#bex's oc shit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

beezywriting · 2 years ago

Text

Modern Stranger Things AU. No Upsidedown or Vecna-ness. Just young adults trying to figure out life and stuff. There will be more parts and adult situations later on.

OC, Modern!Steve, Modern!Eddie, Modern!Robin, Modern!Max (mentioned), Modern!Wayne (mentioned)

Summary: After his breakup with Nancy, Steve tried to find the right girl. She just didn’t happen to be any of the many girls he went out with. A little discouraged about his current situation, he decided he was done trying, working on himself and all that. Until Eddie gets a mysterious new neighbor, and Steve is hooked on her before he even has a chance to be introduced to her.

Mentions drug use/smoking weed.

PART 2 IS HERE

Word count: 2235

Steve and Eddie sit on the front porch of the Munson trailer, a joint being passed back and forth between the two. Steve had just finished an early shift at Family Video and was still wearing the green vest sporting his name tag when he arrived at Eddie's, his glasses pushed up on top of his head almost hidden in his hair. Eddie on the other hand hadn’t even gotten up until nearly 2pm, and had spent the day with his guitar, Sweetheart, practicing songs for his next gig with Corroded Coffin.

By the time Steve pulled into his driveway around 6, Eddie had already been outside rolling up. Steve wasn’t even fully out of his car yet when he’d started complaining to his friend about his day, and as he climbed up the porch steps, Eddie was already holding the lit joint out to him. He took it between his fingers and brought it to his lips immediately for a hit, then took another before handing it back and diving right back into his story.

Fall was right around the corner, which meant Halloween was on the way, and the store kept getting new inventory. While there was plenty Steve wouldn’t mind grabbing to bring home and watch, the contrast of the early days and late nights to keep everything updated was keeping him exhausted and cranky.

He’d tried on more than one occasion to get Eddie to come and work with him and Robin, but after all the complaining Steve had done, and knowing that he would be working for Keith, he had told Steve there was no way in hell he’d be doing that. Instead opting for the music store in town. Sure it was a little sleepy, there was never a mad rush of people coming in to buy instruments or sheet music. But he loved it there. Sometimes if he knew it would be a particularly slow day, he’d take Sweetheart in with him and plug her into one of the really nice amps the store had that he would never buy. Sure it sounded fucking amazing, but his amp at home worked well enough, after a few surgeries anyways.

The two sat on the porch for a while, just shooting the shit and smoking. Steve had calmed down considerably, but he still had on that dumb vest, causing Eddie to chuckle every few minutes. They both watched as a car pulled into the trailer park, eyes following it lazily as it curves around the line of trailers, parking at one just a few up from the Munsons.

Eddie had lost interest at this point, having already met the new tenant when she moved in. But Steve was staring. Watching intently as the driver side door opened up and a girl he guessed had to be around their age stepped out. Her blonde hair was tied back in a low bun, a black sweater hung loosely off her shoulder despite the chill that was taking over the night.

“Who’s that,” Steve asked, taking the joint from Eddie’s out-stretched fingers. Deftly pulling his glasses off the top of his head and returning them to the spot on his nose so he could see.

Eddie looks up again as if he didn’t just watch her arrive at the same time Steve did, “Oh uh… Bec- Becca? Bex? She moved in last week.” As if this was obvious, and Steve was way behind on things. “We helped her unload some stuff. Me, Wayne and Red across the street. Seems nice enough, just looks mean.”

“Who said she looked mean?” Steve took a drag from the joint, letting the ashes flutter to the ground at his feet.

“Ever heard of ‘RBF,’ pretty boy,” Eddie teased.

Steve looked at him, eyebrows raised before realization hit him. A soft ‘ohhhh’ passing through his parted lips. The joint continued to burn between his fingers, completely forgotten by him until a hot sear touched his skin, the joint falling as he let out a curse.

“Dammit, Harrington,” Eddie isn't mad, but he is theatrical as he dives to save what was left of their smoke session. “I’d say we could invite her over, but you can’t even hang onto anything, you’d probably burn her.”

Steve’s cheeks redden a bit. It’s not like he’d done it on purpose. It just wasn’t every day someone new came to Hawkins that was actually their age. And not to mention he had struck out with most of the girls in town anyways. Just wanting him to say they’d had him, not because they actually wanted to be with him. But now he was way ahead of himself. He didn’t even know this girl's actual name and he’s prancing towards their future in his head like some psycho.

“She smokes,” Steve asked, super casually he hoped, as he watched her disappear into her own trailer. Never casting so much as a glance their way.

“Yep,” Eddie had retrieved what was now more of a roach than a joint. He should really just get a new one started, but there was still a little something left. He’d feel bad to not let it live out its full potential, so he holds it carefully between two fingers and lights it again, bringing it to his lips and inhaling deeply. “She came by a few times since she moved in. You were at work. I am sure I told you about it,” he looks over to Steve now, a playful but accusatory look on his face, “you just don’t listen to me when I talk.”

Steve looks shocked. Surely that wasn’t true. But he did know he’d been complaining a lot about work recently, so the idea that he’d let Eddie ramble while his words went in one ear and out the other wasn’t that outside of the realm of possibilities.

Steve stayed at Eddie’s awhile longer, Hawkins newest resident pushed to the back of his mind as Eddie carried on with his antics. He told Steve about his next gig, reminding him that he had to remember to tell Keith he needed off. “You’ve missed like, the last five, man. You don’t love us anymore.”

They’d both laughed, Steve promising he’d ask off on his next shift. If anything he was sure Robin would switch with him. Before he left he even sent her a text to remind him to talk to Keith the next day about it, much to Eddie’s bemusement.

_______________________________________________

Getting the day off for the next Corroded Coffin show proved to be more difficult than Steve, or even Robin had intended. Neither was sure what, but something had definitely crawled up Keith’s ass. “And died there,” Robin had added with a huff, annoyed on Steve’s behalf that their boss was being such a dick on purpose.

