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stopeatingwhales · 3 years

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vinyl searching (pt. 2) x graham coxon

here’s the second part, hope you guys like it! there’s something about 1999 graham that i just love so much, and i know he was struggling during this time so i wanted to write about caring for him because he clearly needed it during this time.

Pairing: 1999! graham coxon x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 3.166

part one

Requested by anon x

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Me and Graham decided on meeting in a small bar on the same road, a couple hours later in the evening. Once my shift was over, I had scurred off to my little flat in order to put together an outfit that was appropriate. I didn’t want to wear something that was too overtly sexual - hell, I wouldn’t even have the courage to be able to wear something like that - so I decided upon wearing an oversized t-shirt and baggy jeans. Very 90s. However, me meeting up with Graham was probably going to be more for him than it was for me - although I was so happy that me and him finally were able to take our ‘friendship’ somewhere outside of the small record shop that he sees all my life in, it was very evident that he was in need of someone to be there for him. Now, understanding his demeanor and overall attitude to things from the multiple times that we had conversated, I had hoped to be the one that he needed. Although there was many time I could’ve attempted such a gathering previously, you never know when would be the right moment to chip in and attempt to portray the care that you have stored internally for that significant person, and how they would react to that. For Graham it was a much more awkward situation; the only times of our communication were technically only professional, from a worker providing help and service to a customer. That was how esoteric we were to one another - practically known strangers. If I had come across Graham in a supermarket and he had noticed me, chances are that we wouldn’t interact, the only communication we would be able to branch out to one another being a simple ‘Oh hi! You alright?’. You had to build a sort of relationship with someone over a period of time in order to be able to do something like I did, and that is minusing the amount of nerves you'd have, as well as the courage you’d have to give yourself.

After I had finished with my constant worrying about how this meet-up was going to turn out, I left the house to go to the bar. The walk there felt as if I had been repeating the same events that had occurred during the day, just at a different moment in time. Hardly anybody was in the streets, which was quite ordinary at this hour of day, though it always seemed as if nobody left their homes. As I walked past countless convenience stores, hairdressers and fast-food places, which proved to show there was residency above them from the brick wall built on top, contrasted against windows placed as an outlook to life, very ironically used as to convey that nobody was ever leaving their homes, it proved to me just how mundane and repetitive life had become. The distance apart between each sheet of glass to the one adjacent to it being monochrome. Constant. Unchanging. Almost how all of our lives have been built to follow a system of continuous, resolute living, perpetually ignoring how it forces our lives, that have so much undermined potential, to be wasted, to the point we are simply dependent on enjoying life as we admire it. From a window in our bedroom, to which it becomes boring - as all you are ‘admiring’ is the same sight, every single time. And though this way of living may not be satisfactory, or enjoyable in the slightest, protesting against it would not do anything. Strikes from work would not do anything; you still need to live, and to live you need to earn money, money earned from working. It’s a ceaseless cycle which destroys the mere idea of a dream, aspiration, or motivation to carry on. In turn, what is received is the attractiveness of sadness, distress, and melancholy. You cannot shame those for being addicted to something harmful; if there is no point created for their lives except to be a little pawn on the chessboard of this planet, to take a risk and rebel against it is all you can do - though it would only put you in a situation which can cause more harm than good to yourself.

Once I had arrived at the bar, I decided to wait by the entrance so there would not cause confusion for Graham as to whether I was inside the building or not. I had noticed the skies begin to significantly darken in their calming shades of blue, instigating the advent of the evening to commence, however it was not dark enough to see sparkles in the empyrean yet. Though it was beautiful to stare at the single-coloured canvas, questioning the mere idea as to how it had formed such a shade of peace, but also existentially questioning how things come to be. Nevertheless, my admiration for the skies was quickly interrupted. “Hi y/n.”

Shifting my head into alignment with his, I had been greeted by the sight of Graham, facial expression clearly evident of nervousness, though it was attempted to be masked from a small smile curving on the corner of his lip. I noticed he was still in the same clothing as he had been in our previous encounter at the record shop earlier in the day, which caused a grin to paint itself on my facial expression. “Hi Graham,” I chriped, connecting eyes with him for a second, widening my smile that was already plastered on my face. “Let’s go inside.”

Inside the bar was nothing much I hadn’t expected; smoke surrounding the atmosphere from cigarettes, and due to the time being early, the place wasn’t as crowded, but you’d assume it to be from the clouds of smoke that welcomed you once you pushed the door open - you could hardly see the lengthy oak wood table separating you from the myriad amount of drinks that could be supplied to you by a simple asking. Ushering over to the nearest booth available, me and Graham sat opposite each other. The booths were always much more comfortable to sit and relax in, the cushioning of the sofa was almost that of a pillow; it was so cozy it was hard not to fall asleep on them. It was a much better choice of seating rather than the tall timber stools attached to the bar. I never found it appealing to sit there and have a chat with someone; it felt as if my privacy had been snatched away with ears surrounding every place my eyes could land upon. It's a much more peaceful atmosphere in a booth, which I had assumed would be a preferable place for Graham, shown from his quiet demeanour. His quietness was something that engaged me so deeply into him as a person - he wasn’t the type to rush to the bar, get drunk, and go off with the first person he had seen, who he hadn’t properly connected with or perhaps spoken to at all. He was much more down to earth, potentially from the amount of fame he had gained over the past couple years; it makes those yearn for silence, and in turn changes their perspectives and outlooks on simple things like outings with friends, for some may avoid them at all costs out of anxiety and fear of being noticed. You’d think that’s the absolute of their desires, being famous, stealing the hearts of so many, but it becomes so much more than that. The press picking out every ‘flaw’ you have or things that you do, the crowds of youngsters dying to get an autograph as if their lives depend on it, the paparazzi perpetually flicking their cameras only because you trotted on the same street to go to the same shop that every normal person goes to… The amount of eyes constantly on you gets overwhelming. I empathised with those who turned to drugs and alcohol to escape horrible feelings like these. Just like Graham.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” I asked Graham sweetly, my smile still on my face.

“Yeah sure, I’ll have a beer.” He responded, our eyes glued to one another's which made me notice the eyebags that had drooped onto the top of his cheeks; it was very evident that he had attempted to nap before meeting me, which made my heart swell out of pity for him - it was obvious he was struggling to even sleep these days.

I nodded before heading to the bar and ordering our drinks. Waiting for our drinks at the bar gave me time to think over everything that was currently happening. It felt as if my entire day had vanished to this one moment where I had unexpectedly landed myself ordering beverages at a bar with the one and only Graham Coxon. It was a wonder to think about how he was feeling at this current moment. He didn't seem as if he was doing well at the moment, he always seemed so exhausted, and his social skills had become very poor over a couple of weeks. It went from him being very calm and candid in our short encounters, slyly recommending each other music with subtle hints of our liking toward each other, to him forming a much more apparent stutter in comparison to the one he already had, as well as being unable to connect eyes with me for a interminable period of time - it was evident that things were progressively getting worse for him, though I wasn’t going to force him into speaking about anything. I just wanted him to be aware that he had at least a friend there for him, potentially that being the girl that he would always see at his local record store.

Walking over back to the booth, I handed him his pint of beer. “Thank you,” he mustered, almost instantly taking a sip from it before noticing the drink I had bought for myself. “Orange juice?”

I laughed slightly at his shocked reaction as I lit myself a cigarette and took a hit from it, him definitely not expecting that of all drinks. “I don’t really like to drink, it never makes me feel that good.”

“But you smoke?” He questioned, a confused expression plastered on his face, paired with a grin.

“Smoking helps with stress, alcohol makes you drunk and gives you hangovers which simply ruin your day,” I answered back, taking a sip from my drink. “Also orange juice is literally the best juice, alcohol tastes like shit you know.”

A small chuckle escaped out of Graham’s throat, causing my eyes to land back onto him again. I gained the perception that he felt somewhat better about actually speaking with someone, which made me feel so touched and taken aback; I had genuinely felt my heart skip a beat out of sadness and yearning for him. He genuinely deserved better than what was going on with him mentally and physically, and the fact that he couldn’t even celebrate the release of his band’s 6th album was paining - he couldn’t attend a lot of the sessions, not out of detest towards any of his band members, but because he mentally couldn’t bring himself to. He was isolating himself without realising, or he may have realised, but couldn’t do anything to stop it. “I must agree on that… But orange juice is too sweet,” He replied, scoffing. “It’s definitely not that much better than a pint of beer, love.”

Shaking my head out of offense towards his last remark, I inhaled my cigarette once again before exposing the smoke from my lungs. Diverting my stare to the ashtray in the middle of the booth, I examined the built-up ash on the tip from the roll of tobacco crumble off from a single flick of the wrapped up paper. “Anyways, how are you?” I asked him, simultaneously offering him a cigarette whilst doing so to avoid any awkwardness.

After taking a cigarette from the packet I owned, then lighting it, he answered. “I’m alright. What about you?”

“Apart from being offended by you saying orange juice is gross, I’m alright too,” I joked, earning another laugh from Graham. “You seem tired.”

Sighing slightly, I watched him scan the room before answering. “Yeah, I am. What gave that away?”

“Your eye bags, you look like you haven’t slept,” I responded, hoping that what was leaving my mouth wouldn’t come across as offensive in any way. “Not in a rude way, though.”

“In all honesty, I haven’t really been able to sleep recently. Not a clue why.” He replied, taking a hit from his cigarette before copying my actions from earlier and erasing the gathered dust onto the ashtray.

“Oh, I understand that,” I said, taking a long drag of the cancer stick before replying. “Same thing happens to me when I’m stressed.”

As the night went on, we spoke about all sorts of things, trying to get to know one another much more as we were so intrigued by each other’s presence. Over time, he opened up much more, his poise changing from being a quiet, dismal, bereaved person, isolated from society, to one that seemed as if he was enjoying himself by hanging out with a friend. Seeing a beam constantly illustrated on his face made me realise this outing meant more than just ‘meeting a friend’. It was leaving the house for the first time in ages, to simply have a good time with someone. He was gentrifying the bare human emotions that he had forgotten were calloused out of anger inside himself. The atmosphere is much different when we’re separated by the till in the record store, the only conversations we could tend to have surrounding music or the weather that day. I felt so much more connected to Graham in this given moment, and knowing that he was gaining pleasure from this made me feel so much happier. Finally, he seemed content, relaxed, and much more aware of his surroundings, not caught up entirely by his mind and the evilness that he would be manipulated by. It was as if from this simple meet-up, he had realised that there was so much more to life than staying at home, pent up with his own thoughts; to his dismay. And though it can be extremely difficult to overcome the hurdles of not believing everything your brain implements to your mind, the important part was that he was making progress. By merely speaking with another person, about topics completely contrasting the negativity resident in his brain, it takes his mind off of things, and would allow the realisation that he is able to overcome these struggles, with the right support.

We hadn’t realised just how long we had been conversing for, until the room began pouring with young adults ready to enjoy a night with their friends. A quick glance at the clock gave the hour away; it was nearing midnight. The time was hardly wasted, we had both created a friendship and connection with one another which bloomed like roses during the spring seasons. Absolutely beautiful. I knew that what we had formed with each other would last for at least a significant amount of time, and I definitely hoped that it would. “Let’s get going, it’s getting a bit crowded right now.” I said, getting up from my seat - Graham nodding along and following me out.

There was a distinctive change in temperature inside the bar in comparison to the streets. The breeze was more prominent, with the skies now pitch black accompanied with the twinkle of the stars and the picturesque glow of the moon. We both began walking to the end of the street, having no idea what was about to occur, going along with it as if there was nothing else in the world except us two, as if it was just ours, and that nothing else mattered at all. This shared moment between us was the only thing able to plague our minds, for everything else that crossed our minds seemed to be insignificant, with no importance to our lives from here on, no matter how much it had afflicted our minds from apprehension hours prior to this moment. Oh, the vulnerable silence shared between us. How much importance it held towards aiding our minds, providing a certain mental clarity that was simply unheard of, as if a certain point of synchronicity in time was exposed between us, forming it as though, as banal as life is day-to-day was always, there was euphoria. Subconsciously, we were both communicating with each other in a sort of telepathy that was so rare in newly flourished relationships like ours. It was as if I had always been close with Graham, as if he was always a cogent figure in my life, that today was only just another catch-up session after not being able to talk with one another for a significant period of time. We both enjoyed ourselves, and there was no need to say anything about it. It felt as though if one of us spoke, it would erase all the memories of the occasion shared in the bar previously. Nothing could explain the elation my body was feeling at this time; from life seeming so meaningless and dull, experiencing something like this amount of joy came as such a shock to my body - it felt as if I had been drugged with so much alcohol that I was witnessing junctures that were only fragments of my imagination.

Stopping our slow pace at the end of the road, I turned my body to face Graham’s, him copying the same actions as me. Briefly, I stared lovingly into his eyes, a smile perched on my lips, him reciprocating with a beam, purely out of content, not mannerisms. Turning my head to stare at his hands, which awkwardly embraced one another, I mustered enough courage to form an embrace with both my palms - him slightly taken aback at first, to which he quickly went along with the moment. His hands were soft, delicate, and held warmth interlocked with mine. We simply stood there, hands laced together, inhaling the brisk air whilst slow waves of air gushed between us. Nothing could get more perfect than this. It was evident that between us, it was definitely more than a simple friendship, and it was obvious that both participants were not objecting against such passion to be compromised into something more. The action of holding his hand gave the notion that he was not alone in everything that he was undergoing; it was there for reassurance, as if it was me indirectly saying, I know you’re struggling, you don’t have to tell me, and I can tell you seem lonely, but I’m here for you. And I won’t ever leave, or let go.

“See you soon, Graham.”

#graham coxon x reader #blur band #britpop #nineties #imagines #my writing #fluff #graham coxon #blur #fanfic #band imagines #90s

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bbhyeoliskooks · 4 years

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…〔𝐈𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬〕… SIX

Having an unrequited crush on Soobin was difficult, but you manage to make them hidden so he’s oblivious. It’s getting harder though, since each time you see him, you fall deeper into his mesmerizing eyes. You want to get rid of your feelings for him, so you grow closer to a boy named Beomgyu. However, when your one of your best friends, Sunhye asks you to back away so she can have a chance with Soobin, everything inevitably comes crashing down on you.

intro / one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

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Pairing: Beomgyu x Reader x Soobin

Genre: 3 1/2 cups of angst and 3 cups of fluff !!

Warnings: Language, illegal smoking (sunhye smh), sort of suggestive (if you call it that- you’ll see soon), long chapter (6.5k !!)

Playlist: Can’t Take My Eyes Off You, Something, Still Into You, Confession, Crazy For You

(Okay due to school, it had been such a long time that I’ve actually started to work on this chapter !! I’m so sorry that it took two months since I can’t find the time to finish it, so I hope to whoever has been waiting for the next part that you enjoy it berry berry much !! I hope this chapter was worth the wait :))

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Hidden in the dark alleyway between the separate school buildings were two students perched six feet away from each other. They were doing a good job of avoiding each other these past few days- maybe even weeks, but it seemed that one of them were somehow dragged back by the neck. One was drenched from the pouring rain, while the other one was not. One was a boy, and one was a girl.

That girl stepped closer to him with a stern look on her face. Her expensive designer clothes were soaked, as she forgot to bring an umbrella today. Though she paid no attention to it, only thinking of the things she needed to accomplish to get to the top. On the other hand, the other person, that boy held onto his black umbrella tightly. He was tired of putting up her shenanigans, but zipped his lips tightly so not to say anything. Interacting with her was now dangerous, so he needed to break it up to her that he wasn’t going to join in her evil forces anymore.

“Sunhye, I am tired of this crap. You know that I don’t want to cause her harm, the only thing that I’ve been doing to her this whole time. Consider me out of this plan if you’re going to let her get hurt in the end.”

“And you think I’m going to listen to you?” She pulled out a box of cigarettes from the pocket of her favorite jeans and plastered on a mischievous grin full of malice. “That bitch deserves to be kicked out of school, quite literally in my opinion,” she concluded, glancing over at the boy who was rolling his eyes. He was obviously disgusted, but she couldn’t bring herself to care less.

Snickering to herself, she asked quietly, “why? Do you like her? After all this time?! Seriously, don’t make me laugh, Choi Beomgyu. That- that’s so pathetic!” Her voice teetered on the edge of holding the big amounts of giggles in until she burst into full fits of laughter, clutching her stomach as if it hurt to laugh.

Looking at her now, Beomgyu thought she was completely insane.

The atmosphere was extremely awkward, and he felt almost uncomfortable being alone with her. The dim alleyway wasn’t making it any better, and he felt the need to run away from what was happening. But he needed to tell you. If he wanted to leave this plan he was forced into, then he had to make his voice come out as firm. By doing so, he cleared his throat, trying in his best efforts to appear as tough even though his heart was quaking in fear. “You’re insane. I’m going to tell her whether you like it or not...” he paused to collect his thoughts before taking a few steps away from her. He didn’t like being so close to her unlike the past where he put his sole trust in her; the girl was too repulsive for words to describe. He could no longer think of her as his companion after all the of the crap she’d intentionally done.

“I’m not doing this plan, you aren’t going to hurt her as long as I’m there to protect her.”

Saying those words must’ve snapped something in her, and her laughter came to an abrupt stop. Utilizing the silence to take a good look at her physical appearance, he could see that her face was dull with paleness, and her eyes seemingly rolled to the back of her head in sign of annoyance. She had a tight frown on her face, one that he had seen before when she was planning to do something terrible. Another reason to hate what she became, he compiled in his head.

Instead of admitting her defeat, she just smirked and threw her hand around.

“Just watch me, then.”

Now, he urged himself to walk out of the alleyway. Turning back once more, he saw her wave a goodbye towards him before she started to giggle. He wanted to throw up from the fear rumbling around in his stomach. From the corner of his eyes, he could see her laughing harder than ever before. How can somebody be that desperate for love when they know that person will never love them back? He felt the need to laugh, but it was uncomfortable to do so in front of her. Lee Sunhye... she was insane. Just insane.

As the drops of rain made comforting sounds of ambiance on his black umbrella, his mind clouded with thoughts where the two of you would spend lazy mornings at your house whenever it was raining. Those were the best days he’s ever had, he thought to himself. Just seeing you laugh while he teased you about the way your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, run your fingers through his hair as you both told stories, or hell- even seeing you smile genuinely from his compliment, it never failed to make him grin too.

He hoped running into you during class would perhaps make him feel better. You always did, but he didn’t tell you, especially now when you were so called enemies. Maybe, he thought, seeing your sparkling eyes light up when you made eye contact with him would brighten up his day a little bit. However, thinking of your comforting presence still wasn’t able to ease the bad feeling in his chest. It tugged endlessly at his heartstrings, hopelessly warning him to listen to his gut feeling...

And that gut feeling told him that prom tonight would go horrible.

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As Beomgyu was making his way to the entrance of the school, he could see the outline of two familiar figures walking in the rain. Stopping for a while, he noticed that his lips unknowingly turned into a deep frown. That showed him he grew “just a bit” jealous at the sight of them dancing around in the puddles and laughing about whatnot. He lingered longer than he should’ve under the disguise of his black umbrella and managed to hear each and every word both of them were saying.

It was you and Soobin, with him holding the umbrella above you so that you wouldn’t get any specks of rain on yourself. However he wasn’t doing a good job for himself, as his right shoulder and leg was becoming soaked from the pouring water. Beomgyu scoffed at this before deciding to the follow subtly and silently behind you.

“Hey, do you want to go to prom with me? I should’ve asked earlier, but there wasn’t enough t-time,” Soobin’s voice at the end started to tremble, though you didn’t look like you caught on. The boy following you rolled his eyes. You were going to freak out about this in the middle of class for sure.

Like he expected, your face lit up in surprise and you jumped up and down excitedly. It was seven in the morning, so how could you be so energetic in the morning? The answer that he anticipated to come out of your mouth was correct, anybody could easily predict this and get it right. “Soobin, what makes you think I’ll say no? Of course, I’m going to say yes!”

Soobin smiled softly at your blissful expression, ruffling your hair playfully. You always looked so cute whenever you agreed to something as small as this. “Okay, that’s great! I don’t why I was feeling so nervous to ask you, but I would love to go with you tonight.”

You suddenly stopped in your tracks as Soobin staggered to take a few steps to the back so you wouldn’t get wet.

He would love to...? Go with you...? As a friend or...? You let your mind wander off into your daydreams for a while if not for the words of Soobin piercing through your ears. There was this confused expression on his face, like he knew every thought you were thinking. You wouldn’t be surprised though, he was your best friend. And you were right. That’s exactly what he said. “J-just as friends though, you know?” He sent you a friendly smile while you held back the urge to choke yourself.

“Yeah. Just as friends.” Ughh, here we go again. Yet, you still needed to get it through your thick head that he wouldn’t like you! Ever! Like every other time, you jumped into conclusions before knowing the full truth right away.

Your expression of happiness faltered a little, but you endured the pain and kept smiling. As usual, Soobin didn’t notice one bit, but the other boy following behind with that mysterious black umbrella could tell straight off the bat.

Beomgyu sighed after seeing both of his best friends entered the warm school. His veins were pumping with adrenaline; he could’ve almost gotten caught, but right now he didn’t care about that. It was his fault for being too nervous to ask. He knew he should’ve prepared earlier, but he wanted to propose to you today. Maybe by asking you, he would also tell you about what Sunhye was going to do...

But he was too late. Soobin beat him to it this time.

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Twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine-

Thirty! Wait, it’s thirty! 6:30pm!

Energetically hopping from your spot on the couch, you ran to the front door with a big smile on your face. It was an understatement to say that you had prepared yourself for an hour when it took quite a while. You’d been waiting for this moment since the beginning of school, and it had to be perfect! The anticipation building up during classes didn’t help as it only made you feel much more nervous to see the one person you were waiting for. Honestly, you would’ve never thought that he would ask you out to the dance today, but you weren’t complaining! It was finally 6:30pm, the time where Soobin would pick you up from your house as his date.

“Just as friends, of course,” you ridiculed, reminding yourself of the repercussions if you thought anything more of it.

Just on time, Soobin was making his way down the street to pick you up. The aroma of wondrous flowers wafted in the air while he checked his watch to see if he was late! Seeing how he was right on the dot made him feel much better about taking you. Tonight was going to be perfect, all planned out. He had a content smile on his face, thinking of how seeing you would instantly make his day better. Though, he didn’t show it. You were his date... but just as friends, of course.

You on the other hand, wanted so badly for it to be the opposite... though, you didn’t show it.

Cracking the front door a little bit, you peeked out to see him in a comfortable, black suit. He was holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers wrapped together in a rosy pink ribbon. It was strange to see him dressing up this way because you always saw him as this boy who didn’t give a care in the world what others had to say about his style. Not this time, you guessed. There were many things that you noted too, but it got your face feeling flushed. His usual lazy hair was pushed to the back, showing his marvelous forehead that got your heart pumping for sure.

Crap, yet again he’s making you feel things that friends shouldn’t.

He saw you waving shyly with your hand peeking out through the door. He raised this eyebrow at this, asking you if you were okay once he reached the front porch. Although you said you were doing quite fine and mostly excited to see everyone there, it wasn’t like that inside. You didn’t want to show your face yet because he looked extraordinarily breathtaking compared to you!

As if he could read your mind through the thick door hesitantly shutting over and over again, he shot you an assuring look from the window. “Hey, it’s fine! I’m not going to judge you, I never do and you of all people should know that.” Yes... you knew that through and through. But it was Soobin! You looked like a hot mess compared to him, so how the hell was he going to miss judging you when you stepped out? The least you could do was purse your lips and agree to come out. Refusing him clearly wasn’t the best option either because where else were you going to go anyway?

First, you took a couple of seconds to calm yourself down. You couldn’t look like a rumbling dishwasher with bubbles pouring out when you came out for him! A few breathes would have to do for now, not like you were going to choke as soon as he saw you. Then, boldly stepping out of the entryway, you glared at the ground so that he couldn’t see your eyes. The heels that you hid in your closet now clattered against the cement. You actually liked them, you just didn’t know when to wear them. To add to the effect, you brushed your hair back while bashfully looking up at him. It wasn’t meant to be innocent or whatever you called it, but Soobin thought you looked gorgeous when you appeared from out of the doorway.

His breath hitched in his throat causing him to struggle letting out his initial thought.

“Sweet pea, you look absolutely stunning tonight...”

You squeezed your hands together that laid gently against your stomach. How were you supposed to respond to that when you were freaking out inside? After clearing your throat you giggled a little bit, scratching your head. “Uh, thank you?” You bit your bottom lip. He shouldn’t have said that, you felt like a fool as you felt yourself shy away from him.

Plastering on an awkward smile, you nodded your head. He was staring at you now, his mouth parted a little as if he was pleasantly surprised seeing you in your favorite clothes. You hadn’t worn them before in front of him since you thought they would look terrible on you, but his reaction begged to differ.

