeve of his brown jacket, then the other one before placing it over you as a makeshift blanket, not even taking his gaze off the road once. From the corner of his eye, he could see you pulling the jacket up to your chin in your sleep, a content sigh escaping your pretty lips. His eyes flickered over to your thigh, fingers itching to reach out and place his hand on the soft fabric of your sweat pants. But he didn’t know if you would be okay with it, even though you’d probably not notice. So he restrained himself and gripped onto the steering wheel tighter, focusing on the road again.

You didn’t know how much time exactly had passed, but when you woke up, it was already getting dark outside. Yawning, you stretched your arms above your head, promptly bumping into the car ceiling. In the process, the jacket slipped down your torso. Confused, you looked over to Bucky. "Hey, sleepyhead," he said and sent a warm smile in your direction. "Hey," you grumbled back, your voice still thick with sleep and yawned again. You could feel the cold seeping through to you, so you decided to slip into Bucky’s jacket. The smell of mint and his aftershave, something woodsy and warm, surrounded you, and you couldn’t help but take a deep breath. How did he always smell so good? "Where are we?" "Just a few miles outside of North Carolina," he said. "You hungry? I saw a sign for a 24-hour diner a few minutes ago," he then added. "I could go for a burger." "You got it, doll." Warmth spread through your chest when you heard the nickname he usually just reserved for women he tried to pick up at your local bar. You just hoped he didn't hear your heart beating in your chest. Clearing your throat, you let your gaze wander out of the window again, letting Bucky's delicious smell fill your nose, almost lulling you back to sleep.

There were just two other cars parked in front of the retro diner when Bucky killed the engine. It was dark now, the cold air filling the car as soon as you opened the door. Burying your hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, you followed him to the entrance. "Thanks." Bucky noticed the red hue that was spreading on your cheeks when he held the door open for you, his heart doing a little jump when he saw how cute you looked in his jacket. It was a good few numbers too big on you, the sleeves bunching up around your wrists and its length covering up your butt. His head shot back up immediately when he realized he was checking out your ass, something he usually didn’t do. I mean, he had noticed you had a nice ass. Many times. And yes, admittedly, he had caught his hand reaching out to give it a good hard slap every now and then, but that’s just what best friends did, right? Right? That didn’t mean he was actually checking you out. He was just…observing.

A waitress motioned you over to a free booth at a window. She handed you two menus as you sat down and quickly took your drink order before leaving you to decide on food. "I need something greasy," you stated with a longing look at the cheese fries that were displayed on the plastic-wrapped cards. When Bucky didn’t say anything, you lifted your eyes from the menu and found him staring at you with a thoughtful look, his tongue running over his plump lips. "What?" "You just look so damn good in my clothes," he said, his voice a few octaves deeper than usual. Goosebumps spread over your arms when you watched him biting his bottom lip. Then he suddenly seemed to snap out of it, eyes widening a little before clearing his throat and hiding his face behind the menu. Even if you had known what to say, you physically couldn't bring yourself to even utter a word. Your throat was suddenly so dry that you greedily took a big gulp of the water the waitress had just placed in front of you. Awkward silence took over after ordering your food. "So, are we gonna stop for a motel soon?" "Let’s just take the first one we see, yeah?" Nodding your agreement, you started to play with the sleeve of his jacket. Then it was silent once again. Thankfully it didn’t take too long for your food to arrive, and once you started to dig in, Bucky’s comment from earlier was long forgotten.

"Shit, this is amazing," you said in between bites, an appreciative moan leaving your lips when you bit into the juicy burger. "You have a little something. Right there." Bucky motioned to your mouth, a little laugh tumbling from his lips when you tried to reach the cheesy spot with the tip of your tongue. "Wait. Let me." Reaching out over the table, his thumb moved to the corner of your lips. You could feel your heart stop for a second as you looked up into his wide blown eyes. Something was different. You didn’t just see it in the blue of his eyes, you could feel it in the air. Bucky’s thumb stilled, pulling down your bottom lip as his eyes settled on the sight of his thumb resting on the delicate skin of your lips. Without even a second thought, your tongue shot out, licking the cheese from his fingertip. "Fuck," you heard him curse quietly, a shaky breath escaping his mouth. Your eyes widened in shock and a weird feeling settled deep in your stomach. "I need to pee."