“All the guys are gonna give me shit if I don’t make it again,” Steve complained morosely, dragging a hand through his hair and down his face. “I seriously need to figure out what Keith’s deal is.” He slumped over, body resting across the green counter, his glasses pulled off his face to rest next to him.

Robin patted his back, her free hand a fist to rest her chin on. “D’ya think it was that date you went on with Judy Hall?”

He turns to look at her, misery etching his features. The date with Judy hadn’t even been good. She’d spent the whole time talking about her ex. The places he would take her to and the dates they’d gone on. He hadn’t even taken her home with him, happy to be free of her as soon as possible.

“Just thinking out loud,” she said quickly, returning to pat his back as he tucked his face back into his arms. “He was really into her…”

“Well he can have her, what does he want me to do, introduce them?” Steve knew his issues weren’t Robin's fault, but he was feeling particularly sorry for himself at the moment and he knew she wouldn’t take it personally.

Once Keith left for the day, Robin let Steve take it easy, sitting back in Keiths office and just playing on his phone. Texting Eddie that he was struggling to get the day off for the show, but so far Keith wasn’t making it easy. But he was trying.

He had spent most of his shift wallowing in self pity - getting up every now and then to help Robin when they’d get a small rush of people. Usually it was no more than three or four, and it was quick enough to get through them so he could get back to scheming and staring at the schedule.

The door dinged as it opened, someone else coming in. There was only ten minutes before they closed, Robin had already done most of the nightly duties so Steve had his ‘wallowing in self pity’ time. He listened to their muffled conversation from the back office, whoever had come in was another woman, not a voice he recognized.

The conversation moved away from the counter, Robin was showing the mystery customer something in the store. He could hear them both laugh, despite Robin not generally liking having to talk to customers, she did pretty well. Steve thought he had helped a lot in that department, and he was pretty pleased with himself as he listened in on the interaction.

They came back to the counter, and Steve could tell Robin was really into whatever they were talking about. He could almost see how animated she was becoming just by the inflections in her voice. He pushes the door open, just a tad, needing to see Robin in full customer service action, and is surprised to see Eddie’s new neighbor on the other side of the counter. He doesn’t think she looks mean at all, and plans to tell Eddie he’s crazy for even saying it.

And there his mind goes, running away with wild thoughts again; and man they are gone. The first date is amazing, the first kiss even better, he’s sure he’s in love just a month after the relationship starts. If Robin had seen him, she probably would’ve given him a smack to knock the heart eyes out of his head. Definitely would’ve told him the look on his face made her want to be sick. He was in deep and he hadn’t even said one word to her yet.

Lost in his daydreams, he didn’t see that she had noticed the door open, regardless of how small a sliver he was looking through. She could see him. “Is your co-worker broken,” she asks Robin. An amused smirk on her lips as she let out a little chuckle.

“Is what— “ she followed the other girl's gaze to find Steve in the crack of the office door. Her brows knit together in confusion, wondering what the hell he was doing. “Earth to Dingus?”

Snapped, rather rudely, from his insightful look into the future, he shook his head and let the door fall open. “Sorry,” his face had turned red, the flush bringing out the gold rims of his glasses, “I totally spaced out.” What a great first impression he was making.

Robin looked at him like he had six heads and had just come from a planet of very stupid aliens. Bex wasn’t quite so mean, she looked rather amused actually. Not laughing at him, but maybe next to him, good naturedly at least.

“Apply to Nasa, Space Cadet,” Robin turns back to computer and types a few things in to finish the transaction, the clock now reading only a few minutes left before they could lock up and go home. She picked up the movie and grabbed the receipt when it printed, handing them across the counter, “sorry about the weirdo,” she motions behind her shoulder.

Another laugh at his expense, next to him, not at him. “It’s okay, that’s what I get for coming in right before closing, right?”

They both laughed at her little joke, Steve gave an apologetic nod as she grabbed her things. “Have a good night,” he called out as the door closed behind her. She turned just a fraction and smiled back at him before getting into her car.

Robin stood next to him, still looking at him as though he was an alien from another planet. “Okay what’s gotten into you?” Her arms folded across her chest as she looked at him with narrowed eyes. When he only looks down in silence things finally click together. “Seriously, the girl that moved to town five minutes ago? Don’t make me get the ‘Steve Strike Out’ board back out.”

He scoffs and looks up at her, “well you don’t have to try and jinx me right away. Have a heart, Rob.”

“I do have a heart, Steven. You don’t even know her.”

“Well, I’ll get to know her.”

“You turned into a wordless guppy just looking at her a few minutes ago.”

Steve’s lips pursed together in a firm line, while Robins quirk up into a smile. She was right and she knew it, and Steve didn’t have anything to fire back with. Instead helping her with a few last minute tasks before closing the store up and taking her home so he could hurry over to Eddie’s. For no reason in particular.

Tags: @sw34terw34ther

Thanks for reading my silly little story 😘

#stranger things imagine #stranger things fandom #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #modern stranger things #steve harrington #modern steve harrington #eddie munson #modern eddie munson #robin buckley #modern Robin Buckley #Strager Things OC #*mine: fic

25 notes · View notes

agent-bash · 2 years ago

Text

Confessions from the Firehouse

So we had a Nonny the other day who wanted a Confession from the Firehouse, since it’s been a while. And I’m here to deliver.

Today’s topic of Confessions: Thoughts on the season(s) in general.

Now this isn’t the most exciting as the opinions really don’t vary too much, but it is exciting because not only are you getting Mine, Bex’s and Needles’ opinion, as is standard, but the whole firehouse weighed in at least on PD.

Under the cut for length and some negativity.