There was this confident part of you, but at the same time you wanted to jump off a bridge and never be seen again. You were a fool for falling in love with your one and only best friend, there was no doubt, really. Because if he kept looking at you like that, you weren’t sure if you could hold on much longer...

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Arriving there, you could see hundreds of juniors and seniors mixed together! Your eyes widened from the sheer amount of people that could be fit into a room. They looked so carefree and giddy, what you would give to experience that happiness with your new friends... at the same time though, it made you feel a bit melancholy too. The situation reminded you of your first memories with Sunhye and Soobin. Who would’ve known that the students who secretly despise and talk about each other behind their backs could have fun and mess around in one room being civil? You hoped it would be the same case for you and your old friend today, if you ever saw her.

Not even one foot into the gymnasium, Soobin tapped on the back of your shoulder. His expression was eerily different, and you were going to ask him what was wrong. He cut you off with his own words. “Hey, I’m going to go the bathroom, okay? I’ll be right back!” But he told you on the way that he didn’t need to use the bathroom because he used it earlier.

Your shoulders became tense at what you were suspecting, for it wasn’t right to think that way. You gave up in a few seconds. Your brain was too curious to pass up on an opportunity like this! Something was up with him today. It felt suspicious seeing him with this tight grin on his face that you’ve never seen before. You wondered if anything was wrong, but didn’t decide on saying anything until he came back.

Nodding, you waved a quick goodbye hoping that he would be back soon. You swore if he didn’t save you from all of these partying students, you were going to-

“Y/N! Did you hear me?!” The music was blasting so he assumed you couldn’t make out a word he said. Fortunate enough, that took you out from your little thought bubble.

“Yeah sure, Bin! I’ll be at the dance floor probably, so find me there!”

Watching as he disappeared into the direction of the men’s bathroom, you chose to go over to the dance floor like you promised. Being in the corner of the place wasn’t fun when there were couples making out. You rolled your eyes upon seeing them playfully pin each other to the wall, your mind wandering to that one girl that intentionally toyed around with every boy to get Soobin’s attention. But you promised yourself that this night would be fun, the one where you would have the time of your life! “Hopefully, she won’t ruin anything today,” you whispered under your breath... “this day is supposed to be perfect, only me and Soobin; that’s all.”

You weren’t looking where you going as you searched for the party floor, failing to notice the boy that had been waiting for you in front.

It all started with an apology before the unfortunate but sweet events went down that night.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”

Your eyes darted to the drink, and you facepalmed yourself. You almost got spilled with a drink of punch from a stranger! Wow, well aren’t you stupid as hell for not watching your steps?! Glancing up from the place where you almost got “drenched,” you made eye contact with the person that unbeknownst to you, purposefully stood in your way so that you would notice them. In many ways or another, they supposed.

“G-gyu?” Your hands went up to cover your mouth in surprise, and he chuckled at your adorable, little habit.

“Fancy seeing you here, princess, because I’m here to ask you: may I have this dance?” He held out his hand towards you, waiting for an answer.

Recognizing that voice right away, you looked up to see Beomgyu under the soft glow of the golden light overhead. The way his black suit hugged every curve of his body easily made you realize how breathtaking he could be. Red alerts of suspicion flashed over and over in your head, but something about saying yes was so damn right. Just taking a good look at him was enough to make your cheeks turn to all shades of pink. You had to admit it; Beomgyu looked absolutely dashing in that suit. He cleaned up pretty well from his usual messy hair that somehow enhanced his beauty, but now you could see why most of the student population had a fat, juicy crush on him.

Once you realized that you were staring at him, you looked away in another direction before muttering a quick yes only the two of you could hear. “Fine, Gyu. You may have this dance,” you mocked.

Just like that, he pulled you into the place where everyone was having the time of their lives.

You giggled once you stepped onto the dance floor, your heart gradually pumping blood faster than you could’ve ever imagined.

The first songs started off as everybody getting hyped, it was truly a time to remember. You never thought you could laugh with Beomgyu like you did before, but you did. Smiling so wide with him was like nostalgia, you missed the feeling so much. It was bittersweet sure, but... something about spending time with him is so beautiful.

Maybe if you told him that you liked Soobin earlier than perhaps everything would be like this.

The next song though, it struck a blow to your thoughts. Crazy enough, that next song was the one the two of you thought as “your song” a year ago. Crazy for You by Madonna was simply a magical song with him as it slowly started to crescendo all throughout the gym. Before you knew it, you were having a slow dance with your “enemy” whose giggles sent butterflies intensely fluttering in your stomach. The boy sent you an affectionate glance as he pulled you closer to him. You easily obliged. He allowed you to loosely wrap your arms around him, encircling his neck while he hesitantly laid his hands on your waist. You tensed up at the sudden contact before melting into his warm, comforting touch. Consider it strange, but you never knew how gentle he could be with you now after that whole situation.

The comfortable silence between you was one that you found to be relaxing instead of awkward. Heck, being with him was a moment you would never trade for the world. As the lights shone down on the two of you, you felt like the main character in a story where after all terrible things happened, everything would bring you to a serene place like this. Just you in Beomgyu’s embrace while he gently rocked you back and forth was enough to bring you peace. A few seconds later, he whispered into your ear.

“Hey... I need to tell you something. It’s really important, so whenever you’re ready-” you laid your head on his shoulder, softly shutting your eyes. His familiar cologne overwhelmed the senses of your nose gracefully, causing you to breathe in a scent of satisfaction. You felt complete. “Gyu, it’s okay. Just let me dance with you this once.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widened, for that was not what his mind pushed him to ask. He thought that you were kidding or something, but there was a peaceful smile on your face while you rocked back and forth. He convinced himself that he would never be able to give you what you wanted which was happiness. Yet right now you were happy in his arms, and that’s what he’d been desiring for a year now.

What he desired much more though, was in the palm of his hand.

Now, his head was crying all the answers he was searching for quite a while. Endlessly roaming through the scorching sand of the desert while he sought for a drink did not matter because you were the sea right there. Something must’ve snapped in his mind because he should’ve known this long before- long before he got to blame you.

He’s in love with you. Irrevocably, truly, and incredibly genuine, he fell deep in love with you whether he realized it earlier in his heart or not.

Clearly thinking about it as he waltzed with you, the signs were there the whole time since knowing you. There was the way his heart pranced in circles when he saw you strolling down the hallway, juggling heavy books in hand. There was the desperate need to see you after making a terrible mistake of ignoring you for a week. There was the jealousy of seeing you with the one that looked so much better than you, but he didn’t want to admit it. There was love, so luminous that it could blind him if not for the fact that he was already blind for not acknowledging his feelings.

But now was the time to man up. Now was the time to tell you what he truly felt because he could no longer stand seeing you upset because of him. He needed to profess his feelings sooner or later, but this was the perfect time. Here with you encased in his embrace, he was desperate to to let you know that he loves you so damn much to the point it hurts whenever he sees you with Choi Soobin.

Commotion from the other students fangirling about the new couples didn’t seem to faze either of you, but what caught your ear were the yells about a tall boy with raven hair dancing with one of his old best friends. At first you didn’t care about it since you were with someone who made you happy regardless, but in the middle of it you heard three or four familiar names. Including yours. You peeked out from Beomgyu’s shoulder to see what you called the love of your life and a formal friend waltzing together right underneath the colorful disco ball. They were on point... it was a very tall boy and his old best friend having the time of their lives.

Hearing your heart shatter from inside your chest had to be the worst feeling you’ve ever experienced. It was inevitable that he would like somebody else, but it just had to be Sunhye.

As if she knew you were staring, she looked over to you with a malicious glint in her feline shaped eyes. It was crystal clear that she was up to no good. Then without further notice, she swiftly planted her lips onto his so that you would obviously see. Her hands went over to cup the back of his head while she pulled him deeper in. The lump in your throat grew bigger each moment you laid your eyes on them. He must’ve been having such a good time if he wasn’t pulling away from those tainting lips... you felt the need to puke from staring at them for far too long.

Snapping you from out of your trance, Beomgyu shook you a little bit. He had this worried look on his face but in your mind, you thought he was looking down on you. “Princess...? Is everything okay?”

Suddenly, the thought pushed back in his mind about Sunhye’s plan came back about purposefully kissing Soobin where you could see. His heart dropped to his stomach like yours just seconds earlier.

Shit... you must’ve seen what happened.

Feeling the tears well up in your eyes was enough to push yourself away from Beomgyu. He was going to bring you back in to counteract your action, but when you started on your heels- clamping your hand over your mouth so that you wouldn’t make any sounds, he knew the gravity of the situation was much more serious than anything he’s ever witnessed...

Inside his head, he cursed himself for not telling you earlier and getting caught up in his feelings while holding you. But before he could tell you the whole story, you had already disappeared into the entanglement of sandwiched student bodies practically gossiping about you. Now your heart was completely broken and he didn’t know how to pick up the missing pieces that belonged to Soobin.

٩๑۶⁎⁍̴̆⁎ ๑)｡ﾟ´`ﾟ٩๑۶⁎⁍̴̆⁎ ๑)｡ﾟ´`ﾟ٩๑۶⁎⁍̴̆⁎ ๑)｡ﾟ

“Stop it, Beomgyu! Just stop acting like you care about me. I want to be alone!” Doing the best you could to run in high heels, it came no surprise that you stopped under the streetlight by the gymnasium building. Your ankles were burning with each step you took, and damn how much you wanted to tell that boy following you to piss off!

Ceasing your sprinting footsteps to an abrupt stop, you faced the boy who chased after you. “I said, stop!”

He didn’t want to listen to your request, shaking his head frantically.

“Y/N, please listen to me this once. I know I haven’t been the best person towards you, but you need to believe me!”

You glared at him.

“You must’ve not heard me right. I said leave me alone, that’s my only wish.”

He inched closer to your heaving body, trying to calm you down from what you had witnessed a few minutes ago. He understood the pain well, so he didn’t want anyone especially you to go through something like that. “Y/N... you know Soobin would never do that,” he reached for your hand but you harshly pulled it away from him.

“And you’re telling me this for what? You think I’m going to forgive you after what you’ve done to me? I don’t want to hear your voice, so just- just scram!”

Your chest heaved up and down from how desperate you were running, and Beomgyu felt the same trying to keep up behind you. With the last bit of energy last, he shut his eyes- afraid to see you upset again. He hated seeing you cry no matter what the reason was.

“No, please don’t let me go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for doing all the things I’ve pulled. I haven’t been the best of a friend to you since I believed what I shouldn’t have. It’s not your fault; I’m the one that jumped into conclusions...”

You scoffed at his apology. If he was going to say sorry, he should’ve done it earlier because you claimed all of this as bull. “So now you’re acting nice to me? After all of the shit you pulled? How am I going to know that you’re actually being genuine to me? Like, seriously! Pick a side!”

“I like, wait! Give me a few seconds before I-” instead of dealing with the pain on your own accord, you hit him in the chest, interrupting what he was going to say. Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you punched him over and over in the chest. So hurt to deal with what was happening, you let out all your anger, begging him for the answer on why everything had to go wrong for you. “You what?! Spit it out already, I’ve been waiting months for you to say something! YOU HATE ME AND I- I... still, fucking want you to be my lover or maybe even a friend after all this time...”

With one last punch aimed at his chest, you threw out a fist only to be restrained by Beomgyu’s strong hands clutching your arms.

In one swift push, he pinned you against the wall, a stern expression on his face. You were instantly silenced by his outburst, your heartbeat becoming faster from how close you were to him. What was he doing or better yet, what was he going to do?! You didn’t know- you were more focused on the fact that you was close enough to feel his breath fanning on your lips. The expression on his face as he glared you down told you everything.

Frankly, he was tired of hiding everything. The opposite meaning of his words, his thumping heart as he chose to get closer to you, and most especially what he truly felt for you. You were as oblivious as Soobin not knowing your own feelings that it become so exhausting. He had to tell you now or else he swore he was going to burst!

He shut his eyes tight, afraid that you would judge him once he told you everything. Words that he could no longer control endlessly flowed out of his mouth, and he had enough of it.

“I... I like you too, Y/N! Can’t you see my feelings?! Every day, it’s just push and pull of wanting to kiss you, but you don’t want to acknowledge any of the signs that I send you! That’s why I’ve been so mean. And I know it’s not an excuse, it sounds stupid as hell, even to me. But I felt so scared because you only love Soobin, I didn’t really have a chance in the first place.”

Your jaw dropped... did he just confess? That he likes you? Beomgyu likes you???

His expression softened up a little bit once he stopped ranting, seeing the shocked look on your face. He gulped down the lump in his throat, cupping your cheeks as delicately as he could. His eyes were completely vulnerable while he tried to memorize every detail, to the way your eyelashes fluttered seeing him like this, to the way your mouth screwed shut as his eyes trailed to your lips. He said he couldn’t control his feelings towards you- well shit, he didn’t want to control them anymore. “I said, I like you. I really really like you, okay? The truth is out, and now you know.”

“Beomgyu, I-” suddenly, he firmly pressed his lips against yours, cutting you off short from your sentence. You were caught off guard but soon responded back eagerly, relishing in the way his pillowy lips glided easily into yours. Soon, the train of surprised thoughts stopped flowing, and you felt like you were on top of the world. A feeling of euphoria, you had to call it. You never realized how sweet and soft his lips could be until now. It was simply meant to be... Beomgyu kissing you as you slid down against the wall with him following suit.

Surprisingly, he was gentle with you while his hand danced over your cheek to caress your jaw. He chuckled in between kisses, reciprocating the same passion you were showing. You swore that his lips were sweeter than any dessert you’ve ever tasted, but it was much better than those delicacies. It was a lie to say that you didn’t like it because... wow. He was amazing.

Deepening the kiss, your hands traveled to the back of his head to tug at his surprisingly fluffy hair. At this point, you didn’t care if anyone saw- you just needed more. You never wanted this moment to end, for it felt like pure bliss. You got what you wanted at last which meant Beomgyu, himself... but you guessed you jinxed it because you needed some air. You slowly started to pull away, a string of saliva connecting the two of your lips together.

Pulling away to gasp for the need of air too, Beomgyu breathlessly laughed as he affectionately nuzzled his forehead against yours. “So I take it that you like me too?” You didn’t respond to that one question, and Beomgyu was too caught up in the heat of the kiss earlier to notice.

When he was about to dive back for more, his action was unfortunately ceased by the yells of none other than Choi Soobin.

“Y/F/N! CHOI BEOMGYU!”

Hearing his voice forced you to jump up from your spot on the chilly ground. Your legs moved on by themselves even though you were ankles were scorching hot inside. Beomgyu helped you up as soon as he saw the panic rush onto your face. Crap, he should’ve known to take you home instead... maybe then he could kiss you some mo-

“Y/N! Are you okay?!” Soobin rushed over to your side, placing his hand over your back as you accidentally choked on your own spit. Your breath had caught in your throat, and you started to cough hysterically as if you had run an exhilarating race. Disbelief had completely taken over your mind at what you had just went through, but you felt so alive- so happy that you finally got to kiss him. Still, there was this ounce of disappointment that told you he was toying with you again. That’s one thing that you didn’t want to know because... somehow, a tiny sliver of your heart from before led you to believe that you shared the feelings as well.

“I need to explain everything that you saw. It wasn’t what it looked like.” There was worry clearly written all over his face, judging by the way he sprinted towards you with hasty feet. He was panting as he placed his hands on his knees to calm down the pace of his breath.

He glanced at Beomgyu whose eyes looked so vulnerable under the soft yellow glow of the streetlight. His lips were in a permanent curve as if he was over the clouds about something, he noticed. Then he took a good look at you. You had a small smile on your face that he recognized as familiar since you had shown it a lot for him. It meant that someone was making you feel flustered or “soft” as you called it, but only he was able to do it! Not even the playboys in class that hit on anybody they laid their eyes on.

In response, your fingers grazed over Beomgyu’s. You were going to say something, but Soobin had taken away that opportunity. “Come on, Y/N,” Soobin snarled once he saw you reach over to Beomgyu’s hand.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“Wait, Bin! I need to say something to Beomgyu; he told me something important.” He looked down to see you put on the sweetest look you could muster. This time your puppy eyes didn’t work on him. He knew it. The fact that a seed of jealousy had already sprouted throughout his chest, turning into an ugly flower of envy each time you shared a new, bold moment with another boy other than him made him feel sick to his stomach. He admitted it from the inside of his head; he didn’t want you to talk about his friend anymore. However, the red sirens in his head had told him that it wasn’t right that he was keeping you away from Beomgyu.

Then again, he was the one that brought great damage to your heart so what he was doing was correct! He couldn’t see you cry anymore because of that one boy, he wouldn’t be able to stand it any longer... but it wasn’t a good thing to keep you from forgiving someone...

His conscience was clouded with too many thoughts ranging from the right thing to do, to being selfish for his own feelings, yet the latter was clearly winning. He despised you being with Beomgyu.

Soobin scoffed, not allowing your quaint request to get through the stiff boulder of his head.

“Like what? We need to get you home, so you have to talk to him tomorrow okay?” He had instantly clasped your hands into his upon hearing this and tugged you along the sidewalk, a frown permanently settled on his face. Anymore of this back and forth and his brain would explode of all of his values.

You just sighed, acknowledging what Soobin had said was right. His grip got tighter when you mumbled a few words of a farewell to Beomgyu. You needed time anyway, but a whole night wasn’t good enough to sort everything out either. It was best to stay away from him for now so that you could figure out what your heart had truly desired for.

Beomgyu just nodded at you, running his fingers through the tresses of his hair. It didn’t look like it, but he was breaking every second the more he looked at how you reassuringly smiled at the boy holding your hand. Well at least he was able to get a kiss, but Soobin had a huge advantage, being your crush for years now. The two of you looked absolutely perfect together! If you became a couple, he wouldn’t be surprised but instead bittersweet (mostly the bitter though) because you obviously deserved someone much better than this mess of inevitable love. It seems that he lost his chance to be with the love of his life.

From what you had assumed though, you thought that he was giving you time to think about his words. But at the same time, you didn’t know what to think, honestly.

How could you possibly choose when you liked both of them?

٩๑۶⁎⁍̴̆⁎ ๑)｡ﾟ´`ﾟ٩๑۶⁎⁍̴̆⁎ ๑)｡ﾟ´`ﾟ٩๑۶⁎⁍̴̆⁎ ๑)｡ﾟ

Posted: 10/21/20- 12:45am

Tags:

#txt fluff #txt angst #txt reactions #txt fic #txt fanfic #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt series #beomgyu angst #beomgyu fluff #soobin fluff #soobin angst #beomgyu scenarios #soobin scenarios #beomgyu series #soobin series

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cheshiresense · 5 years

Note

Anything with fem!Ichigo and Kisuke? Maybe a both-living-in-soul-society as Shiba Ichgio and Captain Urahara? Maybe an Outsider POV type thing? People trying to make sense of their relationship? (Btw I love your writing so much omg🤗)

Fem!Ichigo again lol. I didn’t think that would be such a popular trope tbh.

Edit: OMG THIS GOT SO LONG FML. Apparently i like fem!Ichigo just as much as you guys lmao.

1. Ichigo makes captain around the same time Kisuke does. Isshin went MIA, presumed dead (no, he’s probably run off with another woman who fell prey to one of Aizen’s experiments), so the Tenth Division captain seat is empty. Ichigo doesn’t know Kisuke well, but she likes to think she does know a bit more than the average person on the street. She knows what everyone knows of course - former Third Seat of the Second, Yoruichi’s left hand, her best interrogator - but she’s also seen him around the Shiba compound on occasion when Yoruichi drags him along, and sometimes Yoruichi talks about him. Ichigo always listens raptly, and she’s never forgotten any of the tidbits Yoruichi casually brings up when she tells Ichigo stories about the missions she can talk about or her old days at the Academy or general life as a Shihouin. Ichigo’s pretty sure Kisuke doesn’t know anything about her beyond the fact that she’s a Shiba, and he definitely doesn’t know that she admires him. She knows he’s clever and strong, devoted to Yoruichi and not someone anybody with half a brain cell would want as an enemy. She knows that he considers himself a scientist as much as an assassin, and that his morals are… flexible, at best, but that what drives his actions - outside of work - is curiosity more than any kind of deliberate malevolence or innate depravity. Ichigo knows all this, and her gaze always strays to him the handful of times they happen to be in the same vicinity. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t notice; he sticks close to Yoruichi most of the time and doesn’t really interact with anyone else, and for a while, compared to him, she’s just a girl, albeit one with a ridiculous amount of reiatsu and a bright future in the Gotei. And for all that Ichigo is a Shiba, she understands discretion better than most of her family. Perks of being trained by Yoruichi. Sometimes, she thinks about approaching Kisuke and striking up a conversation, but he always seems so closed off, or he stumbles around like a fool with two left feet but eavesdrops on conversations with the effortless ease of long habit, and for the longest time, Ichigo simply doesn’t feel like she has any right to talk to someone so obviously better than her in skill. Yoruichi is different, Shunsui and Jyuushirou and Shinji are all different, because they’re her mentors and extended family first and foremost, but Kisuke isn’t any of that so Ichigo watches him, measures herself against him, and sets her sights on one day becoming his equal.

So, they’ve never spoken, not beyond polite greetings, not until Ichigo tears through the Academy in a year and climbs the ranks like she has wings, not until Ichigo is offered a captaincy with the support of half the Gotei’s division commanders, and as the two newest and youngest captains, the two of them naturally gravitate together whenever Yamamoto summons them all for the regular less formal bi-monthly captain meetings.

Meetings follow a pattern. Captains report in, the usual topics regarding missions and internal affairs are discussed, and then they’re free to mingle, which isn’t required but it is expected in order to keep up at least some friendly relations between the squads. And it isn’t as if either Ichigo or Kisuke aren’t familiar with some of the other captains. Ichigo grew up with Shunsui and Jyuushirou as her uncle figures, and Shinji and Yoruichi are family friends, while Kisuke owes most of everything he is now to Yoruichi. But the former three are older, and Ichigo is a captain now and she doesn’t want to be treated like the little girl they used to give piggyback rides and candy to. Besides, they’re busy enough chatting with each other, and it would be awkward for even Ichigo to cut in. As for Kisuke, he hasn’t had a real conversation with Yoruichi since she signed him up for the captain exams and forced him out of the Second. Things are stiff between them when they do speak, and he doesn’t resent her exactly but sometimes he sees her walking around with Sui-Feng following in her shadow the way he used to, and it makes him turn away.

So they both retreat into corners of the room, and after a few meetings, it eventually happens to be the same corner too. Kisuke’s brought along one of his portable experimental mannequins to fiddle with to pass the time until it’s okay for him to leave, and Ichigo’s reiatsu leaps lightly between her hands as she idly twists a Kidou spell into something new, twining the purple light of a Haien with the shadows of her own spiritual energy. She doesn’t look up, but she can sense eyes on her, and it isn’t long after that before Kisuke remarks, “The Shiba Clan is formidable indeed. I don’t think even the Kidou Corps has such a knack for… improvisation.”

Ichigo glances up to meet curious grey eyes just a bit too sharp to pass for guileless, and she’s never been shy about what she wants, so she grins a little and wiggles her fingers, making the spell flare a bit. “The Twelfth Division’s coming out with pretty interesting things too.” Just last month, a training mannequin that can produce low-level bakudou to counter hadou fired at it had been presented at a captain’s meeting. The First Division got first dibs, and Ichigo’s pretty sure Yoruichi pulled some strings and wheedled her childhood friend for the favour so Second got them too, but the Tenth will probably have to wait at least another six months. Ichigo’s not known for her patience though when there’s no real need for it, so she suggests impishly, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Kisuke arches an eyebrow, and some of the clueless facade he likes to wear falls away, replaced by an amused smirk. “You drive a tempting bargain, Shiba-taichou. However can I refuse?”

Half an hour later, Ichigo crosses the wrong two wires and Kisuke puts just a little too much reiatsu into a half-melted Soukatsui. The wall behind them blows up, and in the ensuing chaos and uproar, under the cover of all the smoke, the two of them sneak away over the rooftops like naughty children, half falling over with laughter.

Later, when Yamamoto eyeballs them and demands to know if they had anything to do with the explosion, they serve as each other’s alibi, swearing innocence up and down. Everybody knows they’re lying but no one can prove it, and as Yamamoto dismisses them with a long-suffering sigh, all of Seireitei seems to feel a sense of foreboding as Ichigo and Kisuke walk out together.