Jumping from your seat, his hand fell from your face. You could feel his stare on you as you ran off to the restroom, inwardly cringing at your own words. A hand came to rest on the spot he had touched after you had locked yourself in one of the stalls. Staring at the beige tile, you could not believe what had just happened. It was almost as if your brain had short-circuited. You didn’t even realize what you were doing until you had already tasted the salt of his fries on his fingertip. Convinced that you had just ruined your friendship, you sat down on the closed toilet seat, burying your head in your hands. You still had to spend at least ten more hours crammed in the car with him, and you could already imagine the awkwardness. Why? Why did you have to act this weird? It’s not like you had confidently decided to suck his finger into your mouth, your body had just acted on its own. He must have been thinking you’re a freak now. I mean, who did this kind of thing?Realizing that things would only get weirder the longer you hid from him, you tried to calm your nerves and slow down your breath. You were almost sure you were close to the brink of a panic attack, but maybe you were just overreacting.

Bucky was staring out of the big window next to the table, absently playing with his fingers. He could still feel your tongue running over his fingertip. Groaning, he shifted in his seat and pressed his eyes together. But all that came to his mind was the way you had looked up to him through your lashes while your tongue had been wrapped around his thumb. "Fuck," he muttered again, knowing he couldn’t just forget what it had felt like. Where did this suddenly come from? Initially, all he wanted to do was wipe the melted cheese from the corner of your mouth, but it was as if his own body had betrayed him. He hadn’t even realized what he had done until he could feel the warmth of your mouth. His eyes shot open again and he found your approaching reflection in the mirror. He could already see the uncomfortable look on your face. Immediately he felt guilty. You didn’t say anything when you sat down, just reaching for your burger and calmly starting to eat again. So he did the same, his eyes glued to the silver table and an awkward silence between you two.

Bucky wordlessly paid for dinner and silently followed you back to the car. You didn’t even dare to argue with him about paying for you. Hell, you didn’t even look at him anymore. He was almost 100% sure he had ruined your friendship. You drove about another twenty minutes before finding a decent motel and booking two rooms for the night. "Well, night then," you said with a timid smile, not really meeting his eyes, once you were stood outside of your room. "Good night," he responded and let out a sigh when you shut the door. It was not even nine o’clock, usually the two of you would hang out a little longer, but he could understand that you didn’t want to see him. He felt horrible for backing you into the corner like that. He had been laying on the bed for what felt like an eternity, his thoughts jumping between the fact that you were childhood friends and literally had seen each other in diapers, and the feeling you had evoked when you had looked at him like that. He could not deny the tingle in his bones when he had felt the warmth of your tongue. And it really shouldn’t affect him like this. After all, he had done way more intimate things with women, but when he now thought about it, he realized that he hadn’t brought one home in a long while. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time he picked up a pretty girl from the club or the bar. He would rather leave with you, getting a coffee at midnight or playing video games at your apartment until the sun would rise. You just gave him this feeling he couldn’t even put into words. But he had never felt like this with anybody else. Even now, when there was a thin motel wall separating you two, he could feel your presence. It was as if his mind was desperately trying to reach out to yours, craving to intertwine itself with you. Bucky shot up when he realized it. Fuck it, he decided. He was out the door in seconds.