Our biggest and most agreed upon thought with PD this season is this:

ENOUGH WITH THE CHARACTER CENTRIC EPISODES!!!!!

We’re just all so sick of them. You’re always alienating part of your fandom. People are always complaining that things aren’t “Fair”. Bitching that one character, or ship, is favoured over another, before the season is even over, and even when it is and things even out (using that term loosely here) screen time wise people still complain. When really the only people who watch the show who have any real right to complain about their character(s) not having fair amounts of screen time, yet never seem to, are the ones who’s favourite character is Kevin. I’m also going to give it to Torres too at this point with this. a couple co-workers agreed with me, but Bex, Needles and rest just think he’s too new, and that we’ll see more of him next season. So yeah, centric episode suck and need to stop. We understood it through 8 and even 9 to be honest, but not anymore. More and more, at least from what I’m seeing and hearing, people are saying “oh it revolves around this character, I’ll skip it.” and that’s really not something you want people who watch your show to be saying. Ever.

Since 2018 when shift fell on a Wednesday we knew what we were going to watch, bells permitting. Now the majority of us no longer care. If it’s on fine, but if we can find something else to watch that the majority agree on, we’ll likely do that instead.

No one has really been watching Med, but that’s not usual for any of us. It’s always been the most skippable show. When it’s a Wednesday shift and we put on OC it’s on at pretty much the worst time for us. People get up to shit at 7:30/8:00 like clockwork, and we almost always miss it. The ¾ ish of us who genuinely like Fire are still enjoying it. The 1/4 of us who tend to mostly tune it out have continued to do so. So yeah One Chicago nights in the firehouse likely coming to and end.

3 notes · View notes

shakespeareanwannabe · 4 years ago

Text

Drowning

Santiago Pope Garcia x F!OC/Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Rebecca Cooke

Summary: Santiago follows through with his escape plan, only to find that his freedom comes with a heavy price.

Warnings: Drinking/Alcohol Consumption, Swearing, Benny being Benny, references to war time injuries, references to Anxiety if you squint, ghosting, nightmares, crying

A/N: Hey y’all. Sorry it’s been a while. Some stuff came up, but I was inspired to write this chapter anyway! Here’s chapter 6. Please enjoy!

**********

Santiago Garcia was one of the best of the best. One of the top ranked soldiers in the US Military. Delta Force, Special Operations…his team was the one you called when things got bad. And things often got bad.

Tom ‘Redfly’ Davis oversaw the team. Laser focused in the field and a brilliant tactician who always seemed to be able to get his team out of tight spots, Redfly saw Delta Force through multiple missions, as well as two tours of Afghanistan and Iraq.

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia was his right-hand man, his second in command. Where Redfly focused on the minor details, Pope was able to see the big picture. Combined, their abilities to plan and execute earned them the respect and admiration of their team.

William ‘Ironhead’ Miller was third in command. His cool head and philosophical manner ensured cohesion in the group of macho men. While the team was busy fighting the enemy, Will was busy making sure there was no fighting amongst the team.

Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales was the pilot. The most intelligent of the bunch, he was often overlooked when it came to lauding praises, even if Pope would always claim that it was because of Frankie’s skillful maneuvering and calculating nature that they made it back in one piece.

Benjamin ‘Benny’ Miller was the youngest of the team, the most hotheaded, and the most emotionally vulnerable. Added to the team after their original fifth member was killed in action, Ironhead automatically took it upon himself to protect his baby brother, while the rest of the team protected Ironhead.

Together, they were the most successful, most ruthless, most cunning team to ever wear the United States flag on their shoulder. Ironhead, Catfish, and Benny trusted their fearless leaders to see them through any mission, no matter how bleak. Where they led, the team followed, no questions asked. Well, on the battlefield, that is…

“You fucking what!?!” Frankie exclaimed angrily while Benny and Will stared at him in astonishment.

Santi felt himself shrink. While he knew that his plan of action wasn’t the best, he didn’t know what else to do.

“I can’t drag her into all my bullshit, ‘Fish,” Santi sighed, dragging a hand down his face before chugging from his nearly-empty beer bottle.

“So, you thought that ghosting her was the best thing to do?” Benny exclaimed, leaning around his brother to get a good view of his former lieutenant. “Are you fucking stupid, Pope?”

“Ay, watch it, kid!” Santi grumbled. “You’ve seen her! She’s fucking perfect. I’m not ruining her. No way, man.” Santi chose to ignore Frankie’s mumbling in their shared mother tongue and cast his fishing line out into the lake once more.

It had been two weeks since the wedding, 13 days since the last time he saw Rebecca, and it was killing him, even if he knew it was for the best. So, when Will had offered up his fishing cabin in the woods for a boys weekend, he had jumped at the chance to get out of that big empty house, away from the clinic that he was slinking around under Charlie’s hateful glare, and far enough away from Bex’s building that he wasn’t tempted to just get up and drive there and beg for her forgiveness. It would be good for him. Clear his head. Get her out of his system, even if he was waking up every morning hard as a rock with thoughts of her smile and her softness and her heart at the forefront of his mind.

“Well, that fucking explains why Charlie went from crying over your speech at the wedding to asking me if I’d be okay burying your body in the backyard,” Frankie finally spoke in English.

Santi winced. After a week of actively ignoring his phone whenever it lit up with Rebecca’s name and smiling face, he supposed that Bex had asked Charlie what was up. And, since Charlie knew him well enough to know what nothing was actively wrong, he’d spent the last several of his physio appointments having to shield himself from his friend’s icy glare.

“What are you doing, man?” Will sat back with a sigh. “She’s the best you’re ever gonna get. You know that right?”

Santi clenched his fist around his fishing rod. “You think I don’t know that? She’s fucking perfect! Sweet and kind and unselfish and loving and sexy as all fuck! Who wouldn’t want that?”