2. Kisuke finds an unexpected friend in the Tenth Division captain, and as a result, he has less time to hole himself up in his labs. At first, it isn’t even that he doesn’t want to; it’s just that it’s very hard to say no to Shiba Ichigo, who invites herself over to the Twelfth like she’s been given blanket permission and drags Kisuke out of the SRDI like it’s her right. Before Kisuke knows it, he’s spending most of his lunch breaks with her, and he even starts getting his paperwork finished on time every Friday because Ichigo has a habit of hauling him back to the Shiba compound for dinner on those evenings.

Kisuke’s always had a hard time saying no to strong-willed women, but still, Ichigo is different from Yoruichi. There wasn’t anything Kisuke wouldn’t have done for Yoruichi, up to and including changing his life’s career path when she announced he would. She was as much his closest friend as she was the noble clan heir who saved him from Rukongai, from starvation and certain death, and neither of them will ever forget that.

But Ichigo is different. Ichigo is colleague and peer and friend with no strings attached, and Kisuke’s never had that before in his life. She takes liberties with him that he could stop if he really wanted to, but she’s interested in his inventions in a way no one else is, and she’s eager to teach him her family’s brand of kidou in return even though he’s pretty sure she’s not supposed to. He asks about it once, and she only shrugs.

“Kuukaku-nee-san considers Yoruichi-nee-san another sister,” She tells him carelessly. “And you’re Yoruichi-nee-san’s best friend. I’m sure you know several Shiba secrets already even if you didn’t used to come over as often as Yoruichi-nee-san. Plus you’re not the type to go spreading around what you know, are you? Otherwise I don’t think Yoruichi-nee-san would’ve ever started bringing you over to our compound in the first place. Besides, I don’t teach you the really secret stuff. You need actual Shiba blood for that, so I can’t anyway. It’s fine.”

And Kisuke would think she’s simply too trusting, too naive, unable to keep her mouth shut, except as far as he knows, she doesn’t teach anybody else the way she does Kisuke, doesn’t spend half as much time these days with anyone except him. She trains her squad, spars with them and extends her favour over the potential recruits she’s handpicked from the upcoming Academy graduates and of course always makes time for her family. But even Kisuke - who admittedly has always been terrible with people - can tell that somehow, sometime when he wasn’t looking, Shiba Ichigo had decided to make Kisuke her best friend.

He… doesn’t mind it. The company is surprisingly welcome, and he didn’t even know he was lonely until he suddenly had Ichigo hiding in his labs from her own paperwork or barging into his office to bring him lunch. He used to have Yoruichi to talk to, but nowadays, he has Hiyori screaming at him every time he turns around, or Kurotsuchi constantly testing his patience, or his other squad members shying away from him because he doesn’t know how to handle them, how to lead them, how to make them like him.

Ichigo doesn’t seem to see any of his deficiencies though, or maybe she does and just… takes it in stride. She doesn’t mind when he gets an idea halfway through a conversation and has to write it down and ends up tuning out everything for the next three hours, and she only interrupts him to remind him of his other duties and to grab dinner on his way home. She spars with him willingly, even eagerly, and the more underhanded fighting style he prefers just makes her grin wider, a bloodlust that matches his own surging to the fore the longer they fight. He wins, more often than not, but her ability to adapt, the way she incorporates everything from new Kidou spells to fighting sequences that she’s only seen once into her own style, her limitless potential in the way she seems to grow stronger with every damn blow, is terrifying, and Kisuke absolutely knows that one day, probably soon, she will surpass him, and it will be glorious to witness.

Inadvertently, Ichigo humanizes him too. She becomes a regular fixture at the Twelfth, and it helps that their respective compounds are back to back so they can just shunpo over the back walls whenever they please, and it isn’t long before the Shinigami under their command follow their lead. Kisuke’s officers - from seated to unseated, science-inclined or otherwise - relax over time, more and more every time Ichigo breezes through the courtyard or asks Kisuke to introduce her to some of them. They always seem surprised that he knows anything about them, and he’s not sure why - he’s read all their files, and it isn’t as if he can’t see the training yard from his office. Ichigo does the same for him, introducing him around her own squad, and it isn’t long before their officers begin taking missions together more often than not, and mingling together in their own time as if their compounds are one. The day a rebel faction of rogue Shinigami rolls through and kidnaps the heir of a noble house, Kisuke and Ichigo are onsite first, and by the time backup arrives, the heir has been saved, and all that’s left are the lingering red and black flickers of their respective reiatsu and the not-so-subtle trail of destruction left in the wake of their rather one-sided confrontation.

At the end of the next meeting, Yamamoto spares a minute to inform him and Ichigo that since their squads are so close, all joint missions relating to research and exploration into Hueco Mundo would be handed down to them from that point on, and it would be their job to train up and round out their mission teams properly with Shinigami from both divisions. Kisuke stares at Ichigo’s equally wide eyes and wonders when they became the next Kyouraku and Ukitake.

3. The first time Ichigo is frantically trying to meet a deadline and has to stay late into the night, Kisuke drops by with her favourite udon and a side of sushi, plus his own portion from the same restaurant, and doesn’t even seem to think he has to ask for permission before sitting down and poking fun at her time management skills and breaking out the chopsticks. Ichigo stares at him, not long enough for him to notice, but she also has to pretend to drop a scroll under her desk for a moment just so she can wrestle the manically thrilled smile off her face out of his line of sight.

Her evil plan is working.

The trick to befriending Kisuke, she’s found, is persistence. It probably helps that she likes him so much, and she’s genuinely interested in the inventions his brilliant and slightly insane mind comes up with, but more than anything else, persistence is key. When he’s neck-deep in research, she knows better than to interrupt his thought process unless she absolutely has to, and she’s fairly certain she’s never overstayed her welcome to the point of irritating him. But she keeps going back, bringing him food, teaching him her specialized kidou, and listening to him talk, and it’s been almost five years now and she doesn’t think it’s only wishful thinking anymore that Kisuke considers her a friend.

And that. That’s enough. Anything more will come if it comes. Hell, she doesn’t even know if he’s interested in people in a romantic or even sexual sense; he’s certainly never so much as gone on a date with anyone after becoming captain - Ichigo would know - and she’s never seen him visit a whorehouse. Sometimes, she does look in the mirror and wonder if Kisuke thinks she’s pretty (then she tries to drown herself in the shower because ugh what a dumb thing to fret over, like a lovesick little girl). On occasion, she wonders if she should try to act more like Yoruichi - all effortless elegance and lethal grace and refined speech when she wants, with something independent and whimsical that reminds Ichigo of a tiger in the wild - because if Kisuke has ever loved anyone, it would be her. But pretending to be something Ichigo isn’t has never been her strong suit, and she’ll never be able to be the kind of sophisticated upper-class that most nobles have known since birth anyway. Besides, it doesn’t count if Kisuke doesn’t like her for her.

Friends though. Ichigo can do friends, and these days, Kisuke no longer stares past her the way he used to back when she was still growing up. Anything more will come if it comes, and Ichigo can be content with that, even if some part of her continues to hope.

“Ichigo?”

Ichigo blinks to find Kisuke watching her with questioning eyes, the udon half held out towards her. “Are you alright?”

Ichigo gives herself a mental shake. “Yeah, I’m fine, just trying to remember if I signed one of the reports I sent off earlier. Pretty sure I did, thank fuck.” Her hands shoot out demandingly. “Now gimme, I’m starving!”

Kisuke rolls his eyes even as a fondly amused smile tugs at his lips. He hands over the udon and shakes his head as Ichigo digs in ravenously. “And you scold me for skipping meals.”

“You sh’p way ’ore ’an ’e!” Ichigo immediately protests around a mouthful of noodles.

“What’s that?” Kisuke mocks cheerfully. “‘You are absolutely correct Kisuke and I shouldn’t throw stones at glass houses?’ I completely agree.”

Ichigo sends him a dirty look because that doesn’t even rhyme, but she’s too hungry to keep arguing. Kisuke only smirks back at her before starting on his own dinner, and for a while, they sit in companionable silence as they work through their food.

Ichigo sits back with a satisfied sigh when she finishes. “That was delicious. It almost makes the all-nighter I’ll have to pull not so bad.”

Kisuke leans over to pour some more tea for himself but he casts a curious look over at her as well. “Leaving your paperwork to the last minute is usually my bad habit.” Ichigo snorts, and Kisuke sends her an exasperated look. “What in the world distracted you enough that you put it off this late?”

Ichigo makes a face and slouches further into her seat. “It’s my birthday in three months.” Kisuke makes that faint forehead crease that means he’s confused, so Ichigo explains sullenly, “It’s my big one hundred. Apparently that’s an important age or something so Kuukaku-nee-san’s been dragging me out for dress fittings for two weeks now, Ganju-nii-san keeps asking for my opinion even though he’s thrown out like four menu plans already because they’re apparently not good enough, and Kaien-nii-san won’t shut up about if I’m sure I don’t want to invite this or that person. It’s so annoying.” She pauses when an odd expression flits across Kisuke’s features. “What?”

Kisuke blinks before shaking his head. “Nothing. Just…” He smiles, and it’s one of his false ones. Ichigo automatically scowls, and Kisuke drops it. “I just didn’t realize you hadn’t reached your hundredth birthday yet.”

Ichigo bristles. “Is that a problem or something? I’m not a kid anymore if that’s what you’re hung up on.”

Kisuke quickly shakes his head again. “No that’s not it. You’re a Shinigami captain, and you’re more responsible than I am most of the time, Ichigo, both our squads can attest to that.”

Ichigo scowls some more but lets her shoulders drop. “What then?”

Kisuke glances down at his tea before tipping a rueful smile at her, this one real and slightly crooked. “I suppose I just wondered why you would want to spend all your time with an old man like me.”

Ichigo stares at him for a long beat of silent disbelief before rolling her eyes hard enough to feel something in her skull twinge. “Oh my god, you’re not that old, you’re not even four hundred yet. Kaien-nii is just past his four-hundred-thirtieth, and he’d throw down if anybody told him his next stop’s a rocking chair on the back porch.”

Kisuke huffs a laugh, brief and soft and startled every time when it’s real, like he has to hide it and like he never expects it, and Ichigo has to bite back an instinctive smile in response.

“True,” Kisuke muses, and the uncertainty from before is gone. He raises an expectant eyebrow instead, and Ichigo beams upon hearing his next question, “Well it is important so I can understand the fuss. You’re not keeping me off the invite list though, are you? I wouldn’t want to miss your big day.”

“Of course not!” Ichigo says brightly. “Invitations will be sent out this weekend so you’ll get yours real soon.” She slants a sly glance at him. “You’ll get me the best present, right?”

Kisuke makes that half-stifled more-breath-than-sound laugh again. “Did you have something you want in mind?”

Ichigo considers that for a moment. “Mmmm… make me something.”

Kisuke cocks his head, and some of his hair falls over his eyes. He brushes it back and Ichigo wonders what he’d look like with it tied back, or what it would feel like if she was allowed to run fingers through it. “Make you something?”

Ichigo nods. “Something that will surprise me.” She grins. “I hear you’re good at that.”

Kisuke hums, and he doesn’t promise her a new invention, but he does lean back in his seat, his eyes going distant, and Ichigo can practically see the new ideas form in his mind. She suppresses a laugh of her own and gets up instead to clear away their empty food cartons before getting back to work. She’s not surprised when he pulls out a notebook a few minutes later, and for the rest of the night, only the scratch of pen on paper breaks the hush between them.

Three months later, Kisuke enters the Shiba compound dressed in his finest clothes. He feels awkward in them but he can’t exactly wear his uniform to this event, even if he’s fairly sure Ichigo won’t care. He drops off his gift at the table already piled high with them, and then a servant leads him to his seat, near the front where the guest of honour and her relatives will sit, and he isn’t surprised when Yoruichi drops down beside him a moment later.

Neither of them speaks. Kisuke glances over, checks automatically for Sui-Feng before remembering she probably hasn’t been invited, and then realizes he feels… nothing. Not the hot sting of jealousy, nor the twist of hurt at knowing he’d been cast aside. Instead, his mind wanders and he finds himself wondering if Yoruichi - who has a good eye for kimonos - had a hand in dressing Ichigo up, and then he wonders - with more than a little amusement - how big a tantrum Ichigo probably threw at being stuffed into something probably as uncomfortable as his own current attire. She doesn’t even like wearing her captain’s haori when she can help it. Kisuke should know - he’s the one forced to hold it for her on the streets just in case they happen to pass a captain who would care and she has to throw it back on in a pinch.

He blinks and meets Yoruichi’s gaze again, gold and and knowing and forever unapologetic, and he inclines his head in return. Neither of them speaks, but he supposes, when it matters, they’ve never really had to.

It’s another half-hour before the last of the guests arrive, and then the Shibas enter. Ichigo is last, and as soon as Kisuke sees her, he can’t look away.

Blue is the Shibas’ colour, just as gold is the Shihouins’, and white is the Kuchikis’. Ichigo enters, dressed in a shimmering dark blue kimono patterned with bursts of fireworks. In contrast, her orange hair stands out that much more against it, pinned back with glittering kanzashi but left free to tumble down her back like a river of fire. Her brown eyes are bright, her cheeks blushed a delicate pink. She sweeps in like a force of nature barely contained, every inch a lady of noble birth, and against the backdrop of the night sky behind her, she is radiant.

Oh, something in Kisuke thinks in a daze, and beside him, he hears Yoruichi sigh, fond and exasperated in turn, but Kisuke doesn’t look at her because Ichigo catches his eye in the next moment and smiles, warm and glowing, and Kisuke can do nothing but stare back, utterly mesmerized.

Hours later, after the toasts and the seven-course dinner and even more toasts, everyone is free to mingle. Kisuke automatically sinks back into some nearby shadows, and for a while he gets some time to himself because Ichigo is busy thanking everyone for coming and making the appropriate amount of small talk. It still feels like no time at all when she appears in a burst of colour in front of him, flushed with a few drinks, breaking into another smile when she sees him.

She’s always so happy to see him, and Kisuke thinks he’s missed a few things over the past several years of their friendship.

“Kisuke!” She exclaims, and he realizes she’s clutching his gift, already half-unwrapped, in her hands. “These are fantastic, thank you!”

They’re a pair of hairpins, in her family’s colour, polished to perfection but purposely dulled so it won’t catch light in the dark, with jeweled heliotropes set along them. They’re not anything fancy, but they’re also not normal. Kisuke made them sharp enough to kill obviously, but the heliotropes themselves hide the real centerpiece. He blew up thirty-nine sets before he finally managed to get it right - a linked portal seal between the two, so that in an emergency, so long as Ichigo leaves one in a safe place and keeps the other on her, all she would need to do is send a spark of her own reiatsu into one set of flowers and it would teleport her straight to the other hairpin. Nothing - not an average bakudou, not one of the forbidden Kidou spells, not even different dimensions - would be able to prevent her from being transported to safety. The hairpins are designed to tear through literally anything in its way, and they’re probably one of Kisuke’s greatest achievements to date. It’s the only one of its kind, and as soon as Ichigo touched them, her passive reiryoku came into contact with them, and they now respond only to her.

He wrote down the explanation of course, Kidou-locked for her eyes only, and Ichigo beams at him now, clearly delighted.

“Here, help me put it on,” She says, already yanking out her kanzashi.

Kisuke can practically see Kuukaku’s wrath manifest a physical form from across the courtyard, and he pointedly pretends not to notice. Instead, he sighs rather helplessly even as something thrills inside him, possessive and smug. He firmly ignores it, focusing on tucking back the stray orange strands of Ichigo’s hair before clipping one of the hairpins through. They’re terribly lacking compared to her kanzashi but Ichigo doesn’t seem to care.

“The other one?” Kisuke asks, glancing down, only to blink when Ichigo catches one of his hands and presses the second hairpin into his palm.

Kisuke looks up. Ichigo smiles back, quiet and steady and resolute even as she withdraws her own hands again and takes a step back.

“Keep it safe for me, okay?” She asks, and Kisuke can’t find any words for a moment. But Ichigo doesn’t seem to need an answer, one hand rising to brush over the hairpin instead before swirling around in a neat spin. “How do I look? You haven’t said yet.”

Kisuke… doesn’t really plan on saying it. Somehow, entirely unlike him, it slips out anyway.

“Beautiful,” He says, voice just a touch too hoarse. “You look beautiful.”

Ichigo’s eyes go wide. And Kisuke can’t possibly have been the only one to say it, because she shines like a phoenix tonight, and it’s not even a particularly creative compliment; she’s almost certainly heard better. But she seems so very surprised anyway, and then she blushes to the tips of her ears, floundering for words in a way that isn’t at all like her.

“Thanks,” She finally mumbles, ducking her head for a moment before straightening just as quickly, something like defiance and challenge squaring her shoulders as she studies him searchingly for all of two seconds before reaching out and catching his arm. “Come on, the fireworks will start soon. We should get a good spot. The roof on the eastern side is best.”

She drags him off, and Kisuke goes willingly. Later, they sit shoulder to shoulder with the crackle of multi-coloured fireworks exploding overhead. Ichigo smiles up at the sky, and Kisuke watches her out of the corner of his eye, recalling all their moments together over the past five years, wondering if she really has felt… more for him than he’s ever realized.

She’s a Shiba though. Half the noble guests here tonight brought along their sons and nephews for no other reason than because Ichigo will have to marry well one day. If this were a race, Kisuke knows he has already lost. But, they’re friends. Ichigo is actually probably his only friend, Yoruichi aside, and that will have to be good enough. Ichigo isn’t the type to cast anyone aside even after she marries, which won’t be for a while yet anyway, and if nothing else, the Shibas won’t ever wed her off to someone who would dictate who she can see and what she can do. So Kisuke will get to keep her friendship, and so long as he has that, then he can be content.

4. In this world, Kisuke does not create the Hougyoku. Oh, he stumbles on the idea, even starts on the project, but when it becomes clear that he’s going to have to more or less dissect the souls of dozens if not hundreds of souls, Pluses and Hollows alike, because he isn’t going to figure this out without seeing what happens, Kisuke thinks of Ichigo, thinks of what she would think if she knew, and… he stops.

He wants to know. He always wants to know, anything and everything he doesn’t already. But this, this is what Ichigo would consider cruel, this is wrong, and Kisuke’s curiosity over the outcome of this little experiment isn’t worth Ichigo’s disappointment.

So he sighs and mentally shelves this line of research, at least until he can figure out a better way to do it, and then he scraps the project. There are plenty of other areas he can turn his mind to after all. Besides-

“Kisuke!” Ichigo bursts into his personal labs, dragging a disheveled-looking Akon behind her. “I sent your Third Seat to the Fourth!”

Kisuke sighs. “What did he do now?”

She scowls at him and hauls Akon up front and center. Ichigo’s on the tall side, only a few inches shorter than Kisuke, so even standing straight, Akon only reaches her chest-height.

“He tried to experiment on Akon!” She snaps, and Kisuke frowns, because he’s pretty sure this would be the seventh time Kurotsuchi’s tried to overstep the boundaries Kisuke set. It isn’t as if he even has that many, and surely don’t experiment on your fellow squad members isn’t too difficult to remember?

He sighs again and glances down at Akon, who looks slightly flustered under Ichigo’s fussing. Kisuke arches an amused eyebrow, and Akon glowers at him.

Brat.

Still, Ichigo’s taken a liking to Akon, and aside from time in the labs, the kid usually haunts the Tenth more than the Twelfth these days.

“How about the Academy?” Kisuke suggests abruptly, and Ichigo blinks at him. “He isn’t cleared for missions or anywhere other than the SRDI since he hasn’t passed the Shinigami requirements at the school, but if he goes, and graduates, I’ll be able to transfer him over to the Tenth.” He looks at Akon again. “You like it better over there anyway, don’t you? But of course, you’ll still have lab space here.”

Akon looks openly astonished for a split second, then wheels around to stare up at Ichigo. “Shiba-taichou-?”

Ichigo grins and ruffles his hair. “If it’s what you want, that’s fine by me! My family can even put in a recommendation, and don’t you worry about books and supplies. The next entrance exam is coming up too so this is perfect timing!”

She begins ushering him out the door again, Akon hanging on to her every word, but she pauses and glances back just before she leaves.

Kisuke inclines his head. “I’ll take care of it.” He considers that for a moment before adding, “Permanently.”

Ichigo nods briskly, her smile going grim and dark for a split second, and then she turns her attention back to Akon as they continue on their way.

Kisuke listens to their voices fade, absently tapping the flat of his Zanpakutou against his thigh.

Well, he supposes Kurotsuchi was never going to work out anyway. The man’s even had the audacity to make noises - albeit relatively muted ones whenever Kisuke’s around - about getting his hands on Ichigo, such an anomaly of natural-born reiatsu even for a Shiba, and Kisuke’s seen the way the other man’s eyes gleam and follow Ichigo around when she’s at the Twelfth. And that just isn’t acceptable. Of course, on one hand, Ichigo would crush him if he ever tries anything, but on the other, it’s really only a matter of time before Kurotsuchi’s greed gets the better of him, and why bother Ichigo with this issue when Kisuke can prevent it?

It’s a shame. Kurotsuchi isn’t quite at Kisuke’s level of genius, and somehow, he’s even more obsessive about his various scientific interests than Kisuke, but he would’ve helped boost the SRDI to greater heights. Kisuke draws the line at harming those under his protection though. He’s given Kurotsuchi plenty of chances to curb his more… excessive inclinations. This time will be the last time.

A week later, Kisuke makes his way out of the Maggots’ Nest, and Kurotsuchi doesn’t actually stop screaming threats at him until there’s too many walls and doors between them for Kisuke to hear him.

Yoruichi is waiting outside, one eyebrow going up when she sees him come out alone. “I thought you had high hopes for that one?”

Kisuke smiles blandly back at her. “Yes, but unfortunately, it didn’t work out.”

“Oh?”

Kisuke shrugs and turns in the direction of his division compound. “You know I don’t like it when people touch my stuff, Yoruichi-san.”

His squad is his. His people are his. Ichigo isn’t, not the way he’s slowly realizing he’d prefer. But she’s still under his protection, even if she doesn’t need it, and Kisuke would throw away a lot more than a single asset to keep her safe.

Later that same day, Ichigo brings him a cake, and Kisuke has to laugh when he sees that the icing reads, Sorry You Lost Your Best Creepy Scientist.

“I’ll find others for my department,” Kisuke assures as he bites into his first slice.

Ichigo scoffs and slaps down a stack of files. “’Course you will, and I’m gonna help. You and Kurotsuchi and Akon can’t be the only science geeks in Soul Society. So, how ’bout we write up a proposal for the old man? A separate exam for people who don’t necessarily want to become Shinigami but might be interested in a research grant or something? Maybe we can even create a new branch of the Academy, something that focuses on whatever basics you would need to apply to your department. They can still be required to take the core subjects, but if they decide they want to enter the SRDI, you can even set a curriculum for them, since you’d know best what they’d need. As for the SRDI, why not make it separate from the Gotei but still attached, like the Onmitsukidou and the Kidou Corps. Right now, I’m pretty sure most people still think of it as your side-hobby or something. But in the long run, if we do this right, I think even Central 46 would see the benefits of starting something like this.”

Kisuke just… stares at her for a minute. He looks at the plans that Ichigo has already begun drafting up, that she’s taken the time to think of Kisuke and consider what he might want and how to help him further his ambitions, and then he looks back at her again, and he promises himself then that if she ever expresses even the slightest unhappiness with whoever she ends up married to one day, he’ll carve them up into as many pieces as physically and spiritually possible because this woman deserves the world.

“That’s genius,” He says faintly, and Ichigo beams. She shoves the files at him, shuffles their cake off to the side, and then they spend the rest of the day lobbing ideas back and forth for a system Kisuke can’t wait to put into practice.

5. Five years later, the Mission happens. The Ninth Division goes to investigate the disappearances out in Rukongai, then an irritated Hiyori heads out when a researcher is requested, and then the emergency meeting is called when the entire investigation team’s reiatsu signatures disappear.

“I’ll go,” Ichigo repeats once the meeting is over and the backup team is about to head out. “Don’t worry, Kisuke, I’ll get Hiyori back alive and in one piece.”

Kisuke grimaces but nods. Hiyori might as well be Ichigo’s lieutenant as well at this point, and he knows Ichigo will do everything she can to retrieve Hiyori.

“You stay safe too,” Kisuke reminds her, gaze flicking briefly to the hairpin he’s never seen her go out without. The other remains with him, always.

Ichigo nods back determinedly, and then she leaves.

If Kisuke had known what would happen, he would’ve tied her up and sat on her to make sure she didn’t leave Seireitei that night. Or at the very least, he would’ve gone with her, orders be damned.

But in this world, in this time, he trusts Ichigo as much as he trusts himself, and if there’s even the slightest possibility of returning Hiyori and everyone else alive, he believes Ichigo will do it. So in this world, he does not go after them, fiddling listlessly with various projects in his labs instead as he waits for word of their return.

He doesn’t get word. Instead, a shriek rings high and clear in the far, far distance, and Kisuke skids outside just in time to see the blazing light of fireworks burning on the horizon like it’s set the sky on fire.