You were sitting on the bed absently playing with your phone, your chin propped up on the palm of your hand. The beige wallpaper suddenly seemed extremely interesting. You groaned as you tossed your phone aside and let yourself fall back into the mattress. The hungry look in Bucky’s eyes had imprinted itself on the back of your mind, making itself comfortable there. You didn’t think you could ever forget the way he had looked at you, the way he had tasted. Letting out a quiet scream into your hands you threw your head from left to right. No, this was a bad idea, you decided. But what if- You didn’t even allow yourself to complete that thought. There’s just no way he had felt the air change around you back in that diner too. There’s just no way his heart had been beating like crazy too ever since. But what if it had? You didn’t know what to think, you just knew one thing. If you didn’t get off your ass and ask him, you would never know. And probably go crazy. You clumsily stumbled over your bag that was lying in front of the bed on your way to the door. You were almost completely sure of what you were about to do, but you didn’t have any more time to think about it, because when you pulled the door open, Bucky was already standing there.

It was as if you both finally stopped thinking altogether. Your bodies were gravitating towards each other as if you had never done anything else in your life. You could feel his warm lips pressing onto yours with the same desperation you felt. Eyes closed, your hands buried in his short locks, you pulled him as close to you as possible, and shamelessly pushed your body into his, the two of you moulding together perfectly. A shiver ran up your spine when you felt his tongue slipping into your mouth, a little sigh escaping your lips. It was as if all the tension left your limbs as soon as you tasted him on your tongue. Hurriedly you led him back into your room, not daring to let off his lips for even a second. The door slammed shut behind you before Bucky’s hands gripped onto your waist. You could feel his lips spelling out your name against yours, his beard pleasantly scratching at your skin, a quiet moan following when you tugged at his hair. His hands wandered down to your hips, pulling your lower half into his, and you obediently melted into him. "Should we talk about-" he mumbled against your lips. "Stop. Just-just stop talking," you groaned out, the kiss too amazing to ruin it with a serious conversation. He happily obliged, pushing you deeper into the room until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you tumbled onto the sheets in a giggly mess of tangled limbs. For tonight you agreed to stop thinking about what could possibly happen after this and gave into what your bodies and minds so desperately craved for.

"There you are! Oh man, I’ve missed you guys! Come, give me a hug!" Sam had a huge smile plastered on his face as he pulled Bucky and you into a greeting hug. "It’s been ages!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Looking good, Sam!" you complimented him smiling and giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "Guys! Look at you!" A grin tugged at Buckys lips as he pulled Steve into a brotherly hug, slapping his back lightly. "You ready to watch the big game?" you asked the tall blonde and found him showing you his blinding teeth. "Hell yeah. It’s not every day that the Giants play in the Super Bowl!" "Do you need help with your stuff?" Sam asked, but before you could say anything, Bucky shook his head. "We’re good. You wouldn’t be able to lift her bag anyway," he teased him and just earned himself a light smack on the back of his head from you. Even in the setting sunlight, his eyes twinkled a little as he fondly looked down at you. Sam and Steve were already making their way back inside the house while the two of you started to unload the trunk.

"Here, let me." Bucky gently took the bag from you and shouldered it. "What a gentleman," you grinned up at him, almost getting lost in the sweet look in his baby blue eyes. "For you, always." He slowly leaned down to you, as you gently placed your palm over his chest, right where his heart was beating in an elevated, steady rhythm. "Now I just need to kill Sam and marry you to complete my list," he joked, referencing your driving game from yesterday. Immediately your face felt like it was on fire. "And there we go, back to being a pig." "Come on, you love it." Yeah, you did. You had never seen the type of smile now displayed on his face before. His eyes roamed over your entire face as if he tried to commit it all to memory, right hand resting low on your back, just over the swell of your ass. "Say it again," you then whispered, your face only inches away from his. "Don’t know what you mean, doll." Clicking your tongue on the roof of your mouth, you smacked his chest. "Say it. Need to hear it again." A lazy grin took over his handsome features. Bucky lowered his lips onto yours, but before you could kiss him properly, he moved them over your cheek, down to your neck and then back up again, where he found that place right under your ear. He placed a quick, loving kiss onto the spot he had already marked repeatedly last night, your trembling legs almost giving out under you. His lips grazed the shell of your ear, making you shiver excitedly as he whispered the words he had traced and mumbled into your skin at least a million times the night before. "I love you."

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