“So, you’re either really fucking stupid or really fucking scared…” Benny muttered, leaning back to fetch another beer.

Santi felt something inside him burst. He was doing what was best for her, even if nobody in his life seemed to agree.

“Fuck this.” He threw his fishing rod to the ground and stood up. “I don’t have to deal with this shit. I’m going home.”

Frankie slowly stood up next to him with a few crackles and pops of his joints. “I drove you, dipshit. And you drank an entire six pack on your own. I’ll take you home.”

Frankie ambled over to give his goodbyes to Will and Benny while Santi stood with his arms crossed, staring out into the distance. He had thought Frankie and Will would understand. Frankie, who had to fight tooth and nail to keep the woman he loved after getting his license suspended. And Will, whose fiancée had left him six weeks before the wedding day, claiming the war had changed him and that he wasn’t the same man she fell in love with. Benny, who had loved more people than he could count, had never experienced that kind of love and loss before, and Santi hoped he never did. Everyone around them got sucked into their bullshit, and he wouldn’t let that happen to the most wonderful woman he had ever met.

“Hey,” Santi startled when a warm, gentle hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to meet Will’s warm gaze and placating smile. “We just want you to be happy, man.”

Santi sighed and nodded slowly. “Yeah, Will…I know, but—”

“But nothing, man,” Will interrupted gently, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “She makes you happier than I’ve ever seen you, Santi. Don’t lose that, or you’ll spend your life regretting it.”

Santi watched him walk away as Frankie came up beside him and started ushering him towards the truck.

**********

The two-hour drive home was longer than expected due to traffic on the highway, but the length was exasperated by the silence that was dragging out between the two men. Unlike the drive, the silence was atypical. Santi, who had grown accustomed to Frankie’s quiet calmness, usually filled the silence with stories to get Frankie talking or laughing. Now, the tension between the two was palpable, and Santi wasn’t about to try to break it when he had so much on his mind.

After almost three hours in the car together, Frankie pulled into Santi’s driveway and killed the engine.

Santi sighed, both in sadness and relief, and went to open the door. “Thanks,” he mumbled, hand resting on the handle and the door partially open.

“Listen, man…” Santi turned slightly to see Frankie had removed his cap and was rubbing at his forehead. “If she doesn’t make you happy, that’s fine. No point in making yourself miserable trying to drag out a relationship that just ain’t gonna work. But if that’s why you’re doing this, or if you’re doing it because of some bullshit protector instinct, then why are you so miserable? If she makes you happy but you’re worried about infecting her with your shit, then protect her from that by staying close and working hard.”

“I…” Santi swallowed. “I don’t want to hurt her, man.” He got out of the truck and stood next to the open door. “I won’t hurt her.”

Frankie fixed him with a glare, and Santi saw a flash of the old Frankie for a moment. “And what exactly are you doing right now, cabrón?”

Santi let the door swing closed as Frankie peeled out of his driveway and down the road.

**********

It took another week for Santiago to get his act together. The day Frankie dropped him off, he spent in his backyard, grilling and listening to music. If things were normal, it would be the day the whole gang got together at Frankie’s for food and fun and laughs, but things weren’t normal, so he settled in for some solo grilled chicken and some alone time. He woke up with nightmares around midnight, and when he woke up again around 2 a.m., he moved into the living room and resigned himself to crappy early morning TV until the sun came up.

The next day, on a whim, he started drafting a proposal for a private security company. He still had enough money from selling his weapons collection in Colombia to put together a decent business proposal, and it was better than sitting on his ass drinking all day, so he put his famed planning skills to work. Got Your Six Security would provide state of the art security systems as well as armed guards for those who desired them. The fees would be reasonable, they would cater to both private homes and public settings, and, best of all, they would only employ military or former military personnel. Luckily, Santi had kept in contact with a couple of the surveillance techs from his time overseas, and he knew that a small crew of them had been working on a state-of-the-art closed circuit security system and were looking to market it to high end customers. They had already agreed to work with him, he only needed to get a business plan and a small loan to get it up and running.

The day after that, he had a meeting with the bank, who had met his proposal with enthusiasm. (It helped that it was a company employing veterans, run by a veteran, who already had some capital to put up upfront.) All they asked was that he find his first customer before they signed off on the loan.

So, the following Monday, he straightened his suit and tie and headed into the last place he wanted to be: the art museum where Rebecca worked. It was the only business that had availability as soon as possible, they were willing to pay top dollar, and they seemed fairly desperate.

He met with two of the higher ups of the museum, Douchebag Derek’s mom and the owner of the building, and soon found out why they were so desperate.

“One of our paintings got stolen two nights ago,” Derek’s mom sighed. “We don’t know how, or why, but somebody got in, stole one of the Blair’s, and walked out with it. Our security guard claims that he didn’t hear anything, but the police are looking into it.”

“The point is,” Mr. Carlisle butted in. “We need something more high-tech than a retiree aged security guard. We need something that can send an alarm to the police if someone does get in, but also a few highly trained guards to watch the museum at night, in case someone does get in and the police are too slow. It seems to me that a military grade security system and some highly trained former soldiers are the perfect thing to protect the priceless works of art we house here at this institution.”

“Was anyone in the building when the painting was stolen?” The words escaped his mouth before he could even think. “I mean, besides the security guard.”

“No, thank god,” Mr. Carlisle replied. “Jerry, the security guard, says he saw out the last employee in the building before locking the door.”

“I’m just happy that nobody got hurt,” Derek’s mom simpered, and Santi caught a glimpse of her son’s douchebaggery in her voice.

“We’d be happy to help,” Santi smiled once he regained control of his voice, his shoulders relaxing at the news that Jerry had been alone in the building. “We’ll just need 50% of the cost of the alarm system up front before installation, then we can discuss how many guards you want on premises during the day and at night. Once we’ve got a number, we can go through the applicants together and we can find the ones who best suit your needs.”