His stomach drops. Ichigo had told him about this once - a canister of specialized fireworks that serves as an SOS, carried by every Shiba, Shinigami or otherwise, released only in worst-case scenarios when reinforcements are desperately needed.

In the distance, from the direction of the Shiba compound, a muffled uproar stirs, one that’s closely followed by a commotion at the Thirteenth. Then there’s a displacement of air and Ichigo’s lieutenant is suddenly beside him. Kisuke glances over and isn’t at all surprised to see the ice in Koyonagi’s face. Ichigo’s probably the last person anyone thought would require reinforcements. That she thinks she needs it when she already has three other captains and two lieutenants with her makes the whole situation even worse.

“I’ll take a team and go,” Koyonagi says abruptly, and it isn’t a question. Unlike Hiyori, Koyonagi obeys one person and one person alone. “You stay here.” He glares, pre-empting Kisuke’s protest. “If she uses that portal seal-” Because of course if anyone would realize the significance of Ichigo suddenly wearing a hair accessory everywhere since five years ago, it would be the former Kidou Corps Commander. “-because she needs medical attention, what use would it be if you’re in the middle of Rukongai?”

He’s gone in the next second, and Kisuke has to grit his teeth and take a fortifying breath to stop himself from going after him. The urge tears at him anyway. He isn’t used to staying back, doing nothing, feeling completely useless.

He should’ve gone with her.

Hours later, in the early light of dawn with half the city a bustling hive of tense activity and both the Tenth and Twelfth Divisions on high alert, Kisuke gets only a moment’s warning, the hairpin he’s been cradling in his hands rippling with Ichigo’s familiar abyssal reiatsu before a burst of light whites out the room.

Kisuke has to take a moment to blink the spots from his sight, and then he takes all of three seconds to take in the sudden influx of bodies in his lab - Muguruma and Kuna, unconscious and locked down with so many Kidou binding spells that they look about ready for transport to prison, with Ushouda standing over them, Aikawa and Ootoribashi supporting each other but at least they’re also on their feet, Yadoumaru, her blade still drawn and bloodied, and Hirako, hair and uniform splashed with blood but with enough strength to support Ichigo, who’s half-collapsed against the blond, a bloodstained hairpin still clutched in one white-knuckled grip.

Kisuke has eyes for no one else. “Ichigo!”

He hasn’t been idle in the past several hours, setting out everything he thought he might need just in case Ichigo really did come back in serious need of medical aid. Hirako relinquishes Ichigo to him, but Kisuke barely has time to lay her out on a padded table before she convulses, once, twice, and then she screams.

“Tie her down!” Hirako barks, and Kisuke almost slits the other captain’s throat for that as Ushouda cuffs her to the table. The Fifth Division captain gives a jerky shake of his head. “She’s been infected by- by whatever the hell Aizen was doin’. He got Kensei and Mashiro too, but they’re out for now.” He grimaces, a baring of teeth that looks equal parts angry and scared. “Aizen said somethin’ about them bein’ Hollowfied?” Kisuke’s blood runs cold. “The rest of Kensei’s team is dead, but these two ambushed us, and I don’t think they knew who we were. Ichigo managed ta set off her flare before slippin’ past them and attackin’ Aizen. The rest of us focused on subduin’ Kensei and Mashiro. And Ichimaru and Tousen were with them, on Aizen’s side. We managed ta get them too. Kaien and Koyonagi and half the Shiba Clan are on scene now. Hiyori’s fine as well and insisted on stayin’.” He looks like he wants to cringe as Ichigo thrashes futilely and screams again like someone’s carving out her insides with a rusty spoon. “Can ya do anythin’ for her?!”

Kisuke swears under his breath, hands already glowing, trying to get an actual reading on whatever the hell is happening with Ichigo’s body. His ears ring with the shrill sounds of Ichigo in obvious agony, and he has to check to make sure his hands aren’t shaking because they certainly feel like they are.

“Did he have an orb on him?” Kisuke shouts over Ichigo’s screams. “Aizen!” And he hopes the man is still alive, if only because Kisuke dearly wishes to strangle the traitor with his own spine. “About the size of a fist, blue-”

“Yeah, I have it,” Yadoumaru steps forward, yanking an eerie blue-green orb from a pocket of her Shihakushou. “Will it help reverse this?”

Kisuke has no answers for her, and he doesn’t have time either before Ichigo’s screams abruptly cut off, and Kisuke just manages to disintegrate the Kidou cuffs and turn her onto her side before she throws up a viscous white substance all over the floor.

“’isuke,” She slurs, feverish recognition surfacing for a moment once she manages to stop. “’isuke, it ’urts-”

“I know,” Kisuke murmurs, helping her drink some water. “I know, sweetheart. I’ll fix it, I promise. Can you tell me what happened when you fought Aizen?”

He gets a garbled recount of an illusion-type Zanpakutou - out of sight, Hirako kicks something over - that Ichigo managed to overcome thanks to her overwhelmingly high levels of reiatsu combined with something inside her - something new and bloodthirsty and ruthless - that had taken over her body long enough to shatter Aizen’s influence. They’d destroyed five districts in their battle but Ichigo had come out on top in the end.

She stops, choking on a cry as another wave of pain courses through her, clawing at her own skin, and her usual brown eyes flash yellow-on-black. Kisuke holds her down through it, and then he forgets himself and reaches up to cradle her face with his hands. Ichigo meets his gaze only after a dizzying moment of confusion where she doesn’t even seem to know where she is anymore, but she seems to calm too at his touch, just a bit.

“I’m going to knock you out,” Kisuke says quietly. “It’s not doing you any good to stay awake right now. But I’ll make this better, Ichigo, I promise. Trust me.”

Ichigo only manages a weak smile in response, but her eyes are steady on his, and she doesn’t so much as twitch as a spell washes over her and puts her to sleep.

Kisuke takes a step back. When he turns, everyone who’s still awake is staring, but he ignores them, directing Ushouda to put Muguruma and Kuna onto two of the other tables before holding out a hand for the orb.

The Hougyoku. To think, where even Kisuke stopped, Aizen Sousuke did not. He wonders just how many the other man has killed for this to actually work.

Out loud, he says curtly, “I need peace and quiet. You may stay, but stay out of my way. If you’re injured, go to the Fourth. I have no time for you right now.”

And then he turns and gets to work.

-0-

It takes Kisuke a week. He doesn’t sleep, barely eats, and he doesn’t leave his labs until Ichigo - and Muguruma and Kuna - is breathing easy again.

He checks Ichigo one more time, sets a monitor in case she wakes while he’s gone, spares a moment to brush fingers over the two hairpins he’d washed and set on the side table, and then he heads upstairs, makes his way out of the SRDI, and promptly walks straight into what looks like a war.

At least half his officers plus the Tenth’s are arrayed across the compound walls, bristling with weapons, patrolling like they’ve somehow become the target of a siege. Kisuke stares, double-checks to make sure he isn’t hallucinating from exhaustion, and then shunpos directly over to where he can sense Hiyori’s reiatsu signature.

“What is going on?” He asks, all out of patience, with not enough energy to waffle around the issue.

Hiyori startles, jumping half a foot, hand falling to her Zanpakutou, but she relaxes when she sees him. He’s never going to be her favourite person, but over the years, they’ve at least built a decent working relationship, especially once he started taking his position more seriously and not just focusing all his attention on establishing the SRDI.

“Gimme some warnin’!” She growls, but doesn’t react beyond that. “A week ago, Central 46 came out with an execution order for Ichigo and the other two,” She reports with a scowl, nodding emphatically when Kisuke slices a sharp glance down at her. “Guards came and tried ta storm our compound ta drag ’em out. Obviously we weren’t just gonna let them. We shut the gates, knocked out anyone who tried ta force their way in anyway, and dumped them back outside. The Fifth, Eighth, and Thirteenth even sent over help halfway inta the second day. A couple days after that, assassins started tryin’ ta sneak in.” She grins, looking positively feral. “Koyonagi stabbed the first one he caught in the face. Those ones, we returned dead.” She shook her head. “The last attack was yesterday mornin’. Word’s come down that Central 46 was influenced by Aizen’s Zanpakutou or somethin’, and since Ichigo left ’im alive, it’s still affectin’ ’em. Unohana-taichou’s been workin’ on it though. That might be why they haven’t sent anymore guards, but we’re all still keepin’ a lookout. Oh yeah, and I heard the Shiba Clan’s about one wrong word away from rebellion, and rumour has it that the Shihouin Clan’s willin’ ta follow. So for now, nobody’s doin’ anythin’ but there’s a hell of a lot of swords pointed at each other in Seireitei at the moment.”

She turns demanding eyes up at Kisuke. “Well? What about you then? Is Ichigo gonna be okay? And the other two I guess.”

“They’ll be fine,” Kisuke says even as his thoughts race. Execution? That’s extreme even for Central 46, especially when a Shiba is involved. They should know full well that attacking one of that clan is attacking the entire clan, that attacking Kaien is attacking the Eighth and Thirteenth, and that attacking Ichigo might as well be attacking half the Gotei and her whole family.

Besides, striking at even one of the Five Pillars of Soul Society is never a good idea.

“Aizen is still alive?” He asks next.

Hiyori actually smirks. “Yeah, but last I heard, he’s still in a coma. Ichigo kicked his ass pretty hard.”

Excellent. Just enough left for Kisuke to get a piece of him.

“Keep me posted,” He orders as the monitor guarding Ichigo goes off. He hesitates for a moment, then adds awkwardly, “You’re alright too though? Hirako-san told me you were, but…”

Hiyori rolls her eyes. “I’m fine. I hid pretty well as soon as I realized somethin’ was seriously wrong with that team from the Ninth. And then Ichigo crashed in with Shinji and the others. I barely got scratched, and that was just because that smiley-eyed creep Ichimaru got in a lucky hit.”

Kisuke exhales. “Good. Then just make sure you get some rest; don’t spend all your time out here. And until you have proof that Central 46 has rescinded the execution order-” He pauses a beat. “-and sent along a formal apology to the Shiba Clan, don’t stand down.”

Hiyori snorts. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

Kisuke smiles briefly, and then shunpos away again. He gets back to his labs just in time to find Ichigo struggling to sit up.

“You shouldn’t be getting up yet,” Kisuke scolds, but he’s already at her side, one arm sliding around her back to support her.

“What day is it?” Ichigo mumbles, sagging against him once she’s more or less upright. “What’s happening?”

She obediently sips at the cup of water Kisuke holds up to her lips, and it seems to revive her a bit more, if only to let her shoot him an impatient look.

At least she’s well enough to do that.

It doesn’t take long for Kisuke to summarize the situation outside since he doesn’t know all the details himself, and then he tells her about the Hougyoku and its effects and the monster that now lives inside her soul.

Ichigo, of course, just shrugs. “Well, at least I’m alive to learn to live with it.” She glances down at herself and wrinkles her nose. “Now help me to the bathroom. I need a shower and a change of clothes. And food. In that order.” She glances at him knowingly. “We probably both do.”

Kisuke heaves a sigh, but he supposes she isn’t wrong.

“You first,” He says firmly, and without waiting for a reply, he simply scoops her up into his arms instead of levering her to her feet.

“Kisuke!” Ichigo yelps, fingers scrambling for the collar of his Shihakushou.

“You shouldn’t be up at all,” Kisuke grumbles. “But if you insist, I’ll have to carry you.”

Ichigo makes a disgruntled noise, but it’s telling that she doesn’t complain. She’s pliant as Kisuke helps her into the shower, and luckily, there’s a stool he can stick inside so she won’t have to stand.

He makes sure the towels and soap are all within easy reach before straightening to back out of the room, only to pause when Ichigo’s hand catches his own.

Kisuke stills before glancing down. Ichigo tips her head back to look up at him, and she doesn’t smile, but the way she looks at him is unmistakable, steadfast and warm and full of something like wonder.

Kisuke’s on his knees before he realizes, and his free hand extends with a mind of its own, tucking a stray strand of Ichigo’s hair behind her ear, and then just… lingering, his fingers skittering across her temple, his thumb tracing the curve of a cheekbone. Ichigo leans into his touch, eyes falling to half-mast, and for a while, neither of them speaks.

“…How long?” Kisuke asks at last, because he’s wanted to know since he figured it out.

Ichigo’s mouth twists, wry and just a little self-mocking. “Well, not from the very first time I saw you at least.”

Kisuke blinks, then splutters. “Saw-? You mean back when Yoruichi-san was still dragging me over to your estate every few months?”

Even Ichigo looks faintly embarrassed as she admits, “I had the biggest crush. It was horrible.”

Kisuke tries to remember, but all he can recall of Ichigo back then is… orange hair, a roiling mass of reiatsu she could never quite control, and a tendency for never being able to stay still.

“You never spoke to me,” Kisuke says haltingly after a long minute of searching his memory.

Ichigo shrugs. “I was just some girl who didn’t even have her Zanpakutou yet, and you were already a Third Seat in the Gotei. You were smart, and strong, and you were only interested in people who could keep up with you. What was I supposed to talk to you about?” She straightens, and the tilt of her chin is all triumph. “I made you notice me though, once I was promoted to captain. And then you gave me a chance to get to know you a lot better than just from Yoruichi-nee-san’s stories.”

Kisuke wonders for all of half a second if Yoruichi had known, but of course she had.

(He’d always known that any feelings he’d felt for her beyond admiration and friendship would go nowhere. Yoruichi simply didn’t feel the same for him, but even if she did, the weight of his debt to her would always put them on uneven ground.

He’d known. She’d known. And in the end, she’d taken matters into her own hands - as she always had, wisdom and selfishness forever two parts of the same coin - and given him a chance for something new.)

“You’re a Shiba,” He says at last, and his hand drops to clasp hers. “I have no right to court you.”

Ichigo scoffs loudly. “Did I ever say I want to be courted? You think I want to deal with some faceless stranger sending me a bunch of gifts I’ll probably have no use for, and expecting me to retire and pop out children for him and tend to his house all day? Who do you think you’re talking to?” She shakes her head. “Besides, it’s not about right. Do you think Kaien-nii-san would ever force me to marry someone I want nothing to do with? I was lucky enough to be born a Shiba. The elders will fuss, but Kaien-nii-san will shut them up. And other people might talk, but my family won’t care, and more importantly, I won’t care.” She looks at him then, eyes blazing with that inner fire Kisuke has always been drawn to. “So long as you don’t care either, what do other people matter?”

Kisuke’s gaze drops to their joined hands. There’s still blood crusted underneath both their fingernails. But Ichigo’s hands fit comfortably in his own, and Kisuke never wants to let go.

He sighs. “You deserve bet-”

“I get to decide what I deserve,” Ichigo cuts him off, and her narrowed eyes dare him to argue. “And I’ve decided that I deserve you. That I want you. And it’s one thing if you don’t want me. If you just want to stay friends, then I’ll respect that. But don’t give me that ‘you deserve better’ bullshit. You’re plenty good enough for me. You make me laugh. You make me happy. You feed me when I forget to eat, and you put up with me when I’m whining about stupid things, and you listen to me when I talk about all the human literature I like to read even though I know you’re not very interested in that stuff. You trust me to watch your back on the field, and you respect me enough to never go easy on me in a spar. You always make time for me even when you’re busy, and when I’m having a bad day, just seeing you makes it better.” Kisuke closes his eyes, and his next breath shakes in his chest. Ichigo forges on, relentless. “Why would I want anyone else when the man I love is already right here beside me?”

She might’ve had more to say. But Kisuke doesn’t hear it because he’s already surged up and caught her mouth with his own. One of his arms snakes around her back while his other hand slams into the shower wall behind her so they don’t go tumbling to the floor. For a moment, the kiss is awkward, teeth catching on lips, the angle not quite right, and then Ichigo makes a sound that’s pure relief before tilting her head, and their mouths slide together like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

They’re both out of breath when they finally part, Ichigo more so than Kisuke, and Kisuke mentally berates himself for forgetting that Ichigo is still recovering. “Sorry, are you-”

Ichigo rolls her eyes and steadies herself on the chair. “I’m fine.” She grins cheekily. “More than fine now.”

Kisuke huffs a laugh, helplessly fond and hopelessly in love with this ridiculous woman. “Alright. Alright, Ichigo. But can we at least get you that shower and some food in you first before we continue?”

Ichigo pouts, but she also reaches back to tug her hair out of the braid Kisuke had put it in to keep it out of the way when he’d been working on saving her life. “Fine, but only cuz I’m starving.”

As if on cue, her stomach growls, and Kisuke hides another smile by leaning forward and kissing her again, although he keeps it short enough to make Ichigo grumble a little.

“I’ll see what we have in the lounge,” Kisuke says, finally getting to his feet again.

Ichigo waves him out, and by the time Kisuke’s fetched a fresh set of clothes from a side-cabinet and left it on the counter, the water is running and steam is curling up to the ceiling.

Kisuke leaves her to it, gently closing the door behind him. He pauses there, looks down at his hands, and feels the phantom warmth of Ichigo’s still curled around them.

If he can have this, he thinks, if Ichigo truly wants this, wants him of all people, then…

Then even if her family protests and the world disapproves, Kisuke will have to be dead and gone before he ever lets her go. If Ichigo is willing to fight for them, then how can Kisuke possibly do anything less?

-0-

Another week passes, the detente ends, and the tension mostly eases. Unohana finally managed to heal Aizen enough for the man to at least wake up, even if he’s also been transferred to a cell to wait for trial. It’s guarded twenty-four/seven and layered under at least half a dozen barrier seals, and Aizen himself has been strapped down, his reiatsu locked away, and his Zanpakutou broken.

Kisuke gets in anyway. The guards are all Onmitsukidou and ultimately loyal to a woman who has no qualms helping Kisuke with his revenge.

Aizen’s eyes go wide when he sees him, and Kisuke doesn’t think he’s imagining the fear behind the fury.

“Here to kill me then?” The former lieutenant rasps.

Kisuke smiles, cold and dead and merciless. “Kill you? Do you think me so kind, Aizen-san?” Aizen stiffens as Kisuke produces a syringe, the liquid inside glowing an ominous crimson. “I invented this one just for you.” His smile drops. “You shouldn’t have touched Shiba Ichigo.”

He doesn’t give Aizen time to reply, or stall for time, or even beg. He’s not here for any of that.

He’s halfway back to his own compound when the screaming begins.

-0-

Soul Society comes to accept the species now called Visored. The Shiba Clan doesn’t really give them a choice in the matter. Ichigo, Kensei, and Mashiro were the ones most immediately affected by the Hogyoku, but everyone else who was there received a spark as well, just enough to gain the potential for Hollow powers or have it nullified under Kisuke’s experienced hands, and most of them pick the latter. Only Shinji does not.

Soul Society gets used to them. There isn’t any outward difference anyway once they learn to control their other half, and there’s so many other more interesting things to gossip about when it comes to these particular Shinigami-turned-Visored.

Like how Fifth Division captain Hirako Shinji mopes in guilt for three months before coming into work one day with all his hair shaved off. Rumour has it that Shiba Ichigo had had enough and chopped off his hair to shake him out of his cloud of misery. Another rumour says Sarugaki Hiyori just about laughed herself to death when she saw.

Or, like how the Ninth - already fanatically loyal to their captain and lieutenant - rallied around them in the aftermath of the Incident, and for a good six months, the tally of people that they sent to the Fourth every week exceeded even the Eleventh’s.

Or, like how Tenth Division captain Shiba Ichigo and Twelfth Division captain Urahara Kisuke were caught sharing a kiss at a sushi restaurant one summer afternoon, and word of it spread like wildfire. Rumour says Shiba Kaien laughed a noble house leader out the door when he’d dared suggest that the Shiba head should keep a tighter rein on his terribly undisciplined cousin. Another rumour says half the Tenth Division barracks were destroyed one afternoon because the Tenth’s lieutenant challenged the Twelfth’s captain to a spar that got… slightly out of hand. And yet another rumour tells of Shiba Ichigo herself starting a bar fight for the ages after someone had insulted her lover to her face.

But mostly, people see the two of them walking down the street, and it’s a familiar sight by this point. Some sigh of love stories and others sneer at a Rukon rat and bloodstained murderer putting his hands on a noble.

None of their opinions hold any weight though - that becomes clear enough. Not when Ichigo reaches for Kisuke’s hand like she knows he’ll always be there, and Kisuke stands next to Ichigo like his whole being is attuned to her very heartbeat.

Not when they look at each other like they’re two people perfectly in love. Because in the end, for them, that really is all that matters.

#headcanon meme: answered #bleach #uraichi #fem ichigo #kurosaki ichigo #shiba ichigo #urahara kisuke #headcanon #kaliko-black #omg #the one where ichigo has been crushing on kisuke forever #so she enacts her forty-year-plan to hook her man and succeeds just by being herself #i didnt plan it that way #i swear

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magdaclaire · 4 years

Text

partner

read it on ao3

a/n: This fic is at least a little based on the fact that as soon as I met my boyfriend, the very first day I met him, I spent 5 and a half hours with him, and he became my best friend. Some people, you just know. Partner.

He’s got, probably, three million things to do today. Football practice before school, the 6am slot because lacrosse had booked the 7am, and a Student Council meeting at 7am anyway, first period math, second period english, a lunch interview with one of the kids from the school newspaper (“Are you ready for the game against the Bronx Hydra? Do you ever feel like you’re going to let the team down? Now that you’re… not at your best shape?”), actually eating lunch, maybe getting a glimpse of his friends, and he’s still got half the day left after that. He’s only done the practice and the meeting so far. He could do this math in his sleep, of course, because high school Algebra 2 is child’s play, but it’s so time consuming, as if not showing his work is evidence of cheating. Everyone here knows that James Rhodes doesn’t cheat, but some people are just waiting for him to slip. It’s fine. He won’t slip. He’ll show his work. He’ll be perfect. He’ll do it all.

“James,” a clear voice cuts into his monologue as he walks into English, his bag slung over both shoulders evenly because only rebels and boys who don’t care about their future throw around their things, Jamie. He turns loyally and puts on a perfunctory smile, smiling down at the principal he recognized from voice alone, because of course he did. Nicholas Fury is a man of slightly shorter stature than James, but rather large presence, and he has his hand on the shoulder of a rather beautiful young man, despite the fading bruise above his right eye. “This,” Fury says, putting an undue amount of emphasis on the word, “is Anthony Stark. Anthony, James Rhodes. James, I’d like you to show him around a little. He’ll be in this class, and Miss Harvelle will be assigning you as his study partner. I trust you’ll be treating him well. That’ll be all, Mister Rhodes.”

With that, and no explanation to boot, Fury turns and leaves. Typical. He had done the same thing to Clint when he had brought Natasha in, and she had barely spoken any English. He hopes this one speaks English. He knows this one speaks English. Everybody knows who Anthony Stark is - even though he usually goes by Tony in the tabloids. Maybe he goes by Anthony in everyday life though, James can’t assume. Just because somebody is tangentially famous because of who their Dad is doesn’t mean you know them, right? And, everybody has heard that Howard is kind of a dick - it’s all over social media. But, that’s not James’s business.

“Tony,” the guy says, still not looking directly at James.

“What?” James asks, startled. He hadn’t really been expecting Anthony to talk. Anthony’s eyes snap to him, and those pretty brown eyes are sharp, dangerous in their analysis and wow. It’s a lot of attention, a lot of terrible, awful attention. It might say something about James that he doesn’t quite mind it.

“I prefer Tony. Where do you sit? If we have to sit together. Honestly, I don’t care. If he’s not seriously, I’d prefer to sit anywhere else,” Tony says, looking James up and down. James raises an eyebrow, shifting his bookbag on his shoulders.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, slightly defensive. Tony snorts.

“You wear your bookbag on both shoulders, like a fuckin’ narc. You get assigned the new kid, like a fuckin’ narc. You wear a letterman, which means you play sports, which means you have cronies, which means not only are you able to get away with shit because you’re a narc, you’re a narc with backup. I’m not interested in being a chew toy. Count me out. I’m gonna go sit in the back with that kid who’s definitely high even though it’s second period, which means he definitely smoked between classes, because that’s a kid who isn’t a narc. See you around, quarterback,” Tony says, the bell ringing in perfect timing for him to slide into the seat next to Brock Rumlow.

James doesn’t know what to think.

“James, is there something you need? Please, take your seat,” Miss Harvelle requests from the doorway, and James hadn’t even noticed her come in, given his distraction. He clears his throat, but finds he has exactly nothing to say, thrown completely off kilter by that interaction. He slides into his own seat, the desk next to him empty, and he wonders what the fuck just happened to him in here on this day, really. Brock Rumlow laughs from two rows back, a barking laughter that James hears probably everyday because of just how little Brock cares about his classes and the reputation he holds with teachers, but it holds more of James’s attention this time. Because Tony is back there. A kid he just met.