It was after they dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s and Santi had received a firm handshake from Mr. Carlisle that it happened.

He was exiting Mr. Carlisle’s office, still facing the occupants of the room as he thanked them for their patronage, when he turned and bumped into something hard but soft and comforting and, even worse, familiar.

“Oof!”

A chill ran down his spine at the sound, the same sound she had made when he spanked her ass that morning.

“Shit, I’m…I’m, uh, I’m sorry.” Rebecca stilled in her crouched position, one hand on one of the loose sheets of paper he had knocked out of her arms. “Uh…here, let me help.”

He started to lower to the ground, wincing at his knees crackling, when she snatched up the paper he was reaching for and stood up. “Don’t bother.”

Already crouching, he let his head hang. He didn’t know how he expected their first encounter to go, but it certainly wasn’t that.

**********

A flash…a painful scream…his legs caught in quicksand…red pooling on the pristine white marble floors…the dull thud of her body dropping…the faceless thief escaping into the edges of his vision…cradling her lifeless body…

Santiago sat bolt up in bed, his heart racing and his chest heaving, his curls drooping onto his forehead with accumulated sweat.

Three nights of the same dream. Three nights of not being able to save her from the art thief. Three nights of sitting in bed, trembling while staring at her picture on his phone, his thumb hovering over the ‘Call’ button but always unable to take that final step.

First, she had bewitched him. Now, she was haunting him. One short, angry interaction was enough to bring her to the forefront of his mind (not that she was ever far from there), and now he couldn’t sleep.

Maybe Frankie was right. Doing the right thing shouldn’t make him this miserable. His heart shouldn’t ache when he thinks of her, he shouldn’t be so depressed when he sees couples together, and he really shouldn’t be dreaming about her death and waking up in tears.

He didn’t think. About any of it. Instead, he acted on instinct, throwing on a pair of threadbare sweatpants and a white vest and collecting his wallet and keys before hopping into his truck and driving the path he knew by heart.

**********

Bang Bang Bang!

Rebecca’s first instinct was to shout at whoever was knocking on her door at three a.m. to fuck off or she would call the cops. Her second instinct was to grab the baseball bat in her front closet and scare the intruder off herself.

She blamed the pint of Cherry Garcia (flavor chosen ironically, of course) and the three glasses of red wine she had drank before falling asleep on the couch for her poor decision-making skills as she stumbled off the couch and grabbed the bat.

“What the fu—”

“Holy shi—”

Santiago ducked away from the door, hands out in front of him as if to calm a wild animal.

“Bex! It’s me, Jesus Christ!”

She huffed. “Yeah, and? After the shit you’ve pulled, being met with a bat is the least of your concerns.” She rubbed her eyes. “What the hell do you want, Santiago?”

He winced at the full name. “C…Can we talk?”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, bat hanging loosely between her fingers. “You’ve had three weeks to talk to me, asshole. What the fuck could you possibly have to say to me?”

Santi turned to look down the hall, wincing and apologizing as one of her neighbours shot him a dirty look. “Can we talk inside? Please? If you don’t like what I have to say, you can kick me out or call the cops. I really wouldn’t blame you. Just…please?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes, poking her head out. “Sorry, Mr. Chen. Tell Cindy that it’s the asshole boyfriend come to grovel.”

The man nodded knowingly and retreated into his apartment.

“I deserve that,” he mumbled, looking at her pleadingly.

Rebecca considered him for a moment. “You look like shit.”

“And I feel even worse. Baby, I…”

Rebecca cut him off. “If you seriously want to do this right now, I’m gonna need more wine.”

She turned her back on him and retreated into the apartment, leaving the door wide open. Santiago followed her after a beat, making sure the door was locked tight behind him.

“Baby, I—”

Bex held up a finger, pouring herself a large glass of red wine and sitting as far away from him as possible, draping a grey throw blanket over her lap before fixing him with a glare.

He met her eyes and felt himself deflate. “Fuck,” he groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. “I had it all planned out, every word I was going to say to you, and now I’m lookin’ at you and it’s all…” He made an exploding motion with his hands. “Poof. Gone.”

Rebecca burrowed further into her blanket. “Well, try. Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the one who needs to do the talking here. I’ve done my talking. On the half-dozen voicemails I left on your phone, in the dozens of texts I sent you, and in the email I wrote because I was panicking at the thought that you had gotten into some terrible accident and that was why you weren’t responding anymore. Because that is the only reason I could think of that you would suddenly stop talking to me.”

“I know. I know, you’re absolutely right. I fucked up in a major way, and I am so sorry. I know I messed up, but I need you to know that I never meant to hurt you.” Rebecca scoffed. “I’m serious, honey. In my own backwards as fuck way, I thought I was protecting you.”

“From what?” she asked angrily.

Santi felt something snap inside of him. “From me! From this forty-year-old fuck up sitting in front of you! Because I’m not a good man! Because I was shooting people and detonating bombs when you were still in grade school! Because I’ve killed people, good people…innocent people. Because my life is a mile-wide shit stain, and you don’t deserve to deal with that. Because…” Santi took a raggedy breath. “Because when I look at you, I see everything good about the world. And I know I’ve got blood and death on my hands, and I couldn’t live with myself if I let any of that effect you in any way.”

“Don’t you think that’s my choice?” she countered in a cold voice. “Don’t you think I should get to decide who deserves to be in my life? I might be a hell of a lot younger than you, Santiago, but my life hasn’t been all rainbows and unicorns. I know my worth. I know who belongs in my life. Not my narcissistic mother, who used my accident for sympathy from whoever she could get it from. Not my best friend from high school, who managed to turn everything into a fucking competition and only got bitchy when she ‘lost’. Not Douchebag Derek or fucking College Boyfriend Ben. And like it or not, I chose you. You with the bad knees and the greying hair and the blood and shit on your hands. God help me, but I chose you.” She chugged the rest of her wine, placing the glass harshly down on the coffee table.

“I know, sweetheart. God, you’re so fucking amazing, you know that?” he blinked back tears in his eyes. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t get emotional, that he would lay the facts out for her, but just being in her presence screamed safety to him and he could feel everything he had pushed down rising to the surface. “Y…you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, okay? And I know that’s a shitty, corny line, but it’s the truth. When I met you…I was in a bad place. My life had been one shit storm after another, and I thought coming home would fix that. Being around Frankie and Charlie, getting to bond with Mateo, having a home of my own for the first time…I was doing better. And then you crashed into my life, and all of a sudden everything felt good again. Like…the sun was shining on me but all of a sudden I could actually feel it and, for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of getting burned. You turned my whole plan upside down, and I was actually okay with it.” He chuckled, swiping at his cheeks as the first few tears started to fall. “I thought I could live in your orbit and just circle around you, not hurting you or effecting you in any way. But then…” he smiled softly. “Christ, that morning…Fuck, I realized that I was in so deep. Way deeper than I ever thought I would get. I was honestly, genuinely happy for the first time in years, and it was all because of you. And you were smiling at me all soft, and I realized something. I realized that living with you, spending the rest of my life with you, was something I could easily do and desperately wanted. And that scared the shit out of me. Because guys like me don’t get the happy ending. The credits start to roll just as we start dealing with the aftermath of whatever shitshow we just lived through, so that the audience doesn’t have to watch everything fall apart again. I…I couldn’t put you through that. Not when you’ve already got all your own stuff to deal with. Adding my own just felt selfish. And I know that’s a cop out, but it’s the truth. I honest to god just wanted to protect you.”

Rebecca’s gaze softened as her voice enveloped him. “So, why now? Why come to me now, if you’re so set on protecting me?”

He met her gaze. “The break in. At the museum. I-if you had been there, if you had gotten hurt…I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle it. That, plus some of Frankie’s patented wise wisdom, woke me up to what an idiot I’ve been. If I want to protect you, I’ve got to do it by being with you, and god baby, that’s all I want. And I know I fucked up. I basically did the same jackass thing that your college boyfriend did, only ten times worse because I promised I wouldn’t. I know I don’t deserve you, but I swear to god, baby, if you let me back into your life, I will work with you. I won’t keep anything from you, and I’ll always be honest with you, and when I try to protect you, I’ll do it by standing by your side and letting you know that I’m here. Even…” he gulped painfully. “Even if it’s just as a friend.”

Rebecca considered him carefully as Santi waited on bated breath. Finally, she spoke. “You really hurt me, Santi.”

He nodded, clenching his eyes shut. “I know. I know, baby, and I am so, so sorry.”

“Everything I was scared of, happened. I let you in, and you made me fall in love with you, then you left. You fucked me then fucked off. And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me why. I agonized for weeks over what I could have possibly done wrong.”

“No, baby,” he took a chance and shifted to sit next to her, gently cradling her hand in his. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. This is all on me, okay?”

She played with his fingers, rough and callused from his time handling firearms. “It is,” she nodded. “It is all on you…but when I ran into you at the museum, I felt like I could breathe for the first time in weeks. I wanted to be angry at you, but I just felt sad because…because I wanted you to do some stupid, corny, romcom level bullshit like fall to your knees and beg for my forgiveness or sweep me up into your arms and say that you would never let me go again.”

Santiago cupped her cheek, carefully brushing away the stray tear meandering over her cheekbone. “What are you saying?” he asked, trying desperately to keep the hope from his voice.

She sighed. “It means…that I’m too tired to deal with this right now.” She stood, not releasing his hand. “C’mon. You can sleep here tonight, and we can figure this out in the morning.”

He stood hesitantly. “Are you sure? I can sleep here on the couch?” He eyed the leather distastefully. “Or I can go sleep in my truck. I…I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

She was already shaking her head. “No, then I’ll just feel guilty. That couch is not comfortable and your truck with play hell with your neck. You can stay in my bed. Just…don’t worry about it.”

She padded silently into her room, tugging him behind her. Swiftly, she tugged down the meticulously straightened sheets and slid into her side of the bed, Santiago following after a short pause.

He laid there for what felt like hours, staring up at the ceiling, thanking god that he was there with the woman he loved and praying for a chance to make things right.

For the first time in forever, his prayers seemed to be answered quickly.

“I can hear you thinking,” Rebecca mumbled as she rolled over and placed her head on his chest. “Stop thinking, Santi. We can figure out everything in the morning.”

He carefully wrapped his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair, eyes drifting closed to send him into the deepest sleep he’d had in a month.

**********

He awoke the same way he’d fallen asleep, wrapped around Rebecca like he was afraid that, should he let go even an inch, she’d disappear.

He pulled back a fraction of an inch to gaze at her peaceful face before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

She released a soft, sleepy mewl before her eyes blinked open.

She smiled softly at him. “Hey…”

The words poured out of him before he could even think. “Move in with me.”

She crinkled her brow. “What?”

He caught her hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing her palm. “I love you. And I want to prove to you that I’m in this for the long haul. You’re it for me, Rebecca. So, move in with me.”

Her sleepy eyes took him in for a moment, and Santi’s breath caught in his chest. But before he could backtrack or explain further, he felt his heart stop.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

**********

Tags list (open): @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @rae-rae-patcha, @himbopoes, @sophoclese, @phoenixhalliwell, @buckstaposition, @who-talks-first, @hkmultifandom, @youhavereachedtheendofpie

#santiago pope garcia x oc #santiago pope garcia x rebecca cooke #triple frontier fanfic #not another fairytale ending fic #santiago pope garcia #frankie catfish morales #Oscar Issac #Pedro Pascal

32 notes · View notes

harryandmolly · 6 years ago

Text

Complicit // Introduction

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, allusion to sexual content, perhaps the Most Extra OC I’ve written to date

WC: 2.2k

----------

Penny closes one eye and scrunches up her face, digging through her S/S 2018 monogrammed Louis Vuitton tote for her work phone. It buzzes hard, rattling against her Oliver Peoples sunglasses, until she can fling some chestnut hair from her face and answer it.