James turns his attention to the front of the classroom and doesn’t allow himself to look back there again for the rest of the class. Miss Harvelle doesn’t insist upon the study partners thing, not like Fury said she was going to, and James tries not to feel disappointed by that. It’s not because Tony is pretty or anything. James isn’t that easily distracted by a pretty face. He has enough to do today.

He catches Tony after class anyway. With a tap on the shoulder, Tony follows him reluctantly to the stairwell that has emptied out for students heading en masse to the cafeteria. James thanks whomever for the small blessings of his life.

“Hey, I think we got off on the wrong foot there. I don’t know what you think I’m gonna do to you, but I’m not a bad guy, Tony. You can ask anybody. Fury wants me to show you around, and you don’t seem that bad either. Maybe we could try again?” James offers, putting out his hand for a shake. Tony narrows his eyes, ignoring the hand to cross his arms.

“I was really rude to you, Rhodes. What do you mean that I ‘don’t seem that bad?’ And maybe you just put on a good face, honeybear. Doesn’t mean you’re a good guy,” he says, looking smaller, actually, in his defensiveness. Something in James, something that he’s never had before because he’s never been an overprotective friend, not even of Pepper or Wanda, and never of Nat because she could fucking kill him with a spoon, but something in James wants to wrap him in a blanket and take him home to meet his mom. Something has made him damaged, and Jesus Christ, what is his fucking damage?

“Come meet my friends, Tony. Come meet my friends, come sit at our table, and everything will be okay. Okay? I promise nobody will do whatever you’re thinking is gonna happen. You have my word,” James promises, looking in Tony’s eyes then. He tries to put as much of himself as he can into that eye contact, and he watches as something in Tony wants to believe him. He watches as that desperate kid wants to believe in something, anything, wanting to protect him and like him and get to know him, and he watches as Tony lets himself believe in it, even if just for a lunch period. Tony sighs, looking put upon, but somehow, James knows, James just knows, that he’s okay with this.

“Alright, I’ll come with you. Don’t be a baby about it. I’ll come. Lead the way. I don’t know my way around quite yet, and you’re supposed to show me around anyway, right, Rhodes?” Tony says, his voice taking on a teasing note that isn’t half bad, and James grins. Not bad. He takes Tony’s wrist in his hand and guides him toward the cafeteria, leading him directly toward their table, not toward the line at all.

“The food here is trash, and Thor always brings enough food for everybody, even extras, so you’ll be fine,” James promises, his hand still not having moved from Tony’s wrist, though now it was a little further down. His fingers are now wrapped around Tony’s palm without him having realized at all. He doesn’t remove them, just drags Tony over to meet his friends.

“Rhodes! We’ve been waiting for you - Thor brought that kroppkakor shit you like, and he won’t let anyone else get into it until you have first dibs,” Bucky says from the table, perched on the side of Clint’s lap like he nearly always is. His legs are in Steve’s lap, who is also balancing Bruce on the side of his lap, like they can’t just sit in their own seats. Tony snorts derisively.

“Even your friends call you Rhodes?” he asks, looking at the other boy incredulously. James raises an eyebrow.

“Bucky over there, his first name is James too. Don’t want everybody getting confused on who is getting talked to, so it’s easier. Why? What would you call me?” James challenges, nudging his shoulder. The others, silenced by a newcomer, look on interestedly. Even Pietro and Wanda have stopped their usual squabbling to show their interest.

“Isn’t it kinda obvious? Rhodey. Rhodeybear. Rhodey is the obvious take here,” Tony says, a bored front forced into his voice, but his hand is tense in James’s. Rhodey’s. Yeah, okay, he can see where that could work. That isn’t half bad. He tosses it around in his mind a little bit, and maybe his distraction is why he doesn’t notice Mary Jane Watson saddling up beside him, clipboard already out.

“Come on, Rhodes, you and I have an interview to get to, and you’re already late. My photographer and dramatic artist are already in the interview room,” she says, grabbing him by the shoulder. He holds in a groan at the mention of who will be waiting. The photographer is fine, but the artist. Michelle Jones, one half of the dynamic duo (Mary Jane being the other) known as MJ&MJ, is the bane of pretty much every male’s existence. She hates guys, especially upperclassmen.

“Come on, Tony, right? I heard you introduce yourself in English. Stay with us, okay? Let Rhodey do his interview. He’ll be fine. Stay,” he hears Clint coaxing, only then realizing the grip he still has on Tony’s hand, and the fact that Clint must have turned up his hearing aids to have heard a conversation in a full classroom at 9am at all. James lets go of Tony, but leans in to talk to him anyway.

“You don’t have to stay with them, not if you don’t want to, but I think you should. They’ll like you. It’ll be okay,” Rhodey says gently, leaning in just a little too close, before MJ snags his arm.

“Let’s go, Rhodes,” she says, and then they’re off. The interview goes about like he expects it to, with the prying questions he didn’t want to answer. He does fine on his braces, he’s not scared of the Bronx Hydra, their own team, Shield, plays good enough football that it’s fine even if Hydra wants to dry and play dirty. It’s not like they’re playing hockey and somebody can try to cut a tendon with their knife feet. He gets a laugh out of Parker with that one, which is always fun; the kid is just a freshman, and he just lost his uncle, so startling a laugh out of the kid is a point of pride. He and Rogers have been trying to get him to join the team - he’s small but he’s fast, they’ve seen him run from Thompson, as many times as they’ve tried to get him to stop giving him a reason to run - but he’s stubborn.

“It’s been nice, kids, but I’ll be back to my friends now. Let me know when that’s hitting the paper,” Rhodey says as he leaves the newspaper room, which is really just one of the old conference rooms that Michelle bullied her way into keeping. He pretty much sprints back to the cafeteria and checks his phone on the way; ten minutes til the end of lunch. Awesome.

“Hey Rhodey,” Tony greets him when he gets back, sitting between Bruce and Maximoff like he was born to be there. Rhodey laughs, shouldering Pietro sideways so that he can sit beside Tony, just because he wants to and just because he can. Snorting, the Sokovian takes no offense, just sliding closer to his sister like it was his idea in the first place. Pretty much all of them just move Pietro - he’s a wide receiver, tall, sure, but real thin, and light because of it, and even with his braces and Bucky’s arm, they’ve both carried Pietro on their shoulders a couple of hours each.

“Hey Tony. Enjoying my kroppkakor?” he asks, because low and behold, Tony is already eating his kroppkakor, which Thor was supposed to be saving for him. Tony, who is proving to be a little shit, eats a forkful of it cheekily, grinning.

“It is delicious, and did you know that Thor makes it himself? Yeah, his mom used to make it, but when his brother started poisoning him, you know, as a prank, Thor started making his own food so he could make it and store it in his room and always know where it was and be sure and stuff. Isn’t that so funny?” Tony asks, giggling. It sets James’s teeth on edge, and he leans in, sniffing Tony’s jacket. The smell there makes him want to go out to the back lot and knock Brock Rumlow’s block off.

“Tony, are you stoned?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. Tony’s face goes dark.

“Are you my fucking mom? Wait, no, ‘cause she’s in Argentina, just like she’s been for the last fucking month. Couldn’t even come home for me getting kicked out of school, could they? Never good enough or bad enough to fucking matter for a good goddamn, even when it’s not my fucking fault I’m getting kicked out, so why should you fucking care if I’m stoned, Rhodeybear? We just met this morning, partner. You’ll be fine,” Tony says, standing up roughly, patting Rhodey’s face. Every single person looks at James before any of them follow Tony, and it’s him and Clint that struggle out of their seats to do it. He looks at Clint, begging him with his eyes to sit back down, to which their archer complies.

Great. One less thing to worry about.

He catches Tony at the exit of the cafeteria, catches his arm and leads him over to an alcove that is relatively devoid of activity. He’s already decided on investment. He’s a man of commitment. So stay committed, Rhodes. See it through.

“I fucking care, Tony. I fucking care because I’ve decided to care. It’s time to get good with that, alright?” he asks, crowding Tony against the wall, just a little bit. Tony leers up at him, a false smile taking over his face.

“Is that what it is, Rhodes? Do you want something else from me?” Tony asks, scanning Rhodey up and down. Rhodey pushes down the impulse to be flustered, pushes down the impulse to say no, why would you say that?, pushes down the impulse to lie, and instead sighs. Smiles. He leans his head down, and looks at Tony honestly.

“Maybe one day, when you’re not as fucked up, and I mean more than just sober, Tony. I don’t know what shit you’ve got going on, and I know it’s something - you don’t have to tell me, but you need to tell someone. My friends, they’re good people. You can tell them, you can go to a counselor, you can tell an adult, you can go to therapy, but anything but this, okay? I’ve known you for one day and I can see the self-destructive on you from a mile away. You need to tell somebody what’s eating at you, Tones,” Rhodey rambles, running his fingers along his short shorn hair, the speed across textured curls leaving a buzzing feeling in his fingertips. He’s nervous, maybe more than nervous, but it needs to be said. Tony looks like he’s been punched in the gut.

“Jesus, Rhodes. Don’t hold anything back,” he says, coughing, “couldn’t have said that when I was sober?”

“Maybe don’t get high in the middle of the school day then,” Rhodey quips, a huff of laughter escaping despite himself. The bell rings then, with Rhodey having eaten exactly nothing for lunch, with Tony still half high and neither of them at all prepared for the rest of the day, and that is the first time that James Rupert Rhodes skips class in his entire junior year of high school. He and Tony peel out of the high school in Tony’s obnoxious cherry red custom Ferrari, because of course he drives something terrible, and they go get lunch at the Avengers’ favorite diner. The Avengers is something that their friend group calls themselves, which is a story that gets told that afternoon. They exchange quite a few stories that afternoon.

Tony comes down more as he eats more, and Rhodey tells stories to fill the space; he doesn’t want Tony’s trauma when he’s too out of his head to hold his jaw shut. Apparently, he had given Rumlow eighty fucking dollars for six consecutive hits off of his pipe. First of all, who hits a pipe six times in a row? Second of all, eighty goddamn dollars? James doesn’t fight. But Bucky and Sam sure as fuck do, Bucky boxes, metal arm or no, and Sam does whatever the fuck Sam does, and if James texts them underneath the table, that’s none of Tony’s business. He lets Tony Stark buy him a milkshake for skipping his fourth period (because apparently, that’s a separate offense from skipping third), and they have a nice afternoon.

When the high has completely faded, Tony does tell him.

“I was kicked out of my last school, a private school, for fighting. Howard paid to keep it out of the media, and paid enough to keep Jus- Hammer’s parents to keep from pressing charges. But, Rhodey, you gotta know, I didn’t fight anybody. Justin was my best friend. His… lackeys, they backed him up, they lied. Anything to get baby Stark kicked out, you know? I skipped a grade, fourth grade, and they never forgot it, still resented me, and I-” Tony is rambling and ranting, and Rhodey needs to get him back on track. He takes Tony’s hand from across a shitty diner booth, holds his hand across the table.

“It’s okay, Tony. Just continue. Tell me what happened,” he encourages, his voice much calmer than he feels, because he has a feeling he knows where this is going. Tony still has a bruise on his face. He doesn’t know if he still has bruises anywhere else.

“The night that Justin… decided we weren’t friends anymore, he punched me in the face. It wasn’t even that good of a punch, but it surprised me, you know? And, uh, two of his cronies were in our room, because me and J were roommates before I got kicked out and he let them in, but… yeah, he and they… beat the crap out of me, I don’t know. Lied about it. Really committed to it, you know? I thought Justin was… he was my friend, you know? God,” Tony says, shuddering. Rhodey squeezes his hand.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything is okay. You’re gonna have better friends now, Tony. Nothing like that is ever gonna happen again,” Rhodey promises, dipping his head to look Tony in the eyes. Tony smiles bitterly.

“How do you know? You gonna follow me to college, Rhodes?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Rhodey shrugs a shoulder, sitting back and splaying out confidently.

“Depends, where do you wanna go?”

#ironhusbands #rhodeytony #tony stark #james rhodes #could be read as mostly platonic #high school au #bullying cw #past bullying #justin hammer cw #im not tagging all of the characters that's too much #mine

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twin-brother-at-the-wall · 4 years

Text

Creator, Headcanons, Story & Rules

Creator:

the-blackholeus

Rules:

- You can send as many asks as you want, but don’t spam the same questions.

- Don’t be rude

- Please be patient

- Don’t insult anybody, everyone is welcomed here.

Story:

Kenzo is the twin brother of the infamous Right Hand Man.

They both grew up in an orphanage where they were abused and hit at every little mistake they made. As teenagers, they had enough and decided to run away, forming a plan.

But somehow, the orphanage found out about it, and tried to prevent it. Right Hand Man was able to escape, but he had abandoned his brother, how had dripped and fallen, unable to escape the caretakers. He cried and yelled out for him to come back, but he never did, and Kenzo lost his voice.

After bringing him back to the orphanage, he was sent to the mines to die, but against all odds, Kenzo survives every sickness and the horrible treatment of the caretakers and their leaders, and began to grow at size and strength. At a very young age, Kenzo was already the tallest and the strongest in the entire mines, and had taken it upon himself to protect the other children, taking their punishments and helping them wherever he could.

But that protection resulted in the death of a caretaker, which made the others and the leader furious. He was taken away, punished horribly, and completely driven from his sanity, becoming the perfect weapon and tool. But he regained his sanity, and began to protect the children again, now working against the caretakers.

After years of torture, abuse, starvation and emotional torment, the orphanage had gotten problems, and had to get rid of the evidence, which meant blowing the mines up, killing the children down there. Only three of them survived, and one of them was Kenzo, who became the only survivor as the other ones died of the horrible injuries they had to suffer from the explosion.

One entire year, he spent his days alone down there in the mines between boulders and corpses before he was found by a bunch of soldiers. After he was contained, he was brought into a hospital where he was locked away to heal.

After a few days, two certain men named Dmitri Johannes Petrov and Grigori Olyat heard of this man, and soon came to get him, wanting him to work as some kind of special guard. After realizing that he had nowhere else to go than the closed asylum, he accepted. Since then, he lived at “The Wall”.

It, however, has taken very long for him to even let himself be seen, and reacted very violently to everyone, but eventually, he began to warm up to Dmitri and Grigori.

Headcanons:

Kenzo:

- Kenzo likes to be alone, but he is found around Grigori and/or Dmitri sometimes.

- Kenzo is obviously blind on his right eye, but his left one has an excellent vision, and nothing gets past him.

- His age, nationality and surname are unknown, but they do know his first name. How? I don’t know.

- He’s the tallest. He and his brother are incredibly tall and muscular, but he would often stand in a hunched position to make himself smaller when he's scared.

- He’s often found hiding in the dark area of “The Wall”. If you see a shadow-like person standing in the dimly lit halls staring at you, that’s him.

- His special stare creeps many people out, even Dmitri and Grigori. No matter how many times they see it, it sends shivers down their spines every time. It’s especially creepy when he’s standing in the darkness.

- He only does it when he feels threatened or when he’s aggressive, though.

- He’s very muscular, but also very skinny. If he takes his shirt off, you can count his rips with ease.

- He doesn’t eat often, and when he does, it’s only a small amount of food. His stomach is messed up after years of starving.

- Kenzo has earned himself the name “Creepy Redhead” or “Quiet Redhead”. He doesn’t mind. Anything is better than the names the caretakers at the orphanage called him.

- Kenzo actually has breathing problems. It’s a consequence of the explosion damaging his lungs. He hasn’t told anyone about it yet and the doctors didn’t see it because he awoke before they could treat him fully. Dmitri and Grigori know something is wrong though.

- He also is heavily Claustrophobic. Try to lock him up and you will regret it. It’s questionable how he manages to hide in the vents though…

- He has many social disorders that he will probably never get healed from.

- He’s incredibly aggressive towards new people. It’s likely for them to get killed when they try to escape or interact with him in any way.

- His hair is long, like…really long. It reaches down to his knees. He doesn’t see the necessity to cut it.

- He doesn’t have a home on his own. He lives at “The Wall” because he feels most comfortable there. Dmitri tried to take him home once, but that didn’t go very well.

- He is a very light sleeper. The smallest noise will wake him up.

- He is a master in climbing, hiding, and sneaking. He had to do those things in the mine or in the orphanage and he had enough time to practice them. Dmitri often finds him in places where he is not supposed to be.

- He actually loves music and does have a great talent to sing, but he has lost the will to put it to use, and so he prefers to just listen.

- He likes to draw. It’s some sort of therapy to him to deal with everything that happened in his life and not to go completely insane. They are really detailed and beautiful, but he doesn’t like showing them. Only Grigori, Dmitri, and the head of the medical staff, Dr. Virginia(OC) are allowed to see them. It’s a way of communicating without forcing him to talk.

- He doesn’t know about his brother being a part of the Toppat Clan yet.

- He does have the same accent as his brother.

Grigori Olyat:

- Grigori’s a very talented fighter and is able to kick ass with ease. Mess with him and you’re either dead or in the hospital.

- He’s very proud to be “The Wall”’s second in command, even though he doesn’t show it, and does everything so it would stay that way.

- He is actually a very calm person, and no one can anger him very easily

- He has quite a sweet tooth. He loves cake and any kind of sweets, but he keeps those urges under control because he has to stay in shape to work at “The Wall” (He does eat cake or some other dessert in his lunch break, though. XD)

- He’s very skilled with a gun, and only rarely misses his target. You shouldn’t try and provoke him too much or you may have a bullet wound.

- He wasn’t born in Canada, he lived in Russia when he was a child, but he moved there when he got a job at “The Wall”.

- Grigori is fifty-one years old and has been working at “The Wall” for thirty, soon thirty-one years, so he got there when he was quite young. Not much was expected from him, but he proved them all wrong by becoming the warden’s right hand man in five years.

- He actually has curly hair, but he brushes it back.

- He actually has a tragic past. He was beaten by his parents once in a while, so he knows a part of the pain Kenzo goes through, a reason why he felt so sorry when he first saw this bundle of misery.

- Next to Dmitri, he’s the first person Kenzo ever spoke to after he was abandoned. He was so shocked that he didn't even respond.

- He has something hidden under his shirt that he treassures greatly.

Dmitri Johannes Petrov:

- Dmitri’s a very serious man and doesn’t take pranks well, but he doesn’t mind a joke if it comes from Grigori or Kenzo once in a while. Sometimes, he’ll even chuckle.

- He’s quite tall, not as tall as Kenzo, but taller than Grigori.

- He works a lot, and I mean a lot. He has made himself an office at home where he could do the leftover paperwork. He doesn’t like it when his work is unfinished, like at all. Sometimes, he even stays up the whole night. His temper is more than awful the next day.

- He might be one of the oldest people in “The Wall”, but don’t underestimate him. He can easily kick your ass and bend himself in ways many young people can’t. He might be old, but he’s in perfect shape.

- Dmitri is a full-blooded Russian, but he moved to Canada when he was a little child. He never stopped speaking Russian though and didn’t even bother to get rid of his accent. He thinks it’s a part of him.

- His family was very cold, affection was unknown for him for a very long time, so he might not be the best to come to when someone needs comfort. He does try his best though when someone does.

- He smokes sometimes to calm his nerves.

- He isn’t that much of a drinker, but he doesn’t decline one after a busy day. He also has a very high tolerance for alcohol, which means it takes a while for him to get drunk.

- He has been the warden of “The Wall” for fifty years and has ruled the complex with an iron discipline since the day he has taken over. After the outbreak, the hot-headed old man did even more to secure “The Wall”. Say hello to an electric fence.

- He’s a hothead and gets furious very easily. Don’t take it too far, he is very skilled with weapons.

- He carries a dagger around all the time. It’s hidden under his shirt, and he has easy access to it. It’s very well taken care of.

- He’s one of the first people Kenzo ever talked to and honestly prides himself for getting the trust of such a broken soul.

- Just like Grigori, he has something hidden under his shirt that he treassures greatly.

(That’s all I’ve got for now. More might be added over time)

#dmitri johannes petrov #dmitri petrov #henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin series #grigori olyat #oc #kenzo #Twin Brother At The Wall AU #Headcannons #rules

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jawnjendes · 5 years

Text

it might be smarter to just cash out | shawn mendes

chapter 10/?, university au, shawn x goth oc

AN: depression sucks doesnt it laid ease! it really fuckin does!!!!

***let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist

masterlist | playlist (new song is added every chapter!)

Despite the weight pressing on her chest and shoulders, Annalise didn’t feel all that much in the following days. Her body went on autopilot, sending her to class in the day and putting her on the couch in the evening. She went to work at somepoint too. Everything in between was sort of a blur.

She came back to the dorm after her third or fourth, maybe fifth class, not really knowing or caring about the assignments or essays that were due very soon. Annalise placed her bag on the couch and looked at the TV; She wasn’t in the mood to play the Switch today. She wanted to sleep for a bit before work instead.

The door to her room was open just a crack, which would have seemed weird on any other day. Annalise didn’t have the ability to care as she pushed the door open, not expecting to find Stella in there, sat on the bed.

“What…” Annalise trailed off, her mind lagging and struggling to catch up.

Stella was looking down at her hands; She was holding three full pill bottles. Then she looked up at her roommate, hazel eyes serious.

“I didn’t wanna be right, but I was right,” she said as she got to her feet. “I thought you were skipping out on your meds, but I didn’t think you had missed three months’ worth of doses.”

For a moment, Annalise just stood there silently. She didn’t intend to miss taking her Prozac these days, she didn’t think anyone would care enough to notice. She blinked a few times like she was waking up from a death nap, and then her insides boiled hot. She stepped towards Stella and snatched the bottles from her hands.

“Why are you in my room to begin with?” she demanded.

Stella flinched lightly at the sudden change. She hardly heard a peep out of her roommate these days. “I… I’ve been worried about you.”

“So you think going through my stuff is gonna solve anything? God, I can’t trust anybody!”

“I’m sorry!” She stood up. “I didn’t want to do this either, but you’ve been so out of it that I don’t know how to talk to you anymore! And I’m not the only one who’s worried!”

Annalise scoffed and went back out to the living room. She grabbed her book bag and furiously shoved the bottles inside. She wasn’t even safe in her own dorm.

Stella followed her trail. “Shawn made me do it!”

That didn’t help in the slightest. “Why are you even talking to him?”

“Because you won’t! This was a bad idea, I don’t even know why I tried to help him since you guys broke up!”

That caused Annalise to look down and play with the strap on her bag. For once, she didn’t have anything to say back.

Stella narrowed her eyes. “You did break up with him, right?”

“I’m sure he got the hint when I cried and left,” Annalise said, snark still in her tone.

“Oh my god! You know that doesn’t go through his one brain cell! He needs to be told it’s over. I can’t believe you didn’t dump him after what he said to you!”

“It’s complicated, okay?”

“Why? Because of your separation?” Stella was confused, and a little frustrated. “Who even does that in this day and age? You just made yourself and him suffer unnecessarily! Why can’t you just put him out of his misery?”

Annalise couldn’t keep her volume down anymore. “Because he’s the only good thing that’s happened to me!”

The words rang in the room. The two girls were staring at each other, Annalise being furious and Stella being… something else. She broke the eye contact first and looked down.

“What about your family, who you didn’t get to see at all last summer?” she asked softly. “Or the fact that you made it to this university on a scholarship that you worked for? What about Patrick, Camila, and me? Don’t we matter?”

Annalise stayed quiet, knowing she should have dialed it back, but too stubborn to actually do so. She kept her eyes on her book bag, brows knitted.

“Having shitty past relationships isn’t a personality trait,” Stella said, and then she went for the door. She opened it and sighed. “And someone really wants your attention.”

There was a slight shuffling noise and then the door slammed. That was Annalise’s cue to finally look up. There was a large white vase containing a bouquet of dark flowers by the door, and it made her angry all over again.

“This motherfucker!” she snapped as she irritably got up to snatch the vase.

It was surprisingly light with the amount of flowers coming out of it. They were a deep red shade, almost burgundy but not quite. The petals were round and soft and smelled… chocolatey? Annalise would have been confused if she wasn’t so disgruntled. She noticed the tiny card sticking out from the top of the bouquet and was surprised to see the entire backside filled with scrawled handwriting.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I know these chocolate cosmos won’t change anything, but I hope it shows that I will make this up to you. I love you so much, and I’ll always remind you of that. -Shawn

PS they smell great but you can’t eat them”

Annalise scoffed lightly and looked at the bouquet again. As she pondered the ideas of what to do these things, there was a knock on the door. Did this boy have no boundaries? She ignored the sound and went to sit on the couch, placing the vase on the coffee table.

The knocking was as persistent as Annalise was determined not to answer. But then a voice came up with the sounds.

“Annie, open the fucking door!”

“Oh shit,” she mumbled, and hurried to answer.

Patrick was in the middle of blowing smoke out of his mouth from his pen. He quirked his eyebrows, noticing his friend’s rugged state. “You’re a fucking mess.”

It was true. Annalise practically lived in her skull and crossbones pajama bottoms and her Little Mix hoodie these days. But the comment still rubbed her the wrong way.

“Are you only here to criticize my appearance?” she asked, pointing daggers.

“Relax, dude. I heard about what happened with your singing man. Wanted to see if you wanted to talk, or if you needed a shoulder to cry on,” he told her.

There was a three second silence, to which Annalise replied, “Shut the fuck up.”

Patrick chuckled. “I know, I know. But I did wanna see if you’re okay. I got my pen if you wanna forget about it all.”

She stepped aside and let him inside. “How did you even know?”

“Alessia told me. I’m guessing Shawn told her.”

Both names sent her blood boiling again. “Neither of them can keep their mouths shut, I see.”

“Dude, it’s not a big deal-”

“It doesn’t matter! Wanna cut up some flowers with me?”

Patrick blinked, confused by the sudden change in topic. “Uh, sure. Should we go get some?”

“I have some here.” She gestured to the cosmos on the table. “And there two pairs of scissors here somewhere.”

“Uh, then hell yeah. Let’s do it!”

“I have to say,” Callie mused, “you’ve made a lot of progress, and I’m very proud of you.”

Shawn smiled, despite still feeling that horrible ache in his chest. Nothing could really mend that ache but time, according to Callie. After spending the last hour practically pouring his heart and soul out, everything Shawn was feeling about Ann was deemed completely normal. He’s just a twenty-one year old kid in love and very frustrated at the situation. That was why this would be his last therapy session.

“I’m glad I did this,” he replied. “You really helped me put some things in perspective.”

“Just doing my job,” she told him. “It was wonderful getting to know you, Shawn.”

He gave Callie a hug before leaving her office for the last time. As he walked out to the parking lot, Shawn felt just a little accomplished that he could cross one thing off the list he made in his head. All he had to do now was wait for calls back from 1) a live lounge downtown and 2) his boss from the flower shop. Shawn also needed to call his parents and have quite the conversation, but that could wait a little longer. What he had to do now was to meet up with Stella, the only person to return his calls. You could say this is what kept him going these last few days.

She told him over text that she would be at Camila’s dorm. Not surprising in the slightest, but it also meant that Shawn would have to make two stops in the building. He had been sending flowers to Ann all week, all sorts of black flowers that he ordered to the shop specially for her. Everyday when Ann was in class, Shawn would stop by and leave a different type of flower with another apology note. Today’s bouquet was an array of black velvet petunias.

Shawn pretended not to notice the pairs of eyes on him as he walked down the third floor corridor on campus. He knew he had followers online, he just never realized how much of that bled into his real life. He reached Ann’s door and left the vase at the bottom of the threshold. He didn’t bother knocking, for he knew that someone would open the door sooner or later. He knew better than to stay and wait too, because Ann knew how to hold a grudge.

He was back in the elevator as soon as he left it, except now it seemed like the entire floor needed a ride down as well. Shawn stood closest to the doors, his back to a group of first year girls, once again pretending not to notice the blushing smiles and soft giggles. After badly telling Ann he liked another woman’s attention, things like this just made him feel guilty.

Shawn was able to breathe once the doors opened one floor down. However, he only breathed for one second, taking two steps out of the elevator.

“Hey!”

Fuck.

He turned to find one of the girls followed him out into the corridor. His eyes glanced to the elevator, where the rest of the girls watched the interaction as the doors closed once again. Then he smiled politely at the one standing in front of him. “Hi.”

The blonde girl returned the smile. “Um… I know we’ve never met before. I’m Elizabeth, uh, Liz. I follow you on Instagram. And Spotify. Love your music.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

“I was uh, I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime?” she asked, tangling her fingers together, clearly nervous.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I’ve got a girlfriend.”

Her face fell rather quickly. “It’s that crazy goth girl, right?”

It was one gross feeling when Shawn called her that. It was something else when he heard it come from a complete stranger. He narrowed his eyes.

“What do you mean by that?”

She knew she said something wrong and quickly tried and failed to make up for it. “Uh, nothing bad. Just… y’know, the way she dresses. Wearing pentagrams like it’s a cute accessory. And that look on her face when she walks across campus. It’s like she’s out for blood.”

Shawn chuckled. “You don’t know anything about her. You don’t know what’s underneath the dark exterior.”

“No, but I know lots of other people have seen what’s under those black clothes,” Liz muttered.

“Like I said, you know nothing about her. Do me a favor, don’t talk to me again.”

Without waiting for a comeback, Shawn turned on his heel and went down the corridor. He could have said so much more to that girl. He could have explained that Ann’s tough exterior hid her soft interior. He could have explained that pentagrams aren’t a direct link to Satanism. Disgruntled, he knocked on the appropriate door and Camila answered.

“Some people are so fucking rude!” Shawn said, unable to keep it in.

Camila nodded. “Hi. Won’t you come in?”

He stepped inside the tiny space and found Stella lying facedown on the bed. She rolled over upon hearing his voice and sat up. She did not beat around the bush for a second as she looked Shawn dead in the eyes.

“You need to break up with Ann.”

Shawn blinked. “Huh?”

Camila sighed audibly. “We went over this, babe.”

“Oh yeah, she’s been off her meds for three months,” Stella added with a mindless wave of her hand. “Anyway, she’s torturing herself and you with the separation thing, and that shit needs to stop.”

“Three months?” Shawn repeated. “Is she gonna get back on them? What is she doing about it?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Dump her.”

And she rolled onto her side again, facing the wall.

Shawn just stared at her, bewildered. His mouth was open, but none of the million questions he had came out. Then, Camila nudged his arm, and she gestured for the door. The two of them stepped out into the hallway.

“She got into a fight with Ann,” she explained. “It was so bad that I have to go to her dorm later to get her clothes and schoolwork and whatnot.”

He raised his eyebrows in shock. “Stella and Ann? The two wives fought?”

“From what Stella told me, they yelled. Ann said some really fucked up stuff.”

“What? No, Ann doesn’t yell. Unless she’s… off her meds. And… upset.” Shawn paused and leaned against the wall. He thought back to the arguments he got into with her when they lived together during the summer. He counted on his fingers back to the month it started happening, and what was happening at the time, and his stomach turned heavy.

He might have just figured out the cause of all this.

Performing in front of a crowd wasn’t as scary anymore. Shawn’s hands would shake and he would use the bathroom an excessive amount of times, but the nerves settled down once he was onstage/ This time he had the desire to run away the longer he stood outside Ann’s dorm with his guitar strapped around him. His face was warm and his hands were clammy as he clutched his instrument. He checked the time on his watch again, stalling because he knew Ann was home. He heard a couple of doors open, slowly gaining an audience. He had to do it, and he began to sing.

“I got my bags all packed and I’m ready to go I’m standing outside of your figurative door And I’m ready for the flight or to fall off a cliff But if it’s alright with you I’d rather not miss out on us”

Just about every door nearby had opened, except the one Shawn was singing to. He persisted, though, no matter how much it scared him. He was practically poking the dragon in its cage.

“I could use something good, I really need this to work out Of course with the way things are going, It might be smarter to just cash out But you’re on my mind… and the things that you say hurt most of the time But I’m sinking fast so it’s alright”

He kept strumming and singing, ignoring the excited murmurs coming from the onlookers around him. His eyes widened when he saw the doorknob suddenly move. More excited noises came from the unexpected audience when Ann finally opened the door wide enough to stick her head out.

She looked exactly the way she did when Shawn first laid eyes on her. Messy hair, tired eyes, tattered t-shirt. Shawn’s heart swelled and beat fast, trying to read the expression on her face. No single person has made him so nervous before.

“You said you never wanna be saved, well That’s okay because I wouldn’t know how Just know that the best I’ll ever be is whatever you make me And wherever you are You’re on my mind…”

Ann moved to lean against the door way; She was in her skull & crossbone pajama bottoms, something Shawn adored and secretly wanted to steal for himself. He also couldn’t help but wonder if she left the dorm today. What kind of state was she in?

Shawn skipped to the end of the song. “...I need you, I need you, I need you to know… I’m alright…”

The surrounding dorm residents applauded and cheered. Ann glanced around the corridor, staring down all the heads that had popped out of the doors. Then she found Shawn’s hopeful eyes and stepped to the side, nodding for him to come inside.

Several gasps sounded in the hallway as Shawn stepped into her dorm. He took his guitar from the strap and set it against the wall, noticing the vase of petunias on the table Just the one vase. What did she do with the rest of them?

Ann calmly shut the door. “Cute performance.”

“Thanks,” Shawn replied. “Look, I-”

She cut him off. “So what was the plan? Serenade me in front of a bunch of strangers so that way I’m forced to fall back into your arms to avoid looking like an asshole?”

And there’s that awful sinking sensation. Shawn’s had a feeling this would happen. “No, that’s not-”

“You know I hate public things like that!” she snapped, raising her voice. “It’s like you don’t even know me at all!”

Shawn was very taken aback at how quickly Ann got riled up. It’s not like he was expecting her to forgive him right away, but he wasn’t expecting this either. It was supposed to be a romantic gesture, like sending all those flowers that seemed to be nowhere in the dorm.

“Don’t yell at me,” he told her. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t realize-”

“You didn’t realize how important my privacy is to me!” She seemed to only get more pissed off. “Do you know how many people have asked me if we broke up? And I wondered how anyone knew about that, and then I figured you probably told-”

“And stop interrupting me!” Shawn firmly said, silencing her. He took a deep breath. “I was trying to do a nice thing, something to show you how sorry I am for what I said. But I don’t get why it’s such a big deal! Yes, I told a couple of friends about our fight because that’s what friends do! I needed to vent, I needed advice! And I know I shouldn’t have told Alessia about your health problems, and again, I’m so sorry!”

Ann looked down and cleared her throat. Her hands went on her hips. “I don’t want people feeling entitled to know my issues. People ask why I was in the hospital and then I end up having to share my entire history with what I can and can’t eat. Other people get confused and ask even more questions, and because it’s not something like cancer or an eating disorder, they don’t realize how invasive it gets. I get robbed of that privacy every time I’m at a restaurant with friends. I almost always end up being looked at like a sick person and I’m so fucking tired of it! So again, privacy is important!”

As if he couldn’t feel any worse. Shawn knew he was one of those people who asked a lot of questions back in the day. It was all out of curiosity, wanting to get to know the girl he was dating. Had he known she felt this way…

“I didn’t think of it that way,” he said after a moment. “I know you want to keep some things under wraps, I get that. But this relationship? That’s not just you, it’s us. I get a say in what we share too.”

Ann sighed and went to sit on the couch. She rubbed her eyes, exhausted and frustrated. “It’s like you don’t even hear me.”

“I don’t hear you?” Shawn repeated, chuckling in disbelief. “You don’t like people seeing you as broken or ill, so you choose not to share some things. And that’s also because your privacy gets invaded on a consistent basis. I hear you one hundred percent. The question is, do you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying and what I want?”

She groaned into her hands. “There’s a part of you that still thinks I’m sick and sad and helpless. You still think I have my stomach cut open and you see it in your sleep, right? Shawn, you need to let that stuff go, you need to process the trauma.”

Her words were so mind boggling that Shawn didn’t know what to say. First of all, she was wrong. If anyone knew how much of a strong, independent lady Annalise Flores was, it was Shawn. She was the type of girl to not hold hands with her boyfriend to show that she was the least dependent person out there. She was the girl who punched guys in the face for harassing her. She was not the girl who was lying in a hospital bed, delirious from her fever. At least, she was trying very hard to separate herself from that.

“I did my processing,” Shawn finally said. “I went to therapy because I was having bad dreams and panic attacks. Now I have the tools to combat them. What about you? Did you process anything?”

Ann looked up, death stare locked on him. A nerve was struck, and Shawn decided it was best not to push the subject anymore.

He put his hands up in surrender. “I’ll go now. I just want you to know I’m always here for you. But if you wanna talk deeper about all this, Callie has an opening for a new client.”

_______

taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @ilsolee @mendesromano @1-800-khalid-mendussy @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @poppyshawn @shawnsunflower @shawnvvmendes @shawmndes @someoneunimportantxx @yourdeflightfullyleft @havethetimeeofyourlifee @wronglanemendes @chillingbythesea @softmendesss @mutuallynotmutual

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #shawn x goth gf #jfc this was a lot #look at anna banana cut off her relationships lmfao #also peep the Very First chapter title tee hee

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luckyspike · 5 years

Text

Definitely Not a Wizard - A Good Omens Fanfic (or: Crowley breaks several rules of Aziraphale’s bookshop)

Me at 9pm: I’m just gonna write a quick fanfic just to get some of this energy out.

Spongebob title card: Several hours later.......

Anyway look it’s more fic with Crowley and kids because I’m a predictable sap that likes children interacting with eldritch horrors.

In the days following the Nahpocalypse, and indeed, the years, Crowley and Aziraphale settled into a routine. They moved out of the city, and set a primary base of operations up in the countryside. Retirement, Aziraphale had initially thought, was appealing. Oh, he’d keep the bookshop open one or two days a week, he had said to Crowley, as the demon drove the Bentley to the chalky cliffs of South Downs, just initially, until he settled in, but probably after a year or so he’d be ready to let it go.

Crowley had nodded and said nothing. He was no Agnes Nutter, but he had known Aziraphale for 6000 years, and he was fairly certain ‘letting it go’ was not anywhere on the agenda in the future.

He was right. Four months in, when the winter was harsh and the weather was hideous, Aziraphale found Crowley in the greenhouse, lounged back in an overly-ornate garden chair, fingers steepled, glaring at the plants lined up before him. An iced coffee rested on the arm of the chair beside him, condensation running down the outside of the cup in the pleasantly warm humidity of the greenhouse. The plants, trembling, steadied somewhat when the angel came in, brushing his hands absently through their leaves while Crowley rolled his eyes.

“What is the point,” he said, gesturing to the row of comforted plants, “of menacing them if you’re just going to come through and tell them it’ll all be alright? I’ve been working on that aptenia for weeks! I nearly had it!”

“Ah, well, I’ll bring it comfort in its brief life, I suppose. Say, Crowley,” the angel pulled up a chair beside the demon, who was watching carefully as the aptenia stilled for a moment, and then resumed trembling, perhaps more than before. “May I impose on you?”

Crowley paused. “Depends,” he replied, eventually. “Can’t say I’m really in the mood at the moment, angel.”

Aziraphale waved his hands and laughed a little. “No, no, not that, you incorrigible old snake. No, I’m wondering if you might be available to … well, I’m thinking of opening the bookshop a bit more. You know. Just … obviously not selling anything.”

“You’re bored,” Crowley observed, languid and smug, reclining even more aggressively in his chair and taking a leisurely sip of iced coffee. “You’re bored and you need me to drive you to London so you can open the bookshop more and -”

“Yes, that’s what I just said,” the angel answered, peevish.

“Are you lonely? Not enjoying my company enough?” There was no offense in it, no meanness. He prodded Aziraphale in the side. “Not as fun to intimidate me, eh? Just don’t give the same thrill of customers.”

Aziraphale glared. “Do you want to drive me to London three days a week or not?”

Crowley sipped his drink again and let his head fall back, feet propped up on a potting table. His eyes closed, although he never stopped smirking. “‘Course. Been waiting for you to ask for the last two months.”

“You don’t have to be so self-satisfied about it,” Aziraphale said with a frown, settling back in his own chair with his arms crossed. “Smug.”

“Don’t I? It’s sort of my scene, angel.”

“Hmph.” Aziraphale didn’t argue. Rather, he looked to the demon, dozing to his left, and then to the rows of plants in the greenhouse. And then he smiled, broad and honest and full of mischief. “You know,” he said, suddenly raising his voice to a near-shout, “he really quite likes all of you!” Crowley’s eyes snapped open. “I see the way he looks at you all sometimes! He’ll never say it, but he does like you, all of you, in his own way!”

“Angel!”

Aziraphale rose, and primly brushed the non-existent lint from the front of his waistcoat and pants. He turned to Crowley and smiled with divine beneficence. “I must protect and comfort. It’s my scene.” He started to walk away, back to the cottage, stroking the plants on the opposite side of the row, this time. They leaned toward his touch. “Would you mind tomorrow, by the way?”

“I might,” Crowley muttered.

“Excellent. I’d like to open the store at nine, if you wouldn’t mind.” The doors closed behind him, and Crowley crossed his legs as he glared after the angel, arms crossed over his chest.

“If you don’t mind,” he repeated, mocking. “He’s lucky I like him.” He raised his voice, and glared over the greenhouse full of plants. “Unlike you lot!” With a grunt, he hoisted himself to his feet and began stalking through the rows of plants. “Surprise inspection! I’d better not see a single blemish, you miserable heaps of pre-compost!”

Miraculously, he didn’t. Not even a single droopy leaf. Even the aptenia. In the cottage, Aziraphale smiled and turned his page.

It did start as a chauffer arrangement*. Three days each week, Crowley drove Aziraphale into Soho and dropped him off at the bookshop. Sometimes he would come in and spend the day, sometimes he would leave and ramble around London. On occasion he would go on a day trip elsewhere, usually Tadfield. In the spring, he enrolled** in a university physics course. He did homework. It was interesting, and a nice way to spend the time besides, now that he was more-or-less retired.

Well, mostly retired. He did tempt his classmates to procrastination and cheating at times, because old habits die hard, and they were university students anyway so they hardly needed a full temptation. Just a gentle push, really. Also, Aziraphale noted somewhat astutely one night over wine, if everyone procrastinated studying then the average grade for the test would be a bit lower, possibly resulting in a generous curve, which Crowley invariably benefitted from. Crowley, mid-way through an equation, glared at him for the remark, but didn’t dispute it.

“Oh, I need a favor,” Aziraphale said after a minute, and more fevered scratching from Crowley as the worked at the equation more. The demon glanced up.

“Aziraphale, if you’re going to open the shop four days each week, we might as well move back to London.”

“Oh? Oh! No, no that wasn’t what I was thinking of.”

“Oh.” Crowley propped his chin in his hand and tapped the pencilpoint on the paper. It was a wonder he didn’t have smoke coming out of his ears, Aziraphale reflected, the way he was looking at the paper.

Well, Aziraphale had said math might be wise to take first, before physics. No one to blame but himself, really.

“I have an appointment tomorrow,” Aziraphale said, continuing when Crowley hummed in distracted acknowledgement. “I’m meeting a woman about a first-run printing of Harry Potter. With the shop only being opened a few days per week, I’d hate to close it down for a few hours in the middle of one of the days for the meeting.”

“Why? Planning on selling something?”

“No, but people do like to browse.” He leaned forward and to the side slightly, so he would poke into Crowley’s field of vision. “Would you mind watching the shop for me for a few hours while I have my meeting?”

“Huh?” Crowley looked up, and then visibly re-wound the last minute of conversation in his mind. “Since when do you buy fantasy?”

“It’s a cultural phenomenon, Crowley.” Aziraphale waved a hand. “And that’s irrelevant, besides. Would you be able to watch the shop? Please?”

Pursed lips as the demon considered the request. More idle pencil-tapping. The point snapped off, and Crowley didn’t seem to notice. “Just … just make sure nobody messes up the books, right?”

“Yes. And don’t sell anything.” Aziraphale’s eyebrows arched as he allowed himself a hopeful smile. “Please?”

Crowley sighed. “Yeah, I can do that. Fine.”

During the commute in to London the next day, Aziraphale distracted himself from the no-less-than-twelve near-discorporations by quizzing Crowley on Bookshop Management Principles. “Are children allowed?”

“Only if accompanied by parents,” Crowley recited, monotone. “And they cannot touch anything earlier than a fourth edition, or the books in the children’s section.”

Aziraphale smiled. “And what if someone wants to buy a book?”

“Encourage-them-to-leave-but-please-don’t-terrify-them,” Crowley replied, mechanically. “How long is this appointment? An hour? It’s not like your shop has just huge amounts of foot traffic, Aziraphale.” He looked to Aziraphale and read the expression on the angel’s face. “Two hours?”

“Probably closer to three. I expect there will be bartering.”

“Hm.” The Bentley rumbled on. “I’ll still manage just fine.”

“I’m sure you will, dear.” Aziraphale patted Crowley’s arm, and there wasn’t a trace of irony in his smile. “I have no doubts.”

Crowley did leave for a few hours after dropping Aziraphale off - likely to hunt down a decent cup of coffee and spread a few wiles around, which would be typical - but he did return ten minutes before Aziraphale planned to leave for his meeting, coffee in hand. Aziraphale smiled, and looked him up and down, hands clasped in front of him as he appraised the demon before he left.

He looked nothing at all like a shopkeeper. But he looked everything in the world like Crowley, which was, in Aziraphale’s opinion, much better. He laid his hands on Crowley’s shoulders for a second, smiled, and then turned to grab his briefcase. “Remember, keep an eye on teenagers, and don’t let anybody fold the pages or bend the spines, and don’t sell anything.” This last was said in unison with Crowley, who tried to look annoyed but mostly just looked amused.

“I can handle it, angel. I incited original sin, I think I can manage a shop for three hours.”

“That’s … not reassuring.”

Crowley pushed Aziraphale - gently - toward the door, giving him an extra nudge between the shoulderblades at the threshold. “Have fun getting your letter to Hogwarts, see you in a while.”

“It’s a first edition Harry Potter book, not -”

“Goodbye, Aziraphale.” The bell over the door tinkled as the door closed. On the other side of the glass, Aziraphale was glaring at him. Crowley waved and, with a sigh, the angel turned and started off down the sidewalk to his meeting. Crowley watched until he faded out of sight and into the throngs of people on the London sidewalks, and then turned to the shop, empty at the moment, hands in his pockets. “Right.” Aziraphale always kept a chair by the window next to the perpetually-unused register, and Crowley dropped into it, appreciating the sunbeam coming through the window and the warmth it provided. He closed his eyes, and briefly considered Going Snake just to enjoy the sunbeam all the more, before his withered and blackened but surprisingly-resilient sense of duty chimed in with the opinion that Aziraphale definitely would not approve of either napping on the job or watching the store in the form of a ten-foot-long viper. And certainly not both at once. He would probably even be cross.

Crowley opted to play a game on his phone instead.

It was a full 45 minutes into his shift before a customer entered. She was college-age, dark hair and eyes, vaguely reminiscent of someone he’d known in Mesopotamia. Maybe an ancestor, he considered. Probably not, though. That was a long time ago. She looked around the shop, obviously at a loss as to where to begin, before she caught sight of Crowley in his chair. She straightened a bit more, and he sat up slightly, under the pretense of politeness. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi.”

“Do you … have any Ursula Le Guin?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “No idea.” There, that ought to put her off browsing around. She cocked her head. “Just watching the shop for the afternoon, sorry. Not really clear on all the inventory.”

“Oh.” She looked to the shop, and her shoulders relaxed a little as she looked across the stacks of books, the shelves with their haphazard organization. “Is it OK if I look around?”

“Yeah.” Crowley pulled his phone back out and propped his feet up on the table with the register on it. “Of course. Let me know if you need help.” The look she gave him indicated she rather doubted there would be anything he could help her with, and she wandered off into the shelves. Crowley settled back in. Suited him fine. He returned to his game, although he kept one ear on the woman, and would glance up from his game on occasion, just to make sure she wasn’t up to anything, like stealing or worse, trying to buy something.

She had been in the shop for about fifteen minutes when another customer entered. Crowley almost groaned. Unreal.

At least this one seemed more than passingly familiar with the bookshop. She paused at the threshold and nodded to Crowley, trying not to make a show of looking around the store. “Mr. Fell not in today?”

“He’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Crowley answered, counting down the minutes in his brain. “Had a meeting.”

“Are you a … friend of his? Watching the store for him?” She watched Crowley nod in agreement. “Ah. Er, I’ve been coming in on my lunch for the past few days to read a book.” She glanced to the other woman in the shop, and then took a step closer to Crowley, lowering her voice. “Mr. Fell said it was alright, only I couldn’t afford to actually buy the book.”

“Yeah, some are quite valuable.” Crowley became conscious of the tone of his voice, the sprawl of his knees, and wrenched the temptation knob down to a respectable 5 out of 10***. He looked back to his phone. “If he was alright with you reading over lunch I’m not going to stop you. Just don’t, you know, fold anything or anything.”

She stood back a little, visibly disappointed. “Great,” she said, though her voice was a little flat. “I’ll be careful. Thanks.” The book in question was set to a table to the side, which had no labels but was piled high with books rife with bookmarks, and she took it from the pile before walking softly back through the shop to the little sitting area by the wall opposite the register. Crowley forced a smile when she looked to him, before she opened the book and settled in to read.