“Caught me just before we’re leaving for the airport,” she says breezily, squinting out the bay window of the whitewashed St. Lucia suite looking over the lapis ocean, “What’s up?”

“I have such a treat for you,” chuckles Silver.

A familiar thrill shoots down Penny’s spine. She swallows and casts a glance around the room for her vacation companion. He’s nowhere to be seen.

“Who is it?”

Silver, being Silver, pauses for dramatic effect.

“It’s Shawn Mendes.”

A pause. Penny’s well kept brow furrows.

“Who?”

Niall first realized something was really wrong when Shawn didn’t want to go to 40 Love. In fact, he didn’t want to go anywhere. Niall had to go to him, to his house in Beachwood Canyon, just to see his old friend.

He eyes him warily, watching Shawn stare out the window overlooking the Hills. He’s got a guitar pick in the pocket of his sweats. His fingers fumble with it while he thinks.

“So… things are bad,” Niall guesses.

Shawn takes too long to shrug and angle his head back at Niall. “Not… bad. Just weird.”

Niall leans forward, propping his elbows up on his knees and holding his beer bottle aloft, examining the shedding label.

“I get it. It’s a weird situation. Honestly, I… I was pretty surprised.”

Shawn bobs his head and feels his jaw tighten against his will. “I think a lot of people are.”

Niall is quiet for almost a full minute. He shakes a hand through his coarse brown hair. “I get it, though. I mean, you know I do, mate. Going from teenager to adult in this business is somethin’ most people don’t even get to do. But doin’ it… it’s hard. So I get it, why this thing makes sense for ya.”

Shawn is silent, fidgeting in front of the window.

Niall lifts a shoulder, looking to lighten the mood. “Least she’s not a nightmare.”

It gets a short, rough chuckle from Shawn, which Niall considers progress. Shawn finally turns looking worse for wear as he shuffles to sit in the armchair across from the couch, shoulders hunched, legs spread.

“I don’t think I would’ve agreed to a publicity stunt relationship with someone I hate,” He pauses and chews on the inside of his lip, “I dunno, maybe I would’ve at this point.”

Niall lowers his gaze. He recognizes the old, faded remnants of Catholic guilt in his gut and does what he can to tamp them down. His progression from teen heartthrob of One Direction fame to singer-songwriter hasn’t been easy in comparison to Shawn’s. Hell, he’ll always be one of the 1D boys -- there’s really no changing that. He’s made his peace with it.

His young friend, 21 now and in the industry since he was 15, has to do the same. Niall’s been paying attention. Shawn Mendes has been stratospheric for a while. His third album was a massive success. He sold out arenas on a world tour that even One Direction’s *cough* ambitious management wouldn’t sniff at. But the Armani smart watch ads and even the Calvin Klein campaign haven’t saved him from being a “prince of pop.”

It’s not the worst thing you can be called, Shawn and Niall both know. But it’s diminutive, it’s a little condescending, it’s sweet. Shawn has always been sweet. He is the ultimate nice Canadian boy, the antidote to Bieber’s downfall.

But he’s growing the fuck up and the rest of it -- the music, the tours, the image -- it has to grow, too.

It was Shawn and Bex’s shared publicist who first mentioned the idea. Bex, single name, like Madonna, is an old friend. She’s a Nickelodeon star-turned-pop singer who came up around the same time Shawn was sitting in a computer chair posting to Vine and YouTube. He likes Bex, she’s cool. They’ve written together and yeah, they’ve fucked a couple times when they were drunk and needed distractions from their own lives for various reasons. But he doesn’t get that feeling about Bex. He knows the feeling is out there. But that’s not what this thing with her is for.

“It’s a proven effective way to age you up in the public’s eyes,” Emily advised him, doing that thing where she dips her chin a little toward her chest and widens her eyes, the ‘you really should listen to me’ face, “And aging you up is the only way to get you where you really want to go. The teenage girls can get you places. Fuck, they can even make you a legend. But they can’t get you the world’s respect.”

Shawn thought it was insane at first. Lie about a relationship? Isn’t that kind of seedy? Won’t people see right through it?

He shifts uncomfortably in the chair. He still wonders these things sometimes. But the righteous indignation he felt last year when it came up is an ancient memory. He picks moodily at his own beer bottle sitting on the arm of the chair.

“You see someone, right? Like a therapist?” Niall verifies. Shawn nods absently.

Niall goes silent again for longer than usual. Shawn looks up to see his friend pensive.

“What?”

Niall shrugs and lifts his eyes to Shawn’s carefully. “Not the only thing you could be doing to manage this. The stress, ya know? And anxiety.”

Shawn bristles the way he does whenever someone suggests he’s not doing enough of something. Before he can open his mouth, Niall steps on his own words.

“I mean, ya know, there’s someone else ya can be seein’.”

Shawn’s face is blank. Niall’s going to have to explain the idea as painfully and awkwardly as it was explained to him by a friend a couple years ago.

“I’ve been seein’ a girl on and off for three years. Not always the same one, I mean. For stress relief.”

Shawn, as sweet and doe-eyed as he doesn’t want to be, isn’t picking up what Niall’s putting down.

“What, like a chiropractor?” Shawn guesses, his brow creasing.

Niall slugs back the last slurp of his beer. “No, like a domme.”

Penny waits until she’s back in her three bedroom Studio City home, quiet and removed in the hills just like she likes, to call Silver back.