Eventually, the first customer of his inaugural shift at A. Z. Fell & Co. left, looking disappointed. He smiled and waved at her as she went. The second customer also left, about forty-five minutes after coming in. She paused at the table after she set her book back down, obviously considered saying something to Crowley, and then thought better of it, leaving with a subdued smile and a little wave, which he returned with rather more enthusiasm than necessary.

Two confused customers in as many hours, he thought. Not too bad. With a little more hostility he might even be able to make them disgruntled. Maybe there was something to this bookshop thing. He continued with his game, and considered it further. One hour to go, he thought, and he started tapping his foot to the game’s music out of sheer infernal cheer.

Two-and-a-half hours into his shift, the bell above the door tinkled again. Crowley looked up, and then down. Faintly, an alarm bell sounded in the back of his brain.

An unattended child.

Oh, sure, they’d established that unattended children weren’t allowed, but Crowley was rapidly realizing that Aziraphale had not told him what to do in such a circumstance. The kid was looking at him, though, all wide green eyes and a messy red hair piled into an attempt at a ponytail. “Hi,” she said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you lost?”

The girl stepped back, toward the door, and then glanced into the street outside. “No,” she answered. “Um, my … my dad is out there talking to a friend, just there, and he said I could come in and look around.” Crowley thought about that. Well, she was just looking. Right? No harm in curiosity, he thought, without a trace of irony. Besides, she was probably … ten? Eleven? Thirteen? Somewhere in there. Crowley had never been good at guessing human ages, and he hadn’t gotten better with time. The girl looked worried. “That’s alright, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Crowley made a decision, and secretly hoped that Aziraphale would not mind or, even better, would never find out about it at all. “Yeah, s’fine. Just, ah, be careful with the books. They’re all … very old.” He looked to the children’s section. “Oh, except those back there. You can look at those.”

She looked to the indicated section, and then turned back to him, obviously slightly offended. “Those are for kids.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Which is why I pointed them out.” He paused. “You are a kid, aren’t you?”

Scratch slightly offended, now she was clearly offended. “Yes I’m a kid. But I don’t like to read kid’s books.” She looked around. “What’s the oldest book here?”

Crowley shrugged. “Dunno. Not my shop. I just work here.”

She frowned. After a beat, she turned away, and started to wander the shelves, looking but not touching, studying the dusty spines and the gilded titles. Crowley watched her for a minute, and then settled back into his chair, even going so far as to pull his phone out as if to play his game, but he never started it. As inconspicuously as possible, which was very inconspicuous indeed for a 6000-year-old demon, he watched her. She would pause, now and then, in front of a book. He could see her hand twitch at her side, or clutch at her paisley skirt, but then she would think better of it, and move along the shelves, never touching anything, only looking.

Five minutes in, he asked, “So what kind of books do you read, if not kid’s books?” She looked at him over her shoulder.

“I like … books about history,” she settled on. “And. Well, and some kids books. If they’re good. If they have like, good magic in them and stuff.”

Ah, magic. Crowley squashed down the urge to nod. That was alright then. He was beginning to wonder if she was truly a human child, and not some kind of supernatural being that looked twelve-years-old but didn’t read kids’ books and had self-control more impressive than some adults. But no, magic was alright. Human kids loved magic.

“I like Lord of the Rings,” she went on, continuing her perusal of the shelves. “My dad always says he thinks it’s too complicated for me, but I read it anyway.”

“No harm in it,” Crowley agreed. He’d tried to read The Hobbit once, years ago, but he’d gotten bored ten pages in and promptly stuffed it into a shelf at Aziraphale’s shop, never to pick it up again. “Did you read all of them?”

She nodded, and this time when she looked at him, her eyes were a little brighter, a little less wary. “Nearly,” she said, eagerly. “I’m on the last one - The Return of the King. Did you read it?”

“Nah. Just saw the films.” Her face fell. “They were good films, though,” he added, somewhat unconsciously. “Er.”

She serpentined down an aisle, looking the books up and down, her hands alternatively playing with her hair, or picking at her skirt. “I don’t know what to read next,” she said, unprompted, right as Crowley decided she was probably alright, and anyway this level wasn’t going to beat itself.

“Huh?”

“After I finish the book, I mean.” She sighed, the troubled sigh of a pre-teen facing a significant personal crisis. “Mum says I should just re-read them, really savor the parts I liked best the first time around and maybe find even better ones the second go-round. But I want to read something new. I don’t feel like re-reading them right now.”

“Ah.”

She looked to him. “I was going to ask you for recommendations, since you work in a bookshop, but you haven’t read them.” She shrugged. “My maths teacher might know a good book for next. He gave me The Hobbit in the first place.”

“Maybe.” Crowley stared at his phone for a minute, and then, in a fit of benevolence that made him feel slightly nauseous, he got up, and crossed the shop toward the girl, hands in his pockets, studying the shelves she was in front of as he drew even with her. She watched him, carefully. “You like magic, you said? Good magic?”

“Not like stage stuff,” she clarified quickly, in case he had any designs of pulling a quarter from behind her ear or a length of scarves from his jacket. She did not know how near of a miss she had had in that department. “Like real magic.”

“Right, obviously.” He traced along a shelf of books, which were not organized by any recognizable system at all, and then stopped. He considered the book in front of his hand, apparently - A Brief History of the Sonnet, First Edition - and the girl looked dubious, before he reached between books, and pulled out another one, which had not, prior to that moment, looked like it could have existed. The girl blinked.

“Did you just - ?”

“Stage stuff,” he said, dismissively. “Old trick. Anyway, here. You might like this one.” She looked down to the cover, orange and battered, with a garishly-rendered suitcase on the front. With legs. And teeth. She raised her eyebrows. “It’s got real good, proper magic in it. And it’s funny.” She looked to him, and he shrugged. “I like funny ones.”

“Right.” She turned the book over, slowly, and then looked back to him, suspicious. “It doesn’t have a price tag. Where did you get this from, anyway?”

Crowley beamed. “A magician never tells his secrets, didn’t you know?” She gave him a look that suggested of course she did, and to stop being ridiculous. “Must have been an oversight, missing the tag. I think it was …” he licked his lips, under the guise of thinking, considered the strength of the metal smells coming from her backpack, and said, “Two pounds.”

“I don’t know if I have that.” Nevertheless, she carried the book up to the register, and plopped her bag down on the table to rummage through. “I’ve got ... “ she studied the handful of coins, and then looked to Crowley again, although this time there was an accusatory undertone to her look of amazement. “Exactly two pounds.”

“Lucky coincidence, then.” His watch clicked - three hours - and he glanced to the door. “You buying it or not?”

“Are you a wizard?”

“No.”

“Only you’re wearing all black, so if you are a wizard, you’re an evil wizard.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not a nazgul, are you?”

“I have no idea what that is,” said Crowley, completely honestly. “So I’d imagine not. Listen, you want the book or not? I bet you’ll like it.”

She looked from him - a hint of a glare, which was novel - to the book, and back to him. And then she laid the coins on the table. “Okay. But if I don’t like it, Mum always says I should ask for a refund.”

“You won’t get one here.” He pointed to the ‘Returns welcome,’ sign, and then miracled it to say ‘No refunds, no returns,’ hastily, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

“Wait that sign -”

Crowley didn’t hiss. He didn’t growl or do anything menacing. He’d already broken two rules of Aziraphale’s bookshop, and he’d be blessed if he’d break any more. Instead, he looked to the street, where the girl’s father apparently suddenly realized his daughter had been missing for the last twenty minutes, and looked into the shop, wide-eyed and bewildered, before he caught sight of her through the glass doors and waved.

“Oh, would you look at that! Looks like your dad’s looking for you, well, so sorry to see you go, but hope you enjoy the book -”

“You are a wizard!” the girl said, a broad grin spreading across her face, even as Crowley placed his hands firmly on her shoulders and started pushing her toward the door. “That’s not stage magic, I know it can’t be -”

“Not a wizard!” he interjected with forced cheerfulness. “Don’t tell anyone that! Definitely not a wizard! Goodbye!”

“Dad, this guy’s a wizard!” she said, pointing to Crowley, before he pointedly shut the door behind her. The girl’s father looked to her, and then to Crowley, through the glass of the door, and then smiled a tired smile, offering up a shrug as if to say, Kids, right? Crowley nodded, and then turned on his heel, heading straight back to his chair and his blessed game and the quiet bookshop where there were no children or customers and certainly no wizards.

He’d have to look up nazgul or whatever later.

When the bell tinkled again - again - five minutes later, Crowley did groan in exasperation, a little, but he bit it off before it hopefully became too noticeable. He looked up and Aziraphale, briefcase in hand, met his eyes. He looked, confused, from Crowley, to the change on the table, and back to Crowley.

“What did you do?”

Crowley stammered for a second and then managed, “Nothing.”

“You sold a book,” Aziraphale said, in a low voice. He looked back to the change. “You sold a book for two pounds.”

“I didn’t.”

“You sold a book to a …” he closed his eyes, and Crowley winced. He could feel the angel’s energy stretching out, feeling the space, reading the recent past as easily as Crowley might read a gossip magazine in the coffee shop checkout. Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open. “You sold a book to an unattended child!” He dropped the briefcase, the better to put his hands over his face. “Oh, Crowley.”

The demon sank into the chair a little. “Wasn’t one of yours,” he muttered, defensive.

“You’re going to tell me next the child saw you conjure a book out of nowhere?”

“No,” Crowley said, and it wasn’t a lie. He honestly had no intention of telling Aziraphale anything of the sort. “No, just, ah, said I’d nip around the back and get it. I got it from … somewhere else. Another shop.” He paused a minute, and considered that. “It was stealing. Very demonic.”

Aziraphale was looking at him with weariness, and possibly frustration, but that seemed to be softening to amusement more and more by the minute. “But it definitely wasn’t one of mine, was it?”

“Definitely not,” Crowley confirmed. “So really, I only broke one rule. And I did get two other customers to leave without buying anything, so overall a net win for my first day, don’t you think?” Aziraphale didn’t roll his eyes - not quite - but he did smile. “You get your book?”

Aziraphale sniffed. “It has a coffee stain in the middle of the fourth chapter. It’s going to take time to get it out. No miracles,” he said quickly, when Crowley opened his mouth. The demon’s mouth clicked back shut. “And would you believe the woman didn’t want to come down on the price at all, even with that? I spent the better part of the time negotiating with her over the value of a coffee stain on a book versus the value of the cup of coffee itself.” He sighed. “Honestly.”

Crowley nodded sympathetically. “The absolute gall.” He stood, made a show of stretching, and asked, “Since you’re back and all, I have a little errand of my own I need to run. Mind if I step out?”

Aziraphale frowned, and then nodded. “Of course not. Thank you,” he went on, his face softening into a smile, “for watching the shop, Crowley. Even if you did sell something.” He glanced behind him. “And … and changed the sign. What did you do?” He blinked when Crowley kissed the bridge of his nose, and then watched as the taller of them walked out the door with his typical swagger, without another word. He watched him go, smiling all the while, and then turned back to the change on the table. “You’re ridiculous,” he sighed to himself, in the bookshop, his smile never fading, before he swept the change into a donations tin by the register, and set about his new book.

Two blocks away, Crowley ducked into one of the chain bookshops, glancing furtively around before he did, in case Aziraphale had tailed him. With no puffy, wonderful, probably extremely judgy angel in sight, he slid through the door, and made a beeline for the sci-fi/fantasy section, careful not to make eye contact with anyone on his way through the store.

His personal collection was down by a book. He needed a replacement. He found it, there on the shelf, with the rest of the series, and picked it out, thumbing through the pages and not smiling when a favorite passage caught his eye. Definitely not smiling. He closed the book - probably time for a re-read, he thought - and turned to the door (certainly not the register - he might be going a little soft in his retirement, but not that soft), but he paused. Just a minute, he thought, and he wove through a few more shelves, pausing in front of a rather impressive display of The Lord of the Rings and all associated paraphernalia. He frowned. And then, under his breath and inaudible to anybody else within earshot, he said, “Oh, why not. Isn’t as if I don’t have time,” before he grabbed The Fellowship of the Ring off the shelf, and slithered out.

* No capital ‘A’ required.

** Meaning he showed up and nobody questioned his presence there.

*** He generally rested at a natural 9, but was capable of levels between 12 and 15 when pressed.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale's bookshop #aziraphale doesn't sell books #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much

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hannahscreativethoughts · 6 years

Text

Are you the right one?

I had this idea in the middle of the night and wrote it down. I like it, it is so much fluff, you probably die, but I thats life.

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The one question almost every girl wants to hear, but is he the right person to ask this question?

Warnings: Fluff, alcohol, slightly angst (maybe), oh did I say fluff?

Word count: 2776

“Surprise!“

The woman who walked out of the apartment door jumped in surprise, but her face changed from a sinister expression to a face full of joy and pleasure.

“Omg, I almost died. You are all so cute.“, the woman said with a delightful chuckle. Her name was Mary and she was an good old friend of mine. Okay, maybe just an old friend. I know her since collage, we were roommates and we had a good relationship back in the days, but after we graduated we never really interacted with each other anymore. Sometime we would see each other in the streets of New York, just nodding our heads as a “Hello“.

Once or twice a year it would happen, that the time was on our side, then we would go for a coffee together. Talking about old times and how our lives are now. The last time we saw each other was like two or three month ago. We walked past each other in a book store.

I was on a run for a birthday present for Steve. On a cuddly winter day, when the both of us were cuddled up in our shared bed, we watched Harry Potter. The whole day. All movies. He enjoyed it. He liked the story of the small young boy, who slowly raised and becomes one of the most powerful wizards in the world. He liked it so much that he wanted to know more about it. In his beautiful blue eyes you could see the little boy coming out. When I told him that the movies are based on books, he jumped around like a little kid on Christmas. I have never seen a 100 year old man jumping around like this. “I wanna read them“, he yelled and jumped on the bed next to me. “I will get them for you, but you have to wait until your birthday.“, I said to him in my mummy voice and poked his nose slightly. Eventually he kissed me afterwards and eventually he went from schoolboy to daddy, but thats another story.

However… I met her in this book shop, where I bought all the Harry Potter books for Steve his birthday. She told me about her new job and that she moved in a new apartment in Manhattan. Furthermore she told me that her long term boyfriend finally asked her to be his wife.

“He finally asked me after all these years. I almost lost hope.“, she said with a dreamy face. The smile on her face showed real happiness and full of pride she showed me her engagement ring. It was a beautiful silver one with a small diamond. “A real diamond. He is so extra.“, she chuckled slightly and waved with her hand. “I'm so happy for you.“, I gave her a polite smile and I was about to say goodbye to her, but before I could even think about it she spoke again. “You should come to my wedding. Are you still together with this America Boy?“, she gave me a big smile and in her face you could see how curious she was about my answer. “Yeah, I’m still together with him.“,I tried to sound as polite as possible, but I underlined the word “still“ a little bit to harsh.

“That is good to hear. I will send you an invitation.“, she ignored the fact that I snapped at her. She gave me a small hug and waved goodbye.

So now, 4 month later. I was here. At her bachelorette party. With people I barley know. At first I didn’t wanted to go. I don’t know anybody and I’m not really the person who is crazy about the whole wedding stuff, but Steve and the rest of the team forced me to go. In their opinion it would be good for me to go out with “normal“ people. A 20 minute fight and a 30 minute search for some clothes to wear, I stood in front of her apartment with 10 other girls.

“We have so much planed for the evening.“, the woman next to me, her name was Sara I think, announced with a huge smile. “But at first-“, she pulled sparkling wine and some plastic glass out of her bag.

“Some alcohol.“, everybody around me started to cheer and giggle. I felt a little bit out of space. Everybody knows each other, everybody is so girly and almost everybody is married in this round. I’m actually the only one not married or engaged. Sara, I really hope her name was Sara, gave me a glass full of the sparkling liquid. After everybody received a glass, they started to cheer again. “Yay…“, I slightly raised my fist up in the air and cheered forcefully. “Oh god, I think I will need more than one glass of this.“, I said to myself in an unwatched moment and knocked back the drink.

And my wishes came true. 2 hours later I had a good amount of alcohol rushing through my veins and I actually enjoyed myself a little bit. The music was loud and my whole body vibrated because of the bass. The club was somewhere in Brooklyn, I don’t remember actually. I was already drunk when we arrived. The music was good, the alcohol was delicious and it was the first time in a while that I didn’t worried about a mission. I just enjoyed the music and the good stuff. Perhaps the other were right and I needed this night out.

In the late hours, shortly after midnight, I got a text from Steve.

Hey, my love.

I hope you have a little fun <3

I will go to bed now.

Please, be safe and call me when you need something!

I love you xx

I smiled like a huge dork, when I read the message. “Why are you smiling like this?“, Sara placed a hand on my shoulder and handed me a drink. I clicked the lock screen button and stowed my phone back in my pocket.

“My boyfriend texted me.“, I shrugged my shoulder and took the drink out of her hand.

“How long have you two been together?“

“3 years.“, I leaned towards her and yelled in her ear. “How long have you been with your man?“, I added and sipped on my drink.

“5 years. Since two years we are married.“, she yelled back and pointed at the door.

“Do you wanna go outside for a sec? I need a cigarette.“, she added yelling and I nodded and followed her through the dancing crowd.

“It is so hot in there.“, she inhaled deeply and pulled out her cigarettes. The cold air hit my face and I could feel how the alcohol kicked in even harder. I took a deep breath and inhaled the smoke of the cigarette. I coughed slightly. “I'm not a smoker.“, I said with a raspy voice.

“Sorry, I will breath the smoke in the other direction.“, she took the cigarette in the other hand and gave me an apologising smile. I shook my head and motioned that it is okay.

“So, you and the “Captain““, she actually made the quotation marks, when she said Captain. The smoke of the cigarette in her face and the dirty smirk she gave me made me feel a little uncomfortable. I had a weird feeling in my stomach. I took a huge sip from my drink. Hoping that the weird feeling would disappear with more alcohol.

“Yes, we are together for a while now.“, my drunken head smiled by the thought of Steve and the fact that he was mine. The huge dorky smile appeared on my face again and I could hear Sara laughing. “Someone is happy, huh?“

I snapped out of my dream about Steve and glanced at her. The smirk never left her face and the weird feeling from before kicked back in.

“Do you wanna marry him?“, she pulled on her cigarette and grabbed her drink out of my hand.

“Ehm …“, I was shocked and overwhelmed. I actually had no clue what I should answer. I never really spend much time with thinking about this. I probably would say yes, when he would ask me. “Probably.“, I sipped on my drink again.

“Probably? Have you both never talked about this?“, her eyes widened by my answer and she looked rather shocked than satisfied. “How can you be sure that he really loves you, when he never made a sign that he wants to marry you?“, she stubbed out the cigarette and gave her full attention to me.

“What do you mean? I know that he loves me!“, my head started to spin and I felt the alcohol punching me in the face.

“Are you sure? He is a good looking man and I know a lot of women who would do anything to be with him. He is still just a man.“, she raised her eyebrows at me. Her face turned in a worried expression.

“Yes, I’m sure, 100%.“, this answer came out less confident than I thought. I wanted to convince her that I’m 100% sure that he loves me and that he is the one. Unfortunately I sounded like a desperate woman who tries to convince herself that her man still loves her. Is it the alcohol or why am I so worried at the moment, that maybe she was right. No (Y/n)! Stop being so worried. You know it is not true.

“Sweetie, I will tell you something. I can't tell you if he really loves you or not. But he is a man and men change their minds every day. Don’t be to certain. End it before it ends you.“, she sipped out her drink and placed her hand on my shoulder. “I´ll go back inside. Do you come with me?“, I shook my head and poured down the rest of the drink. She took the glass out of my hand and gave me a small hug, before she walked back inside.

It was something after 1 in the morning and I walked through the streets of New York. I had so much alcohol in my body, that I lost track of my position. I was somewhere nowhere. The street I was walking at was almost empty, only a few people would walk past me.

My head started to spin again and I needed to sit down. On a stair in front of an apartment house I found a place to rest. I leaned my head against the cold stone and closed my eyes, just for a second. Immediately I fell a sleep. I started to dream, I dreamed about me and Steve. That he would ask me to marry him, that he would fell on his knees in front of me. But the dreamed turned out to be a nightmare. Before I could answer him, before I could say yes. He raised his body again, “I think you are not the right person for me. Maybe we should go separate ways. I really like you, but I don’t love you.“

The ringing of my phone luckily brought me back and I snapped up. I pulled out my phone and looked at the screen. One of my favourite photos of Steve popped up. It was on a beautiful summer day and Tony decided that the team needed some relaxation. Nobody complained and we packed our bags and went on the beach. The picture showed Steve putting on sunscreen. His face was completely covered in white cream and he looked directly in the camera with an disbelieving face. Until today he doesn’t understand why I loved this picture so much, because he thinks it is one of the ugliest pictures he ever saw of him. And maybe because of that I love this picture so much. It is a moment where he isn’t the handsome, tall man with the star spangled outfit everybody knows. He is the man I know, the tall, handsome, dorky man with a very sensitive skin. For the world he is Captain America, for me he is Steve. I found my own hero in him. The phone stopped ringing and I snapped back out of my thought. I looked at the phone, the screen showed one missed call from Steve. Before I could call him back, he called again and the picture of him popped up again. This time I answered the phone directly.

“Hello, Steve.“, I said with a raspy, drunken voice.

“Doll, are you alright? You didn’t answered and I got a little worried about you.“, his voice was sleepy, he probably woke up and glanced on his phone. Normally I would text him back immediately, so that he knows that everything is alright and he doesn’t need to worry.

“I'm okay. Maybe I drunk a little bit too much.“, I leaned my head against the wall again. I could hear myself stumble over my own words.

“Where are you? I´ll pick you up.“, his sweet voice melted in my ears and I smiled. Suddenly the conversation with Sara snapped back into my head.

“Steve?“, the desperate and worried tone from before found its way back into my words. In the moment I called out his name, a tear managed to find its way down my cheek.

“Whats wrong?“, his tone changed completely. From sleepy and sweet to serious and worried.

It took me a moment to find the right words, to articulate my worries.

“Am I the right person?“

“What do you mean, babe?“, he talked a little bit faster than before, he seems a little nervous and his worries increased by that question.

“Am I the right person for you? Do you love me?“, a silent sob escaped my lips.

“Where are you?“, I could hear movement on the other side of the phone. He was probably walking down to the garage, where his motorcycle was.

“Steve… please.“, I closed my eyes and some more tears rolled down my cheeks.

“(Y/n), you are my everything. Of course you are the right person for me! I couldn’t imagine someone else being by my side. You make me laugh, you make me wake up everyday with a smile on my face.“, a small smile appeared on my face again and I brushed away some tears. There was a short silence on the other side of the phone. “Steve?“, I called his name, but he doesn’t answered. Suddenly the call ended and I looked at my phone. I unlocked the screen and went directly to my contacts and searched for his name. Before I could press the call button a hand appeared in front of me.

“I wanna spent the rest of my life with you, I wanna see your beautiful smile until my last breath.“, I placed my hand in Steve his hand, he helped me to stand up. In that moment I realized where I was, I was just one street away from the compound.

“Everyday I fall more and more in love with you.“, his strong arms wrapped around me and pulled me close to his body. I glanced up at him, I caught him already staring down at me and I couldn’t do anything else than stare back into his beautiful eyes. I saw the world in them, I saw my world. I felt safe.

In this moment, when I looked in his eyes, I realised it. He was it, he was my future. He was the man my mother always told me about. The man who loves you no matter what, with all his heart.

“Spending the rest of my life with you, sounds like a life I would choose over everything in the world.“, he smiled wide at those words, I pulled him down and kissed him with all my heart. He was still smiling through the kiss, his arms wrapped even tighter around my body.

We both pulled away from the kiss and gasped for air. We both smiled at each other like two big dorks.

He placed his forehead against mine, “Do you wanna spent the rest of your life with me as my wife?“

My jaw dropped and I raised my head to look in his eyes. Suddenly he let go of me and fell on his knee in front of me, he pulled out a small box with a beautiful ring inside, “(Y/n) (Y/l/n), do you wanna marry me?“

The joy I felt in this moment was indescribable, the tears just rolled down my face and the smile I had was from ear to ear.

“Yes, Steve. I wanna spent the rest of my life as your wife!“

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america #captain america x reader #Avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #chris evans #marvel

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zeldascaos-blog · 6 years

Text

Snakes and Ladders ~ Chapter Two: First Loves

I want to learn how to love, not just feel the feeling. I want to mend this heart, before I quit believing.

The story of FP Jones and Alice Smith was much more than the mere fact that they dated and broke up in their youth. That was only the bottom line.

Did we go there just a little too soon, did we take our love for granted? If I had fought for us just a little bit harder, would anything be different?

Before the summer of 1991, Alice Smith and FP Jones had only known each other from afar. They grew up on the same side of town, they ran with the same crowd, but they weren’t close by now means. On the Southside, there’s a mutual understanding and an undeniable feeling of community. Which meant that kids from that part of town often had similar home-lives, and they all understood that and shared the unspeakable traumas silently.

Of course, they knew of each other. Especially since Fred Andrews and Alice had been friends since junior high and FP was Fred’s best friend. But, before everything and everyone came together, FP and Alice’s interactions consisted of brief, fleeting moments that they both reveled in fondly. They didn’t think that they would ever really be friends. Based on the shameless amount of flirting that they did whenever they found themselves in each other’s presence, they were either destined to be lovers or nothing at all.

Before their story really began, they shared small, seemingly insignificant moments, such as the time that Alice found herself at her locker after school the day before the first bush party of the year. It was being held at a clearing in the forest just out of town that everyone called “Sinners’ Pine,” where partying teenagers had been getting together long before they’d been born. “Alice,” she heard her name called and looked over her shoulder to see Freddie Andrews approaching his own locker, which was only two away from hers, “you’re heading up to Sinners’ tonight, yeah?”

Fred was born on the Northside, but that didn’t stop him from being friends with just about anybody. Alice wasn’t someone that you messed with at Riverdale High, and her blinding beauty would always make her someone that the boys would never say no to, but there were people who could be surprisingly snide about the fact that she was born on the wrong side of the tracks. Fred Andrews was not one of those people.

“Of course.” She said with a grin, shoving a textbook into her locker after deciding that she likely wouldn’t be doing any schoolwork over the weekend. Now, from afar, it may have looked as though Fred Andrews was going to be a possible love interest in Alice Smith’s life, but that was never the case for the two of them. They’d always been friends, they hopefully always would be. But, there had never been any kind of romantic prospects between the two of them.

The boy that suddenly came by and jokingly slammed Fred into his locked on the other hand... he was a different story. As soon as FP Jones appeared and the two best friends began laughing about whatever the hell was so funny to them, Alice was practically forgotten about. She didn’t quite know FP well enough to insert herself into their conversation, but that didn’t mean that she could ignore the fact that she would have loved to. He was probably the most popular guy on campus, football captain, basketball captain, soccer captain, you name it. How he managed to have a different girl on his arm every week was no mystery to her.

But, FP was much more than who he was at school. After classes finished for the day, he’d trade in his letterman jacket for a leather one that made him look all the more ruggedly handsome as he took care of business on the Southside. He came from a family that was worse than most, him and Alice both did, actually. Both of their mothers had walked out on them years ago, his long before hers. That left them, ironically, with respective abusive, alcoholic fathers.

Alice rolled her eyes with a scoff when FP crashed right into her while he was speaking with Fred at his locker in such an obnoxiously boyish way that she actually thought that it was pretty cute. “Excuse me,” she began sarcastically, she’d always been rather outspoken. Her cheekiness had caused endless problems for her time and time again. FP turned around and raised an eyebrow when he saw her, she could practically feel the tension between them the minute he laid eyes on her. That was typical, “you’re not the only person in the world, FP Jones. Watch it.”

Instead of cowering in fear upon hearing her venomous words as most did, he only began to grin at her. He would admit, he’d always been rather impressed by her ability to punch back whenever she felt the need to do so. Or if she was just bored. “Of course not, Alice.” He rested a casual hand above her head as she leaned against her locker and watched his face take on a flirtatious air as he over-dramatically looked her up and down. “How could I possibly have not seen you there?” She couldn’t help but grin as she rolled her eyes and jokingly slapped his shoulder before walking away, provoking a chuckle from FP as she knew damn well that he was watching her walk away. Before she could help herself, Alice glanced back over her shoulder and winked at him. She so enjoyed playing with fire.

Little did she know, that was the start of something bigger than she could have even imagined.

I can’t keep holding on when you’re already gone. Just stay in my arms for a little bit longer.

Later that evening, Alice found herself cruising far too fast down the dirt road with her friends int he seats beside her as they all sipped on their drinks, preparing for the night ahead. They were playing the CD that she’d burned that went all wonky whenever she hit a pothole and loving every minute of it as they cranked the volume up to the maximum level. If there was one thing that Alice Smith absolutely loved, it was making an entrance. Which is precisely why she showed up to the bush party after she knew for damn certain that everyone else was already there.

The beginning of the party was slow, she didn’t remember much of it. She remembered Fred jumping over the fire to impress whichever girl had caught his eye that week, she remembered lighting up a cheap cigarette after Hal Cooper of all people had showed up and tried his hardest to strike up a conversation with her, but that was all that stuck in her mind for the time being.

It was no secret that Hal was interested in her, he was fairly open about it. He just wasn’t her type, not even slightly. But, that only seemed to fuel his fire. Alice had no time for him nor the silver spoon that he was born with in his mouth, and she certainly had no time for the fact that he expected everyone to fall at his feet and listen to every controlling word he said.

Somewhere along the course of the night, perhaps after a few too many cans of liquid courage, Hal had mistakenly picked a fight with FP Jones, who had shut him down so quickly and easily that Hal grabbed his douche-bag friends and left immediately, clearly embarrassed by one of the only people who could make Hal Cooper feel small. That was when Alice and FP’s next brief interlude unfolded before their eyes. FP had noticed her laughing as Hal hung his head and slipped away from the party, attempting to draw as little attention to himself as possible.

Upon hearing her giggles, FP turned her way with a similar grin on his face. “You get a kick out of this, doll?” He teased, and she grimaced at the mocking nickname he’d cast upon her.

Alice shook her head, still grinning. She would never understand how the rich kids like Hal could constantly manage to be so pretentious. “Says who?” She raised a seemingly innocent eyebrow as she teasingly turned her head the other way. She’d been sitting on a slab of wood balancing on two stumps that they’d always used as a makeshift bench, but only just then did she realize that she was suddenly the only one left on the bench as her friends were off God knows where. It wasn’t that big of a space, but the size of the fire made the shadows dance in such a way that it was easy to lose each other to the crowd.

FP raised his own eyebrows and stood taller, coming closer. He was, again, impressed by her quick wit, and she could tell. “Says the look on your face.” Before Alice could even process what was happening, he had sat down beside her, facing towards the fire but turning his head to the left to look in her direction. She had been sitting cross legged, facing where he now sat, but felt uncomfortable turning away or shifting her position now that he suddenly found himself beside her.

“So,” FP began, glancing between her eyes in a way that made her slightly nervous. She didn’t usually get nervous around boys, she’d always been a flirt by nature. Even with him, she was, but something about him made things feel strangely different. Like, for some reason, she didn’t want to screw anything up this time around. Which was ridiculous, because they’d only talked a handful of times before and they were barely friends, let along anything more. She was surprised that he was striking up a conversation at all, surely he had better things to do. “Alice Smith.”

She arched a teasing eyebrow as he overdid the use of her full name. He might have been dangerously handsome, but he was nothing more than a devilish flirt, and Alice really should have known better. “What’s your story?” He leaned back a bit as the wind blew a gust of smoke in their direction. His voice was different than usual, and it caught her off guard. He was not teasing her, he was hardly even flirting, he was just asking a genuine question, as if he really cared about her answer.

Alice cocked her head to the side and searched her eyes for the truth, did he really want to know? “My story?” She questioned.

“Yeah,” he looked away from her for a moment to catch a lighter as it flew at him, tossed by whoever had borrowed it in the first place. But, his eyes found hers again in no time, “you know, your deep dark secrets, your biggest fears, all your hopes and dreams, and all that shit.” Now, he was joking, so she giggled a bit and sat up straighter.

“I don’t think you couldn’t handle it, Forsythe.” She may not have known much about it, but she did know just how much he hated being called by his full name, and he seemed to enjoy her teasing. She would admit, she was shamelessly flirting with him.

“Well, in that case, sweetheart,” he fired back with a nickname, already assuming that Alice would hate it just as much as he hated the one she’d used on him, “you’ve got a lot to learn.”

“Is that a challenge, FP?” She bit her bottom lip as she spoke to him, and immediately hoped that he hadn’t noticed.

“It’s whatever you want it to be, babe.” He looked away from her, staring wistfully at the fire as he stretched out his legs and Alice scoffed, hitting him lightly on the arm to pull them both back to reality. After their briefly flirtatious conversation, she’d fully been expecting him to rise from the bench and go back to his real friends. She was quite certain that she was borderline boring him, and that he surely had plenty of other way that he could get his amusement for the night. But, to his everlasting credit, he didn’t move a muscle.

When I close my eyes, you’re here with me. I’m dancing with your memory.

Then came the summer that changed it all. The summer that Hermione Gomez came into the picture and everything seemingly fell into place. Though it had taken Hermione and Fred mere days to admit their interest in one another, FP and Alice let themselves wallow in their secretly romantic feelings for one another for an entire month. And the irony of it all was, while Hermione and Fred were dating to fall in love - which they inevitably did - Alice and FP were falling in love, all the while never disclosing a single word to each other.

A part of us will always be together, because first loves last forever.

It was important to know that none of the Southside kids came from friendly homes. So, how did they channel all of the pent-up emotions from their tragic home lives? By getting themselves into trouble. The Southside was full of kids, and when they banded together, they could stir up just about anything they wanted to. On the evening of the first of August, a group of them, including Alice Smith who had dragged Fred Andrews and Hermione Gomez with them, found themselves walking the familiar mountain path behind the old mill.

It was near her house, so Alice had spent a lot of time in those woods and on that small mountain, even though it was supposedly fenced off to the public. When whoever owns the property realized that the kids had been jumping the locked fence, they put barbed wire on the top. But, luckily for everyone’s entertainment, Alice could pick just about any lock you could throw at her. There was an old abandoned school in that forest, one that was shut down almost ten years ago already.

When the kids had gotten sick of simply spray-painting the exterior walls, they decided to take it to the next level. All this to say that, on that hot summer evening, Alice Smith and a group of her troublemaker friends broke into the abandoned school. What they weren’t expecting, however, was for the security system to be up and running. Thanks to the size of their small town, the cops showed up within minutes. Alice knew that they wouldn’t let them get away with this, especially since there were security cameras all over the property. But, she also knew that as long as one of them took the heat, the others had a better chance of getting off scathe-free.

So, she told everyone else to run for it. They were used to taking one for the team on the Southside, and tonight, it was her turn. Surprisingly, that was the very first time she’d ridden in the back of a cop car, and thank God she hadn’t been drinking that night or else they may have locked her up for longer than just an evening. She had no idea what her father would do when he found out about it, he was always pretty unpredictable.

My desire for you was without a ceiling and the warmth of your soul was ever so healing.

Alice was offered one phone call. There was someone that she wanted to call, but she wasn’t sure that it was her place to do so. FP and her would always raise questions on everybody’s end. They’d clearly grown extremely important to each other over the summer as they’d become closer friends, and the had always been more than just friends what with how they managed to take flirting to the next level. But, they had never had the talk. Maybe there was nothing to talk about, she really had no idea. They hadn’t even kissed. Not that they hadn’t come close and not that they didn’t want to more than they both cared to admit.

Nonetheless, FP had been working a shift at Pop’s that night, which was why he hadn’t accompanied them into the school in the first place. Alice didn’t want to drag Hermione back into this mess, she probably wouldn’t even know what to do anyways, and she certainly would rather die than call her father, so she dialed Fred’s number. She didn’t plan on anyone paying her bail that night, no one she knew had the money for that, but she did want to update her friends on the situation and make sure that everyone else had gotten away clean.

“Fred,” Alice said, upon hearing him pick up the phone. “I hate to bother you with his, but I’m in a bit of trouble here.”

Fred sighed, “Alice? What happened after we ran, where are you?”

“I kind of got arrested.” She spoke in a smaller voice than she usually projected.

Shaking his head on the other line, Fred should have known that Alice had wound up behind bars. “I’m coming down to the station. I’ll pay your bail, don’t worry, kiddo.”

“No, Fred, don’t.” Alice put a stop to that ludicrous notion before Fred could grab his keys and follow through. “That’s not why I called.”

“You... you don’t want me to bail you out...?” Fred blinked in confusion, but was going to hear her out.

“No, I’m only in for the rest of the night, I’ll be fine. I just wanted to let you know where I was and what happened because the others are probably going to be wondering.” She was glad that Hermione had heeded her warning and ran for the hills when the sirens approached. If that girl acquired even the slightest tarnish to her impeccable record, she likely never would have spoken to Alice again.

“Okay, I’ll let them know.” Fred hesitated, clearly there was something else that he wanted to say. “Alice, why didn’t you call FP? Why me?”

Alice closed her eyes, FP was the last person she wanted to be talking about at the moment. “Because, I can’t bother him with stuff like this, he has his own problems. Besides, I’ve always been closer with you than him.” She threw that in there, just to make it convincing.

“That’s bullshit, Alice, and I can smell it from here.” Fred Andrews was no idiot.

Finally, Alice gave in to his inquiries. “Shut up, it’s embarrassing, okay? I don’t want to be just some careless teenage girl who always needs him to come rescue me. He doesn’t need to know.”

“You know he’ll find out sooner or later.” Fred was right, Riverdale was an insanely small town.

“Well, let’s just hope it’s later, for the sake of my pride.”

Now, Fred’s attention was drawn elsewhere. Somewhere far more serious. “Does your dad know?”

Alice was quiet for a moment, before taking in a shaky breath. “I hope to hell he doesn’t.”

“What are you going to do about him? He’ll find out eventually, Alice.” Fred was one of the few people who knew just how aggressive Alice’s drunken father could get.

“I’ll keep my distance until he calms down about it and it all blows over.” She shrugged her shoulders, there was nothing else she could do.

“How long will that be?”

“Not a clue.”

“Where will you go in the meantime?” Fred was nothing but concerned for his dear old friend, he hated seeing her in such terrible situations all the time.

“I’ll figure it out, Andrews, I always do. Don’t worry about me.” But, he would always worry about her. And the minute that Alice hung up the phone, Fred picked it right back up and dialed a different number. After a few rings, a familiar voice answered.

“FP, hey buddy, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Alice has gone and gotten herself in a bit of trouble tonight.”

FP cradled the phone in on his shoulder as he untied the apron that he wore. He’d been using the phone at the diner after finishing up a shift at Pop’s. “Is she okay? I mean...” he raised a teasing eyebrow even though there was no one around to notice it, “... that doesn’t surprise me, but it’s not bad trouble, is it?”

Fred grimaced slightly, “Well, she’s fine. She’s in jail, but she’s fine.”

To his surprise, FP began to chuckle. He was rather shocked to hear about Alice’s condition, but he couldn’t say he didn’t find it amusing, nonetheless. “Are you serious?”

“Like a heart attack.” Fred confirmed.

FP continued to laugh, though he was attempting to compose himself. “That’s priceless, holy shit.”

“You think it’s... funny?” Strangely, this was not the reaction that Fred had been expecting from his best friend.

“You don’t?”

“Well, I guess, kind of.” Fred responded, knowing that he was stepping in dangerous territory.

“It’s hilarious.” FP reiterated, “She’s always running around thinking she’s untouchable. She’s finally paying the price.”

“Okay, you’re right, it’s pretty damn funny.” Fred finally understood what FP was saying, “Ironic, actually, considering how many times she’s given you a hard time for getting yourself locked up every now and then.”

“Exactly my point, buddy.” Time for laughter was finally over as FP now wondered just what they were going to do about it. “Has anyone paid her bail, yet?”

“She doesn’t want anyone to. Doesn’t want to trouble any of us, I guess.” Fred told him, and FP wasn’t surprised.

“That’s ridiculous, why is she always like that?”

“Don’t know. One hell of a fragile pride on that one.” Fred spoke the truth.

“I’ll go get her.” Was all that FP said before hanging up the phone and making his way out to his truck.

Not even an hour after Alice’s phone call with Fred Andrews, FP himself came swinging through the door with an amused smirk on his face. Alice stood from her seat and crossed her arms, meeting him at the bars that separated them. “Well, well, well...” FP began, positively loving it. “... Alice Smith. Just what kind of mess did you manage to get yourself into this time?” He grinned with a twinkle in his eyes that always made Alice’s breath hitch.

“Laugh it up, Jones.” She retorted, giving him a challenging look of her own.

“Oh, I plan to.” He was insufferable, and she loved it.

“Is that all you came for? To gloat?”

“Have you no faith in me, sweetheart?” He raised his eyebrows in mock innocence, but Alice truly had no idea what he meant. By the sounds of it, he was offering to break her out of jail, which would have made for a field day down at the Register. Before she could even ask, the sheriff came into the room and unlocked her cell door.

“Alright, Smith. You’re free to go.” He said, as Alice stood there in disbelief.

“What?” At first, she thought that he was making some kind of twisted joke.

The sheriff just held out his arm, gesturing for her to leave the holding cell. “Your boyfriend payed your pail, go home.” Alice raised her eyebrows in shock, FP didn’t have that kind of money, what the hell was he thinking? More importantly, he was not her boyfriend.

She looked to him with wide eyes, but he only winked at her and placed his hand on her back to usher her out of the station as she couldn’t seem to move from where she had been standing. When they got outside, she didn’t even know what to say. “Why would you do that?” She honestly couldn’t figure it out, she would have been fine by herself for the night. Besides, it would really have only been a few more hours.

“Come on,” FP said in teasing disbelief, “you really think I’d let you spend the night behind bars?”

She was still uncertain, it was a pretty significant thing to do for someone who was just a mere friend. Even a close friend at that. “Where did you even get that kind of money, FP?” He could see that she was genuinely concerned, so he turned to face her, no longer teasing.

“I’ve worked eight hours every day this week, Alice. It was nothing.” He tapped her under her chin to settle his point with a smile that made her want to say all the words that were on the tip of her tongue. But, she refrained.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?” She asked, knowing full well that FP was no longer living at home. She asked because she realized that she needed somewhere to go as well. There was no way in hell that she could go home, her father would have inevitably heard about her incident and there was no telling what he would do about it. She needed to give him some time to let it all blow over.

“Is that some kind of invitation, Smith?” Alice smirked at his lighthearted comment that was dripping with innuendo, but she brushed it off.

“Seriously, FP.”

He shrugged, as carefree as he always was. “Probably at the Wyrm.” He’d been spending more and more of his time with the Serpents lately, they’d really stepped up for him when his dad kicked him out.

Alice cleared her throat, unsure of how to ask her next question. “Do you think, I mean, could I like...” She was struggling to get the words out. She really just needed a place to crash, but she didn’t want it to come out in a suggestive manner and she also didn’t want to overstep. “... would it be okay if -

FP seemed to understand what she was getting at because he just chuckled and threw his arm around her shoulders, leading her over to where he’d parked his pickup trick. “Come on.”

If I can’t be the one, I hope you find somebody new that knows you, needs you, lives, and breathes you the way that I still do.

When they got to the bar, Alice had no idea just what she was in for. It was well part midnight, so she knew that only the stragglers would be left and that it would likely just be Hog Eye behind the bar. When her and FP came through the doors, she certainly wasn’t expecting to see her own father sitting at the bar.

He was a regular at the Whyte Wyrm, but he usually went home before midnight. That wasn’t a good sign, that meant that he was twice as drunk as he normally was. Besides, who knew what else he had in his system other than just alcohol. He clearly wasn’t expecting Alice to show up there, because the shock in his eyes was evident until it gave way to fury. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” He growled, rising from his seat though he had difficulty doing so.

Alice said nothing, still in shock from seeing him there. FP stepped in front of her ever so slightly, her father hadn’t noticed, but she sure did. “First you get your ass thrown in jail, then you show up at the bar in the middle of the goddamn night thinking, what? That this is where you’ll be crashing from now on?” He was slurring his words all over the place, but Alice had gotten pretty good at understanding him over the years even in his most intoxicated of states.

As he staggered closer, he only then seemed to notice FP’s presence. “Oh, I see...” he said, talking down at her like she was nothing more than a piece of garbage. “... you’re here with this guy, with this Jones boy. Is that what you’re doing in your spare time, now?”

Alice understood what he was insinuating, and it infuriated her, but she stayed as calm as she could. Her father pushed FP away from her so that he could look her in the face. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you walked out on me just like your whore mother did.” For some reason, Alice hadn’t seen the slap coming. But, it knocked the wind out of her, and she could already feel a bruise forming. She was seeing stars when her father sneered at her and walked out of the bar.

FP was by her side in seconds, cupping her exhausted face in his hands, his eyes frantically assessing the damage. “You alright?” He asked hurriedly, and the look in his eyes told Alice everything. He’d always been worried that her father had been physically abusive at times, but now that it was confirmed right before his eyes, he was in a pain of his own.

Alice only nodded, she was used to it. That’s not to make it sound like her father hit her all the time, it didn’t actually happen that often. Not nearly as often as FP got hit by his own father’s hand. And, for Alice, it was usually reduced to quick slaps, shoves, and hair pulling. He’d never drawn blood and he’d never knocked her out, and for that reason, she was luckier than most kids living on the Southside. But, it happened often enough for it to stop shaking her to her very core. She didn’t even cry anymore, which was probably why she looked so unfazed to FP.

A part of us will always be together because you’re my first love. Always my first love. And first loves last forever.

When the two of them got down to the basement, where they planned to sleep that night, Alice had shaken it off and was back on her game. As FP shrugged off his leather jacket and threw it onto the back of a nearby chair, Alice went to the back of the room and grabbed two bottles of beer out of the cooler, tossing one in his direction. He caught it without missing a beat, opening it with his teeth - something that he’d always been good at while she had to use the metal of her lighter.

“You sure you’re alright there, Smith?” He asked once more, and Alice wasn’t lying when she responded positively.

“Yeah, now what do you say?” She held up two cue sticks, clearly suggesting that they take advantage of the pool table in the center of the room. “You ready to get your ass kicked, handsome?”

FP shook his head with a grin, always amused by her brashness. “In your dreams, sweetheart.” He swiftly took a stick from her hands and set up the game. They didn’t care that it was two in the morning, they didn’t care that it had been a busy night and that tomorrow would be an equally busy day, they didn’t care about any of it, they never did. The game was over within fifteen minutes, he never showed her any mercy as he won yet again.

They’d been having a good time up until then, that was when they started arguing. It was always about something stupid, something that really shouldn’t have evoked such a big fight. They’d always had trouble saying what they really meant, so they typically ended up dancing around what the real problem was whenever they fought. How the argument started didn’t matter, because it only took a few minutes for their conversation to shift as they started to argue about all the usual things. About how she needed to be more careful about getting into shit, about how she wished he would talk to her more when he was in trouble and just let her be there for him as a friend, about how she was always indulging Hal Cooper’s flirtatious wishes even though she wanted nothing to do with him. Basically, they argued like they were a couple, even though, as far as they both knew, they were nothing more than friends.

Neither could remember the last thing that they said to each other, because it suddenly transformed into something much more than an argument. They were serious, they needed to say the things that they were fighting about, but the tension was rising with every word as they locked eyes with each other and took challenging steps closer. Alice wasn’t expecting it in the slightest and it happened before she could even process the possibility. FP had inhaled sharply, as if he was going to spit out another argument, but instead of doing so, he rolled his eyes and then kissed her.

The way he did so and the milliseconds leading up to it certainly made it seem like he was frustrated with himself and the way that he’d been feeling and had decided to just man up and act on it already. Which was precisely what had happened.

They both felt all the things that they were supposed to feel for the very first time. It wasn’t either of their first kisses, but it was one of the rare sober ones, and it was the first one that didn’t feel forced. It didn’t just feel like two lips meeting, it felt like the moment that they’d been waiting for since God knows when. It was quite literally as if they hadn’t even realized that the world was sitting precariously off-balanced until it finally shifted back into place. It truly was magical, and all they could do was hope that the other felt the same way.

FP’s right hand was on her face while his left hand was around her waist, pulling her closer though he loosened his grip when their lips pulled apart. Alice was genuinely in utter shock, she knew that she had feelings for him, and she knew that he showed interest in her, but she had no idea how passionate it would be when they finally both took the first step towards admitting it. Alice began to smile before her eyes fluttered open and met his - wide and uncertain. She’d always been able to see so much more than he wanted her to see behind those brown eyes. And she was currently looking at someone who was realizing many things in one moment, a person who was asking thousands of questions and waiting for her answers.

They’d never been good at talking, so instead of doing so, Alice kissed him back. This time, it was hungry and quick, like the first kiss had opened a floodgate of possibilities.

If Hog Eye knew that Alice Smith had lost her virginity on the couch in the basement of his bar, he’d probably have her head, but he never found out to this day. She knew that it was supposed to be scary and her friends had told her to expect a wave of nausea, but she didn’t feel any of that. It didn’t feel great, obviously, it hurt like a bitch. But, she can quite honestly say that she’d never felt safer. And that had everything to do with the boy that became her partner in crime.

My love for you is forever.

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