Gus, her favorite agency driver, picked her up from the Santa Monica airport after she kissed one of her favorite clients, Victor Calhoun, goodbye and hauled in all her luggage from a week in St. Lucia. For barely needing to be dressed at all for a week, she brought a ton of shit with her. She makes a mental note to rethink that for next time, but she also thinks Victor likes that she’s high maintenance. Or seemingly high maintenance, she thinks with a smile as she pads barefoot around her cottage in panties and an old t-shirt, bag of popcorn in hand.

She drops onto her couch while the phone rings on speaker in her lap. She stretches out her slender legs, admiring her robust tan.

“Hey, bitch.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Penny laughs, dropping some popped kernels into her mouth, “Been holding down the fort ok?”

“Yes, believe it or not, I survived a week without you. How was St. Lucia? Was Victor a very good boy?”

Penny smirks. “Always. So good, in fact, I’ve been taking low doses of muscle relaxants for three days to keep myself from getting lockjaw.”

Silver snorts. “That man loves a blow job.”

Penny sifts through some burnt kernels, locating an extra buttery looking piece toward the bottom of the bag and eyeing it like treasure.

“So,” she begins, crunching indelicately into the phone, “Tell me about Shawn Mendes. Who referred him?”

“Niall Horan.”

“Oh, he’s been seeing Karina, right?”

“Yep, she keeps him very much in line. He’s quiet about La Splendeur -- he’s not the guy telling all his friends about how much he’s paying to get dommed by a call girl. He’s selective with his referrals.”

Penny lifts an eyebrow and shrugs. “Those are usually our favorite kind of clients, I guess.”

Silver snorts. “Less messy, certainly. Anyway, Karina adores him, so that bodes well.”

“Who, Shawn?”

“No, actually, as far as I can tell, he’s new. None of my contacts have a history of him seeing anyone.”

Now Penny is really intrigued. It’s not that often she gets a client that has never seen a call girl before. Being a courtesan, the elitest of the elite escorts, clients generally work their way up the food chain to her.

But he’s new. Fresh, untouched, curious. Silver’s right. This is a special treat.

“Well, I downloaded his music, so I’ll have a listen. I recognize a few of the tracks. Anything else I should know?”

“Well, babe, no client history means you start from scratch, research-wise. I’d say be prepared for anything. He seems like your usual sweet, pretty boy, which as you know, can mean anything goes.”

Penny bobs her head thoughtfully, already mentally scanning wardrobe options and toys.

“When?”

“Thursday at 8, Chateau. Give you some time to recover from your potential lockjaw.”

Penny’s laugh is loud and sizzling, one she rarely uses in front of clients, but she and Silver have known each other a long time.

“Good. Plus, I like a few days of anticipation for new guys. Gets ‘em all worked up before I even get in the door.”

“And that is why you’re worth every Penny.”

Penny rolls her eyes and hangs up on the millionth time Silver has made that same adorably stupid joke.

Penny’s always liked the Chateau Marmont. It was the site of her first appointment. She remembers being nauseous with nerves walking through the doors that night, sure she’d be arrested just for stepping foot inside. She felt like she had the word “NEFARIOUS” stamped across her pretty forehead.

But she held her head high and focused on the rhythm of her Jimmy Choos, purchased especially for the occasion, on the fine marble floor. As instructed, she didn’t even spare a glance for the front desk. She strode in, not too fast, not too slow, and headed straight for the elevators. The concierge would recognize her from a picture passed along by her madam, Silver, and let her by without a problem. That’s one of Silver’s treasured trade secrets -- most working girls choose lower key locations for dates. Hiding in plain sight, especially at tourist attractions, heavily reduces suspicion, hence why Silver struck up a deal with the Chateau’s concierge years ago. Her girls get a pass, he gets a cut.

The booking is made under the name of the driver who arrives early to check in and drop off Penny’s suitcase while she window shops nearby or grabs a glass of wine at the bar. When the client arrives and is OK’d by the driver for security reasons, Penny gets a text and makes her entrance. Before the driver excuses himself to the car, he checks in with Silver to make sure the client’s wire transfer is complete. Once those initial checkpoints are crossed, the night is Penny’s.

Tonight is no different, really, Penny tells herself as she steps out of the Bentley, offered a hand by the Chateau’s valet. She sneaks him a sultry smile just because getting men squirming for her before she even meets her client feels like a good way to hype up.

But it feels different, somehow. The Hollywood evening’s breeze is especially pleasant, the hotel is especially quiet, and the night especially charged as she heads inside hugged in tastefully cut black satin and wearing her favorite black Roger Viviers. She ignores the way the hair on the back of her smooth olive neck stands on end when the elevator dings upon arrival to the specified floor.

Gus, standing outside the door in a dark suit with his arms crossed, gives her a nod, indicating all is set and well. She rises on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. She knows by now she can’t make Gus squirm, so she doesn’t try. He stands aside and opens the door.

He’s sitting on the couch, facing the windows on the opposite wall. His posture is hunched and she can see his shoulders are broad. She tries not to lick her lips.

He turns slightly, looking over his shoulder. His profile catches the orange lamplight. It’s even more magnificent in person. Penny feels a jolt from her squished toes up her very straight spine. She smiles.

He stands, one hand limp by his side, the other clutching a sweating glass of bourbon. Penny can’t wait to taste it on his pretty lips.

Facing her, his jaw tightens, muscles flexing, and his eyes darken just a shade, or maybe she imagines it because she bets hers do the same.

“Penny?”

His voice is a croak. He notices -- he goes magenta moments later. The familiar animal that lives in her stirs, stretching, limbering up.

“Hi, Shawn.”

-------

Ooooh it’s that time again! Ya girl has a new solo series to sink her teeth into. If you’re happy and you know it, buy me a Ko-fi (link on main page)!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes series

312 notes · View notes